by Liz Fielding
Ally stood at the window, sipping her tea, taking in the old town that clustered around the palace and flowed down the hill towards the harbour. She was eager to get out and explore, take some photographs.
There were a couple of hours before she had to get ready and no one had offered her better entertainment so, hooking her bag over her shoulder, she retraced her steps through the palace, only taking the wrong turn once.
As she passed through the vast arched gateway a couple of soldiers snapped to attention. She tried to look as if this happened to her all the time and kept going.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir ...” Fredrik, who’d been reading the same paragraph of a report for the last ten minutes and still hadn’t a clue what it said, looked up, relieved to be interrupted. “I thought you’d want to know that one of the English visitors has just left the palace.”
“Which one?” As if he need ask.
“Miss Parker, sir. Shall I send someone after her? In case she gets lost,” he added, but Fredrik was already on his feet.
“I’ll go.” If the duty officer was surprised, he knew better than to show it. “She’ll be nervous if she’s approached by someone she does not know.”
“Of course, sir.”
He’d been doing his best not to think about her but the kiss they’d shared was imprinted on his brain. He caught himself smiling at her attempts to tease him out of his bad mood, her flirtatiousness over dinner at the Hall, their walk back to the village in the dark. Still found himself tensing as he remembered how she’d opened up to him and shared her worst moment.
She had slipped beneath his defences, got into his head, arousing him for the first time since he’d forced Eloise to walk away.
He’d managed to keep their communications impersonal, strictly business, resisting the temptation to call her on some pretext and build on the connection they’d made.
His determination to keep her at a distance had taken a serious hit when he’d seen her arrive on the CCTV cameras covering the main entrance of the palace. She’d stopped for a moment, looked around, then up at the CCTV camera and smiled as if she knew he was there, watching. Then Hope had hugged her and she’d turned away.
He caught sight of her soon enough.
She had been taking her time, strolling down through the old town, taking photographs – not on her phone like most tourists, but with a high-end compact SLR camera.
She’d discarded the jacket of the grey pinstripe trouser suit she’d been wearing when she arrived, her deep pink shirt making her easy to spot as people began to come back onto the streets after the long break for lunch.
Her hair was loose, the sun glinting off the honeyed streaks that lit up the rich dark chocolate; it was terrifying how every cell in his body seemed to pull him towards her.
She stopped half a dozen times to take photographs, waiting for a clear shot, unexpectedly patient. He could have easily caught her, but he forced himself to wait, hold back. He was dangerously drawn to her and he needed to regain control of his senses before he joined her, spoke to her. Before she smiled at him.
He knew her scent, knew how her hand felt in his, knew exactly how perfectly she fit against him. He still had moments when the kiss they’d shared had come to him as strong as if it had only just happened. Moments when it had taken all his willpower not to reach for the phone and call her, just to hear the teasing note in her voice.
There had been no one since Eloise; he had wanted no one, but Alice Parker had caught him unawares.
She stopped to pick up a toy that an infant had dropped from its stroller, pausing to exchange a few words with the child’s mother and the women shared a smile.
She was a disturbing distraction and he could not afford to be distracted. In spite of, or perhaps because of the way she had spilled out her worst moment under the stars at Combe St Philip, he did not entirely trust her.
Which didn’t make sleeping any easier.
The market was coming to life and she stopped to look at some leather goods. Time to join her. He picked up a wallet.
“Fredrik ...” She hadn’t looked around.
“Ally.”
She turned and looked up at him, not smiling, which should have been a relief but was anything but. “How did you know where I was?” She held up a hand. “Stupid question. The gate is monitored.”
“I had a message that one of our visitors had left the palace. I didn’t have to ask who.”
“No ...” He’d expected a wry smile, was ready for it, but she merely shrugged and said, “I’m sure Max and Flora are busy with the children but I wanted to take some photographs, get a feel for the place. Is that a problem?”
“Not at all, but the duty officer was concerned that you might get lost. Once you leave the square the little streets can become confusing.”
“How thoughtful, but you didn’t have to come yourself,” she said, sorting through a stand containing belts. “You could have sent a footman.”
She placed the faintest emphasis on the word footman.
His note had annoyed her?
“Footman are household staff,” he said, holding back the smile that threatened. “I could have sent one of my officers, of course, but I was concerned that you might be alarmed if you were approached by someone you did not know.”
“Oh.” She swallowed, her irritation dissolving in a moment. “That was thoughtful. As was the car.” She finally turned to face him. “Thank you, Fredrik.”
“You are a VIP this week, Ally,” he said, as if it had nothing to do with him. “Are you going to buy anything?”
“These belts are lovely. I thought I’d buy one for my father.” She asked the price and the man, who clearly recognized him, reconsidered the tourist price he had been going to ask.
“What would you like to see?” he asked, as Ally, very happy with her bargain, paid and took her parcel.
“I don’t know. What should I be looking at?”
“The statue of King Alonso?”
“Was he a good king?”
“No better and no worse than most but he fought a famous battle with a country that no longer exists.”
“So he won?”
“No, but he died with a sword in his hand, someone wrote a song about his bravery, folklore turned him into a hero and Alonso Day is a national holiday.”
“Not to be missed, then.”
He took her arm to guide her through the crowds that were filling the square, more social than shopping now. The busy stalls were serving coffee and snacks to young people gathering to sit at the tables. Mint tea to old men playing board games.
“Are you hungry?” he asked.
“A bit,” she admitted.
“There will be canapés at the reception, but it’s going to be a long time until dinner.” He stopped at a stall, ordered coffee and deep-fried savoury pastries and then led her to a table. “Alonso can wait.”
“I confess I’m not a huge fan of statues raised to leaders who take young men to war. There has to be a better way.”
“You’d think so but when tyrants threaten ...” Not wanting to prolong that conversation, he said, “How are things going at Combe St Philip?”
“I’ve done as much as I can before the engagement announcement. I have the media package on my laptop for the local papers, ready to send the minute I have a photograph of Hope and Prince Jonas at the ball. I’ve also got a note for the vicar giving him all the details. I don’t want him telling everyone that Hope can’t have the wedding that week because the church has been booked for a craft festival.”
“That’s the cover story Max came up with?”
She grinned. “He did good.”
“What about the village green party?”
“Hog roast booked. Carousel booked. Bouncy castle booked. I’ll think of some more amusements before the day, but those are the big ones,” she said, reaching for her bag and taking out her tablet. “Meanwhile I’ve prepared this.” She handed it across the tabl
e so that he could see the invitation she’d created. The background was a slightly faded-out image of the village green and the church. In large letters were the words “Save the Day” and underneath, “Your invitation to the Wedding on the Green”. The rest of the details – the who, the where, the when – were laid out in the briefest terms below.
“What are you going to do with it?” he asked, handing the tablet back to her.
“It’s done. I’ve printed it out and stuffed envelopes I’ve addressed personally to each householder in the village. They are safely tucked away in a box at the bottom of my wardrobe,” she said as their coffee and pastries arrived, “and I have a draft email ready to send to mother after the announcement telling her what’s going on and asking her to deliver the invitations personally that morning.”
“Getting to everyone before the press descend on the village?”
The hundred and fifty watt smile she gave him, his reward for getting it right, was like being struck by lightning. Fortunately, she picked up a pastry and bit into it with an appreciative moan, giving him a chance to get his breath back. “This is so good.”
“It’s a lot to ask of her,” he said, brushing the crumbs from his fingers for the sparrows hopping around their feet. “Your mother.”
“You think? She’ll knock on everyone’s door so that she can hand over the invitation personally and share the best bit of news ...” There was a flake of pastry clinging to her lower lip ... “That I’m going to be Hope’s bridesmaid.”
“Not a chore then, but a treat,” he said. “Especially when she tells the landlady of the Three Bells.”
He was smiling he realized and Ally was smiling back and for a moment neither of them said anything.
She was the first to break eye contact, but there was an unexpected touch of colour on her cheekbones as she picked up her cup and took a sip of coffee.
It wasn’t just him, then. She felt the connection too and he didn’t know how he felt about that. It had been so long since he’d felt the familiar tug of heat, desire. So long. So unwanted.
“She also gets to tell her WI ladies that they are being asked to make the cakes for the Wedding on the Green,” Ally said. “I’ve asked if they would be up to making cupcake posies for the tables. It’s a challenge they will be unable to resist.”
“You have it all worked out.” Whatever he thought about her previous employment it was clear that Hope knew what she was doing when she’d asked Ally to take on the local PR. “Who is paying for all this?” he asked. “I know Max has insisted on paying for the wedding but he didn’t bargain for the entire village.”
“No. Afterwards I felt rather guilty at adding to his burden so before I spoke to Hope, I asked Floradear if she thought it was too much.”
“Apparently not.”
She shook her head. “Flora had already talked to Hope. She and Jonas thought it was a fun idea but Jonas insisted on paying for it. He’s opened a credit card account for the Wedding on the Green with instructions that I spend whatever will make the day special. Marquee, hog roast, bouncy castle, all the fun of the fair.” She lifted an eyebrow. “Do you have a problem with that?”
She was asking him if he still doubted her but if Jonas had asked his opinion he would have said to go ahead. The danger was not that she’d use his credit card to indulge her love of expensive shoes, but to his privacy.
“None whatsoever.” He checked the time. “I hate to hurry you but we really should be getting back. Princess Anna won’t hear about you escaping the palace from me, but if you’re late for her reception we will all suffer.”
He stood up, thought about offering her his arm, decided against it and they walked, mostly in silence, back to the palace. Once there a footman stepped forward to show her to her room but she hadn’t forgotten Fredrik’s note and giving the man one of her luminous smiles, she said, “Thank you, but I can find my own way.”
“Damn it, Ally ...” Fredrik dismissed the man with a glance, took her elbow and set off down the long corridor to the wing with the guest suites, not speaking, not saying anything until they reached her door.
He opened it. She walked through and turned to face him. “We always seem to be doing this. Maybe one day you’ll come in.”
“I shouldn’t even be here.”
“Why?” Then, with a little puff of irritation at her own obtuseness: “Was it on that list of protocols sent with the invitation? No men in your room without the blessing of the church?”
“If you saw how far apart Princess Anna keeps Hope and Jonas you’d understand why they stay in London most of the time.”
“Really? Maybe that’s why Hope looks ...”
“What?”
“Edgy?”
“Undoubtedly,” he said. “Oh, what the hell ...” He stepped through the door, shut it behind him and took her face in his hands. No surprise this time, no shocked reaction as he slowly lowered his mouth to her waiting lips, watching every flicker of expression, the quick flush of pink across her cheekbones. He saw her eyes darken, the flicker of her lashes as they lowered, heard the little sigh as their lips met in a gentle, exploratory kiss.
It was as different from that first shockingly unexpected kiss as it could be. A question. A promise ... A kiss that could have lasted forever but time was running out and he drew back.
“I’ll see you later, Miss Parker.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice soft as silk velvet, her eyes still closed and it was only the knowledge that if he kissed her again they would both be in trouble that kept him backing away.
Ally stood, eyes closed, for a long minute after Fredrik had gone. Reliving his touch, every moment of that kiss until she was roused by a light tap on the door.
She took a long slow breath, opened her eyes, said, “Come in.”
It was the maid with her dress.
Chapter Seven
Ally saw Fredrik long before he saw her. He was talking to someone and they both had their backs to her. Both men were wearing dinner jackets, broad shoulders displayed to perfection by the black broadcloth. One was dark, the other had light brown frosted hair that was still damp from the shower.
As she left the carpet and her heels clicked on the marble floor Fredrik half turned and for a moment seemed lost for words. For a long while they just looked at one another, the memory of that slow kiss in his eyes, in the tingle that rippled through her body.
Realizing that he no longer had Fredrik’s attention, the other man turned. He too looked and then his face lit up in a broad smile. “Ally! What a relief.” He crossed to her and taking her by the shoulders kissed both her cheeks. “You have saved my evening.”
“Prince Nico ...” Really? Of all the dozens of women he must have met in the last couple of years he remembered her? “I can’t believe you remember me.”
Fredrik, momentarily frozen, glanced from Nico to her. “You’ve met?”
“At a charity dinner in London, Fredrik. Ally was there, taking photographs, talking to people. She stopped at our table for a while and brightened an otherwise deadly evening.”
“I have no doubt, but tonight she is going to brighten mine,” he replied, taking her arm in what could only be described as a possessive gesture. “Princess Anna’s orders. My reward for good behaviour,” he added, pointedly.
Ally should have been outraged but she was too interested in the by-play between the two men to care.
Nico pulled a face. “That woman has plans to marry me off to some Gorgon.”
Realizing that Fredrik could not comment on either the Crown Princess or her choice of a suitable wife for Nico, Ally said, “It must be sooo tough being a prince.”
“Not that tough, cara. I outrank a count.” His grin was full of mischief. “I will see you later.”
Fredrik said something to Nico in a language that Ally didn’t understand. His eyebrows rose and, raising his hands, he backed off.
“What did you say to him?” she asked, as Fredrik
took her arm and led her up a seemingly endless flight of wide marble steps.
“I just reminded him that this evening is not about him,” Fredrik said, “and in case you were tempted to risk the lightning I should warn you that the Crown Princess has other plans for Nico.”
“The Gorgon?”
“That’s just Nico being childish. She’s a fine woman and if she can be persuaded to take him on she’ll be the making of him.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Nico is sweet, but indiscreet. If I’d used any of the gossip he told me while plying me with champagne, I’d have got a bonus and he would have been barred from at least two of his favourite nightclubs.”
“You didn’t use what he told you?”
“I never considered it my job to ruin people – an attitude on which the new editor of Celebrity and I chose to differ. Nico is unhappy, Fredrik, but he needs to grow up and find a purpose in life before he becomes a permanent fixture on the covers of gossip magazines.”
Ahead of them footmen leapt to open a pair of ten-foot-high double doors and Nico’s future was forgotten as Fredrik led her into the state drawing room.
“Oh my ...”
Ally had been determined not to appear overwhelmed by the grandeur of the palace but the state drawing room was jaw-dropping in its magnificence.
The walls were covered in cream and gold figured silk, the windows swagged with heavy green brocade and half a dozen crystal chandeliers picked out the gilded and painted plasterwork on the ceiling.
As if that wasn’t enough, tall windows overlooked immaculately sculptured gardens, which had been lit to reveal intricate knotwork, marble statues tucked into niches and an elaborate fountain on which mythical gods rode dolphins spewing water that sparkled in the lights.