Yes,talking—to his wife. That was another thing Nando loved more than fucking. Getting to know her was a joy he had not previously imagined existed. Certainly, he had never shared such jarring intimacy with another woman. Marriage had taught him that there was far more to a relationship between a man and a woman than merely the carnal aspect. And although his appetite for his beautiful wife did remain ravenous, he couldn’t deny that quiet moments such as these, Eleanora snuggled in his lap, were every bit as glorious as making love to her was.
“Tell me about Varros,” she said softly, her husky voice a welcome intrusion on his thoughts. “What is it like there?”
He thought of his homeland, the small island kingdom where he had spent most of his life, and a pang went through him. “It is beautiful. Summers are warm and filled with sunshine and blue skies. We’ve beaches of white sand where wild horses roam.”
“Do you not miss your home?”
He did and he didn’t. The truth of it was, he had been unsettled when he had left for England. Seeking something. He hadn’t known what until Eleanora had swirled into his life wearing a fichu and a frown.
He sifted his fingers through her unbound hair, mesmerized by the way the candlelight brought the burnished strands to life. “I do in some ways, I suppose.”
“How long do you intend to remain in England?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” he admitted. “I bought this town house on a whim, but staying here certainly has its merits.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder, her gaze searching. “Are you saying you never intend to go back to Varros?”
“I don’t know. My life there was…different.”
Incomplete, he wanted to say. Each day the same as the next, an endless blur of fucking and fêtes and the unceasing pursuit of pleasure that could never truly be obtained. Because pleasure like this—Eleanora in his arms, the night quiet and still around them, save for Benvolio’s contented purrs and the crackling of a warm fire—couldn’t be found in a stranger’s bed.
“But surely you would want to return to your homeland,” she pressed.
He didn’t want to go back to his old circle, no. Not to the courtiers who would welcome him with open arms. Nor to the lovers he had left behind. He wanted a new life, a new purpose. He wanted what he had with Eleanora, this charmed existence they had been building together, this stunning idyll. And part of him was terrified that if they returned, and if she were to discover all the sordid secrets of his past, she would no longer want him.
“There is much for me here,” he explained, stroking her jaw, then tracing an absent fingertip around her lips.
“What of your brother, the king? Your baby nephew and your sister-in-law? Have you no wish to see them again?”
Of course he did. He loved Maxim and his brother’s burgeoning family. But Nando wasn’t sure how to explain himself to Eleanora without revealing his true motive for not wanting to return to Varros.
He shrugged. “Perhaps Maxim can come to us one day.”
Unlikely, however. His brother had only come to England for his formal betrothal to Princess Anastasia. After that had been broken and Maxim had wed Tansy, there was precious little reason for Maxim to leave the capital city. Particularly since there had recently been unrest with one of their uncle’s loyalists. It was safer for the king to remain on his throne with his queen.
Maybe Nando could delay his return to Varros until Eleanora had fallen so hopelessly in love with him that she would never leave when she learned the depths of his depravity.
“Are you ashamed of me?” Eleanora asked quietly.
“God no,” he reassured her, wishing he could kick himself in the arse for causing her a moment of uncertainty. “I couldn’t be prouder of you, my dear. You are my better in every way.”
He meant those words with every speck of the heart he had previously believed he hadn’t had.
“Then why do you not wish to go back to Varros?” she asked. “There must be another reason, one you aren’t telling me. It makes no sense. An attempt was made on your life here, and yet you remain, with no plans of returning to your home any time soon.”
She was far too perceptive and clever, his Eleanora. He was going to have to explain.
He sifted the silken strands of her hair again, considering his words with great care. “My life there…the circles I kept…they were different. There are people I would not wish for you tomeet, stories I would prefer you never hear. I’m not proud of the man I’ve been.”
“Do you suppose I haven’t heard the rumors about you?” she asked.
His ears went hot. He hadn’t thought she had, although he had been aware that his reputation generally preceded him. Nando had preferred simply not to think of it.
“Which rumors have you heard?” he dared to ask, dreading the answer.
“That you closeted yourself in a brothel for days and had to be removed by your brother the king,” she began.
Nando winced. “It wasn’t days.”
