Forced Wife, Royal Love-Child by Trish Morey Read Free Book Online Page B

confirmation, ‘and seeing I have caused you such distress, I feel it is my duty to offer you accommodation here, in the Palace of Montvelatte. You will find the palace very comfortable, despite its great age.’
    She glared up at him, knowing she was beaten but not prepared to show it in her face.
    ‘And I will leave the island tomorrow on the first availabletransport.’ It wasn’t a question, and right now if he argued the point there was every chance he would end up an even shorter-lived ruler of Montvelatte than his half-brother.
    Once again, he made that nod of assent, almost a bow. ‘If that is what you wish.’
    She hesitated. Could she trust him? Dared she? But then did she have a choice? ‘Then I will stay. Just for tonight. But I will dine in my room.’
    His eyes glinted with something unfathomable. ‘But of course,’ he agreed. ‘Now, let me find someone who can show you to your room. I imagine you’d appreciate the chance to freshen up.’
    If she needed reminding of the state she must look, she didn’t want to hear it. But she followed him across the room, already looking forward to having some breathing space to herself, a room where the air wasn’t tainted by the very essence of him on every breath.
    It’s just one night , she told herself. Just one night . Tomorrow he would have to let her go. Tomorrow she would be free.
    He reached the door and twisted the handle, pulling it open. ‘After you.’
    She froze. The door had been unlocked the whole time, the guards she’d seen earlier gone. She’d been just scant feet from the door when she’d decided she’d rather play it cool than be humiliated again. And yet she could have turned the handle and made her escape while he was still a room away. Could she have got away, past the palace guards and the staff? Was there a chance she could have made it to the port in time? She would have managed the fare somehow—offered her watch for collateral—she would have borrowed or begged some form of transport to get herself off the island.
    But she hadn’t even attempted to leave the room .
    And somehow that was the greatest disappointment of all.

CHAPTER FOUR
    T HE bath was hot and deep, the foaming bath gel forming a mountain of scented bubbles that comforted her body and soothed her fragile soul. Sienna sighed as she slid down into the slippery water, letting her hair fan out around her like a mantilla and gasping as she came back up again, feeling the weight of water streaming from her hair. Heaven. For a centuries-old palace, the plumbing was definitely state of the art and a major improvement on the cantankerous contraption her landlady labelled a shower and which justified her charging fifty percent over the odds for one shoebox of an apartment in the Thirteenth Arrondissement .
    The best part of an hour later, feeling more relaxed than she had all day, she rinsed off the last of the bubbles and wrapped herself in the large plush towels provided. Marble, gold and mirrors, she thought, taking in her surroundings. What was it about that combination that turned a mere bathroom into a destination? Yet beyond the door awaited another, even grander destination, with a massive four-poster bed hung with curtains of lace and fine silks. She couldn’t wait to bury herself deep under the comforter. She hadn’t wanted to be here, but now that she was, there was no way she wasn’t going to enjoy this unfamiliar taste of luxury.

    Her stomach rumbled and she gave silent thanks for the healthy sign. Whatever illness or nerves had plagued her earlier today, at least now she could contemplate the notion of food without feeling like she wanted to throw up.
    There was a faint knock from outside and Sienna opened the bathroom door a crack to hear a woman’s voice advising in rusty English that her meal was ready. ‘Thank you,’ she called, ‘I’ll be right out.’
    She towel-dried her hair until it settled into shaggy ringlets around her face and then rinsed