Don't Tempt Me

By Kimberly Nee

Daniela Bertalan loves to matchmake so when the wife of an old childhood friend—who also happens to be the King of Mordainia—asks her to help make a match for the king’s half-brother, Daniela is happy to assist. Happy that is, until she meets Luka Morovic. General Luka Morovic is less than thrilled when the king asks him to keep an eye on their guest. But he is pleasantly surprised to find Daniela is neither spoiled nor pampered. Instead, she is spirited and unlike any other woman he has ever met, and a friendship he never expected quickly comes to life. But when that friendship appears to be growing into something more, Daniela knows she needs to put a stop to it. She’s made a promise to match him with another and knows she must step aside. And in doing so, she just might ruin what might be her last chance for true happiness.

• Language: English
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: Mar 23, 2016
• ISBN: 9781509206322

Kimberly Nee

Kim fell in love with historical romance when she was sixteen, and blames it on Kathleen Woodiwiss, since it was her The Flame and the Flower that got her hooked. Not long after finishing it, she sat down to write one herself and now, many moons later, she’s still writing them. A native of New Jersey, Kim still lives there with her family, which includes a cat named Oreo and a pupper named Koda. When she’s not writing, she’s a gym rat who weight trains, does cardio grudgingly, and is currently working toward her Master’s Degree in History. Like a true Jersey girl, she is obsessed with Bruce Springsteen, the New York Giants, the New York Rangers, and the New York Yankees. She’s also strangely fond of tattoos, American history, Gerard Butler, Billy Joel, knitting, and reading, just not necessarily in that order.

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you.

Chapter One

February 1802, Iarnia Palace, Zoyev, Mordainia

Luka Morovic held the squirming girl down, ignoring her screams and thrashing. "Hold still and let him do this!"

No! She wriggled free, onto her belly, and fought to drag herself away from both men. No! No! No!

Swallowing the curse rising to his lips, Luka lurched forward, his fingers wrapping about the girl’s slim ankles. She screeched in fury, fists flailing as she continued shrieking her protests.

Beside him, Stefan expelled a lungful of air as one of the girl’s feet caught him squarely in the belly. "Damn it, hold still!"

The girl went limp, and Luka sighed with relief as she was finally swaddled in clean linens and scooped up into her father’s arms. Princess Regina Vanechka smiled serenely up at her father, her thumb now firmly in her mouth. Her cheeks were still red from her efforts, but her once stormy blue-gray eyes were tranquil.

Luka arched his back to stretch some of the ache from it. More trouble than a battalion of Cossacks, he said, shaking his head.

King Stefan of Mordainia hardly looked the sort to take on the responsibilities of changing his young daughter’s swaddlings, and normally he shunned such distasteful things. But since her nurse was currently assisting the midwife in delivering the queen’s second child, and Stefan needed something to distract him from the muted moans coming from the queen’s quarters, routine went by the wayside.

Don’t even think about it, Luka warned as a low wail slid along the floor toward them. Kristian will have your head if you so much as poke your nose into the room.

Regina rested her head against her father’s shoulder, her thumb still firmly in her mouth. Papa…

He rocked her, his gaze rising over her dark-haired head. Luka, this is hardly a punishment. We need this treaty with Sandinia. We’ve reached a truce with the Cossacks, and this will strengthen our defenses even further. We’ll have access to Hamgarth’s harbor.

Luka reclined back on one elbow. "You want me to watch over some spoiled princess, and I’m not supposed to think of myself as a glorified, oversized governess?"

He tried to keep the weariness from his voice but was unsuccessful. Stefan could insist the opposite all he’d like, it still didn’t change the fact that he expected Luka, highly trained from years spent in the Mordainian Army, to give up his normal duties in order to keep said spoiled princess from becoming bored.

Stefan looked up at him. They shared a sire, but that was all. Stefan was stockier in build, with hair as black as night and pale blue-gray eyes. He favored that sire, whereas Luka resembled his peasant mother, with dark gold hair and eyes the green of spring grass. At six and a half feet tall, Luka stood almost a full head above his younger half-brother, and there were times when Luka wanted only to lift Stefan off the floor when they conversed. The crick in his neck was almost unbearable, and it was constant, as Luka towered over everyone in the White Palace.

You aren’t a governess of any sort, and she isn’t a princess, Stefan said with a sigh, even as a smile hinted around the corners of his mouth. "And I’ve known Daniela Bertalan since she was a child. If ever there was a woman who wasn’t spoiled, or vain, it’s Daniela."

Luka raised one eyebrow. Does Kristian know you know her?

She does. And you know my wife, she is already making plans to say, ‘I told you so,’ when you fall madly in love with Daniela.

Luka’s snort was involuntary. Your wife’s Sight has fled, hasn’t it? Otherwise she would see me with Erika Orlov.

She thinks Miss Orlov is all wrong for you.

Why is she thinking about it at all? Luka sat up and stretched his arms high above his head.

A low, agonized wail rang out down the corridor. Stefan flinched again and Regina yelped. Not too tight, Papa!

Perhaps we should discuss this below, out of earshot. Stefan mused, setting Regina on her feet. Go fetch Tatiana, sweetling.

She bobbed her head and toddled off to the corner of her nursery, where a rag doll sat propped in a child-sized chair at a child-sized table.

Lowering his arms, Luka shook his head. There is no more need to discuss anything, Stefan. If you wish me to amuse this woman, I will.

Luka, Stefan replied as they both stood. He glanced over as Regina’s governess Zora, bustled in to gather up the princess for her morning ride on her pony. When they were alone, he continued. Again, it is not punishment. And you don’t have to interact with her, if you so desire. She will, of course, have a chaperone with her. But, he added with a knowing grin, you will kick yourself once she’s gone. Danny is an unusual lady.

Unusual how? Does she read objects? Tell fortunes? Luka couldn’t hold back his grin, falling into step beside the king as they left Regina’s chambers. "Because I’ve yet to meet anyone who is as…unusual as your wife."

Stefan managed a chuckle. No. She’s not like Kristian, but she is like a breath of fresh air. And—he lowered his voice—she might even help you in your quest to win the fair Miss Orlov. Matchmaking is a specialty of hers.

Oh, then perhaps this won’t be so terrible after all, Luka replied, nudging his half-brother with one elbow. If she could help him woo the unattainable Erika, he just might be able to stomach playing chaperone.

Chapter Two

The sleigh glided through the snow as if the runners weren’t touching the ground. Daniela Bertalan snuggled her hands deeper into the silver fox muff, trying to blot out Helga’s nonstop chatter. Her father probably enjoyed the peace and quiet of his coach at the front of the caravan, but even with Helga’s running monologue, Daniela wasn’t sorry he’d insisted she take in the view.

Pure white blanketed everywhere, and nestled among the towering oaks and poplars was Iarnia Palace, almost as white as the snow. Built of gleaming pale marble, the palace’s wings stretched in an east/west direction, with three rows of windows glittering in the early afternoon sun. Snow draped the towering trees with thick ermine mantles; the sleighs were the only ones marring the pristine landscape.

It was rumored the palace had nearly four hundred rooms, but no one could remember the exact number. The last time Daniela saw the palace, she was a wide-eyed nineteen-year-old girl with wild dreams of marrying the then twenty-six-year-old Crown Prince Antonin Vanechka. Their mothers were very distant cousins, and their fathers were old friends—former enemies who made peace well enough to become as close as brothers. Antonin gave Daniela her first kiss and stole her heart.

So much had happened since that wonderful afternoon at Iarnia, by far the happiest of her life. Antonin was gone now, assassinated at the age of twenty-seven by one of his own men. Broken-hearted, Daniela nonetheless soldiered on, and when she married two years later, it wasn’t exactly for love, but she told herself she was happy. Fate, however, proved to be just as cruel the second time around. Barely three years into their marriage, Peter left her a widow at twenty-five. Instead of happiness, she seemed to live in a state of perpetual mourning.

No, she didn’t want to think about Peter. She didn’t really want to think about Antonin, either, for as much as she’d come to care for her husband, Antonin had been her heartmate. Returning to Iarnia brought back every last ache she ever felt for him. The heavy piney tang of the forest brought forth a wave of memory so powerful, Daniela’s fingernails dug into the palm of her hand. The scent of pine always brought him back, for it seemed to cling to Antonin like a fine cologne.

It always surprised me, how His Highness didn’t step up to claim you as his, Helga remarked as the sleigh glided over the snow past a thick stand of white pines and blue spruces. You should be queen.

We’ve discussed this, Helga. Daniela bit back a sigh. Antonin was going to ask for my hand, but he was killed before he could.

Pish. Helga waved one gloved hand. The sleigh runners swooshed against the powdery snow. The drive arced from the road to the white marble portico, and as they neared the palace, snow began falling again. I don’t suppose it matters much now, but still.

Daniela bit the inside of her cheek as she caught sight of the Vanechka stables in the distance. She’d expected a sense of sadness to sink into her, a melancholy brought on by unfulfilled dreams and lost love. But she felt neither. She could still remember so clearly that afternoon when Antonin kissed her. Having managed to lose her chaperone in order to steal a ride on one of the prized Vanechka stallions, she happened upon the Crown Prince in the stables. Some playful banter, and then he was kissing her.

Did those stables still smell the same? Fine leather, mixed with horse—that was how she remembered them. Was hay still piled in the far corner? She remembered it well, that pile where she and Antonin fell in a tangle of arms and legs and locked lips. A sad smile tugged at her lips. She missed him to this day—missed his playful streak and his fiery temper—although she was looking forward to seeing Stefan again. It’d been such a long time.

They bumped to a halt at the palace’s front portico, where two men dressed in scarlet breeches and thick black woolen greatcoats immediately hurried down to them.

Good afternoon, Baron Kaloyan, one of the men greeted her father, his booming voice rolling out like thunder. With that, more men hurried out into the cold to help them with their valises and to assist Daniela and Helga indoors. They were taken to their chambers, where a welcoming fire crackled on the gleaming black marble hearth.

Daniela tossed the silver fox muff onto the monstrously large bed. I’m curious to meet the queen. I hear she is a lovely person.

The queen. Helga stumped across the room, her heavy linen skirts swishing about her plump ankles as she bent to warm her hands at the fire. "You should be—"

"We are not having this same discussion again, Helga. And you’d better not make mention of it to Her Highness. That would be the height of rudeness."

The firelight glowed to take some of the coppery shade from Helga’s unruly curls and soften her hawk-like features. Still, there was no mistaking her disdain as she replied, Of course, Mrs. Bertalan.

A sigh hovering at her lips, Daniela sank onto the bed. Her back was stiff from the long journey. A bath would be wonderful, especially since Iarnia was one of the few residences in Mordainia fortunate enough to have heated water running indoors.

She eyed the heavy gold braid rope in the corner just beyond the bedpost, but before she could reach for it, a knock sounded at the door. The thick dark green-and-gold Persian carpet absorbed her footsteps, but her boot heels clattered when she reached the polished wood, despite Helga’s exasperated, Please allow me, Mrs. Bertalan.

Have it your way. I’m perfectly capable of opening a door, you know.

Yes, but this is my job. What if it’s your father out there? He wouldn’t be happy with either of us.

Very well. Daniela stepped back with a smile and gestured to the door. He also won’t be happy if you don’t respond, don’t you think?

She laughed as Helga rolled her eyes. The twitching at the corners of her mouth gave away the fact she was very close to smiling. You’re impossible, Mrs. Bertalan. Have I mentioned that today?

I’m sure you must have. At least once or twice.

I wonder why. Helga paused, using her free hand to smooth her skirts down. Then, her composure gathered, she pulled open the door. Yes?

Mrs. Bertalan?

Standing behind the door, Daniela grinned at the poorly hidden dismay in the lilting voice coming from the far side of the threshold. Her grin widened as she imagined the disbelief on Helga’s face when she answered, Certainly not. I am her lady’s maid.

I beg your pardon. Is Mrs. Bertalan resting? Her Highness has assigned me to look after Mrs. Bertalan while she is in residence.

Very well. Helga pulled the door open to allow the maid entry. Are you certain you’re old enough to assist?

Indeed I am. The girl smiled, her cheeks flushed as she turned from Helga to Daniela. I’m Anka, my lady.

Daniela shook her head as Anka dipped into a curtsey. "Please, I’m not a lady. Well, not that sort of lady, anyway, she corrected as Helga looked ready to open her mouth. Mrs. Bertalan is fine, and there’s no need for that." She gestured to Anka’s curtsey.

I beg your pardon, Mrs. Bertalan.

It’s all right. But, if you wouldn’t mind, I think I need a bit longer to freshen up. I’m only partially thawed from the sleigh ride. Has my father gone down?

Anka looked from Daniela to Helga and back. I don’t think so. When should I return?

Another hour should be enough. I should be able to feel my feet by then.

Anka bobbed her head. As you wish, Mrs. Bertalan.

The maid ducked back out of the room, and Helga tsked as she closed the door behind her. You should not keep Their Majesties waiting.

"I’m not. She said nothing about being summoned by either of them. Besides, I am still partially frozen. I wish it were summer and we were in Vasek instead. I’m looking forward to spring."

Spring is but a few weeks away. Helga went back to unpacking the trunk that held Daniela’s finery, gowns that would need to have their wrinkles shaken and ironed out as soon as possible.

A few weeks is still too many, Daniela grumbled, frowning as she picked at the base of her left thumbnail. A sharp sting brought a halt to that, however, and she looked up to see Helga had disappeared into the dressing area.

She took advantage of her maid’s distraction to slip out of her chambers and into the quiet corridor. Anka was long gone, and the passageway was empty. Perfect. Now she could think and try to sort out the jumble of thoughts rolling about in her brain like an oversized ball of wool.

Mrs. Bertalan? Helga’s voice came from the far side of the door, but louder, as if she was about to pull the door open and peer out, so Daniela lifted her skirts a bit higher than proper and dashed down the passageway.

She ducked about a corner as Helga called out, Mrs. Bertalan? and in her haste to put even more distance between them, Daniela sped up.

And promptly rammed full-tilt into what felt like a brick wall.

Ooof! Air rushed from her lungs as they deflated. and she looked up to see she hadn’t hit a wall at all. Rather, she’d run into a man. A man who was just as large and solid as a brick wall and didn’t so much as step back an inch when she plowed into him. Instead, she staggered back, somewhat dazed from the collision.

Are you all right?

Her head cleared, and she straightened up to find herself eye to eye—or rather, eye-to-chest—with what had to be the largest man she’d ever seen. With a groan and a wince, she reached up to rub her neck. I’m fine. I think. But I’m terribly sorry for running into you like that. I just didn’t want to be caught.

Be caught? He looked puzzled as he peered around her to the empty corridor behind her. Are you a fugitive?

Hardly. She lowered her hand and managed to smile up at him. He was a giant, no doubt. One of the tallest men she’d ever seen. I’m Daniela Bertalan. How do you do?

The giant stared down at her, neither smiling nor scowling. I’m General Luka Morovic, madam. Are you on your way down? I thought His Highness sent one of the maids up to fetch you? He gestured toward the direction from which she’d come. He and Queen Kristian are in the Autumn Room, if you’re ready.

Anka didn’t say anything about our presence being requested, so I begged off. I’m just not ready to be social yet. We only just arrived from Sandinia, and I’m afraid I still had a bit of a chill.

And yet, here you are?

I also had a bit of a need for some time to myself. She winced as Helga called for her again. My lady’s maid can be a bit much at times.

Of course.

Still, I’d like to apologize just the same, for running into you that way, I mean. I should learn to look first, I suppose. There was something very familiar about the man, especially about the eyes. And what beautiful eyes his were—the same dark green as summer grass. I’m sorry, but are you a relative of King Stefan’s? You greatly resemble him.

I am.

A cousin?

He seemed to hesitate, but then nodded. Yes. His Highness has asked that I keep watch over you. Although, I must confess, this isn’t exactly how I thought we’d be introduced.

She smiled even as her cheeks grew warm. I hardly need to be kept watch over. I suspect this—she gestured to him and then to herself—is simply to keep my father happy. He is terrified I’ll be snatched from horseback by a wandering band of rogues and sold to the highest bidder.

Is that so? I haven’t heard of many roving bands of rogues wandering through the palace.

Ahh, but Iarnia is so big, it’s entirely possible a whole tribe of rogues already lives here, and they just haven’t been discovered yet. Either way, I find the idea of my needing any sort of a chaperone to be silly. She leaned against the wall, waiting for Helga to call out for her again. Why do I need a chaperone? I’m a twenty-seven-year-old widow, not some fresh-faced debutante.

To make certain no wandering bands of rogues snatch you with the intent of selling you to the highest bidder? Luka suggested, completely stone-faced.

"Exactly. Although, it does sound a bit scandalous when you say it." She frowned, then glanced over her shoulder. A door opened, and she knew without having to look that it was Helga coming in search of her. And although she’d deserve the scolding she’d receive for going off this way, Daniela preferred to wait until later for the lecture.

Without thinking, she grabbed Luka by the wrist and dragged him away from the intersection of both corridors, which was no easy feat considering he was at least twice her size. Still, he didn’t resist, even as he asked, What do think you’re doing?

"Avoiding her, Daniela gestured vaguely toward her chambers, and I won’t be able to do that if you don’t cooperate, so please hurry."

He scowled but didn’t pull free of her grasp. Instead, he allowed her to pull him along. You and your chaperone are very much alike, Mrs. Bertalan.

My lady’s maid, you mean. And bite your tongue.

Are you certain you don’t wish to change?

She paused to glance down at her sturdy, and painfully plain, cotton traveling gown. Yes, she probably should have thought it through, and changed into something softer, less wrinkled, before running off that way. But she didn’t, and she wasn’t about to risk returning just yet. Best to let Helga’s irritation cool first.

Shaking her head, she said, No. I mean, of course I would love to, but it will have to wait. I only hope His Highness isn’t too offended. I know I’m a bit of a sight, but I don’t want to go back. I won’t be able to get out again.

I wouldn’t worry. The king is not one to be troubled by a lady’s dress being inappropriate.

Ah, but what about the queen?

That I cannot answer. There is only one way to find out. He didn’t sound very concerned, but then again, he was a male, and most men tended not to notice a woman’s dress unless it was in the process of coming off her body.

She glanced up at him. There were worse men she could have had watching over her. He seemed friendly enough, and he also seemed to have something of a sense of humor. And there was no denying he was quite easy to look at as well. The candlelight glinted against the golden strands of his wavy hair. His hair wasn’t blond, but it also wasn’t brown. It was somewhere in between, and thick enough to make her fingers almost itch to tousle through it.

As they neared the end of the corridor, Helga’s voice, scorched around the edges, rang out. Mrs. Bertalan! Are you there?

Oh, drat it all. Daniela tightened her hold on Luka’s wrist. Where are the damn stairs? Any second now, and she’s going to come thundering along behind us.

This way. He steered her toward the last door on their right and urged her through it. It closed silently behind them, leaving them on a narrow, dusty, poorly lit staircase. Try not to fall, Mrs. Bertalan. The noise will rattle through the walls like a cannon blast.

And since I’ve never heard a cannon blast, I’ll have to assume they are very loud.

You might say that. Luka gave a gentle tug on her arm. Come, I will show you the back way to the Autumn Room.

The back way? Oh, now this is quite the scandal, she replied, peering into the semi-darkness below. You should consider yourself fortunate I am an old widowed lady. Otherwise, you might be considered to have compromised me.

As she leaned against the narrow metal railing, Luka paused on the step below hers. You truly see yourself as old, Mrs. Bertalan?

"I do when someone calls me Mrs. Bertalan. Please, won’t you call me Daniela? Or Danny. Danny would be wonderful. I dislike all the stuffiness of formality. She grinned at him. Although he was a step below her, he was giant enough to still be at her eye level. Especially when you’re abetting my mischief. It makes no sense to be formal after this, don’t you think?"

It was a bit of a risk, teasing the giant when she only barely knew him, but he was just so serious she couldn’t help herself. There was little she enjoyed as much as good laugh, and he certainly seemed as if he could use a belly laugh. She didn’t laugh as much as she used to, and she missed it.

But the giant didn’t so much as crack a grin. Every inch of him was serious. If the king found out I took such liberties, he’d relieve me of my duty. And you seem to be a duty I won’t mind so much. Unless of course, you’ve a penchant for more serious mischief-making.

"I have no—what did you call it? penchant?—for mischief-making. Matchmaking, yes. But mischief-making? No, not really. Helga mothers me enough as it is, and sometimes, I just need some relief from it. That’s all. She’ll be mad for a while and then will just let it go. That’s how she always is, and I love her for it. I just need to be away from her for a while. Daniela pushed away from the railing. Tell me, do you ever smile? Or would your face crack from the pressure?"

He stared at her, and the air thickened as she questioned the wisdom of her bluntness. Still, she held his stare. He didn’t frighten her, despite his size, and she didn’t think he would do much more than yell. And lord knew she was capable of yelling back, should the need arise.

Dust motes swirled through the stuffy air, and yet Luka’s eyelids didn’t so much as twitch. I do, but I prefer to save them for more appropriate times.

With that, he turned and resumed his stride, and it was her turn to stare at his receding figure. Luka Morovic. A tacit giant. What secrets lurked beneath his quiet demeanor? It could be interesting discovering them.

A slow smile tugged at the corners of her lips, and the strong tingle of a challenge tickled her insides. It might take some time, but she would eventually find a lady in Queen Kristian’s court with whom to match Luka. After all, her matchmaking was a gift, and it wasn’t all that often she had a true challenge to that gift.

His footfalls began to fade, so she hurried after him. The noise echoed—no, thundered—through the stairwell, but she didn’t worry about Helga following them any longer. No footsteps sounded above them. Helga apparently decided it wasn’t worth running after her, thank goodness.

She followed behind Luka, whose shoulders were almost as wide as the stairwell. He didn’t look back as the door above them opened, and Helga bellowed, I know you’re down there!

Daniela paused to scowl up into the shadows. I thought she’d given up. I need to speak with my father about her before she drives me mad.

He didn’t pause but rounded the corner onto a landing and pulled open another door, which opened into a corridor. His fingers were warm as they closed about her wrist. Come. This way.

She tripped over the gold braided edge of the carpet but regained her footing without breaking her stride. Now Luka looked back. Are you all right?

I’m fine. Her belly fluttered as they drew near an open set of doors and voices spilled out—one male, the other female. The king and queen of Mordainia, no doubt. Her mouth went dry as her sense of fun faded. Things were serious again. Stefan was an old friend, but now he was no longer a prince. He was now the king. How much had he changed since ascending the throne? How much of a stickler for formalities had he become? He might not think it so funny that she had given Helga the slip.

She swallowed hard against the sudden rise of nervousness. It’d been such a long time since she’d last seen Stefan, and it was under tragic circumstances. Both were mourning Antonin, reeling from the shock of his murder, suffering the intensity of his loss.

Your Highness, may I present Mrs. Bertalan?

The fluttering in her belly worsened as Luka led her through the wide doorway into the Autumn Room.

It hadn’t changed since her last visit. Living up to its name, the Autumn Room was vibrant with shades of red, orange, and gold. Red velvet flocked wallpaper. A Persian carpet of burnt orange and gold, with creamy yellows woven through it. Gold sconces, polished to a brilliant gleam, held pure white candles. And beeswax candles, no less. No foul-smelling tallow for royalty.

The east wall had floor-to-ceiling windows, framed by snowy white silk draperies, each tied back with heavy gold braid. Fires crackled on the various white marble hearths dotting the room’s perimeter, carrying a subtle scent of pine to waft through the air.

Sofas of deep burgundy leather were situated near those hearths, along with winged armchairs upholstered with brocades in the same color scheme as the carpets. At the far end of the room stood the largest hearth, high enough for a grown man to stand upright inside it. The sofas nearest that hearth were the only ones occupied, and as she drew near them, some of the flutters eased as she met a familiar bluish gray-eyed gaze. Stefan Vanechka rose, a smile reaching all the way to the outer corners of his eyes. Daniela.

Your Highness. She dropped into a curtsey, biting the inside of her cheek as Stefan burst out laughing.

That is hardly necessary. He closed the space between them to wrap her in a tight embrace.

For a moment, it was as if she was in Antonin’s arms again. Stefan was every bit as solid, as broad, as his brother, and he carried the scent of pine and snow that she would forever associate with Antonin. Her throat squeezed tight as something sharp pricked along the backs of her eyeballs.

But as quickly as her sorrow swelled, it ebbed, and he hugged her tight. It’s so good to see you.

And wonderful to see you as well, she replied, pulling free and stepping back to turn her attention to the woman still on the sofa. The woman who did not look happy at the moment. Stefan’s wife, the Queen of Mordainia. Judging by her stern expression and lack of smile, the queen did not approve of her husband embracing another woman.

He turned to the woman. "Kristian, may I present Daniela Bertalan. Daniela, my wife Kristian,