LITMIR.BIZ

       CHAPTER ELEVEN

      UNDER THE CURVING arches of a galleried ballroom an orchestra played and Rafe looked around him. Beneath the low murmur of voices, he could hear the occasional aristocratic laugh and bell-like sound of champagne glasses being chinked. Even for a man who had attended more than his fair share of dazzling occasions, the Isolaverdian New Year’s ball was quite something.

      He could sense people’s eyes on him—at least, everyone’s except Sophie’s. She seemed to be avoiding his gaze as much as possible. He wondered if she was remembering that unsatisfactory episode of lovemaking yesterday, when she’d been about as responsive as a block of ice in his arms. His mouth flattened because that had never happened to him before—a woman staying ice-cool even while he was deep inside her body. And Sophie wasn’t some random lover he could just forget about, or decide that maybe they weren’t so compatible after all. He shook his head as someone offered him a glass of champagne. She was the woman he had vowed to make his wife and he knew it was a lifelong commitment.

      A middle-aged blonde—a fortune in emeralds dazzling around her neck—was making no attempt to hide her interest and even though he was used to being stared at, it had never felt like this before. He was aware that his every movement was being observed, his every comment noted and analysed. Was this what being royal was all about—along with all the damned rules and endless protocol which seemed to make this palace seem like a giant institution? Was that the reason Sophie had been so uptight the moment she’d stepped back on familiar territory? Why she was scarcely recognisable as the warm woman he’d grown to know?

      He glanced across the ballroom as she strayed into his line of vision. She was easily the most beautiful woman in the room, her dark hair studded with sapphires and a matching midnight-blue gown hugging her slim figure. But she looked cool and aloof as she greeted the high-born guests and once again that feeling of unease settled over him.

      He had asked her to be his bride but he couldn’t deny that doubts had started to creep into his mind since they’d arrived here in Isolaverde. Back in New York, it had all seemed ridiculously simple. He’d been on a high—amazed to find a woman whose company didn’t irritate him and dazed from the non-stop and amazing sex. They’d each dragged out their demons and shone daylight on them and confronting them had seemed to diminish them. She’d told him she wanted a family and marriage; well, so did he. And the cherry on the cake as far as he was concerned was that neither of them was chasing after that disappointing fairy tale known as love.

      But in the high-octane buzz of the city it had been easy to forget that Sophie was a royal, while here it had been in his face from the moment they’d touched down. And nothing was ever going to change that. He wanted children of his own—but hadn’t he overlooked the fact that any child he sired with Sophie would be royal by birth? As soon as they were born, wouldn’t expectation be heaped all over their innocent heads? Could he willingly subject any child of his to a life beneath the glare of the spotlight?

      Sophie was walking towards him and he could see people bobbing into curtseys as she moved past. ‘So. There you are,’ she said.

      ‘Here I am,’ he agreed, his eyes capturing hers. ‘And I’m all yours. Dance with me?’

      She nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips as he took her into his arms and the orchestra swelled into a slow and sensuous waltz. He could smell a different scent on her skin, something warm and spicy, and he felt the punch of his heart as he drew her close.

      ‘Having fun?’ he questioned.

      ‘Of course!’ Her voice sounded bright. ‘How about you?’

      ‘This is certainly a very elaborate production,’ he said dryly.

      Now what did he mean by that? Sophie glanced up into Rafe’s hard-boned face but his shuttered features gave her no clues. She thought how unapproachable he looked this evening, even though she kept trying to tell herself she was imagining it. But deep down she knew she wasn’t. Things had been awkward between them since that disorientating episode of sex when she hadn’t felt a thing. They hadn’t discussed it because neither of them had acknowledged it—and hadn’t she been secretly praying he might not have even noticed? That his own pleasure had been powerful enough for it to have passed him by? But the truth was that he hadn’t laid a finger on her since.

      Yet while his lack of attention had removed her fear of a repeat episode of unresponsiveness, it did nothing to lessen her dread about what was happening to them. Her growing fear that this was how it was going to be from now on. Her stomach tied itself up in knots as they moved around the dance floor. Because what if she was one of those women who couldn’t sustain sexual enjoyment? She’d read about that kind of thing happening. Women whose senses shut down for whatever reason, leaving their highly sexed menfolk aching and frustrated.

      And she wasn’t stupid. There were plenty of reasons why a rift should have appeared between them and it wasn’t just because they weren’t having sex. She’d seen the expression on Rafe’s face when he wasn’t aware she was watching him. He reminded her of a person walking around a zoo and observing all the exhibits with a wry and faintly disbelieving look on his face. What if he’d changed his mind about wanting to marry her, now that he had seen her in her natural habitat of the royal palace?

      She lifted her gaze towards his shadowed jaw and asked the question she had been dreading. ‘You are still happy for the marriage announcement to be made tomorrow?’

      The look he slanted down at her was unfathomable. ‘I gave your brother my vow, didn’t I? And I never go back on my word.’

      But Sophie took little comfort from his response. Why, that was the most lacklustre endorsement she’d ever heard! The dance finished and an Isolaverdian nobleman she’d known since childhood stepped forward to take Rafe’s place. With a smile, she shook her head, taking a glass of punch from the tray of a passing waitress instead. But she wanted a drink even less than she wanted a dance. It was more of a distraction—a stalling device—something which enabled her to observe Rafe as he headed over towards a nearby beauty to ask her to dance.

      The beauty was a Duchess, an ethereal blonde who’d been sitting near Rafe at the pre-ball dinner, and she accepted his offer immediately. Sophie felt her heart plummet. Of course she did. What woman wouldn’t want to be in the arms of Rafe Carter? Despite the fact that he had no royal title, he was easily the most attractive man in the crowded ballroom. She watched him move the Duchess round the floor, wondering if she was imagining that he seemed more relaxed than he’d been during his dance with her. But could she blame him? It couldn’t be much fun dancing with a woman who had suddenly turned to ice in his arms.

      She tried not to react but she couldn’t seem to quash the sheer, blinding jealousy of seeing him so close to another woman. She told herself not to be so stupid—that it was all completely innocent. And it was innocent. Logically, she knew that. She believed in his vow of intended fidelity, just as she believed he was a man who wouldn’t go back on his word.

      But that was before she had

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