Ordinary Girl in a Tiara

by Jessica Hart

  Philippe reached out and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger almost casually. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to?’

  ‘No…yes…I don’t know,’ she said with a kind of desperation, and he dropped his hand and stood back.

  ‘All right.’

  Her heart cracked to see the guarded look back on his face. ‘Philippe—’

  ‘It’s OK.’ He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You go and put that pillow in place. I’ll be out on the balcony.’

  Caro sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at her shaking hands. Who was she trying to kid? Of course she wanted him.

  And she could have him, she knew that.

  She should be sensible. Philippe was never going to want to settle down and if he did, it wouldn’t be with her. There was no point in dreaming about a future with him, but tonight Caro didn’t care about the future. She only cared about now, and right then she wasn’t sure she could bear to lie there in her pyjamas and know that he was on the other side of that pillow.

  The boom and thump of her pulse reminded her of the pounding music as they drove through France towards the border with Montluce. Let’s make the most of being able to behave badly while we can, Philippe had said as he’d turned up the volume.

  Caro’s head knew that she ought to behave sensibly, but her body wanted to behave very badly indeed and, in the end, her body won.

  And she couldn’t undo the zip on her own.

  Philippe was sitting on the balcony, beyond the block of lamplight from the open French windows. His feet were up on the railings, his face in shadow. He had taken off his jacket and tie and the white shirt gleamed against his throat. In silence he watched Caro as she paused in the doorway.

  ‘I can’t reach the zip,’ she said.

  He got slowly to his feet. ‘Come here, then.’

  Deliberately, Caro stepped out of the rectangle of light into the shadows.

  ‘Turn around.’

  She turned and lifted her hair as she had done earlier. Philippe took the zip and eased it slowly downwards.

  The night air was cool against her skin. Caro drew an unsteady breath and let her hair fall without turning.

  There was a long pause, and then Philippe gently brushed her hair aside to blow softly on the hollow of her neck. Caro shivered, so snarled in longing that she couldn’t have moved if she had tried. She was taut, desperate for his touch, and when his arms slid round her to pull her back against him, she nearly wept with relief.

  ‘You know no one’s going to interrupt this time, don’t you?’ he said as he pressed kisses down the side of her throat.

  Caro tipped her head to one side and closed her eyes with pleasure. ‘Yes.’ Her voice was barely a thread.

  He cupped her breasts, his long fingers warm through the silk, then slid them lower, burning her bones to liquid, her blood to fire. His mouth was so wickedly exciting, his hands so insistent. Caro leant back into him, helpless against the hungry thud of desire.

  ‘Shall I stop?’ Philippe murmured against her ear.

  ‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Don’t stop.’

  ‘I have to wait until you ask me,’ he reminded her wickedly, and she could feel his mouth curving on her skin.

  An answering smile curled the corners of Caro’s mouth. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Please don’t stop. Please make love to me.’

  Philippe eased the dress from her shoulders. It fell in a puddle of silk and Caro turned to face him, her skin luminous in the dim light. Putting his hands to her waist, her drew her back against him. ‘It will be my pleasure,’ he said.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SHE had known it would be a mistake. Her head had known, anyway. Her body still thought it had been a great decision.

  Caro lay on her side and looked at Philippe, who was sprawled next to her, his face buried in a pillow. She could hear him breathing, deep and slow. She wanted to lay her hand on his warm flank and feel it rise and fall, wanted to press her lips to the nape of his neck and kiss her way down his spine, vertebra by vertebra, wanted to wrap her arms around him and press into him, to lose herself in his sleek strength.

  But then she would wake him, and she couldn’t think clearly with those silver eyes on her. Caro tucked her hands under the pillow, out of temptation’s way.

  She needed to think, to get a grip on herself.

  She hadn’t known it could be like that.

  Caro had liked making love with George. She’d liked the intimacy of it, liked the cosiness and the familiarity, liked lying next to him and feeling reassured that he wanted her.

  There had been nothing cosy last night with Philippe. It had been harder, fiercer, more urgent. It had been hot and wild, and once slow and sweet. It had been terrifying and thrilling and extraordinary. Every cell in Caro’s body was still reeling, drunken with amazed delight.

  For her, the night had been a revelation. Philippe had made her feel sexy exciting, powerful. Caro knew that she would never be the same again.

  But she was no different from all the other women Philippe had made love to. Caro knew that too. She would be a fool if she thought that she could be. If all those sophisticated beauties hadn’t been able to hold Philippe’s interest, it was hardly likely that ordinary Caroline Cartwright would be able to, was it?

  Her eyes roamed over him, lingering on the curve of his shoulder, the sheen of muscles in his back, the lean lines of hip and thigh. He was all sleekness and leashed power, like a big cat at rest.

  How could a girl like her ever hold on to a man like Philippe?

  She couldn’t.

  The pale light of early morning was sneaking through a crack in the curtains. It was time to start being sensible. Caro would have liked to have been the kind of woman who could enjoy a passionate affair without getting emotionally involved, but she had a feeling that it would be a lot harder in practice than in theory.

  She was more than half in love with Philippe already, she acknowledged to herself in the half light, with her body humming with satisfaction from his touch. It wasn’t surprising. She was only human, after all, and he was gorgeous and intelligent and funny and an incredible lover and a friend. What was not to love?

  The fact that he would leave. The fact that he wouldn’t, and maybe couldn’t, love her in return. And even if Philippe were to think himself in love, it would only ever be on a temporary basis. Nothing in his experience had led him to accept that love could last. Abandoned by his mother, dismissed by his father…it wasn’t surprising Philippe didn’t believe in happy-ever-afters.

  But that was what she wanted. Glow fading, Caro rolled onto her back and looked at the ceiling. She did want that happy-ever-after. She wanted to be with a man she could love unreservedly, who would love her back and let her stay and who would always be there for her. A man she could build a life with. A man she could be happy with.

  That man would never be Philippe.

  If she had any sense, she would tell Philippe it mustn’t happen again. She would say that she wanted to go back to being just friends. She would put her pyjamas back on tonight and shove that pillow back down the middle of the bed.

  Caro’s body rebelled at the thought. How stupid for two single, healthy adults to lie side by side for two months without touching, without exploring the dark, delicious pleasure of making love, without giving into the passion that could burn so high between them. It would be a sinful waste.

  Why not make the most of these next few weeks? Time enough to be sensible after that, Caro told herself. Here in Montluce, she was living a fairy tale. Living in a palace, with a prince, with a man like Philippe…how could it be real? One of these days, she was going to wake up and discover that she was a frog again, but it wasn’t time to go back to the real world just yet.

  She would have the next two months, Caro decided. Two months with Philippe, two months to learn about loving and living in the moment. She could allow herself that, surely?

  As long as she never forgot that
it would only be for those two months. The dream would end and she would go back to the real world, and that meant that she had to be careful. Somehow she would have to find a way of not getting any more involved than she already was. It would be easier for Philippe if she didn’t spoil things by getting clingy and needy, and it would be better for her, too, to put up some defences before it was too late.

  Beside her, Philippe stirred and rolled over, throwing an arm over her in his sleep and pulling her back into the hard curve of his body. Caro felt the weight of his arm and allowed herself to stroke it up from the wrist, loving its strength and solidity and the silkiness of the fine, flat hairs.

  She just hoped it wasn’t too late already.

  By the time Philippe woke, Caro had showered, was dressed and had herself well under control. She hoped.

  Yawning and rubbing his hair, he wandered out onto the balcony where Caro was sitting with her feet up on the railings. For once she looked positively normal, in capri pants and a sleeveless shirt.

  In fact, Philippe realised, she looked more than normal. She looked fresh and pretty and glowing, and he smiled, liking the feeling that he was the one who had made her glow like that. He had a feeling that he was glowing himself. Last night had been unexpected. Incredible. Who would have thought it?

  ‘There you are! Good morning…’ He put a hand on top of Caro’s head and tipped it back so that he could kiss her mouth but, although she smiled, she turned her head at the last moment and his lips touched her cheek instead.

  Taken aback by her reaction, Philippe looked down into her face with raised brows. ‘What?’ he said. ‘You didn’t mind kissing me last night!’

  Caro flushed. ‘That was last night. It’s morning now.’

  ‘Yes, and it’s early morning too. Let’s go back to bed.’ His hand slid down her hair moved slid beneath it to caress her neck. ‘I missed you when I woke up,’ he told her, his voice deep and caressing. ‘What are you doing out here?’

  ‘Thinking,’ said Caro.

  ‘It’s too early to think,’ said Philippe, but he pulled out a chair to sit down and put his feet up on the railings beside hers. ‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked after a moment. ‘Last night?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And you.’

  He slanted a look at her face, hoping to coax a smile. ‘I hope you’re thinking good things?’

  ‘I’m thinking sensible things,’ said Caro firmly. ‘I’m not going to pretend last night wasn’t fantastic, because it was. You know that. And I hope…well, I’d like to do it again—if you wanted to, of course,’ she added quickly.

  More relieved than he wanted to admit, Philippe grinned and reached for her hand. ‘I think I could bear it. In fact, let’s do it again right now!’

  ‘I haven’t got to the sensible bit yet.’ Caro tugged her hand free with some difficulty. ‘In the bedroom, at night, we can do whatever we want, but during the day, I think we should go back to being just friends.’

  ‘What, so I can’t kiss you or hold your hand?’ Philippe tried for sarcastic but only succeeded in sounding put out. ‘What, in God’s name, is the point of that?’

  ‘It would help us keep things separate.’

  ‘Separate? What for?’ He scowled. ‘What are you talking about?’

  Caro got up, hugging her arms together the way she did when she was uncertain. ‘Philippe, I’m going home in a few weeks,’ she said. ‘I want to meet someone else then and have a real relationship. I don’t want to be hung up on you. Can’t you see that if we kiss each other like you wanted to do just now, it’ll be so much harder to remember that we’re only pretending?’

  Philippe’s expression hardened. ‘I wasn’t pretending last night. Were you?’

  ‘We’re pretending that we’re in love, and we both know that’s not going to happen.’ Caro turned to look at the lake, picking her words with care. ‘I don’t want to fall in love with you, Philippe.’

  ‘There’s no danger of that, is there? You’re always telling me I’m not your type,’ he said.

  ‘You’re not, but who’s to say what madness I’ll take into my head if there are more nights like last one and if the nights turn into days? If you’re…affectionate…I might forget myself and do something silly.’ She mustered a smile as she glanced over her shoulder at him. ‘You know how women get ideas in their heads!’

  That was true, Philippe thought. Spend two consecutive nights with a woman and suddenly it was all about a ‘relationship’ and what he wasn’t doing right. It was the reason he avoided intimate situations. So why was he getting all grouchy because Caro was suggesting exactly what he wanted?

  ‘I’ve had my heart broken,’ Caro was saying. ‘I don’t want to go through that again. I’d rather keep things in separate compartments.’

  She drew a breath. ‘Sometimes…with George…I was trying too hard to be what he wanted. With you, I didn’t need to worry about being right for you because I know I’m not, and you’re not right for me. I know I’m never going to have a proper relationship with you and it’s…liberating, I suppose.’

  Unable to meet his eyes, she stared fixedly at his collarbone. ‘But one day I’d like to find someone who is right for me and, when I do, I want it to be really special. I don’t want to be so hung up on you I can’t give myself completely to him.’

  Philippe scowled. ‘What are you trying to say here, Caro? I’m just a fling before you settle down with Mr Perfect?’

  ‘No…well, sort of, I suppose.’ Caro stepped back out of his grasp. ‘I just want to enjoy myself,’ she said. ‘I want to have fun and not feel inhibited, but at the same time I don’t want to get so involved that I lose sight of the fact that I’ll be going back to Ellerby in a couple of months and then it will all be over.

  ‘No strings, no commitment,’ she said, her blue eyes direct. ‘Strictly temporary. I’d have thought it would be your dream scenario,’ she added with a touch of her old asperity.

  It was. Philippe knew that he ought to be delighted.

  ‘We’re not going to convince many people of our supposed love affair if I’m not allowed to touch you,’ he found himself grumbling.

  Caro had thought of that, too. ‘Obviously, I’ll do whatever’s needed to give the right impression, but when we’re on our own, well, I’d prefer to keep any intimacy for the bedroom.’

  Philippe eyed her almost resentfully. For someone so warm, she could be a very cool customer.

  ‘So I’m to keep my hands to myself until the bedroom door is closed, is that right?’

  ‘I think it would be easier for both of us,’ she said. ‘You don’t want me complicating matters by falling in love with you, do you?’

  Of course he didn’t. Why would he want that? He’d spent his whole life running away from precisely that situation.

  Philippe glared out at the lake.

  ‘You do see that it makes sense, don’t you?’ said Caro after a moment.

  ‘Oh, yes, yes, I suppose so,’ he said irritably.

  But it wasn’t how he had planned to start the morning.

  ‘Have you seen the papers today?’

  The Dowager Blanche picked up a sheaf of newspapers and dropped them back on the table as if she couldn’t bear to touch them.

  ‘I haven’t had a chance yet,’ said Philippe, wishing he were down in the gardens with Caro, who had taken Apollo the pug for a walk.

  ‘Your father gets up at five o’clock every morning to familiarise himself with the news before breakfast.’

  Philippe set his teeth. He towered over his great-aunt, but she always made him feel like a grubby schoolboy. ‘What are the papers saying?’

  For answer, the Dowager Blanche picked up the paper on top of the pile and tossed it across to him. Philippe caught it and turned it round. The front page was dominated by a huge headline: THE NEXT PRINCESS? Below was a photo of the market, filling half the page. The camera had caught Caro popping a piece of cheese in his mouth. Her sunglasses were
perched on her head and they were both smiling.

  It was a good picture of Caro. Her expressive face was alight with laughter and fortunately the head and shoulders shot cut off most of her eccentric outfit. Philippe thought she looked vivid and engaging, and he…he looked happy, he realised with something of a shock.

  ‘I could hardly believe my ears when I heard that you had been wandering around the market.’ The Dowager Blanche’s voice was like a lash.

  Once she had been a great beauty. You could still see it in her bone structure and her famous elegance, but her expression was one of icy hauteur. She could hardly have been more different from Caro.

  ‘What were you thinking?’ she went on. ‘We are not one of those populist monarchies, thank God. Your father keeps his distance, and the people are respectful. If you start behaving like the people, you will be treated like one of the people, and you will lose your throne before you have even sat on it! ‘This…this Caroline is totally unsuitable.’ She cast a glance of dislike at the newspapers. ‘They’re saying you’re besotted with her.’

  ‘Perhaps I am,’ said Philippe, dropping the paper back onto the table and clasping his hands behind his back once more.

  ‘How can you want her and not Charlotte?’ The Dowager’s expression was uncomprehending. ‘She’s clumsy and badly groomed and she has no idea how to behave.’

  ‘She’s warm and friendly,’ said Philippe. ‘What better way is there to behave? And she may not be classically elegant, but she has her own style. She’s…unusual.’

  ‘She looks like a scarecrow,’ said the Dowager, unimpressed. ‘She’s not even beautiful!’

  ‘She is to me,’ he found himself saying.

  ‘Then you must be in love! How vulgar.’

  Contempt dripped through her voice. Philippe inclined his head in courteous agreement, but inside he felt jarred, as if he had walked smack into a wall.

  Love? He didn’t do love. Lust, yes, he did that. And that was all he felt. He might want to smile at the thought of Caro. He might want to touch her and already be thinking about how he would tell her about this interview. Sometimes meeting her eyes might make him want to laugh, but that wasn’t being in love.