The Royal Collection. Rebecca WintersЧитать онлайн книгу.
even breathe. She could just stand and stare at him.
Sensing her gaze, Corran glanced up and froze at her expression. He didn’t say anything but something shifted in the air, something hot and dark that lit the fever in Lotty’s blood.
Corran laid down his saw and straightened.
She took a step inside the room.
‘You’re a bad girl,’ he said, and his voice was dark and dusty with desire.
‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘You didn’t need to.’
He put his hands on the wall on either side of her, trapping her, and Lotty’s heart pounded with excitement. She slid her hands beneath his T-shirt so that she could run them over his flanks, loving the feel of his warm, solid skin, revelling in the flex of his muscles beneath her touch, smiling at his indrawn hiss of breath.
‘Do I need to say anything now?’
‘No,’ he said, and the expression in his eyes snarled every one of Lotty’s senses into an urgent knot of desire.
And then…oh, then! Lotty still burned at the memory. It had been wild, exciting, reckless.
Very reckless.
‘I’m going to have to be prepared if you’re going to do that to me again,’ Corran said unevenly at last, resting his forehead against hers.
‘Do what?’ Lotty was breathless. She clung to him, limp with satisfaction. ‘What did I do?’
‘You looked at me. You know what I mean,’ he said as she started to laugh. ‘You turned those great eyes on me and they told me you’d die if you couldn’t have me.’
‘That’s how I felt,’ she confessed.
‘We mustn’t do that again, Lotty,’ said Corran. ‘It’s too much of a risk.’
‘No,’ she had agreed. It was stupid to make love without taking precautions, of course it was. But, deep down, Lotty loved the fact that she could be bad. That she could make him forget about everything but her, his hands on her, her mouth on his, make him forget about anything but the rocketing need between them.
That she could forget that she was a princess. Lotty loved that most of all.
Flushing with remembered heat, Lotty made herself turn back to the range and pull out the cake. How was it possible that it looked flatter and harder and thinner than it had when she’d put it in?
‘I don’t think it’s supposed to look like this,’ she said, her mouth turning down at the corners. It certainly didn’t look like the exquisite patisserie that the palace kitchens produced. The head chef made a chocolate cake that was so light and delicious that it was hard to believe that it contained any calories at all. It melted in the mouth, so that one slice was never enough.
This cake had about as much chance of melting in the mouth as a brick.
‘It’ll be fine,’ said Corran, without glancing at it. He was putting milk away in the fridge. ‘Let’s have some tea and we can always dunk the cake in it.’
‘Good idea.’
Lotty put the kettle on. She had never cared for tea before, but now she drank it all the time. They often had a mug in the afternoon, taking a brief break from working.
The cottages were coming on really well. Lotty felt proud when she looked around her and remembered what a desperate state they had been in when she first arrived. She didn’t mind getting dirty and tired. She could see the cottages being transformed in front of her eyes. She was doing something, not just having things done for her. Lotty sat on the doorstep with Corran and the dogs on those afternoons, and she watched the hills and drank tea and felt completely happy.
Every now and then the cold finger of reality would poke her in the stomach, reminding her that time was passing and this wasn’t for ever, but Lotty’s heart shrank back from dealing with it. One more week, she said to herself every time. One more week, and then she would face the prospect of leaving.
It was getting harder and harder to remember this wasn’t her real life. Montluce felt very far away. Corran had offered her the use of his computer after she had told him she’d used the internet café in Fort William, so she had been able to check her email over the past month, but increasingly she found herself putting it off. She’d had a stiff message from Dowager Blanche, who was obviously hurt and angry, which made Lotty feel horribly guilty, as it was no doubt intended to, and she didn’t want any more like that.
Caro’s messages were much more entertaining. Lotty enjoyed seeing palace life through her friend’s eyes. It made her realise how absurd all the formality she had taken for granted for years was. Lotty was glad Caro seemed to be having a good time, although she was suspiciously cagey about her relationship with Philippe. It sounded as if the people of Montluce had taken her to their hearts too.
Lotty even allowed herself a little fantasy that Caro would get together with Philippe. If the two of them married, Caro could be first lady of the realm and Lotty would be free. Then Lotty felt selfish. How could she wish the restrictions of royal life on her free-spirited friend? Besides, she couldn’t see her grandmother accepting Caro as the future Crown Princess. The Dowager Blanche had firmly traditional views on who might or might not be acceptable to marry into Montluce’s royal family. A commoner like Caro was unlikely to go down well.
Then there was Philippe to think about too. Lotty knew how difficult going back to Montluce even for a short time would be for him. He would be putting a good face on it, but his relationship with his father was too bitter for him to want to stay in the country a moment longer than necessary.
No, Caro and Philippe had done enough for her as it was. She couldn’t expect them to take over her life on a permanent basis. She couldn’t run away from her obligations for ever. She would have to go back to Montluce and do her duty, the way she had been raised to do.
But not yet, her heart cried. Not yet.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot.’ Corran drew a glossy magazine from the bottom of the carrier bag. ‘Mrs McPherson sent you a present.’
‘A present?’ Surprised, Lotty set the two mugs of tea on the table and took the magazine. ‘Really? For me?’
‘She seemed to think you’d like it. I can’t imagine why,’ he said austerely as Lotty turned the magazine over to reveal the distinctive cover of Glitz. ‘It’s full of vacuous celebrities as far as I can see. Why would anyone care about all that trivial gossip?’
‘It’s called being interested in people,’ said Lotty, who had been known to flick through a magazine in her time too.
She fanned the pages. ‘Besides, it’s not all gossip. There’s also important stuff in here about shoes and frocks and make up. We’re not all riveted by breeding programmes for Highland cattle, you know.’
‘I forget you’re interested in that kind of stuff,’ said Corran, drinking his tea morosely.
‘I wonder why Mrs McPherson thought I would be?’ Lotty said, still puzzled.
He shrugged as she pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘You seem to be her pet. I had to spend half the afternoon listening to her rabbiting on about scones and how wonderful everyone thinks you are now. Although she did say something about Montluce, now I come to think about it. She seems to know more about you than I do.’
Lotty looked at him sharply, unsure what to make of the faint undercurrent of…resentment? jealousy? bitterness?…she heard in his voice.
‘Well, it was kind of her to think of me,’ she said, careful to keep her expression neutral.
‘Yes, except then I felt obliged to pay for it,’ grunted Corran. ‘It’s probably a tried and tested sales technique of hers: make me feel guilty for not thinking of bringing you a present myself.’
‘Oh,