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The Prince and The Marriage Pact
Valerie Parv


HE WAS A PRINCESince Carramer law stated he must marry a princess or forfeit the throne, Prince Maxim de Marigny had avoided romantic entanglements. But then a chance encounter with a strikingly beautiful–and startlingly antiroyal–woman made him wonder if he was more man than monarch!WHO COULDN'T BE TEMPTED BY LOVEAnnegret West was unimpressed with titled men and majestic trappings, but His Royal Heartthrob Prince Maxim made her jaded heart flutter! Yet despite her growing emotional attachment, marriage with Maxim wasn't in her future. How could Annegret expect Maxim to sacrifice his crown? If only she had been born royal….







“Haven’t you ever felt like

doing anything crazy?” Maxim asked

as he brushed the side of Annegret’s

face with the back of his hand.

A shiver of response took her. She tried for flippancy. “If I do, I lie down until the impulse passes.”

“And if it doesn’t?”

He stepped into the room and pulled the door shut behind him. She heard a click as he engaged the lock. The eager leap of her heart contradicted her logical mind warning her that she didn’t want this—didn’t want to acknowledge what was between them.

She’d told herself as long as they ignored it, it would go away. It wasn’t fair of Maxim to change the rules now. Why didn’t he simply take her out to dinner? They could discuss her ideas for his film, keep things on an even keel between them.

Pretend nothing else was happening here.

But then he took her in his arms and it was impossible to pretend any longer.


Dear Reader,

Discover a guilt-free way to enjoy this holiday season. Treat yourself to four calorie-free, but oh-so-satisfying brand-new Silhouette Romance titles this month.

Start with Santa Brought a Son (#1698) by Melissa McClone. This heartwarming reunion romance is the fourth book in Silhouette Romance’s new six-book continuity, MARRYING THE BOSS’S DAUGHTER.

Would a duty-bound prince forsake tradition to marry an enchanting commoner? Find out in The Prince & the Marriage Pact (#1699), the latest episode in THE CARRAMER TRUST miniseries by reader favorite Valerie Parv.

Then, it’s anyone’s guess if a wacky survival challenge can end happily ever after. Join the fun as the romantic winners of a crazy contest are revealed in The Bachelor’s Dare (#1700) by Shirley Jump.

And in Donna Clayton’s The Nanny’s Plan (#1701), a would-be sophisticate is put through the ringer by a drop-dead gorgeous, absentminded professor and his rascally twin nephews.

So pick a cozy spot, relax and enjoy all four of these tender holiday confections that Silhouette Romance has cooked up just for you.

Happy holidays!

Mavis C. Allen

Associate Senior Editor




The Prince & the Marriage Pact

Valerie Parv







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


To the “first” Annegret, with much affection.




Books by Valerie Parv


Silhouette Romance

The Leopard Tree #507

The Billionaire’s Baby Chase #1270

Baby Wishes and Bachelor Kisses #1313

* (#litres_trial_promo) The Monarch’s Son #1459

* (#litres_trial_promo) The Prince’s Bride-To-Be #1465

* (#litres_trial_promo) The Princess’s Proposal #1471

Booties and the Beast #1501

Code Name: Prince #1516

† (#litres_trial_promo) Crowns and a Cradle #1621

† (#litres_trial_promo) The Baron & the Bodyguard #1627

† (#litres_trial_promo) The Marquis and the Mother-to-Be #1633

†† (#litres_trial_promo) The Viscount & the Virgin #1691

†† (#litres_trial_promo) The Princess & the Masked Man #1695

†† (#litres_trial_promo) The Prince & the Marriage Pact #1699

Silhouette Intimate Moments

Interrupted Lullaby #1095

Royal Spy #1154




VALERIE PARV


With twenty million copies of her books sold, including three Waldenbooks’ bestsellers, it’s no wonder Valerie Parv is known as Australia’s queen of romance, and is the recognized media spokesperson for all things romantic. Valerie is married to her own romantic hero, Paul, a former crocodile hunter in Australia’s tropical north.

These days he’s a cartoonist and the two live in the country’s capital city of Canberra, where both are volunteer zoo guides, sharing their love of animals with visitors from all over the world. Valerie continues to write her page-turning novels because they affirm her belief in love and happy endings. As she says, “Love gives you wings, romance helps you fly.” Keep up with Valerie’s latest releases at www.silromanceauthors.com (http://www.silromanceauthors.com).


From Sea to Stars

Oh Carramer, our Carramer,

It is of you we proudly sing,

Once scattered isles,

None now divide,

From sea to stars, our freedom rings.

To you we pledge, oh Carramer,

Our hearts and hands, our everything,

To grow in peace

And harmony,

From sea to stars, as freedom rings.

The cherished kingdom, Carramer,

No matter what the future brings,

Through love and courage

Shows the way

From sea to stars, as freedom rings.




Contents


Chapter One (#u2964ee1f-cd18-527e-9403-da3e48713b3e)

Chapter Two (#u920b1df4-e76d-570b-a5ad-42b56c2f7015)

Chapter Three (#u3c2aff96-9e79-5c8c-ad1d-9ed7dd4ad546)

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)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)




Chapter One


Annegret West felt a rush of anticipation as she ventured deeper into the corridors of Merrisand Castle. The sounds of the wedding reception gradually faded behind her as she told herself there was no harm in looking around. If these areas had been off-limits to visitors, surely there would have been security guards to direct her back to the reception rooms?

Considering that the groom was a key member of the Royal Protection Detail, and many of his colleagues were occupied attending the wedding, she wasn’t surprised when no one questioned her right to be here.

Her air of confidence was the key, she knew. She was well dressed, as befitted a guest at a wedding taking place in a royal castle, and she walked with the assurance of someone who knew exactly where she was going.

Passing a gold-framed mirror, she caught a glimpse of a statuesque blonde with short-cropped hair feathered around her ears. Her slender frame was skimmed by a sleeveless, navy linen dress, although she wouldn’t have minded if her tiny, cream lace cardigan had buttoned over breasts a size or two larger. She smiled at her reflection, recalling a famous duchess saying one could never be too thin or too rich. Annegret’s genes had taken care of the thin part. She was still working on the rest.

As producer of the television show, Behind Closed Doors, she had learned to trust her instincts. Right now they were leading her deeper into the castle. She was interested in the unique situation of the prince who ruled the castle, and intended to research his story for a possible program.

The show was on its summer break, allowing her to come to Carramer for the wedding of her former school friend, Donna, to the handsome security man, Kevin Jordan. With the ceremony and speeches over for the moment, and the wedding breakfast well under way, Annegret felt free to wander until she found what she was looking for.

And there it was.

She slowed as she approached a huge oil painting in an ornate gold frame. She had seen enough reproductions to recognize it on sight. Painted a hundred seventy-five years ago by a renowned Carramer artist, the Champagne Pact depicted the ancestor of the present prince sealing a bargain with a rich merchant by the name of Soral. A bargain with the devil, as history recorded it.

The painting gained its name from the goblets of champagne the figures were raising to seal their agreement. The merchant had provided a vast sum of money to finance development in the province of Taures, where Merrisand Castle was located. In return, Soral had extracted the prince’s vow that for the next two centuries, if a firstborn son of Taures married a woman not of royal blood, the crown would pass to the Soral family.

Fiendishly clever, Annegret thought. According to history, the merchant had known that the prince was madly in love with a commoner, and had assumed the crown was within his grasp. But the prince had outwitted the merchant by sacrificing his love for the good of the crown. Annegret gathered that princes of Taures had been doing much the same thing ever since.

She had long been fascinated by the Champagne Pact itself, as well as the famous painting. Knowing that at least one branch of royalty was doomed to be unlucky in love gave her enormous satisfaction.

Recognizing her own bias in this particular area, Annegret felt a twinge of conscience. While working in the Australian diplomatic service, her mother had fallen in love with an equerry to Prince Frederick of Ehrenberg, then his country’s ambassador to Australia. After promising to marry her mother and take her home to his country, the equerry had instead left Debra West alone and pregnant with his child.

Annegret lifted her shoulders in a shrug. So she wasn’t a fan of royalty. It was hardly surprising, given that she was the child the man had turned his back on. The only correspondence her mother had received from the man was a letter soon after Annegret was born, telling her that she wouldn’t be hearing from him again.

Ehrenberg’s borders had been closed to foreigners for most of Annegret’s life, so she and her mother couldn’t seek out the man to demand an explanation. Not that Annegret wanted to. She told herself that he had done her mother a favor, leaving his child to be raised in Australia. Had he taken her mother home to Ehrenberg with him, Annegret would be there still, confined within the mountain kingdom, cut off from the rest of the world. If it wasn’t for the unhappiness her father had caused her mother, Annegret would have no regrets at all.

Dismissing the thought, she studied the painting. If she hadn’t known it was so old, she would have been confused by the strong resemblance of that prince to the present-day prince of Taures, Maxim de Marigny. He had put in an appearance at the wedding to wish the couple well.

He was amazingly good-looking, a fact that hadn’t escaped her notice at the ceremony. As dark in coloring as his ancestor in the painting, Prince Maxim had the most amazing cobalt-blue eyes. As the guests left the chapel, the prince’s gaze had fixed on her for a few seconds, sending a shiver of response down her spine. Although tempted, she hadn’t looked away, and had caught a glimmer of amusement in his expression, as if he had expected her to lower her lashes, and was pleased when she met his gaze unflinchingly.

Pure fantasy, she told herself. The product of working too hard to wrap up her most recent series before leaving Australia. Still, she couldn’t deny that he had noticed her. She had certainly noticed him.

He possessed a worldly look she found herself wondering about. He hadn’t appeared overly pampered, yet his job as administrator of the Merrisand charitable trust had to be a sinecure. With a thousand years of royal tradition behind him, he obviously didn’t need to work for a living.

He hadn’t looked as inbred as she’d expected, either. His wide, strong mouth was far from effete, and his athletic build suggested he took as much care of himself as Annegret herself did. She liked that, having little patience with people who took no pride in their appearance. She didn’t care whether they were tall or short, heavy or slender, as long as they made the best of what they had.

There was no denying that Prince Maxim did so, she thought. What he had amounted to a devastatingly masculine package. Her mental assessment had included long limbs and a lithe body encased in a dark suit that was a monument to tailoring excellence.

But there was something more—a commanding quality that owed nothing to breeding or tailoring. Had he been the lowliest commoner, Maxim would still have been an impressive man, she conceded. He couldn’t have helped it.

Annoyed with her train of thought, she turned away from the painting. Having seen it, she knew she should return to the reception. But her footsteps dragged. It was so peaceful here, away from the festivities. She was in no hurry to return.

Noticing an intriguing plant in an alcove, she went to inspect it. Annegret was no gardener, but guessed it was some kind of lily. The dazzling cream flower was the size of a trumpet, and the jade-green dinner-plate-size leaves glistened as if painted. It looked too perfect to be real. She stretched out a hand.

“Don’t touch that.”

The order startled her so much that her hand closed reflexively around the plant’s fleshy stem, and she gave a cry of shock as her palm was stung by what felt like hundreds of needles. She pulled away, feeling as if she had thrust her hand into a naked flame.

She looked up into a twin of the cobalt gaze she had been contemplating in the painting only a moment before. Except this time the eyes raking her belonged to Prince Maxim himself, and fierce glints sparked in their depths.

“I only wanted to see if the plant was real, Your Highness” she said, wishing she didn’t feel like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Assuming there were cookies that could make her hand feel as if it was on fire.

“The Janus lily is real, unfortunately,” he said in a clipped tone that barely disguised a voice as deep and rich as hot chocolate. “When it’s in flower, it’s particularly dangerous. I’d ordered it moved from the alcove, but evidently the staff hadn’t gotten around to it yet.” His grim tone said someone would pay for the oversight.

“It’s all right, really,” she insisted, cradling her hand against her chest. As soon as the pain subsided, she would be fine. Less easy to deal with was the way her heart had started thundering with his approach.

Only shock, she assured herself, not sure how accurately. Up close, the prince was even more prepossessing than when she’d seen him outside the chapel. He was a few inches taller than Annegret herself, and she stood five-ten without heels. His hair was as dark and glossy as a night sky, and the hand he reached out to her looked strong and capable.

She had always had a thing for men’s hands. The prince’s might not appear work-worn, but neither did they look soft. His nails were clipped to a businesslike length and he wore a beaten-silver ring on the third finger of his right hand. Nothing on his left hand, but she already knew he was unmarried. Not that she cared.

“Let me take a look.”

Before she could argue, he took her hand in his, uncurling her clenched fingers to reveal two red slashes across her palm where she had touched the plant stem. Each livid slash was impregnated with hundreds of hairlike filaments.

In as much pain as she was, she couldn’t help noticing that his grasp was gentle, for all the anger in his expression. Her swift and very physical response caught her by surprise. She told herself it was because he was holding her hand and standing close enough for her to inhale a faint trace of his aftershave lotion—a blend of citrus and herbal scents that teased her nostrils.

“The Janus lily?” she queried, very much aware of needing the distraction. And not wholly because of the pain. “Wasn’t Janus the Roman god of doorways and entrances?”

The prince nodded. “He was usually depicted wearing two faces.”

She looked at the plant with renewed respect. “Like the lily, one beautiful, one dangerous.”

“It’s a Carramer native, one of the few that isn’t benign,” he explained. “They’re only dangerous when in flower, and then only when touched.”

“If you hadn’t startled me, I wouldn’t have touched it,” she snapped, pain getting the better of her.

“If you hadn’t been wandering where you shouldn’t, I wouldn’t have startled you,” he countered mildly, but she heard a definite undercurrent of steel in his tone. Prince Maxim didn’t take kindly to being crossed, she gathered.

Well, she didn’t like being attacked by his feral plant, so they were even, she decided. She tugged her hand free, aware of a trace of regret accompanying the movement. “I wanted to see the Champagne Pact,” she said tartly. “I didn’t see any harm in it.”

“This part of the castle is not open to the public, but you could have sought permission if you wished to view the painting.”

“I hadn’t planned that far ahead. The noise of the reception was giving me a headache, so I came looking for somewhere quieter. When I realized where I was, I decided to see if I could find the painting while I was here.” Annoyance crept into her tone. She didn’t like being on the defensive, especially since the prince was right. She shouldn’t have trespassed, but she was darned if she was going to apologize. Her hand felt as if it was going to remind her of her folly for some time to come.

“Are you always so impulsive, Miss West?”

So he knew who she was. She felt a frisson of pleasure until it was overshadowed by common sense. Obviously, for a wedding held at a castle with royalty in attendance, everyone on the guest list would need security clearance. And he had probably memorized every name as a matter of course.

“Annegret,” she offered. Then added, “Recklessness is an Australian trait.” She shrugged, then wished she hadn’t as a fresh burst of discomfort radiated along her forearm.

He saw the wince she couldn’t quite conceal. “And now you’re injured as a result. Let it be a lesson to you, Annegret. I’ll have someone take you to the infirmary so your hand can be attended to.”

Furious at being dismissed so peremptorily, she stood her ground. “I don’t need medical attention. It’s only a plant, for goodness sake. The effect should wear off in a few minutes.” Maybe she was wrong about his strength, if he wanted to make this much fuss over a small mishap.

“Far from wearing off, the pain will escalate as the plant’s toxin works its way into your bloodstream,” he pointed out, sounding as if he rarely had to explain himself to anyone, and didn’t appreciate the need now. “If you aren’t given an antidote soon, within a few hours you could become seriously ill.”

Spending her first vacation in years in a Carramer hospital was hardly appealing. And despite the evidence, she wasn’t stupid. “Very well, but I can’t go anywhere until I’ve seen the bride and groom off,” she insisted. “I won’t have their honeymoon spoiled by worrying about me.” By now her friend should have finished changing into her going-away clothes. Annegret only hoped she hadn’t already missed their departure.

The prince’s eyebrows lifted as if her concern for her friends was a revelation. Whatever qualities he attributed to her evidently didn’t include such consideration. “Very well, but I’ll accompany you, then see that you get to the doctor,” he said.

“I won’t run away as soon as you turn your back. I do have some sense.”

His glance suggested he wasn’t convinced. “You might also collapse without warning.”

She was starting to feel light-headed, but had put that down to his disturbing effect on her. The plant might not be as deadly as he’d suggested, but there was no point taking unnecessary risks. No more than she had done by venturing into his private domain, she amended inwardly.

“Okay, Your Highness,” she said, with a soft exhalation of defeat. “Let’s go back to the wedding. If I collapse I’ll depend on you to catch me.”

His level gaze betrayed nothing, but she could swear she heard him murmur, “It would be a pleasure.”

Maxim knew he should be annoyed by her foray into the family’s apartments. Normally there would have been at least two members of the Royal Protection Detail patrolling these corridors. Today, however, one of their own was the groom, and most of the RPD were attending the wedding. It didn’t excuse the lapse in security, and Maxim made a mental note to ensure that someone paid for it. And that it didn’t happen again.

But he couldn’t make himself feel as angry with Annegret as he should be. He knew who she was, of course. Even without his study of the guest list, her crusade against hereditary monarchies conducted through the TV series she produced was well known. Her interest in the painting suggested she might be considering doing a similar hatchet job on his own family.

So he had absolutely no excuse for wanting to spend more time with her than he had to. In spite of her insistence on returning to the reception, it would be a simple matter to summon a footman to escort her, then take her to the infirmary before the plant’s toxin took full effect. But Maxim admired the way she stood up to him. Not many people would have dared. And he had to admit he was impressed by her insistence on putting her friends’ well-being ahead of her own.

No one had ever died from touching the Janus lily, but the symptoms could be highly unpleasant. He was probably crazy letting her return to the function, but he had a feeling nothing short of gunpoint would change her mind, and that seemed a little extreme.

He released a taut breath and took her arm. “Let’s go.”

Holding her close to him, feeling her fight the plant’s effects, produced mixed feelings of concern and something else. He told himself his interest in her was purely duty. Not good form to have her keel over on his doorstep. Certainly he would have done the same for anyone.

Anyone else, however, wouldn’t have produced the heightened sense that warned him she was trouble. And not the kind that he could leave to the RPD. As she walked beside him, her willowy grace made him catch his breath. Few women could match him in height, but she came close, although she was slender enough to put hardly any pressure on his arm. Would sliding his arm all the way around her qualify as assisting her, or himself?

As they entered the grand hall where the reception was taking place, he felt her straighten, as if arming herself for a fight. It had to be with her increasing weakness, he concluded, and did slide his arm around her then, trying not to make his support too obvious. Or his own masculine response, for that matter.

Her fiery gaze told him she didn’t like needing his help. “Donna and Kevin should be here any minute now,” she said.

He didn’t miss the tremor she fought to conceal. “You don’t have to go through this. Nobody will notice if you’re not around to catch the bouquet.”

“I’ll notice,” she snapped.

He gave her an interested look. “Planning on catching it?”

“Never,” she retorted in a fierce murmur.

His interest notched higher. “Never is a long time.”

“When it comes to romantic love, it can’t be long enough.”

Keep her talking and her mind off her symptoms, he told himself. “Sounds like you’ve had a bad experience of romance.”

“With respect, Your Highness, it’s not really any of your business.”

That settled that, he thought, her frankness rankling. It wasn’t often anyone told him to back off, and he was surprised how little he liked it. Position going to your head? he asked himself. “You’re right, it isn’t,” he conceded, striving for fairness. “I was only trying to distract you.”

“A glass of wine might do a better job.”

He shook his head. “I don’t advise mixing alcohol with the poison in your system.”

“You’re probably right.” Her breath whistled out. “What’s keeping the lovebirds?”

He wondered the same thing, but for Annegret’s sake, he said, “What’s your connection to the couple?”

“Donna and I went to school together in Australia, then interned at the same TV studio. She came here on vacation and loved it so much she got a job with Carramer National Television.”

“She and Kevin met when he accompanied me to a broadcast I was doing,” the prince said.

Annegret looked surprise that he had noticed.

“It was hard to miss the sparks flying between them,” Maxim explained. He had always wondered how it would feel to fall so hard and fast for someone. Not that he could afford to indulge his feelings. Better for his crown if he kept his distance.

The way he was doing now, came the disparaging thought. Annegret had moved closer and was leaning into his embrace. He didn’t think she was aware of how her feathery blond hair brushed his cheek, bathing him in her delicate floral scent. Distance, he reminded himself.

Fortunately, Donna returned and dealt with the business of throwing her bouquet of tropical orchids, which was caught by one of the bridesmaids. Maxim and Annegret joined the throng wishing the couple well. He was thankful that everyone was too caught up in the moment to pay attention to the apparent closeness between the prince and one of the guests.

He felt a sense of relief when the couple drove away amid much laughter, ribald comments and a shower of rose petals.

“Now will you let me escort you to the infirmary?” he asked in a lowered tone.

Annegret’s long lashes swept down over her forget-me-not blue eyes. “I don’t think so.”

She was swaying on her feet, leaning more heavily on his arm. “What do you mean? You’re in no condition to go anywhere else,” he insisted.

Her head moved in a weak arc. “I mean I don’t think I can make it.”

And she crumpled bonelessly into his arms.




Chapter Two


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about my permission?” she asked tartly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And afterward?”

“A holiday.”

“And then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I never said that.”

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

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

His gimlet gaze skewered her. “Our side?”

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

“Not to you.”

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

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

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

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

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

“If the shoe fits.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll have a meal sent in to you.”

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

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

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

“And dine with me.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He is the prince.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She looked around. “You’re cooking?”

“Shouldn’t I?”

“But I thought…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about the soufflé?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then what?”

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

“Why?”

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

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

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

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

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




Chapter Three


Annegret’s heart started to pound, and her palms felt damp, the right one throbbing under the dressing. One glass of wine didn’t justify blurting out that she was attracted to him, even if it was true.

Trying to deny it now would only get her in deeper, so she said, “We’re not going to do anything. At least I’m not.”

He toyed with the stem of his glass. “Why not?”

“If it wasn’t for the Janus lily, I would be safely back at my hotel by now, and there would be nothing to discuss.”

“You don’t feel safe here?”

He was far too quick. “I didn’t mean safe as in safe. I meant we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

His eyes gleamed as if he knew perfectly well that she had been referring to emotional safety. “However, we are having it and I, for one, have no regrets.”

She had plenty. If she had known he was interested in her, she would have insisted on returning to her hotel instead of accepting his offer to stay at the palace.

But you did know, a small inner voice insisted. She had known it the moment he set eyes on her. Her experience with the male of the species may have been limited to a few carefully chosen encounters, but she knew enough to recognize when a man found her appealing. The fact that she was now alone with Maxim in his private quarters confirmed her instinctive assessment.

So why had she agreed? She could have spent the night in the infirmary as the doctor had recommended, or arranged to be taken back to her hotel. Yet here she was, hackles rising at hearing the prince say what she had suspected all along. She couldn’t have it both ways. “I don’t regret accepting your invitation, but that’s as far as I intend to go,” she said.

“Because of who I am?”

They were interrupted by a servant clearing away their plates and placing slices of featherlight lemon gâteau on fine china in front of them. When the servant had gone, Annegret toyed with her dessert. “I make it a point never to get involved with titled men.”

“Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself? Attraction can also lead to friendship.”

She felt herself flushing. As a teenager, she’d imagined her biological father saying something similar to her mother. Charming her with his aristocratic ways until Debra West was hopelessly in love. Then abandoning her without a backward glance. Annegret had no intention of letting that happen to her.

Bad enough that she had come close with Brett Colton. His father, the owner of the network that owned her show, was the nearest thing Australia had to royalty. Her pedigree, or lack of one, was the reason his father had disapproved of her. Brett hadn’t admitted it outright, but he hadn’t denied it when she asked if that was the reason he had ended their relationship.

Brett had known about her mother’s liaison with the prince’s equerry. Would things have been different if he had married her mother? Since he hadn’t, and since Annegret had wanted Brett to love her for herself rather than for her family background, she had accepted the situation with as much poise as possible. She had waited until she was alone to give way to tears over the injustice of being judged on a factor so far out of her control.

In future she would think twice about becoming involved with a man—especially one so far out of her own social league. And if anyone had a problem with her background, she’d make sure to find out before her heart became involved.

Still, she hadn’t expected to find herself enjoying a private dinner with Brett’s counterpart here. “Have you considered that I might use a friendship against you, Your Highness?” she asked the prince.

He acknowledged her use of his title with a slight nod. “In my position, that’s always a possibility.”

“Because you’d do the same thing yourself?” She didn’t really believe it, but she wanted to see his reaction. For her TV show, of course.

He put his dessert fork down. “I don’t know who you’re mixing me up with, Annegret, but that’s not the way I operate.”

“Yet you admit to being attracted to me, knowing that the terms of the Champagne Pact mean nothing can come of it.”

“It doesn’t stop me from having friends, or feelings.”

“Only from doing anything about them unless the woman has blue blood.” Abandoning any pretense to herself that the show was the reason she wanted Maxim to know where she stood, she decided to put all her cards on the table. See how fast Maxim lost his desire for her friendship then. “You may as well know that my biological father was merely a courtier to the prince of Ehrenberg.” She stretched her arm out on the pristine tablecloth, the delicate veins appearing close to the surface in the glow of candlelight. “See? Not a trace of blue blood.”

Maxim slid his index finger over her upturned wrist, resting it a moment on her fluttering pulse. He suspected his own was just as fast. He told himself it was due to her confession that she hadn’t a trace of royal blood. Not that he had any intention of taking his interest in her further than friendship, he thought, before his hormones could kick in full strength. He suspected there was something else she wasn’t telling him.

“It’s a myth that royal blood is blue,” he said, far more calmly than he felt.

“So I’m told,” she stated flatly, withdrawing her arm. “It hardly matters, since my father never acknowledged my existence. He was equerry to Prince Frederick, Ehrenberg’s ambassador to Australia. My mother met my father when she worked at the embassy as a member of the diplomatic service. Soon after, she learned that she was pregnant, the prince was recalled to his country and my father went with him. She never heard from him again.”

Annegret’s matter-of-fact tone couldn’t quite conceal the hurt he heard in her voice. She might like to be seen as tough, but she wasn’t, Maxim would bet on it. The hurt sounded raw enough to be on her own account, as well as her mother’s. Had some man left Annegret herself in the lurch, awakening echoes of her mother’s bitter experience?

It hardly mattered to him, Maxim assured himself. He was attracted to her, but it didn’t mean he had to do anything about it beyond spending this evening in her company. For her sake and his own, he couldn’t afford to. The evening was probably a mistake, too, although he couldn’t make himself believe it.

“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.

Her finger traced patterns on the linen tablecloth. “If we’re going to work together, you’re entitled to know something of my background.”

She expected him to reject her because of what had happened between her mother and father, he saw with sudden insight.

“You’d be surprised how much I already know,” he admitted, earning a raised eyebrow and a sudden wariness in her gaze. “You must have expected my security people to check out everyone on today’s guest list?”

He could almost hear her thoughts whirring, hear her thinking, You’re attracted to me, knowing who and what I am? She obviously didn’t know that royal history, even Carramer’s, was littered with heirs with far less claim to blue blood than her own.

“Ehrenberg has been closed to outsiders for almost three decades. Perhaps leaving your mother wasn’t your father’s choice,” he suggested.

She nodded. “I considered that, but the revolution didn’t take place until a month after I was born—plenty of time for him to at least get in touch. Give my mother his regrets. He didn’t bother.”

Maxim couldn’t explain that himself, unless her father was as amoral as Annegret believed. The prince didn’t care to be compared with such a man. “It doesn’t mean everyone connected with royalty is the same.”

She pushed her half-finished dessert aside and reached for some ice water. “The headlines, and my own research for the program, suggest differently.”

“Affairs make better headlines than happy marriages.”

Unable to refute that, she stared into the glass. “True. My viewers enjoy scandal as much as anyone.”

“Are you hoping to unearth some scandal about the royal house of Carramer?”

Her head lifted and her gaze blazed a challenge at him. “I don’t go looking for it, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I also report good news when I find it.” Her tone suggested she rarely did.

“Then perhaps I can help you find some.”

“You’ve already promised me an interview.” He hadn’t in so many words, but Annegret couldn’t see any benefit in pointing that out. If he really wanted her to report objectively on his family, it was in his own best interests to cooperate.

He took a sip of wine. “I’m thinking of more than an interview. You’re familiar with the work of the Merrisand Trust?”

“It’s the charity you administer that raises funds to help underprivileged children and their families,” she said, fighting a sense of disappointment. If he was going to suggest she do a puff piece on his charity, she wasn’t interested. Not because she didn’t want to report good news, but because the trust had already been the subject of several documentaries. Her series was successful because she delved beneath the surface of her subjects.

“Next week, I’m launching a new ship that will provide cruises for the trust’s clients,” he said.

“Good for you.”

Although she spoke under her breath, he frowned as if he’d heard. “The vessel was built and placed at the disposal of the trust by the Soral Shipping Line.”

This time her flicker of interest was genuine. “Owned by the family who stand to inherit your crown under the terms of the Champagne Pact?”

The prince nodded. “Chad Soral is the head of the shipping line and the current claimant, if it should come to that. He’ll be presenting the vessel to the trust.”

Suspicion slid up her spine. “Why would you allow me to meet your rival?”

“Balance,” he reminded her imperturbably, and picked up his dessert fork.

Taking her cue from him, she did the same. The cumulative effect of the acidic dessert was dizzying to her senses. Nothing to do with the way Maxim was regarding her as his lips closed around a mouthful of his own dessert.

Her heart kicked in irritating contradiction. She wished he didn’t keep this room so warm, although she had only begun to notice the fact in the last few seconds. It had to be because she was excited at the prospect of securing interviews with the prince and his rival, she assured herself.

“Do you think Chad will agree to appear on my show?” she asked.

Watching her across the table, Maxim thought if she fluttered those impossibly long lashes at Chad the way she was doing now, he would probably agree to anything she asked of him. Max himself was tempted, and he wasn’t half the ladies’ man that Chad was. Of course, he wasn’t hampered by the limitations that ruled Max. Chad could marry anyone he wished without consequences.

Max knew he had resented this aspect of his rival’s life since they were at university together. In those days Max had fallen heavily for one woman in particular, the daughter of one of the lecturers, but Max had forced himself to grit his teeth and keep silent while Chad charmed her into dating him.

Seeing the way Max had looked at her, Chad had magnanimously offered to get out of their way. He could afford to, Max remembered thinking. If anything came of the relationship, the crown would become Chad’s. The man couldn’t lose. The prince had salvaged his self-respect by pretending to have no interest in the young woman. Curiously enough, Chad had also lost interest in her soon afterward.

Max wondered if Chad knew how tempted he had been to abdicate his responsibilities then and there and follow his heart. He hadn’t, of course. No matter what the personal cost, Maxim refused to go down in history as the last de Marigny to wear the crown of Taures.

Was history about to repeat itself now? Why had he tempted fate by suggesting that Annegret meet Chad? Getting in first before he could be hurt a second time? That made her far more important to Maxim than he wanted her to be.

“You’ll have to ask Chad about an interview,” the prince said, adding caustically, “He isn’t known for his shyness.”

She nodded in acknowledgment. “So I’ve heard.” Because she knew there had to be more, she said, “What do you get out of taking me along? Besides balanced reporting, of course.”

“Isn’t your company sufficient reason?”

Instant denial caught her by surprise. Not because she didn’t know her own worth, but because she suspected he didn’t. Not yet. In her experience, men like him operated according to their own agenda. Seduction was no more than a side dish accompanying the main banquet, and though her toes curled inside her shoes at the thought, she made herself ask what else he wanted from her.

As she voiced the question, the prince’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Very well, I hope to employ your skills as a filmmaker to benefit the Merrisand Trust.”

She refused to acknowledge the stabbing sensation as disappointment. It was no more than she had suspected. “I don’t do corporate work,” she stated.

“Not even in exchange for an exclusive story on the Champagne Pact?”

The feeling of being cheated deepened. “Blackmail, Your Highness?”

“Call it a quid pro quo, an even exchange of favors.”

“The trust has been documented on film several times already.”

“Not for many years, and not by you.”

She crumpled her linen napkin on the table. “How do you know I’d do a good job?”

“I’ve studied your work. I find it original and insightful.”

The thought of him demanding a private screening of her shows provoked a warm glow she resisted. “Even though I lack balance?”

“You’ve admitted you’re biased on the subject of royalty. You may change your opinion once you’ve seen something of royal life from the inside.”

Her opinion wouldn’t change, as he would soon find out. The certainty didn’t stop her from asking, “What do you have in mind?”

The question betrayed more interest than she intended, and she saw his eyes take on a speculative gleam. “Considering my proposition, Annegret?”

“I don’t have much choice, if I want a story on the Champagne Pact.”

“We always have choices,” he reminded her smoothly. “In spite of how it might sound, this isn’t blackmail. Under duress, you’re unlikely to give me the result I want.”

“Which is?”

His brow furrowed with thought. “There are some who feel that charitable trusts such as Merrisand are an anachronism in the modern world.”

Like royalty, she heard, although he didn’t say it. Unwillingly, she acknowledged a frisson of excitement creeping through her. “You want to show that they still have a place,” she suggested.

He nodded. “Precisely. I want you to make a documentary piece tracing the trust’s evolution from dispenser of royal favors to a modern-day force making the world a better place.”

He really believed that was what he was doing, she thought, noting the fervor in his words and expression. He was a man of passion, as she’d suspected. That it was directed toward helping the less fortunate was more disturbing.

Because it argues with your preconceptions about him? she asked herself. She shook off the question, channeling her mind into more practical areas. “I don’t have time to get a crew together before the launch.”

“Nor do I expect it. Consider the cruise as a chance to develop your ideas about where the project might go. We’ll discuss your plans and formalize arrangements afterward.”

He was talking about this as a done deal, she noticed, well aware that she was already thinking along similar lines. She was torn between annoyance at the smooth way he had manipulated her into doing his bidding, and the thrill of meeting his challenge.

How had he managed it? He is the prince, she recalled the nurse at the infirmary saying, echoed later by one of his footmen. Was it really so simple? Were certain people gifted with skills and abilities beyond the ordinary, or was she in danger of becoming as much a victim of the royal mystique as her mother had been?

The thought made her bristle. “How long is this cruise supposed to last?” she asked, more roughly than she’d intended.

He didn’t seem to notice as he finished his dessert and folded his napkin. “I’ll be aboard for two nights. The inaugural cruise lasts for a week, so you can stay on as long as you wish.”

She resisted the urge to gulp. Two nights aboard a cruise vessel with the prince was more than she had bargained for. She had already taken a dinner cruise on Merrisand’s Summer Harbor and knew how seductive the moonlight and the waves could be. Add Maxim to the mix…

Stop it, she ordered herself. His proposal ensured that she would have plenty to keep her occupied while she was on board. In any case the prince would be occupied with his duties and the official guests such an occasion invariably involved. She would be lucky to see him for more than a few minutes each day. And that wouldn’t bother her.

For some time now, rumors had floated around the network that her show might be replaced in the schedule next season. The cruise would provide her with the perfect opportunity to line up a blockbuster opening show to ensure that the series was renewed. In addition, Maxim had just handed her a plum assignment that most producers would give their eyeteeth to be offered. Nothing else mattered to her.

She blotted her mouth with the snowy napkin, determined to ignore the riot of sensations pouring through her. This was business. Never mind that she would be cruising the blue waters around Merrisand with the most fascinating man she had met in a long time. Hadn’t she already learned the folly of such thinking?




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