Читать книгу The Rebel Prince - Raye Morgan - Страница 10

EMMA gasped, feeling dizzy. She was used to verbal rages between people. They happened all the time in her very volatile family. But physical confrontations were different. Were these two very large men actually going to fight?

Monty’s body seemed to be a symphony of muscles all working together taking a form a Greek statue would have envied. His legs looked like steel and his arms bulged in places she hadn’t known she liked to see bulges. And the sense she got of things barely covered by that tiny black swimsuit made her blush and suddenly, to her surprise, she had to catch her breath.

But she couldn’t tear her gaze away. Monty was just so beautiful. The only flaw seemed to be a long ridged scar from just beneath his ribs down toward his hip-bone, as though a knife had…

She shuddered, not wanting to think what might have made it. And at the same moment Monty grimaced and seemed to clutch at the scar area.

Will stopped wrestling immediately. “That still bothering you?” he asked, frowning.

Monty shrugged, straightening slowly. “It grabs now and then. Mostly it’s okay,” he said dismissively. “It doesn’t stop me from doing much.”

Still, it was obvious that the so-called fight was truly over.

“You ought to get the scar tissue massaged periodically,” Will told him. “It’s probably building up calcium deposits. A little massage with Vitamin E should help break it down again.”

Monty nodded, rubbing the scar with his hand as though that were relieving pain. “If it hadn’t been for this, you’d be in the pool by now,” he said, threatening his friend mockingly.

Will grinned and turned to Emma.

“It’s touching how protective he is of the prince,” he explained to her as he held off the other man’s by now halfhearted attack. “I’m afraid I take a more realistic view.”

“Your view of everything will be quite damp if you keep it up,” Sebastian warned him. “You got off easy this time.”

Will didn’t look particularly chastened, but he did glance at the pool, then grinned at his friend.

“Okay, you win. No more about the prince. I’ve got doctor stuff to do. Let me talk to the young lady, if you please.”

Monty let him go with some reluctance, glared at him a moment longer, then stood back and made a sweeping bow. “Be my guest.”

Emma sighed with relief as Will stepped around him rather gingerly, then smiled at his patient. Even though their entire battle had had the choreographed look of something they had done many times before, probably beginning in childhood, she was glad it was over.

And she was glad it was Will who was coming to her side. There was something nice and comforting about the doctor. She was pretty sure she was going to like him.

Monty, on the other hand, was beginning to make her distinctly uncomfortable. There was something sharp and edgy about him. He was nice to look at, but in a hard, scary way that disturbed her. His golden eyes seemed to see too much and to scorn much of what he saw. His full, beautifully defined lips seemed to stretch more often in disdain than in smiling. There was a ruthless, wild quality in him, something she’d first noticed when he was wrestling with Will. She suddenly thought of what he reminded her of—an untamed horse, a stallion that was beautiful to watch, but frightening to get too close to.

“Well, Emma, your vital signs seem normal. You’ve got a lump on your scalp. I assume it marks the spot where you hit the ground rather than where the ball hit you. Either way, it’s a rather simple scalp trauma and you’ve sustained a bit of a concussion. You’ll need to be checked on over the next twenty-four hours.”

She nodded. That seemed to fit with her picture of what was going on here.

“I don’t see anything especially serious. However, your lethargic reaction is a bit troubling. Before making a diagnosis, I always like to ask the patient himself what he…or she…thinks has brought something like this on. What do you think might have caused it?”

She shrugged. “Overwork, I guess. Lack of sleep. Stress.”

He frowned. “What are you doing that might be causing all this stress?”

That was an easy one. Ever since she’d been offered this contract, she’d been obsessed with every detail, working as hard as she ever had in her life to make sure she came through and didn’t embarrass herself, her restaurant, or—most of all—her father.

And there was more, of course. It had been a crazy summer so far, with her beloved grandfather William dying in June. Because of strained relations with her own father and a schizophrenic connection with her mother, she’d clung to the older man at times, soaking up his love and responding in kind. His death had been natural, but a sorrowful one for his huge extended family. His sad funeral had been a sort of reunion for the remaining Valentine clan, conjuring up all sorts of emotions that had been papered over for years. With so much going on, sometimes she felt as though she were running at full scream level without the sound.

But she couldn’t tell him all of that. Much easier to keep it simple.

“My job,” she said, nodding confidently. “I’ve been staying up late preparing for this special assignment for weeks now. I work all day as chef at a restaurant in London and study half the night. Then when I finally do go to bed, my heart is still racing like a hamster on his little wheel, running faster and faster. I don’t seem to be able to slow down again.”

“So the more tired you get, the less you sleep.”

“It seems that way.”

“Yet you had no trouble falling asleep on this hard tile floor.”

She crinkled her nose, thinking. “It was…pleasant. Sort of like taking a vacation from real life, lying here with my eyes closed.” She managed a weak smile. “I started to think a little temporary coma might be nice.”

He shook his head. “No comas. You might start liking them too much.”

He was right. She needed to get back into reality. Gathering all her strength, she sat up fully.

“Hey, take it easy,” Will said, reaching out to steady her.

And there it was again, that deep, provocative tingle that made her gasp. The man’s hands were like magic. Black magic. There was something in his touch that tempted her to curl herself into his arms, inviting more, but she stopped herself quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed her reaction—or her automatic recoil once she’d realized what was happening.

“I’m fine, really.” She looked up into his face, then away again quickly. “Just…just a little woozy.”

Will nodded, thinking for a moment. “I don’t want to give you anything—no pills, no shots. In my experience, things like that often create more new problems while hardly dealing with the old ones. I leave the drugs to last resort.” He paused. “What I would like is for you to take a nice long nap,” he said at last, looking into her eyes gravely.

“I’d like that too,” she said, feeling a little as though she might cry if she didn’t watch it. Emotions were bubbling inside her and she didn’t have the strength to try to sort them out as yet. “But I can’t. I’ve got to get back to work. I just went off for a walk to find a cooler place than the kitchen for a bit. I’m sure they all wonder what on earth happened to me. Especially the housekeeper.”

“I’ll let them know.” Will started to help her to her feet. “I’m going to take you to your room. Doctor’s orders.”

Monty rose as well. “I’ll come too.”

She started to shake her head, horrified, but Will beat her to it.

“No, you won’t. You can’t wander around the castle in your swimsuit like you do on your yachts. There are sensibilities to be considered. Maids will be fainting in the halls.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

But Will was serious. “Monty, you’re not who you used to be. You have a new position and you’ve got to maintain some decorum.”

Emma wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but she knew she wanted to get away from Monty and his cool gaze as soon as possible. She could tell he was bristling.

“So now you’re ordering me around?” he said coldly to his friend.

Will nodded. “I’m sure you’ll give me this much leeway,” he said softly. “For old times’ sake.”

Monty stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged and turned to Emma. “Where’s your room?” he asked her.

Her eyes widened. “I have no idea. I get lost every time I turn a corner in this place.”

“How are you going to find it again if you don’t know where it is?”

“Someone will tell us,” Will said.

“It’s very high up,” Emma added, trying to be helpful. “A nice room. The sort of place that feels like if they locked me in and I grew my hair long…”

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel?” Monty’s look of irritation stung. “There you go with the fairy tales again.” His gaze raked over her. “All right, go with Will. I’ll check on you later.”

“Monty…” Will began in a warning tone.

“You can keep your opinions to yourself,” Monty ordered, giving his friend a look that registered something close to disgust. “You don’t have to worry. She’s clearly not my type at all.”

Will made a scoffing sound in his throat. “She’s female, isn’t she?” he said softly, plainly not meaning the comment for Emma to hear.

But she’d heard all right, and her mind had cleared enough to know that she wanted to avoid a room visit from this man at all costs.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she said quickly, stepping a bit closer to Will. “The doctor will handle it.”

He stared at her and she realized she’d been a little too obvious in her anxiety. No emotion showed in his eyes, but she could feel his hostility.

“As you wish,” he said evenly. “Goodbye, Emma Valentine.”

Reaching out, he took her hand and bent from the waist to brush her fingers with his lips. “Until we meet again.”

He left her breathless but at least he was gone.

“What did he do that for?” she asked Will as they started toward the castle elevator. Her hand was tingling and she rubbed it against her shorts.

“He likes to keep us all on our toes by doing the unexpected,” Will told her cheerfully.

He’d certainly fulfilled that image today, she thought with some irritation.

“You’re the castle physician,” she said to the doctor. “What does Monty do?”

“Monty?” He chuckled. “You might say Monty is a servant to us all.”

She frowned, wishing she could really get rid of all the cobwebs so she could understand better what was going on around her. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“All in due time, my dear. All in due time.”

She was lost. Again.

“They should hand out maps at the door of this place,” she muttered in frustration as she hurried down one hall and then up another, hoping to see something familiar—anything at all.

It would also have helped if there had been someone to ask for directions, but the halls she went racing down were empty. Maybe she was lost in a ghost castle.

But she knew better. It had only been a half-hour before that she’d had a visit from Myrna Luk, the castle housekeeper.

“Well, he’s done it again,” she’d said as she breezed into Emma’s room. A pretty woman in her late forties, she seemed harried and overworked but managed to keep a friendly look on her face, which was more than most of the staff had welcomed Emma with.

“Who’s done what?” Emma asked, reaching for her white uniform, anxious to show that she was ready to join in after having been AWOL for so long. She’d had a wonderful long nap and was feeling very much herself again. Dr Will had been to check on her and had been pleased with her condition. So things were looking up.

“The prince, of course. Prince Sebastian.” The housekeeper put a hand up to smooth down the curls of her dark brown hair. “He’s here, crept in on us unannounced. The level of service for dinner will have to be raised. It won’t just be the duke and the duchess. It will be the prince as well.” She began counting out diners on her fingers. “And the Italian ambassador, so they tell me, along with his wife and sister. The chancellor of the treasury, the minister of defense and his wife. And of course, Romas, the old duke’s son, and…let’s see…”

“The prince is here?”

Emma was suddenly nervous. She’d been ready to meet the prince and begin working out menus with him, but when they had told her he wouldn’t arrive until the weekend she’d been disappointed, but secretly a little relieved. That gave her a little more time. And now he was here after all, and she didn’t feel prepared.

“Yes, he’s here. And us being so shorthanded. So the chef tells me.” The housekeeper looked at Emma speculatively. “I know it’s not what you’re here for but you might as well pitch in. After all, you need to get the lay of the land and see how things are done around here. So…do you mind working with Chef Henri?”

“No. No, of course not.”

Emma was amenable but she wondered how Chef Henri would take it. When she’d met the man the night before she’d had the distinct impression he would have liked to see her filleted along with the fish course. Actually, she’d come face to face with a wall of hostility from most of the kitchen staff. It had been evident right away that they greatly resented that she’d been chosen as chef to the coronation over someone home-grown.

“You look a little tired,” Myrna Luk was saying. “And Dr Will filled me in on your situation. Sure you’re up to this?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

Regardless of how she felt, she had to be up to it. After all, this was the housekeeper, the only person on the staff who had actually been nice to her so far, asking for help. If she couldn’t come through for her, she might as well give up and go home.

“How are you getting on?” Myrna asked, looking her over a bit more closely.

Emma hesitated, tempted to tell her the truth—that the staff was treating her like a redheaded stepchild. But what, after all, was that going to get her—except more antagonism from them? Anyway, this was her job and she had to take care of it herself.

“Quite fine, thank you.”

“Wonderful. Then I’ll tell Chef Henri that you’re willing.”

“Yes.”

Willing, surely. But able? That remained to be seen.

Though she was refreshed from the best sleep she’d had in a week, she still hadn’t gone over what had happened that morning and come to terms with it. That would have to come later. Right now, she needed to find that darn elevator, or maybe some stairs, and get to the kitchen.

She turned a corner and there it was. The ancient elevator. Sighing with relief, she hurried up and pushed the button. The elevator lumbered toward her with much creaking and clashing of metal against metal, giving her qualms. And then the doors slid open.

“Oh, no!”

The reaction slipped out before she could stop it, for there stood the very man she most wanted to avoid seeing again.

He didn’t look any happier to see her.

“Well, come on, get on board,” he said gruffly. “I won’t bite.” One eyebrow rose. “Though I might nibble a little,” he added, mostly to amuse himself.

But she wasn’t paying any attention to what he was saying. She was staring at him, taking in the royal-blue uniform he was wearing, with gold braid and glistening badges decorating the sleeves, epaulettes and upright collar. Ribbons and medals covered the breast of the short, fitted jacket. A gold-encrusted sabre hung at his side. And suddenly it was clear to her who this man really was.

She gulped wordlessly. Reaching out, he took her elbow and pulled her aboard. The doors slid closed. And finally she found her tongue.

“You…you’re the prince.”

He nodded, barely glancing at her. “Yes. Of course.”

She raised a hand and covered her mouth for a moment. “I should have known.”

“Of course you should have. I don’t know why you didn’t.” He punched the ground-floor button to get the elevator moving again, then turned to look down at her. “A relatively bright five-year-old child would have tumbled to the truth right away.”

Her shock faded as her indignation at his tone asserted itself. He might be the prince, but he was still just as annoying as he had been earlier that day.

“A relatively bright five-year-old child without a bump on the head from a badly thrown water-polo ball, maybe,” she said defensively. She wasn’t feeling woozy any longer and she wasn’t about to let him bully her, no matter how royal he was. “I was unconscious half the time.”

“And just clueless the other half, I guess,” he said, looking bemused.

The arrogance of the man was really galling.

“I suppose you think your ‘royalness’ is so obvious it sort of shimmers around you for all to see?” she challenged. “Or, better yet, oozes from your pores like…like sweat on a hot day?”

“Something like that,” he acknowledged calmly. “Most people tumble to it pretty quickly. In fact, it’s hard to hide even when I want to avoid dealing with it.”

“Poor baby,” she said, still resenting his manner. “I guess that works better with injured people who are half asleep.” Looking at him, she felt a strange emotion she couldn’t identify. It was as though she wanted to prove something to him, but she wasn’t sure what. “And anyway, you know you did your best to fool me,” she added.

His brows knit together as though he really didn’t know what she was talking about. “I didn’t do a thing.”

“You told me your name was Monty.”

“It is.” He shrugged. “I have a lot of names. Some of them are too rude to be spoken to my face, I’m sure.” He glanced at her sideways, his hand on the hilt of his sabre. “Perhaps you’re contemplating one of those right now.”

You bet I am.

That was what she would like to say. But it suddenly occurred to her that she was supposed to be working for this man. If she wanted to keep the job of coronation chef, maybe she’d better keep her opinions to herself. So she clamped her mouth shut, took a deep breath, and looked away, trying hard to calm down.

The elevator ground to a halt and the doors slid open laboriously. She moved to step forward, hoping to make her escape, but his hand shot out again and caught her elbow.

“Wait a minute. You’re a woman,” he said, as though that thought had just presented itself to him.

“That’s a rare ability for insight you have there, Your Highness,” she snapped before she could stop herself. And then she winced. She was going to have to do better than that if she was going to keep this relationship on an even keel.

But he was ignoring her dig. Nodding, he stared at her with a speculative gleam in his golden eyes. “I’ve been looking for a woman, but you’ll do.”

She blanched, stiffening. “I’ll do for what?”

He made a head gesture in a direction she knew was opposite of where she was going and his grip tightened on her elbow.

“Come with me,” he said abruptly, making it an order.

She dug in her heels, thinking fast. She didn’t much like orders. “Wait! I can’t. I have to get to the kitchen.”

“Not yet. I need you.”

“You what?” Her breathless gasp of surprise was soft, but she knew he’d heard it.

“I need you,” he said firmly. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I’m not planning to throw you into the hay and have my way with you. I need you for something a bit more mundane than that.”

She felt color rushing into her cheeks and she silently begged it to stop. Here she was, formless and stodgy in her chef’s whites. No makeup, no stiletto heels. Hardly the picture of the femme fatale he was undoubtedly used to. The likelihood that he would have any carnal interest in her was remote at best. To have him think she was hysterically defending her virtue was humiliating.

“Well, what if I don’t want to go with you?” she said in hopes of deflecting his attention from her blush.

“Too bad.”

“What?”

Amusement sparkled in his eyes. He was certainly enjoying this. And that only made her more determined to resist him.

“I’m the prince, remember? And we’re in the castle. My orders take precedence. It’s that old pesky divine rights thing.”

Her jaw jutted out. Despite her embarrassment, she couldn’t let that pass.

“Over my free will? Never!”

Exasperation filled his face.

“Hey, call out the historians. Someone will write a book about you and your courageous principles.” His eyes glittered sardonically. “But in the meantime, Emma Valentine, you’re coming with me.”