Royal 02 - Royal Passion Read Online Free PDF

the creep of minutes into hours that she allowed herself to believe it. She was here with the prince, here, in the gypsy camp among the people who claimed him as their own. She was in his caravan, even sleeping in his bed. De Landes had been right in thinking that this was the best approach to him, here where he was relaxed and at ease away from the city, here where there were no authorities to take charge of her and few distractions to turn the attention of the prince from her. She had, she thought, aroused Roderic's curiosity, and perhaps his sympathy.
    That was not enough, not nearly enough. There had been an opportunity, she was almost certain, to do more, and she had failed to seize it. Her resolution had wavered when faced with the man himself. She must not let it happen again, she could not, for her grandmother's sake. Oh, but could she force herself to smile and be enticing? Could she take the final, irrevocable step of inviting the man into her bed?
    With a sudden convulsive wrench, she turned onto her back, staring up into the darkness lit only by the orange flicker of firelight reflected into the caravan from outside. She must take that step. She must become intimate with the prince, must persuade him to take her with him when he returned to Paris. There was no other choice.
    She thought of her grandmother in the hands of de Landes. Was there truly a house party at his chateau, or had that merely been an excuse? Was she being ill-treated? Was she warm? Was she being given enough to eat? Was the place she was being held a comfortable country house, or was it some crumbling stone fortress with dungeons, bare cells with barred doors, and straw on the floor for a bed? Was it some former nobleman's seat that de Landes had taken as the spoils of his office?
    There were many such places in France, landed estates that had changed hands dozens of times with every shift of government since the revolution. The rich lands and great houses of the Loire Valley were particularly coveted by the new rich of each administration. Every tumbledown house with its neighboring village became an excuse to add the ennobling “de” to a surname, purloining the old glory. Few cared to live in such places, however. The lure of Paris and the court of Louis Philippe, staid though it might be, was far greater; besides, the great, drafty houses were bitterly cold and uncomfortable in winter.
    A shiver ran through Mara there in the prince's bed. The chill came from within, however, and could not be banished, not even by the covering of thick, soft fur. She lay staring with burning eyes into the dimness.
    She was awakened by a sound so slight that she could not tell what it was. After a moment, she discovered that rain had begun to fall. It pattered overhead on the roof of the caravan, neither heavy nor light but relentless, though there came an occasional splattering of windblown drops. It was a moment before she recognized that, persistent though the sound was, it had not roused her. She raised herself on one elbow.
    "Don't be alarmed,” the prince said from the darkness. “All I seek is shelter."
    She was supposed to have lost her memory, not her common sense or her courage. She answered with some asperity, “I'm not alarmed."
    "Aren't you? I had not looked for such sangfroid."
    The words were accompanied by soft rustling. It took no great effort of imagination to understand that he was undressing there in the darkness. Mara felt her heart begin to beat with quick, throbbing strokes. A suffocating feeling rose in her chest as she realized that another opportunity was upon her. All too aware of the stretching silence, she searched her mind for something to say.
    "Did—did you get wet?"
    There was laughter in his voice as he answered, “As a puling brat with no one to change or to dandle the darling child."
    It was a reference to their earlier conversation. She let it pass. “Not, I hope, from a reluctance to disturb me."
    "'A very, parfit