I don’t know what’s come over me.

Perhaps I’m merely overwhelmed with relief and hope now that Victoria has agreed to help me. Perhaps it has been too long since I allowed myself to indulge in any sort of pleasure. Or perhaps it is simply the fact that I am near Victoria, touching Victoria, and there seems to be no other choice.

There’s a stunned expression in her eyes, almost as if she can’t believe the words that have come from my mouth—and in truth, I can hardly believe them myself. They sound much more like something Leopold would say.

“I know this is not perhaps the best time for such things,” I say, looking down at her fingers in mine. “But I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our kiss the other night. I thought…well, that’s exactly it. I haven’t thought. I can’t.” Not when it comes to her, anyway. All I do when I look at her is think about how much I want to taste her again, how much I want to feel her body against mine.

But Victoria yanks her hand out of mine. “What makes you think I’d be okay with that sort of arrangement?”

I straighten. “What sort of arrangement?”

“Don’t play stupid, Andrew. You’re looking for a wife. A noble wife. Which means what you and I had could never be anything more than sex.”

I frown. “I fail to see what’s so wrong with that. Many people embark on relationships entirely based on sex—”

“And many people don’t consider those arrangements relationships at all,” she says.

“Then I chose the wrong word. But the idea is the same.” I study her face. “Can you honestly tell me you haven’t thought about it, Victoria? That you haven’t imagined what it might be like between us?”

Before the final word is even out of my mouth, a reddish hue has blossomed on her cheeks. But she still refuses to look at me.

“It doesn’t matter if I have or not,” she says. “It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

“And yet you are the one who has implied multiple times that I need to loosen up. That the world would like me better if I didn’t insist on following the rules. I must start somewhere, mustn’t I?”

“This isn’t what I meant. Can you even hear yourself?” she says. “You’ve asked me to help you find a wife. What do you think the world will think if they find out you’ve been sleeping with the reporter the whole time? What will your potential brides think?”

In truth, I haven’t thought about it. But something about that blush on her cheeks—and about that gleam in her eyes, visible even through her anger—gives me hope.

“You never answered my question,” I say. “Can you truthfully tell me you’ve never thought about what it might be like? That over these past few nights, as we’ve slept in each other’s arms, you never once considered what it might be like to take things one step further?”

She finally raises her gaze back to mine. “Does that mean you have?”

“I should think that would be obvious, given our current conversation. But yes—yes, I have. Many times. Every night we’ve spent together.” My hand falls to her arm again. “And yes, I’ve told myself that it was inappropriate. That it was an unnecessary distraction. That it was irresponsible and ill-advised. But I thought about it anyway, because I had no other choice. You can sit there and tell me the reasons why this is a bad idea, but it doesn’t matter. I already know the reasons. I just want to know if, despite all the reasons we can’t or shouldn’t do this, you’ve found yourself in a similar dilemma.”

I let my fingers trail down her arm, and I feel a shiver move through her. She wants me. I can feel it in her skin, see it beneath the other emotions warring in her eyes.

She doesn’t say anything. I find myself leaning toward her again, drawn to her in spite of myself. This time her eyes fall closed as my face nears hers, and my chest tightens as I close the distance between us.

The first brush of my lips against hers is soft, tentative. The second, a little more demanding.

Victoria seems to be frozen, and I wonder if I’ve gone too far, pushed her too much—but then suddenly her hands come up and clutch my shirt, pulling me closer, and the last of my restraint breaks.

I yank her fully against me, and my mouth comes down harder on hers. Her soft body seems to melt against mine, and I’m consumed by the feeling of her against me. Her lips are velvety and warm, the taste of her as sweet as I remembered. My tongue traces the line of her bottom lip before plunging into her mouth. I want to drink her.

I want to do more than that, too. Already my body is responding, aching for more of her. One of my hands finds the opening at the back of her hospital gown, and she gasps against my mouth as my fingers brush against her bare skin. My hand drifts up her back, finding the strings that hold the gown in place. I tug at the end of one as I push her back against the pillows.

Suddenly, a voice crackles through the air. “Can I help you?”

I freeze, startled. Victoria does, too. Slowly, I turn my head and glance at the door, but there’s no one there.

A moment later, after neither of us has spoken, the voice comes again. It sounds like it’s coming from a speaker. “Ms. Simpson? Do you need assistance?”

“Shit,” Victoria says, sitting up and trying to push me off of her. “No—no, I’m fine. I didn’t mean to hit the button.” She shifts to one side and reaches beneath her. A moment later, she lifts a remote from the sheets—the same one she used to call that angry nurse in here earlier. She must have leaned on it accidentally.

Well. Now that that’s settled… I reach for her again, but she places a hand at the center of my chest, pushing me back.

“We can’t,” she says firmly. “I… I don’t know what just happened, but we can’t.”

“Victoria—”

“No,” she says. “What the hell are we doing? This isn’t…” She shakes her head and gives me another firm push. “Get off my bed. I don’t know what the hell came over me. It must be the drugs.”

I stand, frowning. “Victoria…”

“I mean it, just…fuck.” She doesn’t even seem to be talking to me anymore, just muttering to herself. She reaches over her shoulder, trying to grab the strings to her hospital gown.

“Here,” I say. “Let me help.”

“I can do it.”

I don’t argue with her. She struggles with the strings, refusing to look at me, but I refuse to take my eyes away from her. Her lips are still slightly swollen, her cheeks still redder than usual. Her hair has come undone from its messy bun, and it falls over her shoulder as she struggles to tie her gown closed again.

God, if we hadn’t stopped…

If we hadn’t stopped, I’d have had that gown off her by now. I would have seen how far that pretty blush spread down her body. I would have tasted the skin on her breasts, on her belly, and lower—and compared it to the intoxicating taste of her lips. She would be writhing beneath me, rather than trying desperately not to look at me.

“Forgive me,” I say after a moment. “I would not have kissed you if I hadn’t thought it was welcome.” It was welcome, for a moment—and from the way she pulled me closer to her, she wanted even more than that. “I won’t do it again until you ask.”

She stops struggling with the gown strings and looks at me again. “I’m not going to ask you. That is never happening again.”

Oh, I doubt that very much. Not after the way she grabbed me. Not after the way she just kissed me. But I straighten my shirt. “Very well.”

My easy acceptance of her response only seems to frustrate her. “You can’t just go around kissing people when you’re going to be publicly searching for a wife. Especially not a commoner.”

“First of all,” I say, clasping my hands behind my back and walking over to the window, “my search has yet to begin. Secondly, you keep saying commoner like it’s some sort of terrible word.”

“Isn’t it?”

My body still aches with need for her, but I do my best to look composed. “Hardly. It simply refers to someone who isn’t of the nobility.”

“You mean someone who isn’t good enough to marry you.”

There’s something sharp in her voice—something that makes me turn away from the window and look back at her.

“Is that what you think this is about?” I say. “That I don’t think anyone but a noble woman is good enough for me?”

“That’s essentially what you said.”

“Not at all. I simply said a woman of noble blood would be better suited for the position.” I sigh, rubbing my forehead. “Victoria, I’ve already explained this—this is about finding someone who already has the necessary skill set for what a future with me would require. But I suppose it’s about more than that, too. Ruling a country isn’t an easy task. The politics, the responsibilities, the demands of the state—people underestimate the stress involved in a position like this. They see the glamor, the money, the fancy homes and titles—the fantasy. Not the reality. But people who are born into this life, who’ve known nothing else—they understand. They’ve been trained since they were born to handle the publicity and the responsibilities of a role like this.” I take a step back toward the bed. “This is not purely an intellectual decision, though. The truth is that I could not in good conscience bring someone into my world without knowing that they fully understood the consequences of that choice, and no one not born into this life could understand. The world sees in me as a man who has the money and means to do whatever he wishes with his life, but in truth, there is no freedom for a man of my position. Every choice I make has a consequence. Every mistake I make is displayed for the entire world to see—and often affects the lives of the very people I’ve dedicated my life to serving. I serve my role with pride, but it is not a burden I would wish upon anyone else, not even my worst enemy.”

Sometime during my little speech the frustration seeped out of Victoria’s eyes, and in its place is something I don’t want to study too closely. I’ve said too much.

“So you can see,” I add, trying to keep my tone light, “I’ve given a lot of thought to this. And I hold no ill will toward commoners—in fact, I have nothing but the deepest respect for them.”

She frowns. “I didn’t mean to suggest—”

“No, you said exactly what you meant to say. And frankly, I hope you continue to do the same.” I take another step toward the bed. “If you are to help me through these next few months, then I want your complete honesty. Assuming you do still intend to help me?”

For a breathless moment, I fear she will change her mind and tell me she’s no longer interested in telling my story. But then, finally, she nods.

“Yes, I’m still planning to help you.”

“Good,” I say, relief rushing through me. “The moment you are cleared to leave, we’re heading to Montovia.”