by Sandra Hyatt
“It must have been fun growing up here,” Lexie said as they started up a sweeping staircase. She ran her fingers along the carved, curving balustrade. A caress, almost.
A muted noise that Rafe couldn’t quite place sounded somewhere above them. “I guess. Though I didn’t always appreciate it.” He looked up to the second floor. The art gallery was up there.
“Naturally. You need perspective for that. And you can’t get perspective till you’ve lived somewhere else. Experienced somewhere different.”
Like she was changing his perspective on women. Or perhaps the women he’d known before made him appreciate Lexie.
“Did you ever run away?”
“A couple of times. It was pretty difficult. The security staff kept the challenge interesting. You?”
“A few times. I used to hide in the woods. You know, the ones—”
“Yeah. I know.” Those same woods he’d found her in. “My specialty was hiding within the palace.”
“Really?”
“You don’t believe me?”
“You just seem a little…conspicuous.”
“Maybe not so conspicuous when I was ten. And parts of this palace are hundreds of years old. There are hiding places galore. Or just places to avoid notice. There’s a room at the top of the south turret with views forever, and even to this day it’s almost never used.” He patted a gleaming suit of armour at the top of the staircase. “The armour was too hard to get into without help. And even if you managed it, you were stuck in it.”
“But you tried?”
“Makes an unbelievable racket when you fall over.”
Lexie laughed, but Rafe finally placed the other sound he’d been hearing coming from the gallery and growing louder. He muttered a curse.
“What?”
“Schoolchildren. Blasted anniversary. It was in this morning’s briefing, but I’d forgotten. Come on.” He grabbed her hand, headed along the hallway, past the stern gazes of the portraits hanging on the walls.
Lexie was laughing still. “I didn’t know children scared you so much.”
“It’s not just the children, it’s their cameras.” His gaze dipped to her breasts. “I don’t think this is the look the royal brand needs right now.” And no one else needed to know her bra was pale blue. With white dots.
Her gaze followed his and her eyes widened. “Oh, help. I hadn’t realized.” Her giggles grew louder.
Duke still at their side, they ran the last few steps to the door he wanted. Rafe reached for the handle just as he heard a high-pitched shout of “Look!” and pulled her into the room, shutting the door behind them. Lexie leaned back against the door, her slender frame shaking with laughter.
Rafe was laughing, too, as his hands slid up, gripping her arms. “Shh.” They were making too much noise.
“I’m sorry,” she gasped, her mirth brimming over.
His hands reached her shoulders, curved round them. She had no idea what she did to him. How hard he fought her.
“I’m trying.” She laughed harder, her eyes dancing. “Really I am.”
And Rafe caved in. He stepped closer and covered those laughing lips with his and absorbed her delight as he drank in the taste of her.
Lexie stilled beneath him. A strange, hesitant pause, and then she was kissing him back, swept along with him. Rafe tasted the joy of her. His hands cupped her jaw, fingers sliding into her damp hair, as his tongue learned the sweet, hot ecstasy of her mouth. He felt her growing hunger. A hunger the echo of his own. Felt the heat and fire that was pure Lexie.
It had happened like this at the masquerade ball. The kiss gathering a life of its own, turning heat to glowing embers to blistering flames in an instant.
He’d known he desired her, but he’d denied it. What he hadn’t known enough to even refute was the fathomless depth of that desire. There was no denying it now.
The final shreds of rational thought deserted him as the damp breasts that had tormented him for the last and longest twenty minutes of his life were finally pressed against his chest. The supple length of her molded and moved against him.
He closed his eyes, lost in intoxicating sensation.
Hunger and need swamped him as he drowned in the feel of her. Never had anyone’s mouth, anyone’s body fit so perfectly against his. Never had any woman enflamed his desire as she did. His hunger had him craving. He could kiss her forever and ever and still want to go on tasting and learning her sweet perfection.
His woman. He wanted her. And no one else.
He slid his thigh between hers, felt the exquisite and needy pressure of her as she bore down on him. Rocked, just a little. He slipped his hand beneath her blouse. The cold skin of his palm touched the damp heated curve of her waist. She gasped and froze.
The hands that had been gripping his shoulders suddenly flattened and pushed.
Too late, Rafe remembered with sickening clarity precisely who he was with.
He pulled back, breathing hard. He swallowed, and for once was lost for words. What was he supposed to say? This kiss, unlike their others, had been no accident.
There had been no masks. He’d known precisely who she was as he lowered his mouth to hers.
There had been no thoughts of a peck on the cheek.
He’d aimed for her lips.
Officially, only to silence her laughter. But un officially…that had been an excuse. He’d wanted her kiss. And the instant his lips had touched hers he’d wanted everything from her. All of her.
His brother’s woman.
Damn.
Her blouse had slipped from one shoulder, and through his shock he saw that the dots were in fact tiny white daisies. So innocent. A woman who wanted a fairy tale. Which made him the evil villain. He turned away from the distress in her eyes, and away from the reproach in Duke’s. And realized he’d led her to a bedroom. That part at least had been unintentional.
He strode past the bed to look out the window, giving himself time to gather his thoughts, giving Lexie time to right her blouse and gather her words for the verbal lashing he deserved.
The silence stretched on. Outside, a team of gardeners shoveled mulch around the rose garden. “Lexie, that shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have done that.
I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” Her quiet voice carried to him. Not angry as she should have been, but distressed. He turned in time to see her striding through the doorway, her blouse hanging loose and untucked at one side.
“Lexie.”
She didn’t turn, didn’t so much as pause or even slow.
Eight
Lexie’s hat did little to shade her from the sun beating down on the San Philippe anniversary parade. The cheering, flag-waving crowd, most dressed in the national colors, many in traditional costume, lined both sides of the street.
Feeling like the ultimate fraud, she made her way carefully along the open-topped, double-decker bus that crawled at a snail’s pace, bringing up the rear of the parade. The bus carried the royal family and senior dignitaries and a few other guests. But not her mother, who had left early this morning after Lexie’s brief conversation with her.
She’d sat beside Adam at the front of the bus for a while, but there was something she had to do, and in public seemed like the safest place.
Her gaze was on the dark head of her quarry as she slid into the empty seat beside Rafe. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since that kiss. He didn’t move, though he had to know someone was there. And she figured the very fact that he didn’t turn around meant he knew it was her. He just kept waving at an adoring public. Maybe it would be easier to say what she had to if he wasn’t looking at her, if she wasn’t reading contempt in his eyes. She took a deep breath. “I’m not leaving.”
“Seat’s free,” he said after several seconds. “Doesn’t bother me if you sit in it.”
Lexie gritted her teeth and then tried again. “I meant I’m not leaving San Philippe.”
Rafe glanced over h
is shoulder at her. “I gathered that much.”
“I told Adam about…”
Rafe lifted a hand and waved at the cheering crowds. “I know,” he said without looking at her. “So did I.”
“He wants me to stay. And I’ve agreed.” She leaned forward to better see his profile. And still knew no more than when she couldn’t see his face. He had on his public face, the smiling, pleasant expression he wore in all his publicity shots. The shots that missed the fire and depth of his eyes, and the smile that was a mix of knowledge and temptation.
Maybe his lack of reaction to her news was for the best, because she didn’t know whether she wanted him to be pleased or displeased that she wasn’t leaving. She didn’t, she admitted, know anything at all when it came to Rafe.
His gaze dropped to the unadorned hands in her lap. She offered no explanation for the lack of a ring. Adam had, in fact, wanted her to have and wear his ring. Lexie hadn’t been able to carry the deception that far. But for his sake, though their engagement was off, she’d agreed to stay and be seen with him for one more week. There were joint appearances, like this parade and tomorrow night’s Veterans’ dinner and dance, that they were committed to, that they would be expected to be seen at.
She’d also agreed to keep their…arrangement a secret. Even from his family. Even from Rafe.
After she left, the news would be released.
A cheer went up somewhere ahead of the bus. The most devoted of the public had waited hours to see this, staking out the positions lining the streets well before the parade began. And prior to the bus’s appearance, they’d waited through forty-five minutes’ worth of floats and bands and dancers.
Trying to get caught up in the enthusiasm of the waving crowd, and trying to look like she belonged, Lexie waved back. A proper wave, her whole arm moving, none of this sedate hand lifting and twisting of the wrist that most of the royal party thought passed for a wave.
“I fell into your trap. You made your point.” She needed Rafe to at least know that she knew what he’d been up to.
“My trap?” For the first time he turned and looked at her properly, a frown creasing his brow.
“You said at the outset you’d be watching me, that if you thought I wasn’t worthy of Adam you’d do what you could to send me packing. You were trying to prove that I don’t love Adam.” In reality he’d only helped speed the decision she would have made anyway.
“We don’t need to discuss it,” he said sharply.
But she hadn’t got to the important bit. She kept her voice low. “I just wanted to say I was sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” He stopped waving and turned to look at her again, those dark brows drawn together.
Fighting the urge to cower beneath the fierceness of his expression, Lexie instead sat straighter. “Yes. I’m apologizing for my part in it.”
He shook his head and looked back out at the crowd. “Enough. The fault wasn’t yours.”
“The weakness was.”
“The weakness was mine.” He stood, towering over her before he stepped past her. “I’ve seen someone I need to speak to.”
As he walked away, Lexie sagged back into her seat. It was over.
Rafe stood staring absently out one of the ballroom’s velvet-curtained, floor-to-ceiling windows. He’d thought his trials were over. He was wrong.
He needed something to take his mind off this test. Because that’s clearly what it was. His brother, called into yet another unexpected and unavoidable meeting, had enlisted him to teach Lexie the folk dance, watching him closely for his reaction as he made his request.
Things had, understandably, been strained between Adam and him since he’d kissed Lexie. Though when Rafe had fronted up to Adam about it he’d been surprised at the lack of fire in Adam’s annoyance. If their situations had been reversed, he wouldn’t have been anywhere near as understanding as his brother.
Of course, Adam, too, thought Rafe had planned and executed the kiss, but in Adam’s case he thought it was to teach him a lesson. The only consensus they’d reached was in his assurance to Adam that it wouldn’t happen again.
But Rafe could do nothing to stop the kiss from replaying itself in his dreams as he slept at night, the touch of her lips to his, the press of her body against his.
It might be easier if either or both Lexie and Adam looked happier. He’d been watching them since Lexie first got here, smiling and doing their best to look like a devoted couple.
Rafe had seen a few devoted couples in his time, and Adam and Lexie didn’t even come close. Something wasn’t right. Though fortunately the press were buying it. Today’s papers had again been filled with photos of Adam and Lexie together. Just one renowned gossip columnist had hinted that she, too, thought their relationship lacked spark.
And now this.
The folk dance might to all appearances be nothing more than a quaint number, but it had its intricacies and its intimacies, and the princes and their partners had to dance it slightly differently from anyone else at the anniversary gala. Or at least that was the story Adam and Rafe had told their respective girlfriends.
And the two of them had, in their day, enjoyed teaching the dance to their dates far too much. They both knew how seductive the held eye contact, the gentle palm-to-palm touches and the story the dance invoked could be.
And now Adam wanted him to teach the dance to Alexia and Rafe had to not seduce or be seduced by her in the process. Wittingly or unwittingly.
Of course it was also possible that Adam was trying to show that he trusted them. Either way, it would still be a trial for Rafe, dancing with the sweet Lexie who was to marry his brother. A man shouldn’t have to test his fiancée or his brother, but if Adam needed this, just this, then Rafe would give him that proof. And perhaps he needed it, too.
He turned as Lexie entered the ballroom. Her hair was tied up again—he preferred it that way, it didn’t tempt him the way it did when it sat softly over her shoulders, begging to be touched, so that his fingers itched to know the feel of it. She wore a simple silk blouse and a skirt that skimmed the flare of her hips and floated around her calves.
Her hands—her fingers—were still unadorned. Where was Adam’s ring? If she were wearing it, that would help; it would be another sign, and he needed all the signs, all the help he could get, to remind him that this woman was not for him.
But for as long as she didn’t wear a ring the possible reasons for that lack would taunt and tempt him.
She walked carefully, and Rafe could see in her bearing, her erect posture, her graceful steps, the years of ballet training. He could also see her reluctance to be here with him. “I’m sorry, you have to do this,” she said, looking around the cavernous ballroom. “I know you’re busy.”
“Don’t be sorry. I’m not,” he lied. No point in her feeling bad, too.
“Yes, you are.”
The smile she delivered her accusation with reminded him of the Lexie he’d met that first day in Massachusetts, full of sass. And he realized that his glimpses of that woman were becoming fewer and fewer. Her fault or his?
She was right, of course, about him not wanting to do this, but not for the reasons she suspected. At least he hoped she didn’t know the temptation he fought and would go on fighting with every breath he took.
He already had the music for the dance on a loop on the sound system—a flute melody that changed from jaunty to rousing to haunting as it told the story of the two lovers credited with founding the nation of San Philippe and the battles fought between and because of them.
“You know the basic steps?” he asked.
“I learned them as a child, and I found a tutorial on the Internet, but it’s not the same as actually dancing it with a partner.”
“It’s not the same, but it’s a simple dance. This won’t take long.”
She was standing in the center of the ballroom. Sunlight slanted in from the high windows, seeking her out, burnishing her hair. His chosen one.
Rafe banished the thought as he approached her. She stood taller and her hands flexed and clenched at her sides, as though this was some kind of test for her, too.
“And you know the story that the music and the dance tell.”
“It used to be my favorite bedtime reading.”
He allowed himself a secret sigh of relief. He didn’t want to speak to her of the man and woman, at first distrustful of each other, who ended up as lovers meeting clandestinely against their family’s wishes, and of how as their families fought, they ran away together, escaping over the Alps and journeying to this land.
“We begin the usual way.” Rafe circled her while she stood still, looking straight ahead. The second time he circled her she followed him with her eyes, and the third time, as his shoulder drew level with hers, he held up his palm in a stop gesture and she did the same, touching her palm to his.
That simple touch ricocheted through him. Only, he told himself, because touching her from now on, in any way other than the most formal, was forbidden. Sister-in-law, sister-in-law, he repeated the mantra as they moved through the steps, Rafe instructing her, giving her pointers where necessary, keeping his touch as brief as possible.
“You’ve pretty much got it,” he said after ten torturous minutes. “Let’s run through it one more time.” Just once. He could do that. Sister-in-law, sister-in-law. Once and then they’d leave. Then he wouldn’t see her or the image of the two of them together reflected in the mirrors on the ballroom walls.
They began again. Holding eye contact they turned together. Rafe shut down his mind. He just had to get through this. It was a simple dance. Get through it and then get out of here.
Maybe asking him to teach Lexie the dance was neither a test nor a sign of trust, but a punishment. Adam knew Rafe would let nothing happen and he wanted to rub his nose in it.
As the beat of the music changed, they lowered their arms and turned to each other, and he took both of Lexie’s hands in his, leaning out, relying on each other for a full rotation. He pulled her closer and then they each stepped back out again. She moved so well, she was so in control of her body. The pale vee of skin at her neckline looked so soft. The curve of her waist, the flare of her hip so tempting. Sister-in-law, sister-in-law. He would not be tempted. For a second she closed her eyes, and she could have no idea how that affected him. He’d imagined her, eyes closed, moving with him in a very different way. Sister-in-law, sister-in-law. This had to pass. Either that or he’d have to leave the country. Maybe New York? Somewhere he could lose himself. Speculation be dammed.