Eloping With The Princess by Robyn DeHart

Author:Robyn DeHart
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Published: 2017-06-04T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Practice? What did he mean by that?

Isabel eyed him cautiously, waiting for him to explain himself. Could he possibly mean that he was going to consummate their marriage? She couldn’t very well ask him such a thing, though, so she merely nodded in response. But inside her, nerves sprang to life. A thousand butterflies took flight and flapped against her midriff.

He stepped over to her, close enough that she could smell the scent of his soap and shaving lotion, sandalwood, and earthiness. Close enough to see the soft waves of his brown hair and know that, were she to reach up to tousle it, it would be impossibly soft. Close enough to see the gold flecks that hid in the blue of his eyes. He was so handsome.

Isabel’s mouth went dry, and she waited for what he would do next. Kiss her?

He looped her hand through the crook of his elbow and escorted her across the room then back again. Disappointment grew inside her. She wanted to run out the french doors that led into the gardens and keep running until her legs gave way. But this marriage was not about her, she reminded herself. This was about so much more than her or her happiness. The stability of their government rested, in part, on her being able to play the role of dutiful wife believably.

Dutiful wife or not, she certainly knew how to cross a room. This was nonsense. She supposed she could simply stop this ridiculous prancing about, grab his face, and kiss him, but she hadn’t the faintest notion of how to kiss a man. The brief kiss they’d shared at their wedding ceremony had been the extent of her experience.

She exhaled loudly, and it blew a puff of hair into her eyes. He abruptly stopped walking.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Yes. No.” She shook her head, uncertain if she should speak up. “It seems to me that walking across the room is not going to convince anyone of anything.” She stepped away from him and moved over to the settee but did not sit. “We have done this before, and evidently it wasn’t believable. I don’t understand how you’re supposed to tell what the state of someone’s marriage is simply by how they enter a room together. That’s ridiculous.”

“It is ridiculous.” He sat on the settee and she followed suit.

“What business is it of anyone’s?”

“Normally, it isn’t anyone’s concern.” He shifted on the settee to face her. “But your safety largely hinges on people believing that you couldn’t marry another man after a speedy annulment from this one.”

“Not merely my safety. These people don’t want to kill me. They do, however, want to kill our queen. We cannot risk her safety.” She looked up at him, and before she lost all courage, she blurted out, “Kiss me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If you want people to believe you’ve bedded me, then…” Then bed me, she wanted to yell, but before she could finish her thought, he braced his hands on either side of her face and moved his lips to hers.

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