His fingers had reached her spine, moving down it in a leisurely, lingering fashion until they reached the small of her back. There they suddenly vanished, to be replaced by his lips, beginning the return journey. She shivered with delight and tried to turn over, but he prevented her.
“Keep still,” he whispered. “I haven't finished yet.”
“Just keep on as long as you like,” she murmured blissfully. “At least…no, I don't mean that, because sooner or later I want you to do something else.”
His lips were working on the back of her neck while his hands traced her spine down and cupped her behind.
“I've wanted to do this,” he said, “ever since the day I found you naked in the cupboard.” She gave a deep throated chuckle that shivered through him, straight to his loins and made him take a sharp breath.
“I remember that day,” she said. “You were so shocked.”
“Shocked at myself. You were so lovely. I tried not to notice, but I couldn't manage it. And now, here you are, and you're all mine.”
“Getting possessive, eh?”
“Any man, looking at you, would get possessive.”
She rolled onto her back so fast that she took him by surprise. “Men aren't the only ones who get possessive,” she said as her arms closed around him with a strength born of newly discovered passion. “Come here.”
“My darling-”
“I said come here.”
They had been married a week, just a few days, but long enough for her to change into a woman of fierce needs, determined to fulfill them. This was her lovemaking and with her words and her movements she let him know what she wanted. Having seized the initiative, she kept it. Randolph grinned, understanding perfectly, and not minding in the least when she said fiercely, “Now, now!”
Just as she'd learned about her own body she'd also learned about his and she put her knowledge to use, demanding the power and vigor of his loins for her exclusive pleasure.
“You're wrong,” she whispered mischievously. “It's you who are all mine.”
“Your Majesty's obedient servant,” he said, falling in with her mood.
“So I should hope. Oh Randolph. Randolph…”
Later, remembering that enchanted time, Dottie found that it wasn't only the passion that stayed in her mind.
For one thing, there was the dog.
He appeared one day in front of the hide where they were watching together, and turned a hopeful face on them. He was a tramp among dogs, scruffy, muddy and with no one part of him matching any other. Dottie was immediately won over by his goofy charm, but she could imagine Randolph's reaction to this disgraceful creature.
Then she heard a soft whistle and looked up to see him grinning. He whistled again and opened the door of the hide. There were still scraps from their meal on the table, and he proceeded to offer these to the visitor, who wolfed them down. Seeing her regarding him with raised eyebrows, Randolph colored and said self-consciously, “I had a dog like this when I was a child.”
“You? Like this?”
“Yes, he was a stray that I adopted, but only for five minutes. My mother didn't like dogs, said they were messy creatures, and made me get rid of it.”
“What did your father say?” Dottie demanded indignantly.
“Nothing. He never interfered in domestic matters. That was her price for turning a blind eye to the way he lived. He sent him to the stables where he probably had a happier life than he would have done in a palace.”
“Perhaps it was because it was a mongrel. Maybe a pedigree dog would have been better.”
“She disliked all dogs. But I wanted a mongrel. Everything around me was pedigreed. My friends were chosen for me from among the aristocracy. Some of them I liked well enough, but it's not the same as choosing for yourself. And 'royalty must keep a proper distance,' even from friends.”
“That's terrible,” Dottie said, aghast. “No wonder you're so…so…”
“Yes, no wonder,” he said, understanding what she couldn't say. “Fritz, my dog, was everything the others weren't. He came from the wrong side of the tracks. He didn't have a bloodline-not a respectable one, anyway. He was spontaneous and he didn't understand rules. I can't tell you how attractive that was to a boy who was just beginning to understand how rules had to govern his life, and there was no escape for him.”
The light was fading fast but Dottie didn't light the lamp they sometimes used. She had a feeling that the darkness was helping him. This was a man who didn't confide his feelings easily, but today something had made it happen.
“What a pity that your mother couldn't ease up,” she said slowly, “just to make you happy.”
“She loved me in her way, but to her everything was subordinate to being royal. When I was old enough I had to give her a formal bow when we met in the morning. She was the queen, and only after that was she my mother. It wasn't her fault, it was the way she was raised.”
“Poor little boy!” Dottie murmured.
“It's sweet of you to say so, but don't feel sorry for me. That little boy doesn't exist anymore.”
He was so wrong, she thought. That lonely little boy was here with them this minute, so real that she felt she knew him. Such love as he'd received had come from a mother too rigid to show him real affection. His father had been kindly but weak, too selfish to limit his own pleasures to stand up for his son. Had anybody in Randolph's whole life loved him warmly, tenderly, unconditionally?
Yes.
She couldn't say, “It's all right, you've got me now,” because that would be to venture onto his private ground where he was still uneasy of intruders. He'd allowed her in, just a little, but there was a long way to go yet. But she could be patient.
The dog was gulping the last of the tidbits noisily.
“I expect he'll stay with you now,” she observed.
But the next moment a cry of “Brin!” came through the trees. The dog grabbed one last morsel of food, leapt onto the table and vanished through the window. From the distance came cries of welcome from childish voices.
“Obviously that was Brin,” Randolph said wryly.
Dottie took his hand and squeezed it. “Never mind. I come from the wrong side of the tracks. Will I do?”
He slipped his arm around her, and spoke more tenderly than she had ever heard. “I think you'll do very well, my Dottie.”
That night, for the first time, he slept with his head on her breast, and her arms around him.
The next day Dottie found a man who bred German shepherds and arranged to have a litter of three brought to Kellensee for Randolph's inspection. He chose one, but Dottie fell in love with the others and they ended up keeping them all. A visit to a local animal sanctuary produced two cats, but after that Randolph begged her to stop.
Then there was the time Bertha discovered a pair of paparazzi and managed to send them both flying into the duck pond. Grinning, Randolph complimented her, but added that her technique wasn't a patch on Dottie's.
The newspapers arrived and piled up, unnoticed. When she could spare time to read about their own wedding Dottie found herself studying a picture of the moment she'd tossed her bouquet. She was looking away from Randolph, into the crowd, but he was watching her with an expression that made her catch her breath.
The headline called it The Look Of Love. Underneath it the caption said, Those who thought this was nothing but a state marriage had their answer today in the look of adoration the groom turned on his bride.
Dottie studied Randolph's face longingly. Adoration? It could be read that way. He was smiling, oblivious of everything but his bride, the very picture of a man entering on his greatest joy.