Maxim clenched his jaw. “It is a possibility. We’ll need to tread lightly.”
The carriage slowed. His cravat tightened again. He was grateful for Nando’s presence, for his support. Already, his chest felt as if a boulder had been laid upon it. He didn’t want to do this. Didn’t want the finality of a betrothal announcement, nor the potential loss of life that was to come in the war facing them.
But it had to be done.
“We’ve arrived,” Nando said grimly.
He swallowed hard. “So we have.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind,” his brother added gently.
If only.
Maxim shook his head. “I have to marry Princess Anastasia. It is the sole path to prolonged peace, and our people and the people of Boritania need that peace.”
“I was talking about the goddesses,” Nando said with a grin. “Are you certain I can’t bring three of them along with me to Varros?”
“Nando,” he growled warningly.
His brother shrugged. “A fellow can ask.”
“Or a fellow can hold his tongue if he wants to keep it.”
“Always threatening your poor brother,” Nando grumbled.
He snorted. “Poor brother, indeed.”
The carriage doors opened before either of them could say anything more. The time had come.
When Maxim had enteredthe chamber, it was as if he stole all the air from the room. His presence, amidst great pomp and circumstance, was intimidating enough. His massive height, broad shoulders, and muscled frame added to the effect. He was dressed formally in the style of an Englishman, wearing finely tailored trousers and coat, along with an intricately knotted cravat at his throat, and he was so handsome that an ache of raw, unabashed yearning sliced straight through her when he first entered the drawing room.
Their gazes had met only once for the interminable duration of the interview thus far. She’d felt the connection as if he had passed a hand over her bare skin. It had required all her self-possession to keep her features a carefully schooled mask of impassivity. To curtsy and lower her eyes demurely and pretend as if the man she loved, the man who had claimed her body with almost brutal tenderness twice before, was nothing more than a stranger to her.
He was speaking to Princess Anastasia now, their dark heads bent together as they signed the documents making their betrothal official. She hated their proximity to each other. Hated the inevitability of their union. Hated herself for being weak enough to fall in love with a man so beyond her reach.
“Have you ever been to Varros, Lady Tansy?”
The soft question at her side jolted her from her tumultuous thoughts. She turned to Prince Ferdinando, who had joined her on the periphery of the ceremony. It was difficult to believe this golden-haired lothario was Maxim’s brother. The two men could not have been more different in appearance or demeanor. Where Maxim was cold and aloof, sometimes harsh, Prince Ferdinandowas lighthearted and smoothly charming, always with a ready smile that glinted in his bright-blue eyes. Maxim’s black hair and dark eyes, height, and build were in complete contrast to his brother.
“I have not, Your Royal Highness,” she said, forcing a polite smile to her lips.
“You will like it there,” he pronounced, as if it were a certainty.
Her mouth felt as if it would crack from the strain of her attempts at feigning happiness. “I’m sure you’re right, Your Royal Highness.”
He leaned nearer, his scent washing over her. It was a pleasant enough scent, unique in some ways and yet not so different from the courtiers intent upon seduction with whom she had crossed paths in Boritania. It was the scent of a man who knew he was attractive and intended to use his appearance to his every advantage. Who enhanced his natural gift in any way he could to lure ladies into his spider’s web.
Tansy had heard the rumors, which abounded. Prince Ferdinando was a rakehell to the marrow.
He raised a light brow, his perfect curls falling over his forehead as he shifted ever so slightly to lean nearer to her, almost as if imparting a great secret. “I’m right about most things, Lady Tansy. Given time, you shall see.”
He was vain as well.
She bit her lip and held her tongue, returning her gaze to Maxim’s broad back as he bent over the documents, his quill moving with swift motions that suggested he hadn’t hesitated in signing his name everywhere it was required on the marriage contract that would bind him to the princess.
And so? Had she believed he would? Had she been foolish enough to suppose, even for a wild heartbeat, that he had somehow developed feelings for her to rival hers for him, andthat he would choose her over Princess Anastasia? That he would abandon his sense of duty to his kingdom, that he would choose a mere lady-in-waiting over a princess whose position and family wealth were sure to enrich his own power?
What a fool she was for secretly harboring such hopes. Her recklessness knew no bounds.
