“That’s a vain reason to have children.”
“I’m terribly vain,” he whispers, his breath warm on my lips. “It’s one of my many, many less-than-perfect qualities.”
“I don’t believe you,” I say. And I don’t even though just this morning I would have agreed that Prince Andrew is an egomaniac who is way too fond of taking pictures of his own ass to be taken seriously.
But now…
Now I wonder if he and I might not be playing on the same team, after all.
“You should,” he murmurs.
“I suppose only time will tell,” I counter, ignoring the way his touch makes me burn as he rests his hand on my back and guides me out the door.
Time will tell, indeed.
But I won’t.
I can never tell Andrew or Lizzy how weak I am. Whether they end up walking down the aisle or finding a way out before it’s too late, I will take the shameful fact that I’m attracted to my sister’s fiancé to the grave.
Chapter Eleven
Andrew
Now I’ve gone and done it.
The jig is up, and I only have myself to blame.
I should never have laid it out there like that with the money. Now that Elizabeth knows I’m angling for a way to get rid of her, it’s only a matter of time before she figures out I’m faking the god-awful table manners and the TV show and all the rest of my designed-to-make-her-dump-me behavior.
But there’s a good chance keeping my mouth shut wouldn’t have made a difference, anyway.
She seems determined to see this through. Maybe honoring the betrothal is a point of family pride, as it is for me. Or maybe she realizes that as queen, she stands to gain a lot more than a measly fifty-thousand dollars.
Hell, that’s only half the yearly support allowance she’ll receive as my wife, a number that’s right there in the engagement paperwork our parents and my grandfather hammered out when we were children. Elizabeth knows exactly how much she stands to gain and is too clever to walk away with a penny less.
But glancing over at her flushed cheeks as we crest another rise on the trail leading away from the castle, she doesn’t look like a money-grubbing mercenary intent upon her share of the Gallantian coffers.
She doesn’t look exhausted or asthmatic, either.
Far from it. She seems positively invigorated by the exercise and fresh air, which means this entire afternoon and step two in Operation Prince Charmless—ruthlessly drive home how exhausting it will be for an asthmatic homebody to be married to an avid outdoorsman—has been a waste of time.
Dammit.
“I’m so happy to see you in good health,” I say, a hint of bitterness creeping into the words. Hoping she won’t notice, I force a smile as I add, “I remember when we were children, you had a hard time keeping up with the rest of us. You always had your inhaler in the pocket of your little pink coat. What did you call it? Your huffer?”
“My puffer. But I was actually just going to ask if we could take a break,” she says with a winded laugh. “My asthma isn’t as severe as it used to be, but I do struggle sometimes. Especially at higher elevations.”
“Of course. I’m always up for a rest. And I can point out a few of my old haunts while we’re at it.” I step off the trail into the shade of a stand of silvery-leaved olive trees, studying her covertly as she props her hands on her knees, making a show of catching her breath.
Or maybe she’s just catching her breath, asshole. Why are you so fucking suspicious of the woman all of a sudden?
It’s an excellent question, and one I can’t answer right away.
Why am I so suspicious of Elizabeth this afternoon? Is it because I’m looking for an excuse to think the worst of her? To think about anything except how pretty she is and how sweet she smells and how much I want to kiss her?
The temptation to taste her gets more intense with every second spent in her presence. I’m half out of my mind with wanting her, and we’ve been at this engagement thing for less than a day.
At this rate, she’ll be expecting our first child before we walk down the aisle.
Except that she won’t because I’m not going to kiss her, let alone sleep with her. An arranged marriage isn’t what I want for myself or my country. And even if Elizabeth and I appear to get along well enough so far, polite conversation and attraction aren’t enough to sustain a marriage.
She stands, brushing her hair from her face with a smile. “Old haunts, you said?”
“Yes.” I turn, pointing to the horizon line to the left. “See the top of that water tower?” When she makes a soft sound of confirmation, I add, “That’s where I would hide when it was time for Latin lessons. I’ve always loved languages, but I couldn’t see the point in learning a dead one, and the guards were always too scared to climb after me when I ended up there.” She laughs, and I try not to think about how much I like the sound of it as I point to the right. “And at the bottom of that hill is the abandoned stable. Jeffrey and I played soldiers there when we were small, and Nick and I met girls there when we were older.”