‘It’s Gregor Escalona. And his wife.’
Beside her Alexei had stilled, his powerful body freezing in shock and rejection. She could almost feel the pulse of anger along the length of his frame. It was there in the tightening of the hand that held hers, the extra pressure of the one now clamped against her spine, the delicate dancer’s hold replaced by something that felt disturbingly like imprisonment, a fierce control that shocked and upset her.
‘Alexei...’ she began, her use of his name clashing with the way he said hers.
‘Ria...’
It shocked her because it sounded so rough, so ominous it made her heart thump nervously. Instinctively she wrenched herself out of his constraining hold, swivelling round against the pressure of his hands. Her vision blurring in disbelief, she could only stand and stare as she tried to take in the impossible reality of what she saw.
‘Mum! And—and—’
And her father.
Her father who had just made his way into the room and was now standing at the top of the steps, her mother beside him. He looked paler, thinner, diminished somehow, though nothing like as pale and wan as Elizabetta who was holding onto his arm for grim death, and seeming dangerously close to collapsing in a heap on the floor if she loosened her grip. It couldn’t be real; it was impossible. Her father was still locked away in the state prison, his freedom dependent on her marriage to Alexei...
But there wasn’t going to be a marriage any more.
‘Ria.’
Alexei’s hands were on her shoulders, straining to turn her round, working against the instinctive resistance she put up. She couldn’t believe what was happening. Why this was happening? Why they were there?
‘Ria, look at me!’
One hand had come up in a slashing gesture to silence the orchestra and the whole room was suddenly still and frozen. In the quiet, the note of command was enough to take the strength from her. Her shoulders slumped and she found herself swung back again to face him, trapped in the sudden circles of isolation that had formed round them as every one of the other dancers froze, silently watching.
She had only a moment to look up into his dark, shuttered face, see the glare of fury he directed at her father, before he moved again suddenly, stunning her by going down on one knee right there in front of her. In front of the whole crowded ballroom.
Alexei—don’t. She tried to open her mouth to say the words but nothing would come out. She knew just what was coming and she couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t cope with this. Not now; not like this.
Please, not like this...
She wanted to run but Alexei’s grip tightened around it, holding her still. But what held her stiller was the deep, dark gaze that clashed with hers from behind the black silk mask.
‘Ria, I didn’t do this right last time. I want to do it properly now. I want your family—all the country—to know that I want you to be my queen. I don’t want to be king without you at my side.’
‘No...’ She tried again but her voice was only a thin thread of sound, buried under the buzz of curiosity, the murmurs of incredulity and interest that came from their audience who were clearly hanging on to every word.
‘Ria—will you marry me?’
Was the room really swinging round her, lurching nauseously, or was that just the rush of shock and panic to her head? She could see that her parents had been prevented from moving forward, the security guard putting a restraining hand on her father’s arm, her mother stopping at his side though her eyes were fixed on her daughter’s face. She saw the stunned, astonished, the frankly curious expressions on the faces of those around them, expressions that even the concealing masks could not disguise. And there, at her feet, was Alexei...
Alexei, the man she loved and whose proposal she would have so loved to hear—if only he had meant it. But not like this! Only this evening he had told her that he didn’t want to marry her, that he was breaking off their engagement, that it was over. So this...
So this could only be some cold-blooded political statement. A statement of power in front of every dignitary, every statesman at the ball.
The conditions were that I would free your father when you became my wife. Call it a wedding day gift from me.
Oh, why did she have to remember that? But it had to be what was behind it—the need to show the world, the court and her father, that Alexei was the one with the power. That he was totally in control.
Here she was, with the whole court hanging on her every word, with her parents looking on. The freedom—temporary, surely—her father was enjoying hit home to her how easily Alexei could change everything, order everything with a flick of his head just as he had silenced the orchestra just moments before.
He had presented her with an ultimatum. Accept his proposal, here in the most public place possible, or everything he held over her would fall into place in the most appalling way.
She had thought that she couldn’t face a future without him in it. But how could she ever have a future with a man who would force her hand in this way? Who would go to these lengths to emphasise the power he had over her?
‘I can’t!’ she gasped, tasting the salt of her own tears sliding into her mouth as she flung the words into the silence, not daring to look into Alexei’s face to see the effect they had as they landed. ‘I won’t marry you! And you can’t make me!’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I WON'T MARRY YOU!
The words seared through Alexei’s thoughts, burning an agonising trail behind them.
I won’t marry you! And you can’t make me!
‘Make you?’
Alexei got slowly to his feet, his eyes still fixed on her indignant face, the way that her proud head was held so high, the green eyes flashing wild defiance into his. The stunned silence around him reflected his own shock and confusion, taking it and multiplying it inside his head.
He had been so sure. So convinced that at last he was on the right track with Ria. He knew he had pushed too hard, forced her into the position as his fiancée because he wanted her so much. And as a result she had felt bullied, trapped.
So he had come up with what had seemed like the perfect plan. To let her go, set her free. He had even arranged for her father to be liberated as a symbol of everything he wanted for her. But at the last minute he had known he couldn’t go through with it. And something about her tonight, a new delicacy, a touch of melancholy, had given him a foolish, wild hope. He had known that he had to try.
He’d hoped a fresh proposal—one at the event that she had always longed to attend—might have some magic in it. But, if the truth were told, it had had the exact opposite effect of the one he had been looking for.