Jade laughed, the joyous delight in the sound making the pulse of anticipation in his chest turn to something sharp and unbidden. He tensed, shocked by his undisciplined, instinctive response.
What was wrong with him? Why was his reaction to Jade still so volatile?
‘Ella? What a beautiful name,’ Jade said. ‘Thank you so much for these, I will treasure them.’
As she rose back to her feet, the child’s mother curtsied. ‘Thank you so much, Your Majesty. Ella picked them herself this morning—she was desperate to meet you after seeing you on the television. I know this means a lot to her,’ the woman said, the moisture in her eyes making Leo feel uncomfortable.
How many of these walkabouts had he done in the past, without connecting with anyone? He’d always been taught to maintain a formal distance. But Jade’s approach seemed so effortless, so enchanting, so...
He frowned.
He was supposed to be the one in control of this seduction. Not her. He had planned to exploit their physical desire for one another, nothing more.
But from that first day, when Jade had rescued Klaus the palace footman from frostbite—hell, that first night, when he had placed his jacket over her shoulders and seen her eyes go a little misty—he was becoming captivated by every unpredictable move. And all the qualities in her he was discovering.
‘It means a lot to me too,’ Jade said graciously to the mother. ‘You have a lovely child.’
The uncomfortable sensation spread under Leo’s ribs. Warmth yes, admiration yes, but more than that, a disturbing feeling of connection.
And a question that he had begun to ask himself rose to the surface again.
Why did he want to marry this woman? Because the reasons that had been so simple before he had seen her again at the Winter Ball didn’t seem so simple any more.
All the reasons why their union would be a good one—politically and economically for both their monarchies—still applied. In fact they had been exponentially enhanced by her visit. But beneath the expediencies was the yearning—for something that went beyond those reasons. And that disturbed him.
No woman had ever fascinated and excited him the way she did. And he knew his desire to see her each morning at their breakfast table for their schedule briefings, and his reluctance to bid her goodnight at the entrance to her suite of rooms after their evening meal, weren’t just to do with his campaign to get her to agree to the marriage.
‘Leo, say hello,’ Jade prompted, sliding her hand into his.
The mother beamed—it had been duly noted in the press on several occasions already how romantic the people found Jade’s use of the nickname. But as he heard a barrage of camera clicks, he recoiled at the thought that their observers might have seen more in his expression than he wanted them to see. More than he wanted to feel.
He bowed to the child’s mother.
Do the job and then you can leave.
‘A pleasure, madame,’ he said to the mother, who curtsied and then blushed. But as he prepared to leave, the niceties handled, Jade tightened her grip on his hand.
‘Didn’t you forget someone?’ she said. She slanted her gaze to the little girl. ‘I’m sure Ella would like to say hello to you too, Leo.’
There were more clicks, and flashes and the whir of cameras—and for a hideous moment he hesitated, trapped in the glare of the spotlight. A spotlight he had become accustomed to over the years, but had always been careful to keep at a distance.
He stood frozen, the memory that had prickled at his consciousness exploding in his mind’s eye.
The brutal winter wind, the sombre wail of a trumpet dirge, his father’s hand gripping his hard enough to hurt, the pain in his throat as he struggled to swallow the tears.
‘Your mother is dead, Leonardo. Now stop simpering. It is your job as a prince to maintain your dignity at all times.’
‘Leo, is everything okay?’ Jade’s gentle voice dragged him free of the prison of memory.
Everyone was staring at him. The child, her mother, Jade and the press, many of whom were still firing off their shots.
‘Yes, yes, of course,’ he said, wanting it to be so, humiliated beyond belief.
Where the hell had that come from? And why? His mother’s death had been a lifetime ago. So long ago he hardly even remembered her.
‘Are you sad?’ He heard a small voice and looked down to see the child staring up at him with patient, perceptive eyes. And for one weird moment, it was almost as if she could see into his soul. Or rather the soul of that little boy, who had been cast adrift in a sea of other people’s tears, looking for the one face who could rescue him—only to discover she was lost for ever.
‘Not any more,’ he said, his voice rough with emotions he didn’t want to feel—fear, panic, loneliness—but didn’t seem able to stop.