He’d wanted to steal her away, run so that she wouldn’t be crushed by the purpose of others. Still, no matter his desire, she’d been about to be packed off to some hellish finishing school. A place that taught women to aspire to nothing more than advantageous marriages, bent on turning her into a beautiful clone. By some miracle she’d survived without losing herself. There had been nothing careful and suppressed about Lise that first night. In a room of pale imitations, she’d stood out as unique. So he’d waited. He had patience. She’d needed to find her place in the world before finding it at his side then in his bed. He knew enough about the machinations of the palace to ensure it happened.
After waiting so long for this day it had taken all his strength to walk away. Not to take her in a mind-numbing kiss.
He took a deep, calming breath. They had three days away from official duties. That meant he had three days to make inroads on the siege for his wife’s body and soul. To tease, to tempt. She’d come to him willingly, begging him by the end of it. If he were a betting man, he’d bet on being in Lise’s bed inside a fortnight.
Rafe removed his great-grandfather’s cufflinks from his shirt and placed them carefully on the gilt dresser. Precious heirlooms that reminded him how far he’d come from the cursed farm boy of his youth. Taking his family company and their working-class wealth and turning it into billions. He poured a glass of the single malt whisky he’d requested and took a slug, enjoying the peaty burn in the back of his throat. Swallowing down the anger, mostly at himself. The irritations he suffered at his current situation were nothing when compared to Lise’s recent loss. Even though her mother was renowned as a cold, ambitious woman and her father as licentious and profligate. Then the brother who’d exhibited meagre promise but descended into reckless pleasure-seeking, no doubt following his father’s example. Whatever the truth of them and however Lise might delude herself, they were still her family.
He needed to remember she was deep in grief, and he well knew the cost of that emotion. Plus, tonight they were still playing a role, and, as a seemingly caring husband, he should check on his wife.
Rafe picked up the internal palace phone and requested a delivery from the kitchens to the Queen’s room. A peace offering, of sorts. Or perhaps his opening salvo. He walked through his expansive apartments to the door that separated him from Lise. A door for which he now had the key. He smiled.
Let the siege begin.
CHAPTER FOUR
LISESTOODATthe window, overlooking her city decked with banners and flowers for her wedding and coronation. She winced at the light of the bright autumn day as she downed two painkillers in one gulp of water. She should close the curtains, shut out the sunshine that caused her head to pound, but ever since her family’s deaths she couldn’t, at the risk of the room closing in on her, leaving her gasping and breathless.
She walked to the bed. Perhaps lying down would help, but on the coverlet lay an exquisite negligee her dressmaker had made as a surprise gift. It taunted her, that fragile piece of wedding-night trousseau. Fine, cream georgette, sheer as cobwebs. Cut in with plunging lace and delicate embroidery. A peignoir lay next to it, designed to allow tantalising glimpses of the wearer. Alluring and seductive. She was used to expensive clothes. Cashmere, silk, the finest of wools. Satin evening gowns requiring a surprising number of foundation garments to hold you in or push you out in all the right places to get them to fit with the perfection envisaged by the designers. But this. Overtly sensual, like nothing she’d ever placed against her skin.
Lise picked up the corner of the nightgown, light as air. What if she slipped it on for tonight? She could wear things like this to bed, she supposed. But this garment seemed overly decadent. Anyway, she knew that an item like this wasn’t meant to be worn to sleep. Goosebumps flourished over her skin. Its purpose was to be viewed through male eyes. Something meant to be appreciated in a sweet burst like fairy floss and then melt away at the first touch.
She dropped the fine fabric, teasing under her fingers. It wasn’t for her. It could go the same way as her wedding gown. Taken away to be stored in the royal collection with her mother’s clothes and all the other wedding finery before it. Held for posterity to be viewed when she was long dead, and her family relegated to history. It seemed a fitting place to bury it, leaving no trace of the Queen who’d married earlier in the day.
Almost.
Lise twisted at the wedding ring sitting on her finger. It gleamed with the burnish of old gold. She wanted to rip it off but knew she must get used to the constant prickle, since it was there till death. Which was what was engraved on the inner surface, in French.Jusqu’à la mort.She shivered. There was something almost macabre about the thought. The finality. Though even she had to admit it was an exquisite piece of jewellery. The wide golden band appeared sectioned, each panel inlaid with delicate, alternating enamelled flowers. Daisies and roses. Impossibly fine workmanship. If circumstances had been different, if she’d been able to believe she’d meant something to Rafe, if they’d loved each other, then this ring would have signified so much. If, if, if. None of those things were relevant to her, to this marriage. She needed to forget the romantic ideals she’d held once before her rude awakening and move on.
All she’d proved to herself was that Rafe didn’t love her.
The crack and creak of a rarely opened door disturbed her thoughts. She whipped round, the sudden movement increasing the pounding of her head. Lise put her hand to her temple again as Rafe walked through the freshly opened doorway.
‘What the hell are you doing here?’
‘Hello to you too, Lise.’
Rafe had changed. Gone was the urbane gentleman from her wedding. Before her stood a man dressed in casual trousers, with shirtsleeves rolled up to show his muscular forearms. The front unbuttoned so she caught glimpses of the dark hair on his chest. All of her tightened, as if she didn’t fit her own skin. As if she’d burst out of it as a butterfly splitting from its chrysalis.
She didn’t like the feeling. At. All.
‘I asked you a question!’
The corner of his lip curled in a mild, indulgent kind of smile.
‘Apologies. I thought the answer was obvious. I came to visit my wife. To chat about how she felt the wedding went. The normal intercourse between newly married people.’
He strolled further into the room, looking over everything with an astute, all-seeing gaze. Rafe overpowered the space. His presence bigger than the person, obliterating all else. He stroked a finger gently over the surface of a delicate antique French writing desk. It was as if he were looking for cracks, imperfections. Looking for a way in.
She crossed her arms in a protective move, but she didn’t feel protected.
‘It was a productive day. I woke up. I dressed. I got married. I was crowned Queen. The end, goodbye.’
‘We’re far from the end of the day yet.’ His voice stroked over her as soft and seductive as the silk negligee on her bed, which Rafe was now looking at with unalloyed fascination. Her cheeks heated.
‘It’s over for me.’ She glanced past his shoulder at the opening to his apartments. Once her brother’s, though Ferdinand had vacated them years before. The dust covers only recently removed to accommodate a husband. The shard of pain stabbed to the heart of her, but she ignored it. Lise nodded towards the open space. ‘That door’s usually kept locked.’
He slid his hand into his trouser pocket, pulled out a key. ‘I have this.’
‘How did you get it?’ She’d requested he be placed in the King’s Chambers rather than here. Then he’d be halfway around the palace, well away from her.