The Prince She Had to Marry. Christine Rimmer

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СКАЧАТЬ was no answer, but he realized about then that he probably wouldn’t get an answer from her. The main thing was to get her to go. “Back to your rooms, Lili.”

      She sat even taller. “Not until we talk.”

      How many times did he have to remind her that they had nothing to say to each other? He started toward her, determined to get rid of her.

      She put up a hand. “If you touch me right now, I am going to start screaming. I will scream as I run out your door and down the corridor, without even pausing to put on my slippers. I will wake up every servant and guest in the palace. It will not be pretty and everyone will blame you for abusing an innocent barefoot princess who happens to be dressed only in her nightclothes. And, of course, someone will leak the story to the tabloids, which will wreak havoc on all your carefully engineered plans to make it look as though you and I are passionately and totally in love.”

      He paused in midstep. “They are not my plans.”

      “Oh, I beg your pardon. You fully agreed to them.” She folded her arms under her beautiful, perfect breasts, causing the pink silk of her robe to cling more tightly. Now he could see the faint outline of her nipples. They were very fine nipples, as he remembered all too well.

      He reminded himself that he needed to get rid of her. “We had no choice but to agree to those plans. I saw no other option, given our situation. And now, if you’ll just go back to your—”

      She cut him off. “We do have choices,” she said in a so-noble tone that made his teeth hurt. “We always have choices.”

      “You are not only hopelessly naive, Lili, but you are also thoughtless and self-centered. And wrong.”

      Those enormous blue eyes glittered like sapphires—dangerous sapphires. “Insult me to your heart’s content. It won’t work. I’m not leaving until you talk with me.”

      “Lili,” he said, rough and low. He dared another step.

      She threw out a hand, palm out. “I mean it. I will scream.”

      He held her gleaming gaze with his own, steady on. “You wouldn’t dare.”

      She smiled pleasantly—and stared right back. “Go ahead, try me.”

      He realized he was actually afraid she just might do what she’d threatened. She had him by the short hairs, damn those eyes.

      Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed for the bath. Once through the door, he shut it. Rather harder than necessary. He twisted the privacy lock—even though, apparently, privacy locks were no good against her. Too bad. She would enter the bath at her own risk. He stripped off his sweat-drenched clothing and took a shower. A long shower.

      When he finished, he put on the robe that hung on the peg behind the door and returned to the bedroom.

      She was still there, sitting in the same spot on the bed, her little hands folded in her lap. “I do hope your shower has refreshed you—and possibly even improved your attitude.” She gave a shrug and a sigh. “Well. One can hope.”

      He said nothing to her, only exited back into the sitting room, where he proceeded directly to the liquor cabinet. He grabbed a crystal glass and a decanter of very old scotch and poured himself a stiff one. He was sipping it slowly when she spoke from behind him.

      “We have more than my country and your country to think of, Alex.”

      He turned and faced her. She looked way too determined. And way too beautiful, with those amazing eyes of hers, those full pink lips and all that thick, silky, pale yellow hair. Raising his glass to her, he took another slow sip.

      She laid her hand against her still-flat belly. “There’s the baby. The baby is what matters most of all.”

      “Good. Then don’t allow him to be born a bastard.”

      “Being born illegitimate is not the worst thing that can happen to a child.”

      “Of course it’s not. But I wouldn’t call it a good thing. Would you call it a good thing, Lili?”

      “I didn’t say it was a good thing.”

      He topped off his drink. “Because it’s not a good thing. Not for a child who should have the right to a crown and could be denied that right because his mother refuses to marry his father.”

      “My baby will have a father who loves him—or her,” she announced. “If you can’t love this baby, the baby is better off without you.”

      “All right. I will love the baby.” He set down the decanter. “Happy now?”

      “Not especially. Alex, if you can’t at least try to make a real marriage with me, I won’t marry you.” She spoke more softly then, and her eyes seemed suddenly far away. “All my life, I’ve wanted one thing above all—to have true love like my parents had. Like your mother and father have. Like Max had with Sophia.” Maximilian was the heir to his mother’s throne. Max’s wife, Sophia, had died while he was in Afghanistan. “Love like Rule and Sydney have found.”

      He studied her for a long time. He pondered the goal: to get her to let him give their child his name. To achieve the goal, he should tell her whatever she needed to hear, which apparently was that he loved her. Deeply and completely. Somehow, he couldn’t wrap his mouth around a lie that large. “I can’t give you what you want, Lili. It’s simply not in me.” He steeled himself for her tears, for one of her big, emotional displays.

      Her eyes remained dry. And when she spoke, it was calmly. Reasonably. “I realize that. I can accept that.”

      Did he believe her? Hardly. She might be the most annoying woman he’d ever known, the most overwrought and emotional, the biggest chatterbox. But within her there lurked a will of iron. If she wanted something strongly enough, she would never rest until she had it.

      Or until she drove anyone who stood in the way of her having it stark, raving mad.

      Plus, beneath all the sweetness and meaningless chatter, she was quite intelligent. Sometimes she behaved stupidly, but there was a perfectly good brain inside that gorgeous head of hers. She was using it now. He could see the cogs turning. She was about to lay down terms.

      He already knew what kind of terms. Terms that would have him agreeing to give her more than he could afford to give, more than he even knew how to give anymore. Five years ago, maybe. But not anymore. Whatever that place was inside a man, that place a woman filled and made warm and good and hopeful. That place was dead in him now. Uninhabitable.

      She went on. “What I want from you is for you to try.”

      He purposely did not make the scoffing sound that rose in his throat. “Try.”

      “Yes. I want you make an effort to be a real husband to me. I want you to spend time with me. I want you to have breakfast with me every day and dinner as well. I want you to give me—to give us—the evenings, that time after dinner. I want us to spend our evenings together, just the two of us. I want you to tell me about your day and I will tell you about mine. I want us to share, Alex.”

      Share. Did it get any worse? She wanted him to share.

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