A Queen for the Taking? - Кейт Хьюит

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to live with them.

      ‘Apology accepted,’ she answered quietly, but with no real warmth. Could he even blame her? He’d hardly endeared himself to her. He wasn’t sure he could.

      He reached for his wine glass. ‘In any case, after the debacle of my brother’s marriage, not to mention my parents’, our country needs the stability of a shock-free monarchy.’

      ‘Your brother? Prince Leo?’

      ‘You know him?’

      ‘I’ve met him on several occasions. He’s married to Alyse Barras now.’

      ‘The wedding of the century, apparently. The love story of the century....’ He shook his head, knowing how his brother must have hated the pretence. ‘And it was all a lie.’

      ‘But they are still together?’

      Sandro nodded. ‘The irony is, they actually do love each other. But they didn’t fall in love until after their marriage.’

      ‘So their six-year engagement was—?’

      ‘A sham. And the public isn’t likely to forgive that very easily.’

      ‘It hardly matters, since Leo will no longer be king.’

      God, she was cold. ‘I suppose not.’

      ‘I only meant,’ she clarified, as if she could read his thoughts, ‘that the publicity isn’t an issue for them anymore.’

      ‘But it will be for us,’ he filled in, ‘which is why I have chosen to be honest about the convenience of our marriage. No one will ever think we’re in love.’

      ‘Instead of a fairy tale,’ she said, ‘we will have a business partnership.’

      ‘I suppose that is as good a way of looking at it as any other.’ Even if the thought of having a marriage like his parents’—one born of convenience and rooted in little more than tolerance—made everything in him revolt. If a marriage had no love and perhaps not even any sympathy between the two people involved, how could it not sour? Turn into something despicable and hate-filled?

      How could he not?

      He had no other example.

      Taking a deep breath, he pressed a discreet button to summon the wait staff. It was time for the next course. Time to move on. Instead of fighting his fate, like the unhappy, defiant boy he’d once been, he needed to accept it—and that meant deciding just how he could survive a marriage to Lady Liana Aterno.

      CHAPTER THREE

      LIANA STUDIED SANDRO’S face and wondered what he was thinking. Her husband-to-be was, so far, an unsettling enigma. She didn’t understand why everything she did, from being polite to trying to eat mussels without splattering herself with butter, seemed to irritate him, but she knew it did. She saw the way his silvery eyes darkened to storm-grey, his mobile mouth tightening into a firm line.

      So he didn’t want to marry her. That undeniable truth lodged inside her like a cold, hard stone. She hadn’t expected that, but could she really be surprised? He’d spent fifteen years escaping his royal duty. Just because he’d decided finally to honour his commitments didn’t mean, as he’d admitted himself, that he relished the prospect.

      And yet it was hard not to take his annoyance personally. Not to let it hurt—which was foolish, because this marriage wasn’t personal. She didn’t want his love or even his affection, but she had, she realised, hoped for agreement. Understanding.

      A footman came in and cleared their plates, and Liana was glad to see the last of the mussels. She felt resentment stir inside her at the memory of Sandro’s mocking smile. He’d enjoyed seeing her discomfited, would have probably laughed aloud if she’d dropped a mussel in her lap or sent it spinning across the table.

      Perhaps she should have dived in and smeared her face and fingers with butter; perhaps he would have liked her better then. But a lifetime of careful, quiet choices had kept her from making a mess of anything, even a plate of mussels. She couldn’t change now, not even over something so trivial.

      The footman laid their plates down, a main course of lamb garnished with fresh mint.

      ‘At least this shouldn’t present you with too much trouble,’ Sandro said softly as the door clicked shut. Liana glanced up at him.

      She felt irritation flare once more, surprising her, because she usually didn’t let herself feel irritated or angry...or anything. Yet this man called feelings up from deep within her, and she didn’t even know why or how. She definitely didn’t like it. ‘You seem to enjoy amusing yourself at my expense.’

      ‘I meant only to tease,’ he said quietly. ‘I apologise if I’ve offended you. But you are so very perfect, Lady Liana—and I’d like to see you a little less so.’

      Perfect? If only he knew the truth. ‘No one is perfect.’

      ‘You come close.’

      ‘That is not, I believe, a compliment.’

      His lips twitched, drawing her attention to them. He had such sculpted lips, almost as if they belonged on a statue. She yanked her gaze upwards, but his eyes were no better. Silvery grey and glinting with amusement.

      She felt as if a fist had taken hold of her heart, plunged into her belly. Everything quivered, and the sensation was not particularly pleasant. Or perhaps it was too pleasant; she felt that same thrill of fascination that had taken hold of her when she’d first met him.

      ‘I would like to see you,’ Sandro said, his voice lowering to a husky murmur, ‘with your hair cascading over your shoulders. Your lips rosy and parted, your face flushed.’

      And as if he could command it by royal decree, she felt herself begin to blush. The image he painted was so suggestive. And it made that fist inside her squeeze her heart once more, made awareness tauten muscles she’d never even known she had.

      ‘Why do you wish to see me like that?’ she asked, relieved her voice sounded as calm as always. Almost.

      ‘Because I think you would look even more beautiful then than you already are. You’d look warm and real and alive.’

      She drew back, strangely hurt by his words. ‘I am quite real already. And alive, thank you very much.’

      Sandro’s gaze swept over her, assessing, knowing. ‘You remind me of a statue.’

      A statue? A statue was cold and lifeless, without blood or bone, thought or feeling. And he thought that was what she was?

      Wasn’t it what she’d been for the past twenty years? The thought was like a hammer blow to the heart. She blinked, tried to keep her face expressionless. Blank, just like the statue he accused her of being. ‘Are you trying to be offensive?’ she answered, striving to keep her voice mild and not quite managing it.

      His honesty shouldn’t hurt her, she knew. There was certainly truth in it, and yet... She didn’t want to be a statue. Not to this man.

      A thought that alarmed her more than anything else.

      ‘Not trying, no,’ Sandro answered. ‘I suppose it comes naturally.’

      ‘I suppose it does.’

      He shook his head slowly. ‘Do you ever lose your temper? Shout? Curse?’

      ‘Would you prefer to be marrying a shrew?’ she answered evenly and his mouth quirked in a small smile.

      ‘Does anything make you angry?’ he asked, and before she could think better of it, she snapped, ‘Right now, you do.’

      He laughed, a rich chuckle of amusement, the sound spreading over her like chocolate, warming her in a way she didn’t even understand. This man was frustrating and even hurting her and yet...

      She liked his laugh.

      ‘I

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