Page 30 of Royal Surrogate 1

It isn’t, perhaps, the most convincing speech of all time—I’ve spent enough time around law students to know—but something seems to break through for him. His expression softens, his confusion and disappointment replaced by something almost tender.

“If that’s what you want, little owl,” he says gently.

“It is.” My voice cracks as I say it, which makes me feel stupid, but Caspar just nods.

“I won’t stop you from sleeping on the sofa if that’s what you wish,” he says, never taking his eyes from mine. “But it’s not an especially comfortable piece of furniture, and it’s certainly not long enough for an adult to stretch herself out. Besides, if you’re going to carry my child, I want you to be getting plenty of good, quality sleep. There’s no reason you shouldn’t have the bed.” He pauses, then adds, “Honestly, I’d prefer not to sleep on the sofa either. I won’t refuse, if you will accept no other arrangement, but I’d also rather sleep in my own bed. Do you trust me, Renae?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” I say. And that’s entirely the point. “I can’t—” My voice cracks again. “I can’t have that sort of relationship with you, Caspar. I can’t. And if we share that bed, I need you to promise me that you’ll respect that boundary.”

“Little owl, I?—”

“Promise me.” I don’t mean for those words to sound so wild, so desperate. Like I’m on the verge of breaking. But maybe I am.

And suddenly Caspar is down on one knee in front of me, just like he’s proposing. And somehow my hand is in his.

“Renae,” he says, looking up at me, “I vow on my title, and by the very name of Wintervale itself, that I will not touch you in that bed unless you ask me to.”

“I won’t ask you to.”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “You might, or you might not, but I promise you nothing will happen in that bed until you do ask me.”

And despite everything, there’s a conviction and a formality in his voice that makes me believe every word he says. He’s being overly confident in his belief that I might change my mind, but I truly do believe that he will keep his word in this.

“All right.” I feel as if a weight has been lifted from me, like I can breathe again. “Then we can both stay in the bed.”

That relief lasts me until we’re both tucked under the covers and the lights are out. Caspar is holding to his word, tucked away on the opposite side of the bed, but now that Noah is no longer here to distract me, I’m more aware of his body than I was on previous nights. I’m not touching him, but I can feel the heat of his body, feel every little move he makes through the vibrations of the mattress. I can hear his breathing as if he were right against me.

And my body is responding.

I roll onto my side, facing away from him. It helps a little, but I can tell I’m in for a long night.

Just get through tonight, I tell myself. It will get easier.

Because if it doesn’t, I’m in big trouble.

CHAPTER 23

Caspar

Renae seems as uncomfortable as I am, and I can sense her movements in the darkness. I’m a man of my word—I won’t touch her unless she asks—though her body seems to crave my touch as much as mine does hers.

But she finally finds sleep, and I hear her breathing slow. I can’t seem to get the thought of her from my mind. Under normal circumstances, I’d head for the bar in town and probably find a young townswoman—perhaps a tourist—there of my choosing to bed for the night. As I’ve made my intentions with Renae known, I don’t suppose I should go out and find myself just anyone to sleep with, not that I can get the woman beside me from my mind.

I just need to do…something.

After staring at the dark ceiling for a long while, I finally rise, taking care not to awaken Renae.

I make my way out of my suite to the game room down the hall. It’s late, and though part of me expects I’ll be alone, another isn’t surprised at all to find my brother Xavier inside.

“Hello, Caspar,” he says. It almost sounds as though he was expecting me himself as he throws a dart with one hand, balancing a glass of whiskey in his other. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Indeed,” I say, grinning as I pour myself a glass of the amber liquid. I watch my brother throw two more darts before I go over to pull them from the board for him.

I hand him back the three darts, nodding toward the board for him to take another round. He doesn’t waste a moment, throwing a perfect bullseye.

“I thought you’d be in bed with your betrothed,” he says. I can hear a certain amount of sarcasm in his voice—my brother isn’t one to come out and accuse me of anything, but I can always hear the undercurrent of what he’s thinking.

“I was. She’s fast asleep now.”

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