A Rakehell's Heart Page 2

  “I don’t… I don’t know.” She gave him a pleading look. “I’ve never been kissed before…in a bed…like this.”

  “Have you been kissed out of a bed?” His eyebrows lifted. “They promised me an innocent bride.”

  “I am,” she insisted, before she realized he was teasing her. She looked away, flushing hot. “I haven’t seen a man in a great while, much less been kissed by one. I’ve been living in a convent for years.”

  He was silent a moment, then asked, “Do you wish you’d been allowed to stay there?”

  “No.” The word came faster and more forcefully than any of her words before. “I wanted to leave Highcliffe. I wasn’t happy living with the sisters.”

  “Why weren’t you happy?”

  She considered how to explain it, how to describe the astringent quality of the sisters’ interactions, the rebukes and punishments, the suspicious looks, and, as the day of her nuptial journey neared, the heightened warnings and shame. She’d heard the stories of her own parents’ marriage, whispers of fatal unhappiness resulting in her mother’s early death.

  She pushed down panic and met Prince Gideon’s gaze. “I suppose none of it matters. We’re to be wed...” She swallowed hard. “In two days.”

  “Indeed we are.” He reached to touch her cheek, a whisper-soft caress. “So you must allow me to give you a kiss.”

  She had time to take one short, shuddery breath before his lips met hers. It was a most peculiar experience, feeling a stranger’s mouth warm against her mouth, his lips pressing against hers, somehow coaxing them to respond. His nose brushed against her cheek, and one of his hands traced down her neck, coming to rest on her shoulder. The contact lasted only a moment or two, but by the time he ended the short kiss, she found herself unable to think.

  “Have you survived your first ‘debauching’ at my hands?” he asked lightly.

  She touched her lips. Had she survived? A man had embraced her, moved his lips against hers and held her close in an amorous way. She didn’t know what to feel, or what to say. She pressed back against the pillows, afraid to look at him.

  “Have I behaved badly?” he said in the silence. “Forgive me. I couldn’t resist stealing the innocence of your lips. But you must have your sleep, Princess Cassandra, if you’re to make my official acquaintance tomorrow at breakfast.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “I wish you the sweetest of dreams.”

  By the time she gathered the courage to look up, he’d left as quickly as he’d appeared, into the shadows, and then, presumably, through some hidden door.

  “Official acquaintance?” she whispered, her arms hugged tight about her waist. She thought she ought to take the candle and find his hidden door, and stack the heaviest furniture she could find in front of it so he couldn’t visit again.

  The innocence of her lips? What a rakehell, what a wicked poet.

  She bundled back under the sheets and blankets, furtively touching her now-less-innocent lips. He hadn’t even asked if she wanted to kiss him. The whispers she’d heard about Prince Gideon’s questionable behavior were proving to be true.

  Chapter Two

  Gideon woke feeling like hell, having tossed and turned most of the night. Bertram rapped on the dressing room door, then entered and stared dolefully in his direction with occasional, subtle throat-clearing that grew less subtle with each passing quarter hour.

  “Stop it,” he finally said to the servant. “I know I have to get up.”

  “The time, Your Highness. Your bride, and breakfast…”

  “Of course. I intend to show my face. You may stop coughing and grunting before you injure your throat.”

  “Very well, Your Highness,” he replied with a twist to his lips.

  Gideon climbed from bed, stretching, remembering last night’s strange, chaste kiss with his princess. She’d considered it a terrible trespass, even though he’d acted with restraint. He’d squelched the urge to shock her with rough possession, to frighten her in the darkness and secrecy of their first meeting and show her that he—and only he—would rule within their marriage. He was the prince, after all, the future king.

  So why hadn’t he been rough and possessive?

  He crossed to the washbasin as a footman poured hot, fresh water. “Bert, you must make me the picture of elegance,” he told his valet. “It’s not every day a young man meets the woman he’s to marry in, oh, what is it, twenty-four hours or so?”

  “You are ever a paragon of elegance,” Bert replied with dry courtesy, and a speaking glance at his state of dissolution.

  Gideon peered into the looking glass, at sleep-swollen eyes, unkempt hair, and a full day’s beard-stubble. “Thank God you’re good at your job. I need extensive repair this morning.”

  “Up late, Your Highness?”

  He hadn’t been, at least not for the usual activities. Gideon had declined the laundry maid’s charms when she showed up for their weekly tryst, his thoughts preoccupied by Cassandra instead.

  “Have you seen the princess?” he asked Bert, to keep up the fiction that they hadn’t yet made one another’s acquaintance.

  The old retainer shook his head. “From a distance only. I’m sure she’s all that is to be desired in a royal consort.”

  “Let’s hope so.”

  Gideon fought a yawn since Bert was leaning over his jaw with a razor. Once the man completed a close and flawless shave, there was nothing to do but dress in a dark blue formal morning jacket and breeches, and present himself for breakfast.

  He hurried down the stairs and swept into the breakfast salon, nearly colliding with a servant. Gideon steadied the man’s plate of sweet buns before it crashed to the floor, then turned to greet his parents. His mother wore a beleaguered half-smile, and his father’s brow arched in that way that discouraged half-cocked excuses.

  Gideon drew himself up and turned to acknowledge the other two guests in the room: the frowning King of Carlisle, and his daughter, Princess Cassandra. As they stood to be formally introduced for the “first time,” he studied his betrothed in the daylight.

  She wore a pale pink gown with white flocked flowers, a strange color choice for breakfast, but it set off her dark eyes and hair to exotic effect. She was paler than he’d thought last night, especially standing next to her tanned, brutish father. Two dots of color stained her cheeks as she pretended not to know him. Her lips pursed and he thought, I have kissed those lips. The memory gave their awkward introduction a frisson of excitement, at least for him.

  She looked perturbed.

  He sat to her left at the table, in front of the remaining place setting. The King of Carlisle glared at him, unimpressed by his punctuality.

  “I pray your journey to Hastings was not too onerous, Your Majesty,” Gideon said politely.

  “It was onerous enough, but the weather was good.” He had a clipped accent that his daughter didn’t share, but from what Gideon could divine, they hadn’t spent much time together. They sat stiffly beside one another, like strangers. He felt a pang of sympathy. His own parents were warm and loving, both to him and one another.

  Having addressed her father first, he turned to the princess. She still wore a faint blush.

  “What do you think of Hastings so far?” he asked.

  “I haven’t seen much of it,” she answered quietly. “We arrived very late.”

  Their eyes met and held before hers skittered away. He cleared his throat and added extra cream to his tea. “Perhaps I can take you for a walk about the palace grounds this afternoon.”

  “Oh, dear,” his mother cut in. “What a gallant suggestion, but the princess has so much to do before tomorrow’s wedding. There are fittings, accessories and jewelry to choose, and trunks to unpack.”

  “So we’ll meet at the altar as strangers. Very well, if you wish.” He said it gently, teasing his mother, and she blushed and reached to pat Cassandra’s hand.

  “It’s a shame the two of you couldn’t know one another sooner,” his mot
her said. “I do think it’s better when there’s a courtship, but in this case—”

  “A courtship isn’t necessary when duty is involved,” interrupted Cassandra’s father. “I didn’t see my betrothed until they brought her to the chapel to recite her vows. If the bride’s an obedient and virtuous lass, that’s all that matters, and I can promise you my daughter will bring honor to your family. She was reared by the Sisters of Mercy in Highcliffe.”

  The princess didn’t so much listen to this speech as endure it. She bit her pretty lips, the lips he’d kissed, while wringing her hands in her lap. How sad, to be a parcel of statecraft, delivered to the altar of the most eligible prince on your wedding day.

  Gideon smiled at her to make the moment lighter, if not easier. “I regret we can’t spend time together on this busy day. I look forward to getting to know you better.”

  “Why, that’s what leisurely breakfasts are for,” his mother said, pushing back her chair. “We’re nearly finished. You two must stay and converse while we parents retire. No, you must stay and speak with Gideon, dear Cassandra,” she said when the princess stood as well. “You’ve a little time. Madame Benoit won’t be here to begin your fittings for another quarter hour.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said, sinking back into her chair.

  “An entire quarter hour!” Gideon said with a straight face. “We’ll find plenty to talk about.”

  Her father was the last to stand and quit the room with obvious reluctance. The doors remained open after his hard glance at the footmen. What, did he believe Gideon would ravish his daughter on the breakfast table mere hours before their wedding? It was so much easier to just sneak into her room.

  And he would, later. He’d kiss her again, perhaps even try to do more. He ate some toast with a slice of ham, thinking lascivious thoughts about the princess beside him, knowing the King of Carlisle wouldn’t approve.

  “Your father’s protective,” he said, breaking the strained silence between them.

  She looked up from her lap. “Aren’t all fathers protective?”

  “Yours seems especially so. But what do I know? You and I have only just met.”

  She stiffened with irritation. Ah, that fascinating dark green sparkle amidst her jet black eyes. She was polished and pretty in the light, like some exotic gem. She was hard like a stone as well.

  “We haven’t just met, Your Highness,” she said. “And it made me uncomfortable to lie to our parents about it.”

  “Are you too good to tell lies? Too perfect and chaste? You’ll learn that lies are necessary, especially when it comes to marriage.”

  “What a grim view of matrimony you have. Your parents seem settled enough.”

  “Oh, my parents adore one another, even though theirs was also an arranged marriage.” He slipped a finger over the sensitive skin at the inside of her wrist, under the table, where no one might see. “Perhaps we’ll come to adore one another, princess. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

  When she moved her wrist away, he took her hand instead, bringing her fingers to his lips. She withdrew from his embrace as soon as she could, but not before he’d noticed that she bit her nails. In fact, they’d been gnawed nearly to the quick. Perhaps she’d bitten them in terror during her long journey to meet him and become his wife. The thought unsettled him.

  “What do you like to do?” he asked. “We must get to know one another. What sorts of things make you happy? Balls and dinners? The Opera? Card parties?”

  She almost bit her nails again, before she lowered her hand to her lap. “I’ve never played cards. The sisters wouldn’t allow it.”

  “Tedious, were they?”

  She gave him a look, but at the end, a small smile broke through. “Yes, they were tedious a great deal of the time.”

  “What brings you joy?” he pressed, searching for a way to brighten her mood.

  But she was back to her sober, demure self again. “I don’t know, Your Highness.”

  “Call me Gideon.”

  “I—I don’t know, Gideon. I like to walk outside, among nature. I like music.”

  “I love music,” he said. “We have that in common. The minstrels will play for hours at our wedding.”

  “Will they?” she asked, as if this were a surprise.

  “There’s always music at royal celebrations. Don’t you want to dance with me once we’re wed?”

  “I’m not sure.” She looked away, blinking. “My gown will be so heavy and formal, I’ll barely be able to walk.”

  “Then I’ll lift you in my arms and carry you through the steps.”

  He said this with more lurid suggestion than gallantry. He was a lecherous person, which was probably why his parents were punishing him with this prudish choice of a wife. When Madame Benoit and her entourage of seamstresses, decorators, and haberdashers arrived at the palace, he excused himself from their company, leaving Cassandra to the tedious business of preparing to be a bride.

  *** ***

  Gideon didn’t glimpse his betrothed for the rest of the day. At noon, he’d ridden to a nearby village to avoid his own fitting, missing luncheon in the process, and the princess didn’t attend dinner because she was too tired.

  His parents carried on with preparations as if all was well, and he tried to do so too. As her father said, what did it matter if they knew one another? How much would his life really change? If Gideon had his way, he’d continue on as he always had, as a minimally depraved but generally responsible person. He’d be kind to his wife, even if she irritated him. If she grew too difficult, he’d invite her to live in a beautiful castle he built for her. A small castle, but her own castle. She’d appreciate that, and he’d be happy to do it once she provided a few heirs.

  So, Giddy old boy, you’re fantasizing how to get rid of her before you’re even wed?

  It wasn’t a great sign of his readiness for marriage, but either way, it was happening in the morning. At ten o’clock, they’d process to the chapel and recite their vows. After a day of busy celebration, they’d retire to their nuptial chamber and...

  And then he’d have to do something he’d never had the desire or opportunity to do thus far in his life: bed a virgin. A timorous one at that, convent-raised, possibly uncooperative.

  He decided he’d drink a lot at the reception. That was the best solution. Then, if things went sideways, he wouldn’t remember in the morning, and she’d forgive him for any transgressions since he’d been soused out of his wits.

  No, that was probably not the best solution.

  He thought he ought to talk to her in advance, and tell her to get as soused as she could manage during tomorrow’s festivities. With that in mind, he crept again through the secret passageway to visit her room. When he opened the soundless door, he found her in the dark, a motionless huddle in the center of her satin-draped bed. The fire burned brighter tonight, so he could see her better. She slept on her side, her long, dark hair in a tumble about her face.

  She drew in a shuddering breath, and he realized then that she wasn’t sleeping. She was crying into her pillow. Her quiet sobs gave him a sick feeling.

  “Princess,” he said. “Must you cry?”

  She startled and turned to him. He made a quieting motion.

  “Don’t be alarmed. It’s me again.” He made her sit up against the pillows, and planted himself at her side. “Whatever is the matter? Are you overtired? Did they keep you busy all day with primping and wedding preparations?”

  “Yes, they did,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “The fitting took hours. Then the hair and the shoes, and the jewels. I had to try on fifty sets of earrings, and…” She tried to stop crying but only succeeded in crying harder. “Now my ears hurt terribly, and I don’t…I don’t… The worst thing is that…”

  “What’s the worst thing?”

  She hid her face in her hands. “The worst thing is that I don’t even want to get married.” She said it softly, her fingers moving between her eyes and her ears, as if they
both smarted. “I don’t want any of this to happen, but I can’t stop it from happening, so I don’t know what to do, or how to feel.”

  He threaded his fingers through her hair to brush it back, so he might investigate her poor earlobes, but she quailed away from him, flinching as if she expected a blow.

  “Please, I’m sorry!” Her sad eyes had gone stark and wide. “I shouldn’t have complained. I’m sorry!”

  He released her, taken aback, and reached to touch her cheek, to soothe her unneeded terror. But as he reached for her, she flinched again, and the protective instinct within him transformed to anger. Not anger with the princess, but with whoever had instilled this flinching fear in her young, innocent soul.

  “Cassandra,” he said, taking pains to keep his voice level. “What makes you think I’ll hurt you?”

  She looked at him miserably. He wanted to embrace her, to make her scared expression go away, but if she flinched again he might lose his sanity. Instead he gazed at her, willing her to give some answer, any answer.

  “I complained and made you angry,” she finally said in a whispery voice. Her eyes roved over his shoulders, down his arms, across his broad chest and up to his jaw. His clenched jaw. He made an effort to relax it.

  “You think I’ll hurt you because I’m angry?”

  She spoke in stuttering syllables, looking away. “Men are l-large and rough, and qu-quick of temper. When you reached for me—when you pulled my hair—”

  “I didn’t pull your hair. I meant to check on your ears after my mother made you try on all those earrings. Do you think I possess so little control, that a few murmured complaints will send me into a rage of hair-pulling?”

  She looked back at him, letting out a breath. “I thought you were angry because I said…I said that I didn’t want to marry you.”

  “I’m well aware that you don’t want to marry me. Do you honestly believe I would punish you for that?”

  “I don’t know.” Her fingers plucked at the collar of her shift. “I’ve heard people whisper that you are a rakehell, given to debauchery.”