by Leanne Banks
Nic opened the door for her.
“I hope it’s cooler now. I burned up on the drive over here,” she said.
“Goldie did a little magic. You should be more comfortable now.”
“Thank you,” she said.
“Thank you.” He leaned toward her slowly and pressed his mouth just next to hers. It could have been a kiss on her cheek, but it just missed the mark. It could have been her mouth, but it wasn’t. He almost made her forget that she was dressed like his grandmother.
* * *
Nic watched Pippa putter away in the POS mobile. She continued to make him admire her. He tried to name a woman who would be willing to disguise herself as a woman thirty years older and drive a wreck of an automobile just to check on a dying woman who was not related to her. Pippa was different. He’d known that from the beginning.
He returned to the front door.
“Nic, darling, come sit with me for a moment, please,” his mother called. “Ask Goldie to bring you a Scotch. Or whatever it is that you drink.”
“No need,” he said. “It’s early for that.”
His mother glanced up from her wide-brimmed hat. “Haven’t you heard? It’s five o’clock somewhere.” She rang the little bell Goldie had given her, insisting that she ring it anytime she wanted anything.
Goldie immediately appeared. “Yes, Miss Amelie.”
“Please fix a drink for Nic. His usual,” she said.
Nic sank into the chair beside her. “How’s the book?”
“I fell asleep, so I don’t know,” she said. “But I’m loving the sunshine. You will have many stars in your crown for bringing me to Chantaine.”
“That was Pippa’s doing,” he said.
“And you’re quite taken with her,” his mother said and sipped her lemonade.
“I wouldn’t say that,” he said, irritated at her suggestion.
“No, but I’m dying, so I can speak the truth,” she said and shot him a knowing glance from the top of her sunglasses. “I would never ever suggest going after a royal especially because Paul and I made a bit of a mess with the Devereauxs back in the day. That said, I can tell the princess is also taken with you.”
Goldie delivered his Scotch and Nic took a long drink. “Yes, that’s why she dumped me like garbage several months ago.”
His mother waved her hand dismissively. “Family’s a tricky thing. You ought to know. I’m quite impressed that she’s made such an effort to please a dying woman. Especially when her family wouldn’t approve. I can’t help believing some part of her is trying to help you.”
“If so, then that part is buried very deep,” Nic said dryly.
“You have to find your own way. I’ll just tell you that some people are worth fighting for. Some people are your destiny,” she said.
“You’re speaking of Dad,” he said, always stunned by the fervency of her devotion to his father.
“I am. He would steal for me. He would die for me. He would go to prison for me. He would do anything for me. I hope you’ll know that kind of love,” she said and leaned back against the chaise longue.
* * *
After a lovely lunch and bit of shopping spent with Nic’s mother, Pippa prepared herself for her afternoon and evening scheduled with Robert Speight, the world-famous soccer player from England.
“Aren’t you excited?” Bridget asked as she helped Pippa get ready for an afternoon outing. “He’s so hot. Stefan protested. He wanted to put you with a count from Italy, but I insisted. You deserve a treat after all the academic work you’ve been doing along with being such a good auntie. Good Lord, don’t you ever go shopping?” Bridget continued. “All I see are long skirts and blouses.”
“I haven’t had a lot of time for shopping,” Pippa said, wishing she didn’t feel such a strong sense of dread about the setup with the soccer player. She feared he was going to be quite disappointed and bored.
“Well, there’s always catalogs and online shopping. For that matter, the palace stylist would be happy—” She broke off as she whisked through the hangers of clothing in Pippa’s closet. “Don’t you even own a cute little pair of shorts?”
“I’m sure there are some in there somewhere. I just prefer skirts. They’re more comfortable,” Pippa said and reached for a beige linen skirt that flowed to her calves.
“Absolutely not,” Bridget said, scooping the skirt back from her. “If you insist on wearing a skirt,” she muttered, pushing through a few more hangers. “Ah,” she said, pulling out one of Bridget’s few above-the-knee skirts. “Here, this one will work.”
“I’m not sure it fits anymore,” Pippa murmured, holding the pink skirt against her. “And I think I may have stained the blouse that goes with it.”
Bridget pulled out a white scoop-neck cotton blouse. “There. It will be perfect with sandals. Why did you cancel the salon appointment I made for you yesterday? I told you about the new treatment. Smooth, shiny hair and because you’re Miss Practical, you won’t have to spend so much of your time styling it every day.”
“I don’t spend that much time, now,” Pippa said. “I either pull it back or put it on top of my head.”
“Hmm,” Bridget said and studied Pippa for a long uncomfortable moment. Bridget took her hand and led her to the sitting area of Pippa’s suite. “I’m not sensing a lot of enthusiasm about your outing with the soccer player.” She sighed. “Please tell me you’re not still pining for that terrible Nic Lafitte.”
Pippa looked away. “Of course I’m not pining for him. But I’m not pining for a setup, either. Think about it. Did you like it when Stefan set you up with men hoping for a romance or marriage?”
“I hated it,” Bridget said. “Fought it with every bit of my strength, but most of those men were at least ten years older than me. Robert is your age. And he’s regarded as one of the most eligible bachelors in the world. I’m not trying to arrange a marriage. I just want you to have a little fun. You’re due.”
Pippa gave a slow nod. “I appreciate the sentiment. You’re sweet to want me to have some fun.”
Bridget met her gaze and groaned. “But you’re not at all interested. Well, at least give the poor man a try. Trust me when I say I didn’t have to do any coaxing to make this happen. He was more than happy to spend the day and evening with you. And who knows? You may have a fabulous time. Promise me you’ll try to have fun.”
“I’ll do my best and I’ll also try to make sure that Mr. Speight is entertained,” Pippa said.
Pippa treated the date as if it were a project. She planned to take the soccer player on a tour of the island, stopping at a few of the famous beaches. If time permitted, she’d arranged for a brief turn on the royal yacht.
Robert Speight was an impressive specimen. He stood over six feet tall with a well-muscled body. His hair was red and skin extremely fair. The exact opposite of Nic, she thought, and immediately wished she hadn’t made the comparison. Their date started out well enough with Pippa giving a running commentary on the history of Chantaine as she showed him points of interest. It was only when she saw his head rolling back against the headrest, his eyes closed and his mouth open that she got her first clue that she’d begun to bore the poor man.
Thank goodness she’d arranged for a picnic lunch at a private beach. She and Robert sat on a large blanket and ate food from a gourmet basket prepared by the palace chef. Robert asked for photos, but kept fighting the yawns.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Late night last night partying,” he said waggling his bushy red eyebrows suggestively. “If you know what I mean.”
She didn’t, so she just made a vague little sound. “I thought it was very generous of you to lend your name to the charity fundraiser this evening. So many people are looking forward to meeting you.”
He shrugged. “I h
ave to do a few of these every now and then for the sake of my image. It helps me get other endorsements. This one included exotic beaches and a date with a princess. What’s not to like?” He leaned toward her and placed his hand over hers. “I’ve heard Chantaine has some nude beaches. You want to take me there?”
Pippa blinked at the proposal and tried not to laugh. She’d spent a lifetime trying not to be photographed in a bathing suit. A nude beach was totally out of the question. “I’m not really permitted on the nude beach,” she whispered. “Photographs live forever. If you have time tomorrow, I can arrange for a driver to take you.”
“But it would be much more enjoyable with you,” he said.
“I’m so sorry,” she said and took back her hand. She was going to have a chat with Bridget tomorrow, she promised herself.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Pippa received a visit from the palace stylist, Peter, to make sure she was properly dressed and coiffed. Dressed in a designer gown that reminded her of a pink cocktail napkin, she bit her teeth. Peter applied more makeup than she wore in a year. He sighed and swore over her hair. “A keratin treatment would change your life.”
“It takes too long,” she said.
“It’s not as if you would have to sit in a salon like the rest of the world. We would bring the cosmetologist to the palace. Your hair would be straight for three to four months after one treatment.”
Pippa stared into the mirror at herself and made a face. “I don’t know if I want it straight.”
Peter lifted one eyebrow. “As you wish, Your Highness.”
“Your way of saying I’m crazy,” she said.
Both of Peter’s eyebrows flew upward, which was quite an accomplishment given the Botox he regularly had injected into his forehead. “Pardon me, Your Highness if I offended you.”
“It’s true. You think I should get the treatment and have straight hair. Straight hair is more fashionable than crazy, wavy hair.”
Peter seemed to work on his restrained. “It’s my job to keep the royal family informed of current fashion. Your hair…” He began and moved his hands, but couldn’t seem to find the words.
“I hate my hair and love my hair because it’s different,” she told him. “You have to admit, it’s not like anyone else’s hair in the family.”
Peter tilted his head to one side. “You make an excellent point, Your Highness. We shall begin to capitalize on your hair,” he said. “We shall make your hair a new trend. We can name it the Princess Pippa hairstyle. Perfect.”
Alarm shot through her. “No need to go that far,” she said.
He lifted his hands. “I can see it now. Magazine shoots, commercials. It will be fantastic publicity for the royal family.”
“Not in my lifetime,” she said quietly.
He sighed. “Begging your pardon, ma’am, you give this impression of being a people pleaser, yet you somehow stop me in my tracks when I try to expand you.”
“And you like me for that, don’t you, Peter?” she said more than asked, unable to hold back a grin.
Peter shook his head but smiled. “I do. Let me spray you one more time,” he said lifting a can of hair spray.
She lifted both her hands to block him. “I’ll die if you do.”
“An exaggeration,” he said.
“You would know because you’re the master of exaggeration,” she retorted, her hands still braced to shield herself from the hair spray.
Peter groaned. “You make this difficult for me, ma’am. What if this man is your future husband?”
“No worries,” she said, adapting a phrase she’d learned from Bridget. “He pushed hard for me to take him to a nude beach.”
Peter frowned. “A cad. In that case, perhaps I should give you sea salt spray. It will take your curls to a new level.”
Pippa laughed. “No need. Thanks for your help tonight.”
“Someday, a man will sweep you off your feet.”
Pippa laughed again, and her mind automatically turned to thoughts of Nic. She clamped down her thoughts and feelings. “I prefer my feet on the ground.”
Thirty minutes later, she joined Robert Speight in a limo headed for the charity event. “Nice dress,” Robert said, staring at her cleavage. “Are you sure I can’t talk you into a trip to one of your nude beaches tomorrow?”
Pippa refused to honor the subject, let alone the question. “Did you know that I’m working on a doctorate in genealogical studies? I had some extra time this afternoon while I was waiting on alterations for my gown. Did you know that you may be distantly related to Attila the Hun?” The truth was just about anyone could be distantly related to Attila.
Robert shot her a blank look. “Attila the Hun?” he echoed.
“Yes, he’s quite famous.”
“I’m drawing a blank,” Robert said. “Can you refresh my memory?”
“He was a ferocious warrior. The Romans were terrified of him. He was excellent with a bow and an amazing horseman. Quite the sportsman,” she said.
Robert stuck out his chest with pride and smiled. “Like me.”
“Exactly. He was known as a conqueror.” And barbarian.
“I’ve got to make a little speech tonight. Maybe I could mention him,” he said. “Maybe spice things up for people interested in history.”
She opened her mouth to correct him, but couldn’t quite make herself do it. “Just as long as you understand that I said that you may be related to Attila. I would need to do an in-depth study to verify the possibility.”
“Hey, it’s a good story. That’s all that counts to me,” he said, leaning toward her as if he were going to kiss her. “You’re cute. Let’s make some private plans after the event.”
“Oh, I—” The limousine pulled to a stop. She glanced out the window, thankful for the interruption. “We’re here.”
“Yeah,” Robert said as the driver opened the door. “First time with a princess. In more ways than one,” he added against her ear as he folded his hand around her waist.
Pippa’s stomach rolled.
She stepped out of the car and felt a thousand camera flashes as she strode toward the entrance of the building. Robert grabbed her hand and she struggled to free it. She pointed at a camera and she took advantage when he loosened his grip. Clasping her hands firmly together, she walked inside and smiled at the crowd that applauded.
“Pippa, Pippa!”
She was surprised to hear so many call her name. She’d always thought of herself as the anonymous Devereaux.
Robert put his arm around her and whispered in her ear, “Give me a kiss. They’ll love it.”
She bit her lip and turned her head. “I see some of your fans,” she said.
“Where?” he asked.
Moments later, they entered the ballroom and Pippa waved to the crowd. There, several people screamed out loud. “Rob, Rob!”
“There you go,” she said, but she needn’t have. Robert was fixated on the crowd, waving and throwing kisses.
They were led to the head table and Pippa took her seat. The rest of the guests took their seats. Instinctively, she glanced around and her gaze landed on a man with broad shoulders, dark eyes and dark hair. Tonight he wore that Stetson as if to proclaim to all of Chantaine and her family that he didn’t give a damn.
She liked him even more for that.
“This is fun,” Robert said. “Just tell me it’s not another rubber chicken dinner,” he said.
“Lobster,” she said and barely managed not to roll her eyes.
She felt Nic’s gaze on her. He was silently laughing.
“So that guy’s name is Atowla?”
“Attila,” she said. “Attila the Hun.” She was caught between a barbarian and a pirate. She wasn’t sure which was wors
e.
Chapter Six
A server discreetly handed Pippa a piece of paper with her sorbet. Putting it in her lap, she opened it and glanced at it. Meet me on the second floor in 5. N. Pippa took a quick sip of water and briefly met Nic’s gaze. She shook her head.
Her so-called date whispered in her ear. “It’s time for more pictures,” he said. “Stand up and I’ll give you a passionate kiss. The press will love it.”
Pippa nearly choked. “I was just going to tell you that I need to, uh, powder my nose. I’ll be back shortly.”
Robert’s face fell. “Well, damn.”
“I won’t be long,” she said and stood. She gave her security man a wave of dismissal and quickly walked to the hall outside the ballroom. Restroom was to the right, she remembered. Pippa had attended several events at this venue. The second floor offered a lovely view of the beach. Her stomach took a dip. Nic clearly remembered that fact, too.
She headed toward the restroom.
“Pippa.”
She automatically paused, her heart leaping at the sound of Nic’s voice. Pippa sucked in a quick, sharp breath and forced herself not to turn around. She didn’t need to because Nic was at her side in seconds. “This is not a good idea. Go away,” she whispered.
“Your Highness,” a woman called. “Princess Phillipa.”
Pippa frowned and turned at the distress in the woman’s voice. She stared into the lovely heart-shaped face of a very young-looking woman. She was dressed in a miniskirt and tank top.
“You can’t have him. I’m having his baby.”
Pippa dropped her jaw. “Pardon me?”
“You can’t have Robert. He belongs to me. He’s all excited about being with a princess, but it will pass. He’ll come back to me. He has to,” she said and began to sob.
Pippa instinctively gathered the girl into her arms and glanced searchingly at Nic. “You’re getting too upset,” she said.
“He belongs to me. I’m having his baby,” the young woman continued to sob. “He belongs to me.”