And Sophie. My heart swelled. Our youngest sister. It was so like her to immediately hear news and reach out to someone for, as Thea said, “all the gossip.” And when I had a new cell phone, she could call me, and we could laugh and share who we’d just seen out at the ballet or in Paris while shopping on holiday.
My sweet family. Imperfect they may be, they cared. They wanted me here, home, in this life with them. Even if I was a disowned, disreputable widow of a princess.
Well, maybe they wanted me. Thea still had to have a chat with Big Gran, after all.
What do you want?
My own voice chided me, echoing through my skull like the February wind that was currently whipping down the Comtesse River outside my window.
I carefully folded the note. I loved my family. I always had. Yes, even when my own grandmother decreed that I was no longer good enough to be part of the clan. I still loved the rest of them.
What do you want?
I wanted what all women want. Safety. Happiness. Love. The basics.
And those things would be impossible if anyone threatened either of my sisters again.
Whatever type of life I was going to have, it wouldn’t be possible until all dangers were met and eliminated.
Which meant I still had to ensure that Christian Fraser-Campbell was dealt with.
Those damn reporters had been damned bad luck. Grandmama and I had believed that Christian had approached me because I was safe but, now, with every photographer stalking me, it had made my goals much more difficult.
But, I realized, not impossible.
I went down the hallway and knocked on Mother’s door. After a length of time that could only be explained by the fact that she was likely still sleeping, the door opened. Sure enough, her lavender satin sleeping mask was pushed only partly back on her blonde curls, and matched the lavender and amethyst negligee she wore. “Darling, at this hour?”
“It’s nearly ten, Mother,” I said as I brushed past her into the room. “And I need your help with something.”
“Karl von Falkenburg is just a man, darling, I’m sure you know what to do with him…”
I rolled my eyes, as I was fairly certain she was joking. Mostly.
“I need to get away. For a few days. Somewhere private.”
“With Karl?”
“No,” I said firmly. “That needs to die down. I need to be alone. And I don’t have access to royal properties…”
Felice smirked. “I know just the place.”
After my mother made the arrangements, I returned to my room and withdrew Sergei’s cell phone from my handbag. Guilt flashed through me as I remembered my sister’s promise to get me a new phone to protect me from the likes of gossip reporters like Cordelia Lancaster. Little did she know…I already had a cell phone given to me by her worst enemy and, well, Cordelia Lancaster was me.
The cell phone still showed a full charge. Technology had gotten truly amazing recently. I carried it next to the window and called the only number that it had saved.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
Voicemail.
I didn’t bother with a message and simply hung up.
Next, I called Astrid with Felice’s cell phone, hiding in Felice’s bathroom. It felt very cloak and dagger, but after Thea’s note about the bugged hotel lines I couldn’t trust them again. Strangely, Felice acted like people borrowed her cell phone and made calls from her bathtub everyday.
“What about your man, your bodyguard? He’s coming with you?” Astrid asked me. I told her that I hadn’t seen Hugh since he’d left me the day before, that he had been mad about me leaving the hotel with Karl without proper security.
“Not Karl Sylvain von Falkenburg?” Astrid asked.
“You haven’t heard the news, then? The press has us married and already on the outs, I believe. We may even be having affairs with other people. It’s difficult to keep up.”
“Interesting.” Astrid sounded distracted, but she probably didn’t care about celebrity gossip, unless it involved knights of the Round Table. “When you have a date confirmed with Christian, let me know. We’ll need to get my people on it.”
I packed quickly. The few things that I’d ordered from my favorite stores in the city barely filled a small carry-on. Then I called for Felice’s car and driver. Back to the parking garage; the hotel’s security staff had cleared the floor of reporters. Felice’s black-windowed Audi waited. When I approached, an arm reached out from behind me to open the door for me. I looked to thank the person and saw a very familiar face.
Hugh.
He hadn’t shaved off the auburn goatee but he had put on his dark bodyguard sunglasses. “Hello there,” I said, reaching for nonchalance even as my pulse thumped against my skin at the sight of him again.
“My lady,” he murmured as he opened the car door.
I slid in the backseat. Waited.
The driver opened the door. The driver got in.
He was broad, solid, and his brown hair was longer than it should be, curling over his collar.
I opened my mouth to say something but found my heart lodged solidly in my throat. Hugh still had his sunglasses on, but as he pulled out of the parking garage I could tell from the dip of his head that he was looking in the rearview mirror.
At me.
“How did you know?” I asked, lifting my chin. I wasn’t apologizing for anything. I was a free woman, and I didn’t have to have protection everywhere.
“A little birdie told me,” Hugh said shortly. Hm. That was annoying. But it was the price to pay, I supposed, for staying at the Hotel Ilysium.
“I can help you drive,” I offered.
He huffed a short laugh. “No, thank you.”
“You didn’t complain when I drove you to Grandmama’s.”
“No, I did not.”
Silence. Semi-awkward.
“Do you even know where you’re going?” I asked, suddenly aware that maybe he didn’t and he’d just slid into the driver’s seat and was taking me someplace awful. Like an archeological dig. Or worse. To the palace.
“The Château de Dréuvar.”
“Dammit,” I muttered, more annoyed now. “Is Stewart fine with you taking the car?” I asked.
“Stewart?” he asked.
I gritted my teeth. “My mother’s driver.”
Hugh’s eyebrows drew together over the sunglasses. “I was supposed to ask?”
I laughed, despite all the warring impulses that rose in my body. To reach out. To make a connection. To break free. To build walls.
To fall in love with this man.
This is what it had been like, when he’d been mine…my bodyguard, that was.
A gently warming sun. An easy repartee. A keen awareness.
I needed to shake this off. I couldn’t let Hugh Konnor break my heart again. He might take his job seriously, but I couldn’t misconstrue his devotion to his job as devotion to me.
He had been perfectly clear that all he wanted to do was protect me. More importantly, he wanted to stay close in case Christian Fraser-Campbell ventured near.
And if my plan worked, that would be happening very soon.
Chapter Thirty
The Château de Dréuvar wasn’t terribly grand, on the scale of the great palaces of Europe. But it certainly wasn’t tiny. What impressed me most as we approached the entrance was the simple beauty of it. A quintessential example of a Northern Province aristocratic estate, its face to the world was a bald, flat visage. Three rows of windows rose above the meticulously maintained garden, each with beautifully wrought cornices and stonework. The house was the color of the flesh of an early-summer peach, which made it glow softly even in the twilight of winter. Twin curved staircases to the double front doors were both an el
egant and a showy touch, like an extra dollop of whipped cream on top of a pale custard.
Hugh lowered his chin as if he were about to say something to me, but we were met at the door by a younger couple. The woman had a baby on her hip, which she bounced as she introduced herself and her husband as the caretakers of Dréuvar. As one half of my brain processed the words she was saying, about rooms readied, meal served, the other half of my brain fixated on the child, all chubby red cheeks, freshly bathed and ready for his own bed.
It was the prettiest picture. Two happy parents, working together, a child made from love. And of course, the impressive and historical estate.
But this wasn’t some sort of hormonal obsession with the scene. Oh, no.
Well, perhaps. A little.
But this was also a healthy dose of curiosity, like one has at a new exhibition at the botanical gardens or the zoo.
Had I ever seen this little scene before? In person? Up close? A beautiful young family, well adjusted and…normal? Grown-ups who maybe, possibly, were equipped to shake hands, hold a conversation, brush their child’s damp curls from their forehead and not have anyone lurking in the background to correct them or photograph them.
Stephan and Amira and little Claude showed us to the residential quarters of the house and said they’d be just a quick call away in their cottage on the estate.
Then Hugh and I were alone.
Truly.
Acres and acres of property and farmland surrounded us to the south, east and west. And, if the satellite maps I had pulled up when Mother offered me the house were correct, the sea was just a few hundred yards to the north.
“Are we going to talk about why we’re here?” He spread his arms at the high ceilings and the immaculate decor.
“I needed to get away from the press. Get some space.” It was mostly true. I walked to the tall, narrow window and looked outside to the grass and reflecting pool two floors down. Disappointing. I had hoped for a view of the ocean. It was suddenly exactly what I needed, now that I didn’t have it.
“I’m going for a walk,” I announced.
“I’ll come with you.” Hugh nodded, a placating expression on his face. “After I make some checks of the system and the layout.”
Frustration rose in me. This wasn’t what I had planned. I needed to be alone to make contact with Christian. And I didn’t need an overprotective bodyguard. “You didn’t do this at Grandmama’s,” I pointed out, a bit mulishly.
Hugh paused on his way to the door, shot me a dry look over his shoulder. “Your grandmama met us at the door with a sword, thousands of yards up a Swiss mountain. I was confident she could handle any barbarian invaders.”
I made a little sound. I supposed he was right.
He went as if to leave the room again but then stopped and turned to me. “Why don’t you come with me?”
His hand extended. This was strange new protocol for a bodyguard. “I’ve never had security want me to…secure things with them before.”
Hugh shrugged. “You can tell me all about your plan and why we’ve come to the Sevine seat for it while I…secure things.”
“I don’t have a plan,” I said, but Hugh stepped forward, closed his warm, rough hand around mine and whispered one word to me.
“Liar.”
I opened my mouth to defend myself but found no words came out. He shook his head, gave me a half-stern, half-amused look and tucked my arm under his.
It was obvious that arguing wasn’t going to get me anywhere. Not with Hugh Konnor on duty.
We found the alarm systems easily enough, in a room off the kitchens. The lights of the monitors glowed back on Hugh’s face as he studied the floorplan of the house. After finding it satisfactory enough, he wanted to check on each exit.
“It’s similar to Father’s house, in Ceillis, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Except Ceillis House is about five times the size,” Hugh said, with a glance at the painted ceilings in the hall we were now in. “And a bit grander for His Royal Highness.”
“Well, he will be…” My voice trailed off as I realized what I was about to say—that Father would be King—and how it was nearly a lie. If what Thea had said was true, my father, Crown Prince Albert, would not be king. He would spend the rest of his days, I supposed, ensconced at Ceillis House, fly fishing and reading scholarly journals and doing quiet charity work. The kind that royals without much of a job were relegated to doing.
It could be my life, too.
If I wanted it.
An image of a chubby, sleepy baby plastered itself into my head. Clung there like it was cranky and needed a bottle.
“The floorplan is quite similar,” I said, a little too forcefully. I’d talk architecture to avoid thinking about babies, especially with Hugh Konnor holding my hand. “To Ceillis House, I mean. All that money and the grand families of Drieden never wanted to update their houses.” There was a note in my voice that sounded like Grandmama Astrid being peevish about the Laurents. Funny.
“To be fair, the Driedish without money never updated their homes much either,” Hugh said quietly.
I was instantly shamed. “I’m sorry. I know that, it’s that…” I’ve spent too much time around my family lately.
Hugh’s squeeze of my hand was reassuring. “Come on now, one more floor, and you still haven’t told me about why you picked this place.”
We rounded a corner, went up a stairwell. “I didn’t.” This, at least, was the truth. “I told Mother I needed a place to get away. She offered this because I can’t go to any of the royal estates anymore and the Sevine family—her family—they collect properties like some people collect shoes or dolls.”
Oh, crap. Did that sound tone deaf and overprivileged as well? “Not that there’s anything wrong with collecting dolls,” I said quickly.
“Who wouldn’t enjoy that,” Hugh responded graciously, letting me extract my foot from my mouth with ease.
“I think it’s because the Sevines were richer than God but weren’t aristocratic or noble for so long. They were merchant class, really, so always looking out for good investments. And what’s a better investment than beautiful houses and estates throughout Drieden?”
“And the rest of Europe,” Hugh reminded me. “Italy, Switzerland.”
I sighed. He only knew a tenth of it.
We had come back to our original starting place, the apartments we were assigned. The fireplace was now crackling and emitting a sauna-level of heat.
“So Felice gave you a nice big country house to stay in to get away from the press,” Hugh concluded. “It’s very kind of her.”
“Well, she has some experience in this area,” I said.
Hugh and I faced each other now. The sun had set and, at this latitude in February, it was almost black outside. The room had taken on a soft, romantic glow from a single lamp and the steady fire.
After a moment, he was the one to speak first. “And so do I.”
“Getting away from the press?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Accompanying you.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“When are you going to understand? I don’t have a choice.” He sighed. “Especially when you’re making a bad decision.”
Certainty rocked me. Denial would be useless. “You know, then.”
“That you’re still trying to meet with Christian?”
I nodded.
“Yes. I’m not an idiot.”
Something on my face must have revealed my disappointment at my surreptitious skills because he promptly reassured me that, “Also, before we left the convent, Lady Decht-Sevine and I had a little talk.”
My face went hot and it wasn’t the roaring fire in the hearth. Once again, I had an overbearing grandmother trying to run things.
“Did you think you were going
to take down Christian by yourself?”
If I was honest with myself, no. I shook my head slightly. “But no one else needed to be threatened,” I said. “My life’s already in tatters.”
Then Hugh put something into words, all the fear that I hadn’t allowed myself to face.
“People care about you. You don’t have to be alone. You’re not in exile. Not anymore.”
He placed his hand on my cheek and I had to close my eyes. Emotions had not been the plan. Connecting with this man had not been the plan.
But damn, if it didn’t feel so, so right.
A little voice popped into my head. This won’t end well.
And then another one.
Go.
I opened my eyes and found his. Placed my hands on his shirt. Felt the rise and fall of his chest.
Slowly, I slid my hand up around his neck. His skin was smooth, warm. My fingers tangled with the hair at his nape and pulled. Hugh kissed me, let me set the pace and explore his full bottom lip, his beard against my cheek. I felt alive, electric, powerful. He rubbed his hands up my arms, traced my shoulders, cupped my face, brushing softly under my chin and down my throat. Warm, lazy currents awakened inside my body, ones that had lain long dormant.
He was powerful, tight, tense and also incredibly gentle. Those fingers. Those hands. Sure and steady, he stroked under my breasts, sliding down my lower back, the tilt of my bottom. I groaned. He stilled.
“Don’t stop,” I murmured, and then I parroted the same movements that were working on me. Sliding underneath his shirt, scratching my fingernails lightly down his stomach to the fly of his pants. Where I stopped.
My eyes opened. I met his golden gaze, sought his consent. I had been the one to start this. If he said no—
“Don’t fucking stop,” Hugh growled. His hands tightened, he pressed me against him and his kiss held all that I needed to know.
We undressed each other, slipping and sliding and stripping until we were skin to skin. He was perfect in my eyes, lean muscle, auburn hair, the tattoos on the arms that cradled me tightly. The fire blazed behind me, reflected in his lion eyes. And even though I had been terrified of having my heart broken by this man, when I gave my body to him I was 100 percent certain he would never hurt me. Not like before.
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