that the Prince of Silvershire was actually ugly. As a boy, he’d been decent enough to look at. Not like his companion, Russell Southgate, the current Duke of Carrington, of course, whom she’d secretly had a fleeting crush on, but decent. It wasn’t the prince’s face, but his soul that was ugly.
Amelia strove now not to shiver even as she wrapped her arms around herself for comfort. In another lifetime, she was fairly confident that Reginald could have been, and probably had been, Ivan the Terrible, the bloodthirsty Russian czar.
At least, that was the feeling she always had whenever Reginald was around. He treated everyone around him as if they were less than the bugs that were so plentiful in her garden. She was accustomed to being treated with respect, yet Reginald would order her around as if she were, in his mind, a lowly peasant.
It was Russell who would intercede, distracting Reginald and getting the prince to leave her alone. Russell who reminded her, in those instances, of a medieval knight in shining armor. With his sandy-brown hair, charismatic smile and beautiful dark brown eyes, he had been her hero.
He had also, she remembered, been her tormentor. Russell had never missed a chance to drop a water balloon on her head, or infest her bed with a myriad of bugs. Weeks after the royal party had left, she would have trouble rounding a corner beneath a balcony or getting into bed at night without first stripping off all the sheets, shaking them out and then remaking the bed.
Still, she thought, of the two, Russell was far preferable to Reginald. So when her father had just now come to tell her that Lord Carrington, not the prince, would be the one coming to take her to Silvershire, she’d received the news with a wave of relief, though she was acutely aware that her reprise was only temporary.
She’d always known this day would come, that she would be required to fulfill her obligation as Gastonia’s princess. Amelia tried not to shudder; the full impact was only now setting in. She was going to be marrying Reginald. Sharing a crown with Reginald.
Sharing a bed.
Oh, God.
Perhaps if she’d had siblings, someone could have taken this burden from her. But there weren’t any siblings. She was her parents’ only child. And her marriage was Gastonia’s only hope of security.
Still, knowing it would come intellectually was one thing. Absorbing the full impact with her heart was really quite another. Now that it was happening, she felt trapped by honor, duty and circumstance. If she hadn’t been born a princess, this wouldn’t be happening to her.
“It’s not fair, you know,” she murmured, more to herself than to the regal man who stood behind her.
Did he feel as helpless as she did? she wondered. Did some part of her father regret having to sacrifice his daughter’s happiness in order to insure his country’s continued safety?
Amelia turned around to look at her father. “In this day and age, it’s not fair, you know. Not fair to have to marry a man who, if not for his lineage, would have trouble securing a date even on the Internet.”
King Roman frowned deeply. His eyes looked sad, she thought. There was never any doubt on Amelia’s part that her father did love her. And, she hoped, if there were some other way, he would want to see her happy. But King Roman was steeped in tradition and so, she knew, should she be.
With an air of frustration, the king waved an aristocratic-looking hand at her comments. “Be that as it may—”
She wasn’t going to make this difficult for him. She was her father’s daughter, and well-taught. Amelia nodded. “Be that as it may, I will honor the treaty and my obligation, even though it’s obvious that Prince Reginald doesn’t think very much of me.” She saw her father raise his eyebrows in silent query. “Otherwise, he’d have come here himself.”
“I’m sure that Prince Reginald has other pressing business, my dear.”
Amelia laughed softly. She, like everyone else in both her kingdom and his, knew of Reginald’s reputation. “I’m sure ‘pressing’ is involved.”
Gray-and-white eyebrows rose high on her father’s forehead in shocked disapproval. King Roman was an enlightened man, but not where his daughter was concerned. Even though he had given her the best tutors and trainers he could find, in some areas he tried to keep her unworldly. “Amelia.”
Amelia forced a smile to her lips. “I will not disappoint you, Father,” she promised.
Even though I’m horribly disappointed myself, she added silently.
King Roman took her hand in both of his and then raised it to his lips. “You have always been my treasure,” he told her before he left.
Amelia turned toward the garden again. She heard her father’s footsteps recede on the stone terrace until they faded away altogether. With a sigh, she made her way down the terrace steps to the garden. Maybe the flowers and the vast green scenery would help soothe her agitated state.
They didn’t.
She was a princess; was it so wrong to hope for a prince who lived up to her expectations, not some personification of self-indulgence and sloth such as Reginald? The prince’s escapades were well-known. His face had graced covers of People magazine, not to mention that the tabloids loved him. She frowned to herself. Not exactly the prince she’d hoped for.
And this, Amelia thought darkly as she picked her way through a passageway where the shrubs were as tall as trees, giving her a measure of solitude, was what she’d been saving herself for all these years. This was why she’d remained a virgin in a day and age when abstinence and virtue were not so highly prized as they once had been. In some circles, virginity was even viewed with skepticism and no small amount of pity.
She’d done it by choice, and she felt cheated. Royally. Pun intended, she thought, her lips twisting in a self-deprecating smile.
Involved in numerous charities and educational programs throughout Gastonia as well as in matters of state, she was acutely aware of the fact that she hadn’t really lived life to the fullest. Not where it counted, she thought ruefully. She’d traveled the world over and was still sheltered.
How could she love her people, be compassionate, if she’d never experienced real love herself? If she’d never wanted to give of herself until there was nothing left to give?
She wished now that she had been a little freer, a little more resourceful where her own pleasures were concerned. She knew of a great many high-born girls who’d been ingenious when it came to satisfying their curiosity and their appetites.
But that was just it. She’d wanted it to mean something. She hadn’t wanted the experience just to have it. She’d wanted it to be something to remember to the end of her days. And now, what she was going to remember was that horrible rutting animal mounting her. Probably issuing orders to her while he did it.
It made her want to run away. It made her want to have an affair, however brief.
She sighed, shaking her head. She knew better than that. She was the Princess Amelia and no more able to have an affair than pigs could fly. Especially not only days away from her wedding.
Oh, well, maybe she was being too hard on Reginald. Maybe he’d changed. Maybe he had gotten all the wildness out of his system and would be the good, decent husband and ruler she was praying for.
And maybe, just maybe, she thought as she turned around and began to walk back toward the palace, hell would freeze over before her wedding day. The odds, she knew, were more in favor of the latter than the former.
Chapter 2
The soft ticking of the antique clock that had once belonged to her grandmother seemed to fill the spacious bedroom, nestling into the corners and gently stroking the shadows. The sound became more audible with every passing moment.
Amelia couldn’t sleep. Try as she might to will herself into an unconscious state, she couldn’t achieve it. Usually,