Page 28 of Pregnant In The King's Palace

Could he ask to lie back and be loved by her? ‘Is that an offer?’

Her fingers stilled on button three as she paused to glance at his face. ‘Oh,’ she said softly, as realisation kicked in. ‘You’d like me to lead tonight.’

‘Yes.’ The minute she said it, he wanted exactly that. Ached for it. Longed to lay the burden of leadership at her feet, if only for a night, and if such a request made him weak, so be it. ‘Please.’

She caught his lips in a kiss that plundered first and then promised heaven. Mischief lurked in the curve of her mouth and the way she nibbled at the bow of his upper lip. ‘You realise Moriana’s been telling me about the round room Sera set up for King Augustus. The one with the trapeze and the owls and the big round carpet and the bathing area? I say we start this pamper Valentine session in a bathroom. There’s a big spa bath here off the main bedroom, and, while it’s not big enough for two, there are water jets, there’s a sitting step for anyone who doesn’t intend getting in, and it won’t take long to fill.’

Water had so often been his punishment when his late father had wanted to toughen him up or punish him. Perhaps this time it could soothe him. ‘Is that so?’

‘Mmm-hmm. So why don’t we head that way—bring your drink—and let me see what I can do for you?’

He was shivering by the time he sank naked into the steaming, scented water but it wasn’t from the cold. She’d lit candles and kept the lights low, and maybe for someone else it would be romantic, but the cavern beneath the palace had always been poorly lit too, the water running swift and black through what his father had euphemistically called a pool. A rock overhang had covered the mouth of the river at one end and a steel grate formed the other end of the pool, letting water through the grid but not a person, and it had been fun to be pinned against it when the river ran sluggish and peaceful, and no fun at all when the river became a torrent.

‘No jets,’ he murmured, when Angelique went to turn them on, and maybe that was him taking control again when he didn’t mean to, but he couldn’t stand the thought of them. Angelique didn’t question his request, merely picked up a flannel, loaded it with soap scrub and began to wash him down. This he could do. This firm and thorough touch that became more massage than tease, and relaxed muscles he didn’t know he had.

‘Lean forward,’ she instructed, so he did, allowing her to start in on his back, slow circular movements, and then she set the flannel and soap aside, sluiced him down with water from her cupped hands and then smeared those hands with oil and began rubbing the tension from his shoulders.

She’d had her hands all over him before, but he doubted she’d ever seen his back the way she could now, and he wondered whether the dim light would conceal his shame or not. He could barely feel the whip welts any more, where his father had broken the skin, but he’d been told they were still visible if one looked closely enough, silvery lines on otherwise smooth olive skin.

She dug her thumbs in and slid them up his spine, all the way to the base of his neck, and he shuddered again, leaving old memories behind in favour of groaning his appreciation.

‘Who did this to you?’ she asked finally.

‘My father.’

‘Why?’ Straight to the point, no surprise at his words. Had everyone seen his father so much more clearly than him?

‘I displeased him.’

Her hands worked him over, gentler than they had been. ‘When you were a child?’

‘Why does it matter?’ Everything about those marks on his back shamed him. That his first stumbling steps towards being a man of honour had been met with a whip. That he’d been too surprised to defend himself. That Vala hadn’t been able to meet his gaze as she’d tended him afterwards with salve she’d stolen from the kitchen’s first-aid kit. ‘It happened. It made me examine the kind of man I was and wanted to be. It made me seek my leadership role models elsewhere. In the armed forces for several years. In neighbouring monarchs and elder statesmen after that. I’m not proud of those whip marks on my back, don’t get me wrong. But they forced a reckoning, not with my father, but within me. For that I’m grateful.’

She was silent for a long time after that, but her hands kept moving, and when more words came, they were halting. ‘Valentine, did I cause this?’

‘No.’ He could say that with certainty, even if his liaison with her had been at the root of it. ‘Let it go, Angelique. I’ve made my peace with them. There’s no point reopening old wounds.’

She replied by crawling into the bath behind him and setting her lips to his scarred skin and he wanted to weep at her silent understanding. ‘Relax,’ she said. ‘No more questions. Just feel.’

Not until every part of his body had been loosened did she urge him from the bath and towel him down and lead him to her bed. Fresh sheets and lazy kisses as he closed his eyes and let his hunger for her rise. Sank into her touch and let it build and build until he was a mass of writhing sensation and his head was filled with nothing but gratitude for every caress.

He’d never felt more naked than when, finally, she straddled him and took him in, took him apart, and in her own good time remade him.

He slept after that, fell hard and deep into oblivion, and when he woke and reached for her in the night she was there right beside him, warm and willing and this time he led. Giving back, getting lost all over again but he didn’t care. It was too good and yet never enough and he prayed she would be strong enough to stay with him across the years and be content.

Or you could marry her and afford her the protections she deserves, a little voice whispered.

But that would be the end of her freedom, and for all that he was the son of a tyrant and a hard man in his own right, he wouldn’t wish that role on her. This arrangement here was working for her. She had a career she could continue to grow and he had ready access to her, and if he missed her more and more whenever he was away from her, so be it. If the press flayed her for daring to claim some of his time, he had better get used to defending her.

‘Be happy with me,’ he whispered against her hair, big spoon to her little one, and she stirred in her sleep, and he stilled until she settled once more before adding a silent please.

Surely he could claim this small happiness.

Okay, not small, call it what it was. Surely, this deep, all-encompassing contentment in his bones and in his heart could be his.

Please.

CHAPTER NINE

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