The Princess

by Jude Deveraux

  He ignored the guardsmen standing at the door as he hurried down the corridor, down the stairs and out into the garden. He made it to the King’s Garden before stopping. As he lit a cigarette, his hands were shaking.

  Seduction, he thought. Everything about the country was seductive.

  Whenever he wanted food, it was there waiting for him. He dropped his clothes wherever they fell and minutes later they were gone. There were always silent people standing nearby waiting to obey his merest wish. If he wanted a car, he merely had to ask and it was readied for him.

  And the choices he had! He could drive or be driven. He could get up early or sleep late. He could do nothing or work twenty hours a day. He could swim, ride a horse, climb a mountain, train with athletes, walk through acres of beautiful gardens. The freedom of so many choices was intoxicating.

  J.T. leaned against a tree and inhaled on the cigarette.

  And there was Aria—the most seductive of all. He had looked at her tonight, her dress damp from the children’s bathwater, and he had remembered her on the island. The king had said she was a warm and kind person but J.T. hadn’t believed it. She was, but she had covered it with her haughtiness, and her rules to live by.

  He understood better now, understood how she had been trained to believe that the world was her servant. He wondered what he would be like if he had been raised like she had. Would he be like Toby and pout because there was a tiny bit of green on one of his strawberries? Would he get so used to cashmere sweaters that he would toss them on the floor like Gena did? Would he become so used to the servants that he would walk in and out of rooms and not see them? Would he believe he was someone else’s superior by divine right?

  He knew how bad the atmosphere of this place was, but he was also feeling seduced by it, sucked into the vortex of it. Ever since he was a child he had loved hot chocolate. He had never mentioned it because he knew that people—these unbelievably well-trained servants—watched what he ate and drank and made sure that what he liked was always near. Now Walters brought him a pot of hot chocolate as soon as J.T. woke and pulled the bell by his bed.

  For the last several days, ever since he had felt confident that the Royal Guard could protect Aria, he had worked long hard hours. He had enlisted a couple of Aria’s secretaries, both intelligent men who generally had too little to do, to help him find out who needed money or who would most benefit from Aria’s death. Aria walked about the countryside as if there had never been an attempt on her life, but he never forgot for a moment. He had spent hours with the kitchen staff, much to the chagrin of Aria’s butler, who considered J.T. part of the royal family, trying to find out what gossip he could. But as far as he could tell, no one knew anything.

  He was no closer to finding who had tried to murder Aria than he ever was.

  He had tried his best to treat his time in Lanconia as a job and nothing else, but he wasn’t succeeding. When he and Aria had parted the first time, he had been so angry he was almost glad to get rid of her. He still remembered his fury when he had found out that she had tricked him and he was to remain in Lanconia forever. At the time all he could think of was that he was a sailor and she was asking him to live inland. He had also been enraged that he had been tricked so easily. His temper hadn’t been helped by her grandfather ordering him to remain in Lanconia.

  But now, a few weeks later, he understood more of what it meant to be part of the royal family. He saw how much Aria meant to the people. He had been among them and heard the special tone of reverence they used when referring to her.

  He finished his cigarette, crushed it under his foot, and smiled as he remembered the day they had gone to see the vineyard. She hadn’t been a princess then, she had just been his girl, and he had been proud of her. He had watched the faces of the people, seen how wary they had been of Aria, then he had seen how much they had liked her. Ol’-fashioned liked her, not because they were supposed to, but because she was pleasant and amusing and interested in them.

  It had been so very, very difficult to leave her that night. It would have been perfectly natural to climb into bed with her, just as every husband had a right to do. But he knew better than to touch her because he knew she was borrowed and he had to give her back.

  He had stayed away from her after that day, deliberately trying to forget her and hoping that she would forget him. He had felt his chest tighten every time he saw her with her little count, but he had not interfered. Of course he had to admit, though, that some of the gossip had given him great pleasure. Aria had pushed through the crowds and eaten a sandwich made by a peasant woman—and later she had sent the woman a flock of chickens in gratitude. He doubted if she had any idea how such actions pleased the people of Lanconia.

  So far, J.T. had been able to force himself to stay away from her but sometimes he couldn’t control himself. When she had shown up at the guards’ training ground and threatened a guard’s life as if she were a warrior queen of old, he had been very pleased. And then her jealousy attack over Gena later! It had been a woman, not a crown princess, who had stormed off that field. Then he had had to sit back and watch her ushered away by that pompous little count. The twerp didn’t understand that what Aria did outside her official duties was more important than having tea with a bunch of fat, pedigreed women.

  The captain of the guard had put his hand on J.T.’s arm just as J.T. was about to nail the little overbearing fop.

  So now, J.T. had done the worst thing he could have: he’d made love to her again. Not really the long, slow all-night lovemaking that he dreamed of at night, but he had attacked her with all the pent-up passion that he felt every time he saw her. And she had responded in just the way he remembered.

  He had to stop! He had to keep his hands off of her and his mind on the work that needed doing. He had asked the guardsmen to be especially vigilant in the coming days because he felt that another attempt would soon be made on Aria’s life. This time he was sure the murderer would be caught, and as soon as he was, J.T. meant to return to America.

  He closed his eyes, smelled the pine trees and the soft mountain air blowing across the acres of flowers that were planted everywhere, and tried to remember the sea. He would marry some pretty little woman who liked the sea and after the war he would settle in Warbrooke, work in the family’s shipyard, and raise a few kids. He wanted only the average things in life, nothing special. No kingdom to rule. No gold-plated throne to sit on. No crown to wear. No pretty princess to make him laugh.

  “Damn!” he cursed aloud. Maybe he’d go wake up Frank and they could work on some more plans, or better yet, they could start rebuilding a few car engines. He had never seen people who knew as little about machine maintenance as these Lanconians. What they needed were a few good vocational schools to teach the young people how to maintain equipment. And why wasn’t there a good agricultural college here? And why weren’t the girls learning to be nurses and secretaries?

  He stopped and took a deep breath. Lanconia wasn’t his responsibility. In another few weeks he would be gone and what King Julian and Queen Aria did was their business.

  As he passed the garage, he saw that all the lights were on and he heard Frank Taggert’s deep, angry voice. “A crescent wrench, not a ratchet wrench.”

  “How am I supposed to know which is which?” J.T. heard Gena say with just as much anger. “I’m a princess, not an auto mechanic.”

  “You have yet to prove to me you’re worth anything. This is a crescent wrench. Oh, honey, don’t cry.”

  J.T. laughed in the darkness and thought it would be better not to disturb the two of them. It looked like Gena wouldn’t be following him anymore. Probably tomorrow she would be wondering what she ever saw in somebody as old as him.

  Smiling, he went up to his lonely, empty bedroom. At least somebody somewhere was happy.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  SLOWLY, Aria got out of the car at her grandfather’s hunting lodge. It was dusk and she was tired after a long day o
f meetings with the Americans, but she so badly wanted to talk to her grandfather. It had been a harrowing day trying to bargain with the Americans over the price of the vanadium. Julian had insisted that she sit back and allow him to handle the negotiations but Aria soon realized he knew no more about bargaining than she did. Unwisely, she suggested they ask Lieutenant Montgomery to attend the meeting. Julian turned furious eyes on her until she was quiet.

  After two hours, Julian seemed satisfied but Aria was not. She sent for Lieutenant Montgomery. He arrived wearing a sweat-stained undershirt, and when he saw the contract the Americans were offering, he laughed. Thirty minutes later he had sold half as much of the vanadium for twice as much money. “We’ll negotiate for the rest of it later,” he said. To Aria’s disbelief all the Americans seemed happy with the deal and very pleased with J.T., yet they gave looks of contempt to Julian. Aria didn’t understand at all because she would have thought the Americans would have liked Julian better.

  After the meeting she wanted to talk to J.T. but he brushed her aside, saying he had to get back to the engines. She had felt rejected, and worst of all, she felt lonely. The rest of the day she had performed her duties but her heart hadn’t been in them. At four P.M. she told her secretary to call her grandfather and tell him she was coming to visit him.

  Lady Werta had nearly died when she heard of Aria’s planned visit but Aria was getting good at ignoring the woman.

  And now she was here and Ned was opening the front door to her. “He is in the garden, Your Highness,” Ned said, bowing to her. “I have presumed to prepare a supper for you and set it in the garden. His Majesty said you wanted to be alone.”

  “Yes,” she said as she hurried forward. Now that she was this near, she desperately wanted to see her grandfather. He was standing under a big elm tree and waiting for her with open arms. To the world he was a king but to her he was her grandfather, someone who had held her on his lap and read her fairy tales. With her mother and the rest of the world she had had to be a princess but with her grandfather she could be a little girl.

  He held her close, his big, heavy body enveloping her, and she felt safe and protected for the first time in a long while. She could feel tears gathering in her eyes. She who a few months ago never cried seemed to always be crying now.

  Her grandfather held her at arm’s length and studied her. “Sit down here and eat,” he said gruffly. “Ned’s given us enough to feed Rowan’s army. It’s about time you came to see me.”

  Aria took a seat and gave him a guilty little smile. She could feel herself becoming a little girl again, especially when she saw a dishful of the tiny chocolate cakes Ned had made for her, just as he had done all her life. But she had no appetite.

  “What’s on your mind?” the king asked.

  Aria hesitated. How could she burden her grandfather with her problems? He was an old man and not well. She took a seat across the table from him.

  The king raised one eyebrow at her. “Turning coward on me, are you? Has someone shot at you again? Or tried to drown you? And how’s that American husband of yours doing with the car engines?”

  Aria choked, and while her eyes watered and she gulped hot tea, her grandfather smiled at her.

  “Why is it that young people think age brings stupidity? We’re smart enough to raise children and run our lives for fifty-odd years but when we turn sixty, young people assume we’re senile. Aria, I know everything. I know you were kidnapped in America and I was told you were dead. I knew there would be a scandal if you were killed on American soil, so I sent Cissy in your place.”

  “But I thought—”

  “That Cissy wanted to be queen? She’s got too much sense for that.”

  Aria was silent for a moment. “I see.”

  Her grandfather reached across the table to take her hand. “No you don’t see at all. You aren’t easily replaced if that’s what you’re thinking. I went through hell when I thought you were dead.” He squeezed her hand. “You can’t imagine my joy when the American president radioed me that you were safe and well. Of course by that time you were already married. He apologized for that and offered to have the marriage annulled and you returned to me.”

  Aria’s head came up. “But you didn’t.”

  “For all I knew, it was a love match. After all, he had rescued you from being killed. I was very grateful to the man.”

  Aria was pushing a bit of thinly sliced beef about on her plate. “So you let me stay with the man and fall in love with him.” There was bitterness in her voice.

  The king speared a turkey leg. “Why don’t you tell me about that place where you stayed? Awfully hot, wasn’t it? And whatever was that photo in the newspaper? Was that actually your lieutenant’s mother? Good-looking woman she looked to be. My sources said you cooked dinner and did the laundry. Not possible, Aria, really not possible.”

  Aria gave her grandfather one of her American grins and started talking. As much as listening to her, the king watched her, saw the way she relaxed her body when she talked about America and the friends she had made there. He laughed with her when she told of learning to dress herself, of getting the money confused and tipping taxi drivers hundred-dollar bills. She laughed at how obnoxious she was on the island and told how she had started to eat the shrimp raw. She talked of the glorious freedom of going shopping, then went into a ten-minute tirade about the monotony of doing housework.

  And every other word was “Jarl.” It was how Jarl reacted to everything, whether an action made him angry or happy, how astonished he had been when she had dressed as Carmen Miranda (Aria stood and did a quick rendition of “Chica Chica”), how furious he had been when he had found out he was supposed to remain married to her. She told how proud he had been of her when she took the orphaned children. She talked of how magnificent he was when he had saved her from being shot.

  She spent thirty minutes telling of all the things Jarl had done in Lanconia. “He has sold the grapes to America and he’s bringing them down from the mountains with engines. This morning at breakfast he talked of schools to teach the young people how to do things so they won’t leave Lanconia. He says the country could move into the twentieth century with a lot of work. Jarl said that Lanconia has a great deal of potential, that all it takes is know-what—no, I mean, know-how. American slang is so difficult to remember. And Jarl dealt with the Americans for the vanadium. He only sold them the rights to mine one site because he said it might be worth more later. The Americans said he was a fool but I don’t think so, and they didn’t really look as if they thought so either. And this morning Freddie got very angry because there was no snow for his snow cream. The Exchequer says Jarl has cut fifteen percent off the palace’s budget. And the Royal Guardsmen adore him. He wrestles with them and he says it’s a shame that over the centuries they’ve been relegated to door openers.” Suddenly she stopped, out of breath and a bit embarrassed. She took a deep drink of her tea.

  “And how is Count Julian?” the king asked, looking at her over his beer mug.

  To her disbelief, Aria put her face in her hands and burst into tears. “Oh, Grans, I love Jarl so much. Why doesn’t he love me in return? He is so very, very good for Lanconia. We need him so much. What can I do to make him stay? How can I bear to give him up?”

  The king was big and Aria was thin and light, so he had no trouble pulling her into his lap and holding her as he did when she was a little girl. “You are asking him to give up his country. You want to keep what you have, yet you ask that he make many sacrifices.”

  “But it’s not the same,” she sniffed. “He is merely one person in his country. He is not a king or a prince. His father has other sons to run his business. If I were not a crown princess, I would go with him to his country. I would follow him anywhere. I would give up…I would give up Lanconia for him.”

  The king was quiet for a moment. “Thinking of abdicating, are you?” he asked softly. “Then Gena would rule Lanconia. Perhaps she could bring Lanconi
a into the twentieth century.”

  “Gena will do only what she is told,” Aria said in disgust. “If I were to abdicate, Julian would no doubt ask for her hand in marriage—or rather ask for her throne in marriage,” she said bitterly.

  “Ah,” the king said. “Tell me about Julian. I thought his father trained him to be a king.”

  Aria sat up in her grandfather’s lap, pulled a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, and blew her nose loudly. “He was trained to be what kings used to be. He stays in the palace all day, doing heaven knows what, while the people of Lanconia are leaving by the truck load because there are no jobs. He gets angry with me because I eat a peasant’s meal—a meal prepared by one of my own people! He told me he desperately wanted to marry me, that he…”

  “Desired you?” the king supplied.

  “Yes, he said that but it was a lie. He will do anything to get my throne. But all he wants from Lanconia is the prestige of being a prince consort and the luxury of the palace. He is terrified of being poor. But poverty isn’t so bad. I know.”

  The king’s voice was very quiet. “Aria, do you think he would kill you if he thought he couldn’t marry you?”

  “Perhaps, but then the first attempt was when we were firmly engaged.”

  “Firmly? And you aren’t now?”

  Tears formed in her eyes again. “I am Mrs. Jarl Montgomery for as long as I can be. He may not want me, but I want him for as long as I can have him.”

  The king hugged her. “I doubt if he doesn’t want you. In fact, my guess is that he is going through hell right now.”

  She pulled away from him and smiled. “Do you think so? Do you really think so?”

  The king smiled back at her. “Agony. Torture. Excruciating pain.”

  Aria’s smile broadened. “What can I do to make his pain worse? How can I make him love me so much that he will never leave me?”