Читать книгу Royal Affair - Laurie Paige - Страница 11

I vy Crosby stood in the checkout line at the drugstore and wished someone would remove the display of gilt-framed mirrors, marked down fifty percent for quick sale, from the wall to her right. The mirrors reflected multiple images and she really didn’t want to see herself just now.

With a grimace she reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. It didn’t stay, of course.

Her hair was naturally blond, not always an asset, and naturally curly, which meant it did as it pleased. On an impulse she couldn’t explain, she’d had the long tresses cut off last week.

A mistake, that. Now it lay in ringlets around her face, making her look about seven instead of twenty-seven. She was also cursed with big blue eyes and a natural fringe of dark lashes that curled at the tips just like her hair.

The combination lent her a fragile innocence that was sometimes useful in business, but was mostly irritating as people took her at face value.

Because of her looks, she’d been treated like a pet or a doll all her life. By family. By teachers. By boyfriends who’d been protective and possessive, as if they wanted to put her in a pocket and only let her out when it was convenient. For them.

Except for one man. Once upon a fairy tale time out of time, she’d met her prince—a man who’d treated her as a woman, a very desirable woman, an equal in wit, intelligence…and passion.

Oh, yes, passion. A faint tremor ran through her blood, the first warning of the volcanic explosion that was to come. Just the thought of him, six weeks later, could do that to her.

Max. I need you.

No, she mentally chided. She was an adult and she could figure this out. But first things first, as one of her business professors used to say. That was why she was at this pharmacy in a strip mall where she wasn’t likely to be recognized.

Her many images glowered at her from the mirrors. She smoothed out the frown and laid her purchases on the counter. She’d gotten lotion and shampoo and a couple of other things she didn’t need in hopes that no one would notice she’d also gotten a pregnancy test kit.

“Sorry, I have to change the tape,” the clerk said, opening the top of the cash register and removing the spent roll of paper. When she attempted to thread the new roll through the machine, it jammed. The woman muttered a curse.

Ivy tamped down the impatience that made her want to turn and walk out as fast as she could. She’d stood in line this long, what was a few more minutes? Besides, she would have to do it all over again someplace else.

Schooling herself to calmness, she absently glanced over the tabloids while she waited. The headlines were amusing as usual—Woman Gives Birth to Martian and other interesting tidbits.

She skimmed the large print. A movie star was getting a divorce. Ho-hum. The Lion Roars, proclaimed another above a picture of a handsome man holding the arm of a fragile beauty—

Ivy gasped. She grabbed the edge of the counter as the room went into a dangerous spin.

“Are you all right?” the clerk asked, leaning close and peering into her eyes.

Ivy blinked several times and the world righted itself. Except for the abyss giving way under her feet. “Yes, just a…a sort of…of a dizzy spell. I’m fine now.” She smiled to prove that she was.

The clerk nodded sympathetically. “When I was pregnant with my first, I fainted at the drop of a hat. Blood was especially bad. My sister cut her finger one night when we were having dinner at her place. I fell right out on the kitchen floor. Scared my husband to death. He didn’t know I was expecting. Neither did I, come to think of it.”

Ivy dredged up a smile while the clerk and the woman behind her in line laughed nostalgically. “I’ll take this, too,” she said, and put the tabloid on the counter.

By the time she’d paid cash for her purchases and rushed to her car, every nerve in her body was quivering like an aspen leaf in a playful breeze. As she got in, she tossed her purchases into the passenger seat, grabbed the tabloid and read the article that went with the headline.

Her eyes widened and narrowed by turns as she skimmed through the hyperbole to get to the meat of the story. It seemed Prince Maxwell von Husden, Crown Prince of Lantanya, who was soon to be king, had been seen at a popular tourist resort in the tiny country with a mysterious beauty in July. After a romantic night of dining and dancing and passion, the woman had disappeared.

Ivy gasped and felt faint again. How could they have known about the passion?

Reporters always made up the stuff to fill in the blanks, she decided grimly, trying to calm the emotions that roared through her like a tsunami. She read on.

The prince was furious that the woman had slipped out on him before he grew bored and dropped her, according to one “close palace source.” Another source contended that the prince was heartbroken but covering it with anger.

Ivy pressed a hand to her thundering heart. “Liar,” she said. She’d been right to leave without waking him the next morning, although it had been difficult to do.

He’d looked so handsome lying in the king-size bed, his hair mussed and a morning beard shadowing his face, his expression one of contentment. She’d contemplated kissing him goodbye, but she’d had a plane to catch and she wasn’t sure they could stop at one kiss.

Again passion flared at the memory. She clenched the steering wheel and closed her eyes, slowly winning control of the hunger running through her.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” a voice asked through the window.

She opened her eyes with a jerk and stared at the woman who’d been in line behind her. “Oh. Oh, yes. Thank you.” She smiled brightly, her heart pounding so hard she could hear each beat in her ears.

The woman, who looked fortyish and had a certain world-weariness in her eyes, smiled, too. “Take care of yourself,” she advised in a kindly tone and walked to a car in the next row.

Ivy composed herself and drove out of the parking lot to an apartment complex recently built on the outskirts of the city. Portland General Hospital was the next exit off the highway. At least she was close to medical care in case her heart gave out completely.

The cynical thought evaporated after she got inside her place, the door closed and locked as if a whole platoon of reporters might come charging after her.

She read the article again, then looked through the whole tabloid in case there was more information. There wasn’t. All the reporter really knew was that she and Max had had a late supper at the resort. And that the prince seemed to have been in a bad mood of late.

For a while she sat there in a stupor, shocked that the handsome, humorous, beguiling man she’d met wasn’t Max Hughes, a foreigner attending to business matters in Lantanya the same as she was. She stared at the grainy print as if that could change the images in the photo that was snapped without her knowledge six weeks and four days ago.

However, the woman, whose face was partially turned from the camera, was her, and the man, who was smiling right into the lens, was apparently the man who was due to be crowned Maxwell V, King of Lantanya, in a few weeks.

The tiny island country was nestled in the Adriatic Sea, a perfect Brigadoon hidden from the rest of the world and far from reality.

Way far from reality, she silently admitted, feeling beyond foolish. Her family was right to treat her like a baby. She needed a keeper.

Laying the paper on the coffee table and leaning her head on the sofa back, she closed her eyes and groaned. A playboy prince. She’d fallen right into the lying, deceitful arms of a playboy prince. A last fling before he assumed the duties of king?

Get real. Did leopards change their spots? He would simply move on to being a playboy king. And she’d fallen for his charm, his wit, his warmth…the timbre of his deep voice, the passion in his eyes, the odd glimpses of sadness in his expression…. She’d thought they were soul mates.

A lie. It had all been a lie. And she’d believed it. Every word. He must have thought it amusing—the naive American…the shy virgin….

“Ohhh,” she moaned and buried her face in her hands.

How could she have allowed herself to be taken in like that? She was smart. She’d graduated with honors in systems management and computer science. With her team of workers, she’d devised a brilliant network for the kingdom’s education program—

Oh, no! She would have to go back. She might even have to face him.

The plastic bag containing her purchases rattled against her leg as she shifted in despair. Slowly she removed a small square box and stared at it as if viewing a poison potion she was supposed to drink.

“The moment of truth,” she said to it.

This was indeed such a moment. It was time to confirm her direst suspicions and find out if her magical night of passion had left her with a little souvenir of the evening.

She dropped the satiric mood at the thought of a child, a sweet innocent who’d had no say in its conception, and laid a hand protectively over her abdomen.

Her home life hadn’t been great during her growing years. She’d wanted better for her children. A loving family. A faithful mate. Honor and integrity and caring. She had screwed up royally.

“Ha-ha,” she muttered at the unintended pun.

Rising, she walked down the short hallway to the master bedroom. Its furnishings didn’t comfort her as they usually did. She’d picked them out upon leaving the family mansion and moving to the apartment in a bid for independence shortly after agreeing to work at the family business.

Well, she’d needed a job. The dot-com where she’d started right out of college had made it four years before crashing. She’d learned a lot about computer systems during that time, so she was a valuable employee.

Not that anyone else thought so. Her fellow analysts thought she was a pretty face who’d gotten her position due to family connections. That much was true, in that her sister had pressured her to come into the company.

Ivy had gladly taken on the job of bringing Lantanya’s educational facilities into the twenty-first century when no one else had wanted the time-consuming task, which had included long flights across the Atlantic to Rome. She’d then had to take a puddle jumper, as some called the small jet, to Lantanya, which lay off the eastern coast of Italy in the Adriatic Sea, which was really an arm of the Mediterranean.

On the latest trip, she’d stayed in the tiny country for two months, then on her last night she’d met Max. Her own Prince Charming.

The royal liar, she dubbed him, seizing anger as a means to control the hurt she didn’t want to recognize.

Going into the bathroom, she closed the door and locked it behind her. Which was ridiculous since there was no one in the apartment but her.

Really, it was a tad late to be locking herself into bathrooms to ensure that she was alone. She should have done that six weeks and four days ago, in the middle of July when she was in Lantanya instead of the first Tuesday in September, back at her apartment in Portland, Oregon.

In reality, she should have returned home before she gave in to the madness that had danced through her like bubbles from the finest champagne. She frowned and opened the pregnancy kit.

A few minutes later she emerged, shaken and chastened. She studied the results again. There was no mistake. She was expecting a child, a royal baby…and heir to the House of von Husden.

Well, probably not. Illegitimate children didn’t inherit anything. She sighed shakily. As long as she kept the father a secret people might wonder about the sire, but her child wouldn’t be made to feel he or she had been rejected. She would see to that. She would love her child so much, he or she would never notice the lack of a father’s care.

Going out on the balcony, intending to think the situation through and come to a decision, she stared at the hills and thought of another place and another time….

“What do you think?” an amused male voice had asked.

Ivy had turned from the painting she’d been studying to the source of the question. A tall man, probably six feet or so, a good seven or eight inches taller than she was at any rate, stood a couple of feet behind her.

He had black hair and deep-brown eyes. His skin was tanned, making his smile brilliant. His face was lean, all hard planes and angles, but put together so the whole was very handsome. There was a hint of silver at his temples, lending a distinguished air to his appearance. In spite of that, she judged his age to be in the midthirties at most.

“I’m not sure what to think,” she admitted, turning back to the painting so she wouldn’t stare at the alluring stranger. “I’m sure the artist has a point, but I don’t think I get it.”

“Same here,” her fellow museum visitor agreed. “I like faces in the ordinary arrangement. Which can sometimes be quite lovely.”

He gazed at her appreciatively.

A slight disappointment rose in her. Just another Lothario, she deduced. “Yes,” she said coolly, as if speaking of the picture, and walked on to the next gilt-framed oil.

“I’ve offended you. I’m sorry. You are quite lovely, you know, but I’ll try to refrain from mentioning it again.”

His candor surprised her, causing her to meet his eyes. His smile was so engaging, she had to return it.

“There’s a wing on this side that I think you might enjoy more,” he said, gesturing to a wide, elaborately framed wooden archway and bowing in a brief but stately manner. He didn’t try to guide her or touch her in any way.

“Ah,” she murmured at the doorway.

A huge painting of flowers, done in the loveliest hues imaginable, was the focal point at the end of the gallery.

“It’s like stepping into a garden, isn’t it?” he said softly. “You can almost feel the warmth of the sunshine striking the treetops, then the coolness of the shade as you walk into the shadow of the leaf canopy.”

The oddest thing was that she could. She looked at him in amazement. His smile…oh, his smile. It knew everything she was thinking….

Returning to the present, Ivy stared at the colors of the sunset lightly grazing the maple trees on the lawn and the alders closer to the creek that separated the residential complex from the golf course. The creek flowed into the Columbia River that had awed Lewis and Clark on their expedition. A much smaller river ran from the Lantanya mountains where the resort was perched down to the wine-colored sea where St. Ansellmo, the capital city of the island kingdom, lay against the shore.

She and the man who introduced himself as Max Hughes had wandered through the rest of the museum and taken tea in the garden there. They’d had the place to themselves. It had seemed as if they were the only people in the world as they talked. He’d admitted he liked to sketch the odd scene now and then, even to paint if he had time.

“Like Churchill,” she’d said, “something to relax you.”

“What do you do in your spare time?” he’d asked.

“Read. Go on long walks. Work on computer programs.”

That was when he’d questioned her about her work. She’d told him about Crosby Systems and her job in Lantanya. He’d been keenly interested and had asked a thousand questions. When she’d asked, he said he was in business, too, mostly as a consultant. His manner had been sardonic as he admitted that last one.

Consultant? Yes, if one stretched the definition of king. Maybe he was more of a figurehead than a ruler, though.

Not that it mattered to her. He’d walked her partway back to the resort, then had to leave for a meeting. She’d been disappointed as she wound her way up the steep slope to the castle-like building on a rocky promontory.

“I’ll see you again,” he’d promised, briefly lifting her hand to his lips.

And he had.

Hearing music from a car passing on the street, Ivy was thrust back into the recent past and that magic night….

A cool breeze blew off the sea and music that filled her soul wafted over her as she’d stood on the patio and observed the very last of the colors in the sunset sink into the sea. She’d been alone.

“Let’s not waste the music,” an amused voice said from the shadows.

A man, tall, with dark hair and eyes and a brilliant smile, stepped into view. Max held his hands out and she stepped into them as if they’d done this a thousand times before. The music rose and throbbed and they dipped and swayed to the notes, wrapped in the magic of it all.

When it stopped, they did, too. They dropped their arms, but didn’t move away.

“That was enchanting,” he murmured, his gaze warm and filled with laughter as he studied her.

“I feel like an enchanted princess,” she said, then looked at him quickly to see if she’d been too bold.

“And I, your devoted knight,” he murmured, a devilish light in his eyes. He executed a smart little bow.

On impulse she nodded regally, her mouth curling with laughter at their acting. And the fact that he’d returned.

“Your meeting, did it go well?” she asked.

He shrugged. “It is concluded.” His smile flashed again. “Please, Your Highness,” he begged, “give me some daring feat to perform so that I may show my devotion and my sorrow that I had to leave you this afternoon.”

She looked around the darkened patio, at the sky, then the capital city lying on the coast, its lights glittering like jewels. On a nearby trellis, she saw what she wanted.

“Sir Knight, there is one thing, a rose, the most perfect bloom of them all, that I crave, but it is out of my reach.”

“Show it to me and it shall be yours.” He dropped to his knee. “Or by my honor and my good name, I shall perish in the attempt.”

“Nay,” she whispered, held by the strong, sensuous line of his lips. “You shall not perish. I won’t allow it.”

“Then tell me where it is.”

“There.” She turned from him and the allure of his smile, of his eyes and the fires that now burned hotly in those dark depths. Pointing to the highest branch and the farthest rose that wafted beyond the stone of the patio’s walls, she waited breathlessly to see what he would do.

“An easy task,” he told her.

He leaped to a chair, a table, then the top of the wall. Without testing the support of the trellis, he stepped upon it and climbed upward, careful of the thorny vines. When he was as high as he could go, he leaned out…and out…and out…

For a moment it seemed to her that he hung between earth and air, attached to neither, as the land dropped sharply off the bluff where the resort was built. Then he deftly plucked the rose she’d indicated, leaped back to the wall, then onto the patio and, again kneeling on one foot, presented the prize to her.

When she hesitated, feeling it was too intimate a gift, he stood and moved close. “You cannot refuse,” he said in a low, husky voice, “when I have risked all for it. And for you.”

He removed the thorns from the stem and tucked the pure white rose into the bosom of her blouse.

“That is where it belongs, next to your heart,” he said in the same tone that sent sprinkles of stardust swirling down to the innermost parts of her.

The music began again, and they danced without speaking for a long time. From the town a clock struck the hour, a plangent vibration that echoed in her heart with each peal.

“Midnight,” she whispered.

“Must you leave?”

She shook her head and looked at her feet, half expecting to find glass slippers. He followed her gaze.

His chuckle made her laugh, too. “We are foolish together, but it is fun, yes?”

She nodded. They danced some more, then went inside for a late supper. Over the meal, they talked about everything. Their lives. Their early dreams. Then later ones. Their sorrows. His mother had died two years ago, his father last fall. Max had traveled the world since then, but there had been no escaping the mourning. He had loved them very much.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, taking his hand and pressing it to her cheek. “My parents are divorced, but at least I still have them both. And a stepmother.”

“She doesn’t like you?” His eyes became dangerous.

“Oh, yes. She’s very nice.”

“But?” When she looked at him perplexed, he added, “There’s always more after such faint praise.”

“Well, she’s always been closer to my sister, Katie. Katie’s a year older than I am and my best friend. I’m the baby of the family. They treat me like a pet.”

He laughed at that and playfully patted her head. She snarled and pretended to bite his hand. Then they fell silent and simply observed each other over the flicker of the candle.

“I have a suite,” he finally said. “I will make for you the most delicious dessert. Will you come with me and let me serve you, sweet princess of the rose?”

She nodded.

He stood and took her hand, helping her from the chair, then they drifted up the marble stairs and along a silent corridor until they came to two magnificent doors carved with two lions raised on their hind legs, their forepaws touching as they gazed fiercely at the onlooker.

“Lions rampant,” he said, seeing her interest. “From the royal crest.”

“A crest, like a family crest, dukes and all that?”

“Or a king, yes. The lions depict a battle between two brothers of the same house. After nearly killing each other, they decided to join forces and save the kingdom from outsiders, hence the two lions.”

“Is that what happened in Lantanya?” she asked.

He nodded, then swung open one of the doors, disclosing an opulent room of crystal chandeliers, polished black granite and mirrors softly reflecting the view from every wall. She was speechless. Not even her father’s house was this grand.

“This is magnificent. Who are you?” she asked, knowing she must look like a wide-eyed naif.

“Just a man,” he said, turning her toward him and holding her lightly, carefully in his arms. “One who has been enchanted by moonlight and music…and one very special rose.”

She shivered at the intensity in his voice and looked away as the innate shyness possessed her.

“You are a shy princess,” he murmured.

“Yes. Katie and I are the quiet ones,” she explained, referring to her sibling. “We have two brothers, both older. Trent is CEO of the company. Danny…well, he’s been living in seclusion since too many tragedies took their toll on him.”

“I see.” He took her hand. “Now about that dessert.” Ivy was glad he picked up on the fact that discussing Danny was too personal.

In a kitchen that had more marble and polished granite than a museum, he prepared cherries jubilee. After flipping out the lights and setting the cherries aflame, he spooned the concoction over ice cream and set a large bowl in front of her.

“I can’t possibly eat this much,” she protested.

He handed her a silver spoon with the lion crest and took one for himself. “Not alone perhaps. I shall help.”

With her sitting on one side of a marble counter and him standing on the other, they ate spoonfuls of the dessert when the flames died and gazed at each other, their eyes saying more than the few words they shared. Soon the treat was gone.

When she started to pat her mouth one last time with the linen napkin, he caught her hand, then kissed her with the greatest tenderness she’d ever known.

Underscoring the tenderness was the passion.

She sensed it in him as a great force, a river that ran silently and deep, a part of his being, and she knew instinctively that it was more than desire, although that was there, too.

She gave herself to the kiss and to the passion and the desire…and to him….