In fact, he barely did personal relationships at all. Only Seb was allowed close and even he was often kept at arm’s length.
His easy path to the grand duchy had been blocked by the weather, but it was still in his sights.
For now, they were trapped here and there was nothing he could do about it, so he focused instead on what he could control. He made a mental tally of precisely where they stood.
They had shelter and basic foodstuffs. They had extra clothing, of sorts.
While he was obliged to keep his hands off her, that cheerleader outfit was proving to be too distracting for comfort.
He wandered the house, checking the guest suites and family bedrooms first, looking for anything they could use for an overnight stay, but beneath the dust sheets they’d all been stripped of their linens.
In the servants’ quarters he had more luck, finding two small rooms with a made-up single bed and en-suite bathroom each. He found a supply of unopened toiletries, including toothbrushes and shampoos.
The rooms also faced away from the worst of the weather. At least they might be able to sleep despite the gale blowing outside. The storm was getting worse, and the old house creaked and groaned as the wind tore round it.
On the ground floor the storerooms yielded up torches and storm lanterns. A pantry held a stash of candles and matches. Yet there was no radio and no TV in any of the rooms. If they were to have any entertainment tonight it would be coming from hisgrand-mère’s battered CD-player or themselves.
Under other circumstances there would be some pleasant ways for them to while away a few hours together.
He thought again of Violetta’s slender spine. The perfect legs and buttocks in those sheer panties.
Perhaps they didn’t have to sleep separately. Perhaps he could persuade her to join him in his bed. Perhaps they could return to the palace tomorrow and actually wed.
Once he’d discovered the real reason she ran away.
There wasn’t another man in the equation, he was certain of that. She would have said so. It would have been the easiest way to extricate herself from the wedding. Instead, she’d chosen to make up some lie about finding him repellent.
Leo gathered up his supplies and headed back to the kitchens.
Why was it so imperative that she get back to San Nicolo tonight?
Unless...
Could she be honestly thinking of trying to take power in her own right? A woman who’d been carefully trained only to be the perfect wife to the monarch, not the monarch herself.
Her uncle had said she had no aptitude for the work, but perhaps she’d concealed her true identity from him as well.
She wasn’t in the kitchen when he returned with his finds. He dumped everything on the table and went off searching for her.
He called to her, but the servants’ quarters remained silent.
The door back to the hallway stood open and beyond that he heard sounds coming from the ballroom.
In the hall the door to the ballroom stood ajar. The shutters in there were closed and the room was filled with shadows. Then Leo saw a flicker of movement.
Violetta was there, in the centre of the room.
His gaze slid inexorably down those slender legs. She’d returned to the costume cupboards in the attics and filched the ballet shoes. Their ribbon ties criss-crossed her ankles. As he watched she rose up en pointe and sketched out a few steps.
Ballet.
There’d always been a certain gracefulness to how she moved, a pleasing fluidity. Now he understood why.
She wove unhurried, elegant moves through the half-light. A series of pirouettes, an arabesque, a leap, as graceful as a gazelle, where she appeared to almost hover in mid-air.
Unnoticed Leo watched, transfixed by the heart-stopping grace on show as Violetta danced. Lucky would be the man who held the heart of a girl who had the passion to dance like that.
In the dim hallway Leo scowled at nothing in particular. When had he become so fanciful?