Promised to the Swedish Prince - Sasha Cottman Page 0,37
the chair next to hers. “I am serious. Your health is important. And you have to let me shoulder more of the burden of preparation as well. The list you ladies have put together is invaluable. I sat up late last night going through my copy, doing my best to get a mental picture of who is who in my mind. But you must remember, people are coming tomorrow night to see the blushing beauty from the north. We can’t have you looking tired and haggard.”
She batted him on the arm. “Fräcka djävulen!”
He gave her a naughty wink, then wagged his finger at her. “English please. We must practice at every opportunity.”
“Alright then. You are a cheeky devil.”
The grin he gave her in reply set her heart racing at a fast clip. He was such a lovely man. Handsome but also with a kind soul.
There were so many things about Christian she would sadly miss when their time together was over. But soon enough she would be getting on the boat and traveling back to Sweden, leaving him behind once more.
Only this time it would probably be forever.
Chapter Nineteen
Christian had come to the conclusion that English was probably the most difficult language a non-native speaker could attempt to master. He had been taught quite a number of its rules, but unlike French or Latin there appeared to be an inordinate amount of exceptions to them. Consistently speaking and writing it seemed the only way to make progress.
He learned quickly to quietly and patiently accept Erika’s corrections when he got things wrong. But his English was improving and every day he was feeling more comfortable.
If only he could say the same for his obsession with Erika. He thought of her constantly, found often frivolous reasons to seek her out and then spend time with her.
His frustration grew daily. While she was doing everything to help ready him for the treaty negotiations, it was always at a polite distance.
If only you weren’t so damn good at focusing on the task at hand. Then I might stand a chance to just sit and stare into your blue eyes and perhaps make you think differently about me.
“Are you ready to leave?”
He stirred from his musings as Magnus stepped into the foyer of the house. Christian’s gaze lingered on the count for the briefest of seconds before it settled on the woman standing next to him.
Erika.
She was breathtaking in a silk confection which hugged every single one of her curves. Her gown was a dark silver, matched perfectly by the silver and sapphire tiara which she wore. Not a wisp of her fine blonde hair was out of place. She was every inch the elegant noblewoman.
No. She looks just like a princess. Something she should become.
He swallowed deeply, forcing down dark, sinful desires. His fingers itched to touch the soft, light fabric of her dress. To luxuriate in the tactile magnificence of silk on soft, feminine skin.
The gown was so fine that her peaked nipples were evident. Christian couldn’t fault the modiste’s skillful work. Any undergarments would break the smooth lines and spoil the effect. And it most certainly was having an effect on him.
She smiled at him, her countenance all innocence and grave purpose. His cock twitched, ready to come to attention if he continued to indulge in his lustful thoughts.
Erika, my love, if he had any idea what I would like to do to you right now, your father would shoot me dead.
That mental warning finally pulled him away from heading farther down the road of desire.
Stop standing here like a dumbstruck fool. Think of something to say. Call yourself a diplomat?
“I see you are wearing your mother’s tiara—it suits you perfectly,” he said.
Well done. Now try and breathe.
Erika turned and smiled at her father. “That is exactly what Pappa said. I hope to do my mother proud tonight.”
“I am sure you will. Now I must leave and make my way over to the baron’s home,” replied Magnus.
“Aren’t you coming with us to Carlton House?” asked Erika.
“No, this is your night. People want to see the happy couple be presented together; not craggy old men like me. I will arrive with the von Rehausens.”
Count Jansson kissed his daughter on the cheek and headed for the front door.
Christian picked up Erika’s woolen cloak and draped it over her shoulders. He let his hands linger for a moment, then whispered, “If tonight is a success, it will all be down to you. No man will