The King's Convenient Bride / The Illegitimate Prince's Baby: The King's Convenient Bride. Michelle Celmer
voice didn’t sound as wobbly to his ears as it did to her own.
“Well then, I’ll do my best not to disappoint you.” His eyes searched her face and she wondered what he was looking for. What did he see when he looked at her? Did he know deep in his heart, just as she did, that they were perfectly suited? Was he as excited about the future as she was?
Though her parents insisted she wait until she was eighteen before making the decision to marry Phillip, from the day she met him, she knew that she would someday be his wife. Had he felt it, too?
With all of her dedication and careful planning, how could their life together not be storybook perfect?
“You are beautiful.” He lifted one hand to her face, brushed the backs of his fingers across the curve of her jaw. Her skin warmed and tingled and a funny tickle rippled through her belly. “Does it strike you odd that we’ll be married in two weeks, and yet I’ve never even kissed you?”
“It would have been difficult with the chaperone watching our every move. Of course, that was the point of the chaperone, I guess.”
He leaned in the tiniest bit and her heart went berserk. “There’s no chaperone here.”
“Well,” she said, with a confidence she’d dredged up from God only knew where. “I guess now is your big chance.”
A grin curled his mouth. He slipped his fingers across her cheek, cupped her face with one large but gentle hand, and goose bumps broke out across her skin. “I guess it is.”
Two
Maybe it wasn’t proper, but as he leaned in she felt herself tipping forward to meet him halfway. Since she was sixteen years old, she had imagined kissing him, so sue her if she was more than a little enthusiastic.
Her eyes slipped closed and she felt the whisper of his breath, then his lips brushed hers…
Across the room the doors flew open and Hannah was so startled, she shot to her feet.
Phillip sighed and sat back on his heels. Leave it to his sister, Sophie, to kill a moment.
Sophie merely smiled.
He rose to his feet to stand beside his fiancée. She was red-faced with embarrassment, or maybe arousal. Or perhaps a bit of both. “Hannah, you remember my sister, Princess Sophie?”
“Of course,” Hannah said, executing a flawless curtsy. “It’s so nice to see you again, Your Highness.”
“As I’m sure my brother will tell you, I don’t care much for titles.” She offered Hannah her hand for a firm, very unroyal shake. “From now on, it’s just plain old Sophie, okay?”
Hannah nodded, her lip clamped between her teeth. A habit he found rather charming. If it weren’t for his sister and her most inconvenient timing, he might be the one chewing that plump, tender flesh.
“I wanted to let you know that the receiving line has been moved to the foyer,” Sophie told him. And added with a wry grin, “If you’re ready, of course.”
He turned to his bride-to-be. “Hannah?”
“Is there a powder room I could use first? I have the feeling I gnawed off the last of my lipstick.”
“Of course.” He gestured to the door. “Right through there.”
“I’ll try to hurry.”
“Take all the time you need.”
He watched her cross the room, noting that in spite of her apprehension, she carried herself with the utmost grace and dignity. It was hard to believe it had been two years since their last meeting. And the fault was entirely his own. Since his father’s death he had been too busy to give his impending marriage much attention. There wasn’t even supposed to be a marriage for at least another year. Not that he would be any less opposed to the idea then, as he was now.
If it were up to him, he would never tie the knot. The idea of being chained to a single woman for the rest of his life sounded so…claustrophobic. But he had a duty to his country. One that he did not take lightly.
And unlike his father, from whom Phillip had inherited his restless nature, he intended to be faithful to his wife.
“You certainly don’t waste any time,” his sister said. “Although, in the future, you might want to lock the door.”
He shot her a warning look.
“It’s a good thing the powder room has only one exit,” she said. “Or I fear your betrothed might just make a run for it.”
He wouldn’t even justify that with a response. “Surely you have something better to do.”
Sophie grinned. There was nothing she loved more than ruffling his feathers. From the time she was old enough to form words, she had been the consummate, bratty younger sister.
“Your intended is quite lovely,” she said.
“Yes, quite,” he agreed. Everything a king could want or expect in a wife.
Though at first the idea of an arranged marriage had been archaic even to him, at the insistence of his mother—who had rejected the concept of the word no, unless, of course, she was the one speaking it—he had flown to the States to meet the young woman.
It had been clear to him immediately that at the age of sixteen Hannah already possessed great potential. Despite the eight-year age difference, he found her undeniably attractive. And he could see that the feeling was mutual. And even better, were he to acquiesce, it would keep his parents off his back. At his own request, future meetings were arranged, and plans for a courtship were set in motion.
By eighteen she had blossomed into a woman of exceptional beauty and poise, and their feelings had matured from ones of sexual curiosity to intense physical attraction.
She was everything a king could want in a mate, and right now her innocence, her eagerness to please, appealed to him. Sadly, he was easily bored and quite sure that the novelty would soon wear off.
“Do you think she has the slightest clue what she’s getting herself into?” Sophie asked.
“The slightest.” There was only so much she could learn from a book or a tutor. The rest would come through experience.
“While I have you here, I was hoping to have a word with you.”
He felt an argument coming on. “If this is about what I think it’s about—”
“He’s our brother. You could at least hear him out.”
“Half brother,” he said firmly. A product of their father’s infidelity. “I owe him nothing.”
“What he is proposing would ensure the stability of our empire for generations.”
“And his own, no doubt.”
She looked at him as though he were loony. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I don’t trust him.”
“If it’s the crown that concerns you, he wants no part of it.”
Not unlike Sophie, he thought, who had spent the better part of her twenty-five years expressing her dislike of the monarchy’s rules. But in the case of their half brother, Ethan Rafferty, their father’s blood ran through his veins. As a result, he did have a claim to the crown. If something were to happen to Phillip, he would be next in line.
For Phillip, that was unacceptable.
“I won’t discuss this,” Phillip told her. “Period.”
Her cheeks flushed with frustration. “Bloody hell, you’re stubborn!”
She was one to talk. “That distinction, dear Sophie, is not limited to me.”
The door to the powder