instead of carrying her triumphantly up the grand central staircase to the royal bridal chamber—or wherever palaces accommodated newlyweds—he shoved door after door open, carrying her down into the rear of the castle to the servants’ quarters. Finally he swung open a last door and set her on her feet.
She almost staggered. The dress was a dead weight around her—she’d been carrying half a ton all day. She’d been too dazed to notice. When Andreas in his fabulous royal regalia was carrying her she didn’t care, but set down unceremoniously in the royal kitchen she found she did care. A lot.
The kitchen had vast, ancient flagstones, a range that took up half a wall, a table that could seat twenty or so—and little else. It was deserted, apart from Deefer who peered sleepily from a dog bed by the stove, gave his tail a perfunctory wag and then finally decided it did behove him to raise himself to welcome his mistress.
She bent to greet him and Andreas was already backing out the door. What the …?
‘Um… is the Cinderella thing over?’ she asked uncertainly. ‘Is it midnight yet? My gown’s still a gown.’
‘Stay here,’ he growled. ‘I didn’t expect… I have things to organize.’
‘You didn’t expect what?’ she demanded.
‘A wife,’ he said and paused, stepped forward, hauled her close and kissed her. One harsh, demanding and possessive kiss—and then he was gone. ‘Wait,’ he said over his shoulder as he strode away down the corridor. ‘Go nowhere.’
And where was a girl to go after that? Nowhere. Even if she could find her way back to her apartments through the corridors. Which she couldn’t.
So she sat by the stove in her ridiculous bridal gear and waited for her husband and tried to make herself think of something other than how she was married and she didn’t know what was going to happen and she was… scared?
Scared of something happening?
Um… no. Scared of something not happening.
What would happen if someone came in and found her here? The servants would come eventually, she thought. There she’d be when they came in to cook breakfast, the royal bride hugging her dog, looking ridiculous.
‘We’re in over our heads,’ she told Deefer, but Deefer was one tired pup and he simply curled up into a ball on the crazy lace confection covering her knees and slept again.
Lucky Deefer.
Fifteen minutes. Twenty. The clock over the vast mantel ticked like a bomb. Tick tick tick.
She was going nuts.
The door swung open again. Andreas. Still in his ceremonial bridal toggery. Still looking absurdly handsome.
Still her husband.
‘We’re ready,’ he said and she suddenly had a ghastly vision of the royal brides she’d heard of in history—a dozen witnesses clustered around the bed waiting for evidence of her virginity.
‘Um… we?’ she whispered, and he chuckled and strode forward, lifted Deefer from her arms and pulled her lightly up to stand beside him.
‘Georgiou.’
‘Oh, goody,’ she whispered. ‘My favourite person.’
‘My favourite helicopter pilot,’ he said. ‘I’ve had too much wine to fly myself. Not that I’m drunk but there’s zero alcohol tolerance for flying. Besides, I wish to concentrate entirely on my bride. So what say Georgiou takes us away from all this? Back to our island.’
Her eyes widened in shock. ‘We can just… go?’
‘That’s just what I think we should do,’ he said. ‘We’ve done the honourable thing, my love. The rest of the night’s just for us.’
‘And Georgiou.’
‘As you say,’ he said and grinned. ‘But I’m thinking the island’s big enough for all of us.’
This was ridiculous. She should have insisted on changing clothes, Holly thought as she sat on the opposite side of the helicopter to Andreas and hugged Deefer. To travel in her wedding gown—she still had the tiara in her curls!—seemed crazy. As did the fact that Andreas was still wearing his royal regalia. He was leaning back in the luxurious leather chair that served as the helicopter seat, his eyes almost closed, as if in meditation. What was he thinking? He had a bride?
What was he going to do with her?
In days of old she’d be a trembling virgin, terrified of what lay ahead. Bolstered by maternal advice… Don’t be frightened, there’s nothing to it. Lie back and think of England and it’ll soon be over.
She bit back a nervous giggle and Andreas turned.
‘So what are you thinking?’
‘Of England,’ she said and bit her bottom lip and thought the tension was going to kill her. What was she doing? A kid from Munwannay, in the royal helicopter, in full bridal toggery, being carried to an island hideaway with her prince.
Her husband.
If he thought he was going to…
Of course he thought he was going to, she told herself. He’d gone to all this trouble to get them alone. And they were married, in the sight of God and before such a congregation…
‘England,’ he said blankly.
‘It’s what all brides think of on their wedding night.’
‘Really?’
‘Absolutely,’ she assured him, trying hard not to sound breathless. ‘I’m trying to sort out the English mountains. Ben something… Isn’t that the biggest? And what’s the capital of Sussex? Don’t distract me.’
He didn’t distract her. He simply grinned, turned back to his window and let her be. By the time they landed she’d not only had time to think about England’s biggest mountain, but she’d had time to reach a point where her nerves were threatening to snap. What did she think she was doing? She hadn’t agreed to this. It was a marriage in name only.
No. It wasn’t. Not when Andreas looked as he did, when she felt as she did and it had been ten long years. Holly’s life on a remote cattle station had been very remote indeed. In a few weeks she’d be back there and this was all she’d have to remember.
Except… Except.
‘I can’t get pregnant,’ she said suddenly into the stillness as the helicopter landed and the roar of the motor died to nothing. The thought had hit her as a vicious slap. What was she risking? The whole nightmare happening all over again?
‘It won’t happen,’ Andreas said gravely.
‘I believe that’s what you said last time.’
‘I’ve taken precautions.’
‘Like you’ve had a vasectomy?’
He
