Capturing the Crown: The Heart of a Ruler

“But you are not just Amelia,” he corrected gently. “You’re the Princess of Gastonia. And the future Queen of Silvershire.”

She sighed. “Yes, yes, I know.” They’d come to the foot of the stairs. One hand on the banister, Amelia stopped and looked all the way up the long, winding staircase. She made no effort to take another step.

Russell looked at her, concerned. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t think my feet will go.” Each leg suddenly felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds apiece. It was as if the weight of her position was pressing her down.

He laughed, thinking she was joking. The expression on her face had him changing his mind. “You’re serious.”

She nodded. “Very.” In her present state, she wasn’t sure if she could negotiate the stairs wearing the shoes that she had on. Maybe if she kicked her shoes off, she thought.

But before she could act on that, she found herself being swept off the floor and into Russell’s arms. He picked her up as if she weighed no more than a cast-off sweater. Holding her against him, Russell began to make his way up the staircase.

Had she been thinking a little more clearly, she might have protested, saying something about being perfectly capable of walking on her own. Except that she wasn’t perfectly capable of that right now. And this was infinitely preferable to either sauntering up the stairs in tottering heels, or scampering up them barefoot.

Her body was tingling and after a moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the sensation as she laced her arms around his neck. God, but he felt muscular, she thought. Like a rock. Except that rocks were not nearly so warm.

With a slight toss of her head, she smiled up into his face. “I could get used to this. Maybe we should give you another title, Carrington. You can be the official princess carrier.”

“Yes, Princess,” he murmured indulgently, wishing he wasn’t quite so aware of her. Wishing he didn’t like the way she felt in his arms as much as he did.

She was going to hate herself in the morning, he thought. And probably him, too.

When he reached the top of the stairs, Russell looked down the hallway. It wasn’t that far to her room, he thought. He might as well carry her all the way. That left less chance for her to stumble and possibly hurt herself.

Without a word of protest or an attempt to regain her feet, Amelia curled against him.

Warmth from her body seemed to penetrate every point of its contact with his. He found that his breathing was growing labored, more pronounced. And the climb up the stairs had had absolutely nothing to do with it.

As swiftly as he could, Russell brought her to her door, grateful that no one had crossed their path. He didn’t want her to be any more embarrassed than he assumed she would be.

Shouldering open the door, he walked across the threshold, then pushed it closed again. Once inside the room, he gently released her, setting her feet back on the floor.

She made no attempt to back away, to break the connection. Her arms remained around his neck. When he began to remove them, she whispered, “Don’t leave.”

Something surged inside his gut. “Princess, I have to go.”

“No.” Amelia rose on her toes, her arms still around his neck. He felt her breath on his lips as she spoke. “You have to stay.” Her eyes searched his. “Unless you don’t want to.”

That was just the problem. He wanted to. In the worst way, he wanted to. And it would be for the worst if he did.

As gently as he could, Russell attempted to disengage himself from her. “Princess, you’ve had too much to drink.”

“No,” she contradicted, “I’ve had just enough to drink. Just enough to bank down my inhibitions.” She drew her courage to her, knowing that the next steps she was going to take were right. “To give me the freedom, just for a little while, to be me.”

He began to protest, to make another halfhearted attempt at doing the right thing. And then the princess caught him completely off guard by blindsiding him.

His resolve broke, like a dried twig under a heavy boot. Suddenly, he was kissing her. As heat flared through his body with the speed of a summer fire rushing through drought-withered grass, Russell closed his arms around her. Pulling her to him, he eliminated the sliver of space that had remained between them and brought her soft curves against the hard contours of his own.

Desire raced up and down his limbs, nibbling chunks out of his belly. Making him want her the way he had never wanted any other woman. The way he had never wanted anything or anyone before.

Later, when his blood had cooled and he could look back, he would know that nothing short of madness had possessed him. Because nothing short of madness would have allowed him to do this, to make love with the woman that destiny had chosen to be his queen.

Which was what she was. For one brief, shining self-contained moment in time, the Princess Amelia was his queen. Not of his country, but of his soul.

The realization throbbed through his brain that he was going to burn in hell for this. But that was tomorrow.

Tonight he would gain heaven first.

Because holding Amelia in his arms like this, kissing her and losing himself within the act, was nothing short of pure heaven.

Amelia felt her insides trembling like a leaf in the wind. It was all she could do to keep the tremor from spreading to her limbs. It seemed so juvenile to do that, to tremble like some untried virgin. Never mind that she was one; she didn’t want him to think of her that way, didn’t want pity to enter into this.

Despite the wine that she had consumed, the wine that allowed her to be what she wanted to be, not what she had to be, Amelia felt amazingly clearheaded. She knew exactly what she wanted. And it was all here, standing before her in her bedroom.

She wasn’t going to spoil it by telling Russell that she had been a little in love with him for what seemed like forever. Even before his lips had touched hers so fleetingly in that darkened passageway all those years ago, she’d been in love with him. She had always known that, despite the practical jokes and pranks, he was a protector. That she could be safe with him.

It had aroused all sorts of fantasies in her young, fertile mind. Fantasies that had had to be put aside as she grew older and came face-to-face with her destiny and duty. She was trading her dreams and her soul, allowing herself to be bartered away to secure her beloved country and she accepted that. It was just the way things had to be.

But first, she desperately wanted to be permitted a single sampling of passion, a single night of tenderness and love. The kind of night she already knew in her heart that her husband-to-be, Reginald, would never give her.

Amelia moaned as she pressed her body to his. Moaned as the kiss and her desire deepened.

He had to stop her. It was his duty to stop her, damn it, not encourage her. Not allow this to happen.

But when Russell put his hands over hers, meaning to still them as her fingers fluttered along his chest, all he could think of was how soft they felt. How delicate her skin seemed to the touch. How completely intoxicating her taste was.

And how insatiable he was for it. For her.

So, instead of applying the brakes, he pressed down on the accelerator and roared into oblivion, losing himself in the taste, the sight, the very feel of her.

He felt like kneeling before her in silent worship. He felt like ripping the clothes away from her body. She’d made him completely insane simply with one taste of her mouth.

His fingers strumming along her spine, he sought out the zipper that had been so skillfully hidden in the folds. Finding it, he tugged, even as his mouth covered hers. The beautiful shimmering blue gown that had captured his imagination slid like a sigh to the floor. Beneath it, he discovered that she was wearing undergarments in the same vivid shade of royal blue.

Stop! Stop! Unheeded commands roared through his brain. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t pull back. Strapped into the first car of a roller coaster that was plunging down a three-hundred-foot incline, he no longer had a choice; he was committed to the ride.

His heart hammering so hard it echoed in his ears, Russell coaxed first her bra, then the lacy thong from her smooth, firm limbs. He wasn’t even aware of breathing. Maybe he had stopped breathing. Stopped, died and entered heaven without realizing it had happened.

The threads of the thong tangled in his fingers. He’d never been clumsy before. But he had never felt anything like this before, either.

“I didn’t know princesses wore thongs,” he said thickly. Her fingernails were digging into his arms. He could see the passion flaring in her eyes. It mirrored his own.

“And here I thought you were worldly.” Her voice, her laugh, were deep, husky and caused his adrenaline to almost overflow.

She didn’t want to seem overly eager, but she gave up the ruse in a little more than a single heartbeat. This was no time for games, it was a time for honesty. She was eager. Eager to enter this mysterious world that had been blocked from her. Eager to enter it with a guide she trusted.

It was becoming more and more difficult to catch her breath. Her lungs felt as if they were going to explode as she eagerly tore the clothes from his body. Buttons were sacrificed, as was material. She didn’t care. All she wanted was for him to be as naked as she was.