‘You know?’ His voice was muted roar. She’d never seen a man so close to the edge. Her heart clenched. Could it be true? Could the miracle she’d hoped for have happened?
‘I’m not here to choose a fiancé.’ She planted her palm on Damaso’s chest, feeling the racing rhythm of his heart. ‘I’m here because I’m a princess of Bengaria. I have a right to be at the coronation, as well as a duty. This is my country, even if I don’t plan to live here full-time.’
‘Where do you plan to live?’ His low voice was barely audible, yet the echo of it rolled across her flesh, raising shivery goose bumps.
‘Brazil looks nice.’
Marisa felt the jolt of shock hit him. His hands tightened as his head lowered to hers.
Dimly she was aware of a distant camera flash.
‘You’re not trying to leaving me then?’
She shook her head, her throat closing, as for the first time she saw right to his soul. Longing, pain and determination were there, plain for her to see.
‘You’ll marry me.’ It was a statement, not a question, but Marisa nodded.
‘Why?’
The question floored her. From the first, he’d been the one demanding marriage. Had he changed his mind? Her stomach swooped. ‘I could ask you the same thing,’ she whispered.
‘Why do I want to marry you?’
She nodded again, aware that this wasn’t the best place for this conversation. But nothing, not protocol or natural disaster, would have stopped her now. She had to know.
A slow movement started at the corner of his mouth, pulling it up in a crooked smile that grew till it carved a dimple down one cheek and broadened into a grin. It transformed Damaso’s face from hard and determined to charismatically sexy. Marisa’s heart missed a beat.
‘Because I want to spend the rest of my days with you.’ He lifted her in his arms till his words were an invisible caress on her parted lips. His dark gaze locked with hers, promising a gift far more precious than any regal entitlement. ‘Because I love you.’
She blinked but still couldn’t take it in. ‘Say that again.’
This time Damaso lifted his head and when he spoke his words rang through the crowded cathedral for all to hear. ‘I love you, Marisa, with all my heart and soul. I want to be your husband, because there’s no woman in the world more perfect for me than you.’
He loved her?
Marisa felt the hot glaze of tears film her eyes as emotion welled from deep within. A sob rose, turning into a hiccup of desperate happiness. Never in her life had she felt like this.
‘Now, meu anjo, tell my why you want to marry me.’ His gaze dropped to her belly and she knew he was thinking of their child.
She shook her head. That wasn’t the reason.
‘Because I love you too, Damaso. I love you from the bottom of my heart and I couldn’t bear to be with anyone else.’
Beyond them the sophisticated crowd went wild.
‘I’ve been in love with you so long,’ she whispered, drawing him closer, her words for his ears only. ‘It feels like I’ve only come alive since I’ve been with you.’
Finally Damaso spoke, his voice uneven, his eyes glittering. ‘Do you really want to stay for the ceremony, since you came all this way?’
‘I’d rather be with you, Senhor Pires. Take me home.’
Marisa had thought his last smile potent but this one was enough to stop clocks. Two ladies-in-waiting swooned as Damaso tucked her against his heart and strode down the aisle.
* * *
‘And they accuse me of being scandalous! Your behaviour was outrageous.’
Damaso smiled at the lush, lovely woman sitting in the jet’s private lounge, sipping sparkling water.
Marisa was his. Incontrovertibly, absolutely his.
Something smacked him hard in the chest. Relief? Triumph? Joy? He didn’t give a damn what name it went by. It was the best feeling in the world. He felt like he might burst with happiness.
‘Your uncle will get over it,’ he murmured, sitting down beside her, one hand on her thigh. The whisper-thin silk of her dress was warm from her flesh, inviting further exploration.
‘I doubt it. The look on Cyrill’s face when you told him I couldn’t stay for the ceremony because I had another engagement! I thought he was going to have a seizure.’ She shook her head. ‘Upstaging him at his own coronation! Such lack of decorum.’
Marisa looked down as his hand slipped higher up her leg but did nothing to stop him. ‘At least that will have dashed any plans he had to marry me off.’
‘You wouldn’t have been happy with that pretty-boy aristocrat.’ Only he could give her what she needed, for he was the one she loved. He’d never known love. It took some getting used to.
‘Of course not.’ She leaned forward and he was momentarily distracted by a glimpse of delicious cleavage.
‘He didn’t even have the gumption to stop me.’ Satisfied, he ran his fingers lightly up to her hip, feeling her shiver under his touch.
His.
‘You mean Alex?’ Her brow puckered. ‘He’s not the man Cyrill wanted me to marry. He’s a friend.’
‘I thought you didn’t have any friends in Bengaria.’ Despite everything, jealousy stirred. Just how close a friend was this Alex?
She shrugged. ‘Okay, more Stefan’s friend than mine. I haven’t seen him for years. He’s been away. And, no.’ She paused, studying his face. ‘He’s not the man for me.’
‘But I am.’ He intended to make sure she remembered it, and rejoiced in it, every day for the rest of her life.
‘You definitely are.’ She lifted her hand to his cheek and an incredible peace descended as she feathered a touch across his skin. ‘I’m a better person with you, Damaso. I feel...proud of what I’ve done and what I’m doing. Confident about the future. You gave me the strength to face what I’d been running from.’
‘You were strong before you met me, Marisa.’ He’d never known a woman more feisty and independent.
She shook her head. ‘It was only when I saw how you’d faced your past and got on with your life that I realised I’d been a coward, letting Cyrill and the press drive me from my home. That’s why I had to go back. To prove to them, and to myself, that I’m happy with who I am. I mightn’t fit their mould but that doesn’t matter.’
‘You’re perfect just the way you are.’ His hand strayed to her abdomen and the baby bulge that had popped out in the two weeks since he’d seen her. His palm closed protectively over it. His woman. His child.
Marisa shifted, her eyes skimming away from his. She took a swift sip from her glass.
‘What is it?’ Instantly he sensed her discomfort. ‘What’s wrong?’
She lifted one shoulder. ‘Nothing. Everything’s perfect.’
Yet her smile wasn’t quite as radiant as it had been. Damaso tilted her head around till she had no choice but to meet his scrutiny. ‘Something’s bothering you. Tell me.’
One slim shoulder lifted. ‘No, really, I—’
‘Don’t, Marisa. You’ve never lied before. Your honesty is one of the qualities I admire most. Tell me the truth. If there’s anything wrong, we need to work it out together.’
Eyes of bright azure locked with his, her regard so searching it was as if she looked deep into him.
Damaso looked right back. He had no secrets from Marisa.