The Prince's Captive Virgin Page 12

  “You’re marrying him?” Tony’s voice was incredulous, filled with disgust. “You refused to allow me to share your bed for eight months—you wasted my time making me believe that someday I could gain access to your body if I paid my dues, and then you spread your legs for him immediately, simply because he could offer you a castle? Because he could give you money? I’m sorry, seeing as you were a virgin, Belle, I had no idea you were such a whore.”

  Suddenly, the telephone was wrenched from her hand.

  “I would watch what I said about my fiancée,” Adam said. “Belle is going to be a princess, and her husband possesses no small amount of power. I will not hesitate to bring the full weight of that power down upon you if you persist in speaking of her this way.”

  “Hey,” Tony said. “I’m an American, and I don’t have to take anything from you. I have free speech.”

  “Yes,” Adam countered, “and we’ll see how well that free speech serves you once no one will do business with you. Because, as you say, the United States is a free country, and with full information people are allowed to make their own decisions. If they decide not to associate with you because of a few well-placed words on my end, well, that is freedom and action, is it not?”

  “You bastard,” Tony countered. “I’m not going to let you intimidate me. I’m going to keep talking. By the time I’m through with you, everybody will understand that you brainwashed her. She wouldn’t even let me get to second base, and now she’s banging you? I don’t believe it. I’m going to expose you for what you are. Some kind of animal who traps women and then convinces them that the money that you offer is somehow worth the price of getting naked with somebody that messed up.”

  “Go to hell,” Belle hissed, hitting the end button on the phone. She looked up at Adam, her expression fierce. “I’m sorry about that. Unfortunately threats about impacting his business prospects probably won’t hurt him. He’s a lit major like me. He was willing to accept a lifetime of poverty, and he’s much more likely to escape it by tattling to the press.”

  Adam laughed. “Do you imagine he hurt my feelings? I’m not that easily wounded. However, he might make himself a problem.”

  “That’s why we have to get married,” she insisted. “It’s the only way to keep everybody from beating down the palace doors.”

  “Make no mistake—a royal wedding creates its own kind of furor. However, it would be nice to be dealing with that sort of headline rather than an angry mob.”

  “He had no right,” she said.

  Adam leaned forward, taking hold of her chin. “He had every right. If a man carried you away from me, kept you from me, I would destroy him without mercy, without remorse. As I just proved when your boyfriend said those things about you.”

  “I think it’s safe to say that Tony isn’t my boyfriend anymore.”

  “I suppose he’s not.” He released his hold on her. “Still, I can’t say that I blame him. Though, I am curious. Why did you make him wait? What was it about me that made you decide it was time to be with a man?”

  She lifted a shoulder, gazing out the window at the palace. “I told myself all kinds of things. About passion, and about fear. And, maybe some of it’s true. I told myself I didn’t want to be like my mother. That I wanted to be more selective. That I wanted to make sure I was ready for a stable life, children, marriage, if I was going to get into having sex. But, the bottom line is that I didn’t want him. I would have had to put aside a lot of doubt to sleep with him. I would have had to...work to bring myself to the point where I felt I could. With you, I found myself fighting the need to. It was entirely different. It took no restraint to resist him.”

  His gaze was like molten fire, and she felt her cheeks heating beneath his stare. “I don’t care about the scars,” she continued. “Or maybe...maybe that isn’t even it. Maybe it’s just that I find them beautiful. It’s difficult to say that, because I know they represent so much suffering. But, all of that is part of you. And I... I’m happy to marry you, Adam,” she said, not quite possessing the bravery to tell him that she loved him. Not just yet.

  “I’m not certain I can say I’m happy to get married,” he said, his voice rough. “But I am more than happy to share my bed with you.”

  Those words should have diminished the moment, should have made her feel reduced, badly, she supposed. But, instead, she felt them hit her with the full weight of marriage vows. Adam, who had spent the past three years alone, was happy to share his bed with her.

  Maybe it wasn’t a confession of love, but it was something. It was something she was going to take, hold close and view as a little bit of hope. Hope that someday, the beast might learn to love her in return.

  CHAPTER TEN

  BELLE’S ANNOUNCEMENT TO the press was hardly the end of the speculation. Headlines exploded across newspapers around the world. Not just tabloids—but reputable news sources—speculating on the nature of his relationship with this unknown woman from California.

  Adam didn’t particularly care for all the attention. But, ensconced in the palace it was easy to pretend it wasn’t happening.

  Or, perhaps more honestly, ensconced in Belle’s arms.

  It was easy to forget the rest of the world when he was in bed with her. If the entire kingdom had burned down beyond the palace walls, he would not have noticed.

  Of course, Belle’s transition from prisoner to fiancée had meant making some changes. He had begun to sleep in her bedroom every night. Additionally, he had provided her with a phone, a computer, everything she needed to make contact with the outside world. She had chosen to stay with him, and that meant there was no reason to keep her cut off. In fact, doing so would only prove him the monster the world seemed determined to believe that he was.

  He took a sip of coffee and looked down at the newspaper sitting on the top of the stack. The one proclaiming his general monstrosity the loudest. He had to wonder if it wasn’t true.

  In many ways, all that he was accused of doing was true. Except for the part about him forcing himself on her. Except for the fact that she had chosen to stay with him. That she was the one who had jumped out of the car and announced an engagement the two of them had never discussed.

  He had been set to free her. And, yes, they had never discussed that in detail, but he was certain she had been aware of the fact. He had said that after their debut he would concoct a story about the breakup. She had to have known.

  Discomfort lodged itself in his chest.

  And, even more darkly, he wondered if what they were saying was true. Stockholm syndrome. That she was only identifying with the person who had taken her captive because of some complex psychological break she had undergone at his hands.

  Regardless, he was unwilling to do much about it.

  This, while not in his plans, was ideal.

  The media was fascinated by Belle, and the fairy tale that would be constructed out of the two of them finding love after tragedy would be a triumphant one indeed.

  In fact, he had a ring in his pocket, and he was prepared to make sure that she was bound to him as publicly and permanently as possible. So, all these ruminations on his end were just that. They were never going to turn into anything more.

  He was unwilling to do the right thing, if the right thing meant releasing her.

  In her arms he had found something next to salvation, and he was determined to hold on to it.

  When she walked through the wide doorway and into the dining room his heart constricted. She was—unquestionably—beautiful. He could see why everyone, from the media to the public, doubted why she had chosen to be with him.

  A strange thing, to be in this position. He and his late wife had been considered a perfect match in every way. And now he was with a commoner and she was considered his superior. It didn’t wound him, but it did make him wonder. What exactly she saw in him, and why.

  There was nothing inside him that was superior to any man. Sure, he owned the palace, and he imagined
that gave him some sort of advantage. But he could not imagine Belle being that manipulative. Could not imagine that sort of thing mattering to her.

  She was happiest curled up in a corner with a book. And she could do that in a tiny cottage as easily as she could in a castle.

  She saw something in him...and for the life of him he himself could not see it.

  “Good morning,” she said, somewhat subdued.

  She was wearing a simple sundress that conformed to her curves in a casual way. The soft fabric skimmed her shape in a delicate fashion. The skirt fell well past her knee, swishing with each step. It shouldn’t be erotic. It should be sweet if anything. And yet, he felt himself respond to it with a hunger that shocked him. Every time he saw her he felt as though he were in the midst of a long sexual drought. When, in reality, he had had her only a few hours earlier.

  Perhaps it was simply the result of those years of celibacy. But, he doubted it.

  “Is everything all right?”

  She scrubbed her eyes. “I was up early talking to my father. He’s, of course, very concerned about the situation. And, about the part he might have played in it.”

  “In all honesty, he played quite a large part in it. Without him, we would not be here—is that not so?”

  She shot him an exasperated look that he couldn’t quite figure out whether or not he deserved. “I suppose you could make that argument, Adam, but I don’t want to. I don’t want my father to feel as though he is somehow at fault for my engagement.”

  “Does there have to be a guilty party in an engagement?” He feared that with theirs there might be.

  “No,” she said, taking a seat a few chairs away from him. She was clearly agitated. And some of it was obviously directed at him.

  He had been married to Ianthe for nearly three years, so he was familiar enough with women glaring angrily at him from across the table. Still, with Belle it surprised him. In part because he had committed a vast variety of sins against her, and she had been surprisingly docile about a great many of them but was now looking furiously in his direction only a few hours after he had given her a substantial amount of pleasure. And since then, had had no interaction with her.

  One thing had not changed during his seclusion, it appeared. Women were inscrutable.

  “Would you like some coffee?”

  She sighed. “Do I ever not want coffee?”

  “Not in my experience,” he said, taking hold of the carafe and pouring her a cup, sliding it in her direction. “But, in my experience you are also not usually so prickly for no reason. Typically, I have to take you captive to earn this level of ire.”

  “It was just difficult, that’s all. Talking to my father and trying to explain the situation.”

  “And the headlines?”

  She looked away. “It’s strange. Being the subject of so much scrutiny. I don’t like it. And, this is kind of proving your point about the media, and challenging a lot of my perceptions about my upbringing. All in all it’s been a little bit of a confronting couple of days.”

  “I don’t suppose people are ever really capable of lingering over the trials of others. They possess too many of their own. Why should the public—struggling financially, working hard to make ends meet—concern themselves with the fate of the rich and famous? With their privacy. There is pain that wealth and status can’t erase, but when you are struggling with more, why should you take that on board? Similarly, people in my position are not spared pain. And when it happens, it feels as real as it does for anyone else.”

  She nodded slowly. “I suppose so. But this is horribly...invasive. And I think that it’s cruel. It makes me want to hold a press conference and detail all the things I like about you so that people have no doubt that I’m here of my own free will.”

  “A press conference is unnecessary,” he said, his throat feeling tight all of a sudden. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing your list.”

  She looked away from him, her cheeks turning pink. He liked that—in spite of everything they had done—she still blushed like an innocent. “I’m not sure it would be good for your ego.”

  “What ego? I’m a terribly scarred man who has lived the past three years in total darkness. It could do with a little bit of boosting. Especially considering the general hideousness of my visage is the topic of conversation around the world.”

  “Fine,” she said, looking down into her coffee. “I would tell them how much I liked the fact that you seem to enjoy it when I talk back to you. That whatever we have between us, you’ve never made me feel I had to earn it. That for some reason, around you I’m able to be more myself than I’ve ever been with anyone. Ever. I’ve spent most of my life trying to behave, trying to be a good person. And being here with you, there was so much freedom to just...not do that.” Her blue eyes met his, a strange smile on her lips. “I know that sounds weird. But, I was your prisoner, so I was hardly going to behave in a manner designed to impress you. It was like all of that just faded away. My concerns about being seen as... I don’t know.”

  She blinked rapidly, then cleared her throat and continued. “I thought that passion was the enemy, but it isn’t. I had to blame something. When your own mother doesn’t want you, you have to find a reason. And then, you have to take that and...make it a lesson, I guess. I had to find a purpose behind what I had been through. The fact that my mother abandoned me, gave me away...and I bound it all up in this idea that giving in to what you wanted could only ever be selfish. But instead of fixing anything I just lost pieces of myself. And with you, I found them. So that’s why I’m here. I guess it’s not exactly the story the media is looking for, since it doesn’t involve a lot of drama and emotional manipulation. But it’s the truth.”

  There was a deep, intense truth in her words that resonated inside him. That he recognized. That reminded him of pieces that had been lost over the years, that he had found only with her. But, he didn’t say anything about it.

  “And here I thought it had something to do with my magic hands,” he said instead, doing his best to smile at her. Smiling. It was a foreign facial expression now. Lost in all that time spent by himself. And yet, he often wanted to do it for her. To show her that she made him feel something.

  “They certainly help,” she said, a smile tugging at the edge of her own lips. “I would tell them about that too. You know that’s what I meant, don’t you?” She stood slowly from her chair, making her way toward him. She leaned forward, putting her hands on his thighs. “When I said that Prince Charming was underrated? I would much rather have a man like you. Suave and sophisticated...it doesn’t appeal to me. Not in certain rooms, anyway.”

  He reached up, pressing his palm against her cheek. “You’re very bold for a woman who was only recently a virgin.”

  “I think I always was. But I hid it. And now that I’m not hiding it anymore, I really can’t bring myself to hold it back at all.”

  He moved his hand around to the back of her head, curling his fingers into a fist and holding her fast. “Tell me more.”

  Her smile turned slightly wicked. “I like the way you hold me. Like this. Like you’re never going to let me go.”

  “A man is tempted to believe that you rather enjoyed being taken prisoner, Belle,” he said.

  “I suppose I did. I was freer as your prisoner than I ever was before.”

  His certainty faltered. It was a strange thing to say, and while he would like for it to be true, while he would like it all to make sense, he was afraid that if it did...it was perhaps more along the lines of what the newspapers were shrieking about than any kind of organic emotion.

  He released her then, unease stealing over him. But, before he could let it take over completely, he reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the small velvet box that had been in there since he got up this morning. “I have something for you,” he said, placing it on the table.

  She made no move toward it; instead, she stared at him with a confused expression on her fa
ce. “What is it?”

  “Don’t you want to open it?”

  “If it’s what I think it is, I think perhaps you should open it.”

  He had not intended on proposing to her. They were already engaged, so he didn’t quite see the point to it. Also, he had done this once before. It seemed strange to do it again. With a different woman. Not because he was still so deeply in love with his late wife. He had loved her; he always would. But, it had been a love based on practicality, one that had grown to be romantic over time and with the addition of marriage vows. They’d made a commitment, and he had been happy to make it.

  No, that wasn’t what gave him pause. Any sort of feeling that he was repeating the past didn’t sit well with him. Not when he could never revisit that place. Didn’t want to. He was not the same man who had put a ring on Ianthe’s finger all those years ago. And he didn’t want to begin this as he had begun that engagement in the past.

  Still, she wanted this. And she asked for little enough that it would be cruel of him to deny her. He reached out, pressing his fingers against the top of the box.

  “I have done this once before,” he said slowly. “At a ball. If you were curious. I was wearing a tuxedo, not jeans as I am now. And, she was in a ball gown, not a simple dress. There were people all around, rather than the solitude. She knew it was coming. And I got down on one knee. She was the expected choice for me, and I was perfectly happy to make that choice. I felt a great deal of affection for her, and that affection grew into love. My life had been charmed up until then. As had hers. I had never been denied anything I had ever wanted, and I had never lost anything.”

  He tapped his finger on the top of the box, then continued. “In the years since that moment, both my parents have passed away. And then, only a year later I lost my wife, my unborn son. All of my hopes for the future. Whatever I thought it might look like, it was all changed in that instant. And so was I. I’m telling you all this because I want you to know I do not expect our marriage to be what my first marriage was. It cannot be. Because I am not the same man. But when I promise myself to you, I want you to know it is with the full weight of knowledge of what can be gained in this life, and what can be lost.” He slid out of his chair, getting down on both of his knees, not one, because that seemed a silly gesture for a man of his age, a man of his cynicism. This seemed fitting for a man about to make a vow. “I want you to be my wife. To stand with me as I move forward into this new phase of my life, this new era for my country. It will not be easy. Speculation will always exist. And I am still me, and we both know there is nothing easy about that. But I will be faithful to you. And I will pledge my loyalty to you. To our children. I swear to protect you.”