Kathryn Jensen - I Married A Prince

“And I will join them,” she said succinctly. “I only came to return this.”

She held out the canvas tote. He peered inside. Scrunched up in a humble ball at its bottom was the expensive dress he’d bought her.

“I’m sorry—I thought you’d be pleased.”

“Why?” she asked bluntly. “Why should a woman fall all over herself because you throw an expensive trinket her way?”

He blinked at her, searching for a comeback. He’d sensed this side of her two years ago, but for some reason it hadn’t occurred to him that she’d reject a gift now.

“Oh, I see,” she said when he failed to find words for his confused thoughts. “It’s always worked before, so why not now? Something like that? Well, there’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?” She swung away from him nonchalantly, gazing around the deck. “Where’s the food. I’m starved.”

Jacob watched as Allison sauntered across the deck, smiling pleasantly as she greeted a few of his guests on her way toward the hatch that led below, to the galley. She disappeared down the steps. It took several shocked minutes for him to realize what had just happened.

She’d spurned him!

Perhaps he should have skipped right to his usual second gift, a diamond tennis bracelet. But he had a sneaking suspicion she’d have quite literally flung it in his face. What was wrong with the woman? Didn’t she appreciate quality?

Gradually, anger crept in over his incredulousness. Every muscle in his body tensed. He felt as if he were standing under a blazing sun, although the air was cooling as a purple dusk wrapped itself around the yacht. Miniature lanterns, strung along the deck rail, flickered on, casting a golden glow across the deck. With a low growl of aggravation, he tucked the canvas tote under his arm and strode toward the steps to the galley.

An elderly couple stood talking with Allison. He cast them a black look; they politely ended the conversation and headed up the steps.

Jacob grabbed Allison’s arm, stopping her from reaching for a marinated mussel on a serving tray. “What are you trying to pull?”

“Pull?” she asked, innocently.

“Yes, pull. Do you think you can up the ante by giving me back the dress? What is it you want from me?”

She turned her head away, as if pretending to study the array of fresh sliced melon and tropical fruit.

“Look at me, Alli,” he ordered.

She ignored him, but he felt her arm lock nervously beneath his fingers.

“Look at me!” he roared.

She twisted free and faced him, her chin lifting defiantly. Her eyes leaped with aquamarine flames. “I’m looking,” she pronounced tersely.

“Why did you return my gift?”

“I don’t need anyone to buy me clothes.”

“I see,” he said slowly. “Then I was right. You are looking for something more from me.” He hadn’t expected this of her. It seemed that people did change, after all. “You might as well lay it on the line. What is it you want from me?”

She fixed him with a cold, challenging glare. “Nothing. I want nothing from you, Jacob. That’s why I came here tonight—to make that point.”

“Liar.”

Instead of reacting in anger as he’d expected, she took a long moment to coolly study him, her pretty eyes drifting down, then up his tall, trim body. “Why should I lie to you? Has that been your experience with women? They always want something from you?”

“Always,” he ground out.

She nibbled her bottom lip contemplatively. “I expect so. But there’s a reason for that, you realize.”

“What?”

“They expect a payoff, because those are the ground rules you always establish for your relationships.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” he shouted. Ground rules? The woman was maddening. He hardly ever raised his voice, but she made him want to bellow like a longshoreman. “I’m very nice to the women in my life. I—”

“I didn’t say you weren’t nice, in your own material way. What I meant was, you apparently have a reputation for becoming bored with lovers and chucking them out faster than a fashion model changes her shoes. If a woman with any sense at all gets involved with you, she knows she’s going to be dumped in a matter of weeks. So she views you the same way you view her. You take what you can from her, and she takes the only thing you’re selling—expensive baubles.”

Jacob glared at her. “You make me sound pretty damn shallow. I’m not like that. Ask Thomas!”

She laughed and shook her head, sending a smooth blond wave shimmering. “Who’s Thomas? Your manservant?” Her tone was clearly disparaging.

She was driving him nuts. What right did this small-town librarian have to analyze him? “Well, yes...Thomas is my chauffeur and bodyguard and many other things, but he’s also my friend.”

“And I’m sure he’s generously compensated for taking your side in any discussion,” she stated.

He read in her eyes that she understood she’d stepped over some invisible line with her last barb. Doubt flashed across her face.

Jacob felt heat rise in his own. Suddenly, it seemed impossible not to grab her, and he did. He wanted to shake her, shake her hard and make her understand he wasn’t a bad man at all—it was just that the world refused to treat him like other men. Things had always been different for him. He was given special privileges, yes. But there were rights other men took for granted—like privacy, choice of education and occupation, the ability to live wherever one wished and marry whomever one chose. He would never have those things.

This time, when he gripped her arm, he let her know through the pressure of his fingers on her flesh that she wouldn’t be able to break free until he was ready to let her go. “Thomas never gives less than his honest opinion, even if he knows I won’t like it,” he growled at her.

“Really,” she said. “And what did Thomas say about you and me, two years ago? Or wasn’t he part of your royal retinue at the time?”

Jacob winced. She was playing rough. “He was my driver while I was attending undergrad courses at Oxford, in England. After that, he stayed on as my personal assistant, man Friday, chauffeur...whatever I needed. He was also with me when I was at Yale, but I told him I could fend for myself while he took a well-deserved trip home to visit his family in London.”

“So he never knew about me?” she asked.

“No.” Why did he feel as if he should drop his head and stare ashamedly at his feet whenever she confronted him with their past? It wasn’t like him to feel guilty about anything he’d done. But then, he’d never produced a child from one of his affairs, until the one he’d had with Allison. “Look, I didn’t force you to become my lover. I didn’t seduce you with my fortune, promise you a weekend in the Alps, buy you expensive jewelry....”

“That’s right,” she said, “because you were clever enough to know those things wouldn’t work with me.”

“I could have promised you I’d marry you or stay with you forever. I never said I loved you.”

“No, you didn’t,” Allison admitted, her voice sounding painfully hollow. Her eyes dimmed for an instant before flashing up at him. “I didn’t say I loved you, either.”

The bite of her words took his breath away. Why should it matter? It never had before, with other women.

But for some reason, Allison’s bringing up the idea left him feeling destitute—as if something precious had been given to him, then abruptly snatched from his hands. He’d never thought much about love, because he equated being loved with not being alone. And he was never alone. Bevies of people had always hovered around him—caring for his basic needs, answering his questions, fetching whatever he preferred for food, clothing, entertainment.