Tempting the Prince (Sexy Misadventures of Royals)

by Christi Barth

  “Match, set, and draw.” Giggling, Kelsey backed out of the room.

  Probably.

  Christian couldn’t be sure. He was too busy wallowing in the gift Mallory had just given him. “You really love me?”

  “I’m fairly certain the rules state that saying it out loud makes it official.”

  “I’d better say it very loudly, then.” Christian wrapped his arms around her back and picked her up, twirling her in circles down the length of the hall while shouting, “I love you, Mallory Wishner! I love you! I love you!”

  Her head fell back, exposing the perfect, kissable pale line of her throat. Christian could literally see the joyous laughter burbling up it. “I love you, Christian Leopold Michael Victor Villani! I love you!”

  And while it was one of the best moments of his life, while Christian thought his heart might burst from the happiness, he realized several hours later, with a shattering jolt of heartache, that Mallory had never actually agreed to stay…

  Chapter Eighteen

  The one thing everybody in Alcarsa Palace agreed upon—regardless of station—was that the grand duchess Agathe was…intimidating.

  Formidable.

  Prickly. Heck, downright scary. Mallory was no dummy. She’d done her best to keep her distance during her first few weeks in Moncriano. The best way to stay out of the firing line was, well, to avoid it.

  But since her return, it hadn’t been possible. Not when the woman commissioned a piece of jewelry for her, gave her a title, and made her an honorary member of the family. Avoidance was off the table after that.

  Thank goodness. Because in making an effort to take afternoon walks with her, share teas, and even laugh their way through a wine-tasting session with Kelsey, Mallory had discovered that the grand duchess was whip-smart, passionately loyal, and equipped with a sense of humor as dry as that ten-year-old Bordeaux they’d shared.

  Nevertheless, the grand duchess had high standards for personal dress. So when Mallory received the summons to meet her in the orangery, it required a lightning-fast full-outfit change.

  No pants. No flats.

  No excuses.

  She’d paired a deep-burgundy, chiffon-pleated skirt with a boatneck (a.k.a. not at all low-cut) black top. Tamed her hair in a low pony. Dragged on pantyhose and slipped into black pumps with heels so thin they could be used to pick a lock.

  And then arrived at the orangerie a full seven minutes early. Mallory liked and respected the woman. But she sure wouldn’t hand her ammunition like being late or panting from rushing.

  Even so, the cagey old lady had beaten her there.

  Mallory dropped into a deep and flawless—if she did say so herself—curtsy. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

  “Ah, Mallory. Thank you for joining me. Shall we walk?”

  Mallory made sure to stay a half step behind the woman in unrelieved black, head to toe. The only spot of color was the enormous tanzanite-and-diamond wedding set on her left hand.

  Somewhere, hidden behind the three-stories of glass-enclosed trees and shrubs, was a stellar speaker system. “Is that opera I hear?”

  “Plácido Domingo. And Il Volo. A nice mix of the old and the new. The plants appreciate it, and so do I. Are you an aficionado?”

  “Not yet. I didn’t have much exposure to it, growing up.” Her parents played classic rock, nonstop, and would launch into diatribes about sellouts every time a Beatles or Rolling Stone song provided the background music for a commercial. “I’m dabbling now. Sir Evan has added classical music to his princess classes for Kelsey. I try to sit in on those sessions.”

  “Smart girl. It’s an acquired taste, but once acquired, you’ll discover there is music for every mood, every action, every moment.”

  Mmm-hmm. Just like rock and pop and jazz. It wasn’t worth arguing, though. “Thank you for the invitation to join you today. Is there something on your mind?”

  “Indeed.” Agathe turned to face her head-on. “I’ve heard tell that my grandson is enamored of you.”

  Oh, boy. Here we go, she thought. Mallory kept her tone light, verging on patronizing. “I’m shocked that you’d give any credence to palace gossip.”

  “Gossip is often rooted in fact. And then overinflated into something entirely else. But I’ve heard too many times that Christian is smitten with you to ignore it.”

  “Then perhaps you should ask him.”

  Mallory had no intention of being cowed by either her title as grand duchess or as Christian’s grandmother. She was riding high on the cloud of being loved by Christian. At some point, reality would intrude, for multiple reasons.

  Not yet, though. Not a mere five days after they’d both dropped the L-word for the first time. She was wallowing in happiness. Wallowing in him. So frankly, nobody else’s opinions mattered right now.

  “Indeed.” Agathe gave a slow nod. “However, that’s a different conversation than the one we’re having. What are your intentions toward him?”

  Wow. What was next—would her virginity come under scrutiny? Because she’d freely admit that ship sailed the freshman year of college to an earnest and very muscled hockey player during the first snowstorm of the year.

  “I don’t have ‘intentions’ toward Christian.” Yes, she made finger quotes. And hoped that was something they did here and not something unutterably rude. “I have respect for him. More than you’re showing me right now.”

  Abruptly, the grand duchess turned and started walking again. She pulled down a blooming branch to sniff. Squeezed a tangerine. Ran her fingers down the frond of a maidenhair fern.

  After watching this for a minute, Mallory caught up. It seemed smarter to wait for the next attack than to turn and run out in a snit. And she had no doubt that there’d be a pivot, and a fresh attack.

  “I’ve heard good things about you from the palace staff, Sir Evan, Sir Kai, Mathilde.”

  “It’s always nice to get a good review. Helps on those mornings when I can’t get my hair to look right.” Mallory’s throat went dry. Were they actually reporting on her? Or simply having conversations, and it was the grand duchess who filed it away as intelligence to be picked over?

  “You seem levelheaded. Without exception, you’re respectful. Even when I know you’re itching to call me an interfering old bat.”

  Okay. Game freaking on. “Two out of the three descriptions would be true, and thus, technically, fair game. So yes, I’m tempted. But taking a shot at your mourning clothes by comparing you to a bat would simply be insensitive.”

  Every line on Agathe’s face crinkled deeper, like she’d just had her cat bring her a bloody trophy. But she didn’t swipe back.

  Mallory could only imagine the brunt of that anger some poor, undeserving maid would weather later as a result of swallowing it down for now.

  She took a few more steps, stopped in front of something bushy and bursting with hot-pink blossoms. “We’re all aware that you’re the one keeping Kelsey on the straight and narrow. It is appreciated.”

  It was a backhanded compliment. But probably Agathe’s version of an olive branch. So she gave a conciliatory smile. “We’re a team, me and Kelsey. We complement each other, but also shore up each other’s weaknesses.”

  “You didn’t join our family in the usual way, but we are genuinely glad that you are a part of it now. My Serena would’ve liked you. She’d love that you’ve been not just a sister, but a best friend to Kelsey.”

  In all sincerity, Mallory put a hand on the older woman’s arm. “Thank you. Truly. None of you had to allow me in the palace, let alone make me feel so welcome. Hearing that you think the queen would’ve been okay with an American upstart infiltrating her family is quite a gift.”

  “But what about Christian?”

  Oh, she was wily. But Mallory was stubborn. “Nope. Sorry, Your Grace, but that is between us. It�
��s private.”

  “It is quite the opposite of private,” Agathe snapped, looking down her aristocratic beak of a nose. “If what’s between you is serious, that is. Do you not see that?”

  Mallory dropped her hand, speechless.

  Because deep down, of course Mallory knew.

  It was why she and Christian had labeled a relationship impossible from the start. They didn’t belong together. They couldn’t stay together.

  Agathe stabbed a finger in the air. “Your privacy ended the day my precious, missing Valentina was found, and you decided to accompany her to Moncriano. You forever tied yourself to Kelsey and the House of Villani with that choice. You tied that knot tighter when you returned after the shooting. Privacy is no longer an option for you. And it has never been one for my grandson.”

  The words jolted into Mallory like they’d been fired from a truth cannon. It took everything she had not to reel backward under the onslaught.

  On the other hand, it strengthened her resolve. She and Christian would enjoy every single day together that they possibly could. No facts, or reason, or well-meaning advice would rob them of storing up those shared moments.

  Yes, one day, very soon, it would end. The day Christian made the choice to take a royal bride.

  Until then? The whole world could just back the hell off.

  Not that she’d blast his beloved grandmother with quite that level of, ah, fervor.

  Deliberately, Mallory reached out to tug at a gardenia. She bent, sniffed it, and let its perfume take the edge off her righteous resentment. “There are…degrees. I’ll grant you that. I know there are advisors who weigh in on the length of Genevieve’s skirts, and the name of Christian’s polo horse. Those are outward facing choices. Our hearts—well, those are still our own.”

  The grand duchess put her hand on top of Mallory’s, curling it over the softness of the flower. “My dear girl, I’m trying to protect your heart, and his, before they get tangled any more deeply. I know this will end in pain for both of you. I love Christian, and I’ve come to care quite a bit for you. As such, I want to do what I can to lessen that hurt.”

  Mallory believed her. Her voice rang with genuine concern. The lines in her face were softer under the porcelain powder, and her lower lip trembled the tiniest bit.

  God knows why, but she let her own truth tumble out. “I love him, too,” she admitted softly.

  “I know.” The grand duchess patted her cheek. “But you can’t have him. My grandson must marry a suitable woman. One born of noble blood. That is not my opinion, or preference. It is fact.” She gave her a look of unutterable sadness. Then stepped back and began walking again. “The state dinner for the Swedish crown princess is coming up.”

  The deep cut of the flat truth she’d presented still seared Mallory’s heart. But she followed protocol and the change in topic. “Oh, we’ve already had three sessions with the stylists for Kelsey’s dress. The yellow diamond necklace you’re loaning her is exquisite.”

  Agathe squinted, looking her up and down. “I’ll loan you an emerald parure, to contrast with your hair and bring out your eyes. Tell the stylists.”

  “I’m not going, Your Grace.”

  “You are now. I’ll take care of it. Go. Watch. See him interacting with the top candidates for the royal bride. Watch as those women interact with all the royal guests who know that one of them will be queen. They won’t be looking at you, my dear. Nor will he.”

  Mallory swallowed hard.

  She’d rise to the challenge.

  Tell herself it didn’t matter when Christian made the rounds. She’d hang out with Kelsey.

  It’d be fine.

  Or…it wouldn’t. And then it’d be the beginning of their end.

  …

  Mallory fussed with the folds of the oversize blue-and-green tartan scarf draped around her neck. She’d worn it to snazz up the royal blue sweater dress. But now she was using it more like a stress ball, squeezing and tweaking and stroking it.

  Because the entire restaurant was watching her.

  It was a little bit like being in a pinball game. Every time she looked up and out at the other diners, heads pivoted away from her so sharply their necks probably cracked. Up, look, snap away. Rinse. Repeat.

  That’s what made it different from the other times—few though they were—that she’d been out with Christian, or Kelsey. With them, people unabashedly stared. Waved. Kept eye contact until the royal family member gave them some sort of recognition, be it a smile or a wave or a nod.

  Tonight, that wasn’t the case. Even though Christian and Kelsey—and Elias—were also seated at the table, the eyes weren’t on them. She could tell from the pinballing effect.

  “Everyone’s staring,” she said in a stage whisper.

  “What?” Elias cupped a hand to his ear. “You’ll have to speak up. Don’t worry, no one will overhear.”

  Christian raised his beer mug, coated in frosty condensation. “That’s part of why we’re here. Once the cold sets in, raclette bars are jam-packed until spring. Noisy, crazy, fun. No way any nosy neighbors can make out our conversation.”

  “I don’t care what they hear. I care what they see.” Mallory did a sort of breaststroke with her arm, as if to push away all the locked-on gazes. “They’re all staring.”

  “Comes with the territory,” Elias said with a long-suffering sigh. Then he raised an arm and flexed. Sure enough, that biceps pop was visible even through his black turtleneck sweater. “Women can’t get enough of an eyeful of my muscles. Even though I’ve done everything but rent out a billboard stating that my heart belongs to my princess.”

  Christian did a slow roll of his neck before tossing his friend a pitying glare. “You’ll have to excuse Eli. He’s stuck in that fantasy where he’s not invisible to the ladies when he’s next to me. Trust me, it never happened in real life.”

  Aww, they were adorable in their efforts to impress. Mallory loved seeing the playful, boyish side of Christian that came out when he and Elias were together—and “off duty.” The weight of his responsibilities, the strangling stress melted away. Just like when she was alone with him. It was like getting a glimpse of the young sailor he’d been.

  It’d be fun to dig in his closet and have him put on his uniform. Before she took it off…

  “Guys, you don’t have to whip them out to prove whose is bigger. Drop the posturing,” Kelsey ordered.

  “Sorry. Old habits die hard. And it’s my sworn duty to take Christian down a peg whenever possible. There are so few of us willing, let alone able, to do so. It’s part of my selfless service to my country.” Elias had to raise his mug to cover the wide grin on his face by the time he finished.

  “You’re both drop-dead handsome,” Mallory verified. “Gifts of the gods to womankind. Can we get back to my problem, now?”

  Christian cocked his head to the side with a quizzical look. “What problem? You’ve got cold beer, the hottest man in the kingdom with his arm around you, and a plate of food about to be covered in melty, gooey cheese. Life is perfect.”

  As the waitress deposited their plates full of potatoes, prosciutto, sausage, mushrooms, cornichons, and pickled onions, Mallory was confused. “There’s no cheese on here.”

  Elias’s thick, dark brows drew together in confusion. “Do they not have raclette bars in America?”

  Mallory rolled her eyes. “Since I don’t know what that word is, I’m guessing no. Saying it over and over doesn’t make it any more understandable.”

  “It’s cheese.” Elias jerked his chin at the waitress, dressed in the traditional costumes Mallory had seen at the Harvest Festival, with a long skirt and a vest and scarf. “Just watch.”

  She turned back to her serving cart to retrieve a half wheel of cheese. Her hand curved around the hard, wax rind, but her other hand scooped out a melted river
of cheese from the inside onto their plates.

  “Omigod,” breathed Kelsey. “That’s the most brilliant cheese delivery method ever. I don’t know why you’ve been keeping this a secret from America. But I’m all in. Committed to Moncriano and the princess thing one hundred and ten percent, now that I know about this.”

  Kelsey made a compelling case. It smelled rich and sharp and amazing. “Look, I’m down for all things cheese-related,” Mallory said. “But first? My problem is that everyone in this restaurant is still staring at me.” Which made lifting long, gooey, drippy strings of cheese to her mouth a less than optimal look. “I don’t understand. Christian, the last time we went out, nobody paid any attention to me at all.”

  Shooting her arm in the air, Kelsey waggled her hand back and forth. “I’ve got this one.” Grinning, she said, “That was before you became Lady Mallory, First of Her Name, Purloiner of Princes, and Slaughterer of Peacocks.”

  “Shut up. I still feel terrible about that.” She’d offered to pay for the poor creature, not that the tabloids would have cared. Discovered that Christian already had, in her name. Then she’d discovered just how much a white peacock cost and stopped objecting.

  But she’d also offered to come in and help clear out their…stalls? Mallory had no idea where peacocks lived/slept. Her offer of volunteer labor, though, had been roundly dismissed. Something about how it was “below a baroness.” Which left her with no way to help, or to clear her conscience.

  Aside from a solemn vow to never attempt bocce ball again.

  That, at least, might help her reputation.

  Christian took her hand, pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Mallory, we want them to stare at us.”

  That was unexpected. “What? Since when, oh Prince of Privacy?”

  “Since it means they’re taking you seriously as my girlfriend. Before, they just thought you were close to me from living in the palace and your relationship with Kelsey. Now, they’ll afford you more respect while you’re under my protection, as it were.”