Page 51 of Stranded with His Runaway Bride

For hours.

Only once she knew everyone was settled, the last of the homeless found temporary accommodation, the exhausted staff sent to their own beds and a team in place to cover any stragglers, did Violetta ask Helene to show her to a room she and Luisa could use.

Violetta assumed she’d be back in the small room she’d fled from, but it was a thing of the past. Instead, she was taken to the suite designated for the crown princess.

The Elisabetha Suite, Helene told her.

Of course it was.

His mother’s old apartments, and every consort that had gone before her. Perhaps even the famed Elisabetha herself—this part of the castle was old enough.

They would have been Violetta’s too had she married Leo.

‘I think there’s been a mistake—’

‘No, ma’am. The prince was most insistent.’

The rooms were stunning, in blue and gold, with elegant gilt-edged furniture and soaring ceilings. Violetta had always lived in luxurious comfort, but never such splendour. Behind her Luisa whistled softly at the vast windows where pale blue drapes hung down in voluptuous folds caught up by lavishly embroiled swags. As for the bed, it was enormous, with a crown all of its own, perched high overhead and draped with more opulent swags of blue silk.

Piled high with downy pillows and a sumptuous silk eiderdown, it was a bed made for so much more than sleeping and with more than enough room for two.

Luisa caught her eye and raised a brow.

Violetta blushed and turned her attention elsewhere.

In the centre of the room sat a table with a vase of flowers. From the mass of gorgeous yellow roses, a postcard peeked out.

One ofthosepostcards.

In this photo Leo was in mid-manoeuvre, perched on the edge of dinghy racing through a choppy ocean, doused by the waves, his gaze focused intently on the horizon. On the reverse, in his now familiar hand, and anticipating precisely the objections she’d had, he’d told her he’d not hear of her staying anywhere other than this suite. He was not about to insult a fellow monarch who’d brought her entire country to the aide of his in its hour of need.

It was the postscript that really warmed her heart because that was for her, Violetta, and not the grand duchess.

I thought you’d enjoy this one. I’m looking particularly macho, don’t you think?

Despite her weariness, that raised a smile.

Macho and hot. Her heart gave a flutter.

In the midst of everything he’d faced as leader of a devastated country, he’d found time to write this postcard and show such tenderness and caring.

Violetta’s heart fluttered again. Did hereallycare for her?

Did he love her?

Somehow despite all his self-assurance she knew that he was scared too. As was she, terrified that he could so easily crush her fragile heart.

Neither of them had known much love in their lives, growing up with parents who’d failed to provide even the most basic of affections. She doubted he’d be able to make that first step.

She would just have to be brave enough for both of them.

She showered, then dressed in the ivory silk nightgown and lace peignoir that Luisa had supplied with a knowing smile before disappearing for the night.

Then Violetta settled down to wait.

For every question he’d asked, ‘the grand duchess’ had been the answer.

Who had spoken in the numerous press conferences to ensure the help it so needed came pouring into his country?

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