‘He sacked her?’
The lump in his throat made it hard for him to speak, yet somehow the words just kept coming. ‘He thought we were too close. As he explained, Olga was a servant and she didn’t seem to know her place where I was concerned. He said you couldn’t have a nursemaid who was acting like a quasi-mother and, anyway, he was done with commoners.’
‘Oh, Roman, I’m so sorry,’ she breathed, and he steeled himself not to react to the crack of compassion in her voice. ‘That’s terrible.’
‘No, it was not terrible. It was manageable,’ he said fiercely, daring her to contradict him, because he didn’t want to dwell on the pain of that double rejection or how cold and how empty his life had seemed afterwards. ‘After that I had a series of nurses and nannies who looked after me—sometimes men and sometimes women—all of them experts in one field or another.’ But despite the variety of staff who had been engaged to help with his upbringing, they all had one thing in common. They never hugged him. Rarely touched him. Sometimes he’d suspected they’d been instructed to behave that way, but he didn’t investigate further because the thought of that made him feel slightly sick. And anyway he didn’t care, for in the end it had done him a favour and allowed him to view his brave new world with different eyes. Because at least you knew where you were with those people. They would never let you down.
He shot Zabrina a speculative look. ‘Satisfied now?’ he questioned, not bothering to conceal the note of warning in his voice. ‘I don’t think there’s anything else you need to know.’
Zabrina bit her lip. She was aware he wanted her to leave it—why, his body language couldn’t have been more forbidding if he’d tried. But how could she stop asking when there was still so much she didn’t know? There were so many gaps in his story and she needed to fill them, because otherwise he would remain a stranger to her and she suspected she might never get another chance like this.
‘Is she still alive? Your mother, I mean.’
His body tensed. She thought it looked like rippled marble in the moonlight.
‘I have no idea,’ he answered coldly. ‘I stopped writing when I was thirteen and never heard of her again.’
‘And you never tried to have her found, not even when you acceded to the throne? I mean, a king has access to the kind of information which would make that sort of thing easy.’
‘Why on earth would I do that, Zabrina?’ His lips curved disdainfully. ‘Unless you’re one of those people who believes that continued exposure to rejection is somehow character forming?’
‘And Olga?’ she questioned, deciding to ignore his bitter sarcasm. ‘What happened to your nurse?’
‘That I did discover,’ he conceded, giving a brief, hard smile. ‘She went back to live with her family not far from here, in the mountain town of Posera.’
‘And do you—’
‘No! No, that is it!’ he interrupted furiously. ‘You have tested my patience too long and too far, Zabrina, and I will not be subjected to this any longer!’
Without warning, he rose from the bed and began reaching for the scattered clothes which had been discarded when he had arrived soon after midnight.
‘What are you doing?’ She was acutely conscious of the note of alarm in her voice but she couldn’t seem to keep it at bay.
‘What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting dressed. I’m going back to my own room.’
‘But it’s still early.’
‘I’m perfectly aware what the time is.’
‘Roman, there’s no need—’
‘Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong, Zabrina. There is every need,’ he interjected coldly. ‘Because I’m not doing this again. Not ever again.’
‘You mean...’ She could feel the sudden plummet of her heart. ‘You mean you won’t be coming to my bed again?’
‘I don’t know.’ There was a pause. ‘That’s up to you.’
‘I don’t...’ Her fingers dug into the rumpled sheet. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘Don’t you?’ He waited until he had finished pulling on his soft leather boots before flicking her an emotionless look which had replaced the ravaged expression of before. ‘Then let me make it crystal clear for you, just so there won’t be any misunderstandings in the future. A future you need to make a decision about, because you need to know which direction you want to take.’
‘What are you talking about?’ she whispered.
‘I’ll tell you exactly what I’m talking about. I think we have the makings of a good team,’ he said slowly. ‘In public we just need to turn up and wave and fulfil the worthwhile causes close to our hearts. And in private I certainly have no complaints about what takes place between us, because I would be the first to admit that you completely blow my mind. But as for the rest.’ His face grew dark and brooding again. ‘All this other stuff you seem intent on dredging up with your endless probing and questioning. That has to stop and it has to stop right now. I’m not interested in analysing the past or its effect on me—because the past has gone. And neither will I contemplate the kind of future where you do nothing but needle away at me. I can’t and I
won’t tolerate such behaviour. Either you accept the man I am today, or the wedding is off. No more questions. No more analysis. Do you understand what I’m saying to you, Zabrina?’
There was a long silence. She could hear the muffled pounding of her pulse as she looked at him. ‘That sounds like an ultimatum.’