The Princes' Brides: The Italian Prince's Pregnant Bride / The Greek Prince's Chosen Wife / The Spanish Prince's Virgin Bride

She shoved them away.

“I just said, I don’t want anything from you!”

“Perhaps you’ll make an exception,” he said calmly, “considering that your nose is running.”

She flushed, grabbed the towels, put them to her nose and gave a long, noisy blow.

“Much better.”

“Good. I wouldn’t want to offend Your Highness’s delicate sensibilities.”

Her voice was shaky but he could see her self-control returning. He had the feeling she was going to need it.

“I know you’re being sarcastic, cara, but—”

“Such perception!”

“—but, sarcasm aside, it’s inappropriate to address me by my title.”

Aimee burst out laughing. “Now you’re going to give me lessons in court etiquette? God almighty, what a horrible human being you—”

“I do not believe in such formality,” he said, cursing himself for a fool because he knew damned well a man couldn’t sound more formal than he did right now. He paused, took a breath and got on with it. “Particularly from the woman who is about to become my wife.”

Chapter Eight

MARRY HIM?

Marry Nicolo Barbieri.

The man who had seduced her. And he had, no matter what he claimed. He’d started it all. Followed her into that bathroom. Locked the door. Lifted her onto the marble vanity. Torn aside her panties.

Thrust deep into her…and even now, despite everything, just thinking of what it had been like made her body quicken.

What was the matter with her, that she should still feel desire for him? She couldn’t blame him for making her pregnant—she hadn’t been thinking any more clearly than he that night—but there was no escaping that he’d made love to her…

And then called her a slut because he believed she’d been part of some ugly scheme of her grandfather’s.

Why wouldn’t he think that? Nicolo was every bit as ruthless and driven as the coldhearted old man who’d raised her.

James was willing to sell her for the good of his kingdom. Nicolo was willing to buy her for the same reason. He’d probably been willing to do it from the instant her grandfather suggested it.

All that indignation this morning, the fiery show of contempt for her and her grandfather, had been a lie to placate his own ego. He’d needed to justify a devil’s bargain and she and her answering machine had handed it to him, all prettily gift-wrapped and tied with a great big bow.

She was pregnant with his baby. What better way to agree to marrying her than by making it seem a gallant gesture?

Except, she knew the truth.

The Prince of All He Surveyed was about as gallant as a fifteen-century monarch weighing the benefits of a royal marriage—except for one enormous difference.

No matter what he thought, she wasn’t governed by the rules of James Black’s kingdom. She was not a princess. She didn’t have to marry a tyrant she didn’t know, didn’t love, didn’t even like.

“Well, cara? Has my proposal swept you off your feet, or shall I take your silence as wholehearted agreement?”

Aimee looked up. Nicolo’s words were sarcastic but his eyes were cool and watchful. He had to know she wasn’t going to agree—or maybe he didn’t. He was just arrogant enough, imperious enough, to assume his proposal—and wasn’t that an amazing thing to call it—was everything a woman in her situation could want.

She almost laughed. He was in for one hell of a surprise!

Learning she was pregnant, having to make all the tough choices that came next without anyone to help her, was the most terrifying thing that had ever happened.

Only one thing could possibly be more frightening: marriage to a man like the Evil Prince.

Aimee tossed her head, as if none of this was worth discussion.

“I have lots to say,” she said evenly. “But for both our sakes, I’ll stay with thanks but no thanks and, oh, by the way, don’t let the door hit you in the butt on your way out.”

Good, she thought. Not original, but concise. She’d have liked it better if he showed some reaction but he didn’t. No look of surprise. Not even anger. All he did was smile and, God, she hated that smile, the all-knowing insolence of it.

“Perhaps ‘proposal’ is the wrong word,” he said smoothly.

“At least we can agree on that. ‘Decree’ is the word that came to my mind.” Aimee smiled, too, and lifted her chin. “There’s only one problem. You may be a prince but I’m not one of your subjects. Your ridiculous pronouncements don’t mean a thing to me.”

“So much for my attempt at being gallant.”

She’d been right. And what was that tiny twinge of regret all about? She knew she was a pawn in a game played between Nicolo and her grandfather.

Now, he knew that she knew it.

Dark Knight takes pawn. Checkmate.

“That’s unfortunate, Aimee.” Another of those quick, infuriating smiles lifted one corner of his mouth. “The easiest path to a goal is generally the preferable one.”

“And the easiest path to the door is right behind you. Goodbye, Nicolo. I hope I never have the misfortune of seeing you again.”

Still no reaction. Damn it, she wanted one! Didn’t the man know when he was being insulted?

Apparently not.

Instead of heading for the door, he picked up the things he’d dropped and took a little black notebook from his pocket, flipped it open, found the page he wanted and frowned.

“Wednesday,” he said briskly. His frown deepened. “No. On second thought…” Another glance, a nod, and then he scrawled something with the pen. “I must be in Rome by Wednesday but I am free tomorrow.” The pen and notebook went back into his pocket; he folded his arms and looked at her, his expression unreadable. “Will ten in the morning be suitable?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“For our marriage, cara. What else have we been discussing?”

Aimee laughed. That, finally, got a reaction. Oh, if looks could kill…

“You find this amusing?”