For hours she worked to the familiar and comforting sound of the sewing machine, painstakingly finishing off the gown with some careful hand stitching. She would surprise Luc with her dress, yes. Her pulse began to race. And not just at the ball. Her self-imposed sex ban had gone on for long enough and now she wanted him in her arms again. He had heeded her words and treated her with respect. Night after night he had lain beside her without attempting to touch her—even though there had been times when she’d wished he would. When that slow heat would build low in her belly, making her want to squirm with frustration as he slept beside her.
She finished the dress to her satisfaction but as she got ready for the ball she felt shot with nerves—because what if Luc had decided he no longer wanted her? What if their stand-off had killed his desire for her? Smoothing down the full-length skirt, she stared at her reflected image in the mirror. He had to want her.
She thought back to how she’d felt when she had first arrived here, when she’d married him under duress and had been apprehensive about what lay ahead. But he had respected her wishes and not touched her. And as he had gradually opened up to her, so had her fears about the future diminished. For fear had no place in the heart of a mother-to-be and neither did selfishness. The life she had been prepared to embrace now seemed all wrong. She’d thought a lot about Luc’s lonely childhood and the repercussions of that. And she knew she couldn’t subject this baby to single parenthood without first giving her husband the chance to be a full-time father. And a full-time husband.
Her heart began thundering with an emotion she could no longer deny. Because when tonight’s ball was ended, she was going to take her husband in her arms and tell him she wanted them to start over. Tell him she was willing to try to create the kind of family unit which neither of them had ever had before. And then she was going to seduce him...
The woman in the mirror looked back at her with hope shining from her eyes and Lisa allowed herself a small smile. Years of working in the fashion industry had taught her to be impartial—especially about her own appearance. She knew that her already curvy body was swollen with child but she was also aware that never had she looked quite so radiant as she did tonight. Her hair was glossy and her skin was glowing. Her handmade dress was fitted tightly on the bodice and cleverly pleated at the front, so that it fell to the ground in a flattering silhouette. And the stark, square neckline provided the perfect setting for the real star of the show—the royal rubies which blazed like fire against her pale skin.
‘Lisa!’
She heard Luc calling and, picking up the full-length black velvet cloak lined with matching crimson satin, she slipped it around her shoulders. Luc would see her at the same time as all his subjects and friends, she thought happily. Tonight she was going to do him proud.
‘Nervous?’ he questioned as she walked alongside him through the flame-lit corridors in a rustle of velvet and silk.
‘A little,’ she admitted.
He glanced down at the dramatic fall of black velvet which covered her entire body. ‘Aren’t you going to show me this dress you’ve been working on so furiously?’
‘I will when we get there.’
‘Are you hiding your bump until the last minute? Is that it?’
‘Partly.’ Lisa felt the heavy necklace brushing against her throat and shivered a little as she pulled the cloak closer. ‘And I’m a little cold.’
But it wasn’t just nerves which were making her skin prickle with little goosebumps, because the fine weather which traditionally characterised the May Ball hadn’t materialised. As soon as Lisa had opened her eyes that morning, she’d realised something was different. For the first time since she’d been on the island, the sun wasn’t shining and the air was laced with an unseasonable chill. According to the servant who had served her breakfast, the temperamental wind they called Il Serpente was threatening to wreak havoc on the Mediterranean island.
But although the predinner drinks had now been moved inside, the palace looked more magnificent than Lisa had ever seen it. Dark roses threaded into ivy were woven around the tall ballroom pillars, giving the place a distinctly gothic feel, and more crimson roses decorated the long table where the meal would be served. The string section of the Mardovian orchestra was playing softly, but as soon as the trumpets announced her and Luc’s arrival they burst into the national anthem. As the stirring tune drew to a close, Lisa slipped the velvet cloak from her shoulders.
She was not expecting such an OTT reaction as the collective gasps from the guests who had assembled to greet the royal guests of honour. Nor for her to glance up into Luc’s face to find herself startled by the dark look stamped onto his features which seemed to echo the growing storm outside. Was her dress a mistake? Did the vibrant colour draw attention to the swell of her body, reminding the Prince and all his subjects of the real reason she was here?
‘Is something...wrong?’
Luc’s cold gaze was fixed on the blaze of jewels at her throat, but he must have been aware that everyone around them was listening because he curved his lips into a smile which did not meet his eyes. ‘Wrong?’ he questioned smoothly. ‘Why should there be anything wrong? You look exquisite. Utterly exquisite, ma chérie.’
But Lisa didn’t feel exquisite as she sat down to dinner, in front of all that shiny golden cutlery. She felt tawdry. As if she’d broken a fundamental rule which nobody had bothered to tell her about. What on earth was the matter? And then she glanced down the table and met Eleonora’s eyes and wondered if she was imagining the brief look of triumph which passed over the aide’s face.
Somehow she managed to get through the lavish meal, perversely relieved that protocol meant she wasn’t sitting next to her husband, because no way could she have eaten a thing if she’d been forced to endure another second of his inexplicable rage. She had lost her appetite anyway and merely picked at her food as she tried to respond to the Sultan of Qurhah’s amusing observations, when all she could think about was Luc’s forbidding posture. But it wasn’t until the dancing started and he came over to lead her imperiously onto the ballroom floor for the first dance that she found herself alone with him at last.
‘Something is wrong,’ she hissed as he slid his arms around her waist, but instead of it being a warm embrace, it felt as if she were locked inside a powerful vice. ‘Isn’t it? You’ve been glaring at me all evening. Luc, what’s the matter? What am I supposed to have done?’
‘Not here,’ he bit out. ‘I’m not having this discussion here.’
‘Then why are you bothering to dance with me?’
‘Because you are my wife and I must be seen to dance with you.’ His words were like ice. ‘To paint the illusion of marital bliss for my idealistic subjects. That is why.’
Distress welled up inside her and Lisa wanted to push him away from her. To flounce from the ballroom with her head held high so that nobody could see the glimmer of tears which were pricking at the backs of her eyes. But pride wouldn’t let her. She mustn?
?t give anyone the opportunity to brand her as some kind of hysteric. That would be a convenient category for a woman like her, wouldn’t it?
So she closed her eyes to avoid having to look at her husband and as she danced woodenly in his arms, she wondered how she could have been so stupid. Had she really thought that some silent truce had been declared between them? That they had reached a cautious kind of harmony?
Stupid Lisa, she thought bitterly. She had let it happen all over again. Despite everything she knew to be true, she had allowed herself to trust him. She had started to imagine a marriage they might be able to work at. A marriage which might just succeed.
Behind her tightly shut eyelids she willed away her tears and finished her dance with Luc, and afterwards she danced with the Sultan and then the cousin of the Sheikh of Jazratan. Somehow she managed to play the part expected of her, even though her smile felt as if it had been plastered to her lips like concrete.
But at least her late pregnancy gave her a solid reason to excuse herself early. She slipped away from the ballroom and had one of the servants bring her cloak, which she wrapped tightly around herself as she made her way back along the deserted corridors to their apartments.