The Virgin and His Majesty Page 7

  He said, ‘I have several more days of official and ceremonial engagements, but after that I’m taking a month’s holiday at a villa I own on an island off the coast. If you don’t mind being by yourself for four days it would be best if you went ahead to the villa.’

  Rosie’s heart chilled. ‘Why?’

  His face was unreadable. ‘If you appear in the media as my latest mistress the paparazzi will be around you like flies.’

  Wincing at being so casually described—and at the thought of the media scrummage that might ensue—she said, ‘I see.’

  Gerd said, ‘I remember how you loved staying at the bach at Kiwinui, so you should enjoy the villa.’ He smiled and dropped a swift kiss on her mouth, straightening far too soon. ‘And four days is not very long.’

  But they were the longest days in Rosie’s life. Oh, the island was a dream—the fabled coast she’d been so sure she’d never see. White houses cupped a small harbour where gaily painted fishing boats puttered in and out. Olives shimmered silver-green on the hillsides, and vines braided the slopes. The salt of the sea mingled with the perfumes of flowers blooming in the gardens.

  And the villa—surely a misnomer for such a big house—dreamed away the summer days beneath a sky as blue and potent as the sea that mimicked it.

  But Rosie was lonely, racked by an aching emptiness that frightened her. Always before she’d enjoyed her own company; now she spent the days waiting, longing for the call Gerd made every day on the secure telephone.

  Not that he murmured love words to her; a smile quirked her lips as she sprayed herself with more sunscreen. She just couldn’t imagine Gerd mouthing sweet nothings.

  And there was no love in their relationship. Reduced to the shameful truth, it was just a mutual itch that had irritated them for years. Now was their chance to sate it.

  Once that was done they’d go their separate ways.

  Even as an adolescent she’d known that there could never be a future for them. Gerd’s life had been mapped out for him from birth; eventually he’d marry a princess of the right age and temperament, and they’d have children to carry on the succession.

  He’d made it obvious she was the wrong age, and she’d always known she had the wrong temperament—a conviction strengthened by watching Hani, with her gracious charm, and Princess Serina, who’d seemed to know everyone and find just the right word for them.

  On the third day Rosie leaned back in the hammock and frowned up through the branches of the big tree that shaded it. Tomorrow evening Gerd would come.

  ‘So you’d better face the facts,’ she said aloud. However distasteful they were, she needed to have them clear in her mind before he arrived and scrambled it with his smile, his touch…

  They’d have their month and then she’d go back to New Zealand and find herself a job, save like crazy and one day—with any luck in the not-too-distant future—she’d buy her florist’s shop.

  A faint buzzing lifted her head. Frowning, she scanned the sky, blinking into the sun. A helicopter—coming this way and descending.

  Gerd? Today?

  Wild excitement pulsed through her, and an overwhelming shyness. She almost fell out of the hammock and stood tensely waiting as the chopper dropped down onto the helipad behind the villa.

  It seemed an age before he came striding out of the house, tall and dark and dominating. Her heart drummed feverishly, and she thought, Oh, you idiot! This is not lust. There’s nothing casual about this at all—you’re in love with him. Real, now-and-forever love!

  How had it happened? Three lonely days shouldn’t have altered everything.

  Of course it hadn’t. She’d been in love with him all along, at least ever since he’d kissed her those long, empty years ago. Even though she hadn’t recognised it, no other man had been able to break through the shield that was her love for Gerd.

  The balance of power had shifted even further in his favour. If he ever found out, what would he do?

  ‘Rosemary.’

  Just the one word, but her world brightened into a brilliance she’d never known as he came up to her and bent over her, enclosing her in a hard, almost painful hug.

  He didn’t kiss her. For long seconds he simply held her against his powerful body, embracing her as though this fierce closeness was something he’d been craving since he last saw her.

  ‘Miss me?’ His voice was rough, almost harsh.

  ‘Like crazy.’ Was that her, that breathless, hopeful tone? Hopeless! Infusing her voice with lazy laughter, she asked, ‘How about you?’

  ‘Every minute, every second, all day, every night.’ It sounded like a vow. ‘Which is why I’m here before time.’

  He found her mouth in a kiss so hot and urgent her knees buckled. His arms tightened even further, and he lifted her and sank into the hammock, pulling her on top so that she felt the intimate hardness of him beneath her.

  Sensation roared through her, a rich, unfulfilled flood. When they broke the kiss she explored his face with her lips until he groaned and muttered, ‘Stop this right now before I unman myself. Maria is expecting us for lunch in five minutes.’

  Rosie laughed and cuddled against him. ‘You said it would be four days before you could get here.’

  He shrugged. ‘As I said, I got away earlier.’

  Something in his voice alerted Rosie—a reserve that sent an uneasy quiver along her sensitised nerves. She asked quietly, ‘Is everything OK?’

  Stretched along his lean body, she felt an infinitesimal tightening. Concerned, she raised her head so she could look into his eyes.

  But they were shuttered against her, although he said smoothly, ‘Everything’s fine—and much better now I’m here.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, and scrambled off him, wary once more.

  He let her go and got out in a lithe movement, then held the side of the hammock steady as she wriggled free and stood up.

  Although the realisation might be newborn, she realised now she’d loved Gerd as long as she could remember—an unrecognised, unwanted love, always there like a steady fire, as much a part of her as her eyes and her voice and her heart.

  Gerd didn’t love her. OK, so he hadn’t actually come out and said so, but he’d been quite straightforward about the situation, and she—fool that she’d been, unable to recognise her true feelings—had accepted his terms.

  She’d even been confident she could deal with the inevitably bitter ending. Dear heaven, she must have been crazy…

  She should have taken the coward’s way out and run all the way back to New Zealand, but it was too late now.

  Hard on that thought came another. He must never know.

  It would be dishonourable to do anything else, because he couldn’t give her the love she longed for.

  She could cope with anything rather than pity.

  So she had to make sure he never glimpsed her love; she’d have to monitor every word, every action, to keep him from guessing her secret.

  He reached out a lazy hand for her, then let it drop. As they walked into the cool dimness of the villa he said, ‘How have you entertained yourself without me?’

  ‘I’ve swum a lot,’ she said, forcing a light tone. ‘And I’ve finished several books. You have a brilliant library here, and Maria assured me I could use it.’

  ‘Of course. Have you done any exploring of the island?’

  ‘I went with Maria into the market to buy fish; that was great fun, but apart from that and the swimming I’ve been disgustingly lazy.’

  ‘Well-rested?’ A glint in his eyes told her what he was insinuating.

  Heat swept through her, sweet as honey, potent as wine. ‘Very,’ she said, falsely demure.

  He laughed and took her hand, threading her fingers through his. ‘We’d better go and eat lunch.’ And as they walked into the cool house he added wickedly, ‘First.’

  Rosie’s laughter was slightly forced, but it did help to ease her tension. All through lunch excitement built within her. The
housekeeper had set the meal out on a small side terrace shaded by vines, the bunches of grapes already colouring up. A radiant sky glimmered through the leaves, its cobalt intensity matching the sweep of the sea, and the white sand sparkled.

  ‘This is a wonderful place,’ Rosie murmured as Gerd poured wine for her.

  ‘It started off as a Roman villa,’ Gerd told her, handing her the glass. ‘When that fell into decay the islanders sensibly used the stone for centuries to build and repair their own houses. Then in Victorian times sea bathing was thought to be health-giving, so one of my ancestors used the foundations to build this house for his delicate wife. And what do you think of our beaches?’

  Rosie said blithely, ‘Without conceding that New Zealand beaches—especially those around Kiwinui—can be beaten in any way, I have to admit that these are gorgeous.’ Her eyes glinted as she shook her head. ‘Although the island would be vastly improved by a screen of pohutukawa trees behind each beach.’

  He laughed. ‘You Kiwis! You’re incorrigibly in love with your country.’

  ‘Did the sea bathing help the delicate wife?’

  He served her fish, cooked with sea salt and lemon slices. ‘No, she died young.’

  ‘That’s sad.’

  Gerd’s smile was touched by cynicism. ‘He mourned her for two years, and then married a robust and enthusiastic German princess who presented him with five healthy children. They all used to come here for their holidays. I believe it was an extremely happy marriage.’

  She glanced at his face. Unreadable, as usual. Something tightened inside Rosie, warning her not to go in this direction. She knew what he wanted from her—an uncomplicated affair with no angst, nothing but shared passion. And a clean end to it when the time came.

  Well, she could give him all of that.

  With a theatrical sigh she attacked her fish. ‘So much for a tragic love affair.’

  ‘If they wanted to keep their integrity and their throne my ancestors had to be practical.’

  Was he warning her not to develop any romantic hopes? She said, ‘I hope the five children enjoyed their holidays here.’

  ‘There are photographs showing that they did,’ he told her.

  The meal was superb; Maria used the foods of the island—fish, vegetables, olives and cheese and wine, pine nuts and basil—to produce magnificent, earthy dishes that echoed the Mediterranean.

  Rosie watched in awe while Gerd ate with a healthy appetite, and was touched by Maria’s delight when he demanded some of her yoghurt with honey and peaches at the end of the meal.

  It was a pleasant return to the Gerd she remembered from those holidays in New Zealand when he’d just been Kelt’s older brother and no one had thought anything of his position.

  When she’d been a kid, and life had been simple.

  ‘What are you thinking?’ Gerd put down the spoon with which he’d demolished the dessert.

  ‘About the holidays we used to have at Kiwinui,’ she told him. ‘And what fun they were. Remember when you decided to teach me how to ride?’

  His smile was a little set. ‘Indeed I do. You fell off every time you got onto the pony, but each time you picked yourself up, dusted yourself down and got onto her back with gritted teeth and determination.’

  ‘She was a sweet-tempered little pony.’

  ‘Do you still ride?’

  ‘When I can.’ The words sounded distant, and she wished she hadn’t started reminiscing. Her breath caught in her throat when he smiled at her.

  As though he’d read her mind, Gerd picked up her hand from beside the plate and got to his feet, pulling her with him so that they faced each other.

  ‘Has Maria managed to persuade you to take a siesta?’ he asked, his voice deepening.

  Rosie’s heartbeat began to speed up erratically. ‘She’s tried, but I usually read.’

  ‘A waste of a good siesta,’ he stated autocratically, lashes drooping as he surveyed her face.

  Quick excitement bubbled through her. ‘Oh, really?’ she said demurely. ‘What other things can one do in siesta time? Besides sleeping, of course.’

  ‘Things like this.’

  Amusement fled, leaving behind only the passion, and she arched flagrantly into him as he bent his head and kissed her. All through lunch she’d been trying not to anticipate this moment. Now she surrendered to the erotic power of his mouth taking hers in a kiss so flagrantly sexual it robbed her of breath and set her pulses hammering heavily in her ears.

  She felt herself being lifted and said dreamily, ‘This is getting to be a habit.’

  ‘A habit I enjoy,’ he said, shouldering his way through a wide doorway.

  ‘Because it makes you feel big and macho?’

  His smile was a flash of white. ‘Possibly because the only time I have some control over you is when your feet aren’t on the floor.’

  ‘I don’t believe that. You deliberately changed my travel plans and lured me into abject surrender,’ she drawled, folding one hand into a serviceable fist and hitting him firmly just above a rib.

  ‘Ow!’ she said when her fist met iron-hard resistance. She pulled back her hand and examined the reddened knuckles with rueful amusement.

  ‘Never signal your intentions,’ he said calmly. ‘I had time to tighten the muscles.’

  He must have chosen the room she was using, because even as she opened her mouth to tell him where it was he turned into the doorway. Strangely enough that gave her a warm feeling of being cared for.

  Eyes glinting, he slid her down the length of his body, letting her feel just how she affected him, and by the time she was standing once more all sensible thought had fled and when she said his name it was in an urgent, harsh whisper.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice raw and tense. ‘But before—I assume you were prescribed contraception before you came down here?’

  Some of her lovely anticipation leached away. ‘Yes.’

  ‘How long is it before it takes effect?’

  She knew exactly. ‘Another four days.’

  He nodded, and kissed her with a lingering passion that rekindled the fire within. When he lifted his head his lashes were lowered so that all she could see beneath them was a line of gold.

  ‘Then we know where we are,’ he said thickly. ‘We’ll just have to be careful until then.’

  Separation had honed their hunger to extremes; the first time they’d made love it had been slow and intensely sensuous, but now they fell onto the bed and came together with such a ferocious appetite that Rosie climaxed almost immediately, gasping something—Gerd’s name, she realised later—in a sort of chant while sensation overwhelmed her in a maelstrom of passionate need.

  Shuddering, clinging, she rode the storm wherever it took her. As she began to come down again she watched him, his handsome face stark and angular in the shuttered dimness, his head flung back and his eyes closed.

  Minutes—hours?—later, he scooped her to lie across him in a tangle of limbs. ‘There,’ he drawled, his voice lazy and amused. ‘Wasn’t that better than reading? Or sleeping?’

  Better than anything she’d ever experienced before…

  But the words remained unspoken. He was keeping things very pragmatic, his uncompromising will containing that untamed passion so that he was always in control.

  Well, she had to pretend to be just as cool, just as emotionally uninvolved.

  ‘Mmm,’ she murmured, withdrawing into herself.

  ‘However, sleep has its place.’ He tucked her head into his shoulder.

  She had never felt so…safe, she thought dreamily as exhaustion claimed her.

  But when she woke she was alone, and it was twilight.

  No, she thought after a shaken glance at her watch, it was dawn! She’d slept the whole evening and night through. Shivering, she huddled under the light covering he must have put over her before he left and forced herself to look at the end of their affair.

  They’d spend a month on this enchanted island t
ogether—a month in which she’d fall further and further in love with Gerd—and at the end they’d say a civilised farewell. Then she’d return to New Zealand, and he’d go back to his palace and the real, important part of his life.

  She should leave for New Zealand now, while she was still…what? Heart-whole?

  A laugh that sounded too close to a sob broke from her. Her heart already belonged to Gerd.

  No, it was more courageous to stay, to search for the real, fallible man behind the façade he presented to the world. Surely, discovering that he had faults and idiosyncrasies like every other man would replace the hero worship of her childhood and adolescence with a mature adult understanding?

  Or was she just weak and needy, grasping at any straw so she could enjoy the only time she’d ever have with him?

  ‘And if I am?’ she said half out loud.

  She’d never get what she wanted from Gerd. It was time to face that and accept it, however much it hurt.

  Slowly she got up and walked across to the windows, adjusting the blades of the shutters so she could see the beach. The crystalline sand blinded her and she closed her eyes against it and turned away.

  All her life she’d been in hiding. Few of those who knew her had any idea that her bright personality was a façade to shield the child who’d known herself unloved by her parents. Kelt, perhaps, understood—and possibly Hani…

  These next four weeks were all she’d ever have of Gerd, so she’d show grace and courage and style; when she left him she wanted him to see her as a woman he could admire, as well as the lover he’d enjoyed physically.

  Did she have the courage to do that—to love unreservedly, knowing she’d have to walk away from him without a backward glance?

  She dragged in a ragged breath.

  Yes. Loving him would give her the strength to say farewell—and mean it in both senses of the word. She wished him nothing but good in his future.

  Surely, if she could do that, she’d be able to leave him behind emotionally as well as physically.

  Because people did recover from shattered hearts and unrequited love. They picked themselves up and went on, and eventually they were happy again.