Page 16 of To Claim His Heir by Christmas

Right at this moment she was crushed up against the door, as far away from him as she could get, and Thane hardened his body, trying to expunge the terrible self-awareness, the stomach ache that whispered of rejection. Not once had she rebuffed their volatile passion. Not once. The reason for which he wanted to know. Now.

‘You never answered my question,’ he said, his tone darkly savage. ‘Was it the food or the company that was so bad you could not eat?’

Her absurdly long, decadent eyelashes were downswept. ‘Does it matter?’ she asked softly.

Patience dwindling, he went in for the kill. Even though he was unsure if he could go through with this if she said yes.

Astounding and unthinkable as it was, if she did he’d rather put her on an Arunthian plane without another word. The ‘why’ of it wouldn’t be difficult to find if he cared to revisit his boyhood, watch misery trickle down his mother’s face as she pined for another. But delve into the past he would not. That long-ago place was a dark punishment he would never descend to again.

‘Are you in love with Augustus, Luciana?’

She massaged her temple as if he were a headache she wished to rub away.

‘I wasn’t born to marry for love, Thane. I have no choice over the direction my life takes.’ Her voice was tinged with bitterness and he felt a flicker of suspicion spark in his gut.

Frowning, he narrowed his eyes on her face, his guts twisting into a noxious tangle. ‘Have you been in his bed?’

If he’d blinked he would have missed it. Her wince of distaste.

‘That is none of your business.’

‘Have you been in his bed, Luciana?’ he asked again—harder, darker. Almost cutthroat.

‘What difference does it make?’

‘For hell’s sake, just answer the question!’

Up came her arms with an exasperated toss. ‘No! Okay? I haven’t been anywhere near his rotten bed. Would you want to?’ She groaned aloud as if she wished the words back, and shoved another chunk of chocolate between her pink lips.

Thane felt a smile kick the corner of his mouth as relief doused over him like a warm shower of summer rain. That temper of hers still gave her a candid, somewhat strident bent.

‘And you still intend to marry this man?’ Even though the idea appalled her?

‘Yes.’

He would have to be six feet under first.

Clearly Henri was pushing her into it. That bastard. He should have killed the man years ago, when he’d had the chance. Fury pummelled at him to think she was being forced to the altar as his mother had been. And Thane’s every protective instinct kicked in—he wanted her kept far away from Henri and Augustus. Where neither of them could reach her.

‘You will not touch him, comprende? Nor will you allow him to touch you.’

Not that he was giving her the chance to do either.

Huffing a little, she arched one fair brow. ‘That’s going to prove a bit difficult when we are married, Thane.’

‘Which is precisely the reason you are not marrying him.’

His mind was set. Firstly, she had the rarity of blue blood, and a union       with her would give him his crown. Four years early. His struggles to build a better life for his people would end. His uncle’s dictatorship would cease as Thane took total control of the throne. Finally he could make amends.

And secondly—he easily silenced the impish taunt of his earlier words—there would be no riding bareback into hell as he aligned with the enemy. Because while she might be a Verbault at this moment, Thane would soon make her a Guerrero. Tomorrow seemed as good a day as any. Saving her from a fate worse than death—namely the vapid Viscount and her father’s political clutches.

Win-win. Let it not be said that he wasn’t knight in shining armour material.

A faint crease lined her forehead as she fingered back the curtain of her hair to glance at him warily. ‘I…I’m not?’

This could go two ways, he decided. Either he’d be flooded with a profusion of gratitude or she’d fight him under the influence of some misplaced loyalty to her father. So it was a good job there wasn’t a battle he couldn’t win.

‘No. Instead you are marrying me.’

CHAPTER FOUR

IN THE DISTANCE Luciana heard the driver’s door open, then close with a deft clunk. Then came a cacophony of voices that fluttered around the car—the cadence low, masculine. And all the while she stared at Thane, who wore a mask of impermeable steel. Her mouth was working but no sound was emerging as she swung like a pendulum, lurching from fighting tears of frustration to biting back a laugh that was sure to lean over to the hysterical side—because the proposal she’d expected had finally come to pass. From the wrong man entirely.

---