The Prince's Cowboy Double

by Victoria Chancellor

  The rules of others didn’t apply to a prince, though, and sooner or later Alexi had to make a choice. Gwendolyn just wondered if the king was going to have to orchestrate the courtship and plan the wedding, or if Alexi would take part at last. She had the sudden image of Alexi running away from the church as his Italian bride waited at the altar.

  “Yes, Your Majesty, I see your point. However, the prince is practically a different person now. I’m sure he will enjoy meeting the contessa in Austin tonight.”

  “I certainly hope you are right. I rely upon you, Lady Gwendolyn, to temper his stubborn behavior. As always, you are a steadying influence on my son, and for that, I am grateful.”

  She wanted to crawl beneath the desk and hide her head. King Wilheim trusted her to do her job, which was to represent the royal family to the world and promote the interests of Belegovia. On her first trip to the States with Prince Alexi, she’d failed miserably, losing the prince and substituting Hank McCauley, who, quite frankly, was unprepared for attending a dinner at the governor’s mansion.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty. I will try to be worthy of your kind words.”

  “I know you will. My son may be somewhat negligent in his duties to the throne, but you are always trustworthy. Good day, Lady Gwendolyn.”

  She replaced the handset as the line went dead. Oh, heavens. What had she gotten into? What if the king discovered her deception? He would be so disappointed…Her career would be over, since who else would hire the public relations coordinator who lost a prince?

  She’d return to England a failure and would be forced to endure the “I told you so” looks of her father and brother. They’d never believed she was capable of succeeding in her chosen career. They’d wanted her to find a husband from the peerage and settle into a moldy mansion somewhere outside London to raise a generation of new peers who could look down their aristocratic noses on the lower orders. The exact kind of people who now supported her family by paying admission to Epswich Manor, their ancestral home. Her father would never admit it, but the country house of the earls of Epswich was now little more than a bed-and-breakfast inn.

  “Takin’ a little break?” Hank’s mellow, deep voice startled her so much she nearly fell out of the desk chair. “Whoa, there,” he said, suddenly beside her, his large hands gripping her shoulders. His touch felt so good, so solid, when her world seemed to be spinning out of control. But she couldn’t depend on Hank to give a false illusion of safety when he was a part of the deception she was perpetrating.

  “Thank you,” she said breathlessly as she stepped back. She straightened her suit jacket, which she’d never removed from the events this morning, and smoothed her hair. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

  “I told ol’ Milos that if I had to look at another course or taste any more of that rich, fancy food I was going to hurl onto his clean white tablecloth.”

  Gwendolyn clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. What Hank said shouldn’t have been funny, but he was simply so amusing. His clever comments, unique word choices and Texas accent made her chuckle, even at inappropriate remarks. “I see.”

  “Did you know that you’re supposed to pick up asparagus with your fingers? Or that you can eat caviar out of these little pots with tiny spoons?”

  Gwendolyn smiled at his outraged expression. “Yes, I believe I had heard that.”

  “I sure as heck hope we’re not served asparagus at the fancy dinner tomorrow night, because my mother would rap my knuckles if I pick up veggies with my fingers.”

  “I’m sure many people prefer to eat asparagus with a knife and fork.”

  “Darn right!” he answered indignantly, pacing across the room. He nodded toward the phone. “Did you call the king?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And he bought our story about the prince having a sore throat?”

  “Yes.” The knowledge that Hank had used the word our warmed her heart. She was sure that he’d considered this plan completely daft and entirely her responsibility at first. Did she dare hope that he’d become so involved in the subterfuge that he now considered them partners until the real prince surfaced?

  “I’m afraid I had to promise the king that you—acting as the prince, of course—would be cordial and welcoming to Contessa di Giovanni.”

  “As long as I don’t have to go beyond kissing her fingers or smiling real politely. I’m willing to start ol’ Alexi’s courtship, but darned if I’m gettin’ personal with a strange foreign woman.”

  Again, Gwendolyn hid her smile. “So, you don’t like foreign women.”

  Hank narrowed his eyes. “This is a trick question, isn’t it?”

  “Not really,” she replied, walking across the room to the small refrigerator in an armoire. “I simply wondered what your main objection was to the contessa.”

  “I’m not objectin’ to her, just warning you that my ‘services’ don’t extend to the bedroom.”

  Gwendolyn grabbed a bottle of water with a death grip. “The thought never crossed my mind! I assure you, that will not be an issue. The prince and the contessa have yet to meet.”

  “I’ve heard some of you European aristocrats are pretty wild. I didn’t want to give you the wrong idea.”

  “Mr. McCauley, you are such a snob!”

  “A snob? I’m the most down-to-earth, easygoin’ guy you’ll ever meet.”

  “You denigrate everything that isn’t Texan, for one thing. And you are absolutely convinced everyone else on the planet is inferior to those people you know personally.”

  He looked taken aback by her comments. Well, perhaps he’d never thought about his form of snobbery, but he should. No wonder he was still single when he was obviously heterosexual and definitely old enough to settle down.

  Gwendolyn pitied the woman Hank finally married unless she was from Ranger Springs, Texas, and loved all things cowboy.

  Someone like Kerry Lynn Jacks, no doubt. Although Hank hadn’t seemed overly jealous of his former girlfriend running off with Prince Alexi, he might be hiding his true feelings. Perhaps Hank was still in love with the waitress.

  The idea caused another emotion—this one more intense and less pleasant—to flutter inside Gwendolyn’s chest. Jealousy. She didn’t want to think of Hank and the waitress. She wanted to see him expand his horizons, change some of his rigid thinking and admit that “foreign” women could also have merit. British women, for example.

  Oh, what nonsense! She had no business thinking of Hank in this manner. This was just another example of how confused and convoluted her thinking had become since Prince Alexi had run off and left her “high and dry,” as Hank would say. She was half mad at herself and entirely peeved with Alexi when Hank spoke again.

  “I’m no snob,” he almost growled. “I just know who I am and what I like.”

  She whirled so she faced him. “Well, perhaps you could learn to like French wines, Russian caviar and handheld asparagus!”

  He stepped closer, leaning forward in an intimidating male style she’d seen before. “I don’t see why I should!”

  Gwendolyn placed her hands on her hips to keep from curling them into fists and shaking them at Hank. “Maybe so no one mistakes you for a narrow-minded cowboy without any interests outside of the bedroom!”

  “That’s better than being recognized as a cold Brit with no interest in the bedroom.”

  “Oh, that’s entirely unfair. You have no idea what interests I have!”

  He leaned even closer, so close she could feel his hot breath on her face. “Oh, yeah? Why don’t you tell me about them?”

  “Ahem. Excuse me.”

  The sound of Milos Anatole’s cultured voice cut through the tension like a knife. Gwendolyn jumped back; Hank straightened so abruptly she barely saw him move. Suddenly, three feet and some angry words stood between them.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation, but we need to fit the tuxedo for tonight.”

  “That’s qui
te all right. We were finished discussing that topic, anyway.”

  Hank muttered something that sounded like “the hell we were,” but she couldn’t be sure. Besides, she felt as though she’d been sparring with Lennox Lewis for at least three rounds.

  “I have some correspondence to attend to while you continue with Mr. McCauley,” she said, addressing Milos. “Please let me know if you need me for anything.”

  “Yes, Lady Gwendolyn. Come along, Mr. McCauley.”

  “I’m not a damned dog,” he said peevishly. Despite her earlier anger, Gwendolyn found herself hiding yet another smile. He might be exasperating, but Hank McCauley could also be very entertaining, even to a “cold Brit.”

  HANK KNEW HE LOOKED LIKE a million bucks as he walked from the dining room in the back of the governor’s mansion into the fancy double parlor. Everything looked very old, expensive and polished. He’d never anticipated dining with the governor and a couple of members of the U.S. House of Representatives, not to mention a half-dozen influential business and civic leaders. He’d never thought he’d be escorting such a beautiful, intelligent and cultured woman to anything resembling this fancy dinner.

  Not the contessa. While she was beautiful, she didn’t hold a candle to Lady Wendy. Tonight she was dressed in a simply cut dark blue satin gown with one of those draped necklines and an enticingly low back. Her bare skin was partially covered by some type of lace that swirled and beckoned for him to trace each curlicue. Not that he was going to give in to the urge. He just wished the damn dress didn’t keep begging him to touch Gwendolyn’s smooth, pale skin, especially when they were socializing in the Texas governor’s mansion.

  “Port, Your Highness?” the governor’s wife asked as she beckoned a waiter over.

  Hank smiled and nodded.

  “I’m so sorry your voice is temporarily silent,” their hostess continued. “I so love a foreign accent.”

  Hank smiled and looked down at Wendy, who was no doubt thinking the same thing about the Texas accent of most of the people attending tonight. It was probably a bad sign that he’d begun to sense what she was thinking, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that right now, either.

  He was going to try to relax, never forgetting he was Prince Alexi, and enjoy tonight’s festivities. This might be his only opportunity to be in such exalted company.

  “Excuse me,” the first lady of Texas said. “I need to thank the congressman for making a special trip home from Washington.” She walked toward the doorway to speak to a portly man who looked vaguely familiar.

  Hank smiled and nodded while Gwendolyn stood beside him, silent but far from unnoticed.

  The Contessa di Giovanni strolled over, her own escort a slightly built, dark Italian guy who looked like he should be selling shoes at Dillards. “Good evening, Your Highness,” she said in her heavily accented English. Would the real prince enjoy listening to her husky voice for the next fifty years or so? He’d better, if his daddy was convinced this contessa would make a great princess. King Wilheim seemed like a real determined man—not to mention a powerful one.

  “Contessa,” Hank managed to rasp out as he’d been practicing. He placed a hand to his throat, wincing as though he were in pain.

  “Your poor throat,” the contessa purred as she placed a hand on his arm. “I am so sorry this happened on your trip abroad.”

  Hank nodded in sympathy.

  “His Highness mentioned earlier today that he is equally sorry the two of you will not be able to converse, but he knows he will have other opportunities in the near future to speak to you privately.”

  The contessa beamed, which made her appear much more appealing. At the same time, she looked a little calculating, so Hank wasn’t entirely fooled into thinking she wanted ol’ Alexi for his good looks and personality. A prince was a good catch for anyone, even someone who already had a title.

  Hank wondered if Gwendolyn thought that way. Had she dreamed of marrying a prince when she was growing up in England? Of course, pickings were pretty slim in the British royal family. There was that one younger son, Edward—kind of nice-looking if you didn’t mind his receding hairline—but he was finally married. To a public relations executive, no less.

  “Contessa, would you and Mr. Previa join us?” their hostess asked, returning with a white-coated waiter who bore several small glasses of dark red port. Hank silently thanked Milos for his hours of instruction, which had included protocol on drinking and toasting.

  Hank whispered in Wendy’s ear. She listened, then nodded in approval. “His Highness, Prince Alexi, would like to make a toast to our gracious hostess for providing such a wonderful opportunity to meet Contessa di Giovanni.”

  Everyone raised his or her glass to the first lady of Texas while she smiled. Apparently he’d thought of the right thing to whisper, even if Wendy had put his sentiment in a little better wording. She sure did a good job making everyone feel special. Hank wondered if the real prince appreciated her, and if so, how much. Surely a woman like Wendy would make a darn fine princess. Heck, she already knew what to do and say in any situation. She and the prince would have some good-looking kids, too.

  Hell, he and Wendy would have good-looking kids.

  Oh, man, that thought had come out of left field. He had no business imagining little dark-haired, polite children with a mischievous glint in their blue eyes flecked with gold. He and Wendy were as different as…well, the contessa and that white-coated waiter. Red-blooded Texan and blue-blooded aristocrats didn’t mix any better than chicken hawks and eagles.

  “Prince Alexi?”

  He turned to Wendy, who had placed a hand on his sleeve. Apparently he’d been daydreaming while the conversation had gone on around him.

  He raised an eyebrow and took another sip of port. The fancy stuff was pretty good if you liked sweet wine. Real different from a good, cold beer.

  The contessa asked in her heavily accented English, “I wondered if you will you be visiting the president at his ranch while you are here in Texas.”

  Hank frowned a little and shrugged.

  “We haven’t confirmed a visit yet. Events in Washington may keep the president away,” Gwendolyn explained.

  “What a shame,” the contessa sighed. “Such a powerful man. I would love to meet him.”

  Hank kept from rolling his eyes by reminding himself that Alexi may end up marrying the Italian beauty with a lust for power. No doubt about it—she wanted to become a princess herself, then a queen. And who was he, a retired rodeo cowboy, to know if that’s what was best for Belegovia? If Wendy thought the contessa was right for Alexi, Hank knew he had to play along.

  He raised his glass and whispered hoarsely, “Splendid.”

  The contessa beamed. Wendy raised an eyebrow. “If you will excuse us, Contessa di Giovanni, Mr. Previa, we need to speak to the secretary of state regarding some tourism opportunities.”

  The two Italians nodded. Hank felt the contessa’s calculating eyes on him as he walked with Wendy toward a group of men at the end of the room, standing beside a white marble fireplace.

  Too bad he couldn’t admit who he really was, he thought as he pretended to whisper intelligent conversation in Wendy’s ear and she spoke to the powerful politicians. These men all had connections to the rich and famous, and many of them owned their own cutting horses. He could really use their influence to get his training facility off the ground. He’d planned to go to one of the futurity sales next month where he’d probably see some of these men or their representatives among the bidders. Would they comment on his likeness to the prince they’d had dinner and drinks with in Austin? He’d have to be on his guard to keep from slipping up.

  Soon the drinks and talk came to an end. He managed to murmur “marvelous evening” to his host and hostess at the front door of the governor’s mansion, accepting their warm goodbyes and hopes for a future relationship with Belegovia. Considering Texas was fives times as big and the economy was much, much larger in his home sta
te than in the European country, he wondered what the two had in common. He’d have to ask Lady Wendy later.

  With her nearly at his side—she always walked a step behind him while in public—he descended the steps and walked the short distance to the wrought-iron gates and waiting limo. They hadn’t taken the Land Rover tonight, relying on an official Texas escort to and from the historic hotel where they were staying the night. Pete Boedecker had the night off, and Milos Anatole waited for them at the suite.

  As soon as they were seated inside, Wendy reached across the darkness and squeezed his hand. He’d forgotten how tense she’d been about tonight, but at the moment, she seemed to be saying “good job.” Or maybe “thank goodness that’s over” was more like it. Too bad they couldn’t talk in front of their driver, who worked for the State of Texas and wouldn’t understand why Prince Alexi sounded like he’d lived all his life in the Hill Country rather than some fancy English estate.

  They were whisked inside and entered the elevator before either of them could talk. A representative of the hotel accompanied them in the beautifully restored elevator, chatting about the history of the place, the other heads of state and movie stars who had stayed in the suite. Nodding good-night, Hank made it to his suite with a sigh of relief, only to discover Wendy wasn’t beside him.

  “Let me take your coat,” Milos said, emerging quietly from the shadows. “I trust your evening went well?”

  “Splendid,” Hank said in his best Prince Alexi imitation. He wanted to talk to Wendy, unwind a bit before hitting the sack. He was glad to be finished playing his assigned role; now he wanted to be Hank McCauley for a while. Grab a beer from the little refrigerator in the fancy cabinet, prop his feet up on the coffee table in the sitting room and cruise through the channels on the television. He’d like to do all that with a certain English lady beside him.

  Damn, he was getting too attached to her. He tried to tell himself it was the situation—being forced into close quarters with her most of the day—but he knew that wasn’t all of what he was feeling. He’d grown to depend on her because he was Prince Alexi’s stand-in, but as Hank McCauley he’d started to like her. Yeah, they were worlds apart, but she understood what he was going through better than anyone.