The Prince's Convenient Proposal

by Barbara Hannay

  This was the last thing Prince Rafael of Montaigne needed. He hadn’t brought her here to listen to her problems.

  He had enough problems of his own.

  Once she’d thought things through to this point, Charlie felt calmer. Lying in the darkness, she watched the flickering firelight and she thought about the lovely evening she and Rafe had spent together. She remembered the moment before he’d left when he stood there in the firelight, looking at her. So tall and dark and sexy, with an expression in his eyes that had set her heart thumping.

  So intense he’d looked. For a giddy moment, she’d thought he was going to kiss her. Properly. Passionately. Her heart had carried on like a crazy thing, thrashing about like a landed fish.

  Such a ridiculous reaction. Perhaps she could blame the jet lag. Tomorrow she’d feel much more like her old self.

  CHAPTER SIX

  WHEN CHARLIE WOKE the next morning, she took a moment to get her bearings. She couldn’t remember another time she’d ever woken to such sumptuous surroundings.

  She reached for the remote and pressed the button, and—hey, presto! Bright sunlight streamed into her room.

  She wondered how late she’d slept and snatched up her phone to check the time. It was nine o’clock, and there were four new messages on her phone.

  Three messages were from her father. One told her that he and Skye and Isla were leaving for Boston. Another gave her their flight’s departure and arrival times. A third message asked where she was.

  Charlie didn’t answer this specifically.

  Have a safe flight, she wrote. Sending my love to you and to Skye and Isla. All’s well here. C xxx.

  She’d crossed so many time zones, she didn’t even try to calculate where they might be by now. It was just good to know Isla was on her way and, at this point, all was well. Charlie sent up a prayer.

  Keep Isla safe. Hang in there, sweetheart.

  The last text message was from Rafe.

  Good morning. I hope you’ve slept well. My secretary, Mathilde, would like to meet with you at eleven. Is this suitable?

  Quickly she typed back that this would be fine.

  Great, wrote Rafe. Any problems, give me a call.

  Charlie wondered where he was. Then her tummy rumbled. She needed breakfast. Rather nervously, she lifted the phone beside the bed.

  Immediately a woman’s voice at the other end said, ‘Bonjour, Mademoiselle Olivia.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Charlie. ‘Bonjour.’ In her best French she asked, ‘Could I please have some coffee in my room?’

  ‘Certainly, mademoiselle. Would you also like breakfast? An omelette perhaps?’

  ‘An omelette would be lovely. Merci.’

  ‘It will be with you very soon, Mademoiselle Olivia.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  This done, Charlie heaved a huge sigh of relief. Her first hurdle might have been a rather low bar in the scheme of things, but at least she’d cleared it without mishap.

  * * *

  A much higher hurdle came later, after the secretary Mathilde had given Charlie her engagement itinerary. She was expected to start clothes shopping this very day.

  Not only did Charlie need a warmer overcoat, a new outfit was required for dinner this evening, another to wear for a daytime engagement the next day and a special gown for a gala event to be held in the castle in two evenings’ time.

  Charlie almost whimpered when she saw the list. She knew Rafe never dreamed that she would be paying for these clothes out of her own money, but she felt she had no other option. The problem was, her bank account wouldn’t stretch to four expensive items of clothing, all fit for a princess. She would be lucky if she could afford one of these outfits, which meant she had no alternative but to get a cash advance on her credit card.

  Ouch.

  * * *

  Shivering inside her inadequate coat, Charlie stepped out of the castle to find that fresh snow had fallen during the night. Now, in the early afternoon, it was clear and sunny, but the air was freezing. A chauffeur was waiting for her at the foot of the steps.

  He was understandably surprised when Charlie asked him to take her to a bank before delivering her to Belle Robe, but he discreetly refrained from making any comment. Fortunately, the bank teller didn’t seem to recognise her as the Prince’s intended bride. Her cards were accepted without a hitch and she was able to withdraw a sickening amount of money.

  Belle Robe was around the next corner.

  Gulp.

  Charlie had seen expensive clothing boutiques in Sydney, so she was used to store windows decorated with elegant mannequins dressed in glamorous gowns, but she’d never been inside one of these places before. Now she tried hard not to be overawed by the top-hatted doorman, the wide expanses of cream carpet, the gilt-framed floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

  Madame Monique, who’d been assigned to attend to Charlie’s needs, was pencil thin with cut-glass cheekbones and she was dressed in a severely straight black dress of fine wool. She also wore glasses with trendy black and white frames and her iron-grey hair was pulled tightly back into a low ponytail.

  Another woman might have looked plain in such restrained attire but Monique managed to look incredibly elegant. No doubt her bright scarlet lipstick and nail polish helped.

  Charlie supposed she should have painted her nails, too. She wondered if Olivia had always worn nail polish. It was another detail she should have checked with Rafe.

  Monique was very organised and had a page set aside for Charlie in a thick gold-edged notebook. ‘Welcome back again, Mademoiselle Olivia,’ she said with a careful smile.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Charlie. ‘How are you, Monique?’

  Surprise flashed briefly in the woman’s eyes, as if she hadn’t expected this question. ‘I’m very well, thank you, mademoiselle.’ Her smile brightened. ‘And now, His Highness has ordered quite a few more items for you, I believe.’

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’

  Monique looked a little puzzled at this and Charlie winced. Afraid so? Had she really said that? What an idiot she was. She would have to behave far more confidently if she wanted to convince the people of Montaigne that she was Olivia Belaire. She was supposed to adore shopping.

  She laughed quickly to try to cover her gaffe. ‘So,’ she said, brightly. ‘I’m sure you have some wonderful suggestions.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Monique. ‘I have a very good idea what suits you now, so I’ve made a few selections to get us started.’

  ‘Lovely,’ Charlie enthused. ‘I can’t wait to try them on.’

  * * *

  They started with the coats and it was so hard to choose between a beautiful long red coat with a leather belt and another in black and white houndstooth. Eventually, with a little prompting from Monique, Charlie settled on the red.

  For this evening’s dinner, she chose a timelessly styled blue dress made from exquisitely fine wool. It was rather figure-hugging and designed to catch the eye, but Charlie supposed it was the sort of thing Rafe wanted her to wear. She tried not to blush when she saw her reflection in the mirror, but, heavens, she’d had no idea she could look so glamorous.

  ‘Do you know what the daytime event for tomorrow will be?’ asked Madame Monique, watching Charlie closely.

  Charlie was relieved that she could answer this. ‘I believe I’ll be visiting the children’s hospital.’

  The woman’s eyebrows rose, but she made no comment as she showed Charlie a rather demure dress in grey with a box neckline and a wide band around the waist.

  ‘Hmm,’ said Charlie. ‘That’s lovely, but do you have anything that’s a bit more—fun?’

  ‘Fun, Mademoiselle Olivia?’ Madame Monique was clearly surprised.

  Charlie wondered if she’d used the wron
g French word. ‘Something more appealing to the children, something a little more—relaxed?’

  ‘Oh, I see, of course.’ Monique went back to her racks, frowning.

  Charlie followed her. The clothes were extremely elegant, but there were rather a lot of beiges and greys and blacks. She was wondering if she would be better off just wearing a pair of jeans and one of her own sweaters when something caught her eye.

  ‘What about this?’ she said, lifting out a hanger to inspect the dress more closely. It was a feminine shift dress with elbow-length sleeves and a delicate all-over print of little red sail boats with white sails on a navy-blue background. ‘This would be perfect. Do you have it in my size?’

  Now Monique looked worried. ‘But, mademoiselle, don’t you remember? You already have this dress. You bought it two weeks ago.’

  ‘Oh.’ Charlie wished she could sink through the floor. ‘Yes, of course,’ she said shakily. ‘How silly of me. I—I took it home to Saint-Tropez, you see, when I—when I visited my mother—and I—’

  It was awful to lie so blatantly and just saying the word ‘mother’ felt terribly wrong. She couldn’t quite finish the sentence, but if Monique was baffled, and Charlie was sure that she had to be, she discreetly covered the reaction.

  ‘What about this?’ Monique lifted out a white dress with black polka dots and a short black jacket. ‘I think this would suit you beautifully. And it certainly looks...détendu.’

  This outfit did indeed suit Charlie very well and it had the right playful vibe she’d been hoping for. It was added to the stash, along with an oh-my-God evening gown of pale sea-green satin that was the most elegant and glamorous thing Charlie had ever clapped eyes on, let alone worn.

  She felt a little faint as she wondered what the price tag might be.

  ‘And now for your shoes,’ said Monique.

  The fainting sensation grew stronger for Charlie. Oh, dear. She had to sit down.

  Monique fussed. ‘Mademoiselle Olivia, are you all right? What can I get you? A glass of water perhaps? Coffee?’

  ‘Perhaps some water,’ said Charlie. ‘Thank you.’

  Monique tut-tutted when she returned with the water. ‘Perhaps you are not well, mademoiselle.’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ Charlie insisted, after taking several reviving sips. ‘It’s probably—’ She was about to use jet lag as an excuse when she remembered that her sister, Olivia, hadn’t been flying halfway across the world in a jet. ‘I’m just a bit tired,’ she said instead. ‘And I was wondering—before we start on the shoes, would you mind telling me how much I have spent so far?’

  This time, Madame Monique didn’t try to cover her surprise. Her eyebrows shot high above her black and white spectacle frames. ‘But you know there’s no need to concern yourself, my dear. This goes on the St Romain account, does it not?’

  Charlie had no idea what arrangement Rafe had made with Olivia. All she knew was that he’d paid her, Charlie, an extremely generous sum and she wouldn’t dream of asking him for anything more.

  ‘I’m paying for today’s purchases,’ she said, but as the words left her mouth she saw Monique’s expression of jaw-dropping shock and knew that she’d made yet another mistake.

  * * *

  The dinner that evening was an official affair with some of Montaigne’s most important businessmen and their wives. Charlie wore the blue wool dress and a new pair of skin-toned high heels that she hoped would go with almost everything, although Madame Monique had persuaded her that she needed black boots to go with her overcoat.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ Prince Rafael told her when he saw her.

  ‘Thanks.’ It was the first time that day that Charlie had seen him and, to her dismay, just watching him walk into the drawing room in a dark suit and tie caused a jolt to her senses. To make matters worse, he reached for her hand.

  Ridiculous tingles shot over her skin.

  ‘Did your shopping expedition go well?’

  ‘Yes, thanks. Monique—was very helpful.’ Although Charlie was miserably aware that tongues would be wagging at Belle Robe.

  ‘Something very strange has happened to Olivia Belaire, the Prince’s fiancée. I think she must be unwell. She looked very pale.’

  ‘Can you believe she wanted to pay for the clothes with cash? And then she didn’t have enough.’

  At some stage this evening she would have to confess to Rafe that she’d needed to use his money as well, but she was sure she should leave it until after the dinner.

  Rafe must have noticed her distress. He gave her hand an encouraging squeeze. ‘I think you need jewellery to set that dress off. Sapphires perhaps?’

  Charlie gulped, touched a hand to her bare throat. Before she could answer, Rafe was summoning Jacques, his right-hand man—or perhaps his valet, Charlie wasn’t sure—telling him to bring the single-strand Ceylon sapphires.

  ‘Don’t look so worried,’ Rafe told her as the man hurried away. His smile was a little puzzled. ‘I’ve never met a woman who didn’t like shopping or jewellery.’

  Charlie shrugged. ‘If you transplant an ordinary Aussie girl into a fairy-tale European kingdom, you’ve got to expect a few surprises.’

  Rafe’s eyes gleamed as he smiled. This time he lifted her hand to his lips. ‘Touché,’ he murmured.

  To Charlie’s dismay, he left a scorch mark where his lips touched her hand.

  * * *

  The sapphires were promptly delivered and they were perfect to complement the simple lines of her sky-blue dress—a single strand of deep blue oval stones surrounded by delicate clusters of tiny white diamonds and set in white gold.

  ‘Allow me,’ Rafe said, lifting the necklace and securing it around Charlie’s neck.

  The skin around his eyes crinkled this time when he smiled. ‘Perfect,’ he said softly. ‘Oh, and there are matching earrings. You might like to wear them as well. Take a look in the mirror.’

  Charlie was a little stunned by her reflection. Who was this elegant creature?

  But her cheeks were flushed pink and her fingers fumbled as she tried to fit the earrings to her lobes. Crikey, she had to calm down or she’d drop a royal sapphire and have the Prince of Montaigne down on his knees, searching for it in the thick carpet.

  At last the earrings were secure.

  ‘You look like a princess,’ Rafe told her.

  Yes, it was amazing what expensive clothes and jewellery could do for a girl. Charlie drew a deep breath. Tonight she would have to pretend that she was a princess-to-be. Princess Charlie or, rather, Charlotte.

  What a laugh.

  Any urge to laugh soon died when Rafe took her hand again. She was super-aware of his warm, naked palm pressed against hers, of his long fingers interlaced with hers, as he led her down the formal staircase to greet their guests.

  She kept her smile carefully in place and concentrated hard on remembering everyone’s names as she was introduced, but the task would have been a jolly sight easier if her pretend fiancé hadn’t kept touching her. For Rafe, it meant nothing to place a hand at her elbow, on her shoulder, at the small of her back. For Charlie, it was intensely, breath-robbingly distracting.

  * * *

  The castle’s dining room was a long rectangular space decorated with rich red wallpaper as a background for impressive paintings and gold-framed mirrors. An enormous picture window with a spectacular view of the valley took up most of the far wall. The table was exquisitely set with candles and flowers, gleaming silver and shining glassware, and everything was arranged so perfectly that Charlie could imagine a ruler had been used to align the place settings.

  Throughout the delicious four-course meal, Rafe conversed diplomatically with his important guests, but his eyes constantly sought Charlie out. Many times he sent her a smouldering smile across the table.<
br />
  She knew his smiles weren’t genuinely flirtatious. He was playing the role of an affectionate fiancé for the sake of their guests. So, of course, she tried to remain cool and collected, to pay studious attention to the conversations all around her. Actually, she had no choice but to pay very careful attention, because everyone spoke rather rapidly in French and she could only just keep up with them. And she tried hard to not let Rafe’s sexy smiles affect her too deeply.

  Unfortunately, her body had a mind of its own, firing off heat flashes whenever her gaze met Rafe’s across the table. It didn’t help that she was terribly worried about the conversation she must have with him as soon as his guests had departed.

  * * *

  It was late when everyone finally left. Much to Charlie’s amazement, the men had withdrawn to linger over coffee and cognac—she thought that kind of antiquated custom had gone out with the ark.

  ‘This is when the men settle their important business,’ one of the wives told her as their coffee was served. ‘They’re all so worried about this Leroy Mining Company.’

  ‘While we just want to gossip,’ said another woman, an attractive brunette.

  Seeing their expectant smiles, Charlie was suddenly nervous again. Were these businessmen’s wives expecting her to supply them with gossip? What would Olivia have done in her shoes? She hadn’t a clue.

  She didn’t even know if these women had known Olivia.

  ‘I’m all ears,’ Charlie said, managing an extra-bright smile, despite the roiling tension in her stomach.

  For a moment the women looked baffled. Clearly, this wasn’t the response they’d expected. They were hoping for news from her, but just when things were about to get very awkward one of the women laughed, as if Charlie had actually cracked a wonderful joke, and then the others joined in.

  After that, knowing it was her duty as hostess to lead the conversation, Charlie asked them if they were coming to the ball on the night after next and it seemed that all of them were. From then on, she was fielding questions about which band would be playing on the night of the ball and whether Princess Maria or Countess von Belden had been invited.