The Prince's Bride Page 20
She put her arms round him and said, “But I want everyone to know we’re engaged. I want to marry you. I can cope with the battles.”
He stared at her, clearly torn. How could she convince him?
“I still haven’t seen your flat, Jonas. Let’s go back to Liburno and make love.”
They did.
Afterwards, she soaked in a scented bath. Jonas wandered in and out, bringing her tea, then champagne, interspersed with plans for the future – chief among them not living in the Palace, ever, on which they were as one – and news from the castle.
“I’ll go back this evening though. I have to change for your birthday ball, anyway. You’re not going to like my dress,” she added as an afterthought. “Anna approved it.”
“Then we get you a new one and you change here.”
She sighed longingly. “That would be lovely. No tassels. No heirloom furniture. This place feels like home already.”
He laughed. “Then let’s do it.”
She sat up with a wild splash. She was so tempted but she didn’t believe they could do it. “Could we? The time ...”
“I’ll make some calls. There’s got to be a dress you’d like somewhere in Liburno.”
“Actually, I already know one.”
Jonas beamed. “The universe is providing. Get your coat.”
They found the boutique eventually after a few false starts and identified a dress that Jonas said was sufficiently dryad-like in shimmery bronze and green and gold. Then, to the shop assistant’s delight, they rushed out into a taxi with their purchase, hand in hand, giggling.
They dressed in Jonas’s bedroom, doing up each other’s hard-to-reach buttons.
“I hope you enjoy this ball,” said Jonas. “Though you probably hate all princessing by now.”
Hope was indignant. “I don’t hate princessing. I haven’t done any princessing. Actually, I think I might quite enjoy some of it. The stuff with kids, for instance. But not full-time. And in my own way, not Anna’s.”
His eyes gleamed. “Like swinging down ropes to rescue a subject?”
They choked, picturing the immaculate Crown Princess on a forest assault course.
“And I’m not wasting all that blasted folk dancing.”
“Good thinking.” He patted his Hussar’s jacket and surveyed his image with satisfaction. “No sword.”
“What?”
“Can’t wear a sword for folk dancing. God bless it.” He looked at her, twisting her red curls on top of her head. “Leave it loose,” he said huskily. “I can watch it gleaming in the candlelight across a crowded room.
Hope chuckled and gave up on the elaborate hairstyle with relief. She kissed him and didn’t manage any make-up at all.
The ballroom was already full: of women in gorgeous gowns; men in elaborate uniforms or elegant dinner jackets; crystal chandeliers like a thousand stars; floor to ceiling Venetian mirrors, reflecting the crowd in unending repetition; an orchestra playing lilting music; the clink of glasses, the buzz of conversation ...
Jonas took Hope’s hand and stepped through the great gilded double doors and looked down at the gorgeous kaleidoscope. Hope gulped.
The buzz rose to a crescendo and then slowly died away. The conductor brought the orchestra to a concluding cadence. Everyone stared up at them.
He grinned at her. “Here we go, my dryad. Folk dancing is only minutes away.
And as she was laughing delightedly, he led her to stand at the top of the staircase, looked down at his guests and said, “Welcome, all, to this – my happiest of birthdays. Allow me to present Miss Hope Kennard, who has done me the honour to consent to become my wife. Darling Hope, welcome to San Michele.”
The End
You’re Invited...
Read on in The Royal Wedding Invitations series
Book 1: The Prince’s Bride by Sophie Weston
Book 2: The Baronet’s Wedding by Jessica Hart
Book 3: The Bridesmaid’s Royal Bodyguard by Liz Fielding
Book 4: The Best Man’s Bride by Anne McCallister
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About the Author
Sophie Weston started reading at four and wrote her first book shortly after. She even drew the pictures. She has published 48 romantic novels mainly as Sophie Weston for Harlequin Mills & Boon, with whom she sold more than 11 million copies in 27 languages and over 100 countries – they made an interesting calling card when she travelled widely for the day job. She also writes women’s fiction and has published To Marry a Prince as Sophie Page with Random House, and Red Hot Lover independently. She blogs regularly at LibertaBooks.com and lives in London, England. That fascinates her so much that she occasionally whips unsuspecting readers and authors on a walk round Georgette Heyer’s Regency Mayfair.
To keep up with Sophie, visit her website.
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