Chapter 16

CHAPTER 16

" A nother biscuit?"

Eleanora shook her head. "I couldn't eat a thing."

Nando grinned wickedly. "You need your strength. Have one more, my dear."

She was reclining on a mountain of pillows in his bed, wearing one of his silk banyans and not another stitch, and she had never felt more contented. They had spent the entirety of the day alternately making love and sleeping, moving between bedrooms and beds, avoiding the outside world. Nando hadn't wanted to dress to go down to dinner, and she hadn't argued, enjoying the familiarity and ease they could have in his bedroom together. They were barefoot, sated, and relaxed.

"You have already fed me far more than I am accustomed to eating."

He took a bite of the biscuit he had offered her, chewing thoughtfully. "Did that bastard Tierney not feed you properly? I'll have to give him a sound thrashing."

Dressed in a banyan as well, his golden curls ruffled, lounging on his side across his bed, he looked like an invitation to depravity. Although his tone was mild, she had no wish for Nando to find trouble with Mr. Tierney.

"He was an excellent employer," she hastened to defend. "No thrashing, if you please. Besides, I hardly think you are in a condition to thrash anyone."

She cast a pointed look in the direction of his injured arm. He had proven himself more than capable of making love to her—thrice over—despite the pain it must have caused him. However, Nando was her responsibility now. She felt astonishingly… wifely where he was concerned.

"I am in excellent condition, as you can surely attest." He gave her a heated look that made her belly tighten.

Little wonder he was a legendary rake. He had reduced her to nothing more than a witless, boneless puddle of desire over and over again. Just when she thought that her body was not capable of experiencing more pleasure, a caress or a kiss or a sinful lick from Nando, and she discovered how wrong she was.

"I simply wish it to remain so." She reached for her nearby glass of wine, retrieving it from a bedside table, feeling unapologetically sinful as she did so.

She had never in her life lolled about in a bed, eating and drinking and wearing scarcely any clothes. Less than one day of being married to Nando, and he had thoroughly debauched her. She didn't regret it, and she hoped she never would. Unbidden, the warnings Princess Stasia had left her with returned, but Eleanora tamped them firmly down.

"Be careful, my dear, or all the concern you show for me will make me think you've grown fond of me," he teased, before taking another bite of the biscuit, somehow managing to make the act sensual.

Although he was being his usual, lighthearted, devil-may-care self, and she knew she must not take his words to heart, something in Eleanora's chest tightened painfully. She was desperately fond of him. It was impossible not to be so. Nando simply possessed a magnetic, captivating presence which was every bit as much to do with his easy charm and wry humor as it was to do with his undeniable good looks. If her feelings for him were so strong after less than a day of marriage, what would they be like in the days, weeks, and months to come?

The years?

He was a rake with an unabashed appetite for all things carnal. Would he grow weary of her? What would happen when he did? And why had these alarming questions not felt so potent and real to her until now?

She took a sip of her wine to calm her whirling thoughts and distract herself from the uncertainty of the life awaiting her as his wife.

"Of course I am fond of you," she said simply, gratified at the composure she showed. "If I did not like you, I wouldn't have married you."

Not a hint of a quaver in her voice.

He arched a golden brow, stretching with leonine grace, as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Not even to remove yourself from your previous circumstances?"

"My circumstances were not so dire," she said, although that wasn't entirely true.

Her position in Mr. Tierney and Princess Stasia's household had been the best she'd had yet. Other situations had not been so egalitarian, nor so understanding. And it had certainly been a relief to have a master of the house who hadn't attempted to foist his attentions upon her.

"But you must admit that marrying a prince surely has a certain allure," Nando continued.

"Marrying you had a great deal of allure for me," she conceded quietly. "Else I would not have agreed to such a preposterous suggestion."

His lips twitched with mirth. "Surely not preposterous."

"Of course it was. Me, a woman far past her prime, of no social standing, save what I was able to glean for myself as little better than a servant, the illegitimate daughter of a man who abandoned her and a mother who was an actress and a kept woman. And you, the handsome, dashing prince."

His amusement fled. "I don't like the way you speak of yourself."

She shrugged. "It is the truth. It is also the way the world will see us, even if they never discover the truth of my parentage."

"Well, they can all go to Beelzebub for all I care. I do what I like when it pleases me, and that extends to marrying whom I wish."

"Will your brother not be displeased with you for making such a misalliance?" she asked, the thought occurring to her for the first time.

"It is no concern of Maxim's whom I marry either."

Her husband's words were not quite the reassurance she might have hoped for.

"Have you sent word to him?"

"Not yet." Nando offered her a bowl of hothouse berries. "Have some more, darling. You've scarcely eaten a thing."

She relented, taking a strawberry. "You spoil me."

He winked. "My motives are impure."

Eleanora couldn't suppress the laugh that escaped her at his unrepentant pronouncement. "I'm not sure your motives have ever been pure to begin with."

He chuckled, the sound low and mellifluous. "I can assure you they have not. Tell me, how is it you know me so well already, having only been my wife for the span of mere hours?"

His teasing query sobered her as she swallowed the sweet, juicy bite of berry she had taken. "I scarcely know you at all. You're quite mysterious."

"Mysterious? That is not a word I've ever heard used in conjunction with myself before."

"Perhaps that's because everyone else accepts the face you present to them. You are Prince Nando, who takes nothing seriously, especially not himself. But beneath the charm and flirting and seducing, there is the true you, the one you hide from everyone."

He stared at her intently, as if he were considering her words with great deliberation. For a moment, she feared he would brush her observations aside and feign ignorance. Or worse, that she had angered him.

But at last, he spoke, lifting his shoulder in an elegant shrug. "What do you wish to know?"

The answer to that was easy. Everything—that was what she wanted to know. She wanted to learn all she could about this enigmatic man she had married. She wanted to discover what had made him into the man he was. But she would begin with one question, for she didn't know how far she could push him, how much he would reveal.

"What was young Prince Ferdinando like?" she asked, choosing an innocuous starting point.

He raised a brow. "Are you daring to suggest I am now elderly and decrepit?"

His tone was still teasing and light. She wondered if he would simply jest his way out of a serious conversation. Or seduce her until she forgot what she had asked and was too distracted by the pleasure he gave her to insist upon answers.

"You are older than I am," she pointed out, keeping her voice similarly pitched—teasing, carefree.

"By three years," he countered swiftly. "I would venture to say we are of an age, my dear."

"Three years is rather a lot of time."

"My brother is the ancient one," Nando said smoothly. "He has ten years more than I do. If anyone is elderly and decrepit, it is Maxim."

He spoke of his brother the king with undeniable fondness, and she was gratified that he hadn't sought to sidestep the topic yet again. "You are close to him."

"I love him." Nando paused, smiling wistfully. "For many years, we were all we had on this earth. The Varros Great War had taken almost everyone from us. But now he has a wife and a son. He no longer has need of me, if indeed he ever did. Most, including his privy council, would suggest he didn't. And they would probably not be wrong."

There was a hint of hurt lacing his voice as he finished. Eleanora did not miss it.

"Is that the reason you came to London? Did his privy council send you away?"

"Maxim would never listen to them if it came to banishing me. He loves me far too much, though he is loath to admit it."

"You came to London of your own volition, then?" The realization surprised her.

She had supposed that the king had sent his brother to London.

He nodded. "When my nephew, Prince Caspian Ferdinando, was born, I knew that Maxim had finally found the happiness he deserved. I was superfluous. I decided to roam."

His use of the prince's full name took her by surprise. "He is named after you, the young prince?"

Nando's chest puffed with pride. "Of course. I suggested Ferdo, but Maxim and his queen decided against it."

Eleanora bit her lip to stifle her chuckle. "Ferdo is a rather…interesting suggestion."

"Now you sound like my brother," Nando groused, looking sullen. "He told me it was a terrible name. I'm still quite vexed about it. But in the end, Caspian is an honorable choice, after our father."

More delicate threads of his past were being revealed, little by little.

"Were you close to your father?"

Stark sadness flashed across his expressive countenance before he hid it. "I scarcely knew him. I was a lad of ten when he was killed in the Varros Great War. Much of my life, he was in battle, leading his army, fighting for what should have rightfully been his." He paused, biting his lower lip as if to collect his composure before continuing. "He never had the opportunity to ascend the throne. I was kept hidden safely away, cosseted and soft, scarcely knowing a hint of the death my brother and father and the loyalists to the House of Tayrnes faced daily. It was only when my father died that I began to realize what being at war truly meant."

Her heart ached for the young man he had been, hidden away, barely having the chance to know his father, losing him at such a young age.

She placed her hand on his, wanting to give him comfort. "I am sorry for what you endured."

"You needn't be sorry for me." His smile was bitter now. "As I said, I was coddled. I've never had to kill a man, nor have I ever shed blood. Until recently, that is."

"That doesn't make the loss of your father any less," she said with feeling. "I lost my father as well, but not to death. Rather, it was his own callousness. I was a bastard, and he scarcely cared for my existence at all. I met him only on a few occasions, and when he had tired of my mother, he evicted us from the home he had settled my mother in, and our life changed. She had to return to the stage, and although she did her best to keep the truth of our situation from me, I understood that something had happened. Our house was not as large, not as tidy, our furniture not as elegant. We had only two servants instead of the maids, butler, cook, and housekeeper to which I had grown accustomed. Later, I realized the bevy of servants and fine home and furnishings had been for his benefit, not ours. And when my mother had no longer been of use to him, he had cast us away as if we were rubbish."

Realizing she had been talking about herself, and revealing far more than she had intended, Eleanora stopped her tale of woe.

"As I said," she added, intensely aware of his stare upon her, studying, searching, seeing, "it was naught compared to what you faced in the Great War."

"To the devil with what I faced. Your father was a heartless scoundrel. Tell me his name. I'd like to challenge him to a duel in your honor. I'd never more happily shoot a fellow at dawn."

He was grim, his jaw tense and hard, and the harshness in his voice melted something inside her. He was outraged on her behalf. But that was not the way the world worked for women like her mother, for women like Eleanora. No one was outraged for them.

"I don't know his name," she admitted. "I couldn't tell you if I wanted."

And she most assuredly didn't want her husband to challenge the man who had sired her to a duel. Although she did appreciate the sentiment behind Nando's declaration. It was almost as if he was being protective of her. Championing her.

"I'll set Tierney and his men on it," Nando said, determined. "I'll find out his name and make him pay for what he did to you and your mother."

"No," she said swiftly. "Thank you, but no. Mr. Tierney has enough to concern him, particularly since he still has men making certain to keep you safe."

"I don't need them."

The worry for him that had never been far returned, a bud unfurling into a full blossom. And it was the perfect moment to say what she had been thinking since well before they had wed.

"Perhaps we should return to Varros, where you will be safer in the court with your brother's men to surround you."

"Like a mongrel with his tail between his legs?" Nando curled his lip. "Never. I do not flee from my enemies. Ferdinando of the House of Tayrnes is no coward. I face my enemies like a man. I will not run. I would rather die first."

"But the danger to you?—"

"The danger to me is nothing," he interrupted. "I have already told you, Eleanora. This is my concern and not yours. I'll not speak another word on the matter."

The sharpness in his voice cut her as surely as a blade. After learning so much about him, she couldn't help but to feel his hasty denial was the verbal equivalent of a slamming door. And she was left on the other side of it, helpless and alone. The sensual abandon that had held her in its spell dissipated.

"As you wish it, Your Royal Highness." She rose from the bed, shaking out the banyan he had given her to wear, which was rather voluminous, given her size compared to his.

If he did not want her to pry in his affairs, then she would treat him with the formality she knew he despised.

"Eleanora."

She moved across the chamber, intent upon finding one of her new dressing gowns and donning that instead.

"I've angered you."

She said nothing. His voice was near. Eleanora turned back to find him hovering over her, his expression pained.

"Forgive me, please. It wasn't my intention to speak so crossly. It is merely that I don't wish to have such a serious discussion on a day that is meant to be nothing but happy."

He was a man well accustomed to having his own way in all things. A prince, for heaven's sake. Worry settled over her yet again. How would they make this marriage work? Would he eventually grow bored or tired of her? What would she do when his attentions inevitably strayed? She couldn't bear to think of it. She ought to have known how far she was out of her depths with him. Only a fool would have agreed to this union.

"I forgive you, and you are right, of course. We should leave such a heavy conversation for another day," she relented, forcing a smile.

He took her hands in his. "You are thinking again. I have not distracted you sufficiently. I don't like to see you frowning so."

Perhaps his plan was to distract her, to seduce her. To wash away her concerns.

I want you to be mine , he had told her when he had asked her to marry him. And at the time, she had been warmed by the possession in his voice, by the notion that Nando should want her with such ferocity. Now, she began to wonder whether he had simply wanted to marry her because it had been the only way he would be able to bed her as often as he liked.

He kissed her swiftly, chasing the lingering worries for now. Nando was the sun banishing the clouds, shining bright and hot. She wrapped her arms around his lean waist and held him tightly, hoping her worries were for naught.

Either way, she was going to have to make certain she kept a firm distance between them. She couldn't afford to risk her heart with a man who would never give her his own.

Nando woke up at dawn to Benvolio purring on his pillow and an empty place beside him where Eleanora should have been.

Also, to the glaring realization that he had been an arse the night before.

He had dismissed her concern—not because it was unwarranted, but because it was an unpleasant subject. One he didn't want to think about on their wedding day, a day that was to have solely been devoted to making her come as many times and in as many ways as he possibly could. The thought did nothing to assuage the morning cockstand he was currently sporting.

"Benvolio, go sleep somewhere that doesn't involve my head, won't you?" he grumbled to the cat through the murky shadows.

Once again, there was errant fur tickling his cheek.

And, in typical feline fashion, Benvolio refused to move. Because as far as the cat was concerned, he was the master of the house.

Eleanora had slept in her chamber last night. It ought not to bother him, the distance between them. He had never slept with any of his lovers unless he had been thoroughly sotted. Such intimacy was the sort that he avoided at all costs, even if he had no qualms about burying his face between a woman's thighs.

Emotion, sentiment, a sense of familiarity too uncomfortable for him to allow—these were what he had managed to avoid for one-and-thirty years of carousing and wenching his way through life. Clinging women bored him. Women who told him they loved him—and there had been many—made him itchy.

Now, he was the one who had fallen in love. What an astounding turn of circumstances.

Benvolio stretched and yawned, leaving one of his paws draped indolently over Nando's nose.

"Damn you, feline," he muttered, gently removing the paw before sitting up. "You're fortunate I've grown inordinately fond of you, else I would relegate you to the kitchens."

Benvolio yawned, looking distinctly unconcerned.

As well he might. They both knew that Nando couldn't live without the little beggar. Saving Benvolio from the street had been one of the best things Nando had ever done.

That and making Eleanora his wife.

At the renewed thought of her, Nando hastily donned a banyan, leaving Benvolio to further slumber on his bed without him. He knocked gently at the door adjoining his chamber to Eleanora's, not wishing to wake her if she was still sleeping.

"Come," she called softly.

A pleasant surprise—she was awake.

He didn't waste any time in opening the door and entering her room, finding her completely dressed and ready to begin her day. She wore an elegant gown of pale pink that was quite unlike her customary, ill-fitting dresses—perhaps it had been a gift from Princess Stasia. Her golden hair had been swept into a coil at her nape, a few curls free to frame her face. And Deus, she was lovely, even if he mourned the lack of skin on display.

He smiled, so taken with her that he could scarcely bear it. "Good morning, my dear. You are looking unspeakably gorgeous."

An understatement. She was looking like a goddess. Like a woman he couldn't wait to strip naked and pleasure until she was mindless. She was looking like the only woman he ever wanted for the rest of his life.

Eleanora dipped into a perfect curtsy. "Good morning to you as well. You needn't flatter me, you know. We are already wed."

"And you needn't curtsy to me in private," he countered, unable to resist going to her and taking her in his arms. "But I was hardly flattering you. I was simply telling you the truth."

She settled against his chest with a rightness that couldn't be denied. "I know I am quite plain. Not at all the sort of beauties to which you are doubtlessly accustomed."

He had known many women who were, objectively speaking, quite beautiful. But he had never known a woman who affected him the way she did. Every part of her was a revelation.

"You are not at all plain," he countered firmly, kissing the bridge of her nose. "I refuse to hear such nonsense from you again."

She smelled like the bath they had taken together the night before, like a lush summer garden thanks to the Winters soap. It was intoxicating. She was intoxicating. His cock pulsed.

"The truth is not nonsense."

"It is when it's not the truth," he countered effortlessly, wondering if he could persuade her to never leave this room.

They stared at each other, and then he couldn't refrain from kissing her. His mouth took hers, and she kissed him back with gratifying urgency. He was awash in her, her scent, her taste.

He lifted his head reluctantly. "You've taken your tea already."

"I'm accustomed to taking my tea when the servants take theirs."

The reminder of the way she had been made to earn her bread irked him—he wished he had met her before she had embarked on her career as Miss Brett.

"I'll feed Tierney's ballocks to my pet alligator," he vowed fervently. "You never should have been relegated to taking tea with servants below stairs."

He regretted referring to the other man's anatomy in such vulgar fashion at once, but he needn't have worried over her missish sensibilities.

Her brow furrowed. "You have a pet alligator?"

Perhaps she didn't know what the word ballocks meant.

"No." He kissed the furrow on her forehead, smoothing it with his lips. "But I will find one just for that purpose."

Eleanora giggled, and the sound was girlish and filled with light, and he wished he could somehow capture it so that he could hear it, again and again, and know that he was the source of that lighthearted mirth.

"You are positively outlandish." There was no heat to her words.

This was what Nando wanted, this easiness between them. No weighty concerns of the outside world to intrude. It was just the two of them in a bedroom, lost in each other.

He grinned. "I like to make myself memorable."

Another chuckle escaped her, merriment dancing in her blue eyes. "You are indeed memorable. No one could ever say otherwise."

"I shall consider that a compliment of the finest order, my dear." He grew serious, searching her gaze. "But you are a princess now, Eleanora. You needn't wake at dawn with the chambermaids and the footmen. Sleep until noon if it suits you."

"I expect it will take some time for me to grow accustomed to this new life I lead." Her tone turned wistful.

"You are not regretting your decision to marry this mad prince already, are you?" he was quick to ask, not accustomed to feeling so lacking in confidence when it came to the women in his life.

Ordinarily, they lost their hearts to him. They chased him. They wanted him. Instead, he had been the one to lose his heart to Eleanora. The one to chase, the one to want. More than that, however, he understood that a great change had happened for her yesterday. She had gone from Miss Brett to Princess Eleanora, from being little better than a household domestic to being the mistress of a town house in her own right. The adjustment would perhaps be even more difficult when they returned to Varros, for she didn't speak the language and he kept his apartments in the palace.

There, she would be revered, just as she deserved.

She shook her head. "Of course not. Are you regretting marrying a woman so far beneath you?"

He kissed her to banish any doubt she might have, not stopping until she was pliant in his arms, her tongue mating with his. When he lifted his head, they were both breathless. "Does that feel like regret to you?"

She pressed her fingers to her lips, her eyes wide. "No."

"Good." He kissed those fingers, for they were in his way, then nibbled at the tip of one. "I would also like to remind you that there is only one way in which you are beneath me, and that is when we are in bed."

" Nando ."

Her scandalized voice left him feeling ridiculously pleased. "Of course, you might also be atop me. I do have so much to show you, wife."

A light, becoming flush swept over her cheeks. "Atop you?"

He couldn't quell his smile. "Oh yes. Shall I demonstrate now?"

Mischief sparkled in her eyes. "Indeed, I think you must."

And if Nando hadn't already been hopelessly, helplessly in love with her, he would have certainly fallen then.