But she was looking down at his hands, and he suddenly realised she knew exactly what he was thinking. His hands were those of an international lawyer. There was not a lot of work wear there.
If she was to have fun for a year, maybe there were reasons she deserved it, he thought. She’d lost a husband…
On the far side of the restaurant, a band struck up. It was a simple quartet, playing softly enough to not disturb the diners on this side of the restaurant. There was a small dance-floor, and a couple of diners rose and started dancing.
To Nick’s surprise Erhard rose. But not to dance.
‘No,’ he said as Nick rose as well. ‘I’m sorry.’ He sighed. ‘I’m not…completely well. If you’ll excuse me for a moment…’He looked across at the dance floor, almost wistfully. ‘Maybe you could dance while I’m away.’
‘I don’t-’ Nick started, but Erhard shook his head.
‘You do. My informants say you do. And so does Rose.’ He gave an uncertain smile at them both, but there was discomfort behind his eyes. ‘Excuse me. You go on.’ And he pressed his napkin to his lips and headed towards the rear of the restaurant.
Rose watched him go in concern. ‘He seems a nice man,’ she said. ‘He’s ill. I wonder what-’
‘He’s probably doing this to manipulate us,’ Nick retorted, and she smiled, but absently, still looking concerned.
‘I don’t think so. Even if he is, he’s doing it for the right reasons, and there is something wrong. I think.’
The silence stretched on. Behind them the band launched into a lively Latin-swing number.
Nick was already standing. He went to sit down again but then thought it seemed surly.
The woman before him was beautiful.
‘You don’t look like a country vet,’ he said, and he must have sounded accusing because she smiled again.
‘I’m not manipulating,’ she said gently. ‘I promise.’
But any woman who looked like she did tonight was making a statement, he thought, whether it was manipulative or not. And maybe his thoughts were transparent, because her smile gave way to a flash of anger.
‘Stop looking like that. I have the right to wear what I like.’
‘Of course you do.’
‘My husband bought this for me on our honeymoon,’ she said, still angry, and he stilled.
‘So it is a sort of statement.’
‘I guess it is.’
‘A statement that you’re available?’
The flash of anger stilled and her eyes were suddenly ice. ‘I don’t think I want to be married to you,’ she snapped. ‘Of all the boorish comments…If you wear a nice suit, is that an advertisement of availability as well?’
‘No,’ he said, horrified. He was suddenly way out of his depth. How could he have asked her such a question? As well as being insulting, he’d also hurt her. He could see it in the way she’d withdrawn.
‘Rose, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I have no idea why I said that, but it was way out of line. Hell, marriage or not, we seem to have crossed some sort of barrier that’s launched me somewhere where I’m not sure of the rules any more. I know that’s no excuse. But please-I’m sorry.’
Her face softened-just a little. ‘It does seem crazy,’ she admitted. She glanced down at her dress ruefully. ‘But maybe this is some sort of a statement. Maybe that’s why you’ve made me angry. You know, this dress has sat in a camphor chest in my parents-in-law’s house for the last five years. It’s been like…well, I was locked up with it. Tonight I did wear it as a kind of declaration-not that I’m available, but that I’m free. If that makes sense.’ She shook her head. ‘No. It barely makes sense to me. But the last thing I want is more attachments. I’ve done family for life. I am free.’
‘Diving into the royal goldfish bowl of Alp de Montez is scarcely freeing yourself,’ he said cautiously.
‘It all depends on what your prison has been,’ she said. ‘Are you going to ask me to dance?’
‘I…’ What the hell? ‘Yes.’
‘Excellent,’ she said, and she smiled, rose and took his arm, altogether proprietary. It seemed as if he was forgiven. ‘If I’m going to get the camphor smell out of this dress then I need to swirl it round a bit.’
She didn’t smell of camphor.
Rose was an intuitive dancer, light and lovely on her feet. Nick had been taught the rudiments of dance by his determined little foster mother, and he’d always enjoyed it. With great music and a good partner one could almost lose oneself in dance.
But not tonight. He didn’t want to lose himself when he was dancing with Rose.
The Latin music gave way to a gentle waltz. Erhard had still not returned to their table so suddenly Nick was holding her close, steering her around the dance floor, feeling her body mould to his in perfect time with his steps, in perfect time with him.
And she didn’t smell of camphor. She smelled of Rose.
What was she doing? She’d brought this dress with her on a whim, walking out of the house feeling as if she’d betrayed everyone. She hadn’t been worried about what she was wearing. But as her mother-in-law’s weeping had increased, as her father-in-law had wrung his hands and said, ‘Rose, you can’t leave. We love you. You’re our daughter. What would Max think?’ she’d abandoned her distress as too hard and she’d let anger hold sway.
She’d lifted the lid of her camphor chest and had retrieved the dress and shoes that had lain there for what seemed almost a lifetime.
And then, before she’d closed the chest again, she’d taken Max’s photograph from her bedside table and put it where her dress had been.
And had closed the lid.
Then she’d walked out of the house. Free.
No, not free. Still guilt-ridden. Seemingly obligated in some weird way to a country she’d left with the royal family’s scorn following her.
But she wasn’t going back to Yorkshire except to finalise things. No family. No ties. Nick’s question as to her availability couldn’t have been more wrong. If ever anyone else told her they loved her then she’d run a mile.
But she was in this man’s arms.
Yes, and that was great, she told herself as she let him swirl her round the dance floor with an expertise that made her feel wonderful. Erhard’s long letter had filled her in on who Nick was. A loner who’d pulled himself up the hard way. A man whose intelligence was extraordinary. A man with an Aussie accent overlaying his smooth French-Italian native tongue, and a laid-back charm that could knock a girl sideways. Nick was a sophisticated international lawyer who’d come from a background even more dysfunctional than her own.
He was a man who knew where his boundaries were.
So it was fine. Yes, she could marry him to keep Alp de Montez safe, and she could keep her independence. It would finally make her free.
Please.
Five minutes later Erhard returned to the table. The musicians took a break. There was no reason to stay on the dance floor, but as Nick led her back to the table he was aware of a sharp stab of regret.
Only because he loved dancing, he thought. Only that.
Erhard was smiling, watching them weave their way through the tables to join him. The strain had eased from his face a little.
‘Two wonderful dancers,’ he said softly as they sat down again. ‘You see, this thing becomes possible.’ He settled back into his chair and took a long sip of water. ‘Well?’
Nick looked at Rose and found she was watching him. Intently.
It seemed a decision needed to be made. Now. Did that mean Rose had already decided?
‘You need to trust me,’ Erhard told him softly. ‘This is a big ask. We need to trust each other.’
‘It’s fine,’ Rose said, suddenly sounding impatient to move on. Sounding as if she was annoyed. ‘I’m willing to take a chance, so it’s up to you, Nick. If you don’t choose to take part, then say so now. Let Erhard go into damage control and see if there’s another solution.’
‘There’s no other solution,’ Erhard said flatly, and they both went back to watching him.
She’d flung her hat in the ring, just like that. She’d agreed to marry him after knowing him only a matter of hours.
His foundations were shaken, he thought, and it wasn’t just this crazy proposition that was shaking them. It was the way he’d felt, dancing with Rose. The way she’d felt…
He needed a cold shower, and then some good legal advice.
‘You’re holding a gun to my head,’ he snapped, and the old man shook his head.
‘That’s what we’re hoping to avoid. Guns.’
‘You’re serious?’
‘I’m serious,’ Erhard whispered, and the grey look flooded back. How ill was he?
‘So tell us,’ Rose said to Nick directly, with a sideways glance of concern towards Erhard. ‘Are you in or are you out?’
‘I need to do a little more research…’
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Research away. I spent a week on the internet myself. But if you come up with the conclusion I came up with-as you will-are you ready to have a go at fixing things?’
‘You’re seriously asking me to marry you?’
‘I thought you were asking me to marry you.’
‘I guess it’s mutual.’
‘Only I’ve said yes, and you haven’t,’ she said. ‘Go on. It might even be fun.’
‘I don’t do fun.’
‘Neither do I,’ she snapped. ‘Not for years. So we’re perfectly compatible. I’m willing to take a risk on the rest. What about you? Yes or no?’
And there it was. Not a gun pointing at his head, but just possibly a chance to make a difference.
Rose was waiting for him to come to a decision, her grey eyes calmly watchful.
Erhard was waiting too. Two people he instinctively trusted who were trying to do good.
So what was a man to say?
‘Yes,’ he said, and there was a moment’s stunned silence, and then they both beamed.
‘There it is, then,’ Rose said. ‘Proposal accepted. Congratulations to us all, and here comes pudding. Do you think I might have some more champagne?’
CHAPTER THREE
R OSE finished an excellent pudding, but it signalled that the night, for Rose at least, was over. She excused herself without waiting for coffee.
‘I was up before dawn, and I need to walk a bit before bed after all that champagne,’ she told them. ‘No, I don’t want company. I need head-space to plan the next few weeks. There’s so much I need to do. Finding someone to take care of a thousand square-miles of farm animals is the least of it.’
‘If there are no hitches then you can marry in four weeks,’ Erhard said. ‘Marrying in Alp de Montez is the wisest course. Can you be ready then?’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Rose said. She hesitated, and then she stooped and kissed the old man gently on the forehead. ‘You take care of yourself. Please. For me.’
And she left without another word.
Nick watched as she wove through the tables, smiling as a waiter paused to let her pass, smiling at the doorman as he opened the door for her, smiling as she went out into the night.
‘She’s some lady,’ Erhard said gently, and Nick came back to earth with a jolt.
‘Sorry. I was just thinking.’
‘She’s worth thinking about.’
‘I don’t…’
‘No, you don’t, do you?’ Erhard said. ‘I’ve had you thoroughly checked. The longest you’ve ever dated one woman is nine weeks.’
That took him aback. ‘You know that?’
‘The investigative agency I hired is very thorough.’
‘So you know all about me.’
‘It wouldn’t have been worth my while to approach you if I’d found you were another Jacques. But the reputation you have in legal circles is for integrity. You try to select cases where there’s moral imperative, as well as financial. Also, the woman who fostered you since you were small-Ruby-says that you’re honest, kind and trustworthy. As a reference I thought that was the best.’
‘How the hell did you get Ruby to talk about me?’ he demanded, and Erhard gave a small smile.
‘The investigative agency has an operative who enjoys macramé,’ he confessed. ‘She infiltrated your foster mother’s macramé group.’ His smile broadened at Nick’s astonishment. ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures. Ruby seemed to be the best person to give a character reference, but she’d never have answered an official request with such honesty.
‘As it was, she told our operative that you went through eight foster homes as your mother agonised whether she could keep you. That you grieved for your mother, even though she was…impossible. That once you joined Ruby and her family of foster sons you were fiercely loyal to every one of the family members. That you learned early to be a loner, but you were generous to a fault. There’s an Australian children’s home-Castle, at Dolphin Bay?-that you contribute to in any way you can. That if any of your foster brothers are in trouble you’re there before they ask.’ His smile deepened. ‘I read the report and I thought, yes, you’ll do.’
‘Ruby’s macramé group.’ He was still feeling winded. Rose was out the door now, and the room was dreary for her going. Well, then. Erhard and his ‘operatives’ had to be good for something. ‘Rose?’ he queried. ‘What did you find out about Rose?’
‘I’ve told you most of it.’
‘Tell me again,’ he growled. He hadn’t listened properly the first time. He hadn’t been as interested as he was now.
‘She’s had it hard too,’ Erhard said gently, with only a faint smile to tell he’d guessed at Nick’s reactions. ‘Maybe almost as hard as you. Her mother had rheumatoid arthritis and couldn’t work, and after she left the palace Eric simply ignored both of them. Rose worked her way through vet school. She met and married a fellow student-Max McCray. Max was an older student-he’d missed schooling because of time spent recovering from cancer. Max was the only son of a veterinarian in the Yorkshire Dales. Rose was embraced into Max’s family, and when Rose and Max graduated they took over the family veterinary practice. Then the disease recurred. Rose cared for Max devotedly-as well as running the vet practice-until Max’s death two years ago. She’s running it still.’
‘But she’s agreed to leave.’
‘You know, I suspect there’s almost an element of relief,’ Erhard said honestly. ‘The village she’s been living in is tiny, and she’s very much Max’s widow. Everywhere we asked we were told how wonderful Rose is, and how noble it is of her to carry on her husband’s work. There’s a large veterinary conglomerate based in a nearby town that would buy them out in a flash, but her parents-in-law won’t hear of it. So she’s stuck dealing with lots of farm work-horses and cattle-which her father-in-law and husband loved, but it’s hard physical work for one so slight. There’s also been a huge money problem. Max’s illness put her in debt, and she’d borrowed to put herself through vet school. Max had no family money.’
‘You know…’ He hesitated. ‘This isn’t a standard private-investigative report, but the firm I use is good-very good. Their brief is to compile character assessments of people in line for top jobs, so they give more than facts. Our investigator talked to one of the nurses who cared for Rose’s husband. The nurse’s assessment is that Rose is stuck in her husband’s life.’
‘But she is leaving.’
‘We’ve given her a huge moral imperative to leave,’ Erhard said. ‘A whole country depending on her instead of just a village. She can walk away without Max’s ghost dragging her back.’
‘So you’re expecting me to walk away from my profession like you’re expecting Rose to?’
‘No one’s expecting anything of you,’ Erhard said patiently. ‘Apart from a few weeks of your time and a name on a marriage document. There’s no need for you to stay in Alp de Montez. There’s no need for your life to change very much at all. Simply take a few weeks off work, marry Rose, wait unti
l the fuss about the succession has died down and then take over your life again. Yes, you’ll be part of the royal couple, but apart from the coronation itself-and the wedding-your attendance is optional. Your interest is optional, and when Rose’s position is established you can divorce. Rose seems willing to put in the hard yards.’
‘You said she’s working too hard as it is,’ Nick said, frowning.
‘I’ll take care of her,’ Erhard said. ‘She won’t be delivering calves in icy paddocks at midnight.’
‘That’s what she’s doing now?’
‘That’s what she’s doing. Living with her parents-in-law. Stuck in the grief of her husband’s loss.’
There were so many facets of the woman, he thought. A cheeky imp. A beautiful, sophisticated woman. A magical dancer. A workhorse.
‘I guess I can,’ he said, and Erhard smiled.
‘There are worse women to marry than Rose,’ he said.
It seemed the thing was decided. By the time he turned up at work the next morning, Erhard had already initiated the first steps towards the royal wedding. Nick took a deep breath and quietly talked to the firm’s senior partners. To his relief, the partners saw nothing but benefit. Even Blake, Nick’s foster brother who also worked for the firm, was enthusiastic.
When Nick told him, Blake stared at his foster brother in amazement, and then quietly gone away and done the same research Nick had. Even to Blake the plan looked solid. ‘It’s your birthright, after all, and you’d be crazy not to,’ Blake told him. ‘There’s enough stability in the country for your marriage to be received with relief. You get in there and support Rose-Anitra for all you’re worth.’
‘But marriage…’ he said to Blake, and Blake grinned.
‘Yeah, well, maybe this is the only sort of marriage that can work for the likes of us,’ he’d said. ‘It’s not like you want a real marriage. Why not in name only?’
Why not? Because it wasn’t quite true.
Marriage, for Nick, had always seemed something others did. From the time he first remembered, it had been as if he was on the outside looking in. Happy families? How did you go about achieving that? He had six foster brothers and they’d all come from disasters-partnerships that had imploded. Even Ruby, his beloved foster mother, had suffered tragedy.
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