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The Royal and The Runaway Bride
Kathryn Jensen


Phillip, Prince of Silverdorn, was bored by never-ending soirées and fortune-hunting debs. Until, at a ball honoring the new Altarian king, Phillip laid eyes on a most intriguing woman–in a designer gown and Doc Martens.Why heiress Alexandra Connelly let Phillip believe she was a horse trainer, she couldn't say. Perhaps, like the vacation in her brother's kingdom, it was to help her forget the wedding she'd bolted from. She wanted only an afternoon of fun with the dashing prince. But then she noticed his heart-melting brown eyes, satin-sheet skin, priceless-sculpture body. The man was downright irresistible….









AROUND CHI-TOWN

Will the Connellys ever cease to amaze?

As Chicagoans primped for the society event of the season, blushing bride Alexandra Connelly wasn’t dreaming of her walk down the aisle; she was apparently planning her escape route. On the eve of her near-million-dollar nuptials, the heiress was nowhere to be seen, stranding a flock of white doves and standing up a few hundred guests. Not even scion Grant Connelly knew where the bride-not-to-be had gone.

Paparazzi claim she’s now licking her wounds across the Atlantic in brother Daniel’s kingdom of Altaria, where the azure seas and cloudless skies are warming her frozen heart. Rumor has it that the immensely eligible Prince Phillip of Silverdorn is doing his share of heating up the runaway heiress. The two have been spotted in numerous tête-à-têtes around the picturesque island. Is Phillip catching Alexandra on the rebound, or making his own play?

Meanwhile, back on the home front, Grant Connelly is again making news, having hired two private investigators to look into the dealings at his corporation. Seems the Connellys are up to their eyeballs in mysteries on both sides of the Atlantic….




Dear Reader,

What could be more satisfying than the sinful yet guilt-free pleasure of enjoying six new passionate, powerful and provocative Silhouette Desire romances this month?

Get started with In Blackhawk’s Bed, July’s MAN OF THE MONTH and the latest title in the SECRETS! miniseries by Barbara McCauley. The Royal & the Runaway Bride by Kathryn Jensen—in which the heroine masquerades as a horse trainer and becomes a princess—is the seventh exciting installment in DYNASTIES: THE CONNELLYS, about an American family that discovers its royal roots.

A single mom melts the steely defenses of a brooding ranch hand in Cowboy’s Special Woman by Sara Orwig, while a detective with a secret falls for an innocent beauty in The Secret Millionaire by Ryanne Corey. A CEO persuades a mail-room employee to be his temporary wife in the debut novel Cinderella & the Playboy by Laura Wright, praised by New York Times bestselling author Debbie Macomber as “a wonderful new voice in Silhouette Desire.” And in Zane: The Wild One by Bronwyn Jameson, the mayor’s daughter turns up the heat on the small town’s bad boy made good.

So pamper the romantic in you by reading all six of these great new love stories from Silhouette Desire!

Enjoy!






Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire




The Royal & The Runaway Bride

Kathryn Jensen





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




KATHRYN JENSEN


has written many novels for young readers as well as for adults. She speed walks, works out with weights and enjoys ballroom dancing for exercise, stress reduction and pleasure. Her children are now grown. She lives in Maryland with her writing companion—Sunny, a lovable terrier-mix adopted from a shelter.

Having worked as a hospital switchboard operator, department store sales associate, bank clerk and elementary school teacher, she now splits her days between writing her own books and teaching fiction writing at two local colleges and through a correspondence course. She enjoys helping new writers get a start and speaks “at the drop of a hat” at writers’ conferences, libraries and schools across the country.









MEET THE CONNELLYS

Meet the Connellys of Chicago—wealthy, powerful and rocked by scandal, betrayal…and passion!

Who’s Who in

THE ROYAL & THE RUNAWAY BRIDE



Phillip, Prince of Silverdorn—Lately his inherited title brings him nothing but trouble—female trouble. It’s enough to make the virile royal totally swear off women—almost, anyway….

Alexandra Connelly—After running away on the eve of her wedding, she’ll take no vow except to remain single and celibate…. Single, anyway…

Gregor Paulus—The palace aide’s manners are impeccable, but what about his motives?












Contents


Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven




One


It wasn’t that he disliked royal functions. Phillip Kinrowan had grown up in aristocratic circles, attended his first ball before he’d been able to walk, ridden his first Grand Prix champion jumper at Monaco before he turned six and owned an estate by the time he cleared the hurdles of puberty. It was just that he hated advertising his title because of the attention it got him. Attention that more often than not resulted in trouble. Female trouble.

He was reminded of those dangers as he stepped forward to be announced by the page before the ballroom crowd of beautiful people in formal attire. “The kingdom of Altaria welcomes His Highness, Phillip Kinrowan, prince of Silverdorn!” The page’s voice rang out in Italian first, then in French and finally in English, in deference to the American in whose honor the celebration was being held.

Phillip winced but kept his facial expression neutral as he descended the grand curving staircase to the gleaming marble floor. Already he was bored. The same faces greeted him at nearly every function. Only the Americans were new to him, as they were to everyone else in his elite social circle. But it was protocol to honor a new king, regardless of where he was raised.

Chicago. Phillip hardly knew where the place was. Somewhere in the middle of the United States, he seemed to recall. On a big lake? No matter. Among Daniel Connelly’s family, odds were Phillip might find someone of interest to talk to. His glance drifted down the receiving line, finding no one to spark his curiosity until close to the end.

A young woman, her raven hair trimmed almost boyishly short, stood awkwardly behind the guests of honor. She wore an elegant gown that matched the color of her eyes—vivid green. Among the domino black-and-white attire of the rest of the room, she stood out like a gemstone. But what really seized his attention was the way her eyes shifted restlessly around the vast, chandeliered room, not even bothering to hide her impatience with the pomp and circumstance. A kindred spirit!

Phillip stepped out of the line of guests waiting to pay their respects and moved to one side of the room where he could watch her better. She looked so out of place. Who was she? As he watched, she nudged the woman in front of her, whispered something in her ear then hiked up her billowy skirts in both fists and hightailed it for the doors leading to the garden. In a flash she was gone, but he was chuckling to himself at the parting image of chunky brown leather boots, laces dangling loose, revealed beneath layers of satin and chiffon. A little rebel. How charming!

Glancing quickly around the room to make sure no one was paying any attention to her, or him, Phillip followed the young woman. Something drew him toward her, something as natural as gravity and just as impossible to resist yet far more difficult to understand.

A stone balcony off the rear of the palace dropped away in wide steps to a formal garden, baking under Mediterranean heat even as the July sun set that evening. Sculpted shrubs formed arches, a maze and screens for the rose garden, interspersed with statues collected by the royal family over generations. Phillip wondered if the American clan was accustomed to such grandeur, then remembered the gossip that the Connellys were one of the wealthiest families in their own country. He caught a glimpse of emerald fabric whipping around a corner of hedgerow that separated the stables and yard from the prettily manicured greenery.

“Hey, you there, wait up!” he called, breaking into a run.

But if she heard, his shout had no effect. When he emerged from the shrubs to stand at the edge of the exercise yard, there was no sign of the less-than-daintily shod damsel in what had appeared to be Doc Martens. He caught the eye of a stable boy who was leading a chestnut mare across the yard.

“Did you see a young woman in a ball gown come this way?” Phillip asked in Italian.

The boy shook his head and kept going.

A low whinny and snort caught Phillip’s attention, and he whipped around, moving toward the sound like a cat stalking its prey. Ducking into the dark interior of the stable at the third doorway, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the sudden lack of light, then looked down the long aisle strewn with sweet-smelling straw. She stood on the lowest rail of a stall, reaching over to stroke the nose of a pure white horse. Her attention was so fixed on the animal, she didn’t react to his approach.

“Does the stable master know you’re messing about with one of his most valued mounts?” he asked.

She jumped and snapped her hand back but recovered quickly, tipping her nose into the air. Her green eyes flashed defiantly at him. “Of course. He asked me to look in on him.”

“He did, did he?” Phillip grinned, even more curious about her now. From a distance, she’d been intriguing. Up close she was dazzling, with a delicious hint of recklessness. “And why would he do that?”

“Because I’m…I’m a trainer. He asked me to work with—” Her gaze shifted almost imperceptibly to the bronze plaque on the stall’s half door. “—with King’s Passion.”

“A trainer,” he repeated, thinking that might well account for her mixed attire and uneasiness in a formal setting. His own trainer would do just about anything to avoid socializing with Phillip’s friends. Although why, as a mere employee, she should be included at all in the celebration wasn’t clear. “You’re an American.”

“Yes,” she said, hopping backward off the rail. Her narrow shoulders settled firmly and her long, elegant neck straightened until she was looking him in the eye. “I work for the Connellys but came as a favor to lend a hand at the royal stable for the celebration.”

“I see,” he said. “So you’ve had a lot of experience with horses.”

“Oodles.” She flashed him a cocky grin.

He walked around her, checking out her physique without hiding his intent. Her shoulders and arms looked strong enough for the job, and she was slender, lightweight as a jockey, and seemed to be coordinated. He guessed she’d look damn fine straddling one of his jumpers. The image excited him. He could see her taking a five-foot rail on his favorite gelding.

“It’s hard to find a good trainer these days,” he commented.

She shrugged, still looking more interested in the white horse than in him as she stroked the patch of pink flesh between the animal’s flaring nostrils.

“I have a problem horse in my own stable. Maybe you could break free of your duties here long enough to come over and take a look at him.”

Her brows knit. “Oh, well…I would of course, but I’m terribly busy here. And I expect I won’t be staying all that long.”

“Too bad. I would have paid you well.” No reaction. “And treated you to a fine lunch. My cook makes a bouillabaisse to die for.”

Now her pretty eyes widened. Good, he thought. He’d found a weakness. Food.

“I really don’t think I could—”

“Tell you what—” he stopped suddenly. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Alex—” She seemed to hesitate, then said again, “Alex.”

“Well, Alex, I’ll speak to our king before the end of the evening. Perhaps we can spring you for a few hours tomorrow or the next day. I’m sure he won’t mind. Besides, he owes me a favor.”

“Oh?” Her gaze finally swerved from horse to man.

“I’ll tell you about it sometime,” he promised with a wink. “So it’s a deal? You give my jumper a quick inspection, and I’ll treat you to the finest seafood concoction in the Mediterranean.”

She sighed, still looking unsure. “Agreed. But all I can spare is an hour or two at most.” She was studying him for the first time, and he felt as if she suddenly had him under a magnifying glass. What was she looking for? he wondered. Or was she afraid of agreeing to take a side job?

“Are you always so serious about accepting work?” He was delighted to see her eyes soften when they at last met his. For once he allowed genuine warmth to enter his own expression. After all, she was safe, not some husband-hunting debutante or social climber. Just a working gal. The more she resisted his invitation, the better he felt about spending time with her.

She blinked at him and the corners of her lips lifted tentatively. “Not always.” She crossed one booted foot over the other, still considering him. “Make it tomorrow. Early afternoon. You don’t have to ask Daniel Connelly for permission. I’m free to make my own decisions where my time is concerned.”

“Good, I’ll send someone for you around one o’clock, if that’s good for you. We’ll make it a late luncheon after you see my problem child. That way you’ll have the whole morning to work here.”

“Yes,” she agreed, her eyes skittering away from his. “I do want to make sure I finish up at the palace first.”



Alexandra kicked herself all the way back to the ballroom. What had possessed her to accept Phillip Kinrowan’s invitation to his estate? Sheer hunkiness, that was it! From the moment he was announced at the ball, she decided he was the handsomest man she’d ever laid eyes on.

And, on top of his looks, he owned a stable full of horses.

From the time she’d been a little girl, she’d adored the creatures. Unfortunately, they didn’t always return her affection—unless you could count as tokens of endearment all those bruises and fractures she’d suffered during lessons when she was a schoolgirl. Among the Connellys’ social set, proper English riding lessons were a must. As crucial an element of her education as knowing how to read the New York Stock Exchange quotes in the Chicago Sun-Times financial section, according to Grant Connelly, her father. She didn’t hold her failures against the horses. Under most circumstances, she hadn’t done badly at all. It was just that once in a while she seemed to develop a slippery bottom, and there she’d be on the ground, studying clouds. She could never be described as a polished horsewoman.

So, what had possessed her to tell Kinrowan that she was a trainer? A childhood fantasy, perhaps? It might have been all right if he hadn’t immediately asked for her help. Then her pride hadn’t let her admit the fib. She’d have to show up at his place and pretend to be knowledgeable. If she kept the visit short, Alexandra reasoned, she should be all right. Surely she knew enough about horses to fake her way through an hour or two of horse-related conversation.

Alexandra shook her head, lifted her skirts and clomped in her favorite boots up the wide marble steps from the garden to the patio. Well, it would be a kick anyway. And a man who obviously had no interest in her other than professionally, and probably had tons more money than Daddy, couldn’t possibly hold the usual threat men had been to her. What the hell… Maybe an afternoon with Phillip Kinrowan would help her forget. Help her start to wash away the terrible pain, and stop thinking about the reason she’d run away from Chicago, from her friends and the most bitter disappointment of a young woman’s life.



The next morning the castle was quiet. Her brother, Daniel, and his wife, Erin, were breakfasting late on the veranda. She approached in her trademark Doc Martens, khaki hiking shorts and an oversized jersey. “You’d think after all that food last night, I wouldn’t be hungry,” she commented, sitting down and in one motion reaching for a plate of pastries.

Erin smiled at her. “I think we burned the banquet food off with all that dancing. I saw you on the floor with a dozen different men.”

Alex shrugged. “It was an okay party, I guess.”

“Leave it to Alex to understate any situation,” Daniel said, shaking his head. “A ball held in my honor at a castle, and my little sister says it was an okay party.” He laughed affectionately.

“Well, it was,” she objected, giving his cheek a sisterly pinch. “I mean, it isn’t as if Daddy hasn’t invited half of Chicago to celebrate every new business coup he makes.”

“I seem to recall one little girl’s birthday party that included pony rides and a half-dozen clowns hired from Ringling Brothers.”

Daniel was making fun of her and she hated it. If he was implying that she was in any way spoiled, he was wrong. It was just that when you grew up in a family like the Connellys it was hard to know how to live other than in luxury. Money had never been an issue, until she’d become an adult. Then she’d learned its power as well as its curses.

For the last several years all she’d known, in fact, were the curses. They’d kept her from feeling satisfied with herself, happy with her friends. More than anything, money had gotten in the way of her finding love. She might have grown up with a silver spoon in her mouth but she’d always believed in the basic honesty of people, particularly two people who cared deeply for each other. Until the day before her wedding, she’d thought that Robert loved her, because he had said he did and he’d acted as if he did. She’d even been able to ignore her brother Justin’s warnings about Robert a few days before. But then she’d overheard her fiancé’s conversation with Jessy Weintraub, her maid of honor. And her world had fallen apart.

“He’s kidding, right?” Erin asked. “Ringling Brothers’ clowns?”

“I’m afraid not. Our father likes to do things in a big way, in case you haven’t yet noticed. Money has never been known to hold Grant Connelly back.” But it had held her back. If she couldn’t find love, the very least she should have been able to find was herself. She hadn’t succeeded. She still wondered who Alexandra Connelly really was. Why had she been put on this planet? What was the special gift she had been meant to share with the world?

Or was she just another rich girl destined to marry wisely, chair committees for charities…and wish she were someone else?

So far, all she had discovered was that she was good at attracting men. Like Robert Marsh. Men who were intelligent, good-looking, aggressive at both work and play. In short, every woman’s dream. Every woman but her. Because these men all saw the same thing in her—a fast road toward wealth and success. When your father was the famous Grant Connelly, any man who married you was guaranteed a place in Connelly Corporation and a niche in a family that liked to share its prosperity.

For a moment, there was a vision of white silk and a beaded bodice, of a veil that had covered her face to hide tears on the day before her wedding. It had been during the final fitting that she’d walked in on her fiancé and best friend. The rest was a blur as she flung off shreds of priceless fabric, sobbing as she told herself she would fly to the Virgin Islands, to China, or to the most remote regions of Africa that very night. And, no, she would not be marrying Robert. Ever!

She had left him, if not literally at the altar, only hours away from it.

Bitterness and anger seethed within her again, subsiding only as she sipped a cool tropical juice drink. She should have seen the signs, should have learned over the years. The world was full of Robert Marshes, and the only way to have a safe relationship with a man was, ironically, by lying to him.

Thus she would be a horse trainer if that was what she chose to be for a few hours.



Phillip Kinrowan’s estate perched on a cliff overlooking the blue-green Tyrrhenian Sea. The day was bright and warm. The stone had baked in the sun all morning and felt smooth and pleasantly hot against the soles of Alex’s bare feet as she climbed. She squinted up the steep face of the cliff, then looked back down to the beach where the motor launch had left her, its driver pointing toward the ancient stairway. Above her she could see nothing but blue sky. The smell of wild jasmine and portulaca was almost overpowering, a heady brew when mixed with the brine of the ocean lapping at the rocks beneath her.

At last her head rose above the edge of the cliff and a long, low white structure came into view, set back from the rocks by a carpet of manicured emerald grass. She drew in a slow breath. “Oh, my…”

It wasn’t the largest house she’d ever seen, but it had character and charm and something that didn’t come from one or two generations of luck and money. This place had old-world history built into it. It might have been constructed of the gleaming white limestone in the days when Rome or Athens was devouring chunks of Europe. Or it might have been built centuries later to emulate the classic lines of antiquity. Slender white columns stretched up to support a portico of sun-catching stone. Long wings of the low building curved around a fountain, a circular drive, and a beautifully maintained garden. She judged that although there was only one floor, the house could accommodate fifty or more overnight guests within its many sun-drenched rooms.

Feeling less confident about her quick visit, she slowly walked up the path of crushed shells toward the main entrance of the estate. Before she reached the steps, a figure in a white shirt and pants, a straw Panama hat and leather espadrilles moved out of the shadows and came down the steps toward her.

Phillip smiled. “Welcome to my home, Sandora.”

“Have you been lurking there waiting for long?” she asked.

“The launch jockey radioed that he’d dropped you off on the beach.”

“I see. When you said you’d send someone to pick me up in Altaria-Ville, I assumed it would be a car.”

“It could have been, but it would have taken longer. And the view by water can’t be beat.” He held out a hand to her, and she assumed he was either going to shake hands American-style, or kiss her fingertips as Europeans do. Instead he enclosed her fingers in a warm grip and tucked them between his elbow and the side of his body, then began walking her across the lawn toward what she could now see was the stables.

“Well,” she said nervously, “the view was great. Thank you.”

“My pleasure. Lunch won’t be ready for an hour. I hope you don’t mind looking at Eros first.”

“Eros?” The god of love, if she remembered her mythology. Another name for Cupid, the imp who had caused Medea to fall in love with Jason while on his search for the golden fleece. The outcome had been tragic.

“My problem horse. He’s always been a wonderful mount. Won me a bundle of Grand Prix ribbons as a jumper. Aside from that, I just plain like him better than any other horse in my stable. But he’s refusing jumps now.”

“When did he start doing that?” she asked.

“About a month ago. It happened very suddenly. No warning at all. One of my exercise lads was taking him through his paces, just warming him up easy before I came out to ride for the day. By the time I reached the ring, the lad was on the ground cursing the horse, and Eros was in a lather, pacing the yard as if he’d been terribly frightened.”

“He might have been. You can never tell with horses what will spook them.” She felt satisfied with how astute and experienced she sounded. “Did you ask the boy what had happened?”

“Of course.” Phillip anxiously dragged fingers through his thick brown hair. “No one in the yard saw anything that might have scared the animal. Nothing out of the ordinary seems to have happened during those few minutes.”

“Hmmm,” Alex said, aiming for an expression of sage perplexity. “Well, let’s take a look at him.”

Phillip led her down a row of half doors, the generous-sized stalls behind them smelling of cedar chips, saddle soap and the natural muskiness of horseflesh. She had always loved this part of being around horses—the smells, rough and masculine textures, sounds of hooves restlessly shifting on wooden planks, snuffles and whinnies of horses talking to one another in their secret language. It was the riding part that hadn’t been as easy, or at least as painless.

Phillip stopped in front of a stall and whistled between his teeth. Almost immediately, an enormous black head with shining dark eyes appeared in the opening. “Hello, Eros, old man,” Phillip murmured tenderly. He ran a gentle hand beneath the horse’s chin and thumped the side of its neck.

“Phillip,” she gasped, “he’s gorgeous.” She meant it.

Her eyes took in the dark line of the animal’s body on the other side of the door. The classic lines of the Thoroughbred were perfected in the shining flanks, the delicate limbs and well-muscled barrel chest of the horse. She’d ridden some wonderful horses as a girl, up until the time she’d quit her lessons fourteen years ago when she turned sixteen and gotten up the nerve to tell her father riding just wasn’t for her. But Eros made them all look like commoners.

Alex swallowed over a lump of emotion in her throat. Would she ever dare ride such a horse? Or course, Phillip probably didn’t let just anyone hop on the back of this magnificent creature, clearly his pride and joy.

“Any opinion?” he asked, interrupting her admiration.

“He’s wonderful, of course,” she breathed.

“I meant, your professional judgment.”

“Oh. Of course.” She recovered quickly, her mind racing to come up with something…anything that might sound like trainer-talk. “Ummm. Well, anyone can see he’s still jittery. Something has broken his confidence.”

Phillip scowled and reached out to rest his palm over the wide, velvety bridge of Eros’s nose. “You can see that in here? Just by looking at him?”

She nodded wisely. “Yes. I’ve seen this sort of thing a lot. The whole character of the horse can change after one bad incident.”

“But nothing happened to—”

“Nothing your stable hands will admit to,” she said quickly. “I don’t know about you, but people who work for my fa— my employer,” she corrected herself hastily, “although they may be loyal and honest in most ways, often have trouble admitting to a mistake. They don’t want to make their boss angry, so it’s natural to cover up, hoping things will mend themselves.”

He studied her for a long moment. “I suppose you’re right. I probably will never know what, if anything, got to Eros that day.”

“Exactly.” She felt more confident now that she’d gotten him to agree with her, even though her point was a vague one at best. “So all we can do now is build the horse’s confidence.”

“How do we do that?”

She only had to think for a second before she remembered how she’d recovered after a few bad falls. “You start at the beginning. Retrain him as if he’s never jumped before.”

Phillip shook his head. “My own trainer said that he must be made to take a couple of high jumps, then he’ll be fine.”

She let out a doubtful chortle. “Right. And how are you going to force a couple thousand pounds of horseflesh over a five-foot hurdle, short of using a forklift?”

He smiled and stepped closer to her, their shoulders touching, and she felt a tingle of excitement. “You have a point. Tell me more,” he said.

She let Eros sniff her palm then stroked his sleek black throat. “Ride him on the flat for a dozen or more loops around the ring. No jumps at all. Then walk him over a rail lying on the ground. After he’s comfortable with that, move up to a rail placed no more than four or five inches off the ground. Keep raising the height slowly, but don’t move him up until he takes the new level without hesitation. If it takes weeks, fine. Don’t push him.”

Phillip nodded slowly. “It sounds logical. You’ve used this technique before with other horses?”

“Zillions!” She smiled when Eros playfully nuzzled her cheek. And now, she thought, time for lunch. She couldn’t get enough of the wonderful Mediterranean seafood found all over the island.

But Phillip had other ideas. “Let’s get him saddled.”

“What?” She stared at him apprehensively.

“No time like the present. Besides, you yourself said you won’t be here for long. I want to take advantage of your expertise.”

“But I’m sure your own trainer—”

“He hasn’t succeeded yet, and I don’t want to take the chance that Eros might connect Marco with whatever originally spooked him. He seems to like you. Maybe a woman’s touch is what he needs.”

“I haven’t brought riding gear,” she objected.

“There’s plenty you can use in the tack room. Just down there.” He pointed. “I keep spare boots, crops and such for guests. What shoe size do you take?”

“Six, American,” she said wearily.

“I’m sure there’s something that will fit you. Go along. I’ll get him ready for you.”

Great, she thought glumly a moment later as she pulled riding breeches over her casual shorts and wedged her feet into leather riding boots. What was she going to do now? She could confess to Phillip Kinrowan that she had lied to him and wasn’t who she claimed to be. But that would be humiliating. She didn’t care if he was angry, but she wouldn’t be laughed at.

Or she could call his bluff and ride Eros. And risk breaking your neck by doing so, a little voice inside her warned.

But the timid jumper had seemed as gentle as a lamb in his stall. Sure, Thoroughbreds were unpredictable and their moods could change without warning. But she knew how to handle a basic trot around a ring or a walkover exercise, and that was all she was going to do. She’d explain to Phillip that pressing the horse to take a jump of any height today would be premature and could permanently ruin him for competition. What owner would take that risk?

Alex grinned. She could do this. No sweat. Then on to bouillabaisse!



Phillip cinched up Eros’s saddle, talking comfortingly to him all the while. “She weighs hardly more than a feather, old man. You won’t feel her. And you saw how nice she was, right? Pretty woman like that, she’d never do anything to hurt you. Just relax and take her for a little spin around the ring, and let me enjoy the view, huh? Do that for me?”

It seemed almost too good to be true, Alex’s advice. He wondered why such common sense hadn’t occurred to him or Marco. So simple. Start from the beginning. But she was obviously well experienced. He was excited to see how Alex would handle Eros. The horse was spirited, true, but he had been a well-mannered mount until the day he started refusing jumps.

Phillip walked Eros into the yard, toward the largest of the training rings. Two of his stable boys were talking to a man he recognized as being from the royal court. He wondered if he’d been sent with a message for Alex and hoped there wasn’t a reason to take her back to the palace before they’d had time for a leisurely lunch. He was about to ask but Alex appeared, jogging across the yard, her cheeks prettily flushed.

“Is he ready?”

“He’s all yours,” Phillip said, handing over the reins to her. “Need a leg up?”

She shook her head, wedged a toe into a stirrup and lightly bounced once to propel herself up and into the English-style saddle. “Piece of cake.”

“So I see.” He chuckled. She really did look sexy up there astride the big horse. He hadn’t guessed wrong about that. “What’s next?”

“We won’t do much more than get to know each other,” she said. “Just cruise a couple of times around the ring. If he’s happy with that and wants more, I’ll step him across a few rails.”

“Signal me if you want them and I’ll set up for you,” he offered.

She nodded, clucked once at Eros and touched him lightly on his flank with her crop. He responded by walking smoothly toward the ring. Phillip watched as she moved Eros into a relaxed canter, sitting erect and easily on his back. They looked a perfect match, although he was a large horse for such a small woman. Still, temperaments often counted for more than size where horses were concerned.

“That’s quite an animal you have there,” a voice said, speaking in the local Italian dialect.

Phillip turned to face a man he recognized from Daniel’s court. He was reed thin, with a slightly receding hairline and a no-nonsense expression. “Yes. One of my favorites. I’m lucky to have come across such an experienced trainer at a time when I need one.”

“Oh? Who is that?”

Phillip tilted his head toward Alex. “She’s riding him now.”

There was a pause that Phillip read as confusion. He looked at the stranger. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing at all.” But the man seemed cautious of the words he chose next. “I’m Gregor Paulus. I was Prince Marc’s assistant, before the accident.” The two men shook hands. “I’m the one responsible for seeing to the comfort and travel arrangements of the American branch of the family and their staff while they’re on the island. I have a message from the palace for the, um, the trainer.”

“I hope she doesn’t have to rush back. I’ve promised her lunch,” Phillip explained.

Paulus smiled. “That’s very good of you, sir. No, there’s no rush.”

“Perhaps I can give her the message?” Phillip asked.

“It’s of a personal nature…from her family in the States. I’ll just go back up to the house, if that’s all right, and wait until she’s finished.”

“We won’t be long,” Phillip promised, then turned back to Alex.

“He’s doing great!” she called out.

“I can see that.” Phillip waved then grinned at the beautiful picture before him—woman and horse, moving in fluid motion as one.

“Ready for a step-over?” he called on her next loop.

“Sure, why not?” She beamed at him, looking as if she were thoroughly enjoying herself.

Phillip ducked through the fence and walked into the ring. He moved two rails from jump supports down to the ground, leaving nothing for Eros to clear above three inches. An easy step-over, just as Alex had described. Then he moved out of the way and leaned casually against the inside of the fence to watch.

Eros slowed as he approached the rails lying on the ground. Alex gently guided him over them. She leaned down to whisper in the horse’s ear and hugged him around the neck. “Good job, boy.” She waved at Phillip. “Once more?”

“Go for it.” He gave her a thumbs-up for encouragement, then watched, transfixed, as Eros and his lovely rider made five more loops around the ring.

Alex was thrilled with herself. Her plan was working! Nothing to this training business, she thought. “Let’s try a low jump!” she shouted at Phillip.

“Do you really think he’s ready?” Phillip frowned. The last time Eros had balked with him in the saddle, he’d barely been able to hang on.

“Sure,” she said. “I think he’s up to a little challenge now. Set the jump low—just two feet off the ground.” Since even a beginning jumper could easily clear four feet, this would be a piece of cake.

Phillip shrugged. After all, Alex was the pro and must know what she was doing. He walked to the middle of the ring and set the pole in the second notch from the ground. Eros’s hoofbeats as he rounded the far curve of the ring accompanied Phillip as he returned to the gate, where he stood to watch. He studied Alex’s face as she and her mount came around the bend and faced the jump.

Something stubborn and proud was reflected in her expression. She bit down on her bottom lip, leaned forward to say something in Eros’s ear, then brought the huge animal into a smooth gallop. It was at that moment he saw the flicker of fear in Eros’s dark eyes as they rolled in a panic at the sight of the jump. Phillip was suddenly terrified for Alex.

“No!” he shouted, knowing that no matter how good a rider she was, no matter how much Eros trusted her, the animal’s terror would get the better of him. They were headed for disaster. “Alex, don’t do it!”

But a wild fire shone in Alex’s eyes and she ignored him. Phillip wanted to close his eyes. He did hold his breath. He gripped the fence on either side of him, and time seemed to stand still as dust flew from beneath Eros’s hooves and the ground trembled and the horse sped past him heading directly for the jump.

Alex leaned forward in the saddle, standing in the stirrups, her legs acting as springs, ready to absorb the impact of landing on the other side of the rail. A few meters before the jump, Eros balked, tossing his head and refusing to take to air. His big body twisted and he wrenched himself about, setting his hooves. Alex, unprepared for the sudden stop, was helpless to retain her seat. Thrown over the horse’s head, she tumbled to the hard ground, landing with a sickening crack.

Phillip’s heart pounded in his chest. His eyes burned, and for breathless seconds he couldn’t make himself move. Alex didn’t move, either. Eros pawed the dust, whinnied and danced nervously.

At last, a groom raced into the ring, grabbed the horse’s reins and led him away, looking at Phillip as if he must be mad. As if he were to blame for the woman’s recklessness! Others quickly gathered outside the rails, but no one dared say a thing. “Alex!” he breathed, breaking out of his paralysis and running to her.




Two


Alex’s first awareness that anything had gone wrong was the sudden pressure of hard earth beneath her body, where a leather saddle had been moments earlier. She made herself lie absolutely still, not daring to move. It was a position she remembered with no fondness from her teenage years, the last time she’d seriously ridden. The last time she’d jumped.

She kept her eyes closed and, one body part at a time, assessed her condition. Her head—aside from a dull headache, it didn’t feel bad. Thank goodness she’d worn a helmet. Her back—she gently contracted the muscles and felt her spine respond, straightening just a fraction of an inch but enough to reassure her that all was in working order. Her legs—she wiggled her toes and tightened the muscles in her legs. Her arms—well, the fingers could flex. She tried to push herself up onto one elbow now that things appeared to be functioning. A flash of white-hot pain sliced through her left shoulder.

“Ow!” she moaned and fell back down to the ground.

“Don’t try to get up!” a masculine voice ordered. “Devon,” Phillip shouted to one of his stable boys, “call Doctor Elgado. Tell him we need him immediately.”

“What happened?” Alex asked foggily, honestly remembering nothing beyond the moment she’d come around the circle after taking Eros over the rails laid out on the ground.

“You missed a two footer.”

She scowled and felt Phillip’s hand slide gently beneath her head, pillowing it and raising it even with the line of her neck and spine. “Why’d I do a dumb thing like—” Then it came back to her. Her little deception. Horse trainer, indeed!

“I’m sorry, Alex. Dear God, I’m so sorry.” Phillip’s voice was choked with emotion. “I just assumed you knew best. I should never have let you try to jump him.”

“He was doing so well…” she murmured, lapsing into a spell of dizziness.

“And you looked magnificent up there. Don’t waste your strength trying to talk. Do you know where you’re injured? Is it your back?”

“No, I think I’m okay there. But my shoulder, the one closest to your hand—”

His fingers softly kneaded the area around her shoulder blade, then forward in the soft hollow between her armpit and breast. She felt the area warm and tingle to his touch. Then she winced at the sudden sharp pain.

“Yes, there,” she said tightly.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. I can’t tell if anything’s broken. My physician will be here soon.”

She nodded. The ring’s dusty surface felt as hard as the limestone cliff she’d climbed earlier that day. “Do you think we could wait somewhere more comfortable?”

“I don’t want to move you if there’s any chance of spinal injury.”

“I’m sure there’s not,” she said. “Everything moves. No numbness anywhere, no pain except in the shoulder.”

“You can’t walk,” he objected, “and if I try to carry you I might hurt you.”

“This isn’t exactly cozy down here,” she said dryly. “Besides, you owe me, Prince.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grumbled.

She opened her eyes to peek up at him as he carefully positioned himself over her and slipped one arm beneath her, taking care to support the injured shoulder against his chest as he rolled her toward him. When he lifted her, she felt a flash of raw fire in her shoulder and she squeezed her eyes shut. But she knew he was doing his best not to hurt her anymore. Once she was fully enclosed in his arms and he was standing erect, the pain lessened.

He carried her past rows of concerned faces as stable boys and household staff looked on.

“Someone ought to teach that horse the difference between up and down,” she grumbled aloud. Relieved laughter from his staff rewarded her effort to lighten the atmosphere.

“Is there anything I can do, sir?” a woman in an apron asked worriedly.

“Have Juan wait at the gate for the doctor and bring him straight to the parlor. Mint tea might be nice,” he added vaguely.

“Brandy would be nicer,” said Alex. “In a very big glass.”

The woman chuckled. “Brave girl. Brandy she is.” She cast Phillip a chastising glare. “Why you not warn her?”

“I did—I did!” He let explanations go on a long sigh.

Alex said nothing more until he had laid her down on a long, soft settee arranging pillows beneath her head and neck to support her. Pulling up a leather hassock, he sat close beside her, holding her hand between his two and bringing her fingertips to his bowed forehead as he closed his eyes tightly and muttered something to himself.

“What was that?” Alex asked.

“I’m sorry. I’m so very— I know Eros better than you. I should never have let you take him past a simple canter. It’s just that you’d convinced me that you were on the right track. All that talk about Eros’s fears, starting at the beginning, building his confidence.”

“Well, it’s what a rider does after she takes a fall so I figured why shouldn’t it work with a horse?” He looked blankly at her. “I mean,” she added hastily, “it’s worked so well with other horses I’ve trained.”

“You’re a daring young woman.” He shook his head and kissed her knuckles, his eyes wandering as he became lost in thought. She wondered if he was even aware of the intimacy of their position—he bending over her, his large hands enclosing her small one, his warm mouth lingering against the flesh of her curled fingers.

They stayed like that for a while longer, and she didn’t move, didn’t pull her hand away. Didn’t even want to lose touch with him. She knew that it was guilt, keeping him here beside her. But she didn’t mind as long as he stayed.

At last Phillip looked down at her and rolled his amber eyes in dismay. “How can I show you how sorry I am for this?”

She followed the line of his strong jaw with a lingering gaze. “Maybe I’ll think of something,” she murmured. He was incredibly handsome. Reckless, impulsive thoughts came to mind. Visions of his wide hands touching her in more intimate places. She felt a steamy flush wash over her entire body.

There was a commotion in the hallway outside the parlor and an older man in tropical casuals burst through the door and hastily crossed the room. He was carrying a small leather case and he immediately pushed Phillip aside to get close to Alex. “Your boy tells me the young lady took a bad fall.”

“Yes, Doctor. She was on Eros.”

“Couldn’t you have found a more reliable mount for her?” he chided Phillip. “Last time you jumped him, it was a fiasco.” Alex got the impression that the doctor must also be involved with European jumping to be so aware of the horse’s problems.

“I’ll explain later. Just look to her, will you?” Phillip snapped irritably.

Alex smiled, amused by his impatience. It was clear he was going to suffer through the disapproval of a lot of people for a long time because of her accident.

The doctor made everyone including Phillip leave the room while he opened her blouse and examined her shoulder, then he listened to her heart and checked her reflexes.

“Well?” she asked when he was done.

“You are in amazingly good shape for the spill you took, miss. But that shoulder is sprained. You’ll need to wear a sling to rest it until it heals.”

“How long will that take?” she asked.

He frowned, looking uncertain. “I’d give it a few weeks.” He took supplies from his bag. “This might hurt a bit while I adjust the tension of the sling. Do you want Phillip back in the room to hold your hand?”

She thought for a moment. “No. A little more of this fine brandy will do.” She took four very long swallows, draining the snifter. Immediately, a heady stream of warmth flowed through her throat, filling her chest and rushing out to the tips of her toes and fingers. She shut her eyes and braced herself. “Go for it, doc.”



Phillip paced the vestibule while his housekeeper looked on worriedly. “Are you sure, sir, there is nothing I can—”

“Nothing, Maria. Thank you. Just go on with—” He waved a dismissing hand. “Whatever.” No doubt she had been preparing their luncheon, which would never be eaten now.

Alone again, he stared helplessly at the closed door to the parlor. A single sharp cry of pain made him jump. He took three hasty steps toward the door, his hand reaching out for the knob. Then he stopped himself. The doctor had sent him out for good reason. He must respect Alex’s right to privacy.

Phillip bit down on his lower lip so hard he tasted the salt of his own blood. The outside door opened.

It was Paulus. “I was taking a walk through your fine garden while I waited, and heard there had been an accident.”

“Alex, yes. But she’s all right. The doctor says it’s a sprain.” Phillip had been listening at the door, unable to wait for an official announcement.

“I’ll call the palace and inform them.”

“Yes,” Phillip said, realizing that was probably something he should have been doing instead of all this useless pacing. “Thank you.”

A moment later, the door still hadn’t opened and Paulus returned. “King Daniel says I’m to bring her back with me as soon as the doctor says she is able to be moved.”

“Oh.” A shadow of dull, gray disappointment fell over Phillip. Why had he assumed Alex would remain here with him? “No,” he said hastily.

“No?”

“It was my fault, the accident. I didn’t warn her strongly enough. She should remain under my roof to recuperate.”

The man hesitated. “I…well, that’s not the king’s wish. It isn’t for me to say whether—”

“She’ll stay here,” Phillip stated, his mind made up. “I’ll speak with King Daniel. She shouldn’t be moved any more than is necessary.” He didn’t know that to be a fact, but it sounded a good enough reason. “I’m responsible for her condition, and I should see to her recovery.”

Paulus looked puzzled but didn’t argue further. “I will return to the palace with your message.”

“I’ll call as soon as I have my physician’s report.”

Phillip turned back toward the parlor door. It was quiet now inside. He hoped that was good news.



Alex was barely aware of the doctor leaving the room. The brandy had numbed her, and the pain in her shoulder had retreated to a dull ache as soon as the doctor finished messing with the sling. She nestled into the soft cushions of Phillip’s settee and drifted off to sleep.

She floated.

For the first time in weeks Alex felt detached from the terrible disappointment that had chased her halfway around the world to her brother’s new home, Altaria. She hadn’t planned to attend the ball in his honor, but it had provided a welcome escape from her troubles.

She remembered Robert’s words as he spoke to her friend Jessy and the cruel sound of his laughter, slurred by too much alcohol. “Love Alex? You’ve got to be kidding. But marrying her is well worth the sacrifice of my freedom in exchange for all I’ll gain from Connelly Corporation.”

She remembered every word as clearly as if he stood before her now, speaking them anew. Oh how she wished she’d listened to Justin’s words of warning. He knew that Robert was a womanizer, that Robert was just using her. Why hadn’t she seen the man for what he was? Tears filled her eyes as she slept.

A hand brushed the dampness from cheek. She blinked her eyes open.

Phillip bent over her, his honey-colored eyes concerned. “Is the pain bad?”

“No,” she whispered.

“It hurts enough to cry.”

She shook her head. “That’s something else. I’m being silly. Never mind.”

He frowned, obviously confused, but she wasn’t about to explain her aborted wedding to him.

“I’ve arranged for you to stay here,” he said.

“What?” She looked up at him, astonished. “Why would I want to do that?”

“You were injured on my property, so I’m responsible for your recovery. I intend to see to your care.”

“I see. And that will soothe your conscience?”

“Conscience aside, it’s only right.”

“I don’t know…” She tried to pull herself into a sitting position, but a sudden tightness in her shoulder promised pain she didn’t want to feel and she settled back down against the pillows. “The doctor said I’ll be fine walking around as long as I don’t move this.” She glanced sideways at her shoulder, resting in the white cotton sling. “He expects I’ll be pretty much back to normal in a couple of weeks.”

“I suppose you’d be more comfortable back in Chicago, in your own home.”

Back at Lake Shore Manor, she thought dismally, her parents’ home. Not in the house she had planned to share with Robert, before her dreams had shattered.

“I suppose,” she murmured.

“Oh, I almost forgot. The palace aide left a note for you.” He held out a folded piece of paper.

It was a telephone message taken by one of the palace secretaries in a pointy European-style script. It was from Robert. As she read it, ice crystals formed in her heart.

“Not bad news, I hope?” he asked.

Very bad news. Robert wanted her to come home. Robert wanted to explain his flirtation with Kimberly Lindgren and his disturbing comments to Jessy, to make things right, to try again and set a new date for the wedding.

Fat chance, buddy, she thought, tears nearly coming to her eyes again. She hadn’t known him as well as she’d thought she did. Just well enough to realize that the words he’d spoken to her maid of honor the night before their wedding were from the heart and true to his character.

Robert didn’t love her. Perhaps she’d sensed that from the start but refused to admit it to herself. She had so desperately wanted love, marriage, a family of her own, and there he was offering her these things in his oh-so-charming way. But he loved only what she could bring him—wealth, her father’s power and influence, a future of success that depended little on his own effort or ingenuity.

And if she didn’t return to Chicago, what then? He would come after her. She was certain of that much because he was a determined man. Without her, without their marriage, he had nothing but a midmanagement position with her father’s company. That is, if Grant didn’t fire him outright once she explained to her parents her sudden disappearance from Chicago. She hadn’t yet found the strength to talk about her reasons for walking out on Robert on the eve of their wedding. Nor had she found the nerve to face Robert again. But she could at least make it difficult for him to find her until she was ready to face him.

“I’ll stay,” she said quickly.

“Really?” Phillip looked surprised after her earlier refusal.

“Yes,” she said and slid him a playful smile. “If only to milk your guilt.”

He grimaced. “It wasn’t my intention that you fall!”

“I know that,” she said, settling back against a fluffy pillow. “Still, if you should feel a teensy bit responsible you could bring me a cup of that wonderful smelling bouillabaisse you promised.”

He grinned. “It’s as good as done.”



Phillip didn’t know how long he could keep Alex in resting mode. She was like a little kid, constantly trying to find excuses to leave the couch when she was supposed to be quiet and not stress her shoulder. Although he could easily have asked his housekeeper or any one of the others on his staff to fetch things for her, he felt obligated to wait on her, personally. His employees found this highly entertaining, but he didn’t care. He’d make sure she gave her shoulder a chance to heal if it killed him.

By the time he returned to the parlor on the third day of her stay, carrying a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea and a plump raisin scone, she was sitting on the edge of the settee.

“The doctor said you should rest. Lie down and I’ll pour for you,” he offered.

“I’m uncomfortable,” she complained, pouting at him. “Too much of this lying around must be bad for the circulation. I want to go outside.” She peered out the window. “It looks beautiful out there.”

“Rest,” he said.

“I could rest just as well on the chaise lounge on the terrace, I’ll bet my shoulder would warm up in the sunshine and heal faster.” She started to stand up.

He set the tray down with a sigh. “Very well, the terrace it is.”

She laughed at him as he scooped her up in his arms and strode out the open French doors into the Mediterranean sunshine. He deposited her on a cushioned chaise and looked down at her. “Better?”

“Much,” she said. “Thank you.”

He smiled, pleased he’d been able to once more delay her restlessness.

“Wait here. I’ll go get the tea.”

When he returned, she had rearranged her thin white cotton robe worn over a sea-green bikini to bare her long legs. He drew a sharp breath at the tug in his loins. She was stunning—the contrast between her pale ivory skin and her cropped, black hair. Her emerald eyes flashed up at him. He gulped. Unable to say what was really on his mind, he blurted out, “Sunscreen. I forgot the sunscreen.”

She shook her head at him. “Stop fussing over me. I’m fine.”

She was a darn sight more than just fine, Phillip thought when he returned, drew up a chair beside hers, and watched her smooth lotion from her toes, over her ankles, then up her calves, thighs and hips. Lust curled up hot and ready inside of him. He didn’t think he could risk staying with her any longer.

“If you’re comfy now,” he said, coughing to clear his suddenly tight throat, “I have some business I should attend to.”

“You can’t stay and keep me company?” she asked.

“If you want someone to talk to, I can send to the castle for someone.”

“Most of the guests would have left by now,” she said. “Besides, I don’t like them.”

“Any of them?”

She shrugged. “I don’t like rich people.”

He laughed. “I’m not exactly a pauper, woman, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“You’re different,” she said, smoothing another dollop of lotion across the flat of her stomach, then circling her fingertips around her belly button. He followed the sensuous motion of her fingers with fascination. “You don’t put on airs and spend money for the thrill of it.”

“How do you know so much about me?”

“I’m good at figuring out people.” With one tragic exception, she thought, then chased that sad part of her life from her mind. Robert was no longer a concern. She had put him out of her life. “It’s sort of a hobby of mine, studying people and, sometimes, pretending to be like them.”

She tipped her head to one side and observed him, wondering if he’d take her hint. After all, sooner or later she’d have to tell him who she really was.

“Why is that?” Phillip asked.

“Whenever life gets boring you just step into someone else’s shoes.”

“I suspect it might be more than that,” he said thoughtfully. “Some people experiment with different roles because they’re trying to find out who they really are.”

She laughed, gave her head a shake and sipped her tea. Then she stared at him long and hard. “You think so?”

“Could be in your case. Maybe being a horse trainer isn’t what you’d most like to be.”

“But I love horses,” she objected, clinging to her role out of sheer stubbornness.

“And you were doing great with Eros. But that doesn’t mean your heart doesn’t yearn for something more than coddling wealthy folks’ pets.” She pouted at him, and he wished he could figure out what she was thinking at that moment. He suspected she was more than a little embarrassed by having taken the fall. “Never mind. Eros is a troubled spirit. If he hadn’t wanted you on him, he would have lost you long before that jump, despite all your experience.”

She considered that for a moment and felt a happy little thrill inside of her. She had done well, hadn’t she? Alex put down her teacup. “Do you know what I want more than anything?”

“A blueberry scone instead of the raisin?”

She waved him off. “No, silly. I mean, what I really, really want in life.”

“Oh, now we’re into the heavy stuff.” He shook his head, mocking her, and sat back down on the edge of her chaise to listen.

“I’m serious.” She straightened up, seized his hand and brought it into her lap. At once, he was conscious of the warmth of her flesh beneath the thin robe. “I want to be someone who makes a difference. I want to do something special and important with my life.”

“I’d say you have every opportunity to do that,” he commented. “Just choose. There are plenty of charities out there.”

“No!” she shouted, startling him with the emotion and strength in her voice. “That’s just it. I don’t want to chair committees or sponsor fund-raisers like rich women. I want to do things, not oversee others as they do them.”

He nodded. The urge was all too familiar. Hadn’t he felt restless, hemmed in by his estate and people’s expectations of him? He didn’t have to work to keep a roof over his head. He could travel anywhere he pleased. Yet he felt discontent.

“Do you know where Silverdorn is?” he asked her suddenly.

“You mean, your kingdom, Prince?” She shook her head.

“It no longer exists. At one time it was a small region on the border between France and Italy, a much-contested territory. My family lost it to other monarchs centuries ago, but we have retained our titles as tradition allows.”

She giggled.

“What’s so funny?” he demanded, offended that his family’s plight seemed humorous to her.

“You’re…homeless?”

He smiled slowly. “Not homeless…but country-less, yes. That does sound ridiculous, doesn’t it? Someone with as much wealth and property to be without a country.”

She was laughing harder now. “The homeless prince. Oh, oh God— Ouch!”

“Hurts, huh? Serves you right for making fun of the less fortunate,” he teased.

She cradled her aching shoulder with her good arm. “Cut it out. You’ll make me laugh harder.”

Tears formed in her pretty eyes, and Phillip perversely felt like doing something to make them shine even more. He reached out, making tickling motions with his fingers as he neared her stomach, and her eyes widened in panic.

“Don’t you dare! No fair torturing the wounded.”

“I think you’re far less wounded than you pretend,” he accused. “In fact, you’re so used to acting out roles, you probably don’t know who you really are.”

The look on her face stunned him to silence. Her laughter immediately ceased. Pushing herself up off the chaise with a flinch of pain, she walked away from him down the terrace steps toward the water.

“Alex, what did I say?” he called after her. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

She tugged her robe closer around her body and moved stiffly down the steps as he chased after her. “Just leave me alone.”

“No. Obviously I’ve hit on a sore spot. I’m sorry. I really am. Tell me why what I said offended you.”

She shook her head and kept on walking. He caught up to her with no trouble, as she was slowed down by her shoulder.

“Alex?” He stepped in front of her. There were tears again, but not happy ones. Her face was contorted in a secret agony. He carefully enfolded her in his arms, taking care not to put pressure on her injured shoulder. “Tell me. I don’t want to make the same mistake again.”

She drew a shuddering breath and rested her cheek against his chest. “You’re right,” she whispered. “I don’t know who I am. Not really.”

“But that was just a joke. You’re an excellent trainer, I’m sure. You just had a bad day. Besides, you’re too intelligent a woman not to know who you are.”

She looked up at him, green fire in her eyes. “Do you, Phillip? Do you know who you are?

“I’m not sure what you mean.” He was suddenly aware of the heat of her body, of the luscious curves, hollows and soft swells that were her breasts and hips. She was tucked into his body, and the scant clothing she wore seemed inconsequential protection. He was aroused.

Rotten timing, Kinrowan, he thought ruefully.

“You are a prince by title, without a kingdom. How else would you define yourself?” she demanded.

He didn’t know. “Well, I’m a man who loves horses and competes by jumping them. And I’ve always been fascinated by sailing and I have several boats.”

“I’m not talking about things you own,” she said sharply. “I’m talking about who you are, deep in your soul.”

He was at a loss. What was she talking about?

She pulled away from him to pace the path between the grand house and the intoxicatingly blue ocean. “All right. I’ll give you an example. Say there’s this young woman who has been raised in a wealthy family. All of her life, she’s had everything she ever wanted. Money was no object. All of her friends were rich, too. Because that’s the way people are. They group themselves by financial status, always wanting to be with their own kind, never wanting to associate with anyone with less in their bank accounts or who go to less prestigious schools.”

He wasn’t sure who she was talking about, but he didn’t interrupt her to ask.

“And this young woman wants more than anything to be special, not because of her father’s money, but because of something she herself can do or be. Something that’s her very own and from her heart. Only she can’t be special because she doesn’t know what that something is.” Her voice was so tight, he feared it might snap like a fragile crystal goblet.

She blinked up at him. “Or maybe she’s just someone who works in stables, but she still wants to be special. Then she thinks she finds it when she falls in love. And she begins to believe that she will be happy with the man she’s chosen, and they will have children together and live as anyone else in love does, regardless of how much or how little money they have. Because their love will transport them above the crudeness of the financial and social worlds they’ve been stuck in all of their lives.” She went dead silent, so suddenly it took him by surprise.

“That’s a lovely dream,” he said quietly, not knowing what else to say. That last bit, he realized, she’d been talking about herself. “And does she find happiness with her true love?”

“She does, for a while. In fact, she follows the dream perfectly—choosing her bridesmaids, selecting a beautiful gown, ordering the cake and designing a lovely summer wedding on the lakeside. She is in heaven, or so she thinks, and then…” Her voice trailed off and tears flowed down her cheeks. Phillip ached to hold her again, but he sensed she wouldn’t allow him to comfort her.

“And then,” he guessed, “the creep did something unspeakably horrible to spoil her dream.”

“The creep did indeed.” She angrily dashed the tears away with the heel of her hand. “I—she heard him talking to her maid of honor. Flirting. Bragging, really. He’d had too much to drink after the rehearsal party and he told the bride’s best friend that he was, in effect, marrying her for her—for her connection with the Connellys.”

“I see.” He felt her pain as his own. The story was too close to his experience with marriage. He didn’t want to hear the rest, but there was no stopping Alex. She dropped the pretense of disguising the bride as if she were someone other than herself.

“Of course, when I confronted him, he just laughed off my anger. He claimed he was just trying to shock Jessy. It was all a game, or so he said.”

“But you knew it was true,” he put in.

“Yes, it was all very clear suddenly. There were things he’d said and done while we were dating that I’d chosen to ignore or forgive. Suddenly they all made sense. He had even gone so far as to put off our honeymoon so that he could complete a project he was working on for Grant Connelly.”

“I can’t imagine any man not wanting to honeymoon with you, Alex,” he murmured, then bit his lip. Where had that come from?

She didn’t seem to have heard him. “There were other things. I knew he’d been using me, and I could see our future. I’d be just like so many of my girlfriends who married for what they thought was love, only to find they were assets. I couldn’t bear to be used that way.”

“So you walked out on him.”

“Yes. I did.” She looked down at her folded hands, her eyes dry now. “That phone message from several days ago. It was from him. From Robert.”

He could feel how difficult it was for her to even mention his name. “He wants to reconcile?”

She nodded. “Predictable. He’s not one to give up easily.”

“How has your family taken all of this?”

She shrugged. “They want me to be happy. The thing is, I haven’t told them yet what my reasons were for walking out on the wedding. When and if I do, I know they’ll support my decision.”




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