The Scandalous Collection. Кейт Хьюит

pitch gathering all the footballs that had rolled too far away for anyone to bother with. She put them all in the net bag and then dragged it over to the folding table where Ben stood, frowning at some papers there.

      ‘Ben,’ she said quietly, and he tapped what she saw was a newspaper.

      ‘Read that.’

      Funny, how easy it was after all this time, to tell him her secret. Strange how it really didn’t matter any more. Was this what she had been so afraid of? But no, it had been so much more. It had been everything, all of it, the intimacy and the need. ‘I can’t,’ she said flatly. Ben stared at her, completely nonplussed. ‘I’m dyslexic,’ Natalia elaborated, her voice still flat and strangely loud in the yawning emptiness of the stadium. ‘Severely so. I can barely read or write.’

      Now Ben looked completely gobsmacked, his jaw slack, his eyes wide. It would have been amusing in any other circumstance. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he finally asked. ‘I would have made concessions—’

      ‘I didn’t want concessions,’ she told him. ‘I never have. And in any case, only a few people know.’ Her lips twisted in a humourless smile. ‘It’s a bit of a family secret.’

      He shook his head, still flummoxed, not understanding. ‘Why?’

      She shrugged, not wanting to go into it or invite pity. ‘Bad publicity,’ she finally said, and he frowned, his eyebrows rising in disbelief.

      ‘Your parents decided that? To keep it secret? Because of publicity? Didn’t you—didn’t you get any proper tutoring? There are a lot of ways to help dyslexia these days… ?.’

      Another shrug; her throat felt tight. Not getting the proper help had been the least of it. She wasn’t going to tell him how her governess had locked her in a dark cupboard for being so slow to learn her letters, or how her teacher had mocked her repeatedly in front of her entire year. She wasn’t going to explain how her parents had wanted it kept secret, since princesses didn’t need much learning anyway, or how she always felt so slow and stupid and at least dressing up and going out had made her feel accomplished, even though she knew inside it was nothing. She couldn’t say that even now she didn’t want him to look at her differently, that she knew he’d thought she was strong and now she felt so weak.

      She didn’t say any of it, but then she didn’t need to. She saw from Ben’s thoughtful, narrowed gaze that he guessed it all, that he’d put the fragmented pieces of her life together in a way even she had never been able to.

      ‘Thank you for telling me,’ he finally said quietly. ‘Thank you for being honest. That must have been hard.’

      ‘It doesn’t really matter now.’

      ‘Oh?’ His voice cooled, very slightly, but she could still tell. ‘Why not?’

      ‘I mean …’ She gestured uselessly to the space between them. ‘It doesn’t matter to us. I was afraid to tell you … things … before, because I didn’t want you to look at me differently. And I’m not used to telling anyone much of anything.’

      ‘I’ve gathered that.’

      ‘But it doesn’t matter, because there can’t be anything between us now, even if I—we—wanted there to be. I’m getting married.’ The words felt weighted, like lead, falling so heavily into the stillness. ‘It will be announced this week.’

      ‘Ah, yes. Your marriage.’ Ben nodded, and Natalia felt a sharp twist of unease. His voice sounded so very neutral. He nodded towards the newspaper. ‘That’s what I wanted you to look at actually, although there isn’t really anything to read.’ He gazed at her, his expression hard again, demanding something from her. ‘You’re not in the papers, Princess. Your sisters and brothers are, all over the place. But there’s no mention of you or this groom of yours.’

      ‘I told you, it hasn’t been announced yet.’

      ‘It hadn’t even been decided yet,’ Ben returned. ‘Has it? Officially?’

      She swallowed, her throat still tight and aching. ‘It’s being arranged—’

      ‘Being. Yes. Because this is all quite recent, isn’t it, Natalia? Six weeks ago you were engaged to the Prince of Montenavarre.’

      ‘He called it off—’

      ‘Funny, how royals can just do that.’

      She stared at him. ‘What are you trying to say, Ben?’

      ‘What’s your intended’s name?’

      ‘His name?’

      ‘Yes. His name. His first name.’

      For the life of her she couldn’t think of it. ‘He’s the Sheikh of Qadirah—’

      ‘His name, Princess.’

      She felt impotent fury rise up in her. What was he trying to do? Prove? ‘Khaled,’ she finally said, a revealing note of triumph in her voice. ‘His name is Khaled.’

      ‘And this Khaled,’ Ben asked, prowling close to her with a decisive, long-legged stride, ‘does he know you?’

      She took an inadvertent step backwards, her hip bumping the table. ‘Know me?’

      ‘Have you met?’

      She lifted her chin. Fine. She’d answer all his questions. She had nothing left to hide. ‘No, we haven’t met yet, but we will this week.’

      ‘So this Khaled doesn’t know you,’ Ben clarified. He stepped closer so she could feel the heat of him, smell the musk of his sweat and the tang of his aftershave. His knee nudged her thigh as she bumped against the table again, her back pressed against its hard edge.

      ‘I just told you, we haven’t met.’

      ‘He doesn’t, for example,’ Ben continued, his voice dropping to a raw whisper, ‘know that you go blotchy when you blush. Or that you’re afraid of the dark.’ She felt his hand, warm and strong, slide slowly, purposefully, up her bare thigh. She gasped aloud as his fingers slipped under her shorts, beneath her underwear, to her damp feminine heat. ‘He doesn’t know,’ he continued, his voice dropping so low she could barely hear him, ‘that you cry when you come.’

      Natalia closed her eyes, tried to fight the intense wave of pleasure that rushed through her at the feeling of Ben’s fingers pressed so intimately against her, knowing so specifically how to touch her.

      ‘He doesn’t know you like I do, Natalia,’ Ben said, his fingers stroking her so persuasively. ‘He never will.’

      From somewhere she found words; they came out in short, staccato bursts, each one an effort. ‘Perhaps he won’t.’

      ‘He won’t,’ Ben said, ‘because you don’t want him to.’

      Her eyes fluttered open as she stared at him, his gaze blazing into hers. Her body hovered on that dazzling precipice and it would only take one more second, one more stroke, for her to find the release she was craving. Instinctively, unable to keep herself from doing so, she writhed under his caress, her body arching and seeking more, but he wouldn’t give it to her.

       ‘Ben …’

      ‘You don’t want him to,’ Ben whispered, his fingers stilling, ‘because it’s so much easier that way, isn’t it? So much safer.’

      ‘I can’t—’

      ‘You can. You could say no to this marriage. Look at your sister Sophia. Your brother Alessandro. Haven’t they done the same? You could do it if you wanted to, Natalia. If you wanted me.’

      The truth of his words hammered into her heart, striking their decisive death blows. The shell she’d tried to rebuild over that fragile organ cracked and shattered again; Ben would never let it be otherwise. She knew he was right. She knew it with every