by Abby Green
The features that had consumed his dreams for the past five months floated before his mind’s eye as he scanned the article. Memories bombarded him, and his pulse sped up. Princess Elizabeth would be arriving in Phoenix, Arizona, this afternoon. She’d be staying for several days, making an appearance tomorrow to raise funds for a local children’s hospice.
Elizabeth! Was that her name?
He tossed the paper across the seat as he climbed into his truck and started the engine. Wynborough. Five months before, he’d attended one of the royal charity events, a masquerade ball. It had been the first time he’d been home in ten years, the first time since the day he’d informed his father, the Grand Duke of Thortonburg, that he had no intention of assuming the title or of living under his father’s thumb. And hearing himself addressed as the Prince of Thortonburg by his family’s servants, the title that had descended onto his shoulders along with all the other responsibilities he’d been trained to handle all his life, had reminded him forcibly of all the reasons why he’d made the decision to live in the States.
He didn’t want those responsibilities.
Wryly, he wondered what his father, who’d harped on responsibility all his life, would think if he knew Rafe had seduced one of the Wynborough princesses in a garden house five months ago. Not a very responsible act, even if the lady had been as hot and ready as he had been.
He’d thought about her a great deal since then. She’d been gentle and sweet, with a hint of innocence that had turned out to be more than a hint. But she’d been so warm and willing that he’d found himself unable to resist her, even though he had better sense. At least he’d told her right up front that he would be leaving the next morning, he thought. She couldn’t accuse him of not being honest about his intentions.
But that was a moot point. He hadn’t told her who he was, and he had never expected to see his pretty lover again. He just hadn’t anticipated that she’d be so deeply embedded in his memory that he caught himself thinking of her at all hours of the day and night.
Yes, he’d thought about her far too much.
Irritably, Rafe drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, waiting for the light to change. Although he couldn’t imagine that she’d known who he was, years of thwarting his father’s machinations had honed his suspicious nature. His mouth tightened. Did he discern his father’s matchmaking hand in the princess’s sudden appearance in Phoenix? Had the old man found out somehow about that night?
He felt his shoulders tensing and he took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. Maybe it was simple coincidence. Maybe it wasn’t even the right princess, if indeed his mystery lover had been one of the Wynborough princesses.
Then again, maybe years of living away had dulled his instinct for self-preservation. His father had an incredible capacity for trying to force the issue of a royal marriage on his firstborn son. If he’d even heard any of Rafe’s firm denials, there certainly was no evidence of it.
But he didn’t intend to marry anybody with royal blood. Ever. Being heir to the damned title his family so revered had caused him more grief in his childhood than any kid should have had to bear. He had no intention of foisting it onto any offspring of his own. No, the Duchy of Thortonburg would pass to his younger brother Roland.
As for marriage…when and if he ever felt the time was right, he planned to find a nice American girl of common ancestry and settle down in anonymous wedded bliss.
No way was he marrying a princess!
He picked up the discarded paper and read the article again. She was staying at the newly opened Shalimar Resort. Now that was handy. His company had gotten the bid to complete work in a courtyard at the Shalimar, and he still had a crew there. Maybe he’d run by there right now and see how the work was progressing.
It was a lovely hotel, Elizabeth thought, admiring the muted dusty rose and pale marble colors of Phoenix’s newest five-star resort. But then, she was used to lovely things. What she wasn’t used to was freedom.
She supposed to most of the people milling around in the lobby as she moved toward the restaurant, walking alone through a five-star hotel was so ordinary as to be forgettable. But to her, accustomed as she was to bodyguards and security systems, schedules and surveillance cameras, it was incredibly exciting. Daring.
A little scary.
“Ma’am, do you have a reservation?” the maitre d’ asked as she approached.
She smiled. “Yes. Elizabeth Wyndham. One for dinner.”
Instantly, the man’s inquiring expression changed to one of delight. “Ah, Princess Elizabeth! Your Royal Highness, may I welcome you to La Belle Maison. Your table has been prepared.” He bowed low and gestured for her to precede him, pointing to a candlelit alcove where a server stood with napkins at the ready.
Elizabeth took the seat they had prepared, allowing the men to fuss over her every comfort, refusing wine and asking for a menu. But as she perused the selections, her mind was still out in the lobby, where for a few minutes she’d walked alone, free, with no one to worship her, no one to worry about every step she took or every person she passed.
She sighed. “I’ll have the special, a salad with your house dressing, and the carrots. No potato, thank you.”
As the waiter rushed off, she felt a slight but very real movement pushing at the wall of her womb. Discreetly covering her abdomen with one hand, she patted the small bulge beneath her fashionably loose-fitting pants and tunic top. Hello, my sweet one. Perhaps we’ll meet your daddy today.
She rested her chin on one hand. Oh, how she hoped she’d be able to find the mysterious man with whom she’d shared such a wonderful night of loving five months ago. He’d said he was American, though he’d sounded as if he’d been a native of her father’s kingdom. And though he’d had to return to the States, he’d left behind his card—a clue—letting her know where she could find him.
Thorton Design and Construction, Phoenix, Arizona. U.S.A. Apparently her baby’s father worked for the firm.
She’d hoped he would come back for her and, of course, that was still possible. In fact, she was sure he would, since she was absolutely positive he had felt the extraordinary bond between them as strongly as she had.
But she couldn’t wait much longer. He didn’t know she was on a rather urgent schedule now. Her spirits took a mild plunge. Soon she was going to have to tell her parents about her pregnancy. It was becoming difficult to hide it with clothing. When she’d had the opportunity to come to the States with her three sisters to search for their long-lost brother, she’d seized the chance, hoping for the opportunity to slip away and seek out her mystery lover.
It had been the sheerest good fortune that their search had led them to Hope, Arizona, to a foster home where their kidnapped brother might have been brought nearly thirty years ago. And even better fortune that Catalina, where she was going to interview a man who might be that brother, was but a few hours’ drive from her current location, providing her with a perfectly good reason to stay in Phoenix.
Arranging a charity event for the hospice project had been easy. Now she could only hope that the excuse the event had given her to visit Phoenix brought back into her life her Prince Charming from the charity ball.
Oh, he’d been so handsome, so wonderful. From the moment their eyes had met across the crowded ballroom at her sister Alexandra’s annual Children’s Fund Ball, she’d known he was destined to be someone very special in her life. They’d danced and drunk champagne, and within hours she’d fallen head over heels in love with a man whose name she didn’t even know! No, that wasn’t true. She’d fallen in love the moment their eyes had made a connection across the ballroom. And she was fairly sure her lover had felt the same way.
The memory of that perfect evening still made her smile. She’d talked Serena into telling the guards she already had retired to her rooms for the night. And then Elizabeth had led him to the little octagonal pavilion at the far end of the formal gardens.
The glass-wa
lled house was furnished with simple chaise lounges for whiling away long, lazy summer afternoons. One of those lounges would forever linger in her memory. He’d kissed her until she thought she might die of pleasure, and then he’d gently drawn her down onto the chaise and—
“Take me to the princess’s table.” The brusque, masculine voice penetrated her daydreaming.
“The princess is dining alone, sir. I don’t think—”
Her heart began to beat frantically as it recognized her lover’s voice. She’d planned on visiting him tomorrow, hadn’t expected to see him so soon! She half stood, and her napkin slid to the floor.
But she didn’t notice. All her attention was riveted on the man standing in the archway of the dining room.
The man whose steady gaze compelled her not to look away, as memories of their hours together sizzled through the air between them as surely as a silky finger over sensitive skin.
His eyes were a dark, dangerous blue, screened by thick black eyelashes that any woman would have killed for. The last time they’d met, those blue eyes had been warm with desire. Right now, they were flashing with a combination of puzzlement, wariness and what she was pretty sure was a touch of anger.
“Never mind. I see her.” His voice was deep and tough as he started forward, completely ignoring the fluttering waiters hovering around him.
“But…sir! You are hardly dressed for—sir! A tie and jacket are required in the dining room….”
As her broad-shouldered lover advanced toward her alcove, she took a deep breath, ignoring the sudden doubts that fluttered through her brain.
He’d be happy to see her. Of course he would. And he’d be as thrilled about the baby as she was.
The baby! Some protective maternal mechanism prompted her to resume her seat. Quickly, she reached for her napkin and draped it over her lap, pulling loose the folds of her tunic so that the barely noticeable swell of her abdomen was hidden. She didn’t question the instinct that told her this was not the time to tell him of his impending fatherhood. That could come later. After they’d gotten to know each other better.
The thought made her feel hot all over. Raising her chin, she let the warmth of her feelings show in her eyes as she smiled at the man approaching her table. The man whose set, unsmiling face didn’t offer anything remotely resembling the welcome she’d prayed he would extend.
He was huge. That was the first thing that registered now that she’d gotten over the surprise of seeing him so unexpectedly. Oh, she’d remembered he was big, but the man striding toward her, wearing a white T-shirt, faded jeans cinched by a snug leather belt with a heavy silver buckle and dust-covered work boots was simply enormous. But as she focused on his face, she knew he was indeed the man to whom she’d given her heart—and so much more—five months ago.
His hair was raven-black, gleaming in the discreet lighting of the dining room. It had been ruthlessly groomed the night they’d met, but by the time the evening had ended, it had been every bit as rumpled and disheveled as it was right now. Shadows emphasized the hollows beneath high, slanted cheekbones, and his firm lips, lips she remembered curved in a sensual smile, were as full and sensual as ever, though they were pressed into a grim line at the moment.
“How did you find me?”
Whatever she’d expected, that wasn’t part of any greeting she could imagine. “Your card,” she said, raising her hands helplessly. “The one you left for me.”
“I didn’t leave you any card.”
“Oh, yes, don’t you remember? It was on the chaise when I—” She halted in sudden acute embarrassment.
Then the meaning of his denial struck her. He hadn’t meant to leave his card behind. Hadn’t intended that she ever know who he was. The idea was crushing, and for a long moment she couldn’t even force herself to form words. Finally, lifting her chin, she put on the most regal expression she possessed, the expression her entire family used to cover emotion from prying eyes and paparazzi. “Apparently I was wrong to assume you intended me to look you up if I was in the States,” she said in a cool, smooth voice. “I apologize.”
“I told my father years ago I wouldn’t marry any of you.”
Her face reflected her bewilderment. This conversation was making no sense. “What?” She shook her head. “What are you talking about?”
“About an arranged marriage. To one of the princesses.” He crossed his arms and scowled at her. “To you.” He stabbed a finger in her direction. The move made his muscular arms bulge and the shirt strained at its seams across his chest. He still stood over her, and if he wanted to intimidate her, he was doing a darn good job.
But she wasn’t going to let him cow her. Never mind that her hopeful heart was breaking into a thousand little pieces. Thank heavens she hadn’t had a chance to share any of her foolish dreams with him. “I didn’t come here to marry you,” she said in a slow, measured tone that barely squeezed past the lump in her throat.
His expression darkened even more, if that was possible. Slowly, he uncrossed his arms and leaned forward across the table, planting his big palms flat on the surface. He was invading her space and she forced herself not to scoot backwards, away from him.
“I am not amused by your little act,” he said through his teeth. “If you came here hoping to take me back to Wynborough like some kind of damned trophy, you can think again, Princess.”
It was so far from the passionate greeting that she’d imagined all these months, like a stupid fool, that she had to fight the tears that welled up. What was wrong with him? She hadn’t done anything to make him so angry.
“I didn’t come here to take you anywhere,” she said, swallowing hard to keep the sobs at bay. “I am here on another matter entirely—although I did wish to talk to you.”
There was a tense silence. The man who’d been her lover didn’t move a muscle for a long second. She felt a tear escape and trickle down her cheek, but she didn’t even raise a hand to brush it away. “Who are you, anyway?” she asked in a shaky voice.
He smiled. A wide baring of perfect white teeth that somehow was more of a threat than a pleasantry. Reaching across the table, he picked up her small, fisted hand and bowed low over it. “Raphael Michelangelo Edward Andrew Thorton, Prince of Thortonburg and heir to the Grand Duke of Thortonburg at your service, Your Royal Highness,” he said. “As if you didn’t know. Expect me for dinner in your suite tomorrow evening at seven.”
Before she could pull away, he pressed an overly courteous kiss to the back of her hand, his gaze holding hers. Despite the animosity and antagonism that radiated from his big body, a vivid, detailed image of the intimacy with which those finely chiseled lips had traveled over her body leaped into her head. Her cheeks grew hot and she mentally cursed her fair complexion, because in his eyes flared awareness—he knew exactly what she was thinking.
Then his lips compressed into a thin line as he straightened abruptly. “And be ready to answer my questions this time, Princess.”
Elizabeth paced the suite nervously as the clock struck seven the following evening. The Prince of Thortonburg! She still couldn’t believe it.
As children, she and her sisters had made fun of the stern Grand Duke. She could still remember Serena swaggering across the playroom, doing a deadly accurate imitation of the man, boasting about his eldest son’s educational achievements in England and America, that had had Katherine and her in stitches. Even Alexandra, whose over-developed sense of responsibility and position as the eldest had often made her seem stuffy to the younger girls, had laughed until the tears ran.
When the girls grew old enough to be presented at court and began to attend the balls and royal functions of the kingdom, they’d speculated about the invisible Thortonburg heir. Though he wasn’t that much older than Alexandra, none of her sisters had ever seen him. He’d been away at Eton and Oxford for years, then to the States to Harvard, she’d heard, and not long after that there had been rumors of a quarrel between the Grand Duke and his el
der son. If it weren’t for Roland, the personable younger son of the Grand Duke, who vouched for his brother’s existence, she would have thought Raphael was a hoax. When he hadn’t even shown up for Roland’s twenty-first birthday party, it had only fueled the fires of her sisters’ curiosity.
Well, he existed, all right. She rested a hand on the slight swell of her belly, hidden beneath the loose, floating gauze of the dress she’d chosen to wear this evening. She could guarantee that he existed.
The worries of the present receded beneath a wave of memories that could still make her blush. She remembered the first time she’d seen him. He’d been wearing severe black evening dress, which had made him look impossibly tall and broad-shouldered compared to every other man in the room, as indeed he was. His only concession to the masquerade ball had been a small black silk mask that concealed the upper half of his face.
She’d been standing across the ballroom, dressed in the costume of a medieval princess, when their eyes had met. Within minutes, he’d cut a decisive path through the crowd to reach her side.
“Good evening, fair lady. Might I have the pleasure of your company in this dance?”
Up close, he was so much larger than she that he could have been intimidating. But as she allowed him to take her gloved hand, his eyes glowed a warm blue through the slits in the mask, and she had felt the oddest sense of security surround her. He drew her into a very correct ballroom position for the waltz that followed, and silently they danced. He didn’t even ask her name. Enjoying the game, she preserved the pretense of two strangers, but as the evening progressed, he gently urged her closer to him until she could feel his big hand splayed across her back, his long fingers nearly caressing the upper swell of her bottom, the strength of his muscled thighs pressing against her through the light gown she wore.