FROM THE DESK OF LUC DUMONTHEAD OF SECURITYST. MICHEL MAY 2002 DAY47I am this close to discovering the identity of the missing heir to the St. Michel throne! In the meantime, I've noticed the growing affection between the oldest de Bergeron daughter, Lise, and her ex-husband's brother, the dashing Charles Rodin.Word has it that Charles is trying to right his evil sibling's wrong by marrying the pregnant beauty…but this is no ordinary marriage of convenience, as Charles has had unrequited feelings for Lise since the day she joined his blue-blooded family. Question is, once he's proven his devotion to her baby, will she then be willing to give him her heart?
“Ms. Grace provides romance fans with heartwarming entertainment.”
—Romantic Times
Just one kiss. One kiss that lasted a minute, an hour, an eternity. A kiss that shook Lise to her foundation. A kiss like none she’d ever had. His hands moved down her arms to her hips. He pulled her close to him, closer and closer until she felt the muscles in his thighs through her sheer dress. Breathless and shaken, she pressed her face against his shirt and inhaled the intoxicating scent of his skin, his soap, his clothes. Her pulse was racing….
And it was then, after she somehow managed to pull away, to lift her head and gaze into Charles’s deep brown eyes, that she knew she would accept his proposal of marriage.
Dear Reader,
With summer nearly here, it’s time to stock up on essentials such as sunblock, sandles and plenty of Silhouette Romance novels! Here’s our checklist of page-turners to keep your days sizzling!
Be sure to come back next month for our list of great summer stories.
Happy reading!
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor
Silhouette Romance
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has always been interested in travel and living abroad. She spent her junior year of college in France and toured the world working on the hospital ship HOPE. She and her husband spent the first year and a half of their marriage in Iran, where they both taught English. She has studied Arabic and Persian languages. Then, with their toddler daughter, they lived in Algeria for two years.
Carol says that writing is another way of making her life exciting. Her office is her mountaintop home, which overlooks the Pacific Ocean and which she shares with her inventor husband, their daughter, who just graduated college, and their teenage son.
Once upon a time in a small country called St. Michel, wedged between France and Rhineland, lived a beautiful ex-princess named Lise de Bergeron. The former princess didn’t live in the stately palace with its turrets and ballroom and bevy of servants. She lived in a small cottage on the palace grounds. This gave her the independence she wanted and suited the present queen—her father’s fourth wife—and her grandmother, the dowager queen. Lise had no crown and no legitimacy since her parents’ marriage had been declared invalid. She was not surrounded by maids who waited on her hand and foot. She was attended by her former nanny, the woman who had raised her when her mother had deserted her and her sisters. Nanny was old now and afflicted by arthritis and Princess Lise was more caregiver than pampered princess.
A lack of royal trappings did not bother the princess. What did bother her was that her father the king had just died, she’d been deserted by her husband, Wilhelm, of neighboring Rhineland, and she was three months pregnant. All in all, this past year had been a difficult one. The future was unclear. What was in store for her and her unborn child? She pushed the question to the back of her mind and concentrated on the problems at hand. Number one was stopping the leak in the roof of the cottage.
“Nanny, who said April was the cruelest month?” she asked the old woman in the rocking chair.
“One of those poets you’re always reading, I suppose,” said Gertrude, smoothing the afghan over her knees. “Perhaps the same one who said April showers bring May flowers.”
“It can’t happen soon enough,” Lise said, gazing out the small leaded window at rain pelting the vast green acres surrounding the palace.
“Ah, ma pauvre, is it really the weather that is making you melancholy or is it everything else?” the old lady asked with a worried frown.
“I’m fine really,” Lise said hastily. It wouldn’t do to make Nanny worry about her. “Let’s have tea. I must confess I’m ravenous. You know, if I keep eating like this for the next six months, I’ll be as big as a blimp.”
“Nonsense,” said the old woman. “You’re eating for two.”
Lise placed one hand over her still-flat stomach. It was amazing how much she looked forward to having this child. No matter how uncertain the future.
“When I was up at the castle this morning, the cook sneaked me some of her chocolate gateaux, so today we feast.” Smiling, Lise held the basket out so her old nanny could see the delicate frosted cakes.
Keep smiling, she told herself. Though inside she was in turmoil, she couldn’t let it show. Not to Nanny, who’d suffer for her, not to Queen Celeste who would think she deserved it, and not to her sisters who would feel sorry for her. No one must know the pain she felt at being deserted and divorced by her husband, the shame of being disinherited, of coming back alone to be at the mercy of the current occupants of the palace.
Today. She would think only of today, not tomorrow, not six months from now. She would take it one day at a time. At least she had a roof over her head, leaky though it was. The palace repairman said he couldn’t fix it while it was raining, he’d get to it when the sun came out and when it was convenient. She told herself she was lucky to have a job of sorts and she had her dear old nanny. Things could be worse.
Things had been worse when she was married to Wilhelm. Yes, they’d lived splendidly in Rhineland, where he, as a member of the royal family, had money and power. But he was a cold, arrogant, ambitious man who’d been chosen for her by her father for political reasons. If she had one thing to be thankful for, it was that she was rid of the scoundrel. She’d endure any amount of shame if she never had to see him again.
After handing Nanny a tray with her tea and cake, Lise sat down at the polished pine table in the kitchen and gratefully inhaled the steam from the fragrant brew.
“What news from the palace?” Gertrude asked. “Did you see the queen by chance?”
“No, I hear she’s keeping to her bed, preparing for the birth of her son.”
“Son? It’s going to be a son, then?” the old woman asked, setting her cup down with a clatter.
“So she says. But no one really knows. Not even the queen because she refuses to have a test to determine the baby’s sex. It seems talk of a boy is just wishful thinking. Because if it isn’t a son, she’ll lose everything—her power, her status…well, you know as well as I do, as well as the whole kingdom does, how desperate she is to bear a son.” What everyone knew was that according to the ancient law, the monarchy of St. Michel passes only through the male line.
Nanny nodded thoughtfully. “I guess everyone in the country is feeling desperate for an heir. Because if there is no heir, our beloved country will be absorbed by Rhineland.”
Lise shivered involuntarily at the thought. She and her husband had lived royally in Rhineland during the brief months of her marriage, but she had no happy memories of him or of his country.
“Now, child, don’t fret,” her nanny said when her sharp eyes noted Lise’s distress. “Isn’t it true that the dowager queen has sent the head of the security force, Luc Dumont, to find the missing heir? Perhaps he will find him.”
“Yes, maybe.”
“Ah well, something will save us, it always has,” Gertrude said. “In the meantime, if you’ll hand me my knitting, I must get busy on the sweater for your baby.”
Lise took away her tray and handed Nanny her knitting basket full of pale yellow yarn. After getting her settled next to the ornate cast-iron stove that gave off a comforting glow, Lise put on her smock over a turtleneck sweater and leggings and went to the adjacent greenhouse. It was there she did her best work as restorer of priceless artifacts of the Kingdom of St. Michel. Today she was painting an old cracked frame she’d restored.
Besides the peace and quiet, Lise appreciated the natural light that poured through the slanted windows of the greenhouse even on a rainy day. There were only a few leggy green plants left by a long-ago gardener, leaving the shelves free for her collection of glass mosaics, jars of acrylic water-based paint and a selection of bristle brushes and tools. The smell of the damp earth and paint pigment melded together in a heady blend that soothed and inspired her.
If there was any place she could forget her troubles, it was here. Mixing and blending the paint, she hummed to herself. The work was challenging, but her studies in London with a master craftsman had prepared her well.
An hour later she heard a car pull up in front of the cottage. She was still immersed in her work and hated interruptions when it was going as well as it was today.
“Nanny will take care of it,” she murmured to herself. She hoped it would be the delivery of her belongings from Rhineland. She’d left so suddenly, she’d taken only a small suitcase. Whatever it was, whoever it was, Gertrude knew enough not to bother her when she was at work.
However someone didn’t know enough. There was a knock on the door of the greenhouse. Lise pushed an errant strand of hair back from her face.
“Yes?”
“Lise?” It was a deep voice. Vaguely familiar. “It’s Charles. Charles Rodin.”
“Charles?” Charles, her husband’s twin brother? What on earth was he doing here. Anything, anyone connected with her ex-husband was upsetting and an intrusion in her new life. She’d left Wilhelm and wanted no reminders of the biggest mistake of her life.
“May I come in?” he asked.
As annoyed as she was, she couldn’t help but notice the difference. Wilhelm would have barged in. His brother waited to be invited.
She opened the door. And stared at the man who stood there. He looked disturbingly like her ex-husband and yet the expression on his face was nothing like Wilhelm’s arrogance. She barely remembered Charles from her wedding at which he had been the best man; she hadn’t seen him since that fateful day, but she knew this was a man who was self-confident but not arrogant. Maybe it was the way his rain-dampened hair fell across his forehead or the way he’d stuffed his hands into the pockets of his cashmere coat, still, the resemblance bothered her and brought back unpleasant memories. She wanted nothing to do with Wilhelm or any member of his family. She was doing her best to forget all of them. And now this….
“May I come in?” he asked again.
What was wrong with her? She’d been raised with better manners than to let a guest stand in the doorway. But he was so big, so broad-shouldered, so startlingly like his brother, she’d thought he was in.
“Of course,” she said briskly.
He stepped into the small greenhouse with the earthen floor and suddenly the glassed-in room was crowded to overflowing. She had no space, no room to breathe or think. There was a fluttery feeling in the pit of her stomach. She tried to think of something to say, but her mind was blank. All she could do was to stand there and wait for him to say something.
After a long silence during which he looked her up and down with a shade too much intimacy and she continued to stare at him, she finally found her voice.
“What is it, Charles? What do you want?”
He frowned at her lack of civility. What did he expect, that she’d welcome him with open arms, after what his brother had done to her?
“I came when I heard the news, about the divorce…to see if…to see what I could do.”
“Nothing. You can do nothing. You can’t stop your brother from divorcing me, you can’t make my parents’ marriage valid, you can’t find an heir for our country, and you can’t bring my father back to life. So go back to your country and tell your brother I don’t need him or any of his family.”
Charles looked surprised at her angry words. “I haven’t been in my country for months nor have I seen much of my family. Perhaps you aren’t aware, but my brother and I have never been close. And now we are hardly on speaking terms,” he said stiffly. “We lead separate lives, both professionally and personally. I’m in charge of the wine business of Rhineland and Wilhelm is managing the family’s investments abroad. I’ve been in the U.S. for the past six months. When I ran into Wilhelm last week in Los Angeles he told me about the divorce. I couldn’t believe it. It’s only been, what…?”
“Eight months,” Lise said. “Eight months that I am doing my best to forget. So if you don’t mind, I’ll get back to work.” She pivoted on her heel and turned back to her frame. If only she’d been wearing a gown and a tiara, she might have pulled off this obvious dismissal and he would have left. She used the imperial tone. She had the movements down pat. Those years of training came in useful at times. But not today. He didn’t leave. He did just the opposite. He stepped forward. He was right behind her, leaning over her left shoulder.
“What are you doing?” he asked in a deep voice, so much like his brother’s she shivered involuntarily. And yet, the tone was altogether different. Wilhelm gave orders. Charles had asked a question as if he was interested. Wilhelm never asked about her work. Never wondered if she missed it or how she would fill the empty hours in Rhineland while he was working.
She sighed. “I’m doing some restoration work on an eighteenth-century frame for the palace archives,” she said. She couldn’t help it. She should have said it was none of his business, but she had so few people to share her enthusiasm for her work. Not that he cared. Of course he didn’t. He was just making conversation.
“I would guess it held a portrait at one time,” he said coming even closer, so close he brushed her shoulder with his arm. She felt a wave of heat sweep through her body.
“A portrait,” she repeated. “Yes, it did.” She wished he would move away. His warm breath fanned the back of her neck and made her knees weak. It was difficult to concentrate on the subject of the painting. “It was one of my royal ancestors. Frederic the Second.”
“Frederic the Bold, I believe they called him, for his acquisition of the lowlands,” Charles said.
Lise nodded slowly. She was impressed by his knowledge of history. It wasn’t even his history. She’d thought she was the only one who could keep the ancestors straight. How did he know?
“And for his wooing of my royal ancestor, Princess Gabrielle,” Charles added. Though she couldn’t see his face, she thought his voice held the hint of a smile.
“Which resulted in a royal scandal, because she was affianced to someone else. How do you know all this?” she asked, turning to face him. He was so close she could see that though his eyes were the same color as his brother’s, they were a softer brown, almost velvety. Wilhelm had the coldest eyes she’d ever seen, as cold as the stones from the river. She couldn’t drag her gaze away. She couldn’t stop comparing the two brothers. They looked so much alike, but acted so differently. Or was this just an act? He really hadn’t explained why he was here.
He shrugged. “My grandfather used to tell me stories. My parents were too busy with their own lives to pay much attention to me or my brother. Wilhelm had other interests, but I was fascinated by the history of my country. And Grandfather was a great storyteller. He’d walk me through the portrait gallery at the palace and tell me about the people in the paintings. Before he died, he wrote a history of Rhineland, which includes quite a bit about St. Michel. One can’t study one without getting involved with the other, as you know. We can’t ignore each other, whether we want to or not. We’re too close, have too much in common, too many ties going back over the centuries.”
The way he said it, the way he looked at her, with such warmth in his gaze, she felt the heat. Lise wondered if he was talking about their countries or themselves. She didn’t dare ask. Why was he here? If he wondered if she’d been devastated by the divorce, he could see she hadn’t been.
When she didn’t say anything, he continued. “History is your field, isn’t it?”
She was surprised he knew. Wilhelm had thought it a useless hobby, but it was her passion, along with art. “History and art restoration. I’ve been criticized more than once for living in the past.”
Get your nose out of that book, her mother had said.
You’ll never find a man in a museum, her father had cautioned.
What are you doing in the library all day? her husband Wilhelm had demanded.
“That’s ridiculous. Who was it who said if we don’t study history, we’re doomed to repeat it?”
She smiled. “It’s true, but you didn’t come here to discuss history,” she said. If he did, she could go on all day, having no one else to talk to about it, and neither of them wanted that. As much as she enjoyed sharing her love of the past with someone, even him, his presence disturbed her more than it should have. He looked like his brother, but didn’t act like him. He was tall and handsome and well-bred, but lacked the pretension of other members of his family.
She wasn’t quite sure what to make of him. Or why he was there in the first place. She didn’t know how to get rid of him. Or if she really wanted to. There were questions she wanted answers to: How many minds had his brother poisoned against her? How did his parents feel about her? What stories was his brother spreading about her? And yes, she had to admit she wanted to know, how did he, Charles, feel about her?
“No, I didn’t come here to discuss history. Although it’s an interesting topic and since Grandfather died I’ve had no one…” He paused as if he was unwilling to admit he’d had no one to talk to. “No, not history,” he continued.
Charles leaned back against a stone countertop and studied her for a long moment. He was trying to collect his thoughts, but just looking at the lovely princess caused his mind to wander and his heart to pound erratically. The last time he’d seen Lise de Bergeron had been on her wedding day.
He’d thought at the time that in her white satin gown and diamond tiara she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He’d been filled with an unbecoming rush of envy for his older twin. As usual, Wilhelm had succeeded in snatching the prize before Charles had had a chance to compete. He couldn’t help but wonder, even then, if his brother would be as careless with this prize as he’d been with all the others he’d won. The silver cup for polo, the gold medal for fencing—all tossed aside as soon as he’d gotten them. The contest forgotten, except for the bragging and the gloating that continued long afterward.
Marriage to Lise was a prize Wilhelm hadn’t even competed for. It had been handed to him by an official arrangement. Her father wanted to strengthen the ties between their countries; Wilhelm wanted the marriage because it would advance his claim to some of the Micheline royal lands, should the country revert to Rhineland control. Wilhelm was the elder brother by thirty minutes. In this case, those thirty minutes made all the difference between Charles’s loss and his brother’s success.
When his brother had found out Lise was illegitimate and would inherit neither her title nor royal land, he immediately divorced her. When Charles had heard that, straight from his brother’s mouth, he’d been stunned. His brother was not known for his kindness or compassion, he’d always had a ruthless streak, pushing aside anyone and anything that got in his way, but this time he’d gone too far. Charles was not only stunned, but he was ashamed on behalf of the family honor. Charles felt as if his brother had put a sword through his chest. He’d left the U.S. on the next plane and here he was, determined to do something to make things right.
Seeing the princess today, attired in the garb of a peasant with a smudge of paint on her cheek, her silky blond hair twisted in a knot at the nape of her neck, he found her even more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her in her wedding finery. He felt a rush of emotion he hadn’t expected. He’d thought he’d feel pity. But that wasn’t what he was feeling at that moment. Lise de Bergeron did not inspire pity. She was too confident and self-assured. What he felt for her was a much stronger emotion he dared not name.
He knew she needed help whether she’d admit it or not. Living in this humble cottage with only her faithful nanny was not suitable for a princess. Especially one pregnant with his brother’s child. Being deserted by his scoundrel of a brother was something that had to be righted. He was the one who could do it. He wanted to sweep her off her feet and carry her away to the kind of life she deserved. However, she didn’t look as if she’d permit him or anyone else to sweep her off her feet.
She didn’t know why he was there, but he did. He’d planned his speech. He knew what he had to say, but now that he was there and she was looking at him with those incredible blue eyes, he could only stand and stare.
She’d changed. It had only been eight months, but she was not the same demure princess who’d so dazzled him on her wedding day. It wasn’t only her clothing, it was her manner. He’d thought she’d be meek and mild and jump at the chance he was going to offer her. Now he wasn’t so sure. She had a stubborn tilt to her chin, a proud look in her eyes and a certain tone to her voice. If he’d been infatuated with her before, he was fascinated now. He didn’t know what she was going to say next. He decided to put off his declaration.
He was saved by the entrance of her nanny.
“Lise,” Gertrude said, opening the greenhouse door just a crack. “Won’t you ask Monsieur Rodin in for some tea? I fear it’s chilly out there.”
Lise looked annoyed, but her manners didn’t fail her. “Of course,” she said. “Won’t you come in, Charles?”
He nodded. He was relieved, unwilling to leave without saying what he’d come to say, but not ready to say it. Not without some hope she’d agree to his plan.
In the cozy parlor a fire was blazing, the silver tea service was on the table and Gertrude was nowhere to be seen. Lise motioned to him to take a seat across from her on a chintz-covered love seat. He watched her pour the tea into two delicate china cups.
“Sugar, lemon?” she asked.
He shook his head. Though she was dressed like an artisan, she had the manners of a princess, and she always would. She’d grown up in a palace, but she seemed completely at home in this modest cottage. He wondered how much sorrow, how much disillusion she was hiding. He wondered if she still loved his brother. Or if she’d ever loved him. He knew it had been only a political match on his brother’s part, but what if he’d broken Lise’s heart? If he had, Charles would never forgive him.
“What are your plans?” he asked.
“Plans?” she asked.
“For the future.”
“Ah, the future. Good question. First I will call the repairman again about the leaky roof. When it rains, he’s always too busy, and when it stops and the sun shines, he goes fishing.”
He glanced at the ceiling.
“It’s in the kitchen.”
“Let me handle it for you. I know a man I can send. You shouldn’t have to live like this, you know.”
“I live very well,” she said so swiftly, he knew he’d said the wrong thing. Her blue eyes were cool and distant. “Much better than I lived in Rhineland. I have my nanny, my work and the freedom to do what I please, be what I please.”
“What about the baby?” He couldn’t help letting his gaze stray to her stomach. There was no sign of maternity there. Not yet. Yet he thought he noticed a slight rounding of her cheeks, a smoothing of her brow. But maybe he was just imagining the effects of pregnancy, of which he knew nothing. He’d always hoped to find someone, a woman to share his life with, to bear his children. But he’d always known he’d never find anyone as lovely as Lise de Bergeron.
“The baby will fit in to my life. I have a large bedroom.” She gestured toward a pair of French doors to her left. “Plenty of room for a cradle.”
He almost told her that babies grew up and needed rooms of their own, but he didn’t. She knew that and it was none of his business.
“Whatever happened to our star-crossed ancestors?” he asked, changing the subject to something safer and less personal. “Frederic the Bold and Princess Gabrielle. I don’t remember the end of the story. Or maybe I never heard it. Sometimes Grandfather got distracted or confused.”
“I don’t believe Frederic ever married,” Lise said. “He resisted all royal efforts to marry him off to one European princess or another. It’s too bad I didn’t follow his example.” Though her tone was light, a shadow fell over her pale face.
“Don’t blame yourself,” he said frowning. “There were reasons.”
“Of course,” she said. “There always are. Being small and defenseless, St. Michel has always needed alliances with foreign powers. Believe me, I’ve heard it over and over from my father and grandmother.”
“But it’s wrong to use humans as pawns in these games,” he said.
She didn’t answer. Instead, she refilled his cup. “And the beautiful Gabrielle?” she asked. “What became of her? Did she marry her fiancé?”
“I’m not sure. I’ll have to do some research and get back to you on that. If Grandfather were here…”
“You miss him,” she said simply, her expression softening.
Yes, he missed the old man in many ways. Someone he could go to with his troubles. Someone who’d listen with a sympathetic ear. Someone who cared about him when no one else seemed to.
“Yes. He was the one person…” He stopped abruptly. Why go into family matters? She’d presumably had her fill of the dysfunctional Rodin family while living in Rhineland with his brother. Talking about the distant past was safer and allowed him to keep the dialog going, to keep the connection between them. Maybe it happened a long time ago, maybe it was history repeating itself. Whatever it was, he knew he’d do anything to forge a bond between Lise and himself. A bond that had nothing to do with his brother.
“I mustn’t keep you any longer, Charles,” she said, glancing at the door. It was plain she was dismissing him before he’d said what he’d come to say.
He’d hoped to establish a mood and set up the appropriate atmosphere. He’d planned to lead up to it gradually, but he no longer had time. It was clear it had to be now. He stood and looked down at her. The silence in the room was deafening. It was now or never. He took a deep breath.
“I came today to offer you my hand in marriage,” he said.
There, it was out.
Lise turned pale. She braced herself with her hands on the seat cushion of her chair. Her mouth fell open in surprise. Good thing she was sitting down, because he was afraid she was going to faint. He went down on his knees next to her and held out his hand, but she ignored the gesture and leaned back against the cushions. Her eyelids fluttered.
He cursed himself for being so blunt. He’d obviously said it all wrong. How did he know? He’d never proposed to anyone before. Never wanted to settle down with any woman he’d ever met. Only one. And she was taken. Now she was free.
His view of marriage had always been shaped by that of his parents. He wanted no part of any institution that was designed to bring together suitable mates to ensure political stability. His parents were polite to each other, but he’d never witnessed much warmth or affection between them. But this was a different situation. There was no doubt in his mind this was his obligation, his duty. If it were only that, he could explain it to her rationally. But there was nothing rational about the way he felt about her. Nothing rational about the way the desire surged through his veins.
“I’ve taken you by surprise,” he said, getting to his feet and clasping his hands together behind his back. He couldn’t tell her he loved her or that he desired her, that would only frighten her and she surely wouldn’t believe him. He had to present it from another angle. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but surely you see the logic of it. How advantageous it would be.”
“Oh yes,” she said, leaning forward, the color rising in her face. “Because I married for political advantage the last time, it seems obvious to you I should do so again. But I’m not the same woman I was. I’m on my own now. My father is dead, God rest his soul, and from now on, I make my own decisions. I have learned many painful lessons in these past eight months. One is this: I will never marry again. Not for any reason.” Her blue eyes shot sparks of determination. He stared fascinated. This was not what he expected. An inner strength forged by what had happened to her.
“My brother has done this to you,” Charles said. His brother had turned a sweet young girl into a stubborn young woman. He’d never forgive him for destroying her innocence. It was up to him to make it up to her. To show her all men were not like his brother.
“I agreed to the match so I bear some responsibility,” she said. “Yes, I did it to please my father, but I could have resisted. I didn’t. He was very strong-willed.”
“It seems to run in the family,” he said. He had to admit he admired her willpower, in spite of the fact that she was using it against him.
“Perhaps,” she said with a rueful half smile.
“If you won’t think of yourself, think of the child. I want to give it a home, a father.”
Her smile faded. “You want to be the father of my child,” she said flatly, in obvious disbelief.
“Yes.” He couldn’t stop his gaze from resting on the striped smock that covered her stomach, imagining the life underneath, imagining the swell of her belly, the transformation that maternity would make on her hips and her breasts. A jolt of desire hit him along with a fistful of doubts. What kind of a father would he be, he who’d grown up with parents who were more concerned with their image than their children? What was his real motive here, was it to take his brother’s bride and make her his or to take care of her because his brother didn’t? Or did it have something to do with the irrational desire to take her away and make love to her so passionately she’d forget anyone else had ever touched her?
“Because you feel sorry for me,” she said.
“Because I feel responsible for you,” he said. Say it. Tell her. Because I desire you. Because you’re the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen. Because I’ve wanted you from the first moment I saw you.
“I’m sorry, but that’s not good enough. I appreciate the thought, but the answer is no.”
“Won’t you think it over?” he asked.
“I don’t need to think it over,” she said. “I have more important things to think about.”
Brave words. She was a brave woman. And a stubborn one. He knew he couldn’t push her any further. If she decided to marry him, she would have to come to that decision on her own. He had to admit, her summary refusal hurt him more than he’d thought it would. If his brother had plunged a knife in his chest, Lise had just twisted it with her refusal. He wasn’t sure what he’d pictured, perhaps tears of gratitude, perhaps joy and happiness at being rescued, but not this.
“Very well,” he said brusquely. “I’m sorry to have bothered you.” He turned to go.
“Charles, wait.” She stepped forward and put her hand on his arm as he reached for the door. “Don’t think I’m not grateful to you. I appreciate your concern for my welfare. My answer has nothing to do with you personally. It would be the same no matter who you were. I don’t expect you to understand, but I’ve been through a very bad period and I need time to recover.”
He turned to face her. A surge of hope sprang from her words. Of course, she needed time to recover. He’d spent a lifetime recovering from his brother’s oppressive presence. He wanted to smooth the tiny worry lines in her forehead and tuck a stray curl of hair behind her ear. He wanted to trace the outline of her soft cheek with the pad of his thumb. He wanted to hold her close and tell her she would recover and that she needed him. He wanted to feel her body pressed close to his. But he knew she wasn’t ready for that. Maybe she never would be. Why couldn’t he have been the one to marry her in the first place? He knew the answer to that one. Wilhelm was the oldest, the fair-haired boy. The boy who always got everything he’d ever wanted.
“Take all the time you need,” he said. He could only hope she would come around, she had to. For her sake. For the baby’s sake. For his sake.
“All the time in the world will not convince me to marry again,” she said firmly and his hopes went down just as fast as they’d risen a moment ago.
“I understand,” he said. “I won’t trouble you again.” He opened the front door and stepped out into the rain while Lise stood in the doorway. “But if there’s anything I can do for you, please let me know. I am determined to make amends for my brother’s grievous behavior.”
“The only things I want from your family are my belongings. I left Rhineland so precipitously, I brought with me only a small suitcase.” She looked down at her leggings, knowing she could get by perfectly well if she could only stay in her workshop all day, but unfortunately, one of these days, she hoped later rather than sooner, she’d be forced to take her place in the world again and attend some social functions, and then she’d need all those dresses, shoes, riding outfits and sailing garb. On the other hand, she wondered how much longer her clothes would fit.
“Consider it done,” he said soberly.
“Thank you. Good-bye,” she said. “Bon voyage.”
“Bon voyage?” he said, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“But I thought you’d be going back—”
“Not to Rhineland. Or to the U.S. Not now. It is not only you but my work that has brought me back to Europe and to St. Michel in particular. I am setting up a joint venture with the vintners of your country, producing wine under our label. I have an office here and I’m looking for a place to live.”
“Oh.” She paused for a long moment, trying to digest this news. Charles was staying in St. Michel. It was a small country, an even smaller city on the banks of the river. If he was here, she didn’t know how she could avoid seeing him, even though she was currently leading the life of a hermit. It could be awkward. She felt awkward at that moment, not knowing what to say.
She didn’t dare give him hope she’d change her mind, because she had no intention of doing that. Perhaps he was hoping she’d be pleased at this news, but she couldn’t feign any emotion at all.
He seemed just as awkward as she did. The silence hung as heavily as the leaden skies above them.
“Well, then,” she said at last, “please ignore everything I said. I don’t need my things I left behind in Rhineland very much after all. I won’t say good-bye, just au revoir.”
He leaned forward and kissed her cheek, and then he was gone.
Lise stood in the doorway until his car disappeared from sight. Then she went back to the kitchen, sat down at the kitchen table and buried her head in her hands.
What kind of a man was he to accept her refusal so graciously? No temper tantrums, no rages or threats. No reminders of what her future held as a single mother in St. Michel without a husband or a father or protection from the palace. He looked so much like Wilhelm, it frightened and confused her. And yet he didn’t talk or act like Wilhelm. He seemed nothing like his brother, but how could she be sure? She was just recovering from the worst mistake of her life and was not about to make another. If only she could erase the memory of the look on his face and the kiss on her cheek that lingered no matter how long she sat there.
Her instincts told her she could trust him. But her brain told her not to take a chance. She would be just fine on her own. Marriage was risky. Marriage to another Rodin brother was the riskiest of all.
For the next two weeks she tried to put Charles and his surprising offer of marriage out of her mind. She might have succeeded, if a whole crew of workmen hadn’t arrived one clear, sunny day to fix her roof. When she tried to pay them, the chief said it had been taken care of by Monsieur Rodin.
Charles. Charles was as good as his word. But she didn’t want to accept charity from him. She was too leery of taking favors from anyone in his family. She’d been fooled once and she refused to be fooled again. But she didn’t know quite how to get in touch with Charles to repay him for his repairmen’s work, and she didn’t really want to see him again. She might have forgotten the favor he’d done her, if it weren’t for Nanny.
“Wasn’t that kind of Monsieur Rodin?” she exclaimed at least once a day, gazing upward at the repaired roof.
“Yes, Nanny, he is undoubtedly a kind and wonderful man,” Lise answered, trying to hide the cynicism in her voice.
“Nothing like his brother,” she said.
“No, not at all,” Lise agreed.
“It’s not everyone who can be counted on these days,” the old woman said sagely.
“I know, I know,” Lise agreed. There was no point in disagreeing with Nanny. Gertrude had a habit of being right about these matters, and who could deny the man was as good as his word. Lise ended the discussion by going back to work on the picture frame so she didn’t have to continue talking about Charles. It was obvious that Nanny was quite taken with the man. Lise had been careful to keep his offer of marriage to herself, but Nanny had a look in her eye that made Lise wonder how much she’d overheard that day. Fortunately her beloved nanny was much too tactful to ever bring up the subject of marriage or the future.
When Lise had finished painting the frame, it was time for the frosting on the cake of her restoration project. With the light coming through the windows onto her work bench, she installed the portrait of Frederic the Bold back where it belonged. It had been stashed in the archives at the palace for many years. Lise felt the thrill of accomplishment.
In the natural light from the bright spring sunshine, Lise studied the portrait. No doubt about it, Frederic was a handsome man. But there was something about his eyes, a certain sadness that caught her attention. Was this painted after he lost his Princess Gabrielle? Or did he really lose her at all? Now that the portrait was framed, she wished she had someone to show it to. Sharing it with the queen was out of the question. She was consumed with hopes of producing an heir, the dowager queen was involved in the search for the missing heir. There was Nanny, of course, who never failed to support her work, but it was obvious the only other person who’d care, who would appreciate the work she’d done, was Charles.
It was too bad. They might have been friends. If he wasn’t the brother of her ex-husband. If he hadn’t asked her to marry him. If he hadn’t had such a disturbing effect on her.
Ah, well. If her work didn’t give her pleasure and satisfaction on its own, she wouldn’t be doing it. She refused to worry about the future. She was just happy to be home in St. Michel again, with her divorce final and the memories of her brief, disastrous marriage behind her. Next weekend was the dowager queen’s official seventy-fifth birthday party. Though her real birthday was in October, it was always celebrated in May when the weather was usually nice enough for a garden party.
Lise hoped everyone would be too busy scrutinizing the dowager queen at the party, wondering if she’d had yet another face-lift, and debating whether the reigning pregnant queen would even put in an appearance, or gossiping about the missing heir to the throne, to pay any attention to her. She wanted to stay out of the limelight, avoiding questions about her marriage, her pregnancy, her illegitimacy and more condolences on the death of her father. She was looking forward to a reunion with her two sisters: Marie-Claire, who’d been traveling abroad with her new husband, Sebastian, and Ariane, who was living in Rhineland with her husband, Prince Etienne. But after she’d had a chance to see them, she planned to slip away, back to the solace of her cottage.
The problem was she had nothing to wear to the party. Ideally, no one would notice her at all. But if they did, she didn’t want them to feel sorry for her. She wanted to look her best in a quiet, subdued, unobtrusive way, though without her wardrobe left behind in Rhineland, she didn’t know how she was going to pull that off.
“Maybe I won’t go to the party,” she said to Nanny very casually over dinner one evening. Though Nanny insisted on serving Lise, Lise insisted they eat together. How ridiculous to have the old woman eating alone in the kitchen. Besides, Lise was grateful for her company.
Gertrude laid her fork down. “What? Not attend the queen’s birthday party?”
“Well, you know, I don’t think I’d be missed.”
“You would most certainly be missed. You’ve forgotten how many friends you have here at home.”
Home. Yes, this was her home. Home, the place where no matter what you’ve done, whether they want to or not, they have to take you back again. They’d taken her back, however reluctantly, and she’d better make the best of it.
“All right. But what will I wear? I scarcely have any dresses and the ones I have are getting a little tight.”
Nanny suggested altering one of Lise’s few dresses or making her a new one, but Lise didn’t want the old woman to take on yet another task, so she assured her she’d make do somehow and put it out of her mind.
But the morning of the party, she stood in her small bedroom staring at herself critically in the full-length mirror. Yes, her pants were getting a little snug in the hips. Though she was still not quite ready for maternity clothes, it wouldn’t be long before her regular clothes didn’t fit at all. She opened her armoire and frowned at the meager selection of dresses in her closet. There was absolutely nothing appropriate for a garden party. She sat on the edge of her bed and sighed. How ridiculous she was, worrying about a dress when she had so many other things to worry about. Her future. Her baby. Her country’s future if the heir wasn’t found.
When she heard the sound of a vehicle arriving in front of the cottage, she jumped up and peered down through the second-floor window and saw a large pickup truck piled high with trunks she recognized. Her things. Her personal belongings had arrived. At last. Just in the nick of time. Surely there’d be something she could wear to this party.
Not only did the men bring the trunks into the house, they carried them upstairs to the extra bedroom. When she offered them a generous tip, they waved her efforts aside, saying they’d already been paid. She didn’t ask, but the words buzzed in her brain. By whom? Who had paid the delivery men? Who had arranged the transfer of the trunks when all her efforts to recover her things had gone unanswered? She knew the answer. It was Charles.
The only things I want from your family are my belongings.
Consider it done.
He was as good as his word. But how to thank him? She was not about to start asking questions about him, such as where she could find him, thus raising suspicions of why she needed to know. This was no time to dwell on the hows and whys and wheres regarding her personal belongings. She unlocked the trunks and began her search through the piles of silk, satin, wool and leather. Her trousseau clothes. All reminders of a life that was gone. The life of a princess. A legitimate princess with a bright future as the wife of a prominent Rhinelander embarking on a life of ease and luxury.
The memories came flooding back as she sifted through the clothes—parties, balls, dinners. The memories of Wilhelm, who viewed her, not as a person with feelings or needs or desires, but as a trophy to be shown off in her matching shoes, her hand-painted scarves and her designer dresses. The memories brought her nothing but sadness. Where was that young, naive princess with her whole life ahead of her? Lise stood up and paced back and forth in the small bedroom. That princess was gone forever. In her place was an older, wiser woman who would not dwell in the past. Who would learn from her past mistakes. Who would allow no one to force her into another marriage of convenience.
She told herself she was better off now than before. Anything was better than being married to Wilhelm. She would wear one of these dresses—hopefully one still fit—and not think of anything but the present. She would go to the party and face the future with her head high and show the world she was not ashamed of what had happened. After all, it was not her fault her marriage was over and she’d been cast out and returned home.
But when she stood on the flagstone path that led to the formal gardens of the palace, her nerves almost failed her. The figures in the garden, women in flowered dresses, men in black tie, the rows of willow trees planted hundreds of years ago and the vibrant green of the sweeping lawn looked like a painting. A painting that was beautiful to observe, but not to be a part of.
But she had no choice. Her sisters Ariane and Marie-Claire spotted her and came rushing across the vast lawn to hug her and demand to know how she was and where she’d been. She felt a surge of love for the two people she cared most about in the world. Being deserted by their mother and largely ignored by their father, the three of them had been exceptionally close growing up together. It was so good to see them again, her eyes filled with happy tears.
“I’ve missed you both so much,” she said. “I’m so glad you’re both here.”
“As if we could miss the queen’s birthday. But honestly, we came to see you,” Ariane said, squeezing her hand. “You don’t look as though you’re pregnant.” She dropped her hand and walked around her sister, looking at her from all angles and beaming her approval.
“Doesn’t she look wonderful?” Marie-Claire enthused. “You were the first to marry, and the first to get pregnant.”
“And the first to get divorced,” Lise said lightly.
Marie-Claire frowned. Divorce was nothing new in the family. Still, Lise’s situation was especially painful for her sisters to accept. “How are you, really?” she asked. “I can’t believe that horrible Wilhelm divorced you.”
“Believe it,” Lise said soberly. “And believe that it’s for the best. I’m so happy it’s over, and I’m back where I belong.” As she said the words she realized she was back where she belonged. Despite the fact that the country’s future was up in the air and that she had no real place to call home, St. Michel was where she belonged. The three princesses stopped at the edge of the formal English gardens and surveyed the scene. The murmur of polite voices, the burble of the fountains, the soft music from a string quartet came wafting across the ancient stone walkways.
“I think everyone agrees,” Ariane said with a glance in the direction of the dowager queen who was seated in a chair that was not quite a throne, but close to it, surrounded by loyal sycophants, “she knows how to celebrate her birthday.”
“How does she treat you?” Marie-Claire asked Lise.
Lise shrugged. “As well as can be expected. I have the run of the palace archives and the attics. I come and go as I please and she doesn’t stop me. I’m working on some interesting restoration projects. And of course she’s given me the use of the cottage. Me and Nanny. Other than that, she pays no attention to me. So I can’t complain.”
“You never did,” Ariane said. “You haven’t even said a bad word about Wilhelm.”
Lise held a finger up to her lips. “Not here I won’t. I’m doing my best to put the past in the past.”
“She’s amazing,” Ariane said to Marie-Claire. “I told you we wouldn’t get a word of complaint out of her. If my husband had…”
“But he didn’t. How is Etienne?” Lise asked, anxious to change the subject.
“See for yourself. Here he is now.”
Lise felt slightly nervous seeing her brother-in-law, a Rhinelander prince, not knowing what or how he felt about her divorce from Wilhelm. But Etienne greeted her warmly and her fears were dispelled. Whatever he’d heard, he obviously had no hard feelings against her, and Lise was relieved. She could see immediately how happy the young recently married couple was. She stifled a pang of envy. When Marie-Claire’s husband, Sebastian, joined them she knew she had no worries on that side either. Neither sister had made the kind of mistake she had. Sebastian was charming and clearly adored her sister. No, she was the only one who’d made the wrong choice of a husband.
Admittedly the choice had not been hers. It had been her father’s. But, as she’d told Charles, she could have protested more strongly. When the men left the sisters to refill their champagne glasses, the three women found seats under a magnificent oak tree on the edge of the garden. Ariane turned to look at Lise again and regarded her sister carefully.
“How do you feel?” Ariane asked with concern. “You look sensational, by the way. Pregnancy agrees with you. Don’t you think, Marie-Claire? I don’t remember that dress. How is my niece-or nephew-to-be doing?”
Before Lise could answer, Marie-Claire leaned forward and asked under her breath, “Where is Wilhelm?”
“I hear he’s in America, but I really don’t know,” Lise said. And prayed that was the end of that discussion.
“What are your plans?” Marie-Claire asked. “We’ve missed you so much. I hope you’ll never leave here again. Ariane has moved way over to Rhineland, but that can’t be helped. Now that I’m back from my honeymoon, I want us to get together as much as possible. Is that clear?”
“All clear,” Lise said with a smile. “As usual, you two have asked so many questions I don’t know where to start. And you’ve scarcely given me a chance to say a word. I’m fine and I’ve been right here, in the gardener’s cottage where I plan to remain as long as the powers on the throne are willing,” Lise said. “I wrote you both, but our paths haven’t crossed lately. With both of you married, I didn’t expect to see as much of you. But here we are, together again. Now, tell me, besides honeymooning, what have you two been up to?” Lise asked, deftly switching the subject from herself to them.
“We arrived only yesterday from Rhineland,” Ariane said. “For the party—and to see you, of course—then we’re off again on a business trip.”
“I suppose there are rumors in Rhineland,” Lise suggested hesitantly. She didn’t really want to know about any rumors having to do with her.
“Of course, what would life be like without rumors?” Ariane said lightly. “Rumors about a takeover of St. Michel, about a missing heir to the throne. These are nothing new. But rumors concerning you? Believe me, no one would dare say a word against my sister in my presence.”
Lise nodded gratefully. What else would she expect from her little newly-wed sister?
“Speaking of rumors,” Marie-Claire said, looking over her shoulder to be sure she couldn’t be overheard. “What’s this I hear about Charles Rodin?”
Lise felt her cheeks burn. “I…I don’t know. I haven’t heard anything.”
“Are you sure?” Marie-Claire persisted. “Are you sure you haven’t seen him?”
“Seen him? Yes, I saw him. He came to pay his respects.”
“Is that all he paid?” Marie-Claire asked. “I thought maybe he asked you to marry him.”
“Why would you think that?” Lise asked, startled. “Don’t tell me it’s on the Internet,” she said, in an attempt at levity. But she should have known she couldn’t fool her sisters.
“Oh no. It’s more like ESP or just common sense. He’s available, you’re available. You know, he’s nothing like his brother. That’s what everyone says,” Marie-Claire said. “So if he did ask you to marry him…”
“I would refuse, of course,” Lise said firmly.
“But why?” Ariane asked. “You mustn’t let Wilhelm put you off marriage forever. You just heard, Charles is nothing like his brother.”
“I don’t know that for sure. I don’t know anything about him. I met the man once at my wedding. Then he stopped by to see me. We had a nice conversation, but that’s hardly the basis for getting married again. They’re twins. How different can they be?” Lise asked. But in her heart she knew they were as different as night and day.
“What about the baby?” Marie-Claire asked softly, her green eyes wide. “Don’t you want a father for your baby?”
“Of course I do. But there are more important things. Like a warm, loving home. I think a child is better off with one good parent than with two parents who are at odds with each other. The three of us know a little bit about that.”
Her sisters nodded in agreement. There was a long moment of silence while they were each lost in their own thoughts.
“But what about security?” Ariane asked.
“I guess you mean financial security,” Lise said. “That’s a worry, of course. I still have the jewels mother left us. I can always sell them if it comes to that. But I’ll tell you this. I’d rather live in the most humble cottage with Nanny and my baby than the biggest palace with a man I didn’t love.”
“You mean you couldn’t love Charles?” Ariane asked. “He’s really very nice. Nothing like his brother. Except in looks, of course. They’re both handsome devils.”
Lise sighed. As if looks mattered. “When I was your age, Ariane, and young and naive, I might have fallen in love again and jumped into another marriage, but…”
“Young and naive,” Ariane sputtered. “Did you hear that, Marie-Claire? I’m an old married woman now and I demand to be treated with respect.” Her blue eyes twinkled and the three of them burst into laughter. The idea of Ariane as an old married woman at the age of twenty-three sent them into helpless giggles. Lise realized she hadn’t laughed for months. It was so wonderful to be with her sisters again. She’d been hungry for the warmth and affection they shared. After they’d calmed down, Lise gazed off into the distance for a long moment.
“If only life was that simple,” she said quietly. “Loving someone because they’re nice.” Even as she spoke the words, she wondered if she’d know love when she found it. Chills up and down the spine, goosebumps on the skin, an erratic heartbeat. What did those things mean? A heightened sexual awareness, due to living a celibate life. That was all. Love was something else entirely.
“So tell me, you two, are you both happy? Are you sure you’ve made the right choices?”
Their spontaneous bursts of joy told Lise all she needed to know. They were both deliriously happy. After breathless assurances Ariane went back to the subject of Charles.
It was clear Ariane hadn’t given up and that her goal was to see her sister as happily married as she was. “In Rhineland I heard there was hell to pay when Charles learned your belongings hadn’t been sent,” she said. “I tell you, one phone call from him and the servants dropped everything to make sure your trunks got packed and returned to you.”
“I see,” Lise said thoughtfully. “Then I have Charles to thank. Because if he hadn’t come through, you wouldn’t see me in this dress today. I’d be wearing an old bedsheet.”
“You’d look good in a bedsheet,” Marie-Claire declared with a grin. “Especially one with lace around the hem.”
“Thank you, dear sister. It won’t be long before bedsheets are the only thing that will fit me. But I haven’t been reduced to that yet. I can still squeeze into some of my trousseau dresses. Believe me, before my trunks came, I had nothing suitable for a queen’s birthday party.” She stood up. “Which reminds me, I’d better go wish her majesty a happy birthday.”
“We’ve already done our duty,” Ariane said. “We’ll see you later.”
Lise took a deep breath and set out down a stone walkway in her strapped sandals, her sheer voile dress brushing against her bare legs. Her sisters only wanted what was best for her and her baby. But she was tired of hearing how different Charles was from his brother. That didn’t automatically make him good husband material. If and when she ever married again, it would be for love.
Before she got to the queen, she was stopped by various old friends and acquaintances, all of them too polite to mention the scandal that had brought her back to St. Michel. She was thankful that not one mention was made of her former husband or her illegitimacy. She did receive condolences on the death of her father, for which she was grateful.
She was just congratulating herself on her poise in the face of this situation she’d been dreading, when she spotted Charles standing at the side of a fountain where white marble cherubs spouted water into a circular pond. He was wearing a dark suit and gazing at her thoughtfully across the grass. She hesitated. She didn’t want to be rude, but what was her response supposed to be? What was the protocol in greeting a man whose offer of marriage you’d recently turned down? She managed a small smile and he must have taken that as an encouraging sign, because he quickly joined her.
“I was wondering if you’d come today,” he said, his dark eyes traveling up and down her pale blue dress.
She felt slightly dizzy in his presence. His intense gaze unnerved her. When he glanced at the rounded neckline of her dress, she was conscious of her breasts swelling, of the fabric tightly stretched across the bodice and of her nipples budding. She felt the color rise to her cheeks. If only she’d kept walking. Talking to the queen would be a piece of cake compared to dealing with Charles. Yes, he was clearly the handsomest man here today. And the memory of his words hung in the air between them.
Take all the time you need…I’m not going anywhere.
“It’s a bit of a command performance,” she said, proud of her composure in the face of the man who looked so much like her ex-husband. “Being my grandmother’s birthday. But I didn’t know you…”
“She was kind enough to invite me.”
“I see,” she said. “I was just on my way to wish her a happy birthday.”
“I was hoping to have a few words with you.”
“Well, now you have,” Lise said. But she should have known she wasn’t going to get off so easily.
Charles smiled briefly at her attempt to dismiss him. “When you have a moment, won’t you join me for something to eat and drink?”
“Well, I…” she said. She knew she needed some sustenance soon if she was to continue to engage in social discourse with him or anyone. If not for herself, for her baby. She needed to eat frequently and to stay hydrated.
“You look a little pale,” he said. “I won’t keep you and I won’t distress you by bringing up anything unpleasant. I’ll be waiting at the table under the big oak.”
“Very well,” Lise said. How could she refuse? There was a look in his eyes that told her he was sincere. Her sister’s words came back to remind her.
He’s nothing like his brother.
She turned to leave then turned back. “I almost forgot to thank you for fixing my roof,” she said.
“I merely made a phone call,” he said.
“You made another to get me my trunks.”
He shrugged. “It was no trouble. If there’s anything else, please let me know. It must be difficult being a woman alone.”
“I’m not alone,” she said stiffly. “I’m surrounded by family. Not only my sisters, but my grandmother, my stepmother, stepsister…” She could have gone on and on, but the truth was that aside from her sisters, who now had their own lives, and her dear nanny, she was alone. Her grandmother cared, she knew, but Queen Simone’s priority right now was locating the missing heir.
Charles frowned at her response. “I didn’t mean to imply you were in any way helpless. Of course you have family and friends. I just meant…”
“I know what you meant,” she said, suddenly contrite. “I’m sorry I took it the wrong way. I don’t know what’s wrong with me these days. I get upset at the slightest thing. One minute I’m in tears, the next minute I’m laughing. My doctor says it’s hormones.” The concerned look on Charles’s face told her it was time to stop this conversation. She’d gone on way too long about herself and her condition. No man wanted to hear about a pregnant woman’s emotions or hormonal problems.
What was she thinking? She finally managed to murmur something about the queen and her duty and left him standing there. As she walked across the lawn she felt his gaze on her. He was probably wondering what on earth had gotten into her. Probably happy she’d turned him down. Who wants to marry an emotional basket case?
She kissed the queen on both cheeks, wished her a happy birthday and said something about how young she looked. At seventy-five, her face was unlined, and her eyes were still bright and alive with the spirit of someone half her age.
Lise retained her composure under the queen’s piercing gaze, answered her polite questions about her family, her work and her situation as best she could.
“How unfortunate it is that you’re divorced,” the queen said, tiny lines etched between her eyebrows. “Your father, if he were still alive, would be very displeased. He arranged this marriage for you with your future in mind. And now…”
Lise knew what she was going to say. And now, you have no future.
“Yes, Grandmama. Most unfortunate. But life is full of unfortunate events.” As if her grandmother didn’t know that. Everyone in the kingdom knew what she’d been through in the past fifty years—with more than one unfortunate marriage in the family. And now she was fighting to keep the country from reverting to Rhineland’s control by coming up with a missing heir. Missing because of her interference in her son’s affairs.
“What are your plans?” the old woman asked.
Plans. If only people would stop asking her about her plans. Wasn’t it enough to plan for the birth of her child? Lise smiled sweetly. “For the moment I am quite content in the cottage. I have Nanny…”
“She can’t be much help,” the dowager queen sniffed. “At her age.”
“Oh, but she is,” Lise said. “A great help.”
“And when the baby comes?”
“There’s plenty of room for the baby. The baby will fit in nicely.”
The dowager queen looked as displeased as if Lise had suggested putting the baby in a dresser drawer. “I was not referring to the square footage of the cottage,” she said stringently. “The best thing for you would be to marry again. As soon as possible. You can’t go on forever in a gardeners’ cottage. It isn’t suitable. It is most regrettable this situation has occurred.”
Lise fought off the urge to tell her to mind her own business. That another marriage was the last thing she wanted. But she knew better than to cross her grandmother. She needed all the support from the palace she could get.
“Yes, Grandmama,” she murmured.
“As you know we are searching for the missing heir to the throne. If we do not find him…” The queen broke off, but Lise knew what she was going to say.
If we do not find him, you will be without a home, money, protection from the palace, family or friends.
Out of the corner of her eye, Lise noticed that Luc Dumont, the man in charge of the St. Michel security force, whom Queen Simone had summoned to give the latest report on his search for the missing heir, was waiting for an audience with her. Lise knew anything she had to say paled in comparison to Luc’s information, so she excused herself.
All of St. Michel was consumed with this project. If the heir wasn’t found, and if Queen Celeste didn’t give birth to a boy, then Rhineland would absorb their country. As much as she hated to admit it, her grandmother had a point. Her future was uncertain. But so was her grandmother’s. In any case, that was not enough reason to consider marrying again.
With these sobering thoughts in her mind, she turned toward the ancient oak tree where Charles was waiting. From fifty meters away she knew he was looking at her. She felt the heat of his gaze even at this distance. She had an overwhelming desire to bolt. To disappear behind the palace and sneak through the servants’ entrance into the cool marble halls where she had once lived. How tempting it was to slip away into her childhood, when her father was king and her mother was queen. Before her mother had deserted them; before her father had remarried. When she didn’t have to worry about the future. When talk of weddings and royal alliances were far in the future.
She feared meeting Charles. She didn’t want to have the same conversation all over again. She knew this was not a meeting to enjoy refreshments and small talk. Charles was not the bully his brother was, but he had a determined look in his eyes that told her he hadn’t given up on her.
But she too had a determined streak. She would not let herself be talked into another disastrous marriage. No matter how many people told her it was a good idea. No matter who tried to frighten her into marrying for “security.” She squared her shoulders and walked steadily in his direction, repeating these words to herself.
Don’t give in.
You are in charge of your own life.
You are strong.
You don’t need a man in your life.
Don’t let him get to you.
You were married to his twin brother.
He only asked you out of a sense of duty. Yes, duty is important, but where marriage is concerned, next time, look for love.
You have lived as a princess. Your father was king. Royal blood flows through your veins. No one can tell you what to do.
Charles watched her walk toward him. Her head was held high, her blond hair shiny and full. She looked like every man’s dream of a princess. In the dappled sunlight he could see how her dress clung to her body, so lush, so ripe, so beautiful. He felt the desire flood his body. His heart was in his throat. He didn’t know what he was going to say when she got there. He only knew that if she turned him down again, he wouldn’t give up.
But if he couldn’t convince her this time, he didn’t know what more he could say. He didn’t expect her to love him. He didn’t expect to love her. He’d never been in love before. Love, if it existed outside story and song, was immensely overvalued. That wasn’t what this was about. This was about redemption, about honor and respect. A voice inside his head asked what about desire? What about revenge? Was that really what this was about?
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