Dance with a Dynasty

by JoAnn Ross

  “So sue me.” Unfazed by her female fury, he jerked her forward by the front of the dress, ripping it to the waist.

  “Okay! That’s it.” Furious at being manhandled, and angered that now she wasn’t even going to be able to return the hideous gown for a refund, Sabrina shoved him back.

  Not expecting an assault from his captive, the man was caught off guard. And off balance. He stumbled backward, into a towering bush. The many-petaled, scarlet blossoms, protected by long vicious thorns, had been named for Princess Chantal.

  The man cursed violently as those thorns ripped at his muscled arms and handsome face. The gun disappeared into the leafy green foliage.

  He was struggling to get to his feet when Sabrina caught sight of a garden rake, fortuitously left behind by an absentminded gardener. The man saw the rake at the same instant and dived for it, but Sabrina was faster. She scooped it up and held it over him, the steel tines gleaming in the moonlight.

  “Don’t even think about moving,” she warned. “Or those scratches on your face are going to get a lot deeper.” She waved the rake threateningly. “I see some rust. I do hope you’ve had a tetanus shot recently.”

  His only answer was a string of pungent curses and uncomplimentary references to Sabrina’s parentage.

  “Tsk, tsk,” she murmured, even as she tried to figure out how she was going to extricate herself from what was still a very sticky situation. “For a so-called aristocrat, you certainly don’t have very good manners. My mother always told me that cussing was an indication of an insufficient vocabulary.”

  That earned her even more curses, along with some deadly, uncomfortably specific threats. Sabrina wished she knew where the gun had landed. She didn’t know how long she could manage to hold him off with merely a rusty garden rake.

  As her eyes scanned the moist earth, looking for the weapon, she caught sight of the material he’d ripped from the hem of her dress.

  “Here.” She scooped up the black strip of cloth and flung it at him. “Tie yourself up.”

  “What?” He looked at her as if she’d just grown another head.

  “I said, tie yourself up.”

  “You must be joking!”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, buster, this isn’t really a joking matter. Tie that around your ankles. Then I’ll take care of your wrists.”

  “Sorry, baby,” he growled. “You’re cute, but I’m not into bondage games.”

  His nasty tone, along with his sexual innuendo, did nothing to quell her frustration about the fact that what should have been the most romantic night of her life was turning out to be a nightmare.

  After all, how many times in one life did an average woman get to attend a royal ball? The way Sabrina looked at it, tonight was her one chance. And this stupid miscreant was spoiling it for her!

  “I said, tie the damn cloth around your ankles!” She swung the rake, just missing his head when he ducked in the nick of time.

  “Merde! All right, all right.” His hands were visibly shaking as he wrapped the black crepe around his legs.

  “That’s better.” She gestured with the rake again. “Now roll over onto your stomach and put your hands behind your back.”

  To her amazement, he did as instructed. Then, cautiously, she knelt beside him, took both ends of the remaining cloth, looped it around his wrists and tugged, drawing his legs up to his back.

  She’d just finished when Burke, accompanied by Caine and a surprising number of armed men, came tearing around the corner.

  “Well, if it isn’t the cavalry,” Sabrina said, greeting her would-be rescuers with a welcoming grin. “Just in the nick of time.”

  “Peterson here was right on your tail,” Caine said, gesturing toward the other doorman.

  “But I got lost in the damn maze,” the former U.S. government agent admitted, his tone tinged with self-loathing.

  Feeling a rush of relief so strong it weakened his knees, Burke pulled Sabrina to her feet and held her tightly against him.

  “From the very first, I thought you were a woman for whom any man would willingly fight hordes of fire-breathing dragons.” He brushed a tender kiss against her temple. “I should have known that you would insist on slaying your own dragons.”

  Had ever a man’s arms felt so good? So right? Sabrina tilted her head back and pressed her palm against his cheek, as if to convince herself that he was really there.

  “He ruined my dress,” she said, as if by way of explanation.

  Reluctant to release her, even for a moment, Burke put her a little away from him and flicked his dark eyes over the lush, feminine body he’d come to know so well.

  “I can’t see that is much of a loss,” he said finally.

  Not about to protest such an accurate statement, Sabrina laughed. “Probably not,” she agreed. “But it cost me nearly three months’ rent.”

  “Don’t worry.” Burke ran his hand down her hair. “The court will make the perpetrators pay for your dress.” And so long as she promised to stay away from black, he would buy her a hundred—a thousand—dresses, Burke vowed silently.

  The walkie-talkie crackled again. “Drew’s picked up Monique and our would-be assassin,” Caine revealed. “The guy’s not talking, but Monique is proving an absolute font of information.”

  Burke thought about the lovely, aggressive young woman who, only last year, had attempted to seduce him in an attempt to become queen. He’d always known her family had French ties. Obviously they’d been stronger than either he or his father had realized.

  Both families were waiting for them at the palace. Eduard was, characteristically, furious. His wife and daughters expressed grave concern and sympathy. As did Ariel and Raven. Dixie took one look at Sabrina’s disheveled state and began to bawl.

  It took some time to assure everyone that she was all right. Finally, once Dixie’s tears had slowed to a torrent, Chantal drew Sabrina aside.

  “I see you let Fran;aloise bully you,” she murmured, her brown eyes taking in the tattered gown.

  “She ran me down like a bulldozer.”

  “Don’t, as you Americans say, feel like the Lone Ranger,” Chantal said. “She used to do the same thing to me. You’ve no idea how many horrid designer gowns I ended up giving away to charity auctions before I learned to stand up to her.”

  She patted Sabrina’s muddy arm. “Don’t worry. Before Caine and I return to Washington, I shall give you lessons on how to deal with her.”

  Before Sabrina could point out that she wasn’t going to have any further dealings with the opinionated boutique owner, Chantal had turned toward her brother.

  “Shouldn’t you be getting back to the ball, Burke? You did, after all, leave the Prince of Wales standing in the receiving line.”

  When Burke looked at Sabrina, clearly torn between duty and love, Chantal made a shooing motion with her beringed hand.

  “Go,” she insisted. “Sabrina needs a bath and a change of clothes. We’ll be along shortly.”

  Reluctantly bowing to duty, Burke stunned Sabrina and pleased everyone else present by pulling her into his arms and giving her a long, heartfelt kiss that left no question how he felt.

  “Don’t be too long,” he murmured against her lips. “Because the party can’t start without you.”

  And then he was gone, attending to his royal obligations, as Sabrina understood he must. But as she followed Chantal up the curving staircase, she pressed her fingertips against her lips and imagined she could still feel the heat of Burke’s kiss.

  * * *

  THE BALL WAS every romantic fantasy, every youthful daydream, every dazzling fairy tale come to life.

  To Sabrina’s surprise and pleasure, Burke threw royal protocol to the wind, dancing every dance with her. And although she knew such uncharacteristically selfish behavior from Montacroix’s new regent was seen by some as scandalous—most particularly those European beauties who were eyeing her with undisguised resentment—Sabrina didn’t care.
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  Because as she waltzed in Burke’s arms, Sabrina felt as if she were floating on air.

  “I knew it,” he murmured as he drew her closer and brushed a kiss against her hair.

  “Knew what?” Her voice was soft and dreamy.

  “That you’d be a marvelous dancer.” She fit so perfectly into his arms. His bed. His life. “You seem to float.”

  She tilted her head back and smiled up at him. “That’s because my feet haven’t touched the ground for hours.” She was, indeed, in seventh heaven.

  With a deft skill he glided her toward the edge of the vast ballroom floor and out a pair of open French doors onto a brick terrace.

  “People will talk,” she demurred. As grateful as she was for any time alone with Burke before her flight left tomorrow morning, Sabrina was dreading the inevitable conversation yet to come.

  This night, which had begun so horridly, was turning out to be the most magical, the most heavenly night of her life. Reality would be a most unwelcome intrusion.

  “Let them talk.” Because he needed to, because he’d been going crazy holding her in his arms all night without kissing her, Burke lowered his mouth to hers.

  Sweet. She tasted so sweet. Burke knew that he could live a hundred—a thousand—years, and never tire of the taste of Sabrina’s soft lips.

  Her eyes opened slowly, reluctantly, when their lips finally parted. Desire had clouded her mind, causing her to forget to censure her words.

  “I could spend the rest of my life like this,” she murmured, her hands linked around his neck, her fingers playing with the soft ebony waves at the back of his nape. “Kissing you in the moonlight.”

  He rocked forward on the balls of his feet and touched his mouth to her softly smiling one. “Or in the sunshine,” he suggested. He traced the outline of her upturned lips with the tip of his tongue, rewarded by her slight tremor. “Or the rain.”

  The thought of making love to Sabrina in a Montacroix summer rain, kissing the warm moisture from every inch of fragrant female skin, made his body quicken.

  Pressing against him, Sabrina felt his hard arousal and shared his need. One glance over his shoulder at the crowded ballroom reminded her all too vividly that they were not alone.

  Slipping out of his arms, she walked the few steps over to the balustrade and looked out over the rose garden. Had it only been three hours ago that she’d been in danger of losing her life in that fragrant maze? It seemed like an eternity. Another lifetime.

  It seemed, Sabrina considered, that it had happened to some other woman.

  Burke looked at her standing in the moonlight and decided that first thing in the morning, he was going to find a painter to capture the arresting image for his bedroom wall. The thought of being able to wake up every morning to the sight of his bride, looking ethereally sensual, was definitely appealing.

  He came to stand behind her. “Have I told you that you look exceptionally beautiful tonight, ma chérie?”

  She leaned back against him. “Several times. But don’t let that stop you from telling me again.” She sighed happily. “A woman never tires of hearing that the man she—” She hesitated when the word loves almost slipped out. “When the man she cares for,” she continued, “finds her attractive.”

  He caught her hesitation and chose to overlook it. Instead, turning her in his arms, he smiled down at her and said, “I could tell you how lovely you are every minute of every day and it would not be enough.”

  The remarkable thing, Sabrina determined, looking up into his warm dark eyes, was that Burke meant it. Never before had she felt so appreciated. Never before had she felt so loved.

  And suddenly, never had she felt so miserable. “I think I know exactly how Cinderella felt,” she murmured. Midnight was coming. All too soon.

  She brushed her nervous hands over her skirt, a gossamer, silvery, ice blue confection, studded with thousands of crystal beads that glittered like fallen stars in the slanting silver moonlight.

  The dress belonged to Chantal. As the princess had pulled it from her closet and pushed it into Sabrina’s arms, she’d explained how she’d bought it on an expensive whim, only to discover that the shimmering hue did nothing for her dark coloring.

  She hadn’t known why she saved the dress, Chantal had admitted. Until now. The dazzling, one-of-a-kind gown had been designed, she’d insisted, with Sabrina in mind.

  Standing in front of the princess’s floor-length mirror, staring in awe at the exquisite vision that was her own reflection, Sabrina had to admit Chantal was right.

  Her belief had been seconded by the hot male admiration she’d seen in Burke’s midnight dark eyes when she’d entered the ballroom.

  It was the same look he was giving her now. That wonderful, hungry look that possessed the power to melt her bones. At the moment, knowing how this night must end, the warm gaze was making her increasingly nervous.

  Sabrina sought something, anything, to say. “Your sister makes a terrific fairy godmother.” Her laugh was thin and shaky. She plucked at the floaty, billowing skirt with nerveless fingers. “I almost expected her to pull out a pair of glass slippers.”

  “I’ve heard that glass slippers are extremely uncomfortable.” Burke felt the fanciful, romantic mood slipping away, like drifting moon dust between his fingers. “They’re also impossible to dance in.”

  The time had come. He’d put it off too long.

  Drawing her back into his arms, he said, “I love you, Sabrina.”

  It was what she’d been waiting all her life to hear. It was what she’d been dreading for days. She tried to speak, but her mind, which earlier had been filled with all the sane, practical reasons why she and Burke could not have a future together, went completely blank. She could only stare up at him.

  She’d gone rigid in his arms. Her soft eyes, which had been gazing at him all night with vivid, uncensored love, shadowed with something that inexplicably appeared to be fear.

  “I love you,” he repeated slowly, purposefully. “And I want you to be my wife.”

  Music was floating on the soft night air; Sabrina imagined she could hear the strident sound of the palace clock striking twelve.

  Pulling free of his light touch, she backed away. “This is a mistake.”

  His body was hyperventilating, but Burke managed, just barely, to keep his growing desperation from showing. “On the contrary. The reason I’ve never asked a woman—any woman—to marry me before is because, having witnessed the love my father and stepmother shared, I did not want to make a mistake.”

  He moved slowly, purposefully toward her. Sabrina kept backing up until her beaded skirt was pressed up against the stone balustrade.

  Burke framed her pale face between his palms and gave her a long look that was meant to reassure. “This is not a mistake.”

  “Yes.” She closed her eyes and prayed for strength. “It is. Because I can’t be what you want me to be.”

  “I love you.” He said the words as if they were all that mattered.

  Sabrina wished they were. “That’s not enough.”

  “Of course it is.” His low tone was calm and sure, reminding her that Eduard and Chantal weren’t the only ones in the family possessing the Giraudeau tenacity. Prince Burke possessed it as well. In spades.

  “Oh, Burke.” She sighed, her gaze misting as she looked up at him. “I’d make a miserable wife. I have a terrible temper, I can be horrendously moody, you’d never know who you were living with because I have a horrible habit of becoming whatever character I’m playing, sometimes I’ll go an entire week without hanging up my clothes—”

  “I love you.”

  She wasn’t getting through. Finally, desperate, Sabrina took a deep breath and said, “I can’t have children.”

  She watched the shock move across his handsome face in waves. Then, she had to admire the speed with which he recovered.

  “Can’t?” he inquired on that same steady, reasonable tone. “Or won’t?”

>   “Can’t.” The word hung between them, irrevocable and final. “I had an infection last year. Since I was performing five nights a week, along with Wednesday and Sunday matinees, I kept putting off making time to go to the doctor.”

  She dragged her hand through her hair and took a deep, shuddering breath. “When I finally collapsed onstage, they rushed me to the hospital and performed emergency surgery.”

  His dark brow crashed down and he took her ice-cold hand in his. “You were in danger?”

  He was getting off track, but she answered anyway. “I almost died.”

  He cursed. “I should have been there.”

  If he had been, Sabrina knew, she wouldn’t have waited so long before seeking medical help. He would have cared enough to insist she go to the doctor. While Arthur, on the other hand, had impatiently brushed her symptoms aside, accusing her of being just another temperamental artist seeking attention.

  “The doctors saved my life. But the operation left me unable to have children.” There. She’d said it. Sabrina stood still, every nerve end poised for Burke’s rejection.

  “There are specialists.”

  “I’ve been to the best specialists in New York City. They all agree. I’m barren.” Such an old-fashioned word, Sabrina thought. Such a hateful word. But unfortunately, it fit.

  Once again Burke surprised her. “It doesn’t matter,” he decided implacably. “Because I love you.”

  “It does matter.” The tears that had been threatening at the back of her lids broke free. “Dammit, don’t you see? I can’t give you an heir, Burke. And without an heir, Montacroix returns to France.” Single-handedly, she would achieve that unwelcome goal the horrid cadre of rebels had failed to accomplish.

  “I have one question.”

  “What?” She was crying openly now, tears spilling down her cheeks in shining wet ribbons.

  “Do you love me?”

  She knew the safe thing, the prudent thing, would be to lie. But Sabrina couldn’t do it. Not after all they’d shared.

  “Of course I do,” she cried. “But don’t you see? It’s not enough.” She couldn’t—wouldn’t—be responsible for the dissolution of a two-hundred-year-old monarchy.