we do anything, you’re going to have to come to Isolaverde and ask my brother for his permission.’
SOPHIE’S HEART WAS racing as they were summoned into the throne room of the Isolaverdian palace. She could hear her high heels clipping over the polished marble floor, past all the beautiful oil paintings of her ancestors towards the dais at the far end.
It felt like forever since she’d last been here and the significance of the magnificent setting was never lost on her. It was where her brother had been crowned after the sudden death of their father and where their grief-stricken mother had sat, keeping vigil over the late King’s coffin.
As she heard the heavy clang of the double doors slamming shut behind them, Sophie thought about everything she’d seen and done since she’d last seen her brother. California and an ocean crossing. The heat and dust of the Australian Outback, the silent snow of the Cotswolds and then the high-octane holiday glitter of New York. And now she was back on her island home, feeling a bit like a stranger on her home territory with the man beside her about to ask the King for her hand in marriage.
As they took their seats she wondered if Rafe was dazzled by the twin thrones before them—where diamonds, rubies and emeralds as big as gulls’ eggs glittered in the winter sunshine. One throne sat empty—waiting for the wife her brother seemed so reluctant to find, for it was rumoured he had a mistress who was preventing him from fulfilling his destiny. Not for the first time, Sophie acknowledged the inequality of one rule for royal men and a different one for women. Myron had been allowed to have as much sex as he wanted, while she’d been supposed to save her virginity until her wedding night. How unfair was that? She moistened her lips with her tongue as she stared at the imposing figure of her brother, his dark face stern, his legs crossed with the carelessness of a man born to rule, as he leaned back against his throne.
‘I understand that you have provided both sanctuary and protection for my sister,’ said the King, without preamble. ‘For which I owe you a great debt as well as my thanks, and for which you will be rewarded accordingly. The Princess has behaved in a way which was undoubtedly headstrong, but she is home now and everything is as it should be. Whether your desire is for land or capital, I shall endeavour to grant you your wish, Carter.’ He gave a wry smile. ‘Within reason, of course.’
Rafe smiled back. ‘I’m very honoured to receive Your Majesty’s offer,’ he said diplomatically. ‘But it was no hardship to give your sister my protection and, indeed, she fended for herself most admirably for many months. Months during which my men assured me she was the best cook they’ve ever had on the station.’
A glitter of irritation iced the King’s blue eyes. ‘I have no desire to imagine the Princess in a position of such servitude. Let us discuss how best you will be recompensed instead.’
‘But, Your Majesty,’ said Rafe silkily, ‘I have no need or desire for any financial reward. I have no desire to accept payment for what was my pleasure.’
Nervously Sophie resisted the invitation to chew the inside of her mouth. Didn’t Rafe realise that refusing Myron’s offer was the last thing he should do if he wanted to keep him onside? That it was bad form to refuse the King anything?
Nothing was said for a moment as both men engaged in a silent battle of wills.
‘As you wish,’ said Myron eventually, unable to hide another flicker of irritation when it became clear Rafe had no intention of backing down. ‘But on the other matter you brought to my attention when you first arrived, I’m afraid I cannot be quite so reasonable. You say you wish to marry my sister?’ He raised his eyebrows before shaking his head. ‘I’m afraid this will not be possible, for reasons I’m sure I don’t need to spell out for you.’
Rafe nodded and then, very deliberately, reached out and put his hand over Sophie’s. Had he done that to hide the sudden trembling of her fingers from her brother? she wondered.
‘I completely understand your reservations, Your Majesty,’ Rafe said. ‘Because Sophie is your sister and you love her and care about her welfare and, obviously, I’m not the prospective husband you would have chosen—mainly, I suspect, because I am not royal. But I have a vast fortune at my disposal as well as the ways and the means to protect the Princess as she has always been protected. You need have no fears about her future.’
‘That is not the point,’ snapped Myron, uncrossing his legs and sitting up, ramrod-straight. ‘I have had you investigated.’
‘Of course you have,’ put in Rafe calmly. ‘I would have done exactly the same in your position.’
Myron’s face darkened. ‘And your family is...disreputable, to say the least.’
‘We have a somewhat colourful history, that I won’t deny,’ said Rafe wryly. ‘But I won’t do wrong by your sister and nothing you can say or do will change my determination. Because I intend to marry her, with or without your permission—although it would be better if we could do it with your blessing. Obviously.’ His fingers tightened around Sophie’s as he gave her hand a squeeze. ‘Back in New York, I made a vow to the Princess that I would be faithful and true and I am repeating that vow today, in your presence. For I intend on being the best husband I can possibly be.’
Sophie felt quite faint. Nobody ever talked to Myron like that. Nobody. And nobody ever kept interrupting him that way either. She looked into her brother’s face, expecting to see the first hint of the simmering rage which his courtiers knew to beware of, but to her astonishment there was nothing but a flicker of frustration in his eyes, which gradually became a gleam of reluctant acceptance.
‘You are a strong man, Carter,’ observed Myron slowly. ‘And a woman needs a strong man. Very well. You have your permission to marry my sister. She will come to you with a generous dowry.’
‘No.’ Rafe’s voice was firm. ‘Sophie will bring to the marriage only what she wishes to bring. Some sentimental trinkets or the like, but nothing more than that.’
Some sentimental trinkets?
For the first time since she’d accepted his proposal, Sophie felt a shimmer of apprehension as Myron stepped down from his throne and she watched as the two men shook hands, almost as if they were sealing some kind of business deal. And the thought which had taken root in her head was now stubbornly refusing to shift, because wasn’t that exactly what they were doing? The shimmer became a shiver. What she’d just witnessed had been a kind of battle between two very alpha men who were both used to getting their own way.
She realised now that if Rafe had backed down or buckled underneath the weight of her brother’s arrogant royal power—or greedily accepted a reward—then the marriage would never have taken place. Somehow, Myron would have put a stop to it. He might have threatened to destroy Rafe’s company or found an area of his life to target, an area which was ripe for exploitation. She would put nothing past him, for he had been furious when Prince Luciano had announced that he could no longer marry her. He had been angry on behalf of his jilted sister but there was no denying that he had seen the move as a slight to the royal house of Isolaverde.
But Rafe hadn’t buckled. He had shown himself to be powerful and indomitable. He had stood up to Myron in a way she’d never seen anyone do before and he had won her, as a man might win a big prize at a game of cards.
Pressing her fingernails into the palms of her hands, she told herself to stop wishing for the impossible.
