Royal 02 - Royal Passion Read Online Free PDF Page A

blank, suspended expression on his face, felt her heart begin to pound. Inside her rose a terrible hope, and, just as wracking, a fear, that this seduction was going to be made easy. She felt a great need to reach out, to touch him, and knew with an instinctive certainty that it would be the right thing to do. The urge grew, burgeoning until she could not tell whether it was a mental and calculated desire or a real physical need. It made no difference. She could not force herself to move.
    He surged to his feet, swinging away from her with the powerful grace of well-used muscles. His order sliced the night air with the feral quietness of a rapier blow. The music stopped. Men and women moved, gathering up rugs and pots and bowls and weapons, melting away from the fire, slipping away into the caravans or the encircling darkness. A young girl came and curtsied to Mara, taking her hand to lead her toward the blue and white caravan. Stiffly, Mara got to her feet to follow and would not turn to look back.
    The prince stood alone beside the leaping flames, his expression grim. Then, with controlled movements, he lowered himself once more to the pile of rugs that were left. He picked up the mandolin and began to pluck out a tune.
    Mara, catching the melody as she stepped into the caravan, stopped still. Torn between amusement, anger, and a strange feeling of being near tears, she had to force herself to move again. Mocking in its sweetness, haunting and delicate, the song the prince played was a lullaby.
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2
    The caravan of the prince was little different from the others on the outside, except perhaps that the paint was brighter. The interior, however, was furnished in what appeared to Mara to be royal, rather than gypsy, fashion. The appointments had been chosen for richness and quality, but also with a care and variety that seemed an indication of the man.
    Two walls of the caravan were lined with books in five languages, volumes on philosophy and the arts, religion and history, music and the theory of war. The other two walls were richly paneled and set with brass whale-oil lamps in gimbals. In one corner was a table with folios of music strewn across it, half hiding a chased sword of steel and brass, while underneath were cases holding musical instruments. Nudging the table for the room was a desk. On its surface was an inkstand of gold and glass with a gold pen in its holder and several sheets of foolscap in a precise pile. A straight-back chair was behind the desk, but for comfort there was also an armchair with a winged back and a matching footstool, both covered in dark blue velvet. The floor was of polished wood parquet centered with a Turkish rug in cream, gold, and blue. Built-in armoires flanked an alcove at one end that held the bed in a lengthwise position. The bed curtains fell from a gilded rod that was shaped like a giant's spear and were looped back on either side with tasseled cords. On the mattress was a bolster and pillows encased in cream linen piped with dark blue, cream sheets discreedy monogrammed, and a coverlet of white fox fur. The impression was one of utility and aestheticism, with more than a touch of opulence.
    The girl who had led Mara into the caravan lighted the lamps, brought a can of hot water, and then laid out linen toweling and a block of soap with the fragrance of sandalwood. She offered her services as maid to aid Mara in preparing for bed. Mara allowed her to release her from her gown and stays, then dismissed her. A moment later, she wished she had not been so hasty. She had no nightgown, nothing to sleep in other than her camisole and pantalettes.
    It hardly mattered. All she really needed was to be left alone, to lie down and close her eyes in some dark place away from the questions, the scrutiny, and the suspicion. It was a pity she couldn't also hide from her own thoughts.
    She had passed the first test. The realization was slow in coming. It was only after