Elizabeth was so quiet on the drive back to the hotel that Rafe could feel his gut twist with worry. She’d started getting weird again when he’d mentioned their fathers and the marriage deal. Mentally he kicked himself. That had upset her before, as well. He should have remembered. What did it matter if she didn’t want to believe she was part of an arranged marriage? Women liked a little romance. Well, he thought, she’d forget about their conversation soon enough when she saw what he had done for her.
He led her back to their room and passed his keycard through the lock, then opened the door and motioned for her to precede him. As she did so, he pressed the button on the entry wall for the lamps in the living area.
Halfway into the room, she stopped dead.
Behind her he was grinning. The florist had done a good job. On the glass table in front of the couch stood a huge crystal vase with an arrangement of red roses, three dozen if they’d done as he ordered, beautifully displayed against a background of greenery and some fine-textured, airy white stuff.
“What’s this?” Her voice sounded strange.
“They’re for you.” He stepped forward and took her hand, drawing it to his lips. “For the mother of my child.”
She half turned and her eyes were wide as she stared up at him. Then she burst into tears and bolted into the bedroom, sobbing.
What the hell—? He was so stunned, he didn’t react at all for a moment.
Then he sprinted to the bedroom door as a feeling of déjà vu assailed him. She wasn’t locking him out again!
But the doorknob turned easily beneath his hand. The bedroom was empty and he could hear water running in the adjoining bathroom. Tentatively he knocked on the door. “Elizabeth?”
“Just a moment.” Her voice sounded strained and muffled.
She didn’t sound as if she planned on camping in there for the night, so he lounged against the closest bureau and waited. It took a while, but finally the doorknob turned and she opened the door. The skin around her eyes was red and puffy, but she wasn’t crying, at least.
He straightened. “What’s wrong?”
She sighed. “Nothing. Thank you for the roses. They’re beautiful.” But her tone was lackluster and she looked at the floor rather than at him. “I’m very tired,” she said. “I’d like to go to bed.”
“All right.” He knew perfectly well she meant alone, but there wasn’t a chance of that. He walked back into the other room and locked the door for the night, then turned off the lights in the living area. By the time he returned, she’d slipped out of the pink dress and wore nothing but the silky undergarments he’d bought her.
She turned, startled, as he came back into the bedroom, but he ignored her reaction, crossing to the bath to turn out the lights. Then he rounded his side of the bed and casually began to undress, removing the tux jacket and unfastening his cuff links and studs.
“What are you doing?” Her voice had the same odd tone it had carried when she’d seen the roses.
Calmly he continued undressing, stepping out of his clothes until he wore nothing but his briefs. “Getting ready for bed. I thought you said you were tired.”
“I am.” She paused and made a helpless gesture with one hand. “I didn’t intend to sleep with you.”
“There’s only one bed,” he pointed out.
“No!” Her voice rose an octave. “I am not sharing a bed with you. Not for sleeping, not for…for any other activity, either.”
He’d had it with guessing what was going through her head. Slowly, deliberately, he began to walk around the bed to where she stood.
She took a step backward for every one of his until finally she was literally backed against a wall and he was directly in front of her. If she wanted to get away from him now, she’d have to crawl across the bed.
“I thought you’d like the roses,” he said. “I’m sorry if they upset you. Will you please tell me why?”
She hesitated, opened her mouth, closed it again. Finally she said, “Red roses are for lovers, for—for special relationships.”
Now he was the one to hesitate. Slowly, feeling as if he was walking down a tunnel without a single glimmer of light, he said, “You…are special to me. Not just because you’re going to have my child.”
Her eyes were shadowed in the light of the single bedside lamp she’d lit. She shook her head. “Don’t sugarcoat it, Rafe. If I weren’t pregnant, if I hadn’t come and sought you out, we’d never have seen each other again.”
He opened his mouth automatically to protest. Then he shut it abruptly. She might be right. Five months ago—hell, one month ago—he couldn’t have imagined himself feeling like this, couldn’t have imagined his life without her. She’d been there in the back of his mind for months, and now that she was in his life he wasn’t letting her go. Baldly, he said, “You’re probably right. If you’d stayed in Wynborough, we never would have seen each other again. But—” he reached out and slowly cupped the warm, soft flesh of her cheek in his hand, framing her jawline with his thumb “—you did come after me. You were smarter than I was. And I’m glad. I don’t want to be without you. Not because of the baby. Because of you.”
She swallowed. He felt the movement beneath his hand. “Rafe, I can’t—”
“Shhh.” He stepped closer, gathering her into his embrace, rubbing his chin over the top of her head and tucking her against his heart. “Don’t analyze it to death. Just accept it.”
Bending his head, he kissed her temple then her cheek, then tilted up her face with his thumb beneath her chin and brushed soft kisses over her eyelids, the bridge of her nose, finally nuzzling his way down to her mouth. She was warm and soft and pliant in his arms and he could feel her begin to tremble as she became aware of the arousal he couldn’t hide as his body reacted to the scents and feel of woman, his woman.
“I want you,” he said against her mouth. He bent his knees and kissed her throat, then trailed tiny kisses down the smooth flesh swelling at her breasts until the silky fabric of her slip stopped him. “May I?” he whispered.
She was leaning back against the wall now, her hands in his hair, eyes closed. Without opening them she nodded her permission, and his blood heated as he realized he’d convinced her to stay with him.
Slowly he reached down and found the hem of the slip, drawing it over her head. Her bra clasped in the front and he set his fingers at the little hook, gently snapping it apart and pushing it back off her shoulders, letting her pretty, pink-tipped breasts bob free. She was so beautiful. His throat grew tight at the realization that she was his now. He wondered if she knew he never planned to let her get away…but this wasn’t the time to discuss it. Slowly he raised his hands, cupping the soft, full globes in his palms and gently brushing his thumbs back and forth across the nipples.
She began to breathe faster, her head lolling back against the wall, and the lamplight slanted across her face, making her look mysterious and sensual and desirable. He bent again and placed his mouth right at the place where her breasts met in the center, licking his way down the sweet crevice and then continuing on around the base of one pretty mound. He moved his hand and flicked his tongue over her flesh in an ever-decreasing spiral until finally, he was nearly at the peaked nipple. But he didn’t close his mouth over the enticing tip until she moaned and her hands came up to his head, threading through his hair to cradle his skull and guide him to her.
Victorious, he suckled the tight bud, lashing it again and again with his tongue, moving finally to treat the other nipple to the same attentions. Her fingers clenched and loosened and clenched again in his hair, and the unconscious actions fired his own arousal, pushing him heavily against the restraining fabric of his briefs and making him ache with the need to bury himself within her.
But he wanted this time to last. He wanted her to want him, to need the sweet invasion of his body as badly as he needed to immerse himself in her hot depths. And so he lingered over her breasts, suckling strongly then gently laving the puckered flesh until she was quivering before him, her hips shifting in small circles, tiny moans escaping her throat each time he increased the sweet torture.
Finally he allowed her hands to push him down, away from her breasts and he trailed his lips over the satiny flesh of her abdomen to the swell that contained his child. Turning his head, he slid to his knees and lay his cheek against her, savoring the sweetness of the moment. But she was too needy to be satisfied with such gentle actions and soon he explored the tender flesh below with his mouth until the edge of her panties, riding low beneath the fullness of her womb, made him pause.
He grasped the lacy fabric with his teeth and tugged gently, pulling the garment down, burying his nose in the spicy curls that lay exposed before him. Hooking his fingers into the fabric, he slid her panties down and off, and sat back to view the results of his labor.
If he could stand the thought of another man seeing her nude, he’d have her painted just like this, head thrown back, red hair a wild tangle down her back, hands braced on the wall behind her and one leg cocked slightly open, inviting him to search the sweetness hidden in her shadows. But there was no way any other man was getting within a mile of her naked glory. He didn’t care how primitive and possessive it sounded. She was his and his alone. Forever.
The thought shook him slightly. And because it was an uncomfortable one to contemplate, he let her siren’s call distract him, freeing himself from his confining briefs, letting his straining flesh spring free in anticipation. Leaning forward again, he placed his mouth directly over the shadowed crease in her feminine mound, gently blowing a warm stream of breath over her. She made a low sound of surprise, and he drew back, putting his hands on the insides of her thighs and shifting her stance wide, baring her pink, pouting flesh to his gaze.
His own body was urging him to move faster, but he resisted its pleas. Leaning forward yet again, he used his tongue to open her slick softness and when she cried out, he plunged deeply into her, tasting the hot wet warmth of woman that greeted him. He lifted a hand and rubbed his fingers along the plump folds until he could enter her easily with one finger. As she arched against his hand, he set his mouth over the tiny nubbin that he knew awaited his touch, stroking over it with a rhythmic licking that he mimicked with the movement of his finger.
She was crying with each breath, her hips plunging, her hands in fists beating against the wall. She tolerated only a few of his intimate caresses before she climaxed, her body squeezing his finger in tight, hard contractions as her knees gave way and she began to slide down the wall to the floor.
He would have liked to wait, wanted to spin out the pleasure even more, but he was so hard even the brush of his flesh against his own belly pushed him dangerously close to release. Frantically, he took her by the hips and guided her down onto his jutting staff, arching up and plunging deeply into her just as a series of harsh, hard pulses left him gasping for breath, his head bowed as weakly on her shoulder as hers was on his.
When he could breathe enough to speak again, he chuckled softly. “How in the hell am I going to manage to go six weeks without this after the baby comes?”
She lifted her head from his shoulder and though she still sat astride him, though their bodies were still sweaty and joined together, there was a distant quality to her smile. “You managed for five months last time.”
He wanted to shake her. Instead, he leaned forward and nipped lightly at the smooth flesh of her shoulder. “Yes, but that was when I’d convinced myself you were a figment of my imagination.”
She yelped and shrank back. “Your imagination?” She sounded slightly indignant.
“My imagination,” he repeated. “Too good to be true. A hallucination caused by years of disappointing experiences. I wanted the real thing so badly that I created it. Or so I thought.”
“And this is the real thing?”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said, frowning to disguise his smile. Little smart aleck. He took her by the shoulders and pulled her forward, kissed her hard and deep one final time and then lifted her off him.
She promptly collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Groaning as his cramping leg muscles protested, he stood and pulled back the covers on the bed, then lifted her and laid her on the mattress. She immediately snuggled into the pillow, and he patted the smooth, bare buttock she presented before turning out the light and climbing in behind her. He gathered her into his arms and as he closed his eyes and sank into the sweet oblivion of sleep, he felt more content than he could ever remember feeling before in his life.
The morning’s bright white light streamed into the room through the sheer curtains over the window, slowly calling him awake. He’d forgotten to close the heavier drapes the night before. It didn’t really matter, though. They needed to get up and get going today anyway.
Elizabeth stirred in his arms. Or rather, beneath his arm. During the night she’d stretched out flat on her stomach. He lay on his side with one arm and one leg possessively chaining her to him. He smiled at the thought.
“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Mmm. G’morning.” She turned onto her side, then rolled onto her back. “What am I going to do when I can’t sleep on my stomach anymore?” she asked the ceiling.
“I guess you’ll just have to let me hold you all night,” he offered.
She turned into his arms, snuggling in and pressing small kisses across his chest. “That sounds nice.”
“Elizabeth.” He spoke slowly and quietly, not wanting to disturb her unduly. This was going to be the tricky part. Turning his head, he kissed her temple, his thumb caressing the ball of her shoulder where his arm lay around her. “We should get married.”
As he’d expected, her body stiffened. She didn’t pull away, though, and he was cautiously optimistic. Maybe she’d realized that what they had between them on the physical plane was extraordinary, that some people lived entire lives without experiencing the connection they had.
Finally, she spoke. “I believe we already had this discussion. No, thank you.”
“Why not?” His instinct was to lift himself over her and demand that she acquiesce, but he knew her well enough by now to know that that approach would get him nowhere.
“Physical infatuation isn’t a good enough foundation for a lifetime together.”
“But it’s a solid part of that foundation,” he argued. “How many married couples do you suppose aren’t sexually attracted?”
“It’s only a part, though, as you just said.” There was a hint of sad weariness in her voice. “And it’s about the only part we do have.”
“We have more than that,” he insisted.
“Rafe, I’m not going to marry you and that’s final.” Her body was stiff and unresponsive, and suddenly he couldn’t stand to be in the bed where she’d been so warm and sweet the night before.
Heaving himself upright, he stalked into the bathroom to shower and shave, then donned the second set of clothes he’d ordered for himself yesterday. While he dressed, he steeled himself to do what he was going to have to do if she continued to be stubborn.
Damn woman! He couldn’t understand the wall of resistance she erected each time he mentioned marriage.
Walking back into the bedroom, he said, “I’ll ask you one more time. Elizabeth, will you please marry me?”
She was looking out the window, clad only in a sheer dressing gown; all he could see was her profile as her lips formed the word, “No.”
He sighed. “Then you leave me no choice.” He walked across the room and picked up the telephone. Fishing his wallet out of the pants he’d flung across a chair the night before, he extracted a piece of paper and started punching in the numbers.
“What are you doing?”
“Calling your father.”
“My father!” She turned her head and glared at him. “Put that telephone down.”
He ignored her.
“Why are you calling my father?”
“To tell him that you’re pregnant with my child, and you won’t marry me even though I’ve begged you to.” He knew it was harsh, but he sensed that there was no other way to force her to agree, and he was determined. His child was going to have his name, and Elizabeth was never leaving him again.
“No!” Her response sounded so agonized that Rafe had to steel himself not to take her in his arms again and comfort her.
Slowly he replaced the receiver and turned to face her. “Why not?”
Elizabeth swallowed. Her gaze was still defiant, but he sensed the decisiveness draining away from her and gradually her defiance changed to a sad acceptance. “I’ll marry you,” she said quietly. “Just don’t tell my parents.”
“You’re going to have to tell them sometime.”
“I know.” She shook her head and looked away. “You don’t understand. I should be the one to tell them.”
“All right.” He eyed her. “We’ll go get married.”
“What? You mean today?” She rounded on him and her face went slack with shock for a moment. Then almost as quickly, the fire that he was beginning to recognize lay just beneath the surface of her ladylike demeanor flashed in her eyes. “You had this planned all along,” she accused. “Even before I got on that plane yesterday morning, you intended to force me to marry you today. Didn’t you? Didn’t you?” she demanded when he remained silent.
Rafe regarded her for a moment, lightning bolts zinging his way from those emerald eyes. Finally he raised both hands in surrender. “I hadn’t decided for sure, but after last night there isn’t any reason why we shouldn’t get married. I told you I mean my child to be legitimate. I’m prepared to do whatever I have to do to ensure that this baby never has to question his rightful heritage.”
She all but sneered. “Noble words for a man who’s turned his back on his own heritage.”
The barb was a direct hit. “Bull.”
“Hah.” She crossed her arms and regarded him scornfully. “You’re afraid to face your own family. The one time you were near your home in more than a decade, you came incognito and didn’t even speak to your parents before sneaking off.”
“I’m not afraid of my family,” he said, feeling rage welling up from a hidden cache deep in his mind. His lip curled. “They’ve already done everything they can to make me buckle under and it hasn’t worked.”
Her face lit with the curiosity he was beginning to realize was an integral—if damned annoying—part of her personality. “What did they do?”
“Never mind.” He knew he sounded like a surly schoolboy, but the memories bombarding him made him feel like a child again as he relived some of the scenes he’d endured with his father.
I never said he wasn’t a nice boy. But he’s the butcher’s son. Hardly a suitable companion for you, Raphael. I’ve already explained to his family that the friendship simply cannot continue.
With an effort, he shook off the voices from his past, focusing on the woman who would be his future. “Just be dressed and ready to go in thirty minutes.”
“I’m having breakfast and taking a shower first,” she said. “I’m not going to rush around just so you can be on whatever little schedule you have planned.”
“Fine. Will sixty minutes be enough?”
“Plenty. Shall I meet you at the bar?”
He was still trying to forget the things her question had called to mind. “All right. I’ll have another dress sent up. Be in the bar in an hour.”
“Yes, sir.”
He ignored the pert salute she aimed his way as he left the suite and stalked toward the elevator.
Hours later, she remained so angry, she couldn’t stand still as she waited impatiently for the royal limo to be called to the VIP queue. As she paced back and forth, she checked her watch. By now, Rafe knew she’d gone and unless he was a lot less resourceful than she suspected, he knew she’d boarded an international flight. And he knew she was going home.
It hadn’t been easy. She’d placed one quick call to Laura Bishop at the Colton ranch. Laura had agreed to make her travel arrangements and called back a short time later with all the necessary information.
Laura also agreed to explain to Alexandra that so far Sam Flynn had been unavailable. Elizabeth had hoped so much that she and her sisters would be able to locate the man they were all convinced was their brother, kidnapped as an infant and presumed dead. Only he hadn’t been killed, after all. And though the records at The Sunshine Home for Children had left something to be desired, she and her sisters had narrowed down the field of possibilities. Now only two remained: Sam Flynn, the man she had been supposed to make contact with in Phoenix, and John Colton, the younger brother of Alexandra’s new husband, Mitch, who, according to Mitch, was unable to be contacted until he decided to show up.
Elizabeth felt bad about letting her sisters down just when they were getting close to finding their brother, but… They would understand, she was sure. She had to talk to her parents before Rafe did. After that, Laura could make sure Sam Flynn was available before Elizabeth returned to speak with him.
With her conscience resting easier, she’d packed rapidly. Then she’d sneaked out of the hotel and caught a flight with minutes left in the hour he’d granted her. At JFK, she’d left her connecting flight to board the private plane her father had sent at Laura’s request.
The limo arrived and before she was ready, before she really wanted to be there, she was being driven through the familiar gates of the palace to the main entry stairs where her mother and father, wearing smiles wide enough to crack their faces, waited to greet her. They hurried down the steps as the chauffeur opened the door, and as she slid out, she was enveloped in her mother’s arms.
She knew the moment her mother realized what the bulge between them was. Gabriella’s body stiffened. She pulled away and stood back, holding Elizabeth at arm’s length to look at her. All of her. Shock, surprise, bewilderment all flashed across the Queen’s face. Then compassion filled her eyes.
“Oh, my darling,” she said. “Is this an occasion for celebration? Are you happy about this?”
“Happy about what?” Her father’s voice boomed over her mother’s softer tones.
“Brace yourself, Phillip,” said Queen Gabriella. “Our little girl is pregnant.” She shepherded Elizabeth up the steps as she spoke, issuing orders to the staff for refreshments in the family drawing room.
“Pregnant! But where…who…how…?” The King’s voice trailed off into astonished silence as he strode along at his wife’s heels.
“I imagine we’ll learn where the father is and who the father is very shortly, dear,” her mother said over her shoulder. “And if you don’t know how by now, I truly despair of you.”
Despite the tears that threatened to fall, Elizabeth had to giggle. She’d been so afraid to tell them. Well, afraid wasn’t exactly the right word. More like sorry. She knew being an unwed mother must be the last thing her parents wanted for one of their daughters. She’d put off this moment for so long because she hadn’t been able to face the thought of their disappointment in her.
And there was another reason, as well.
They had to locate James! If they didn’t, and if this baby she carried was a son…she couldn’t bear to think about what it would mean for her child. Please, God, let this be a girl.
“So.” Her mother pressed her into a wingbacked chair and lifted her feet onto the matching hassock, making Elizabeth smile. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Some kind of juice would be wonderful. Cranberry, please?”
Her mother nodded, and the hovering maid took off at light speed. Anyone in the palace employ who hadn’t already heard that Princess Elizabeth had come home with a baby on the way would know in a matter of minutes, she was sure.
One more reason she dreaded the idea of raising her child in the palace environment in which she’d been raised.
“How are you feeling?” her mother asked.
Simultaneously the king asked, “Do you know if it’s a boy?”
Her father was pacing back and forth in front of the wide windows, looking rather…agitated. She supposed he had the right to be.
“I feel fine,” she answered her mother. “A little bit of morning sickness early on, but now I couldn’t feel better.” Unbidden, an image of the heated lovemaking she had experienced only hours ago flashed through her head and she felt herself blush.
Her mother raised her eyebrows with a knowing smile, but didn’t comment.
“I’m about five months along,” Elizabeth went on. “The baby’s due in mid-June. And, no, I don’t know its gender. We’ll have to wait and be surprised.”
“Is the father in the picture?” Her own father had stopped his pacing and turned to toss the question at her.
Elizabeth hesitated. “Yes. But not in the way you might hope.”
“In other words, he’s not prepared to marry you.” Her father was glowering.
“No, Daddy,” she said, smiling gently. “It’s the other way around. I’m the one who won’t marry him.”
“Does this man have a name you’d like to share with us?” her mother asked. “If you’d rather not, I suppose we can accept that.”
Elizabeth couldn’t think of anything she wanted to do less, but she knew there was no point in hiding it. The truth would come out sooner or later. Sooner probably, if she knew Rafe. She wasn’t stupid enough to think that this was anything but a successful skirmish in what looked to be a long siege.
“He has a name,” she said reluctantly. “You know him.”
“The Prince of Thortonburg,” her father said.
“Yes. Although he goes by Rafe Thorton these days.” She looked at him in surprise. “Has he already spoken to you?”
“No, but it makes sense,” her father said. “That young man couldn’t shake his royal title fast enough to suit him. When he told me you’d be staying with him, it seemed out of character.”
“Raphael.” Her mother smiled. “I always did like his spirit. Victor never succeeded in training that one to his ridiculously outdated notions of aristocratic conduct.”
“He didn’t know who I was when we…when we… met.” Her face felt hot again, and the disappointment in her mother’s eye didn’t help.
“I see,” the Queen said.
“He was upset at first,” Elizabeth confessed. “As you said, he doesn’t have a very high opinion of royalty. But once he’d gotten over the shock, he decided we would get married.”
“And that’s a problem for you?” her mother asked in a soft voice. She stood and came around behind the chair, setting her hands on Elizabeth’s shoulders and rubbing gently.
“I don’t want to be married out of duty.”
“Is that the only reason he wants to marry you?”
Elizabeth shrugged and avoided the question. “This is all Serena’s fault. She’s the one who talked me into tracking him down and telling him.”
Her father turned from the window. “Coming from Serena, that was amazingly sensible.” But his voice was indulgent and he was smiling. Serena had been a handful since the day she was born. Every silver hair in his head could be attributed to her, he’d said more than once.
“Daddy…” She hesitated, feeling ridiculous for even asking the question when she knew the answer. Still… “Rafe has some notion that you and his father arranged, or at least promised, that he’d marry one of us. I told him it’s not true.” But she knew her eyes were asking her father for the truth.
Phillip shook his head. “Victor hounded me about that for years. I always told him that I’d never oppose a match if one of my daughters chose either of his sons. As you said, it’s not true.” The King hesitated. “Does Thortonburg understand the manner in which the Wynborough crown is passed on?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “I—I’m not sure.”
Her mother clucked her tongue. “You’d better be sure, dear. If this child is the first-born grandson to the King—”
“I know.” Elizabeth linked her fingers. “I know.”
The King moved to the side of Elizabeth’s chair and bent to press a kiss to her cheek. “I have an appointment with the Minister of Public Works, but when I return I want to be filled in completely.”
As he rose, a commotion in the hallway had them all turning. Trained to react instantly to threatening situations, the guard on duty slammed the door shut. As he did so, Elizabeth could see him drawing the gun from his holster.
Then she recognized the voice echoing down the hall, though it had an imperious quality that she’d never associated with it before. “…Thortonburg and I’m going to be marrying the Princess Elizabeth, so do not tell me they’re unavailable. I’ll search every damned room of this palace if I have to.”
She half rose from her chair, but the King moved faster. Throwing open the door to the room, he spoke at the top of his considerable voice. “The Prince of Thortonburg is welcome. Put away your arms, everyone. Thank you for your vigilance, though in this instance it isn’t necessary.”
Elizabeth closed her eyes. If Rafe had wanted a demonstration of the ridiculous lengths her father went to with security, she couldn’t have provided a better one if he’d specifically asked.
When she opened her eyes again, he was there, striding into the room. Bigger, as always, than she remembered and looking as totally furious as she’d ever seen him. His expression today made his face the day he’d found her by her broken-down rental car look almost friendly.
His blue eyes speared her in the chair where she sat, and he took three steps forward before realizing he was in the presence of the King. Abruptly, he spun and bowed formally from the waist. “Your Majesty.”
He crossed to the Queen and took the hand she extended, bowing low over it and kissing it in a formal salutation. “Your Majesty.”
“Welcome, Raphael.”
Before the Queen could add anything else, Rafe stalked around to stand before Elizabeth. He held out his hand in regal demand, and when she placed hers in it, he bowed again. But he didn’t give her hand the perfunctory peck she expected. Instead, he turned it over and slowly, leisurely pressed a kiss into the center of her palm. When she felt his tongue tracing secret patterns on her flesh, she tried to jerk her hand away, but Rafe held it firmly for another moment before raising his head. “Your Royal Highness.”
“Subservience doesn’t suit you,” Elizabeth said, snatching her hand back and linking it tightly with the other in her lap, ignoring both her mother’s snort of amusement and the leap of her own pulse at his touch. “So just stop it. How on earth did you get here so fast?”
“Ever heard of private planes?” His voice was surly. Grouchy. Thoroughly out of sorts. She guessed she couldn’t blame him.
“Raphael, Elizabeth has just finished telling us of your intentions.” King Phillip stepped forward. Gone was the indulgent father, and in his place was the commanding monarch few ever saw in action.
“Good.” Rafe didn’t even appear to notice the monarch’s attitude. “Then you know that I have chased your stubborn, spoiled, opinionated daughter across the Atlantic Ocean because I intend to marry her. I shouldn’t think that would be a problem for you.”
“Of course not.” The King’s stern face softened slightly. “You are more than welcome in this family…if you can convince my ‘stubborn, spoiled, opinionated daughter’ to marry you.” He looked over Elizabeth’s head to his wife, then, offering her his arm, said, “Come, my dear. These young people have things to discuss.”
“Really, that’s not necessary,” Elizabeth began, turning around, trying to send her mother a silent message with her eyes. “Mother, you don’t have to leave.”
“I’m afraid duty calls me, as well,” the Queen said, shrugging as if she were helpless to alter the matter. She winked at Elizabeth—winked!—and took her husband’s arm as the two of them exited the room.