Page 31 of Engaged to London's Wildest Billionaire

‘They’re not happy with me either.’

The difference was, he didn’t care, whereas Sara appeared to. She moved a little closer to the bed and all his attention homed in on her. Her smooth, curved calves and slender ankles. He wondered then what she was wearing under the robe. That cute little ensemble from this morning, or maybe nothing at all...?

Ofcourseshe wore something. She wanted solace, not ravishing. He wrestled his imagination under control. He had a duty here. Stray erotic thoughts were not to be involved.

‘I expect they won’t be, but they seem to think it’s all my fault for leading you astray, so you’re in the clear.’

She came to the side of the bed slowly. The mattress dipped as she perched on the edge, as if she wasn’t sure she should be there. He was sure she shouldn’t. Lance gripped the sheets, lest he reach out and touch her. Sara looked down at her fingers.

‘I was about to be married, to be Queen, and they’re treating me like I’m some runaway child. I could understand why they might want me home if they were really worried, but it’s not about me. They don’t care about my choices. I’ve told them...’ she plucked at the quilt, looking anywhere bar at him ‘...but it doesn’t matter. I’m not important to them. I wasn’t important to Ferdinand either.’

Sara’s eyes were wide and sad, gleaming in the lamplight with more unshed tears. ‘I liked to dream. Aspired to be the best queen I possibly could be. To serve my country. I hoped I’d finally come to mean something to...’ Her voice choked and cracked. ‘It all seemed so worthy, but I really didn’t matter. I could have been any young, marginally presentable, virginal aristocrat. I’m interchangeable. I was to him, to my family. Perhaps even to my country.’

‘No.’ He wouldn’t take this; she was worth so much more. Another precious woman in her prime, being manipulated for the purposes of others. He knew that script, the ending so painfully familiar. That would not be the ending for her. He sat up, leaned forwards and took her hand, clasping it in his. It was so cool and small. Fragile, trembling like her voice.

‘They’re the fools, Sara. Ferdinand didn’t deserve you. He sought to carry on like his parents, whose marriage was propped up by nothing other than the weight of the crown. You think the King didn’t have mistresses? I can give you some of their names. And the Queen. She didn’t sit in her chambers knitting whilst her husband was entertaining. Be assured of that.’

Sara’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open, shock evident on her face. Perhaps he shouldn’t have shattered her illusions about the now deceased royal family, but he could not sit here and watch her blame herself.

‘I might not have lived in Lauritania for years,’ he said, ‘but my father was one of the King’s friends, and Rafe is my friend. Nothing much is secret from me where that family is concerned.’

‘So it wasn’t his fault; it was how he was raised?’

‘Never. It was all his fault. He could have tried to get to know you. Anyone who did that would see what I see. You’re a beautiful, passionate woman who hoped for romance, yet understood her duty to her country. What was not to love, or at the very least admire? You deserved that.’

She deserved it all.

She turned away, but not before a tear dripped onto her cheek. ‘And what of Annalise? She’s married to your best friend.’

He blew out a long breath and thought carefully about his answer, because the truth was important to him, painful as it might be. Kind lies might assuage, but they were lies nonetheless. ‘Your Queen was required to marry because of the constitution. Rafe is an ambitious man, a good man, an even better friend, but ambitious and cynical nonetheless. He won’t cheat, but I’m not sure the marriage was a love match.’

‘So the King doesn’t believe in love, but he’ll be faithful to their misery. Sounds wonderful.’ She huffed and her lips compressed into a thin line. ‘Do you believe in love?’

His heart thumped some anxious beats. In his experience, love was nothing more than a negotiation of interests, and never for him. He couldn’t be trusted to protect anyone, and when you loved someone it was your duty to protect them for ever. Lance couldn’t bear that responsibility, or the pain when he inevitably failed. Victoria’s marriage had seen an end to that. But Sara looked hopeful. Did she ask that question because she was looking for love here? His palm began to sweat. He let go of her hand.

‘I’m more cynical than he is. But don’t ever lose the belief in something more. It’s out there, waiting for you.’

‘Ferdinand didn’t love me. I’m not sure even my family do.’

What could he say? It was probably the truth. She hunched over, looking as if she were shrinking into herself more each moment.

‘If that’s the case, then they’re fools.’

‘You’re being kind.’ Tears glittered in her eyes. He hated them. She deserved so much more. He wanted to lay her down on the bed and kiss them away, turn the sadness into cries of pleasure. Replace that permanent look of disappointment. Make her smile, because her smile lit up the dark.

‘Kindness isn’t something I’ve ever been accused of. Do you think it becomes me?’

She huffed, but there it was, the merest raise of the corner of her mouth. For one moment that almost-smile made him feel capable of being whoever she needed him to be. She lifted her eyes to his, the hint of a flush across her face. ‘It does.’

A pulse beat deep inside him, a sultry sensation that thickened his blood and made him want in a way that shocked him. He flexed his hands on the covers of the bed. Then her smile faded; it guttered and died like a candle snuffed out in the breeze. As if any happiness was as ephemeral as morning mist.

‘My brother was...isthe favourite. My parents coveted the fact that I’d be Queen, but Heinrich...’ She looked at him, her eyes red-rimmed. ‘Did your parents have a favourite?’

Her brother was spoiled, entitled and unworthy. As for him? The past, that old wound, ached once more. More bruised than sharp now, it had been with him so many years. Victoria had suffered because of that favouritism.

He shrugged. ‘Aristocracy. The male inherits the title, the females are married off. That’s the way it is.’

‘It’s unfair. Would it be too much to ask to be wanted, not for what I can do but simply because I’m me?’

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