The Prince & The Showgirl

by JoAnn Ross

  After arranging to have the dress sent to the palace, Sabrina went shopping for the appropriate shoes and bag. The shoes were black satin pumps, the bag was matching black satin with a simple gold clasp.

  "Well," she muttered as she sat in a cafe and sipped an espresso and nibbled at a delicious chocolate-and-strawberry crème pastry, "at least I've got the wardrobe if I ever get cast as a grieving widow."

  Although the somber hue and style of her purchases went against every feminine instinct she possessed, Sabrina had spent the past three days desperately trying to understand why Burke had seemingly lost interest.

  Finally, the only answer she could come up with was that although he'd initially been attracted to her, he regrettably found her love of bright colors, flamboyant styles and down-home American attitude less than desirable.

  And though she'd sworn never again to give up her independence for any other man, Sabrina rationalized her decision. After all, what was so important about a dress? What did it matter if she would have preferred something with a bit more pizzazz?

  All right, Sabrina admitted, a lot more pizzazz. If wearing black allowed her to get what she wanted— and what she wanted was to see that dangerous, masculine gleam in the prince's dark eyes again—what was wrong with that?

  "Nothing," she decided. "Nothing at all."

  Lost in thought, Sabrina failed to notice that the sun was beginning to set on the horizon. She also had no idea that several blocks away, a crowd was gathering. She sat a little longer, ordered a second cup of dark brew and, throwing caution to the winds—after all, her new dress would hide a multitude of guilty pounds— got another pastry.

  Twenty minutes later, she paid her bill with a traveler's check, and walked out the door into chaos.

  A crowd of approximately twenty-five people was marching down the street, loudly chanting antiroyalist slogans. At the head of the ruckus, a man wearing a black excutioner's hood was carrying a figure in effigy. The sign around its neck proclaimed it to be Prince Burke.

  Although Burke had mentioned a small group of dissidents and had warned Sabrina's family against going outside the palace grounds without a male escort, actually seeing the protesters in action came as a surprise.

  During all those excursions around the Montacroix countryside, she'd watched the prince's subjects respond to him with respect and genuine affection. It had also not escaped her notice that Burke returned their respect.

  From what she'd been able to tell, he knew all his subjects' names, the names of their spouses and children. And more important, when he'd inquired after those absent members of various individuals' families, it had been readily apparent that he truly cared for, and about, his people.

  Which was why she was so infuriated when one of the vocal protesters accused Burke of being a self-serving dictator.

  "You're wrong!" she shouted, forging her way through the noisy throng. She was jostled, and almost fell, but with her anger came renewed strength and she pressed on.

  "And even if your accusations had any truth to them, which they certainly don't, this is no way to address your grievances," she shouted at the hooded man Who appeared to be the ringleader.

  The man's response was a sarcastic laugh. Then, as Sabrina watched, he touched a torch to the gasoline-soaked figure. At the sight of the dummy bursting into flames, Sabrina's infamous Darling temper blew sky-high.

  "What do you think you're doing?" She struck out at him. "Only a coward hides behind a mask!"

  Sabrina's derogatory words had the effect of a match to kindling. The jeering crowd, given a focal point for their anger, turned on her. Women shoved her, men, their faces twisted with hatred, shouted, in her face. One protester swung a heavy placard, hitting her on the shoulder and throwing her off balance.

  Sabrina fell to her knees on the cobblestones and was in danger of being trampled when out of the crowd came a burly pair of arms to scoop her up and carry her through the swarming crowd to safety.

  "Th-th-th-thank you," she gasped. "I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't…" Her voice trailed off as she realized exactly who her savior was. "It's you!"

  Drew's worried eyes took in her smudged face, her tangled hair, her bruised shoulder. "Are you all right?" the man she'd come to know as a chauffeur inquired. He had a distinctly American accent she recognized as coming from her own state of Tennessee.

  "Yes." She brushed at the dirt staining her flowered skirt. "Thanks to you."

  "You shouldn't be wandering around alone. Prince Burke won't like knowin' that you left the palace without an escort."

  She wondered at the audacity of an employee to speak so disapprovingly to a guest, but still shaken and loath to admit it, she didn't call the chauffeur on his odd behavior.

  The truth was that she'd been chafing against what she'd seen as an imperial order for the past three days. Ever since Burke had insisted that none of the female members of the household—guests included—leave the palace without a male escort.

  Although he'd assured the women that it was only a precaution against possible problems with the insurrectionists, Sabrina had felt as if she'd been put under house arrest.

  The idea of having some palace security guard hovering over her while she searched the village for an appropriate dress to dazzle Montacroix's dashing prince had been unpalatable.

  Which was why she'd engaged in subterfuge in order to gain a few precious hours of freedom. But her rescuer was right about one thing, Sabrina reluctantly admitted—Burke was not going to be at all pleased when he discovered what she'd done.

  "I don't suppose you and I could keep this little incident to ourselves?" she asked, fluttering her lashes in a way that Ariel's soap-opera vixen would have envied.

  The giant shook his head. "Sorry." Reaching into a pocket he pulled out a familiar yellow bag. "How about some chocolate-covered peanuts? They're Princess Chantal's favorite."

  As she accepted the proffered confection, Sabrina wondered how it was that a mere chauffeur was on such intimate acquaintance with the princess's snacking habits.

  That nagging little question was forgotten as they returned to the palace and Sabrina tried to mentally prepare herself for Burke's upcoming lecture.

  What Sabrina had no way of knowing was that Burke had learned of her escapade before the limousine had reached its destination at the Montacroix zoo. And although he was annoyed, he also empathized with the reasons for her defiance.

  Sabrina Darling was not a woman accustomed to taking orders. Neither was she a woman who would adjust her behavior to suit any man. Even a prince. Accustomed to females fawning over him, more because of what he was, rather than who he was, Burke's interest was piqued even more by Sabrina's little rebellion.

  His amusement disintegrated the moment he received the call that she'd been involved in some damnable demonstration. His irritation turned to concern when he'd learned that she'd been injured.

  "Why weren't you with her?" he demanded of Drew, after he'd returned to the palace.

  "I would've been a bit conspicuous in that hoity-toity little boutique," Drew countered calmly. Having provided protection for three U.S. presidents, he was not one to cower when faced with authoritative fury.

  "You should not have let her linger in that cafe."

  "Short of physically dragging her outside, I don't know what I could have done. Besides, I was keepin' an eye on her and everything would have been okay if she hadn't waded into the middle of those loudmouthed idiots to defend your honor."

  "What?" Burke dragged a hand through his dark hair. "She endangered herself on my account?"

  "She reminded me of a mama bear protectin' her favorite cub."

  "Come on, Burke," Caine said mildly. He'd taken his partner's place this afternoon. "Other than a few scrapes and bruises, Sabrina's fine. Don't you think you're making too much of this?"

  Burke turned on his brother-in-law. "How would you feel if it had been Chantal who'd been injured?"

  "I'd w
ant to kill the bastard who laid a hand on her personally," Caine answered promptly. When he saw the identical look in Burke's eyes, he said, "So that's how it is."

  "Yes."

  Caine let out a long breath. "Talk about complications. How does she feel?"

  "I don't know," Burke admitted with obvious reluctance.

  He was a man accustomed to controlling his environment. Unfortunately these days he seemed to have little control over the most intimate aspect of his life.

  "There will be time to discuss such matters after the coronation."

  "Take it from a guy who's been there," Caine advised. "You ought to at least let her know how you feel."

  How could he do that when he didn't entirely understand that himself? Burke wondered. "Right now, I'm going to ensure that Sabrina is resting all right," he said, his brusque tone announcing that the subject was closed.

  "It's like looking in a mirror," Caine murmured to Drew after Burke had left the library. "Two years ago."

  "The guy's got it real bad," his partner agreed. "This also puts a new twist on things. If anyone else figures out just how much the prince cares for Sabrina…"

  He didn't finish the statement. There was no need.

  "Oh! Your Highness." Monique dipped into a quick, deep curtsy when she opened the door to Burke's insistent rap. "I am afraid that mademoiselle is not seeing visitors."

  "She'll see me." Burke entered the suite against the maid's faint protests and marched directly into Sabrina's bedroom.

  For someone who wasn't up to visitors, Sabrina certainly had more than her share. She was lying on the bed, clad in a short, full-skirted flowered dress that made her resemble a garden in full bloom. She was surrounded by her mother and sisters. Chantal was hovering on one side of the canopied bed, Noel on the other.

  "What did you think you were doing?"

  At Burke's roar, conversation instantly ceased.

  "You shouldn't be here, Burke," Chantal protested. "Sabrina has had a difficult experience. She needs her rest."

  "As much as your protectiveness is undoubtedly appreciated, chérie, this is between Sabrina and me." He crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at Sabrina, who tried her best to glare back. "I want to talk to you."

  She'd been an actress long enough to feign indifference when her heart was pounding. "So talk."

  "Alone."

  "Really, Burke," Noel chided, "your manners are atrocious."

  "Madame Darling," Burke said, turning toward Dixie, "I apologize for my abrupt behavior, but I wish very much to speak to your daughter. In private."

  Dixie beamed. "Of course, Your Highness. Come along girls," she said, ushering her other daughters from the bedroom, "we need to go over that third chorus of 'Honky Tonk Heaven' one more time. I thought the other day, during rehearsal, that you rushed that second line, Raven."

  "You may be right, Mama," Raven agreed. She'd never rushed a line in her life. "See you later, Sabrina," she said, waggling her fingers at her sister as she left the suite with Dixie, Ariel and Noel. Only Chantal paused briefly.

  "Be gentle with her, Burke," she murmured, her hand on his arm. "She's had a rough day."

  With that little piece of advice, his sister left the room on a cloud of custom-blended perfume, leaving Sabrina and Burke alone.

  Sabrina had expected Burke's anger. She'd even prepared herself for the type of icy disapproval her husband had so routinely used to punish her. But she'd never planned to see such honest distress in his dark gaze.

  "How are you?" he asked on a low, deep voice that vibrated all the way to her bone marrow. "Really."

  "Fine." She flashed him what was meant to be a reassuring smile. "Really."

  Not waiting for an invitation, he ducked his head beneath the gauze canopy and sat beside her. "I was told you were injured." When he took in the sight of the bruises on her bare arm, Burke felt his temper flare.

  As he touched the purple marks with an infinitely gentle fingertip, Sabrina watched the heat rise in his eyes and prayed such fury would never be directed her way.

  "All I got were a few cuts and bruises." Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  "But you fell." If Drew had not been there, she might have been trampled. The idea chilled Burke's blood.

  "And scraped my knees. That's all. I had worse scrapes when I was a kid, running wild in the Tennessee woods."

  Fighting down the urge to curse at the sight of her red, marred flesh, Burke retrieved the tube of ointment from a Queen Anne table beside the bed and squeezed a generous amount of the cream onto his finger.

  "I would have liked to have known you then." His finger traced creamy patterns over first her left knee, and then her right.

  Despite the effect his tender touch was having on her, Sabrina laughed. "You wouldn't have looked twice. I was too tall and too thin. The other kids used to call me Twiggy."

  "You've filled out admirably." One hand cupped her leg, his thumb tantalizingly created circles on the sensitive back of her skinned knee. The other toyed with the golden waves that tumbled freely over her shoulders. "You have the most wonderful hair," he murmured, bringing it close to his face, inhaling the scent of her citrus shampoo. "It's like holding handfuls of sunshine."

  If Sabrina had been frightened when she'd found herself in the middle of that loud, dangerous crowd, she was terrified by the way Burke, with just a look, a touch of the hand, could cause her to wish for the impossible.

  Youthful dreams she'd worked so hard to put behind her returned, full-blown and enticing, like sweet, fragrant lilacs after a long harsh winter.

  "When I was growing up in Nashville, I wore it in braids. I also had freckles and a mouth filled with railroad tracks."

  "I like your freckles." He ran a fingertip over her cheekbones. "My sister Noel wore braces," Burke revealed. "She hated them. But now she has a beautiful, smile."

  His hand cupped the back of her neck and his eyes met hers. "Such orthodontia obviously worked just as well for you."

  This had to stop. Now. Before she forgot where they were. Another moment of this sweet torment and she would be pulling him down on the bed beside her. Knowing that her mother and sisters were on the other side of that door, she tried again to dispel the sensual web settling over them.

  "Burke." His name came out as a soft exclamation as his fingertip circled her lips. "Please."

  Seeming entranced with the shape and texture of her lips, he ignored her whispered plea. "I have been thinking about you, Sabrina Darling," Burke murmured. "Night and day, thoughts of you fill my mind."

  Sabrina didn't think it prudent to admit that he certainly wasn't alone there. "I wouldn't have thought I was your type."

  He chuckled. "Neither would I. And I would have been wrong." Tangling her hair in his hands, he dipped his head and gave her a kiss so sweet it nearly brought tears to tier eyes.

  Sweet. She was so infinitely sweet. As his tongue slipped past her parted lips and was welcomed into the warmth of her mouth, he heard her soft, murmured approval, and felt a. swelling of emotion stronger than anything he'd ever known.

  Other women had made him want. Other women had made him ache. But no other woman had ever made him experience this emotional and spiritual need. She was like no woman he'd ever met. And Burke knew that if he searched the world over, he would never find anyone like her. Which was why he decided against stripping that flowered dress from her lissome body and burying himself in her soft welcoming warmth.

  Burke still wasn't sure what he was feeling toward this woman. But he knew that whatever was happening between them, she deserved more than a quick, furtive tumble in the sheets.

  He'd tried to keep his distance since that night in the limousine. He'd tried to give them both time to adjust to these unsettling emotions. He'd also been going crazy, hungering for a taste of Sabrina Darling's sweet lips.

  Breaking the heated contact, he clasped her head between his hands and stared down at her lovely, flushed face. His
breath was ragged. As was hers. "You need your rest."

  Loath to sever the silken bonds of pleasure, she ran her palms down his back, reveling in the feel of muscle and sinew. "I told you, I'm fine."

  "Oh, you are a great deal more than fine, Sabrina Darling." Still looking directly into her eyes, he grazed the tip of her breast with a fingertip, pleased when he felt it ripen beneath his touch.

  A shudder of emotion rippled through her. She envisioned his dark head nestled between the thrust of her swelling breasts, imagined the feel of his lips on her burning flesh, fantasized him taking her tingling nipple between his strong white teeth.

  She was trembling from his touch. Burke watched the myriad emotions in her eyes, each more erotic than the last, and knew that he'd never wanted a woman so badly.

  Which was why to take her now, when she was still shaken and vulnerable from this afternoon's incident, would be unconscionable.

  It was out of sheer willpower that he released her and pushed himself to his feet.

  Still caught up in her sensual fantasy, Sabrina stared up at him, uncomprehendingly.

  "I seem to have acquired a bad habit of choosing the worst possible time and place to make love to you."

  He ran the pad of his thumb along her bruised cheek and frowned again as he thought how badly she could have been harmed. On his account.

  "Rest well, ma chère. Tomorrow, after I have won the race, we shall celebrate in style."

  "You sound awfully confident," she complained, even as she secretly admitted that his boast, which would have seemed like arrogance from any other man, suited Burke perfectly.

  "About the race, I am confident." He lifted her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles. "About the celebration, I am hopeful."

  With that he was gone. Leaving Sabrina wanting. And wondering how she was going to get through the next twenty-four hours.

  8

  The course for the Grand Prix de Montacroix curved past the Giraudeau palace, beyond the stables, around the north end of the lake, past the cathedral and the casino, before looping around, through a five-hundred-year-old stone tunnel cut into the Montacroix Alps, into a series of three hairpin turns, through the part of town dedicated to commerce, with its banks and stock exchange, finally returning again to the palace.