Confessions of a Royal Bridegroom(68)

He let out a sardonic snort, half turning from her to stare into the fire. “Yes, that’s me. A slave to duty.”

The bitter note in his voice tugged at her, making her wish she could touch him, or soothe him somehow. But given what they’d just discussed and her need to keep him at an appropriate distance, to give in to that sort of impulse—especially with a man like him—would be madness.

“Well, then,” she said, coming to her feet, “it would appear that we have reached some sort of understanding as to how to conduct ourselves. In public, we shall present a united front as husband and wife. And in private . . .” She hesitated, not quite sure how to put it into words.

He looked over his shoulder at her, the devilish gleam once more lurking in his eyes. “Yes, and in private?”

Good Lord, the man didn’t know when to stop. Clearly, she had to make her position crystal clear. “In private, we shall live as friends and nothing more,” she replied in a firm voice.

He turned to face her, crossing his arms and resting his broad shoulders against the mantelpiece. “Ah, but marriage is the truest form of friendship, is it not?” The purring tone of his voice left her in no doubt as to his meaning.

The man was simply beyond incorrigible.

“Then brother and sister,” she said.

“Gawd, that’s an awful thought,” he muttered.

Despite herself, Justine had to bite back a smile. “If that’s all, please allow me to excuse myself. I need to check on the baby.”

“Just a moment,” he said, strolling over to her. “Now that we’ve reached an agreement, I think we need to mark it somehow.”

As he closed in on her, Justine had to tilt up her chin to meet his gaze. The strange, almost taunting look on his face made her pulse skip a bit.

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary,” she blurted out. “I trust you.”

“Nonetheless,” he said, reaching down to wrap his long fingers around her hand, “I feel we should salute our agreement.”

“Oh,” she said weakly as he intertwined his fingers with hers. “Very well. I suppose there’s no harm shaking on it.”

His other hand tilted her chin up another notch, forcing her to look directly into his midnight eyes. How could something so dark seem to glow with so much fire and heat?

Her heart lost what was left of its steady rhythm, and a flash of nervous excitement rushed out from the core of her body to her limbs, making her tremble.

“Come now,” he murmured. “We can do much better than a cool handshake. On such a momentous occasion, a kiss would be a far more appropriate response.”

When she let out a shocked gasp, he smiled. “A kiss between friends, of course,” he whispered in a dark voice. “Entirely chaste and respectable.”

“I . . . I . . .”

He silenced her witless stammering by leaning down a few more inches and sealing the words in her mouth with his warm, firm lips. When her body jerked in surprise, he moved his other hand to her shoulder, taking it in a gentle grip as if to steady her. All the while, his lips gently explored hers, brushing as soft as a feather from one corner of her mouth to the other, tasting her as delicately as a hummingbird sips from a flower. Oddly, his kiss was both soothing and stimulating. Part of her wanted to rest against him, finding shelter in the strength of his embrace, while another part stirred with a growing, restless need, one that urged her to entwine her arms around his shoulders and come up on her toes, plastering every inch of her body against him.

For several long moments they stood like that—their mouths as the only point of contact other than his hands on her shoulder and chin. Twice, his hand nudged her jaw, adjusting the angle of the kiss so their lips fit perfectly together. Justine shivered under his gentle ministrations as his slow, silky kisses—flowing from one to the other—lured her into resting her hands on his satin waistcoat and leaning ever so slightly into him.