Thierry felt her words as if they were a physical assault.
“I will respect her and honor her as my consort and I will do everything in my power to make sure she is happy. Isn’t that enough?”
Angel looked at him with pity in her eyes. “What do you think, Hawk? If you loved someone and respect and honor was all you could expect from them for the rest of your life, do you think that would be enough for you? Isn’t that no more than your father offered your mother?”
Thierry snorted. “He did not respect her nor did he give a damn for her happiness. She was a vessel for his heir—no more, no less—and when she refused him and wouldn’t share his bed he found others more accommodating.”
She looked shocked. Clearly she had not heard the rumors about his father’s many affairs. None of them proven, of course, but Thierry knew they had happened. Discreetly and very much behind closed doors. Where else had the idea of a courtesan come from but his father? Hell, the man had even offered to arrange one for Thierry. He studied Angel carefully.
“I would never treat my wife so cruelly,” he assured her. “I will ensure that she is always treated with the dignity due to a princess.”
“But you want more than that from her,” she argued. “You want her to love you. Yet you won’t offer her love in return?”
“I...cannot promise her that,” he choked out.
The shock had faded from her face, but now it was replaced with disappointment.
“Then I am sorry for your bride,” she said eventually, her voice hollow. “Because I could not live without love.”
She turned and went inside the lodge and he watched her every step feeling as if, piece by piece, slices of his heart were being torn from him. She could not live without love? He didn’t even know what love was. He’d never experienced it firsthand. But he did understand attraction and how it could lead to trouble.
He turned and walked away from the lodge and headed back into the woods, stopping only when he could no longer feel the pull that urged him to follow her. To apologize for the things he’d said and to tell her that—
That what?
That he loved her? The idea was ridiculous. He was drawn to her, but that was all.
He should have stuck with his decision last night and sent her away. This whole exercise was a waste of time. He was not achieving his objectives, only complicating matters. With the thought firming in his mind, he returned to the lodge. The words telling her that her services were no longer required hovered on his tongue until she turned to face him and he could see she’d been crying.
Pain shafted him like an arrow straight to his heart and he crossed the floor to gather her into his arms. She resisted a little, at first, then gave in to his embrace.
“I am sorry,” he murmured as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Y-you didn’t,” she hiccupped on a sob. “It was me and my stupid ideals.”
“It isn’t stupid to want to be loved,” he countered.
As he said the words, he realized that he meant them. That they weren’t the hollow uttering of a man so jaded by his parents and so many of the people in his sphere that he’d lost all belief in love. When he was with Angel, he wanted to believe that love was possible. But he couldn’t even begin to contemplate such a thing with her. She was his courtesan, not his princess. Which begged the question, why did she feel so right in his arms and why did every particle in his body urge him to simply follow his instincts and to revel in all she could offer?
Angel pulled loose from his arms and stepped back.
“It isn’t the role of a courtesan to be loved,” she said bleakly. “But I do think you should at least be open to loving your wife if you expect to have a long and happy marriage. You seem to have this idea that you must keep her happy, which is admirable. But should she not also provide that same service to you?”
Her question raised an interesting point. “I hadn’t considered that necessary until now,” Thierry conceded.
“So now you believe it is necessary?”
He nodded. “I do. You have a lot to teach me, Angel. I’m glad you’re here.”
She hesitated before speaking. Her eyes raking his face—to see, perhaps, if he was telling her the truth. He would not have thought it possible, but every word he’d told her had been truthful. And now, having begun to understand how he felt, he realized just how much he wanted what she had suggested. Could he hope to achieve that with Princess Mila?
He cast his mind back and tried to assimilate how he felt now with the young woman he remembered. Try as he might, the ideas of love and intimacy did not spring immediately to mind. And yet, when he turned his attention back to Angel, he had no difficulty at all.
“So you’re not going to send me away?” Angel asked, lifting that softly rounded chin of hers in a challenge.
“How did you—?”
“It was only natural you would consider it. You are a king. I opposed your thinking, contested what you said. You could do with me whatever you wanted.”
Thierry felt a flush of shame color his cheeks. “It crossed my mind,” he admitted ruefully. “I would like to think that I am man enough to withstand a bit of criticism, but it seems that I am a little different from everyone else when it comes to that.”
“Your wife may not always agree with you, but she will still be your wife. How do you plan to cope with that? You can’t exactly throw her down an oubliette these days, or banish her to a convent.”
There was a thread of humor in Angel’s voice, but beneath it he detected a genuine concern for the woman he was intending to marry.
“I hadn’t considered my marriage in those terms. But you can rest assured that I will neither imprison nor banish my queen consort.”
“Well, that’s reassuring,” she commented with a touch of acerbity. “She has much to look forward to then, doesn’t she?”
“I will do my best,” Thierry said firmly. “And you will help me to deliver that, won’t you?”
Again there was that hesitation, as if she was turning over his request in her mind before reaching her conclusion.
“Yes. I will,” she promised.
Angel crossed the kitchen to the massive double refrigerator that hummed energetically.
“Eggs and bacon?” she asked over her shoulder after giving the contents a cursory glance.
“Sure. What can I do to help?” he offered.
“Nothing. Just leave it to me.”
“Leave the cleanup to me, then. If you don’t mind I’ll go and shower.”
She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “That’s fine.”
Thierry started to leave the kitchen and hesitated a second in the doorway. He was burning to ask her why their earlier encounter had made her cry. The memory of seeing her tears sent another shock of pain through him, reminding him that he was allowing himself to become too emotionally attached to this woman.
He resolutely continued on his way upstairs, determined not to think about Angel and how she had so easily inveigled her way beneath his barriers. Somehow he had to find a way to keep her in her place—to keep things simple and straightforward between them. Teacher—to—pupil—and that was all.
* * *
It had been several days since that first ride in the woods, and she and Thierry had settled into a pattern, of sorts. They spent their early mornings riding or walking in the woods. Together they had covered a wide variety of conversational topics and Mila took every opportunity to encourage him to do so—hoping that he would continue to seek her opinion once they were married. It began to weigh upon her that he would probably not be too thrilled when he discovered her deception, but she rationalized that with his own desire to know how to please her. Who better to instruct him than herself?
Their evenings, on the other hand, were a lesson in torture. After that first day, Thierry had begun to ask her advice about the physical side of a man and a woman’s relationship. About the gentle touches that a couple might enjoy together in a nonsexual way to reinforce their togetherness. It had seemed only natural for Mila to steer their conversation toward more intimate and sensual matters and last night, by the time she ascended the stairs to her rooms, every nerve in her body had been screaming for release. Satisfying her frustration in the deep spa bath in her en suite bathroom had left her feeling physically gratified but emotionally empty and strung out. Judging by Thierry’s bear-headedness this morning, he had been left feeling much the same way.
When she’d told him she would not be riding with him this morning, but planned instead to take advantage of the beautiful library, with its floor-to-ceiling shelves, on the ground floor of the lodge, he’d been short with her to the point of rudeness. She’d let him go without comment, even though his words and manner had left her feeling as if she’d done ten rounds with an angry wasp’s nest. The skies had opened shortly after he’d left on Sleipnir and he hadn’t returned for several hours.
It was hard to concentrate on the book she’d selected from the shelves as she waited for him to return. She’d lit the fire set in the grate and the library was warm and cozy, a wonderful retreat on what had rapidly turned into an unpleasant day. Mila had totally given up on reading by the time she heard the clatter of hooves on the courtyard outside. She looked out the window and saw Thierry dismount and lead Sleipnir into the barn. It was half an hour before he came inside the lodge and went straight upstairs.
She put the book she’d taken back on its shelf and composed herself in a chair in front of the fire—keeping her focus on the dancing flames and wondering what type of mood Thierry would be in for the balance of the day. She would need to be able to recognize and handle them all, she reminded herself, even though she had shrunk from attempting to appease him this morning. And why should she appease him, she asked herself. A man was entitled to his moods as much as she was. And she’d certainly been in a terrible mood this morning. Had he tried to appease her? Not at all, in fact he’d done his level best to exacerbate her frustration. It seemed they both had a lot to learn about living with one another, she reflected with the benefit of hindsight.
The door to the library flung open and, even though she had expected Thierry, she started in surprise.
“Oh, you’re back,” she said, forcing nonchalance into her voice as if she hadn’t been counting every tick on the centuries-old clock that hung on the library wall. “Did you have a nice ride?”
“I did not,” he answered in clipped tones.
She quieted the sense of unease that built in her stomach. If he was going to be in a mood all day then it might be best if they didn’t spend any more time together just yet. She watched him as he stalked to the fireplace and spread his hands in front of him, absorbing the heat as if he was chilled to the bone.
“I’m sorry to hear it,” she said as lightly as she could, and rose from her seat. “Would you like me to leave you alone?”
Thierry whirled around and grabbed her hand, jerking her around to face him as she began to walk away. “No, I would not.”
She wasn’t certain exactly what happened next, but within seconds she was pulled up against the hardness of his body and his lips had descended upon hers. This kiss was vastly different from the one they’d shared in New York, and equally so from the one after their first morning ride. This embrace was about him dominating her, using the kiss to express his anger and frustration. She knew it would be impossible to pull away when he held her so tightly, so she did the opposite. She became unresponsive in his arms—her hands still by her side, her mouth unmoving as he attempted to plunder her lips.
She wanted nothing more than to wrench herself from his embrace and to leave this room, leave him to his wrath, but within seconds she felt a change begin to come over him. In an instant his arms loosened around her, allowing her the freedom to pull free, and his mouth lifted from hers. Instead of stepping away, however, she held her ground.
“Do you feel better now?” she asked in as level a voice as she could muster.
Somehow it seemed more important to her to face up to him than to walk away. They needed to do this, to face the demons that had raised his ire and to deal with them.
Shame filled his face and Mila felt a wave of compassion sweep over her. He was a man in so very many ways and yet, when it came to his emotions, he was as untutored as a child.
“I should not have done that. Angel, I’m sorry. If you wish to leave I won’t stand in your way. I’ll arrange for a car immediately.”
“That won’t be necessary. You contracted me to do a job, and I won’t leave until I have finished my contract. However—” she allowed a small smile to pull at her lips “—it seems I have been remiss in my duties if that is the best you can do.”
She watched his eyes as disgrace at his behavior warred with the pride of a sovereign born. Eventually both were replaced with something else, humility.
“Again, I apologize. Perhaps you would afford me another opportunity to show you how much I have learned.”
She didn’t have time to speak before he drew her more gently against him. One hand lifted to her chin and tilted her face upward so her eyes met his and nothing else existed between them.
“Angel? May I kiss you?” he asked.
She nodded ever so slightly, but it was all the encouragement he needed. This time, as his lips claimed hers he did so with infinite care, coaxing a response from her that made her blood sing along her veins while her body unfurled with desire and heat. He traced the seam of her lips with the tip of his tongue, making her open her mouth on a sigh of longing that went soul deep.
This was what she wanted from him. A sharing of connection that opened them both up to one another—that stripped everything bare and left them each vulnerable and exposed and yet safe in the knowledge that they each had only the other’s best interests at heart.
Mila cupped his face with her hands and deepened their kiss, her tongue sweeping into his mouth and stroking the inside of his lips, his tongue, until her senses were filled with the texture and taste of him. Thierry groaned into her mouth, the sound giving her a sense of power and yet making her recognize his susceptibility toward her was a gift beyond measure.
Thierry’s hands swept beneath the sweater she’d pulled on this morning, his fingertips touching her bare skin and leaving a trail of fire in their wake as he stroked the line of her spine then splayed his fingers across her rib cage as if he couldn’t get enough of her. His mouth left hers and he peppered the edge of her jaw with tiny kisses that tracked toward the curve of her throat. Mila shivered as he kissed the hollow at her earlobe then followed the line of her throat to the curve of her shoulder and down the deep V of her sweater.
Her breasts ached for his touch, for the tug of his lips at the taut, sensitive peaks. And then his hands were cupping her, the clasp of her bra undone without her even realizing it and the coarse strength of his fingers gently kneaded at her fullness. The pads of his thumbs brushed across her nipples so sweetly and gently she couldn’t hold back the moan of longing that had built from deep within her core.
Mila’s legs shook and she felt a combination of heat and moisture at the juncture of her thighs, intermingled with an ache that she knew only Thierry could assuage. She flexed her hips against him, felt the hard evidence of his arousal pressing back in return.
She drifted her hands down his strong neck, over those broad shoulders and down, down, down until she could pull at the hem of his shirt and tug it from his jeans—could finally feel the satin smoothness of his skin as she stroked him, her fingertips tingling as she encountered the smattering of hair on his belly, just above the waistband of his jeans. Her fingers were clumsy as she reached for his belt, guided by instinct and desire over expertise.
And then his hands were at her wrists, tugging them away from their task, lifting them upward to his mouth where he kissed first one wrist then another before letting her go. She was speechless and shaking with need, unable to speak to voice any objection when he reached under her sweater and refastened the clasp at her back. When it was refastened, he drew her back into his arms in a hold that, in its innocence, defied all logic of the passion they’d just shared.
Beneath her ear she could hear his heart beat in rapid staccato and his breath came in short, sharp bursts—much the same as her own. She felt the pressure of his lips on the top of her head and then his arms loosed her again and he stepped away.
For endless seconds they could only stare at one another. She had no idea what he expected of her now. What he thought she might say. She only knew that their embrace had ended all too swiftly and that the physical hunger that clawed at her was nothing compared to the way he’d beguiled his way into her heart. That kiss had been an exhibition of what their relationship could have been, had it been given the chance to be nurtured and grow in a normal manner. Instead, they faced one another with untruths between them—her untruths, her manipulation, her lies.
How could she ever come back from this and expect him to trust her? She’d believed that the end justified the means, but how wrong had she been? He’d said that fidelity was everything to him. Wasn’t honesty a part of that? Hadn’t he kissed her just now with his soul laid bare? A sob rose in her throat but she forced it back down. Reminded herself she was not Princess Mila right here and right now. She was a courtesan—a woman experienced in joys of the heart and pleasures of the body.
Her mind scrambled for the right words, the right level of insouciance that might lessen some of the awful tension that gripped her. She settled for a shaky smile and drew in a long breath.
“If you plan to kiss your wife like that, I’m sure you will find no complaint coming from her quarter. That was—”
“That was dangerous,” Thierry interrupted, releasing her and shoving a shaking hand through his short cropped hair. “When I am near you I am incapable of restraint. I didn’t expect this. I can’t want this and yet I do.”
“You are a man of great passions. I saw that already in New York when we spoke together that night. It only makes sense that your physical passions should be equally as strong as your intellectual ones.” She rested a hand on his chest and let the radiant heat of his body soak up through her palm. “Hawk, do not worry. Everything will be all right.”
But even as she said the words she wondered, would it? Could it, when what lay between them was a thick web of lies?