Guarded Moments

by JoAnn Ross

  Fate had decreed that he be the one to kill the princess. And that's precisely what he was going to do.

  Tomorrow.

  Here, in Los Angeles.

  Chantal had always enjoyed everything about Los Angeles. The brilliant, almost intoxicating sunshine, the golden beaches, the lushness of Beverly Hills, the quirky individualism of Venice, the nostalgic, neon glitz of West Hollywood, the glass high rises looming above Century City like monolithic sculptures, the palm trees—all of it made her feel as though fairy tales could come true.

  This time, however, the sun-drenched city did little to lift her spirits. Although her exhibit drew thousands to the J. P. Getty Museum in Malibu, and she managed to raise unprecedented funds for her favorite charity, Chantal couldn't shake the depression that had settled over her.

  It was all her fault, she told herself as she smiled her dazzling smile and exchanged cheek kisses with a famous actress who had enthralled three generations of moviegoers. Caine had been totally honest with her; he'd warned her up front that he was not promising a future.

  But she'd been foolish enough to think that she could change his feelings about commitment. Chantal berated herself even as she laughed at the punch line of a talk-show host's joke. She'd mistakenly believed that love conquered all. There was the real joke.

  And on top of everything else, having learned his lesson concerning Noel's premonitions, Caine had canceled Chantal's excursion to Catalina Island. Needless to say, she had not been pleased.

  "Better watch out," a deep voice murmured in her ear, "or your face will freeze into that scowl."

  Spinning around, Chantal's face lit up in the first honest smile she'd given anyone in the past forty-eight hours. "Stephan," she said delightedly, embracing him, "I'm so glad to see you!"

  "Not as happy as I am to see you," he said, his teeth a brilliant flash of white as he grinned down at her.

  "It was so good of you to come."

  "Personal reasons aside, you don't think I'd miss an opportunity to donate to those orphans of yours?"

  "They're not all orphans," Chantal corrected. "But thank you. Every little bit helps."

  Reaching into the breast pocket of his Saville Row suit, he pulled out a piece of folded paper. "Then let me add my little bit."

  "Gracious," she said, her eyes widening as she stared in shock at the amount of the check. "Stephan, have you gone mad?"

  He chuckled, running his knuckles down her cheek. A few feet away, as Caine watched the intimate gesture with narrowed eyes, jealousy twisted his gut.

  "Of course I have not gone mad," Stephan Devouassoux answered with mock indignation. "Fortunately, ma chère, since moving to California, business has more than surpassed my expectations. Enough so that I can share the wealth with the loveliest woman I know."

  She tucked the check into her beaded bag. "You are an angel."

  "And you look like an angel." He plucked a pair of champagne glasses from the tray of a passing waiter and handed her one. "Have you ever thought of returning to films?"

  "As much as I enjoyed my acting days, I was much younger then," she said. "I've become a more solitary person than the acting profession permits. Painting suits me, Stephan. I enjoy it. And I'm good at it."

  He laughed, raising his glass to her in a toast. "I've always appreciated a lady who knows her worth. You know, Chantal, seeing you here today, I realize that I should have kept closer tabs on my cousin's baby sister. You've grown into quite a delectable woman, chérie."

  As Caine watched the man's eyes practically stripping away Chantal's slender black dress, he decided that the time had come to put in an appearance.

  "Is everything all right?" he asked, coming up beside her.

  She tilted her chin in a way that reminded him of that haughty princess who'd handed him her luggage tags a mere three weeks ago. Had it only been three short weeks? It seemed like a lifetime.

  "Everything is fine," she said frostily.

  When she didn't look inclined to introduce him to the guy in the obviously tailor-made suite, Caine decided to take the bull by the horns. "The name's O'Bannion."

  "Devouassoux," Stephan returned, looking curiously from Caine's closed face to Chantal's equally unreadable one and back again. "Stephan Devouassoux."

  The name rang an instantaneous bell. "You're the cousin."

  "Oui, I am Prince Burke Giraudeau's cousin," Stephan answered, his eyes revealing his surprise. "His mother, Princess Clea, was my aunt." He glanced over at Chantal. "Your friend seems to know a great deal about our family."

  "He's not a friend. He's my hired bodyguard," she said, her tone heavily laced with sarcasm.

  "A bodyguard?" Stephan's aristocratic features revealed concern as he took her hand in his. "Don't tell me that you are in danger, ma petite!"

  Although Stephan's touch no longer stirred her blood as it had when she was young, Chantal couldn't deny that Caine's blistering glare was more than a little satisfying. In no hurry to retrieve her hand when it was causing Caine such obvious distress, she smiled up at her brother's cousin. "Mr. O'Bannion seems to think so," she said. "Although his judgment has been known to be impaired."

  Although she'd coated herself in enough ice to cover Jupiter, the anger in Chantal's tone was unmistakable. "It's suddenly so crowded in here," she said, slanting Stephan her warmest, most feminine smile. "Why don't we take a nice stroll in the gardens?"

  Turning her back on Caine, she led Stephan toward the French doors at the end of the room. Incensed by her cool dismissal, Caine held his tongue and followed.

  "Your Mr. O'Bannion is quite intimidating," Stephan said once they were outside. The bright green hedges lining the walks were neatly trimmed; sunlight sparkled invitingly on the water in the long, rectangular pool.

  "He is not my Mr. O'Bannion," she said with more intensity than she'd intended. "And he can be quite pleasant if you catch him in the right mood."

  "When is that? Once an aeon?" Stephan glanced nervously over his shoulder to where Caine stood between a pair of tall white pillars, back rigid, arms folded across his chest. In deference to the bright sun, he was wearing a pair of dark glasses, but it was obvious that his gaze was fixed unerringly on Chantal. "At least you are well protected," he decided. "I can't imagine anyone trying to harm you with that man hulking in the background. I take it he's always with you."

  "Day and night." Except for the past two nights, when he'd slept on the couch outside her bedroom door, she silently added. At least he was supposed to be sleeping; listening to him pace the floor had provided Chantal with a small amount of selfish pleasure. It was gratifying to know that he wasn't getting any more rest than she was, lying in a lonely bed, wondering what had possessed her to fall in love with a man who was incapable of returning that love.

  The thought of his rejection tore at her heart like a rusty knife. Blinking back the traitorous tears stinging her lids, she reached into her bag. "Damn, damn, damn."

  "What's wrong?" Stephan asked, instantly concerned.

  "I'm out of candy."

  He threw back his head and laughed. "Is that all?"

  Chantal glanced over at Caine, thinking how he'd taken to carrying the snacks in his pockets. Perhaps he had some now. But her pride was a hard, fierce thing; she'd die before ever asking him for anything again.

  "It's not funny," she complained.

  "Of course it's not." A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "So why don't we leave and go to a supermarket? I'll buy you a jumbo-size bag."

  "I can't leave without Caine's permission."

  He clucked his tongue, eyeing her with renewed interest. "This is definitely not the Chantal Giraudeau I've always known and loved. The young, devil-may-care princess who drove her family to distraction on more than one occasion. It's obvious that this O'Bannion fellow has domesticated you, love."

  "That's ridiculous. I'm the same as ever."

  "Are you?"

  No, she could have answered, she wasn't the
same at all. She'd had her heart broken into a thousand pieces, and there had been times during the past forty-eight hours that she wasn't really certain she wanted to keep on living.

  "Of course."

  "Prove it by ditching that Saint Bernard over there. The way you managed to shake your governess that New Year's Eve so many years ago."

  She'd been fifteen, madly in love with twenty-year-old Stephan, or so she'd thought at the time, and desperate to see the New Year in with him. Unfortunately, her parents, as well as her governess, had other ideas, but Chantal had managed to get around their objections by climbing down the tree whose branches overhung her bedroom balcony.

  The dare lay there between them, waiting for her to pick it up. "All right," she agreed, tilting her chin with renewed determination.

  Stephan was right; she'd allowed Caine to domesticate her, to turn her into a weak, lovesick shadow of her former self. She was a survivor, she reminded herself now. A princess. Who was he to tell her what to do, where to go and with whom?

  "I'll meet you out by the parking lot in five minutes."

  "That's my girl." He bent his head and pressed his smiling lips against hers. "Five minutes."

  Jealousy clawing at his insides, Caine caught her arm as she walked by him on the way back into the museum alone. "Where are you going?"

  She jerked free of his hold. "None of your business."

  "Now there's where you're wrong. Because in case you've forgotten, Princess, you just happen to be my business."

  Her temper flared. "How could I forget when you keep throwing it up in my face? And now that you've brought it up yet again, I believe this is where I tell you that I'm sick and tired of being an assignment to an ill-tempered, cold-hearted man who is afraid to get close to anyone. And who is afraid to let anyone get close to him."

  The words hurt more than he would have thought possible. "Tough."

  There was no getting through to him. She'd tried everything she knew, even permitting Stephan to kiss her. She couldn't believe that Caine didn't love her; she'd seen it in his eyes too many times, felt it in his tender touch. But he steadfastly continued to deny his feelings, perhaps even to himself.

  Taking a deep breath, Chantal looked up at him, her resolutely dry eyes hardened to a metallic sheen. "I thought you were a hero, Caine. But I was wrong. You're a coward."

  This time when she pulled away from him, Caine didn't stop her. Instead, he simply followed her through the throng of people to the private ladies' lounge, where he stood guard outside the door, ignoring the interested glances from the women entering and exiting. It appeared she was going to sulk for quite some time, he determined, after she'd been in the room for several minutes. That was okay with him; he was prepared to wait all night.

  Chantal had seen the window earlier. Now, upon closer examination, she realized it was a good deal higher and several inches narrower than she remembered. After waiting for the room to empty, she dragged a velvet-covered stool from the vanity to stand on. When her high heels made her footing too treacherous, she kicked them off, but without the added height, she had to jump several times before getting hold of the windowsill. She pulled herself up and through the narrow opening.

  Success! She landed on the grass in her stocking feet. Then, ignoring the curious glances of passersby, she hurried to the parking lot, where she found Stephan waiting for her.

  "Caine is very intelligent," she warned, glancing nervously over her shoulder. "I don't think we have much time."

  "I've got the car right here," he said, putting his arm around her waist and leading her to a sleek black Ferrari. The car's engine was running loudly, sounding as if it would much prefer to be operating at top speed instead of idling here, waiting for its owner.

  "Let's go, chérie," he said, opening the door for her. "It's high time you found out exactly how much fun the City of Angels can be."

  As he drove off with a roar of the engine, Chantal experienced an unexpected stab of guilt at playing such a dirty trick on Caine. But he deserved it, she reminded herself. And besides, it wasn't as if she had run off with a stranger. She'd known Stephan all her life. He was family.

  After five minutes had passed and there was no sign of Chantal, Caine decided the time had come to have this out. Marching into the gilt and mirrored lounge, he cursed when he found it deserted. The only thing left of the princess was a pair of ridiculously high-heeled Italian shoes.

  "Where are we going?" Chantal asked as she bit off a piece from her chocolate bar. They'd stopped at a convenience market down the coast road from the Malibu museum.

  "I thought I'd show you my house. It's just up the coast."

  "Oh, you live on the ocean? How wonderful," Chantal said, leaning back in the seat and enjoying the feel of the wind whipping her hair through the car's sunroof. Coming from a landlocked country, she'd always found the sea especially exhilarating. "I envy you."

  He shrugged as he pulled off the road and headed down a long, curving road. "It's just a house. Nothing like what you're used to." They stopped in front of a set of blazing white walls. Stephan pressed a code into his car's security console, and the gates opened, permitting entrance. A few hundred yards down the curving roadway, another gate appeared.

  "You certainly have a great deal of security," she said, thinking that even her father's palace wasn't so elaborately guarded.

  "All the better to protect gorgeous princesses who might drop by for a visit," he said with a grin that had once possessed the power to melt her heart. At the moment it only served as an uncomfortable reminder of how she'd let Stephan goad her into pulling a dirty trick on a man who, personal feelings aside, had only wanted to protect her.

  "Perhaps I should return to the museum," she said. "Caine will be worried."

  "If you're truly concerned, it'd be faster to call him from the house. We're almost there."

  They tore around one last turn before pulling up a curving flagstone driveway, stopping in front of a six-car garage. Chantal stared, entranced.

  Viewing the stone, old-world manor house, situated in a dreamlike setting among cypress and pine trees and a eucalyptus grove, was like going back in time to the elegance and and grace of the turn of the century. There were chimneys everywhere and formal gardens with flowing fountains. Giant marble sculptures flanked the massive front doors.

  "It's not at all the home I would have expected you to own," she said as she entered the two-story, Italian-tiled entry.

  "Oh? And what were you expecting?"

  She shrugged as her wondering eyes took in the museum-quality sixteenth-century tapestry chair, the Sevres cachepots that held superb arrangements of freshly cut hothouse flowers, and a large, gilt-framed painting she recognized as Picasso's Harlequin with a Glass.

  "I don't know. Something sleek and modern. All redwood and windows, I suppose," she murmured. "But this…" Her voice drifted off as she tried to recall what Stephan's house reminded her of. "Why, it reminds me of the palace on Lake Losange," she said as recognition dawned.

  "That's very clever of you, Chantal," Stephan said, leading her into a vast formal salon. The enormous crystal chandelier sent sparkling rainbows winking over the Empire furniture and silk-draped walls covered with priceless paintings. A pair of fencing foils hung on one wall, their hilts adorned with precious jewels. "I had the architect design a facsimile of the palace, although unfortunately, with California property values being what they are, I was forced to decrease the scale."

  His hand rested lightly on her back, and he was smiling down at her. Yet there was an edge to his voice she had never heard before. A hint of restrained anger that caused a frisson of fear to skim up her spine.

  "I think I'd better call Caine now."

  "Why don't we have a drink first." He walked over to where a bottle of champagne was chilling in a silver bucket.

  "I'd rather call Caine." The sickly sweet smell of lilies in a Tiffany Favrile glass vase was beginning to make her head ache.

&nbs
p; There was a slight pop as he pulled the cork from the bottle. As she watched, he poured the golden effervescent wine into a pair of thin-stemmed, tulip-shaped glasses.

  "I'm afraid that's impossible, ma chère," he said, holding one of the glasses toward her.

  She heard a sound behind her and whipped around, hoping against hope that it was Caine; that she hadn't outsmarted him, after all. That he'd come to rescue her once again. When she came face-to-face with the bearded blond man she remembered all too well from Philadelphia, her blood turned cold.

  "You," she whispered.

  Reaching out with a gloved hand, the man traced her lips with his thumb. "So, Princess," he murmured, trailing his treacherous hand slowly down her throat, "we meet again."

  14

  "You look a tad nervous, ma chère," Stephan said politely. "Are we making you uncomfortable?"

  Chantal swallowed, knowing that the horrible man could feel her fear under his fingertips. "What do you think?"

  He shook his head. "And here I'd always thought of myself as a superb host. Speaking of manners, may I introduce my good friend, Karl. After his little failure in Philadelphia, he's been looking forward to meeting you again. Haven't you Karl?"

  "Yeah."

  The man's cold blue eyes gleamed as he intimately regarded her body; his blatant perusal made her flesh crawl. His narrow face still bore the angry red scratches inflicted by her fingernails when she had struggled to fight him off.

  "I don't understand," Chantal protested. "Why are you doing this, Stephan?"

  He smiled at her over the rim of his champagne glass, but his eyes held no warmth. "You are an intelligent woman, Chantal. Surely you can figure it out."

  "You're the one behind all my accidents?"

  "I can't claim credit for them all," Stephan said. "Only the fire." He shook his head. "Personally, I felt that was the most ingenious plan of all. It would have succeeded, too, had it not been for your lover."

  A violence she never would have suspected was in Stephan seemed very close to the surface. Chantal tried to concentrate on what Drew had said about Caine. His dedication to duty, his professionalism. His unwillingness to fail at any assigned task. Oh, please, Caine, she thought as she struggled to get hold of her whirling thoughts, please come. Quickly.