Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(58)

“Don’t touch me.” Her voice quivered as she tried to pull free.

The last time he touched her they ended up rutting on the floor like a pair of wild animals. Her face burned and she arched away.

Instead of releasing her, he took her by both arms and held her close as though trying to comfort her. Or calm her. Perhaps both.

And that was how they were discovered, locked in each other’s arms, her hair tumbling wildly around her, the smell of their desire ripe on the air.

Light bathed them as the door to the room opened wide.





Chapter Twenty-two

“Grier!”

She couldn’t quite identify the emotion that hummed through her father’s voice. He was shocked to be sure, but there was an excited tremor there as well. She closed her eyes in a tight blink, well imagining his thoughts—if his daughter was caught in a compromising position, it might as well be with a prince.

Marguerite stood beside Jack as well, looking perfectly apologetic as she looked between Sev and Grier. “I-I’m sorry, Grier. I feared you were ill.”

“Your Highness, there can be no excuse for this display!”

“I’ve none to give.” Sev nodded.

“Jack,” Grier pleaded, “would you keep your voice down. There’s no need to alert the house—”

“What’s this?” a new voice inquired.

Grier sighed as the viscount stepped into view.

“Miss Hadley,” he murmured, his tone reflecting his surprise as he looked from her to Sev.

“Maksimi,” Jack growled, doing a poor imitation of an outraged papa. His eyes gleamed with glee. “I demand you do the honorable thing by my daughter.”

“Don’t be absurd. Nothing untoward occurred,” Grier lied, glad they had not come upon them five minutes sooner.

Everyone swept their gazes over her disheveled self. She fought not to fidget beneath their dubious appraisal of her.

Jack snorted.

The viscount arched an eyebrow in disbelief. “Indeed.”

Sev took a menacing step. “Have a care.”

Jack shook a fist. “I demand the honorable thing be done—”

“And it shall,” Sev snapped.

Grier swung her gaze to him. “No. You cannot—”

“It’s done,” Sev declared flatly. “I’ve compromised you and we will marry.”

Grier gaped, thinking back to the first night they met and his proclamation that he would never marry her—even if caught together in a compromising situation.

“You can’t mean that,” she whispered.

“Of course I do.”

She shook her head, stunned, feeling as though she’d been struck a blow.

Sev coolly addressed her father. “Mr. Hadley, I’ll call on you tomorrow with my formal offer and we can discuss the arrangements.”

Jack looked almost as stunned as Grier felt. For all his demands, she doubted he really thought he’d get his way on the matter. At least not so easily.

Sev faced her, his face all hard lines, again the stoic resolve of a marble statue. Fleetingly she marveled that this must have been what he looked like on the dawn of a battle. Was that how he viewed agreeing to marry her? An unpleasant yet necessary task?

His eyes revealed nothing, staring through her as if he didn’t see her at all. “We’ll speak tomorrow.”

She shook her head. “Sev . . . no. You don’t have to—”

“I do,” he bit out. “We both do.” With a curt nod, he turned and left her alone.

The viscount looked her over, his eyes bitterly cold before he, too, turned and left. In minutes everyone would know she’d been caught in a compromising situation with the Crown Prince of Maldania.

Marguerite hurried to her side. “Come, we’ll find a room to repair your hair.”

“I just want to go home,” Grier murmured, stunned, shaken, and unwilling to face anyone else. She wanted to crawl into her bed and pull the coverlet over her head.

Her sister laced her fingers with Grier’s. “Certainly, come.”

At the threshold, Jack clapped her on the back so hard it jarred her teeth. “You did good, girl. You did good.”

Mortifying heat washed her face. She had to stop herself from striking him. Did he think she planned this?

He looked at her face and frowned. His brow knit in concern. “What’s wrong? You’re not ill, are you?”

She shook her head. “No.”

“Then why aren’t you pleased? You should be. Grier, you’ll one day be a queen. Just think of it.”

He didn’t understand. Only she did.

She knew Sev already regretted it, and his regret would grow, fester into bitterness until he hated the sight of her.

Sev walked a hard line into the library of his rented townhouse, his booted heels clicking over the marble as he made his way for the tray of brandy. After tonight, he could use a drink. Something to steady his nerves.

Not that he regretted his decision. Not that he ever would. He merely needed time to consider how he was going to present his new bride to his grandfather without sending the old man into a seizure that robbed him of his last breath.

Sev’s top lip curled into a grimace. The old man was stronger than that. He’d outlived two sons, a wife and multiple grandchildren. Dropping into a plush wingback chair, he stared at the smoldering logs in the fireplace, feeling moody and pensive.