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In Pursuit Of A Princess
Donna Clayton


FROM THE DESK OF LUC DUMONT,HEAD OF SECURITYST. MICHEL APRIL 2002 DAY30While a missing heir remains at large, Princess Ariane has offered to go undercover at the palace in Rhineland and learn more about the rumored faction hoping to control St. Michel. Her quick mind and devotion to her country–not to mention her intoxicating beauty–make Ariane the perfect person for the job. But it seems as though love has bloomed early this spring, for Ariane and the irresistible Prince Etienne have been practically inseparable. Does this mean the prince has finally found his bride? And if so, what will happen when he learns Ariane's been stripped of her royal title?









Praise for Donna Clayton


“Donna Clayton pens a cozy romance with a lot of humor, heart and passion.”

—Romantic Times




Etienne suddenly realized that he was falling hopelessly in love with this woman.


Sighing, he closed his eyes and tried to relax. But the notions eddying in his head made that next to impossible.

All of these realizations posed a huge problem for him.

He’d gone out seeking a wife. A princess. As the successor to the Rhineland throne, he knew his parents fully expected him to fulfill that goal.

Yet here he was at the top of Byron Mountain after having run away in the night with a woman who had no title, no fortune, no lands…not even a social standing to offer him and his country.

Had he totally lost his mind?

Or just his heart…

ROYALLY WED: THE MISSING HEIR series—A Princess in Waiting by Carol Grace (SR#1588).


Dear Reader,

Have you started your spring cleaning yet? If not, we have a great motivational plan: For each chore you complete, reward yourself with one Silhouette Romance title! And with the standout selection we have this month, you’ll be finished reorganizing closets, steaming carpets and cleaning behind the refrigerator in record time!

Take a much-deserved break with the exciting new ROYALLY WED: THE MISSING HEIR title, In Pursuit of a Princess, by Donna Clayton. The search for the missing St. Michel heir leads an undercover princess straight into the arms of a charming prince. Then escape with Diane Pershing’s SOULMATES addition, Cassie’s Cowboy. Could the dreamy hero from her daughter’s bedtime stories be for real?

Lugged out and wiped down the patio furniture? Then you deserve a double treat with Cara Colter’s What Child Is This? and Belinda Barnes’s Daddy’s Double Due Date. In Colter’s tender tearjerker, a tiny stranger reunites a couple torn apart by tragedy. And in Barnes’s warm romance, a bachelor who isn’t the “cootchie-coo” type discovers he’s about to have twins!

You’re almost there! Once you’ve rounded up every last dust bunny, you’re really going to need some fun. In Terry Essig’s Before You Get to Baby… and Sharon De Vita’s A Family To Be, childhood friends discover that love was always right next door. De Vita’s series, SADDLE FALLS, moves back to Special Edition next month.

Even if you skip the spring cleaning this year, we hope you don’t miss our books. We promise, this is one project you’ll love doing.

Happy reading!






Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor




In Pursuit of a Princess

Donna Clayton





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


In loving memory of Doris Montgomery,

my mom, my friend




Books by Donna Clayton


Silhouette Romance

Mountain Laurel #720

Taking Love in Stride #781

Return of the Runaway Bride #999

Wife for a While #1039

Nanny and the Professor #1066

Fortune’s Bride #1118

Daddy Down the Aisle #1162

* (#litres_trial_promo)Miss Maxwell Becomes a Mom #1211

* (#litres_trial_promo)Nanny in the Nick of Time #1217

* (#litres_trial_promo)Beauty and the Bachelor Dad #1223

† (#litres_trial_promo)The Stand-By Significant Other #1284

† (#litres_trial_promo)Who’s the Father of Jenny’s Baby? #1302

The Boss and the Beauty #1342

His Ten-Year-Old Secret #1373

Her Dream Come True #1399

Adopted Dad #1417

His Wild Young Bride #1441

** (#litres_trial_promo)The Nanny Proposal #1477

** (#litres_trial_promo)The Doctor’s Medicine Woman #1483

** (#litres_trial_promo)Rachel and the M.D. #1489

Who Will Father My Baby? #1507

In Pursuit of a Princess #1582

Silhouette Books

The Coltons

Close Proximity


DONNA CLAYTON

is the recipient of the Diamond Author Award for Literary Achievement 2000, as well as two Holt Medallions. She became a writer through her love of reading. As a child, she marveled at her ability to travel the world, experience swashbuckling adventures and meet amazingly bold and daring people without ever leaving the shade of the huge oak in her very own backyard. She takes great pride in knowing that, through her work, she provides her readers the chance to indulge in some purely selfish romantic entertainment.

One of her favorite pastimes is traveling. Her other interests include walking, reading, visiting with friends, teaching Sunday school, cooking and baking, and she still collects cookbooks, too. In fact, her house is overrun with them.

Please write to Donna care of Silhouette Books. She’d love to hear from you!










Contents


Chapter One (#uaeb741f6-1ac8-5bb2-8f08-296269f9a678)

Chapter Two (#u88c30bcf-9e9f-5046-95de-346167fb54df)

Chapter Three (#uc6ef56d6-2fc2-53d5-aa1a-004940981507)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


“Let the mission begin.” Princess Ariane de Bergeron glanced around, her heart pattering like the wings of a hummingbird as she made her way through the maze-like halls of the castle. Anyone overhearing her talking to herself would dub her a simpleton. But wasn’t that just what she wanted? Let the citizens of this foreign country think she was silly. That fit her plans perfectly.

Yes, she was in a foreign land. And although the lush and hilly terrain of Rhineland was nearly as beautiful as her own neighboring country, she had to remember there were enemies here. Enemies who were plotting to seize her beloved St. Michel.

Ariane was so concerned for her countrymen, in fact, that she was here under the guise of responding to the interest of Prince Etienne Kroninberg. Just a little over six months ago, the prince had traveled to St. Michel to present her with a formal invitation to the opera. Everyone realized the significance of this visit. Etienne had clear intentions on Princess Ariane. And her father, King Philippe, had been in full agreement that the two royal families should unite.

Royal protocol had forced Ariane to accept the date, but if the truth were to be known, she found the opera to be the most boring pastime ever invented. And if the prince of Rhineland enjoyed opera, then he must be boring, as well. In order to entertain herself, she’d invited plenty of attendants and friends along for the evening. So many, in fact, that she’d spent little time alone with the prince. And if the complete truth were known regarding her conduct that evening, the crown prince would not only have been insulted, but downright outraged.

She grinned even now as she thought about her wicked behavior. The poor man. He’d obviously had no idea what he’d been up against. Now, had he invited her to go rock climbing or parasailing, maybe then she’d have wanted to get to know him. As it turned out, she returned to the opera house before the performance had ended…with Prince Etienne none the wiser, thank heavens.

However, it had been pure luck for her—and the whole of her country—that Etienne had shown an interest in her. Under the pretense of responding to his attention, she planned to keep her eyes and ears open, to collect all the information possible about who was plotting against her country.

As she descended the curved staircase, she glanced at the massive grandfather clock standing on the landing. Twelve minutes past the hour. Perfect. Ariane’s grandmother, Dowager Queen Simone de Bergeron, had advised that when one was attending a party given in one’s honor it was polite to arrive fashionably late, allowing time for the other guests to have assembled themselves.

Her name was announced and she paused inside the doorway of the ballroom as she’d been taught to do since she was a child. All eyes turned to her.

She was confident that her attire befitted her position. The soft silk of her strapless, form-fitting gown was the same midnight blue of her eyes. Her hair was swept off her shoulders with the perfect amount of wispy tendrils framing her face. The jewels in her tiara glittered, as did the diamonds gracing her earlobes and throat. Her father would have been proud….

Grief rushed over her, but she quelled the tears that so suddenly scalded the backs of her eyelids. Now was not the time to succumb to emotion, not with a room full of nobility scrutinizing her every move. Forcing her mouth to spread into a gracious smile, she made her way toward her host and hostess.

“Your Highness.” Ariane greeted the king of Rhineland, offering the man a curtsy. But it was the queen who reached out to her.

“Oh, Ariane,” the woman said, “we’ll have none of that formal behavior from you. This is Giraud.” She indicated her husband. “And I insist that you call me Laurette.”

The king chuckled jovially. “You’ll have to do as she says,” he told Ariane. “I may wear the bigger crown, but Laurette runs the place.”

They laughed, and Ariane was keenly aware of the fondness this couple obviously shared. All her instincts told her that she was going to like these people. She hoped she didn’t discover they were involved in the conspiracy.

Laurette’s expression turned somber. “I was so sorry to hear about the passing of your father. King Philippe was a wonderful man.”

Sorrow welled up in Ariane. She had yet to come to grips with her grief. She smiled through the pain. “Thank you. No one knew Father was having heart problems.”

“If there is anything we can do for you while you’re here with us…”

The king’s kind offer touched Ariane’s heart.

Suddenly, Queen Laurette looked pained. “I’ll have to apologize for my son. I don’t know what could be keeping him. He’s always in some meeting or other.”

“I’ve sent out a search party.” Giraud patted Ariane’s arm. “Don’t worry. He’ll turn up soon enough.”

“I’m sure he will.” But even as Ariane stood there with her back to the crowd, she became cognizant of the low murmur rushing through the room. Surely the guests were discussing the prince’s faux pas.

As she made her way across the polished marble floor, Ariane’s smile didn’t wilt in the least; however, she could feel annoyance spark inside her like the striking of a match. Of all the pompous, egotistical things for the prince to do! Arriving after her at a party given in her honor was not only arrogant, it was downright rude.

Like the loyal and trusted friend she was, Francie, Ariane’s lady-in-waiting, stood nearby, the frown on her brow blatant proof of the aggravation she felt.

“He’s an oaf to have done this to you,” Francie said in a rush.

Ariane sighed, knowing exactly about whom Francie was speaking. “It’s all right. I’m not concerned with the prince, anyway. You know that.”

The words rolled off her tongue easily enough—and they should have been nothing but true. So why, she wondered, was she feeling so perturbed?

“Yes, but no one else here does,” her friend reminded her. “And now everyone’s talking. They’ll all be thinking—”

“Keep your voice down.” Ariane picked up a flute of champagne from a tray and nodded her appreciation to the servant who offered it. Once the man was out of earshot, she said to Francie, “I know what they’ll be thinking—and saying. That I’m a desperate woman who is hankering after their prince.”

Maybe that was the cause of her irritation. She didn’t like being thought of as desperate.

“But he was the one who made first contact,” her lady said, her ire obvious.

Francie got herself worked up easily and it never failed to tweak Ariane’s humor. A grin curled the corners of her mouth. “It’s going to be all right. Yes, I had hoped that my arrival would go smoothly, but I can surely handle a bumpy start.” She smiled a genial greeting to an elderly man who strolled by. “Maybe the prince has taken ill. Or he’s been detained with affairs of the state.”

“At eight o’clock on a Saturday evening? Nothing could be more important to the prince of Rhineland than to be here. ” Francie’s expression displayed her indignation as she firmly added, “Ten minutes ago.”

“Okay, you’ve made your point. So the prince is an arrogant lout.” Ariane sipped her champagne. “Speaking of affairs of the state…what do you say we find a likely candidate and talk politics? That is why I’m here.”

Francie’s nose wrinkled. “Political talk bores me. You know that.”

Yes, Ariane did. “Then you go find a handsome man to dance with.”

The woman started to go, but paused long enough to warn, “You be careful.”

“Careful is my middle name. Besides—” Ariane let her eyes go wide with feigned naïvetë “—as soon as I show them that I’m empty-headed and harmless, every official in the castle will be clamoring to impress me with all they know.”

Etienne slipped into the ballroom using a side door. His parents would have his head for being late. But the matter couldn’t be helped, he thought, his mouth firming into a grim line. He could only meet with the most trusted members of his Intelligence Service when everyone else was otherwise occupied.

Ruthless rumors were afloat. It had been reported to him that a person—or persons—within his father’s cabinet wanted to seize control of the neighboring country of St. Michel. Etienne was appalled that someone wanted to take advantage of the de Bergeron family when they were still in mourning over the loss of King Philippe. The idea was barbaric in this day and age.

Granted, the unexpected death of the king left the country with no male heir—and it was common knowledge that the law of St. Michel declared that females could not rule. It was an archaic edict, but legally enforceable, nonetheless. No war would be fought. Not a single Rhineland soldier would march across St. Michel’s border. This battle would be waged in the international courts. And all of this would take place in a civilized and peaceful manner. Yet it would be nonetheless barbaric in Etienne’s mind.

He paused when he caught sight of his parents who were waltzing out on the dance floor. His mother was just getting over a serious bout of pneumonia. She’d been ill for some time now and his father had been worried that she may not recover completely. It was good to see them enjoying themselves.

He let his gaze travel slowly over the guests in the ballroom. It didn’t take but an instant to find who he was looking for. She stood out in the crowd, his princess did. Ariane was that stunning. Heat spiraled like liquid smoke low in his gut.

Her honey-blond hair was twisted into an intricate coiffure, a few loose and softly curling strands falling to brush against her sexy bare shoulders whenever she moved her head. The line of her milky neck was long and graceful and delicate. She had the kind of throat that enticed a man to press his nose against warm skin, to inhale the distinct and subtle womanly aroma that would be hers and hers alone. Ariane, he silently surmised, would smell of sunny summer days and flowery meadows.

He had to admit, Princess Ariane’s visit had him more than a bit perplexed. He’d made his intentions known prior to her father’s passing. King Philippe had let Etienne know that he was quite in favor of a match between himself and Ariane. Etienne’s own father was in favor of such an alliance as well. However, Princess Ariane hadn’t seemed the least interested in Etienne as a suitor.

He’d returned home feeling rebuffed. He wasn’t a quitter, though, by any means, and he’d had every intention of having another go at the beautiful Princess Ariane. However, his mother had taken ill, and Etienne had stood in for his father so he could be with his mother. Then King Philippe had died. Contacting Ariane during her time of mourning simply hadn’t seemed appropriate.

No one had been more surprised than Etienne when the de Bergeron royal envoy had arrived announcing Princess Ariane’s intentions of visiting Rhineland.

He started across the floor. Surely, the princess would be feeling affronted by his tardiness. He had some groveling to do. He may as well get it over with.

When he approached, all conversation stopped.

“Your Highness.” He bowed deep, wanting to express his profound apology. He straightened, leveling his gaze on her beautiful deep blue eyes. “Please forgive me.” He pressed a light kiss, first to one cheek, then the other, taking full advantage of the old-style traditional greeting. Her skin was warm satin against his lips. “I hope you believe me when I say my late arrival couldn’t be avoided. I do apologize for my absence.”

He’d been wrong. Her scent didn’t bring to mind summer days and wildflowers. She smelled of starlit nights washed clean by fresh rain.

Her lovely gaze went round and she said, “You’ve been absent?”

The two men standing in the small group did their best to stifle the humor incited by the Princess’s cutting question.

Touché, Etienne thought. He deserved that. She had every right to put him in his place.

Her smile was dazzling enough to steal away a man’s thoughts.

“I’ve been having a wonderful conversation with the reverends here,” she told him.

What she’d said took him aback. Surely the lords had introduced themselves. Unable to quell his surprise, he queried, “Reverends?”

“Yes,” she said. “The pastors here were just telling me about your beautiful country.”

“Princess,” Etienne felt compelled to correct, “Lord Hecht is minister of the interior. One of his many duties includes suggesting policy for our park-lands.” The man named Hecht offered Ariane an indulgent smile. “And Lord Bartelow is deputy minister of trade. He advises the king on issues of commerce.” When Ariane’s gaze still didn’t seem to register understanding, he allowed himself to go a little further. “These men have been appointed by my father to help him run our government.”

Ariane’s chuckle sounded like tiny bells as she focused her attention on the two elderly men. “Oh…and here I thought I’d been talking to men of the cloth. I heard the word ‘minister’ and…well, I just naturally assumed…”

Again, she laughed. Daintily. Infectiously. And although the lords politely joined her, Etienne could tell from the quick, covert expressions that passed between them what they were thinking: if brain cells were dynamite, the lovely princess apparently wouldn’t have enough to blow her nose.

This exchange was Etienne’s first inkling that something about the de Bergeron princess seemed…well, shifted just a little bit left of center. Her behavior was somehow…off. And as he stood there listening to her talk, this deviation from what he thought should be the norm became more and more pronounced. He wasn’t too proud to admit that the situation had him highly perplexed.

At one point when Lord Hecht was explaining his plan to create more nature sanctuaries, Princess Ariane suddenly snagged a passing female guest by the arm and exclaimed, “I simply must know where you bought that dress. The fabric is heavenly.”

The three men stood speechless at the sudden shift in the conversation. However, the women seemed happy enough discussing clothing designers.

As the evening progressed, Etienne became downright amazed at how the princess would ask seemingly coherent questions regarding someone’s political position only to make a frivolous comment that left her looking, well, less than intelligent.

Etienne honestly didn’t know what to think. Maybe Ariane wasn’t the woman he’d believed her to be.

Being the crown prince of Rhineland, the one who would next succeed to the throne, Etienne had realized early in his life that he couldn’t chose a wife purely on whim. For several years now, the king himself as well as the king’s most trusted advisors had been discussing the subject of Etienne’s taking a wife. No man liked the idea of others offering input on who he took as a life mate, but, well, that was just the way things were done when you were of royal blood. Especially so when you were in line to become king.

From what he’d learned of Ariane de Bergeron, he’d had high hopes that she could very well be the perfect woman for him.

She was poised, there was no doubt about that. Having this woman gracing his arm would make any man proud. She was most certainly beautiful. The kind of woman who stirred the most primitive instincts in a man. He was experiencing that just being near her now, he realized, feeling the embers of desire smoldering even as he stood next to her. She was of the royal de Bergeron bloodline, a stately and well-respected family. And he’d been told she was an educated woman, having studied in Switzerland, acquiring a degree in political science.

Several women had gathered round them now, and he frowned as he listened to the conversation at hand. Had Ariane just compared the running of a monarchy to shopping for shoes? This evening was becoming more bizarre by the moment.

Sources had informed him that the princess had a head on her shoulders…a head supposedly filled with an impressive brain. However, if he were to believe what he was seeing—and hearing—this evening he’d have to say there was nothing more than a big air bubble between her ears.

“Oh, my,” Ariane exclaimed suddenly, “but it is warm in here, don’t you think?” She batted her innocent eyes at Etienne, clearly expecting him to make all things right for her.

“If you’ll excuse me for a moment—” he let his gaze touch upon hers and then glanced at the group at large “I’ll have the doors opened and fetch a cool drink for the princess.”

The women standing within earshot hid their smiles and the men’s gazes slid awkwardly from his. Normally, it wasn’t Etienne’s place to do such menial tasks as seeing to the temperature of the room or arranging for guests’ refreshment. On any ordinary evening, he would have handed the chore over to one of the servants who hovered nearby. However, with complete and utter bewilderment spinning his thoughts into a dozen different directions, this was turning out to be no ordinary evening he’d ever experienced.

He gave quick orders to push open the doors leading to the garden to the first servant he saw, then he scanned the room in search of someone carrying a tray of drinks. He stopped short when he caught sight of his mother looking wan, and he immediately made his way through the crowd toward her.

“Are you feeling all right, Mother?” he asked. “You look done in.”

Her smile was tired. “I think I’ve just had too much fun this evening, is all.”

“Where’s Father? He should see you to your room.” Etienne glanced around him. “Would you like me to escort you?”

“No, no.” Laurette’s brow puckered. “You go back to Princess Ariane. Are you seeing to it that she’s having a good time? Have you asked her to dance?”

The queen’s tone held a mild inflection of accusation and censure. Etienne couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his mouth. “Yes, I’ve asked the princess to dance. So have half a dozen other men. However, so far she hasn’t been so inclined to accept.”

His mother looked utterly scandalized. “She has to dance. With you. What will everyone say? You see to it that you get that young woman out on the dance floor.”

Dutifully, he said, “Yes, Mother.” Then he gave her a small, teasing salute.

“Oh, now,” she said, “stop that. I’m not trying to mother hen you. I just want—”

“I know exactly what you want,” Etienne gently interrupted. “You want Princess Ariane’s visit to go well. And so do I.”

The elderly woman glanced toward the crowd that had gathered around Ariane at the far side of the ballroom. She murmured, “She’s probably upset. If only you had been on time….”

“Mother, trust that I’ll make everything right.”

“You always do, dear.”

Just then, Etienne’s father joined them, reaching up to clap his son on the back.

“That’s one beautiful woman who has come to Rhineland to see you, son,” he told Etienne. “Don’t let her get away.”

Etienne grinned. “I don’t plan to.”

Well, he hadn’t planned to. But after spending a couple of hours in her company, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“All my top advisors say she’s self-assured, humorous and well-educated—”

From his father’s opinion, Etienne could tell the man hadn’t spent much time this evening in the princess’s company.

“—and that she’s just perfect for you.”

Etienne remained silent, his mind churning with troubling thoughts.

Giraud’s gray eyes softened as they leveled on his wife. “You’ll have to see to things for the remainder of tonight’s festivities, Etienne. I’m going to retire for the evening with my lovely wife. She might be feeling better, but I believe she’s not fully recovered just yet.”

This protective behavior warmed Etienne’s heart. He hoped to someday make a match as loving as the one his parents shared.

That thought had his gaze drifting across the room until it latched onto Princess Ariane. The deep blue silk of her dress hugged the curves and valleys of her luscious figure. The soft light turned her blond hair to glistening honey.

“She’s perfect,” he softly murmured his father’s opinion aloud.

Self-assured, humorous, well-educated. The description haunted Etienne’s mind.

Something wasn’t right here. All the information he’d been given pointed out the fact that things were not adding up. Ariane was all of those things, Etienne was sure. And if he was sure of that, then her behavior had to be some sort of put on.

He sighed. But that just made no sense to him. No sense at all.

However, for some odd reason, it seemed as though the princess wanted the people of his country to think she was naïve and…well, dim-witted. She was putting on a show. And quite a show it was, at that.

But the question was…for whom? And why?




Chapter Two


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pardon me, princess.”

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

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

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

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

“May I have this dance?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.”

The gratitude in her sweet voice tugged at his heartstrings.

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s the same thing I said to—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her perfectly arched brows lifted a fraction in silent question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can’t believe it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stop!

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

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

A few surprising—no, amazing—minutes.

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

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

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

And the reality of her life was the reason.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The de Bergeron missing heir.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just fine.”

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

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

“Oh, nothing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Trust me.

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

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

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

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

She waited, and Ariane remained stubbornly silent.

“He looked awesome last night.”

More silence.

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

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

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

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

Francie grinned with clear delight.

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

The pleasure slowly slid from Francie’s expression.

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

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

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




Chapter Three


Etienne sat at the end of the long table, making a great effort to appear interested in the story being recounted by the man sitting next to him. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn’t seem to spark an interest in the gentleman’s escapades of starting a coffee bean plantation in Kenya. In fact, it was all he could do not to doze off into his raspberry sorbet.

It could have been because the man’s adventure had taken place nearly a half century ago, or that he kept losing track of the storyline which caused him to repeat some portions of the tale several times over. Still, Etienne did his best to chuckle at all the right places and raise his brows to show he was impressed when the exploits required it.

All through dinner, though, his gaze kept skimming down to the other end of the table where Ariane sat at his father’s left. For the past several evenings Kroninberg Palace had been a hive of activity. First had been the ball welcoming Ariane to Rhineland. Then for three nights running, the formal dining room had been filled with government officials, dignitaries and special friends of the family who wanted to spend some time with the princess.

Etienne would have given his eyeteeth to have been seated next to Ariane. But since she was the guest of honor, her place was near his parents. And as a member of the Kroninberg family, Etienne had to do his part by sitting at the opposite end of the table and entertaining the guests who were not fortunate enough to sit nearer the princess.

During each lingering meal, Etienne had had a hard time giving the dinner guests his full attention. And the reason was simple.

Ariane.

Tonight she wore a sleeveless, figure-hugging dress in a captivating shade of burnt orange. The hue of the shiny-looking fabric set off both her deep blue eyes and her tanned, curvy body. Her honey-blond hair fell, sleek and loose, just past her shoulders, and Etienne kept daydreaming about combing his fingers through those soft tresses.

Ariane’s easy smile flashed now at something his mother said, and he felt as if someone had stirred a pile of slow-burning embers inside him. Heat coiled in his belly and his jaw unwittingly tightened against the yearning that was kindled.

He wanted this woman. In the worst way.

Etienne still suspected she was playacting. That the empty-headed persona she was presenting was just that. A mask. A guise.

However, he had to admit that he wasn’t quite sure. If she was putting on a show, she sure was good at it. Not once in the days that she’d been in Rhineland had she slipped up. Time and again, she’d draw the government officials into political discussions only to make some outlandish remark that made her seem downright silly.

But why did she continue to choose a topic on which she seemed to know so little? Did she not realize how dense it made her appear? Maybe she really was flighty and shallow.

No. Etienne refused to fall for that, no matter how hard the princess was working to make everyone around her believe it. There was an intelligence in those midnight eyes of hers that just seemed to be screaming for release.

What he needed to do was force her to show her true self. To somehow trip her up. And he didn’t want to do that in the company of anyone else.

Suddenly a plan formed in his head. He’d invite her to dinner in his private suite, talk to her about world governments. She certainly seemed interested in the subject. He’d make some purposefully erroneous remarks about different political principles and then he’d see if she rose to the bait. He nearly chuckled at the perfection of his plan. No woman could resist correcting a man who was blatantly wrong. Ariane would be no exception.

But what to do about the princess’s lady-in-waiting? Simple good manners dictated that he invite Francie along to dinner, too.

Then he thought of Harry, his equerry. The two of them were close friends…Etienne suppressed a grin…they’d even been partners in crime a time or two when they’d been students together at Eton. Berkshire, England hadn’t known what had hit it after the two of them had pulled a couple of their harmless pranks.

His friendship with Harry had been what had prompted Etienne to ask the Brit to move to Rhineland as his personal assistant.

Harry’s ornery streak was still thick enough that he could easily come up with a scheme to coax Francie out of Etienne’s apartments, leaving Etienne alone with Ariane for a while. Better yet, Harry could waylay Francie even before the two women were to arrive for dinner.

Etienne could hardly contain his mirth as he realized that his own ornery streak hadn’t faded much over the years.

The plan set, he nodded enthusiastically at something the old gentleman beside him said, and when everyone around him laughed, he followed suit. However his mind was focused on tomorrow evening…when he’d succeed in getting Ariane alone.

Where in the world was Francie? Ariane paced the sitting room of the guest suite. She’d been dressed and ready for half an hour.

Dinner with the prince. In his apartments.

Ariane trembled inside.

Her case of nerves had a twofold cause. First off, she was uneasy about her ability to keep up this brainless façade. So many times over the past few days she’d nearly blurted out her true opinions to the administrators and bureaucrats she’d talked with. She’d discovered just how much she abhorred looking like a senseless idiot.

And secondly, she’d done everything she could to keep from being alone with Etienne. Those mesmerizing moments they had shared on her first night in his country had really thrown her for a loop.

Before arriving in Rhineland she’d thought of Etienne as nothing more than a means to an end in her goal of discovering who was plotting against her country. But she’d quickly discovered that the prince was an alluring man. A sexy danger to her mission. Like flint against steel, he sparked feelings in her that she wasn’t up to dealing with right now.

When she’d received his dinner invitation this morning, her first reaction had been relief. All those formal meals were beginning to get to her. She’d smiled so much that her cheek muscles were becoming sore.

Fretfulness had Ariane actually opening the door of the guest suite and peering down the hallway one way, then the other, in search of Francie. She stepped back inside and shut the door.

She glanced at the beautifully carved German cuckoo clock on the wall. Being fashionably late was one thing, but this was bordering on nothing short of bad manners.

What was worse? she wondered. A terribly tardy arrival? Or visiting the prince’s private apartments without her lady in tow?

Certainly, Etienne would have staff members in attendance to serve the meal. And surely Harry, his personal assistant, would be present, as well. There should be plenty of people milling about to act as chaperones.

Not that a princess needed a chaperone in this day and age. However, Ariane almost smiled as she thought of how her elderly and quite conservative grandmother, the dowager queen, would respond. It was never seemly, Simone would say, for a single woman to visit a bachelor’s private rooms unescorted.




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