After his conversation with Daxon, he’d kept his distance the first couple of days. Daxon’s harsh laughter had echoed in his ears every time he’d even thought about Clara. The tiny seed of doubt that had been planted after they’d made love on top of his desk had rooted itself deep in his heart, cunningly winding its way through his veins until it had leaped up and nearly strangled him following the phone call. To look at Clara and think that he had placed her in the same position his father had placed so many women, including Alaric’s own mother, had made him so angry at himself he couldn’t bear to be around her.
His anger had gradually subsided as he’d focused on work. When he’d gone down to the kitchen to grab a sandwich on the second day, he’d seen the door to the library open and found Clara sleeping in the chair by the fireplace.
Beautiful. That had been his first thought as his eyes had greedily moved over her sleeping form, from the gentle wisps of blond hair escaping from her bun to her dark lashes resting on her pale cheeks. She’d fallen asleep with a book in one hand and her cheek resting in the other. The urge to kneel before her, lean in and gently kiss her awake before scooping her in his arms and taking her back to the master suite had been overwhelming. He’d focused his attention instead on building a fire to ward off the chill seeping through the massive windows overlooking the lake and draping a blanket over her before returning to his office.
Eventually they would introduce physical intimacy into their relationship. He wanted more children. Hopefully she did, too. But when that happened, it needed to be the way his past relationships had been conducted, with a focus solely on physical pleasure. To act when he was feeling this muddled mix of emotions, of anger and guilt and a different type of attraction than what he’d felt for any other woman, was to court chaos.
However, not spending time with his wife was a cowardly move. He’d heard her move around in the adjoining suite that morning and had gone downstairs to join her for breakfast. He hadn’t been expecting Clara to agree to his joining her for a walk. And he hadn’t missed the disappointment that had flashed in her eyes before she’d withdrawn and told him to take the call.
He’d hesitated, almost invited her to join him...but he hadn’t. Daxon’s parting words from their last phone conversation had left their mark. It bothered him how much he missed spending time with Clara, her insight and attention to detail. The more he wanted to seek her out, the more he resisted. It had been easier when his engagement to Celestine had kept a barrier between them and he’d been able to just enjoy her company.
Yet by letting Daxon’s insults guide his actions, he was giving his father power.
That disquieting thought followed him throughout the house as he searched for his wife. As each room proved to be empty, his frustration turned to concern. Where had she gone?
He pulled out his phone and tried calling her. Concern turned to panic when the call went straight to voice mail. A moment later, he dialed his head of security.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Where is my wife?”
“She left two hours ago with the driver and Stefan. They went into Rolle.”
Clara soaked up the ambience of the little bookstore as she pulled a particularly worn volume off a rickety shelf. The bookstore was in the basement of a restaurant, the worn brick walls and creaky wood floors a haven that had welcomed her with open arms. Even though her designated bodyguard, Stefan, loomed near the doorway, she’d politely but firmly him told not to follow her into the stacks of books.
It would take some getting used to, having a bodyguard shadow her every move when she went out. But for right now, with the low murmur of other customers’ voices underlying the soft jazz drifting out from hidden speakers, she could pretend that she was just a normal shopper.
She’d cracked open the book and was scanning the pages when the back of her neck prickled. Pine overrode the scent of old books, wrapping around her with a sensual warmth that let her know exactly who was standing behind her.
“Good evening, Your Highness.”
“What are you doing here?”
Alaric’s growl made her shiver in a not unpleasant way. Although judging by the thinly veiled anger in his voice, he was not pleased at her trip into town.
“I’m trying to locate my wife, who apparently doesn’t understand basic security protocol for members of the royal family.”
“Perhaps I would be more familiar if my husband had enough time to say more than ‘good morning’ to me,” she retorted before she could stop herself. If the man wanted to keep her at arm’s length, fine, but to keep her prisoner, too? Absolutely not.
Alaric started to say something, but the arrival of a loud tourist group drowned out whatever he was about to say. He grabbed her by the elbow and steered her down the aisle away from the crowd. The narrow shelves zigzagged back and forth in a maze she could have spent hours exploring. Judging by how quickly Alaric was moving, though, she was done exploring for the day.
Claustrophobia pressed in on her. Was this to be her life? Cooped up in the palace or whatever residence they were hiding in, never allowed to go out and do anything resembling a normal life?
They reached the back of the store. Clusters of chairs had been gathered into reading nooks, including several with thick velvet curtains. Alaric guided her into one and undid the gold rope holding the curtains back.
“Do not let anyone within ten feet of us,” Alaric barked over her shoulder. She barely caught a glimpse of Stefan turning to stand guard between them and the rest of the bookstore before the curtain fell.
Leaving them in a tight space lit only by the dim glow of a lamp. The intimacy of the space, coupled with the low lighting and the rich, seductive color of the curtains and matching chairs, reminded her of a bordello. It would be all too easy to allow the intimate atmosphere to prompt her into doing something foolish like kissing her husband.
She wrenched her arm free and sat in one of the overstuffed chairs. The more distance between them, the better. Having an attack of hormones was not in her best interest right now.
“I took a guard with me.”
“And failed to notify me that you were leaving the house.”
Alaric prowled back and forth, his large frame filling up the small space. He reminded her of a caged panther with his dark hair, black V-neck sweater and matching pants. The sleeves had been pushed up to his elbows, revealing his powerful forearms.
“I didn’t realize I had to ask permission every time I stepped out the front door.”