by JoAnn Ross
He stood back, observed her carefully and wanted to believe that fatigue from a sleepless night was the only thing standing between them.
Burke didn't want Sabrina to leave. But he also knew, from the determined look in her eyes, that short of tying her to the bedposts, he could not keep her here with him.
"I'm sorry about your gown." He traced the rent with his finger. "I'll buy you a new one."
"That's not necessary."
His dark eyes narrowed. "I said, I shall purchase a replacement."
The power was back, in spades. As was the mantle of unquestionable authority. Sabrina welcomed it; it reminded her that she had struggled too hard for her into cede it to any man. Even a prince who could make her burn.
"Fine. Feel free to buy an entire storeful of nightgowns if that will make you happy."
She was angry. And unhappy. And Burke was damned if he could understand why.
Not wanting to end things on such an unpleasant note, he said, "Do you ride?"
The question came from left field. "Ride? You mean horses?"
"Exactly."
"Of course." She eyed him warily. "Sonny had a stable of thoroughbreds. We all grew up on horseback. Why?"
"I'd like you to go riding with me this morning. We could have a picnic. After you have a nap," he tacked on, deciding that things might go smoother if she was not so fatigued.
"I have rehearsals."
"I happen to know that my family has invited your family on a cruise of the lake today. I also know that they accepted."
"Well, then, since I'm going to be aboard the royal yacht, I'm afraid I'll have to decline your offer, Your Highness."
So they were back to that. Wondering what had happened to all those soft endearments she'd moaned in his ear all night, Burke fought down a surge of unwelcome temper.
"I'm certain my family will understand that you have accepted another invitation."
"They'll get the wrong idea."
She thought of Prince Eduard, and his demand that Burke marry and provide him with an heir. If he thought his son was involved with a commoner, he would be less than pleased. And if he knew he was sleeping with her, he'd undoubtedly hit the roof.
"On the contrary, I think they'd probably get the correct idea."
He approached her, looped his arms unthreateningly around her waist and, ignoring her warning glare, kissed her. A long, delicious kiss that left her shaken.
"Come riding with me, Sabrina," he murmured, his hand stroking her back in a way that was anything but soothing. "The coronation is only two days away. There won't be many chances for us to be alone."
He kissed her cheek. Her temple. Her neck. "How can you allow such a golden opportunity to slip away?"
The truth was, she couldn't. "I suppose, I have to eat lunch."
Burke didn't even try to conceal his pleasure. Or his masculine satisfaction. "I'll have the cook prepare a basket. Whatever you like. Caviar, pheasant, pate, champagne—"
"And to think I used to be satisfied with hot dogs and potato salad," she said on a laugh, giving in as she'd known all along she would.
Burke was right. Their time together was slipping quickly away, like sands through the hourglass she'd seen in Prince Leon's armory. Sabrina knew that if she passed up a chance to spend a halcyon afternoon with the man she loved, she'd spend the rest of her life regretting it. He gave her one last mind-blinding kiss, then let her leave. Burke was unsurprised to find that he missed her the moment she was gone.
Immersed in her own tumultuous emotions—dazzling memories of Burke's lovemaking, anticipation of their tryst, dread of their inevitable parting—Sabrina failed to see the figure hidden in shadows, watching with avid interest as she slipped silently back into her own room.
10
"Race you to the grove," Sabrina called back over her shoulder, spurring her mount into a gallop. Behind her she heard a gruff masculine curse, then the pounding of hooves on turf as they raced along a ridge. The crystal blue waters of the lake stretched away below, sunlight glistening like diamonds on its smooth surface.
Sabrina laughed, reveling in the feel of the cool breeze ruffling her hair, delighted by the pure synchrony of her body with the tall gray horse beneath her. She stayed low in the saddle, falling into the rhythm of the horse as she sent him plunging toward the stand of oak trees that marked the finish line.
She was almost there, victory was nearly in her grasp when the powerful jet black stallion charged by, its hooves throwing up clods of moist earth as it edged her out first by a nose, a head, then finally a full length.
"Next time I'll beat you," she vowed, pulling up her horse as she reached the grove of trees. "I swear I will."
Feeling more carefree than he had in months, Burke grinned unrepentantly down at her from astride the splendid, glistening black stallion.
Gone was the dazzling gypsy of that first night. Nor was there any hint of the sexy Apache dancer he'd witnessed during rehearsal. Today, clad in a crimson, snap-front shirt, tight black jeans and a flat black fringed hat, tilted at a jaunty angle, Sabrina reminded him of a South American gaucho. Burke realized that he'd come to look forward to seeing what appealing character Sabrina would assume each day.
"Why, Mademoiselle Darling, didn't your famous father ever teach you that it's bad manners for a lady to swear?"
"It's also bad manners for a man to use his superior strength to humiliate a woman."
She wasn't really humiliated; far from it. But a highly competitive person by nature, she was a little piqued that Burke had stolen the race from her at the last minute.
His expression immediately sobered, but the teasing smile remained in his warm, dark eyes. "I didn't mean to humiliate you," he said as he dismounted and came over to her side.
The feel of his strong fingers around her waist, as he lifted her down from the horse, warmed her skin. "Well, you did."
"I'm sorry." He moved so that his body was brushing against hers. "Whatever can I do to make it up to you, mademoiselle?"
Heat from his body was seeping into her own bloodstream. "Nothing," she pouted prettily, enjoying the game.
"Nothing?" His fingers and thumbs caressed her ribs with a tantalizingly tender touch.
"Not a thing," she insisted with a toss of her head.
"Are you so sure of that?" Lifting her hand to his lips, he pressed a kiss at the base of each long, slender finger. "There must be some small penance I could perform."
When his tongue drew a moist, warm circle at the center of her palm, Sabrina experienced a shock of pleasure so strong that her legs threatened to give way from underneath her.
"I really wanted to win," she complained breathlessly, wrapping her arms around his neck as much for support as in passion. Her head was buried in his shirt and she could hear the rapid beat of his heart beneath her cheek.
"Ah, but ma chère," he murmured, lacing his fingers through her hair to tilt her head back, "the day is not yet done."
The day had taken on a still and golden hue. "Does that mean that you'll race me again?"
His mouth curved into a slow, knowing smile. "It means," he said, briefly brushing his lips against hers, "that before this day is over, we will both be winners, Sabrina."
His words were spoken with the usual cocky self-assurance, but Sabrina could read the unspoken question in his eyes. After last night, she wondered why he felt the need to ask.
As he read the answer in her eyes, Burke felt an urge to lower her to the lush, flower dotted meadow. But always aware of his silent shadow, he resisted.
Next time, he vowed. After the coronation. When all this dangerous talk of rebellion is over.
"Come with me." He linked their fingers together and led her into the grove.
"Anywhere," Sabrina answered, meaning it.
Hidden amidst the trees, was a small cottage. Burke extracted a heavy iron key from the pocket of his fawn-colored jodhpurs and inserted the key into the ornately carved lock.
"This cottage originally belonged to the first royal gamekeeper," he said, pushing the heavy oaken door open. "We've added electricity, although it's been known to go out during thunderstorms. Since it's small enough to allow it to be heated by the fireplace, we haven't bothered with central heating. And although my father installed a telephone, Chantal took it out when she used the cottage as a studio for her painting. She claimed it was too much of an interruption."
"A telephone can be horribly intrusive," Sabrina murmured with a slow, sensual smile.
"Agreed." Unable to resist the lure of her satiny skin, he nuzzled her neck. "I've been racking my brains trying to think of someplace we could be alone. Someplace I could make love to you without danger of interruption."
Sabrina appreciated his thoughtfulness.
"It's perfect." The cottage was, indeed, both serene and private.
"I was afraid you might find it too rustic."
Since she loved him, Sabrina felt she owed it to Burke to be completely honest. "Actually, I think I prefer it to the gilt and glamour of the palace. As beautiful as your family's home is," she said quickly, not wanting to offend.
But instead of appearing offended, Burke laughed. "Now you sound like Noel. Every time my father turns around, my sister has come up with yet another scheme to, as he puts it, give away all our worldly goods."
"You sound as if you approve."
"As chairman of the Montacroix social services agency, it is my duty to help her do it," he said simply. "Traditionally the people of Montacroix have been taken care of from the cradle to the grave," he explained, alluding to the wealth of services provided by the privileged pocket principality.
As he talked, his hand pulled her shirt free of her waistband. Her skin was warm and silken; he could feel the increased beat of her heart as his palm cupped her lace-covered breast.
"And while I agree with that idea in concept," Burke continued, struggling to keep his mind on their conversation, "I've also been trying to look at different ways of providing essential service."
"That's probably for the best," she agreed breathlessly as she moved against him in unmistakable feminine invitation.
He slipped his knee between her legs and ran his tongue in a hot wet swath down her arched neck. "We are becoming a global economy. And although my father steadfastly refuses to believe it, there are other places in the world besides Montacroix."
His knee, pressed against her aching warmth, was making her wet. Wanting to give him a bit of his own erotic torture, she pressed her palm against his hard male heat. "I doubt that your father would be thrilled to hear you talk this way."
The touch of her hand against his sex, the caress of her fingers, made Burke feel as if he were going to explode. "He considers it sheer heresy." His breath was rough and ragged and his hands, as they struggled with the pearlized snaps on her scarlet shirt, were far from steady.
From what she'd seen of Prince Eduard Giraudeau, Sabrina knew that his reputation for an iron will and blustering temper was well deserved. That his son and heir could disagree with him and still maintain a working relationship spoke highly of Burke's diplomatic skills.
"Yet you don't hesitate to press your views," she gasped as her shirt fluttered to the floor.
Beneath the shirt she was wearing a lace-and-satin confection emblazoned with poppies. "I refuse to apologize for speaking the truth."
When he kissed her breasts, and her sweet, intoxicating, flowery scent played havoc with his senses, he felt the last of his self-control—that steely, reliable restraint he'd worn like a suit of armor for so many of his thirty-five years—ebb away.
When his hot lips captured her lace-clad nipple and tugged, Sabrina felt a tug between her thighs.
"Burke?" she said on a soft, breathless little sigh of pleasure.
His fingers deftly dispatched the bra's fastener, giving his mouth access to her fragrant, flushed skin. "What, ma chérie?"
The feel of his mouth against her bare flesh made Sabrina tremble. "I've decided to be gracious and forgive you for winning our race."
Her hands combed through his dark hair; her greedy, avid lips met his and clung. Outside the cottage, a hidden wood thrush sang.
Burke scooped her up into his arms and carried her across the room to the bed, covered in a gaily colored patchwork quilt.
As the perfect afternoon slowly ripened, that was the last either Sabrina or Burke said for a very long time…
It had not escaped Burke's attention that Sabrina and her sisters had a great many loyal fans. Her fame fit her well, he'd decided, after watching her sign autographs with a friendly, unaffected flair.
"The trick," she'd said when he'd mentioned her unpretentious attitude, "is never to make the mistake of believing your press. Because deep down inside, where it counts, I'll always be just a small-town girl from the hills of Tennessee."
Burke understood her words to be a warning, a vivid reminder of the vast differences in their social stratum. But her admonition fell on deaf ears. Because he was finding it increasingly difficult to remember all the reasons why the lovely American performer would not make a perfect princess for his beloved Montacroix. And more important, an exquisite wife and mother for his children.
He was pacing in the garden, considering how to broach the subject Sabrina seemed so determined to avoid, when he turned a corner in the maze and ran into his stepmother.
"I'm sorry." Burke bent down to retrieve the pink and white blossoms that had scattered over the narrow earthen pathway. "I'm afraid I wasn't watching where I was going."
Jessica smiled as she slipped the rosebuds in among the others nestled in the wicker basket she was carrying over her arm. "I assume your mind was on the lovely Sabrina?"
Burke answered her question with one of his own. "May I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Do you remember when you first met my father?"
"I recall every detail of that day. The sky over Mykonos was a bright, cloudless Mediterranean blue. We'd been shooting all morning and I was out of sorts and tired of sitting on that hard, rough rock. While the cameraman worked out a new angle, my attention wandered and all of a sudden, I saw your father, standing on the beach. It sounds like a cliché from every movie I ever made, but our eyes met, and although I knew it was impossible, I could have sworn I heard thunder rumbling in the clear sky."
She laughed, a rich, musical sound that had entranced audiences for ten magical years. "Your father was no less affected. He told me that evening that he felt as if he'd been struck by lightning."
Burke shoved his hands into his back pockets and glared out at the diamond-bright waters of Lake Losange. "I know the feeling."
"Of course you do," Jessica agreed. "No one in the dining room could have missed your initial response to Ms. Darling."
He frowned at the idea that his emotions had been so blatantly obvious. Burke had always prided himself on keeping his inner feelings to himself. A future regent must always appear self-assured and confident, his father had told him time and time again. He must not allow his subjects to know that he suffers the same doubts and fears as they. Such apparent weakness endangers not only the monarchy, but the entire country.
This was the tenet upon which Prince Burke Giraudeau de Montacroix had been reared. And he'd succeeded, admirably. Until a dazzling enchantress had burst into his life, turning everything—including his heart—upside down.
"May I ask you another question?"
Jessica reached out with maternal concern and brushed a lock of dark hair from his furrowed brow. "Certainement."
"How did you feel? When father told you that he loved you?"
"Terrified," Jessica answered promptly.
It was not the answer he'd been expecting. Or hoping for. "But why?"
"Our lives were so different." Jessica waved a graceful hand around the garden maze, her gesture meaning to encompass not only the palace grounds, but the entire kingdom. "Your father was a prince wh
o grew up in a palace. And although I'd starred as a princess in an MGM musical, I honestly didn't believe that I could carry out that role in real life."
"But you were famous," Burke protested. "Your name was linked with the most influential, powerful men in both Europe and America. You were a Hollywood movie star, back when such people were viewed as the most glamorous individuals in the entire world."
Indeed, looking at her now, in her gauzy white dress and wide-brimmed straw hat, with the wicker basket overflowing with roses on her arm, she could have been that lovely young actress who'd charmed so many men on so many continents.
"That was an image carefully cultivated by my studio," Jessica corrected mildly. "The truth was, I'd never stopped thinking of myself as little Jessie Thorne, that barefoot hillbilly girl who grew up in a hollow in West Virginia's coal mining country."
"Sabrina said she never believed her press," Burke murmured, realizing exactly how much this woman he'd come to think of as his mother and the woman he wanted for his wife had in common.
"Sabrina Darling is not only beautiful, she's talented, intelligent, and obviously has her feet well planted on the ground."
"She doesn't think she's princess material."
Jessica reached up and patted his taut cheek. "Then you'll just have to think of something to change her mind, won't you?"
And he would, Burke vowed. After the coronation.
The mood on the day of the precoronation public celebration was definitely festive. This afternoon's performance would be held outdoors in order to accommodate the vast crowd. A stage, along with the towering screen that was so essential to the Darling's performance, had been set up at one end of the parade grounds; across the expanse of dark green grass, vendors from all over the country had set up gaily decorated stalls selling food and drink and hand-crafted, one-of-a-kind items. Members of a Russian circus, dressed in native cossack uniforms, performed daring stunts on horseback, while sad-faced clowns did pratfalls and pretended to throw buckets of water onto the crowd impatiently waiting in the tiered grandstand for the three American performers' arrival.