The Royal House Of Karedes Collection Books 1-12. Кейт ХьюитЧитать онлайн книгу.
doorway. The pup’s intelligent little face was cocked to the side as if he knew his master was troubled.
‘Can you be a royal dog?’ he asked.
Deefer stared back at him, appearing to ponder the question. Then, bored, he gazed around him.
The bed had a massive brocade cover, tumbled now and lying half over the end of the bed. It had magnificent gold tassles on the side.
Deefer barked at the closest tassle. Then he crouched low, pounced, grabbed the tassle and headed for the main door. Dragging the priceless brocade with him.
Maybe not, Andreas thought ruefully. Maybe Deefer wasn’t a royal dog as Holly wasn’t a royal princess.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and flicked off the taps. He reached for his towel and padded through to find his clothes. A suit. Clothes to make him a prince again.
With wife? With dog?
Only if they both learned to toe the royal line.
They were on opposite sides of the helicopter again. This machine wasn’t meant for lovers. Nor was it meant for man and wife.
She didn’t feel like a wife right now. She was on her way to being a royal princess. She felt small and insignificant and scared.
Andreas was staring out the window to the land below. Aristo.
A reception committee was waiting. From the helicopter she could see a cluster of waiting suits, of media jostling for position.
‘The press?’ she asked in a small voice and Andreas sighed.
‘It’s only to be expected. Our marriage has caused enormous interest. However hopefully they’ll back off now I’ve done the right thing.’
‘Now I’ve done the right thing…’
He was still staring below. Preoccupied. How could he know that her heart felt as if it had been pierced?
‘They would have had my hide if I hadn’t married you,’ he said grimly, almost to himself. ‘It’s what being a royal’s all about. You’re pressured from day one. Your life’s not your own. Hell, if I’d been able to follow my own course… You’re better out of it, Holly.’
He turned to her then and she had to fight—really fight—to get her face under control. She felt sick.
‘I… How long do I need to stay?’ she managed.
‘I’ll talk to Sebastian.’
And that was that. He’d talk to the future king. He’d do what was required.
The last three days she’d allowed herself to hope. No, she’d allowed herself to believe that there was truly a marriage, for that was what it had felt like.
I’ll talk to Sebastian.
The course of their marriage was in the hands of the Prince Regent, Sebastian. Naturally.
This had been truly time out of frame, she thought dully as the helicopter landed, as the doors were hauled open to readmit the world. Three days of memories to last her for the rest of her life.
How could it be enough?
Maybe it had to be enough. They were taken over the moment they landed. The moment the doors were open there were flashlights going everywhere, almost blinding her.
Andreas climbed out first and helped her after him. He held her hand and she clung.
She was wearing a tight-fitting, little green dress—a sundress. She should be corporate, she thought. To face this she needed power clothes. Shoulder pads. Business black.
‘How was the honeymoon?’ someone yelled, and there were chuckles and questions, fielded by Andreas like an expert. All she could do was cling like a limpet and hope it’d soon be over.
‘How does it feel to be a royal wife?’ someone called and Andreas was before her.
‘Holly’s not intended to be a royal wife,’ he said smoothly. ‘Yes, we’ve wed, but Holly’s life is in Australia. She runs one of the most beautiful cattle stations in her country. I’ll never ask her to give that up to take on royal duties.’
There was a moment’s shocked hush. Then a torrent of follow-up interrogation, all of which could be summed up in the one phrase.
‘You mean it’s not a real marriage?
‘I didn’t say that,’ Andreas said smoothly. ‘We were married before God and we intend to keep our vows. But marriage means different things for different people. Christina and I had a royal marriage where both of us were expected to play a role in public life. But Holly’s not a royal wife. To ask that of her would be unfair.’
‘So you’re going back to Australia?’ someone demanded of her. ‘When?’
‘There are many things to be sorted,’ Andreas interceded smoothly. ‘We’ll let you know.’
‘But you’ll attend royal functions until then?’ someone called.
‘She will,’ Andreas said.
What was happening here? Holly thought, stunned. Limpet? Wet rag more like it. Docile bride standing meekly by her husband’s side as he answered her questions. The husband as the woman’s spokesperson.
‘And how do I like my porridge?’ she blurted out, before she could help herself.
‘Pardon?’ Andreas stared down at her. Everyone was staring at her.
‘Tell the press how I like my porridge,’ she said dangerously, and she knew no good could come of this. She could feel a wave of anger so strong it threatened to overwhelm her. But she was on the wave now and there was no way she could get off until it was ridden to its end.
‘We don’t understand,’ a reporter complained.
‘I mean if I’m asked a question—about me—then maybe I’m the one capable of answering it. I’ll be going back to Australia when I feel like it,’ she snapped. ‘When I decide. I’m not intended for a royal wife? That sounds like I’ve been produced on some breeding programme. I’m sorry, my love,’ she said, and she managed a saccharine smile as Andreas stared at her, astounded. ‘I know. A royal wife shuts up and lets her husband speak for her. But I’m not a royal wife. You’ve just said so. I’m just a wife. I’m just me. Let’s take that as read and move on.’
He was furious. Not just angry but almost impotent with rage. They sat in the back of the limousine on the way to the palace and he stared at her as if she’d grown two heads.
Two could play at that game. She stared right back, furiously defiant.
‘A royal wife stays in the background,’ he snapped.
‘Does she? I wouldn’t know. I’m not a royal wife.’
‘Holly, you don’t understand. It’s imperative that our behaviour is above reproach.’
‘I thought my behaviour was above reproach,’ she said, dangerously quiet. If her father could hear her now maybe he’d warn Andreas. My daughter has a temper. Be afraid. Be very afraid.
But Andreas had no such warning. The political consequences of their actions were first and foremost in his mind and he wasn’t seeing past them.
‘You had a child out of wedlock,’ he said tightly. ‘That’s enough.’
‘Enough?’
‘For the country to judge you. You need to be demure and quiet and respectful.’
‘Respectful of you.’
‘Of course. I’m your husband.’
‘I thought you were more than that. I thought you were my lover.’
‘On our island,