Crown Prince's Bought Bride. Maya BlakeЧитать онлайн книгу.
been presented to them moments after his father’s burial. The twenty-eight-year-old whose paternity had been proven via a discreet DNA test, to be royal, courtesy of an illicit affair his father had indulged in when he had briefly been stationed in Paris on diplomatic duty.
Jules was the scandal that had nearly unsettled the kingdom. The paparazzi had gone on a feeding frenzy for months, prising open every closet they could find in the hope of unearthing more skeletons.
It would have been easier to stomach had Jules not proved to be nothing but a thorn in their sides from the moment he’d arrived in Montegova ten years ago.
Remi scanned the picture, his jaw clenching as he noted the glassy eyes, the dishevelment, the slurred expression of drunkenness. ‘What has he done now?’ he bit out.
Queen Isadora’s mouth twisted. ‘A less aggravating question would be what hasn’t he done? Three weeks ago it was reckless gambling in Monte Carlo, then he flew to Paris and carried on gambling for another four days. The royal bursar was apoplectic when he received the bill. Ten days ago he turned up in Barcelona and gatecrashed a private party Duke Armando was throwing for his niece. Since then he’s been in London, and in the past few days in this woman’s company,’ she said, sliding aside the first picture to reveal several more.
They all showed variations of the same woman. Dark blonde. Leggy. Bright green eyes and a figure designed to stop traffic. She was striking. And her smile would win a contest against a thousand-watt bulb.
But she was a dime a dozen in Remi’s world. All flash and no substance.
Hell, in one picture she was literally flashing her underwear, uncaring that the world could see her lacy thong as she threw her arms around his half-brother’s neck. In all of the pictures her clothes barely covered her admittedly remarkable assets, and the camera’s glare threw every curve and dip into high-definition exposure.
Remi examined her carefully, searching for weaknesses. His gaze tracked her pert little nose, her wide, sensual mouth, cheekbones sculpted by a master craftsman and a delicate jawline designed to be worshipped with fingers and lips.
The sleek line of her neck dropped to slender, lightly tanned shoulders. Her collarbones were revealed by a sleeveless top, drawing attention to her soft throat and the impressive swell of her breasts. A flat, toned stomach, rounded hips and those endless legs completed the package.
She was flawless. Physically, at least. He had very little doubt that she would be severely lacking in other areas. Except maybe in the—
‘Who is she?’ he snapped, intensely annoyed with the direction of his thoughts. Who cared how the trollop was in bed?
His mother resumed her seat, her gaze meeting his. ‘Her details are on the last page. The rest is still sketchy, but I’ve seen more than enough to know she presents a potential problem. For one thing, Jules never usually stays in one place more than a few days. He’s been in London for almost two weeks. And, unfortunately, these are the least offensive pictures. Whatever is going on between them needs to end. Now. The royal transition must be as smooth as possible. So far he’s refused my summons for him to return to Montegova. Short of having his bodyguards forcibly put him on a plane—and risk a kidnapping charge—I have to find a way to bring him to heel.’
Remi’s gaze was drawn, against his will, back to the pictures. He flipped to the last page. The woman his half-brother had taken up with was summed up in four lines.
Madeleine Myers
Waitress
Twenty-four years old
College dropout
Distaste filled his mouth. ‘You want me to take care of it?’ For the sake of his kingdom’s reputation, his half-brother’s antics needed to be curbed before they attracted unwanted attention.
Queen Isadora linked her fingers and placed them on the desk. ‘Jules may not have any interest in behaving like a Montegovan except when it eases his way into casinos and parties, but this cannot be allowed to continue. He pretends otherwise, but he’s a little in awe of you. I dare say you scare him a little too. He’ll listen to you. And you’re the only one I trust to handle this discreetly.’ She cleared her throat. ‘With the news of my stepping down and your ascension to the throne we can’t afford another scandal now. Especially when you announce that you’ll be taking a wife at the end of the summer.’
Icy shock gushed through his veins, rendering him speechless for one stunned second. ‘I will be what?’ he demanded when he found his tongue.
‘Don’t look so shocked. Surely this doesn’t come as a surprise? You were all set to do so two years ago.’
Different emotions surged high—a peculiar mingling of pain, futile anger, bitterness and guilt. The first was natural—the pain of a cherished one lost never went away. Although lately the pain had been less and the other emotions more pronounced.
His anger stemmed from a life cut far too short. From all the plans made that would never come to fruition. And the bitterness was aimed squarely at fate and the cruelty of time.
The fact that his fiancée had been on her way to her doctor when the tragedy had struck was irony itself.
Which brought him to the guilt. The culmination of events had been his fault and his alone. For that he had to bear the crushing weight on his soul.
‘You would be king and married by now if we hadn’t lost Celeste,’ his mother said, gentle but firm.
His teeth clenched at the unnecessary reminder. ‘I’m well aware of that.’ Just as he was well aware that his voice now echoed the chill weaving through his bloodstream. ‘But tell me, Mother, where exactly am I to conjure a bride from in three months?’
If he’d hoped to cow her with his caustic tone, he should have known better.
Without missing a beat she opened a tiny drawer directly in front of her chair and took out a single piece of paper. ‘The list of candidates we put together for you five years ago is still viable—save for one. She married a count and is already pregnant with her second child.’
The trace of wistfulness in her voice further aggravated Remi, but he kept his emotions on a tight leash, saved his verbal dexterity for the noose caressing his throat.
‘I didn’t stoop to plucking my future wife from a list put together by faceless advisers five years ago and I’m not about to do that now.’
Queen Isadora slapped the piece of paper down on the desk. ‘Well, that’s too bad. This time you don’t have the luxury of time or indulgence. Perhaps this is the best way forward. I married for love. You were about to marry the woman of your heart. Look where that got us both!’
Remi stiffened. His mother froze in her chair, her eyes widening in shock at her own outburst. Thick silence slammed between them as Remi examined her closer, noted the pallor beneath the make-up, the lines of stress bracketing her eyes.
He’d absorbed more of her duties this past year, but he could still see the strain of office on her face.
Heavy really was the head that wore the crown, temporary or not.
A crown that was soon to be placed upon his own head.
Before he could comment she gathered herself with regal poise, her spine ramrod straight as she speared him with a glare.
‘Let me be clear, Remirez. I will not sit by and watch all that I’ve painstakingly rebuilt these past ten years fall to ruin again because your sensibilities won’t allow it. You’ll go to London, separate your half-brother from this piece of bad news and bring him home. Then you’ll pick a bride and announce your betrothal one week before the Solstice Festival. At the festival we’ll give an official date for your wedding, which will be three months after your engagement. That gives you six months to get used to the idea of marriage. I’ll make myself available to help with preparations