were embedded in European history. Did the Princess have any idea of what her younger brother had got himself mixed up with?
If she did she’d done nothing about it, so perhaps she also wanted to see herself back in Montevel, a true princess instead of the bearer of a defunct title inherited from her deposed grandfather.
And Alex needed to find out just what she did know. He set off towards her.
She saw him coming, of course, and immediately produced an irritatingly gracious smile. The smoky violet of her gown echoed the colour of her eyes and hugged a narrow waist, displaying curves that unleashed something elemental and fierce inside Alex, an urge to discover what lay beneath that lovely façade, to challenge her on the most fundamental level—man to woman.
‘Alex,’ she said, the smile widening a fraction when he stopped in front of her. ‘This is such a happy occasion for us all. I’ve never seen such a blissful bride, and Gerd looks—well, almost transfigured.’
A controlled man himself, Alex admired her skill in conveying that her heart wasn’t broken. ‘Indeed,’ he responded. ‘My dance, I believe.’
Still smiling, she laid a slender hand on his arm and together they walked into the waiting, chattering circle around Rosie and Gerd.
Alex glanced down, a phrase from childhood echoing in his head. White as snow, red as blood, black as ebony. Snow White, he remembered.
And Serina was an almost perfect snow princess.
Exquisite enough to star in a fairy tale, she radiated grace. Her black chignon set off her tiara and classical features perfectly, contrasting sensuously with the almost translucent pallor of her skin.
She’d passed on one part of the description, though; her lips were painted a restrained shade of dark, clear pink. A bold red would be too blatant, too provocative for this Princess.
But they were tempting lips…
A hunting instinct as old as time stirred into life deep within Alex. He’d wanted Serina Montevel ever since he’d first seen her, but because he too had wondered if she was wounded by dashed hopes he’d made no move to attract her attention. However, a year had passed—enough time to heal any damage to her heart.
He stopped with Serina on the edge of the crowd of dancers and sent a flinty territorial glance, sharp as a rapier, to a man a few paces away eyeing Serina with open appreciation. It gave him cold pleasure to watch the ogler hastily transfer his appreciative gaze elsewhere.
The band swung into the tune and the crowd fell silent as the newlyweds began waltzing. Softly the onlookers began to clap in time to the beat.
Serina glanced up, tensing when her eyes clashed with a sharp blue gaze. Her breath locked in her throat while she wrestled down an exhilarating excitement. Tall, dark and arrogantly handsome, Alex Matthews had a strangely weakening effect on her.
Warily, because the silence between them grew too heavy, almost significant, she broke into it with the first thing that came into her head. ‘This is a very pretty tradition.’
‘The Carathian wedding dance?’
‘Yes.’
Neither Rosie nor Gerd smiled; eyes locked, it was as if they were alone together, absorbed, so intent on each other that Serina felt a sharp stab of—regret?
No, not quite. A kind of wistful envy.
Just over a year previously she’d decided to make it clear to Gerd—without being so crass as to say the words—that she wasn’t on the market to become Grand Duchess of Carathia. Such a union would have solved a lot of her problems, and she admired Gerd very much, but she wanted more than a convenient marriage.
Just as well, because shortly afterwards Gerd had taken one look at the Rosie he’d last seen as a child and lost his heart.
What would it be like to feel that herself? To be loved so ardently that even in public their emotions were barely containable?
Keeping her eyes on them, she said quietly, ‘They fit, don’t they.’ It wasn’t a question.
Alex’s enigmatic glance, as polished as the steel-sheen on a sword blade, brought heat to her skin. What a foolish thing to say about a couple who’d just made their wedding vows!
Of course they fitted. For now, anyway, she thought cynically. Somewhere she’d read that the first flush of love and passion lasted two years, so Gerd and Rosie would enjoy perhaps another year of this incandescent delight in each other before it began to fade.
‘Perceptive of you,’Alex commented in a level voice. ‘Yes, they fit.’
The music swelled, accompanied by a whirl of colour and movement as everyone joined in the dance, swirling around the absorbed couple.
Serina braced herself. Nerves taut, she rested one hand on Alex’s shoulder and felt his fingers close around the other as he swung her into the waltz. Anticipation sizzled through her—heady, compelling, so unnerving that after a few steps she stumbled.
Alex’s arm clamped her against his lean, athletic body for breathless seconds before he drawled, ‘Relax, Princess.’
His warm breath on her skin sent tiny, delicious shudders through her, a gentler counterpoint to the sultry heat that burgeoned deeply within her at the intimate flexing of his thigh muscles. Shocked by the immediacy of her response, Serina pulled herself a safe distance away and forced herself to ignore the sensual tug until her natural sense of rhythm settled her steps.
This acute physical response—jungle drums of sensation pounding through her—had sprung into action the first time she’d met Alex. Gritting her teeth, she resisted the tantalising thrill, sharp and adrenalin-charged as though she faced a sudden danger.
Did he feel the same?
She risked an upward glance, heart racing into overdrive when she met searing, disturbingly intent eyes. His grip didn’t tighten, but she sensed a quickening in him that he couldn’t control.
Yes, she thought triumphantly, before a flurry of panic squelched that intoxicating emotion.
Swallowing, she said in her most remote tone, ‘Sorry. I wasn’t concentrating.’
Then wondered uneasily if the admission had hinted at her body’s wilful blooming.
Rapidly she added brightly, ‘This has been one of the most charming weddings I’ve ever attended. Rosie is so happy, and it’s lovely to see Gerd utterly smitten.’
‘Yet you seem a little distracted. Is something worrying you?’ Alex enquired smoothly.
Well, yes—several things, in fact, with one in particular nagging at her mind.
But Alex wasn’t referring to her brother. He’d have noticed that plenty of eyes around the ballroom were fixed on her, some pitying, others malicious. Of the two she preferred the spite, although a hissed aside that had been pitched carefully to reach her ears still stung.
‘It must be like eating bitter aloes for her,’ a French duchess had said.
Her
