Читать книгу The Prince and The Marriage Pact - Valerie Parv, Valerie Parv - Страница 11

Ignoring the startled reaction of his sister, Princess Giselle, and the other wedding guests, Maxim began issuing orders. He refused an aide’s offer to take the girl from him, and carried her through the corridors to the infirmary himself.

The castle had never seemed larger, he thought, aware of the slightness of the woman in his arms. She had reacted more swiftly to the effects of the Janus lily than anyone he’d ever known. If not for the feel of her heart thudding as he cradled her against his chest, he would have feared the worst.

Cursing himself for letting her delay seeking treatment, he gave a huge sigh of relief as he saw the doctor hurrying to meet him. A couple of medical staff followed with a stretcher.

Maxim surrendered his burden to them, aware of a strong reluctance to do so, although that made no sense. He knew she had brought the problem upon herself by trespassing in the royal apartments, but the condemnation he expected to feel wouldn’t come. Instead, he felt only a gnawing anxiety that refused to dissipate.

The doctor was heading back toward the infirmary as Maxim briefed him on Annegret’s encounter with the plant. When they reached the small but state-of-the-art facility, the antidote was produced within seconds.

Maxim felt his breath hiss out as the shot pierced Annegret’s translucent skin. She stirred slightly as if feeling the sting. Perhaps she wasn’t as deeply unconscious as she looked.

He found he was right. A few seconds later, her eyelids fluttered open. “That champagne really packs a kick,” she murmured.

“So does the Janus lily,” he reminded her gently.

Her eyes widened fully and she uncurled her hand in front of her face, inspecting the damage. “Does it hit everybody like that?”

He shook his head. “You must be particularly susceptible.”

She lowered the hand, wincing when it pained her. “Remind me to stay away from them from now on.”

He suspected she wouldn’t need reminding. He turned to the doctor hovering at his shoulder. “How long before the antidote takes full effect?”

“Almost immediately, but because of the severity of the reaction, I advise keeping her here overnight for observation,” the doctor said.

“I don’t need to stay here. I’m fine, really.” She struggled to sit up, then fell back against the pillow.

“So I see.” Maxim addressed the doctor. “You have my permission to keep Miss West here as long as medically necessary.”

“What about my permission?” she asked tartly.

He folded his arms over his chest. “After researching royalty for your documentaries, you should know that our word is invariably law.”

“You mean you ride roughshod over everybody because you can.”

He felt the corners of his mouth twitch, but kept his expression severe. “Take it as you like, as long as you remain here.”

Her tantalizing mouth curved into a shaky smile, her defiance plain even when she must be feeling hellish. “You realize you’re confirming everything I’ve ever written about royalty?” she asked softly.

Something snagged deep inside him, something more than admiration for her resilience. He resisted, wondering at the same time why he had to work so hard to do so. Some defiance of his own made him ask, “Isn’t that what you came to Carramer for?”

Anger flashed across her delicate features. She started to rise again, but he caught her shoulders and made her lie back, the “something” gaining strength as he touched her. He pulled his hands away as if singed.

When he straightened, she rocked her head to one side, avoiding his gaze. “I came for Donna and Kevin’s wedding.”

“And afterward?”

“A holiday.”

“And then?”

“All right, I had some thought of researching the Champagne Pact for my TV series.”

If she hadn’t felt so terrible, Annegret knew she wouldn’t have made the admission so readily. In her experience, people were more open if they didn’t know her purpose, at least not at first. Ethics demanded that she identify herself at some point, but she hadn’t lied to the prince. She had come to his country for Donna’s sake.

As teenagers, she and Donna had sworn a childish oath to attend one another’s weddings, imagining the handsome men who would one day sweep them off their feet. It had happened to Donna. For herself, Annegret wasn’t sure it was ever going to. Prince Maxim might look like the magnificent specimen who had starred in her young dreams, but there the resemblance ended.

He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Was that why you were snooping around, looking for the painting?”

She felt a flash of annoyance. “I wasn’t snooping. No one stopped me from exploring, so I did.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t argue with you.” His tone said the security lapse would be fixed so it wouldn’t happen again. Heads would roll, she didn’t doubt.

She didn’t want it to be on her account. “Please don’t hold your people responsible. I was the one at fault.” Fleetingly, she wondered what her colleagues back home would say if they could hear their take-no-prisoners boss pleading with royalty.

His jaw hardened. “Nonetheless, they are responsible. However, since the same circumstances are unlikely to occur again, a reprimand should suffice.”

She couldn’t help herself. “It must be nice having so much power,” she said dryly.

Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he observed, “The same might be said about you.”

Given that she was the one lying flat on her back on a hospital bed, even one as luxurious as this, she was puzzled, and said so.

He freed a hand to gesture elegantly. “In your line of work, you reach millions of people with your belief that royalty is parasitical and unproductive.”

“I never said that.”

“You imply it every time you deal with the subject.”

Since it was what she believed, she couldn’t argue. But his suggestion that she was one-sided in her handling of it stung more than the doctor’s shot. “I haven’t had much luck convincing your peers to tell their side of the story.”

His gimlet gaze skewered her. “Our side?”

She shifted restively, wishing their relative positions didn’t put her at such a disadvantage. She settled for raising herself higher on the pillow. This time he didn’t try to restrain her. Pity. “There you go,” she stated. “You don’t feel you have anything to prove, do you?”

“Not to you.”

“What about to the people who believe royalty is a relic of the past?”

“Preaching to the converted isn’t the same as presenting a balanced viewpoint.”

She felt another flash of annoyance. He had a knack for touching sore spots, she’d noticed. That wasn’t all he touched. The way he looked at her now, arrogant enough to prove his point and yet self-assured enough not to care, made her mouth go dry.

He wore a designer suit that skimmed the taut lines of his body. Handmade shoes polished to a mirror shine. Every hair was in place except for an errant curl escaping across his high forehead. That curl managed to make him look distractingly human, and she felt her hand stir, wanting to brush it back for him.

Resolutely she folded her fingers into a fist, burying it in the cashmere blanket she was resting on. “Are you accusing me of bias, Your Highness?”

“If the shoe fits.”

Instead of the ire she expected to feel, satisfaction poured through her. “You realize what you’ve done? Now you have to give me an interview about the Champagne Pact.” She played her trump card. “For balance.”

He waited long enough for his silence to tell her he didn’t have to do anything. “I’ll consider it,” he said finally. “In the meantime, you’re to rest.”

In truth, she needed to rest, but not here. “I don’t have anything with me for an overnight stay.”

“The staff will provide for your needs. Are you hungry?”

By rights her reaction to the plant venom should have killed her appetite. It hadn’t. “A little,” she admitted.

“I’ll have a meal sent in to you.”

This had gone far enough. “Now that your doctor’s potion has done its job, I’d prefer to return to my hotel. I can rest there as easily as I can here. If it makes you feel better, you can provide a limo for me and a guard to make sure I get there.”

The prince stepped closer, looming over her. “I have a better idea. You can spend the night in one of the guest suites, where the doctor will be on call.”

It was an improvement on remaining where she was. “Very well.”

“And dine with me.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

More than she had already done, his expression telegraphed more effectively than words. “Think nothing of it. I’ll give the orders. When you’re recovered enough to move, someone will escort you to me.”

“I’m ready now.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, gripping the edge when the room swam around her. She didn’t resist when he turned her shoulders and eased her back onto the pillow. “Well, maybe in a little while,” she conceded, alarmed at feeling so weak.

He smiled. “Take all the time you need.”

She let her eyes drift shut and the room slowly steadied. She heard the prince talking to the doctor, but felt too enervated to focus on what they were saying. She should be pleased with herself. She had gained something that had long eluded her—an honest-to-goodness prince who was willing to talk about royal life from the inside. If she could convince him to do it on camera, she would have an award-winning program.

Not a bad payoff for getting herself attacked by a carnivorous plant, she thought as her senses shut down.

She awoke feeling disoriented. Then memory flooded back. She sat up cautiously, but the room stayed steady. The doctor’s potion and a long rest had done their work. “What time is it?” she asked the nurse who came in and checked a chart at the foot of her bed.

The woman dropped a hand to Annegret’s wrist and counted beats before saying, “It’s almost six.”

Watching the nurse make a note on the chart, Annegret asked, “Six in the evening?”

The nurse replaced the chart. “You slept so soundly, Prince Maxim ordered that you not be disturbed.”

Warmth infused Annegret. She had dreamed of Maxim standing over her, taking her hand. Had it only been a dream? “Was he here while I was asleep?”

“Twice. Would you like to freshen up? He had someone fetch your things from the Hotel de Merrisand. They’ll be conveyed to your suite as soon as you are discharged from the infirmary.”

Annegret was sure she hadn’t told him the name of her hotel, and she most certainly hadn’t given permission for anyone to go into her room. “How did he…”

“He is the prince,” the nurse said, as if it explained everything.

Perhaps it did. At least Annegret could be thankful he hadn’t gone to her hotel room himself. She found it easier to think of a stranger touching her personal belongings, than to imagine Maxim doing it. It would be like having him touch her.

A shudder rippled through her, earning a concerned look from the nurse. “Are you sure you feel all right?”

Did heated skin and a light head count as all right? Aftereffects of her misadventure, Annegret assured herself. Nothing more. Certainly nothing that would justify fantasizing about Maxim.

“I’ll be fine after I’ve showered and changed,” she said, levering herself gingerly off the bed. Picking up her bag, she moved toward a doorway that she could see opened onto an adjoining bathroom.

Half an hour later, greatly refreshed and wearing a white three-quarter-sleeve top and a black lace skirt, she emerged to find the bed tidied and the chart gone. On the pillow lay a single, long-stemmed red rose and a card bearing the royal crest. With her heart beating ridiculously fast, she picked up the card. “When you’re ready, you’ll be escorted to my apartment, although I believe you already know the way.”

No signature. She held the rose to her face, breathing in the heady fragrance. If Maxim was trying to make a favorable impression, he was succeeding. It wouldn’t influence how she portrayed him in her program, but she had to grant that His Royal Highness had style.

The corridors the uniformed footman led her along were steeped in shadows. Air-conditioning kept the temperature constant, so she must be imagining a chill from the thick stone walls, she told herself as she followed the servant. “What is Prince Maxim really like?” she asked the man.

“He is the prince.”

The same answer the nurse had given her in the infirmary, as if it explained everything about him. “How does he spend his time?” she tried again.

“Administering the Merrisand Trust demands most of His Highness’s time.”

She knew that the trust raised millions of dollars to help children in need. “Surely the prince’s staff do most of the work?” she prompted.

“The prince involves himself directly in the day-to-day running of the trust,” the man said a little stiffly.

So he wasn’t a figurehead. “But what is he really like?” she persisted, not sure that research was her only motivation. “What are his hobbies?”

The man hesitated, as if unsure how much to reveal. Evidently deciding it wouldn’t undermine the stability of the crown, he said, “His Highness has a passion for cartography—old maps.”

Her irritation rose. “I know what cartography is.”

“He is also a master astronomer. The Mount Granet Observatory he founded is one of the largest privately owned facilities in the southern hemisphere.”

The prince as a stargazer? The idea was almost too romantic—and unsettling. Because it doesn’t fit your preconceived notion of him? she asked herself. Surely she wasn’t so prejudiced against royalty that she couldn’t deal with Maxim as a human being?

They had reached the royal apartments, so she was about to find out.

The footman announced her as formally as if she was making an entrance at a ball, but as soon as he bowed his way out, Maxim came to her side, looking relaxed and, she was forced to admit, devastatingly attractive.

In contrast to his appearance at the wedding that morning, he was casually dressed in charcoal pants and an olive-green, open-necked shirt. The faintest shadow darkened his chin, and light from the wall sconces shot his ebony hair with silver glints. He was going to age handsomely, she thought, gulping in air.

Not that he didn’t look compelling enough now as he took her hand and inspected the dressing covering her palm. “How do you feel?”

“Refreshed after my rest, thank you, Your Highness.” It had been the truth until he touched her. Now she felt a shiver grip her. When he released her, she realized she had been holding her breath.

“Call me Maxim.” He led the way through the apartment to a brightly lit kitchen. “Hungry?”

She looked around. “You’re cooking?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“But I thought…”

“That I’d have servants bring us food on silver salvers? I do that, too. But occasionally I enjoy preparing something for myself. My sister says it keeps me humble.”

Annegret rested her forearms on a countertop, glad of the barrier between them. She had been introduced to his sister, Princess Giselle, at the wedding. Both Maxim and his sister seemed unexpectedly approachable, but Annegret thought humble was stretching things. “Now, that I definitely have trouble picturing,” she said.

His eyes sparkled. “Giselle agrees with you. Will ordinary do?”

He couldn’t be that, either. Confusing messages assailed her. As a prince he was far more down-to-earth than she had expected. But neither could she deny the luxuriousness of their surroundings. He might be tossing ingredients into a soufflé dish, but he was doing it in state-of-the-art conditions in a castle. And the servants were a bellpull away in case the novelty wore off.

He left the cooking long enough to uncork a bottle of Pinot Noir. Her heightened senses made her acutely aware of the sound of the cork popping and the splash of the wine into crystal glasses. Aware of how deftly he handled the masculine chore. How strong his fingers looked wrapped around the delicate glass he handed to her.

When their fingers brushed, fire shot along her veins. Blaming the aftereffects of the Janus lily didn’t quite work. Wine spattered onto the countertop as her hand shook.

“Still feeling some pain?” he asked in concern.

“A little,” she lied, not wanting to admit the source of her discomfort, even to herself.

Maxim berated himself for keeping her standing in the kitchen while he indulged himself cooking for her. Showing off, he conceded. He had wanted to counter some of her prejudices with a demonstration of normality.

Who was he kidding? It wasn’t hard to conjure up an impressive meal when the finest ingredients were provided and someone else did the cleaning up.

He wanted to believe he was teaching her a lesson. Instead, he was learning one. That to a point, she was right. He couldn’t change who and what he was. So why not stop trying?

“Come through to the morning room,” he said, taking her arm. He was reminded again of how slightly built she was for a woman who almost matched him in height.

“What about the soufflé?”

“It’s almost ready for the oven. I’ll ring for someone to take over here. You need to relax.”

She didn’t argue, proving his point. The morning room was his favorite room in the apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows that wrapped around a table in the center. Presently the table was set for two. With the drapes drawn back to reveal the night sky in all its splendor, she would feel as if she was dining among the stars.

He heard her catch her breath, and shared a smile with her. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He wasn’t sure he only meant the view.

“It’s amazing. Do the stars always seem close enough to touch in Carramer?”

“Always.” Pressing a hand to the small of her back, he moved her closer to the window. “The clarity of the air enables us to see far out into the universe.”

Gesturing with his free hand, he said, “The reddish star blazing in the northeast is Arcturus. And that one is Regulus, the brightest star in the constellation Leo.”

“It looks more like a sickle than a lion,” she said to distract herself from the warmth of his hand against her back. “Your Regulus looks like the handle, with the blade hanging below it.”

“Very perceptive,” he agreed. “Our ancestors used to think the stars were holes in the night to let the light of heaven pass through.”

She’d been told that the prince was a keen astronomer. She hadn’t expected him to be a poet, as well. “It’s a beautiful thought, however unscientific,” she observed.

He pulled out a chair for her where she could continue to watch the stars, then left her long enough to issue orders. By the time she’d drunk a little of the excellent wine, a servant had brought their meal, served them efficiently, then left them alone. Also according to orders.

Whether it was due to the stars, the meal or his efforts to help her relax, Maxim was gratified to see some color return to her cheeks. “Feeling better now?”

“Much, thank you.” There was no reason to assume his nearness was the cause. She had eaten very little at the wedding, so her blood sugar had probably been in her boots. The soufflé had melted in her mouth. “It’s kind of you to be so concerned.”

He lifted his wineglass. “Kindness has nothing to do with it.”

“Then what?”

“Perhaps a wish to show you a more flattering side of royalty you can share with your television viewers in the future.”

“Why?”

He’d been asking himself the same thing. He settled for honesty. “I may be a prince, but I’m also a man. I find you very attractive, Annegret.”

This time he had no doubt that her heightened color was his doing. She was speechless, he saw, and suspected it wasn’t a condition she experienced often.

She recovered quickly. “You must know the feeling is mutual.”

Warmth surged through him. Was it to be so simple, then? The Champagne Pact might bind him to marry a woman of royal blood, but it didn’t stop him from enjoying the company of a commoner. That he might be playing with fire, he also recognized. Annegret struck him as an all-or-nothing sort of woman.

He replenished their glasses, deciding to test his theory. “Then all that remains is to decide what we’re going to do about it.”