href="#ulink_c9590529-ed73-50c6-b5ed-2a5130e18fe7">Chapter Fourteen
THE BEST THING about a palace ball was the fact that Eduardo only had to walk up a couple of flights of stairs and a few paces down the corridor and he’d be in his own apartment, alone with his crushed wife. He wanted to smooth the stark agony from her eyes. He wanted to smash some sense into her father’s skull.
In the corridor on his level, where they could still hear the music from the ballroom, he turned her to face him. She avoided his eyes—focused her fierceness on his body instead. She ran her hands up his chest, pressed her mouth to his. He understood that she wanted physical release—to feel good and forget. But staying silent and burying that hurt wasn’t going to help in the long run, and he wanted to offer her more than a five-minute fix.
‘No one ever taught you how to waltz?’ he asked.
‘I wasn’t interested.’ She stiffened and tried to pull away from him.
‘Too busy being the tough soldier?’ He firmly kept her close, despite the tension building in her body.
‘Didn’t find a partner,’ she corrected bluntly.
‘You’ve found one now.’ Eduardo angled his head and whispered, ‘Dance with me. Please.’
A flush faintly stained her pale skin. She quickly glanced up at him, awkwardness flashing. ‘I’ll trample on your toes.’
‘I’ll live.’ He kept one hand on her waist and clasped her fingers, lifting her arm so they stood in formal waltz position. ‘You start on the left foot, count one-two-three. It’s easy.’
‘You say everything is easy,’ she muttered, looking down at their feet.
‘One-two-three,’ he answered, keeping time with the music wafting up the staircase.
Slowly she took the smallest of steps.
‘One-two-three...’ He smiled, but fell silent after a couple of bars because she already had it.
Of course she did.
He didn’t speak for a long time, just let the music work its magic. Their bodies were made to move together. She was the perfect height for him in those killer heels, and he loved her lithe strength brushing against his. But more than that he loved feeling comfort creep into her. Slowly the tension receded from her body. As she relaxed he cradled her closer, so that they swayed to the graceful tune of the strings. Not really dancing, but it didn’t matter. This wasn’t for the look of it, but for the feel.
He’d been so preoccupied with everything these past two days he’d not thought about her father. She’d not mentioned him either. But after witnessing their interaction just then... He didn’t care what the General thought of him, but Stella deserved so much better.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘I should have arranged a meeting with your father before tonight. I should have been to see him.’
‘It’s not your fault. Not your responsibility.’ Her lashes lifted. ‘And I shouldn’t have to make an appointment to see my own father.’
Her desolation haunted him. A lump blocked his throat. He didn’t know what he could say to make this better for her. It was such a fundamental pain.
‘I don’t know why I’m surprised. Don’t know why it still gets to me when it’s always been the same.’ She tried to smile but failed.
‘He doesn’t talk to you?’
‘Only to give orders. He’s never once told me he’s proud of me. Never once said Well done, or Congratulations,’ she mumbled. ‘He waited more than half his life to get the wife and son he wanted. But he lost his wife. And he didn’t get a son. He got me. I’ve always been a disappointment.’
The hurt in her voice burned. He drew her closer still, wrapping his arms around her, wanting to protect her. But the wound was already there. ‘He should be so proud of you.’
‘Nothing I’ve done has ever been enough.’ She turned her face into his neck, hiding her eyes from him. ‘He doesn’t care. He never has.’ Her fingers curled into his shirt. ‘I won’t let that happen to our baby,’ she whispered rawly.
‘Nor will I,’ he promised.
He felt her body shake in a broken sigh. Was she crying? He bent to look into her face, but her eyes were resolutely closed.
‘I’m tired,’ she said.
‘I know.’ He lifted her into his arms.
‘I can—’
‘Just let me.’
He carried her into his apartment, kicking the door shut with his foot. He went straight to the dark bedroom and, still holding her close, climbed onto the bed. He carefully stroked her back, pleased when she didn’t try to slip away. Instead she snuggled down, her head on his chest, her body half blanketing his.
‘You have such courage, Stella,’ he whispered roughly. Her strength felled him. ‘He’s crazy not to know how amazing you are.’
But he felt her shake her head.
‘I’ve been so alone for so long,’ she confided in a quick rush of words, as if afraid to admit it.
‘You’re not any more,’ he promised. He was here for her. He wanted to be here for her. And he wanted her to lean on him. Because of him she’d have to face so many firsts. He wanted to be at her side for all of them.
He felt her release another shaky breath and she burrowed closer still. He toed off his shoes and awkwardly reached for a soft blanket to keep them both warm.
‘Just sleep, sweetheart.’ He took her hand and laced his fingers through hers, his own tension ebbing as her fingers tightened on his. ‘Everything is going to be okay.’
And maybe it would be.
He kissed the top of her hair and held her as close as he could. Eventually her breathing became more regular, then deepened. A wholly different kind of satisfaction thrummed in his blood. Contentment. She’d turned to him and he’d comforted her. She rested easy now, in his arms.
He wanted her to be happy. Seeing all those people clamouring for a piece of her tonight had made him think properly for the first time all week. She’d handled it beautifully, but he’d changed her life, taken so many choices from her. Hell, he’d even stopped her from running in fresh air. He wanted to fix that as best he could—he wanted to make this work.
When he woke they were still fully clothed in their formal ball wear, curled tightly together in that close embrace. She was still deeply asleep, and it was hours past her usual wake-up-and-train time. Her peace gave him immeasurable pleasure. But he couldn’t wait until she woke. He needed to make plans.
Carefully he disentangled himself and crept out of the bedroom to shower and dress in another room.
Walking through the lounge twenty minutes later, he checked the newspapers that had been delivered. He’d been right: her approval
