Modern Romance Collection February 2025, #5-8

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER THREE

‘C ARE TO DANCE ?’

Memories came rushing back of a magical night when, for a few breathless moments, Ana had allowed herself to believe anything was possible. Aston held out his hand, palm up. She looked at it, recalling the way it had felt against her skin—not soft and weak, but the hands of a man who knew hard, physical work. Hands that, in the midnight hours, she’d dreamed of having on her body. It was so tempting to touch him again.

But, if he discovered her scars, what would he think of her? He was seeking perfection. In that, he’d be like everyone else. Pity from her family was one thing. She didn’t think she could survive his pity too.

You’ll scar, and no one but me will love you now...

She shut that voice down. It would not control her.

‘There’s no music,’ she said, her voice sounding somehow faint and far away.

Aston cocked his head, as if listening. ‘There’s bird song. Some might say it’s more beautiful than any string quartet you could provide.’

‘This isn’t a fairy tale where animals become musicians.’ She looked down on her prim, navy dress. Her heart beat hard and fast, her breath catching in her throat. ‘Or Fairy Godmothers wave a wand to create a ball gown.’

‘Who’s to say the fairy tale isn’t what we make of it, Your Highness?’

Those words of hers were thrown back as a reminder. Was he mocking her? Yet the look on his face wasn’t mocking. It was open. His lips curved in the slightest of smiles, as if he knew: she was afraid.

‘A simple waltz, perhaps?’

If he’d known history, he’d have understood nothing about the waltz was simple. It had once had the power to shock society, couples close in each other’s arms. Though she supposed times had moved on, and she didn’t want to show him that she cared.

‘Whatever you like,’ she said with all the dismissiveness her princess breeding could muster, although recognised she probably sounded more petulant than haughty.

Reaching out, Ana placed her hand in his, trying to ignore the electric shock of sensation as their skin touched. Aston didn’t move for a while, simply holding her gaze as firmly as he held her hand. The blue of his eyes, which should have been such a cool colour, seemed to smoulder as a spark lit in her belly, a pilot light of desire. She wanted to look away, to break the contact that seemed far too intimate, but she couldn’t. It was as if he had her in his thrall.

Then he began to reel her in to him, slowly, like a fish on a hook, and she was helpless to resist. Whilst she might have tried to be dismissive of the man, there was no way she could dismiss this, dismiss the way their bodies fit. She was shorter than the last time they’d danced, wearing lower heels today. Something about being in his arms again gave her that same sense of feeling cherished and protected as last time. The tingling warmth flooded her, the need to press closer than was polite or even necessary.

It was cool under the vine-covered pergola yet being so near to him was almost like being slowly roasted alive. She took a deep breath, which made it worse, because she sucked in the smell of him—something rich and earthy, like sun-warmed stone and the hint of mountain evergreens, a wild kind of scent that whispered of untamed peaks and daring. It was the essence of this man.

He began to move then in the one-two-three, one-two-three of the waltz, leading her. Her body melded seamlessly with his. He looked down at her. His hold was gentle, as if he were cradling a precious Ming vase. Although, hadn’t life taught her that she was all too breakable? Yet something about this seemed so simple—their closeness, the desire for Aston to absorb her into him. The bright sunshine, the vibrant birdsong in the maze’s privacy. Though the truth of it was impossibly complex—she’d wanted him, yet when presented with the reality she wanted to run away as far and as fast as she could.

To be with him would be her destruction. To run might save her. Because his desire for her was not for the woman, Ana Montroy, but for Princess Anastacia.

‘I’m convenient.’

She needed to remind herself of the truth of it. He wanted what she was, the external; not who , the woman inside.

He leaned closer into her, if that were possible when they were dancing together. The rhythm of the dance lost now in a slow sway. His breath caressed her ear.

‘Convenient doesn’t have to mean cold.’ His words were low and deep against her ear, the merest brush. A shiver of pleasure tripped through her. ‘Without the complication of love, this can mean so much more. Passion without constraints. Imagine it.’

No constraints, when her whole life had been full of them. It was as if he reached into her heart and dragged out her deepest desires. Yet they were for the woman she’d been before. Letting go of constraints, restraint, never ended well.

One night in Monaco had proved that.

Ana pulled back and put some distance between them, even though they were still in each other’s arms. She looked up at him. A gentle breeze picked up, flicking her fringe. His eyes narrowed a fraction and appeared to focus fleetingly on her temple. She wriggled out of his arms and turned away, adjusting her hair. Her heart began to beat thready in her chest. Had he seen her scar? Did he even know what had happened to her those months ago? She didn’t know why it was so important that he not, only that she wasn’t ready to flaunt her wounds, especially not to him.

It all seemed so futile. The spell cast over the past moments disappeared. The pressure simply to run began to weigh down on her.

He’d not pressed his claim to her hand in marriage, yet he clearly believed it was a done deal. So why was she hesitating? She had to fix the damage she’d caused to her family’s name, the negative press.

Convenient doesn’t have to mean cold.

He’d see all of her. The breath snagged in her throat. She wasn’t prepared; she wasn’t ready. She’d begun to realise that her whole life was one lived in a gilded cage. She’d always been a captive, no matter how pretty the bars that held her. Ana began to pace. A new tempo entered her head: duty, freedom, duty, freedom...

She almost walked into a solid, hard body.

‘Goddess?’ Aston had placed himself squarely in front of her.

Marriage to him was her duty. Duty be damned. She wanted to run. To freedom.

Going to see Cilla would give her space to think... That was all she needed right now.

‘I’ll give you my decision in two weeks,’ she said. The words were hard to get out, her voice barely loud enough to hear, too breathy, like she couldn’t get enough air. ‘I’m visiting my sister—’

‘You don’t want to visit your sister.’

‘I—I do .’

‘It’s a ruse. A delaying tactic. The question is why? What are your fears? Because no matter, if you tell me, I’ll try to ease them for you.’

Was she so transparent now? That alone was terrifying. How could she possibly explain her fears to him? What could she say to him that she hadn’t said to courtiers, her mother, father and brother? No one believed her apart from Cilla. She couldn’t take that chance with him.

‘Who’s to say I fear anything?’

Lies. They could choke her.

The phone in her pocket buzzed once. She flinched. The only alerts she’d ever set were for Cilla and...she almost hyperventilated even thinking about him: Count Hakkinen. The man everyone believed was her rescuer. All they’d seen was him trying to pull her from the wreckage of the car, not how he’d been following her that night, the chase that had caused the accident in the first place. She should take the phone out and check, though she and Cilla had only spoken that morning...

Aston cocked his head. But the look on his face of patient acceptance told her she was transparent as glass.

‘Do you want adventure? I’m an expert. Do you want to bargain with me? I’m a reasonable man, especially where you’re concerned.’

Adventure? A bargain? He was offering her...choices. Ana hesitated. She looked at him, really looked, and saw what she hadn’t noticed before because she’d been tangled in her own head. The way his nostrils flared. The sheer intensity of his gaze, how it didn’t shift from her. The desire burning from him. It was like he needed her in some way. A jolt ran through her, a spike of sensation totally unfamiliar.

A sense of her own power.

‘What will it take?’ he said. His voice was low, decadent, tempting as her favourite dessert. He was offering her the world right now, if she simply knew how to reach out and take it.

‘What will it take for you to postpone the visit to your sister and come with me instead?’

Aston didn’t chase women. He’d promised himself after Michel’s accident and death that any pursuit was pointless. Sure, flirtation and the inevitable delicious consequences were all part of the game. But he’d never been about the long term, a fact he’d made clear to every woman he considered a liaison with. He’d never led anyone on with sweet words and false promises. He wished Michel had done the same all those years ago. He’d witnessed his brother’s obsession and heartache over a woman, his loss of focus on a climb, with tragic consequences.

Nothing would distract from Aston’s quest to climb Everest. His survival and success depended on it. He’d stand on top of the world with that ice-axe for Michel—for himself.

Yet here he was, pursuing as he’d sworn never to do. Instead of seeming like some tiring, futile kind of game, there was something about it that thrilled him. The planning. The chase. The prospect of bargaining. His heart pumping as if he were about to tackle a sheer rock-face—the seeming impossibility of it till he found that narrow handhold, a crack, a way in.

Anastacia Montroy had a unique allure. She was the perfect candidate to restore his inheritance. Now all he needed to do was to convince her to come away with him, because it was clear she wanted an escape of some kind. If he allowed her to run to her sister, he was certain that he’d never get her back, which was untenable. And he had the perfect weapon: her desire for him. Hence, the chase.

‘What will it take, ma déesse ?’ he said again. ‘I need to know.’

Ana frowned, the cutest crinkle of her brow. Her confusion was plain.

‘You mean...leave?’

‘It’s clear you don’t want to stay. Your parents are intent on a quick wedding with no interest in your desires. Whereas with me...’

He let the sentence hang, allowing her to fill in whatever possibilities her imagination could conjure, because he saw the want. Saw the dark flare of her pupils, the rosy blush that brought life back to her pale cheeks.

‘W-when?’

‘Today, if you wish... My yacht’s in the harbour. She’s ready to go at short notice.’

‘It would be scandalous,’ she whispered.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and made a show of looking at it.

‘ Pardon , I had to check the year. It seems we’ve left the 1800s. There wouldn’t be a scandal and, if there’s a story to tell, we write our own. People love to believe in love and whirlwind romances.’

A story like that wouldn’t be a hard sell. His business in Halrovia, and now this trip with his well-known yacht in the harbour, would lead people to form their own conclusions. When the engagement was inevitably announced, an astute reporter would put together the trail, leading everyone to conclude this had been a grand and secret love affair rather than some clinical arrangement.

Such a story would likely be a balm to the princess’s ego. Why wouldn’t she want people to think he’d whisked her away as a romantic gesture, rather than the truth? It would also suit his purposes for his parents to imagine this relationship as a love match rather than what it truly was. There’d be no explanations required. They understood love at first sight, claiming it had afflicted them from the moment they’d first met.

‘You don’t understand,’ Ana said.

‘Then help me.’

‘My parents would never agree to me going away with you unless we’re officially engaged.’

It was the first hint she might capitulate. His heart pounded at the thrill of whatever deal might come.

‘Don’t fear, Princess. They will.’

Convincing the King and Queen would be easy, especially when he told them it was the choice between the trip or Anastacia refusing him outright. They wanted their daughter married quickly, and this was the perfect way to ensure it happened without a fuss.

Anastacia’s lips parted. There was such hope on her face at the tiniest prospect of escape. He’d never stopped to think what her life might be like, trapped in a gilded cage. The mere thought made his skin prickle and itch. There was no doubt she was a woman he needed to set free, to open that cage door and let her fly. Although, sometimes birds didn’t want to leave their cages when it was all they knew, even with the door thrown open.

‘Have you ever heard the phrase “ask and you shall receive”?’ he asked, realising she might never have been given a choice. ‘You’re allowed to ask for what you want.’

She nibbled at her plush lower lip, her white teeth sinking into the pink flesh. ‘Then I—’

Aston perceived the faintest of sounds: a buzz, like a phone alert. It wasn’t the first one he’d heard in the maze. Anastacia turned away, reaching her hand into a well-hidden pocket of the demure yet tantalising dress, and pulled out her phone. Her mouth opened slightly and she paled, gripping the post of the pergola. Her fingers blanched white, as if she was going to faint on the spot. He moved closer, in case she did.

She looked at him, eyes wide, then back at her phone screen.

‘Bad news?’ he asked. Or was it a lover? Was that why she and Santori hadn’t married, because she wanted someone unsuitable instead? It could explain her family’s easy acceptance of him, the desire for a quick marriage.

Something tore through him, hot and potent. Everything inside roared in rejection of the prospect. She didn’t look like a woman in love now. She certainly hadn’t been the night of the Spring Ball, given the way she flirted with him. Though she could have been trying to make someone jealous. He knew all about manipulation, having witnessed it happen to Michel and being unable to stop it...

No .

He’d been sure that any attraction had all been reserved for him. That night, she’d been a woman... wanting . Instead, if he wasn’t mistaken, the look on her face now was one of real fear. He’d seen the same in Michel’s eyes on the last day of his life. Aston was struck by the overwhelming urge to reach for her, hold her; ask what made her afraid. Instead, he held his ground. He wasn’t a man who gave women false expectations.

‘Would you keep me safe?’ she asked.

Her voice was almost a whisper. Her arms wrapped round her waist. Her body was taught, as if getting ready to flee. Everything inside him stilled. The atmosphere changed. Even the bird song had dropped. A chill settled over him, as if he had been caught in a sudden fog. All of him was on high alert.

‘Are you in danger?’

‘People tell me I’m not.’

‘What do you tell yourself?’

She said nothing, just looked at her phone again, then to the exit of the maze. There was a story here, but first he needed to secure a deal between them. Then he could take some time to discover what had caused this reaction. The pinched look on her face... None of it made sense. Why would she need protection? She had a family to look after her—a royal family. Yet she asked whether he could keep her safe. For a fleeting moment, it made him want to be that man for her.

‘You’re a princess. Of course you should have personal security, that’s a given. You’d only ever have the best. I care for what’s mine.’

At those words, Anastacia seemed to recover from whatever her phone had shown her. Her spine stiffened, as if she’d found her resolve, and he saw the glimpses of her strength. A woman who looked as if she knew what she wanted and would take it. His blood ran thick and hot at the thought that what she wanted was him .

There you are. The goddess of the Spring Ball.

‘I’m not yours...yet.’

She would be. He’d said those words with no thought, but he recognised the truth of them, even though he’d never expected to consider any woman as his own. Aston wanted to say that if she was a betting woman she should bet on having his ring on her finger and being in his bed in under a fortnight, yet he didn’t. Whilst he was no romantic, he understood how the game was played. Perhaps he could give a little to get the reward he sought.

Her.

No, not her: Girard. Always Girard.

‘You haven’t answered my question. What will it take for you to come with me today?’

‘We don’t know each other,’ she said. ‘A marriage would be a disaster if we couldn’t stand the sight of each other after a few weeks.’

He had no doubt their chemistry would carry them through and, in the end, what did it matter? His inheritance would be secure and he’d be gone half the year, climbing. They wouldn’t have to see each other if they didn’t want to. He didn’t stop to question why those thoughts didn’t sit comfortably with him. Why they somehow lacked...

He shook himself from his introspection. ‘Let’s make a deal,’ he said, his voice somehow strange, urgent and rough to his own ears. ‘Come away with me today. I’ll keep you safe from whatever it is you’re afraid of. Get to know me. Then, if you agree that an engagement would be an advantage to both of us, we’ll marry. You don’t like what you see? I’ll take you to Isolobello, to your sister.’

‘You sound certain of yourself.’

If only she knew; losing her was not an option. A flash of need roared through him—a desire to conquer, not a mountain but a person . What he wouldn’t give to take her now. To kiss her, show her what they could...no, would ...be together. He breathed through it. Where was his own steely resolve now?

‘The choice is simple—yes or no. What’ll it be, goddess?’

Aston knew the chance he was taking with that final question, the risk. Yet the certainty remained. She desired him, and he desired her. That was a simple truth he could work with.

She cocked her head. Her winter-blue gaze locked with his. It was as if she was trying to chisel into the soul of him with a pick forged of ice. Was she making him wait? Oh, Princess ... The punishment would be so sweet when he could turn the tables.

‘Okay,’ she said.

Not a ‘yes’, but an agreement nonetheless. An unexpected lightness washed over him. Aston flashed her a smile. He began to walk towards her. She didn’t back away, standing her ground, unafraid, of him at least.

‘I’m honoured. Now there’s one thing I’m certain of,’ he said, slipping his arm round her waist, leaning down and murmuring into her ear, ‘It’s time for you to live a little.’