Читать книгу In Pursuit Of A Princess - Donna Clayton - Страница 13

“As long as capitalism remains what it is,” Rhineland’s prime minister, Arvin Schmidt stated, “then surplus capital will never be utilized for the purpose of raising the standard of living of the masses in any country boasting free enterprise.”

Oh, how Ariane desperately wanted to comment. She’d have loved to tell the man that capitalism was commodity production at the highest stage of development, when labor power itself becomes a commodity, and if it raised the standard of living it could not be capitalism because uneven development and wretched conditions were fundamental states where free enterprise reigned.

Arguing politics was her passion, but she bit her tongue and remained silent. Some of the silliness that had spewed from her mouth tonight had utterly mortified her. It seemed to her that she’d talked to everyone, and every person in the room must think that her brain was made of marshmallow fluff. She didn’t like making herself look stupid, she was quickly learning. But it couldn’t be helped. She needed the government officials to feel safe in expressing their political views in her presence. How else was she to learn who among them were working toward the annexation of her beloved St. Michel?

Just then Prime Minister Schmidt remarked, “There are rules to be followed for every form of government.”

Something in the man’s tone drew her attention as sharply as if she were zeroing in on a bull’s-eye.

“No matter the type of leadership that rules,” he continued smoothly, “laws must be followed. No matter how difficult that might prove for some citizens.”

Was the man sending out a cryptic message? Ariane wondered. Or was he merely trying to impress her with his opinions. Keen interest buzzed through her veins like adrenaline and she allowed it to show on her face with the hope that Schmidt would elaborate a little more. However, before he could, she felt a light touch on her forearm.

“Pardon me, princess.”

She turned to see Etienne, and she stared into his handsome face, realizing for the very first time the startling color of his eyes—pewter-gray. Fringed with dark lashes, the effect was enough to steal her breath away.

Ariane had been so miffed at the man earlier in the evening that she hadn’t been able to control the urge to put him in his place. She had forced herself to ignore him when he’d first arrived, wanting to convey how insulting his tardiness had been to her. She’d focused the whole of her concentration on the two “ministers” she’d been talking to…she nearly grinned now as she thought of the complete genius of that sham. Surely after that silly assessment the prince and the lords thought her to be a total idiot.

But now her anger was gone as she really and truly saw Prince Etienne for the first time this evening.

She fumbled for words. Stumbled over her thoughts. And there wasn’t a single ounce of deception or pretense in her behavior. She simply couldn’t get her tongue and the notions in her head to properly jive. Something strange was taking place…it was as if she’d been a train barreling down a track and suddenly found herself completely derailed.

“May I have this dance?” he asked.

The wheels in her brain turned, but she couldn’t seem to get her larynx to utter a single sound. He cupped her elbow in his palm, obviously expecting her to accept his invitation.

Panic welled up within her. No, no! she wanted to shout. It was bad enough that she’d made herself look stupid to the upper echelon of Rhineland society. She certainly didn’t want everyone to discover that she also had two left feet!

It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried to learn to dance. She’d suffered through two full years of torturous dance classes. Although, the fact that the instructor had been a snooty little man who had made her feel nothing short of a lumbering elephant out on the dance floor when all her other siblings—full, step and half—had blossomed into elegant swans under the man’s tutelage. And her stepbrother Georges, a man who hated to fail at anything, had finally thrown up his hands in utter frustration when he’d attempted to teach her.

With her heart pounding so hard that blood whooshed dizzyingly through her head, she was finally able to sputter, “C-can’t you see I’m in the middle of a c-conversation with the prime minister?”

The question sounded abrupt even to her own ears, and Ariane was horrified that she hadn’t tempered her tone.

Having been born a princess, Ariane had attended many balls and parties in her twenty-three years, and she’d become skilled at turning down invitations to dance. Her grandmother, Dowager Queen Simone, wanting to help her granddaughter work around this little problem, had trained her extensively on just how to decline a request to dance without hurting the feelings of the party offering the invitation. In fact, Ariane had succeeded in doing just that at least seven or eight times this evening.

But the way Etienne’s dove-gray eyes sparkled had thrown her for a loop. Why hadn’t she noticed before this moment how amazing—how mesmerizing—his gaze was?

The prince’s grip on her elbow tightened gently but insistently, and he guided her away from the group. He murmured, “Our prime minister could talk the ears off a brass monkey. But I have orders from none other than the queen herself who threatened me if I didn’t get you out on the dance floor.”

The dread churning inside Ariane didn’t abate a bit, but the humor playing around the handsome prince’s mouth lulled her into querying, “And what did she threaten you with?”

Etienne chuckled, and Ariane could tell from the look on his face that this man was very fond of the woman who had given birth to him.

“Oh, she didn’t specify the hazards I’d face if I didn’t follow her instruction,” he told her. “She didn’t have to. She’s been my mother for twenty-nine years. I know better than to disobey her wishes.”

“Sounds like Queen Laurette is quite a tyrant,” she teasingly surmised.

The prince grinned, and she felt as if the summer sun were shining full on her face.

He whispered conspiratorially, “Don’t let this get about…but I’ve got my mother wrapped round my pinkie. However, I do like to keep her happy. So help me out here, would you? Just one little dance is all I need from you, and Mother’s mind will be put to ease.”

Maybe it was the fact that her own mom had died when she was seventeen, or maybe it was because she had such a terrible relationship with her current stepmother, the jealous and oh-so-insecure Queen Celeste, but Ariane found it very endearing, indeed, to discover that the prince had formed such an open and loving bond with his mother. And the fact that he didn’t mind Ariane knowing how he felt about the queen, well, that was just icing on the cake.

The heels of her shoes clicked on the smooth marble floor that was fairly swarming with couples who had already begun swaying to the breezy orchestral melody.

She hesitated, then decided she’d better do what she could to warn him what he was in for. “Etienne, please…”

He stopped and looked down at her, apparent curiosity puckering his high, intelligent brow.

Oh. She’d made herself out to be foolish enough tonight, she hated the notion of divulging further faults. Finally, sheer desperation had her softly admitting, “I’m afraid I’m about to embarrass you.”

Again, he chuckled and Ariane was bombarded with the sudden outrageous urge to place her palm against his chest to feel what she instinctively knew would be the sexy tremor of his laughter. Her eyes widened at the astonishing thought.

“You could never embarrass me,” Etienne told her. “In fact, I’m sure I am already the envy of every man in the kingdom.”

She knew he meant to flatter her with the compliment, but she was too anxiety-ridden to even smile at him. “You don’t understand…”

Before she had time to explain, he whirled her around to face him, deftly snuggling one palm at the base of her spine, enveloping her hand in his free one.

The closeness of him, the heat of him, made her feel as if she were suddenly thrust into a vacuum from which she couldn’t draw breath. Yet as soon as they began to move, she automatically craned her neck in an attempt to watch where she was going. She panicked at the thought of bumping into another couple, of stepping on his feet, of slipping on the smooth, polished marble. She imagined what a sight the two of them would make if they were to go tumbling to the floor. Her apprehension hitched up another notch.

Funny thing about the waltz, the leader was the one who moved forward. As long as she was stepping away from Etienne, she didn’t think she’d mash his toes with hers. She could place her foot first and he was responsible for not trampling on her. However, the dance also involved a great deal of turning, and the very first time the prince guided her toward him every muscle in her body tensed up—and she planted her foot directly on top of his.

His handsome face registered more surprise than pain. Ariane chucked him a quick look of apology before dipping her chin to once more stare at her feet.

Etienne had been graced with the princess’s regretful expression for only a moment, but the vulnerability he’d read in her eyes, on her furrowed brow, affected him in the most amazing manner. He felt this immense urge to soothe her turmoil, to protect her from the eyes and opinions that she feared, to sweep her away from the crowd…to ravage that perfect pink mouth of hers with fierce kisses.

Without another thought, he waltzed her right out the huge double doors and onto the flagstone veranda that overlooked the formal gardens. The music spilled out into the night right along with them, but they stopped dancing and walked in silence to the stone half wall that edged the area.

Moonlight washed across the trees and shrubs, dusting them in a soft, pallid radiance. The unusually warm spring had caused the flower bulbs to burst from the ground and send forth their heady scents. It seemed as though a million stars glittered against the velvety night sky.

“Thank you.”

The gratitude in her sweet voice tugged at his heartstrings.

He couldn’t keep the smile from curling the corners of his mouth. “How was it you missed Dancing 101?”

Etienne knew dance instruction was common practice for all children of royal lineage, so he was certain she’d understand his question.

Her sigh was as soft as the night air. “Oh, I took the class,” she admitted despondently. “And I flunked it. Twice.” She gazed up into his face. “I thought the second time round I just might get a passing mark…but then I fell right on my behind during the last session of learning the foxtrot. After that, the instructor—a mean and unforgiving little man, I might add—refused to have me in his classroom.”

His grin widened, but Etienne turned his head away until he succeeded in snuffing out the chuckle that rose up in his throat. It was obvious that she felt bad enough about her plight without him laughing at her.

Keeping his expression just as straight as he could, he said, “When is the last time you saw anyone dance the foxtrot?”

“That’s the same thing I said to—”

She paused, seeming to realize the humor he found in her story.

“Okay,” she told him. “Go ahead and laugh. It is pretty funny.”

“Oh, no.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t dream of laughing at your expense.”

Her nose wrinkled, and Etienne thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen in his life.

“It’s just that I have no rhythm,” she complained.

He felt compelled to say, “That’s not it at all.”

Her perfectly arched brows lifted a fraction in silent question.

“It’s the fear you have to conquer,” he told her.

“Fear? Why, as far as I know, I’m not afraid of much of anything.”

Before full insult could set in, he rushed to further explain, “It’s clear to me that you don’t trust your partner. You’re afraid you’re going to be led into disaster. The moment you realize that your partner is competent in his role, then your concerns will dissolve like sugar in water. Here, let me show you.”

She balked, but he took her into his arms. Immediately, her spine arched and she stood tall, just as she’d been taught.

He settled his hand low on the curve of her spine, murmuring, “You have great form.”

Great form, he wanted to repeat. He felt heated tendrils sprout and curl in the deepest depths of his gut.

When they were in position, her gaze unconsciously dipped downward.

“Oh, no,” he softly chided. Tucking his bent knuckle gently under her chin, he tipped up her jaw. “Look me in the eyes. Relax. Don’t even think about the steps. Don’t give your feet—or mine—another thought. Just listen to the music. Let it roll through you. And trust me.”

Iridescent moon rays cast half of her features in shadow. Her prominent features were highlighted by the pearly glow: cheekbone, brow, chin, nose. And what a perfect nose it was. Etienne had to force himself not to plant a quick kiss on its tip.

He gazed down into her beautiful face, their gazes locking…and something extraordinary happened.

“Trust me,” he repeated in a whisper, pushing off into the first step of the dance.

The next few minutes seemed laced with magic. A mysterious je ne sais quoi that he’d never before experienced in his life. He couldn’t tell if it was the silky night air, or the soft strain of the orchestra…or the gorgeous young woman who stared up into his face.

Her dark eyes never left his. Not for a second. And the atmosphere seemed to heat up with each step they took, each dip and sway and turn they made. They may have been under the open sky, but Etienne had the strange sense that time itself was drawing around them like a warm and protective blanket.

The waltz they performed on the stone terrace was nearly flawless. There could be no other way to describe it.

Finally, the music faded, and the two of them stood there in that dancers’ stance seemingly hypnotized. She studied his face as if she was seeing him for the very first time. The heat of her penetrated the silk of her dress, and he was sure his fingertips would be scorched. The muscles of her elegant, milky throat convulsed as she swallowed. Still they stood motionless, silent.

Of course, what seemed a hushed eternity couldn’t have been more than the span of five or six heartbeats.

There was an intensity in the moment that called to Etienne. And it would have been so very easy for him to bend toward her. To place his lips against hers. To taste what he thought must be the delectable honeyed sweetness of her mouth.

But the part of his brain housing his common sense flickered to life. Doubts about this woman flooded into his thoughts. He was certain she’d been playacting all night. Pretending to be something she was not. And he couldn’t help but wonder why.

In the end, he released her, clasping his hands behind his back so as not to surrender to the overwhelming desire he felt to kiss her, to touch her.

When he released her, she blinked slowly, once, twice. There was a lethargic sleepiness in her expression, and Etienne got the feeling that she was waking from a trance. He knew exactly how she felt. Then he noticed that her chest rose and fell as if she were out of breath…or physically reacting to the high intensity of the moment. Heaven could attest to the fact that he certainly was.

“I can’t believe it.”

The awe expressed on her face only made her all the more beautiful.

“I can’t believe I waltzed without crushing your toes.”

Her chuckle was filled with both giddiness and delight, and Etienne had to make a conscious effort not to reach out to her, then and there.

“Dancing won’t ever be my favorite pastime,” she remarked. “But at least now I know I can do it.” Seemingly without thought, she added, “With the right partner, of course.”

Her aside only seemed to heighten the thick atmosphere that swirled around them in the night air. He couldn’t help wondering if she was as conscious of it as he was.

“I-I’m suddenly feeling exhausted,” she whispered abruptly. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I bid you good-night.”

He nodded a single, silent farewell, but she strode away from him so quickly that he doubted she even saw it.

The rusty quality of her voice coupled with the blatant fact that she was so obviously fleeing the scene told him that—yes—she had realized the magic that the two of them had conjured in those short few minutes under the stars.

Ariane came awake slowly, stretching on the luxurious bedding like a languid kitten. Sunlight streamed into the airy room and the warbling of birds, muffled yet melodious, could be heard even though the windows were closed against the morning chill.

All through the night she’d been plagued with dreams of pewter-gray eyes so fiery that she’d become consumed by them, of an embrace so secure that it had robbed her of all thought, of skin so hot that she felt burned by its touch, of a jaw so strong it was mesmerizing, of a mouth so perfect and kissable that she’d become thoroughly obsessed by the idea of tasting—

Stop!

Opening her mouth, Ariane gulped in a head-clearing breath as she pressed her palm flat against the base of her throat. She didn’t want to think about what had happened between Etienne and herself at the ball last night. And she certainly didn’t want to dream about the man.

Okay, so they had shared a few minutes together out under the silky night sky.

A few surprising—no, amazing—minutes.

Ariane did all she could to ignore this more precise description of the time she’d spent on the terrace with the prince.

Her trip to Rhineland held a solitary purpose. To glean political information for the head of her country’s security force, Luc Dumont, who had been none too happy that she’d insisted on coming on this mission. But insist she had. She must remember her goal. She must remember that Etienne was a convenient motive for her visit. That was all he was. She refused to allow him to become anything more than that.

To allow fanciful thoughts to frolic around in her head would be useless. She and Etienne would never—could never—be anything more than they already were—mere acquaintances.

And the reality of her life was the reason.

Not only remembering, but focusing on the practicality of this fact made it all that much easier to clear the sweet but hopeless dreams from her head.

Movement at the window drew her gaze, and Ariane smiled as she watched the goldfinch that sat on the deep stone sill. The bird searched and pecked, then sang a few resounding notes, then went back to searching and pecking.

It felt so nice to be away from the tension that had built up in her home back in St. Michel. Her stepmother, Celeste, had never been the easiest person to live with, and luckily the palace was big enough that avoiding the woman was quite easy. However, since King Philippe’s death, the queen—as Celeste preferred to be called these days—had become downright cantankerous.

Granted, the woman was nearly seven months pregnant. And the stress over worrying about the gender of the child she carried was probably contributing to her ill humor.

Ariane turned over onto her side and adjusted the pillow under her head.

The only way for her stepmother to retain even a modicum of her power was if she gave birth to a boy. A male child who would be in line for the throne. Of course, Celeste had professed to have taken a test that proved the gender of her baby, but Ariane wasn’t the only one in the palace who thought it strange that the queen had yet to produce the medical documents to confirm that fact.

Smoothing her hand over the soft Egyptian cotton spread, Ariane sighed.

Even if her stepmother bore a baby boy, that child might not be first in line to be the next king. That honor would go to the child conceived during the marriage of Philippe, then crown prince of St. Michel, and an American woman named Katie Graham.

The young couple had fallen madly in love when Philippe had been eighteen. They had married without their parents’ consent, and because Katie had been under the legal age to do such a thing, Philippe’s parents had tricked them into believing that their union was null and void, that their marriage certificate wasn’t worth the paper it was written on.

Philippe’s mother, Ariane’s grandmother, Simone, had expressed a deep regret over her deceitful actions of all those years ago when she’d recently relayed the story. She’d told Ariane and her two full-blooded sisters, Lise and Marie-Claire, that she and her husband had only been acting in what they truly believed to be their son’s best interest.

So all those years ago the young couple parted. Philippe resumed his education and the training he’d need to act as king, and young Katie had left St. Michel brokenhearted—and pregnant.

If the child Katie had delivered was male…and if he was still alive…then he would be the next de Bergeron king of St. Michel.

However, Simone had told them all that as far as she knew Philippe had never heard from Katie again. And no one had any idea if the child the woman gave birth to was male or female.

What worried Ariane more than anything was the future of St. Michel. Hundreds of years ago, those wonderful, loving people had fought long and hard to form their own realm, for the right to pledge themselves to the de Bergeron family. Yet it seemed that keeping their country intact was hinging on the discovery of the whereabouts of one little baby, hopefully now a grown man.

The de Bergeron missing heir.

Ariane placed her fingertips to her mouth to stifle a yawn.

Of course this turn of events—this fantastic story brought to them by Simone—affected Ariane and her sisters. But the fact that her own parents’ marriage had been invalidated and that Ariane and her sisters had been deemed illegitimate should have upset Ariane more than it did. She should be terribly distressed by the idea of having her title stripped from her, of losing her position in society. Ariane couldn’t quite put her finger on why the notion didn’t ruffle her more.

It could be that the calm she felt over her situation was possible because she knew no one but her sisters, her country’s prime minister, close family members and Luc Dumont, the head of St. Michel’s security force—trusted family members and friends, one and all—were privy to her and her siblings’ predicament. Once the rest of the world learned of the fact that she was misbegotten, then it could be that she’d fall completely to pieces.

What would Prince Etienne think when he learned the news? The question flitted unbidden through her head like a leaf tossed on the wind.

Ariane threw back the blanket and sat up on the edge of the mattress. She shoved the silly query from her mind. What did she care what he thought? What did she care what anyone thought?

A nice hot cup of tea was what she needed to clear away all these unpleasant doubts and questions.

The guest suite in the Kroninberg Palace was spacious and sunny. It consisted of two en suite bedrooms, one for her and one for her lady-in-waiting, connected by a delightful high-ceilinged sitting room. That’s where she found Francie munching on a piece of buttered toast.

“What time is it?” Ariane asked, surprised to see that breakfast had been served on a large tray. “Shouldn’t we be taking the meal with our hosts?”

“Everyone’s sleeping in this morning.” Francie wiped her fingers on the crisp, white linen napkin in her lap. “The maid told me when she delivered the tray, so I decided not to wake you.”

Ariane poured a steaming cup of tea from the porcelain pot. “So how did you sleep?” she asked. After dropping in one sugar cube, she stirred and then eased herself down in the velvet armchair flanking Francie’s.

“Just fine.”

Her lady looked as if she were the proverbial cat that had swallowed a canary.

“Okay,” Ariane said, “out with it. What’s on your mind?”

“Oh, nothing.”

Francie’s voice had a sing-song quality to it that relayed that the opposite was the real truth of the matter.

“It’s just that I watched you go outside with the prince…and not too much later you came rushing back through the doors and right out of the room. Your face was flushed and you looked…well, you looked as if something had happened.” She swept a few nonexistent crumbs from her lap. “When I followed you up here, you’d already shut yourself up in your bedroom. Which was a clear sign to me that you didn’t want to talk about what happened. Which tells me that something did actually happen.”

“You’re deluding yourself, my friend.” Ariane took a sip of her tea, but she was cognizant of the slight tremble of her fingers. The last thing she wanted to talk about was her time out on the terrace with Etienne. “Nothing happened. Nothing at all.” When Francie’s eyes rolled expressively, she reasserted, “Nothing.”

Her friend chuckled. “What is that old saying? The one about the princess protesting too much? I think that just might fit you to a T. ”

Ariane let her gaze settle on the ornate teacup and said nothing.

Evidently not getting the message that Ariane didn’t want to discuss the matter, Francie boldly asked, “What did you talk about when you were with Etienne? And how come you rushed away from him and left the party?”

“You don’t take a hint very well, do you?” Ariane quipped.

Just remembering those pewter eyes, and how she’d seemed to fall headfirst into them…Ariane’s heart tripped an unsteady beat and she felt all shaky inside.

She had no idea what had happened to her during those moments. Etienne’s arms had enveloped her securely. She’d become almost entranced by his steady gaze. The heat of him had swathed her like a warm and protective cloak. Somewhere in the back of her brain she’s been aware that the spicy scent of his cologne held a hint of citrus. The combination had been utterly enticing.

Trust me.

Even now, the mere memory of his rich, resonant voice sent shivers coursing down her spine like a shower of cool spring rain.

She’d been enraptured. By his gaze. His scent. His touch. By him.

Never before had she been so stirred by another human being.

When Ariane failed to rise to Francie’s bait, the woman remarked, “Etienne is awfully handsome.”

She waited, and Ariane remained stubbornly silent.

“He looked awesome last night.”

More silence.

Finally, Francie blurted, “And those trousers he wore accentuated his nice, tight butt, too.”

Ariane gasped, tea splashing over the rim of the cup. “Francie!”

Her friend giggled. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re alive and well. With all the silent treatment I’d thought you’d died right where you sat.”

Sighing, Ariane pursed her lips for a moment. Then she said, “I am alive and well. And I agree with everything you just said. The prince is a handsome man. And he looked delectable last night.” She grinned. “And I did notice his butt. Are you happy now that I’ve bared my soul?”

Francie grinned with clear delight.

Then Ariane’s shoulders drooped a fraction and she lifted her chin determinedly. “But tell me something…what is the fabulous prince going to say once he learns that I’m no longer a princess?”

The pleasure slowly slid from Francie’s expression.

“I’m here on a mission,” Ariane continued firmly. “I’m on an assignment that just might help our countrymen. That’s what I have to focus on.”

Francie looked contrite. “Yes, but there was no royal proclamation that said you couldn’t have a little fun while you’re here.”

Ariane shook her head in disagreement. “That kind of fun will only lead to hurt and heartache. For everyone involved.”