The Disgraced Princess by Robyn Donald Page A

Rosemary?’
    Uneasily aware of his brief smile as he spoke, she said, ‘Absolutely.’ And it wasn’t entirely a lie.
    As they walked towards the door Gerd said, ‘A nightcap?’

CHAPTER FOUR
    C OMMON sense told Rosie to make her excuses and her escape as quickly as she could with dignity.
    But if she’d listened to common sense when Gerd asked her to dinner she’d have missed out on the bitter-sweetness of the evening. From now on she’d only see Gerd in photographs. The knowledge ached through her, summoning a kind of desperation, a need to hug each precious moment to her breast.
    Think of it as a final goodbye, she told herself with bleak realism. Without a tremor she said, ‘Thank you, I’d enjoy that.’
    In his private sitting room he poured drinks while she examined the room. This was not the bigger one where he’d entertained the family, but a smaller, more intimate affair, furnished quite casually. Her gaze ranged from the huge sofas that befitted a man of his height to some exquisite glassware in a cabinet, and she made a soft sound of pleasure.
    â€˜From Venice,’ he said, following the direction of her gaze as he handed her the drink. ‘The Venetians ruled most of this coast at one time.’
    â€˜Did they conquer Carathia?’
    â€˜No, but they demanded a yearly tribute—wine and silver from the mines.’
    â€˜The glass is beautiful, such glorious colours. I didn’t know there were silver mines here.’
    â€˜They’ve been worked out for a couple of centuries, but they were what made Carathia prosperous in the Middle Ages.’
    Rosie sipped the white wine he’d given her. A silky, subtly sweet liquor, it breathed the scent of flowers. ‘This smells like spring. And tastes like it too. Is it from here?’
    â€˜Yes.’ Grim-faced, he looked down at her, and in a voice she’d never heard before said, ‘I chose it because you always remind me of spring.’
    Rosie froze, silenced by a fierce rush of adrenalin. She looked up into glittering golden eyes as a heady recklessness clamoured through her, a torrent both languorous and without mercy, sweet as honey and dangerous. Through the drumbeat of her pulse she tightened her shaking fingers around the glass. The voluptuous appetite Gerd roused with his kisses all those years ago blazed into open need.
    She began to tremble.
    Narrowed eyes gleaming, he took the almost untouched wine from her and set the glass on a table. Rosie’s heart gave a great leap and the breath stopped in her throat. Heat pounded through her, softening her bones, banishing any coherent thoughts in a widening surge of hunger.
    Yet as Gerd lifted her hands to his lips, she managed to croak, ‘This is not a good idea, Gerd.’
    â€˜Have you a better one?’ he asked deeply.
    Shivers chased them selves over her skin, through every wakening cell in her body. ‘I don’t know—I just don’t really think…’ she said in confusion, the words slurring when he kissed the jumping pulse in one wrist.
    His mouth was hot and demanding, lingering over the fine skin. Rosie swallowed to ease her dry throat. There was something she had to say, but she couldn’t remember what.
    Still holding her gaze, he held her hands to his chest so that the open palms rested above his heart. Its rapid beat echoed her own turbulent pulse, thundering a primitive call.
    Rosie closed her eyes, but that made things worse; without sight every other sense was sharpened. She could hear his breath, hard and fast as though he’d been running, and his faint, masculine scent teased her nostrils—evocative, compelling.
    Desperate, she forced up her lashes and held his gaze, wincing at the arrogant jut of his jaw and the golden glints in his eyes, the eyes of a predator.
    She should be terrified.
    She wasn’t.
    But something had to be said.
    â€˜Princess Serina?’ she