Marion Lennox: Royal Marriage Of Convenience

She was going nowhere. This was what she wanted most in the entire world. There was nothing except this place, this time, this man. She’d made her vows and this was her right.

How could she have wanted this to be a marriage on paper only? How could she have denied herself this joy? Yes, this was for now. Nick had no want of an everyday wife, and she wanted her freedom. Or she thought she wanted her freedom. But that was for tomorrow and to deny herself this pleasure, this wonder, this sensation that she was where she most wanted to be in the world, that she had at last found her home…

‘Where did you say this condom was?’ he growled, and she came as near as a hair’s width of saying ‘no, no need’, for to lose him now, to have him move away…But somehow sense prevailed; somehow she managed to whisper directions; somehow she made herself release him and wait and hold her breath in case the magic was lost…

But then he was back, sinking down onto the wonderful thick fireside-rug, smiling down at her in the moonlight and making love to her with his eyes.

‘And now,’ he whispered softly, in a slow, sensual whisper that made her body tingle with aching need. ‘And now…’

He was above her, lowering himself with tantalising slowness. Skin against skin, not all at once but inch by glorious inch, until they lay full-length naked against each other.

Oh, the wonder of him. He was kissing her neck, her breasts, a rain of kisses, while his wonderful hands caressed her body, her navel, her belly and beyond.

He was so beautiful. He was…Nick.

The fire crackled, spitting out a tiny shower of sparks like an exclamation mark into the night. She could hear the fire, hear Nick’s breathing, and she’d never felt so alive as she did at this moment.

‘Nick,’ she whispered.

‘My love?’

‘I want you.’

‘Not half as much as I want you,’ he whispered, and he shifted, pushing himself upward, holding her firm within the strong bounds of his thighs. She gasped with pleasure, with aching need, arched upward, aching to be closer, closer, closer.

Nick.

He was too slow. She held his hips and tugged him forwards but he leaned forward and kissed her, slowly, languorously, a foretaste of what was to come.

‘My Rose,’ he whispered. ‘My wife.’

‘I need you.’ Her thighs were aching with need, her body was creating a flame all of its own, but still he resisted. He smiled at her, his smile a caress, and then he kissed her. He moved dreamily downward, tasting her, loving her, moving from lips to neck to belly and beyond, until she was ready to cry with frustration and pleasure and want, and aching, throbbing need.

This was no one-sided love match, she thought as her need took over. This was her man. Her husband. The last dreary years-the fear of Max’s illness, a husband who had no strength to take her, a desolate widowhood-they had been far too long to wait a moment longer to take what she most wanted in the whole world.

Nick…

He was rising again, thinking where next his mouth should explore, but she was no longer interested in his mouth. With a fierceness that surprised him her hands moved to have, to hold, to centre him exactly where he needed to be centred.

‘My love,’ she whispered, and he was there. He was where she most needed him to be.

And he came down, deep, deep inside her, strong and gentle, plundering yet loving. She arched, wanting him deeper, deeper. She moved with him, moving sensuously on the fireside rug as he needed her to move, letting him take her where he wanted, but assuaging her own need, taking her to where she was meant to be.

She loved him. For this moment she loved him, and how could she not? She was wedded to this man, and that he could be her husband left her wide-eyed with wonder. Her husband. Her mate.

But then she stopped thinking as her body reacted in the most primeval of ways. This was meant to happen-a man taking a woman unto him and becoming one. That was how she felt, as if she was dissolving and becoming part of him, losing a part of herself and gaining him in turn. The warmth, the dark and the firelight, the terrors of the immediate past and the bleakness of the last few years, none of them could impinge on what was happening here-this wondrous fulfilment of passion that had her body taking its need, and causing the night around them to merge into a mist of heat and firelight and white-hot love.

It went on and on, blissfully, achingly, magically, and the moment the sensation eased another started to build. Over and over.

And when it finished, when finally they lay back exhausted, still she held him. Her Nick. Who knew what tomorrow held? But for tonight she was where she was meant to be. She was in her husband’s arms.

They rolled until they were side by side. The fire was warm in the small of her back. Somehow she found the energy to pull away, just far enough so she could kiss him tenderly on the mouth. So she could smile at him in the firelight and watch him smile back. She loved his smile. She loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. She loved Nick .

‘Thank you,’ she whispered.

‘Thanks?’ Surprise was mixed with the remnants of spent passion. ‘You’re thanking me? Rose, do you have any idea how beautiful you are? You’re the most desirable woman.’ He groaned. ‘And how do you think I can walk away after that?’

Her thoughts clouded a little. Just a little, as reality returned.

But tomorrow was for tomorrow. She refused to let it cloud right now.

‘We should go to sleep,’ she whispered.

‘Hoppy has the bed.’

‘So he has.’

‘Are you warm?’ he asked, and she chuckled.

‘You’re really asking that?’

‘I guess I’m not,’ he said, and kissed her again. ‘Do you really want to go to sleep?’

‘I guess.’

‘You guess ?’

‘Maybe not.’

‘Good,’ he said, and tugged her to him again. ‘Good, my love. Hoppy has the bed and he needs his beauty sleep. But you don’t need beauty sleep, for how could you be any more beautiful than you are right now? So, if you don’t need beauty sleep, have you any more suggestions as to how we can fill the time?’

‘I’m guessing here,’ she said, smiling at him. ‘Maybe twenty questions?’

‘There is that,’ he said with mock seriousness. ‘Or “I spy”.’

‘Maybe we could find that pack of cards.’

‘I have another suggestion,’ he said, and lifted himself up so his eyes were gleaming down at her in the firelight. ‘It’s a really good suggestion.’

‘What…what is it?’

‘That’s for me to know and you to find out,’ he whispered. ‘Just lie back my love, think of England and let me show you.’

MORNINGcame too soon.

Or maybe it wasn’t morning. Rose stirred where she lay. She was still before the fire, which was now a pile of glowing embers in the grate. At some stage of the night Nick had thrown on another log, and fetched pillows and a vast down-filled duvet, so as the fire had died they’d stayed warm. She was still cradled against his body, the small of her back pressed gently into the curve of his chest. As if she belonged there.

There was a soft knock on the door. Maybe that was what had woken her. She lifted Nick’s wrist a little so she could see his watch-and she yelped.

But, instead of releasing her, Nick’s arms held her tighter. He nuzzled her ear and she felt rather than heard his low chuckle.

‘Going somewhere, wife?’

‘The door…Nick, it’s two in the afternoon.’

‘Golly,’ he said, and hugged her still tighter, and kissed the nape of her neck. She giggled and rolled sideways, sighed and reluctantly sat up. The sun was entering through the chinks in the drapes. Hoppy was sitting on the settee looking down at them with lop-sided concern.