The Prince's Convenient Proposal

by Barbara Hannay

  But somehow Rafe had to resist her appeal. He’d made his commitment. He’d chosen Olivia as his fiancée. They’d signed a contract, and even though she’d disappeared he was almost certain she was playing some kind of game with him and would turn up when it suited her.

  Meanwhile, Charlie was being predictably sensible. Already, she was pulling out of his arms and gallantly drying her eyes, and making an admirable effort to regain her composure.

  She gave him a wan smile and they drank their cooling coffee. Outside, the afternoon was turning to early twilight.

  Rafe stood and went to the window, looking out. ‘It’s not snowing. Perhaps we should go for a walk. All the lights are coming on, so it should be quite pleasant, and you still have a long time to wait.’

  He was sure a long walk in fresh air and a chill wind were what they both needed. Anything was safer than staying here on the sofa with Charlie. The temptations were huge, overwhelming, but only a jerk would take advantage of her when she was so distraught.

  ‘Won’t you be mobbed if you try to walk out on the streets?’ Charlie asked.

  ‘It’s not too bad at this time of the year. With an overcoat and a woolly cap and scarves, I can more or less stay incognito.’ He smiled at her. She should have looked pathetic, so wan and puffy-eyed from crying, but she brought out the most alarming protectiveness in him. He held out his hand to haul her to her feet. ‘Come on.’

  * * *

  Charlie had the good sense to recognise that Rafe’s suggestion of a walk was the right thing to do under the circumstances. Sitting here, feeling sick and scared, was not going to help anyone in Boston. She could change into jeans and a sweater, and she’d bought a warm hat, as well as a scarf and gloves, so she would be well protected against the cold.

  Besides, it was incredibly considerate of Rafe to put up with her weeping and to devote this entire day to her. The least she could do was accept his kind suggestion.

  Outside, the sky and the air were navy blue, on the very edge of night. Lamplight glowed golden, as did the lights from shops and houses, from the headlights of cars. Pulling their hats low and winding their scarves tighter, they set off together, with Charlie’s arm linked in the crook of Rafe’s elbow.

  Ahead stretched the long main street that led from the castle. On either side were pastel-coloured buildings from different eras, mostly now converted into shops, hotels and restaurants.

  ‘This section of the city is called Old Town,’ Rafe told her. ‘New Town starts on the far hillside, beyond that tall clock tower.’

  He seemed to enjoy playing tour guide, pointing out the significance of the clock tower and the statue of his great-great-grandfather in full military regalia, complete with medals. When they rounded the next corner and came across a small cobblestoned plaza with a charming statue of a young boy with a flock of goats, Rafe told her the story of the goatherd who was Montaigne’s national hero.

  ‘His name was Guido Durant,’ Rafe said. ‘He acted as a kind of unpaid sentry up in the high Alps. When the Austral-Hungarians were making their way through a narrow pass in winter, planning to invade our country, Guido dug at rocks and stones and managed to get a snow slide going. It turned into a full-blown avalanche and blocked their way. Then he ran through the night all the way to the castle to warn my great-great-grandfather.’

  ‘So he’s Montaigne’s version of William Tell?’ Charlie suggested.

  Rafe shot her a surprised smile. ‘You know about William Tell?’

  ‘Of course. My father used to love telling me that story. He used to play the opera, too, turning the music up really loud. It’s very dramatic.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Rafe agreed. ‘It was one of my father’s favourite operas, actually.’

  ‘My father’s, too.’ Charlie laughed. ‘Crikey, Rafe, we do have something in common after all.’

  ‘So we do,’ he said quietly and his grey eyes gleamed as their gazes connected, making Charlie feel flushed and breathless. For a crazy moment, she thought he was going to do something reckless like haul her into his arms and her skin flashed with heat, as if she’d been scorched by a fireball.

  Then the moment was over.

  They walked on and the smell of cooking reached them from the many cafés, but they weren’t very hungry after their substantial lunch.

  Montaigne’s capital city was packed with charm. Charlie loved the cobblestoned alleys, the arched doorways with fringes of snow, the shop windows with beautifully crafted wares, including jewellery that Rafe told her was locally made from gemstones found right here in the Alps. She especially loved the glimpses into cosy cafés where laughing people gathered.

  ‘Can you ever go into places like that?’ she asked him, as they passed a group at a bar who were guffawing loudly, obviously sharing a huge joke.

  He shrugged. ‘I have a few favourite cafés where I like to meet with friends.’

  ‘Thank heavens for that.’

  ‘Are you worried about me, Charlie? You think I’m not happy?’

  ‘Well, no, of course not,’ she said, which wasn’t true. She wasn’t sure that anyone who believed life was a compromise could really be happy.

  His smile was complicated as he tucked her arm more snugly in his.

  They went on, past a tenth-century cathedral, which, according to Rafe, had beautiful frescoes in its cloisters, past a museum of culture and local history, a monastery where a choir was practising, sending beautiful music spilling into the night.

  Once again, Charlie imagined herself at some point in the distant future, when she was middle-aged and married to some respectable, ordinary Aussie man, telling others, perhaps her children, about this magical mountain kingdom that she’d once visited with a handsome prince.

  She didn’t suppose anyone would believe her.

  * * *

  Rafe’s phone rang twice during their walk, but the calls seemed to be business matters that he was able to deal with quite quickly. Just once, Charlie checked her phone. There wasn’t any news about Isla. She had known there wouldn’t be, but she’d had to check anyway.

  Always, throughout the walk, her fear about her baby sister sat like a heavy rock in her chest.

  They were almost back at the castle, passing a market stall that sold arts and crafts and local honey, when Charlie heard the ping of a text message.

  Her heart took off like an arrow fired from a bow. She came to a dead stop in a pool of yellow lamplight, felt sick, burning, and was almost too scared to look at her phone.

  Rafe stood watching her, his eyes brimming with gentle sympathy. He smiled, a small encouragement.

  Terrified, Charlie drew the phone out from the depths of her overcoat pocket. She was so scared she could hardly focus on the words.

  Isla out of surgery and Dr Yu is happy. She’ll be in Intensive Care for about four days, but so far all good. Love, Dad xxx

  ‘Oh!’ She wanted to laugh and cry at once.

  Unable to speak, she held up her phone for Rafe to read the message, but she was shaking so badly, he had to clasp her hand tightly to steady it before he had any chance of reading it.

  ‘She made it!’ His cry was as joyous as Charlie’s and he looked so relieved for her that she couldn’t help herself. Launching towards him, she threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him hard, and then, impulsively, she kissed him. On the mouth.

  No doubt it was an unwise move for an Australian commoner to kiss a European crown prince in such a public place. Fortunately the Crown Prince didn’t seem to mind. In fact he gathered the commoner into his arms, almost crushing her as he held her tightly against him, and he returned her kiss with breath-robbing, fiery passion.

  * * *

  It seemed fitting to go into a café to celebrate the good news. Rafe took Charlie’s hand and showed her a place tucked aw
ay in a back street that seemed to be carved out of stone like a cave. As they went inside, another welcoming fire burned in a grate, rows of bottles and glasses reflected back the cheerful light, and although there were one or two excited glances and elbow nudges from curious customers, they didn’t hassle the newcomers as they perched on tall wooden stools at the bar.

  Charlie’s head was spinning.

  Calm down, girl, it was just a kiss.

  But it wasn’t just any old kiss. She knew she’d never been kissed with such intensity, such excitement, had never experienced such a soul-searing thrill.

  But he’s a prince, a jet-setter, a playboy. He’s had masses of practice. A kiss like that means nothing to him.

  Could she be sure? It had felt very genuine.

  Yes, that’s the problem.

  She had to stop thinking about it. Had to concentrate on Isla.

  None of this would have happened if Isla had been well.

  Rafe ordered vin chaud, which proved to be a delicious mulled wine laced with cinnamon, cloves and juniper berries.

  ‘Here’s to Isla,’ he said, clinking his glass against Charlie’s.

  ‘Yes. To Isla.’ Charlie lifted her glass. ‘Hang in there for another four days, kiddo.’ She took a sip. ‘Wow, this is amazing.’

  ‘It’s a favourite drink with the skiers,’ Rafe told her.

  ‘I can certainly understand why.’ Charlie drank a little more. ‘I’ve never been skiing.’

  He pretended to be shocked. ‘That’s something we’ll have to remedy.’

  The thought of skiing with Rafe was thrilling, but Charlie doubted they would have time. Apart from the hospital visit this morning, today had been unusually free of engagements. The private time alone with Rafe had been an unexpected bonus, but she knew he had commitments that were bound to keep him very busy. And tomorrow evening, there was to be the grand ball.

  Charlie had never been to a ball and the very thought of it made her nervous. She would have to wear that beautiful, and incredibly expensive, pale green gown, and her schedule tomorrow included appointments with a hairdresser and a beautician.

  It was best not to think about that tonight while they lingered over their vin chaud.

  Eventually, they continued on their way, stopping to buy hot roasted chestnuts from a stall on a street corner and eating them from a paper cone. When they reached the castle, Rafe ordered a light supper to be brought to Mademoiselle Olivia’s room.

  In the lift, Charlie gave herself a stern lecture.

  Forget about that kiss. You started it, remember?

  Yes, and Rafe was just being kind.

  Kind? Really?

  That’s probably how a playboy expresses kindness.

  It won’t happen again.

  * * *

  Delicious mini-pizzas arrived, topped with caramelised onions, black olives and Gruyère cheese. And there were cherries for dessert along with a pot of the most divine hot chocolate.

  As they enjoyed their supper, Rafe filled Charlie in about the important dignitaries who would attend the ball tomorrow evening.

  ‘You won’t be expected to know everyone,’ he assured her. ‘But I’ll ask Mathilde to give you a list with photos, so you can at least learn some of the names.’

  ‘That would be helpful, thank you.’ Charlie remembered something else that was bothering her. ‘What about the dancing?’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ Rafe frowned. ‘I should have thought about that earlier. Can you waltz?’

  ‘No, not really. I mean—we learnt a little ballroom dancing at school and I’ve watched people waltzing on TV. I know it’s basically one-two-three, one-two-three, but—’ Charlie grimaced awkwardly. ‘I don’t suppose there’ll be any disco dancing?’

  Rafe smiled. ‘There’ll be some, I should imagine. But you’ll be expected to know how to waltz.’

  ‘Could Olivia waltz?’

  ‘Yes. She’s quite a good dancer, I must admit.’

  Damn. ‘Any chance we could have a bit of practice before tomorrow night?’

  ‘Of course,’ Rafe said without hesitation.

  It was silly to feel so self-conscious, almost blushing at the thought of dancing in his arms, their bodies lightly brushing.

  ‘You don’t want to start worrying about that now, though,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow evening, say an hour early, before the ball, and we can have a little practice. Your room’s carpeted, so it won’t be the same as dancing on a proper dance floor, but at least we can run through the basics. I’m sure you’ll pick it up very quickly.’

  ‘OK. Thank you.’

  The charming meal was a lovely end to a perfect day. All too quickly, it seemed to Charlie, it was time for Rafe to leave. He rose from the sofa, taking both her hands in his and drawing her to her feet.

  Her heart began a silly kind of drumming.

  Stop it.

  ‘Thanks for giving up so much time to be with me today,’ she said. ‘It’s been—’ She was about to tell him it had been wonderful, a stand-out, red-letter day that she would never forget. But perhaps over-the-top enthusiasm wasn’t wise at this point. It was time to remind herself that this was only a role that she was being paid to fulfil.

  Instead of gushing, she said carefully, ‘I appreciated your company. It was—very nice.’

  ‘Very nice?’ Rafe repeated in a tone that implied she had somehow insulted him.

  ‘Well...yes.’

  Leave it at that, Charlie. Too bad if he’s disappointed. It’s important to keep your head.

  Perhaps Rafe understood. He responded with a courteous nod. ‘I enjoyed the day, too. You’re great company, Charlie, and I was very pleased to share the good news about your little sister.’

  It felt strained to be so formal after the closeness they’d shared today, but Charlie told herself that this new, careful politeness was desirable. This was how matters must be between herself and the Prince. Even though Rafe was still holding her hands, it was time to retreat from being overly familiar.

  It was time to remember the reality of their situation. She was only a temporary fill-in until Olivia was found—or until Olivia returned of her own accord.

  Charlie was pleased to have her thoughts sorted on this matter, but then Rafe spoiled everything by clasping her hands more tightly and holding them against his chest.

  Big mistake. She could feel his heart beating beneath her palm.

  In response, her own heart was hammering. She tried to ignore it.

  ‘You’re a very special girl,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘Note I said special, not just very nice.’

  ‘Special is open to interpretation,’ Charlie said more curtly than she meant to.

  ‘So it is.’ Rafe lifted her hands to his lips. ‘Perhaps you’d prefer nice?’ Keeping his grey gaze locked with hers, he kissed her hand, and his lips traced a seductive path over her knuckles.

  Of course, Charlie’s skin burned and tingled wherever his lips touched, and she knew what would come next. At any moment, Rafe would take her into his arms again and he would kiss her. Already, she could imagine the exquisite devastation of his lips meeting hers.

  She had never wanted a kiss more, but she had to remember why this shouldn’t happen.

  ‘D-don’t play with me, Rafe.’

  He frowned as he stared at her, trying to read her.

  Time seemed to stand still.

  And poor Charlie was already regretting her plea, as the wicked vamp inside her longed for Rafe to go on kissing her hands, kissing her mouth, kissing any part of her that took his fancy.

  But he was letting her hands go. ‘Forgive me, Charlie. I did not intend to take liberties.’

  It was ridiculous to feel so disappointed. Charlie knew she should be relieved
that her message had got through to the playboy Prince.

  ‘I’ll see you at breakfast in the morning,’ he said politely. ‘Sleep well.’

  With another formal bow, he backed out of the room, but the blazing signal in his eyes was anything but formal, and there was no way Charlie could miss its message. She only had to say the word and Rafe would drop the formalities. In a heartbeat, she would be in his arms, in his bed, discovering what it was like to make love to a prince. All night long.

  Somehow, she stood super still until the door closed behind him.

  Oh, help. Now she would have the devil’s own job getting to sleep.

  CHAPTER NINE

  NEXT MORNING, WHEN Charlie went down to the breakfast room, she half expected to find that Rafe had left already, but he was still at the table, polishing off a croissant stuffed with smoked salmon and scrambled eggs. After a restless night, she felt a little uncertain about his mood, but he greeted her with a smile.

  ‘Bonjour, Olivia.’

  ‘Bonjour,’ she responded carefully, knowing there were servants within hearing range.

  Rafe immediately shot a pointed glance towards the newspaper on the table beside him.

  The headline jumped out at Charlie.

  OLIVIA LOOKS FORWARD TO MOTHERHOOD!

  She gasped, caught Rafe’s eye. He gave a helpless shrug.

  The headline was accompanied by a photo of Charlie standing in the hospital’s nursery in her new black and white polka-dot dress, holding the snugly wrapped baby and gazing at it wistfully, while Rafe watched with a smile that might easily be interpreted as fond.

  The accompanying story began: Olivia Belaire’s motherly instincts were on clear display yesterday when she and Prince Rafael visited Montaigne’s Royal Children’s Hospital...

  Charlie skipped the rest of the story to check out another smaller headline.

  ROYAL-IN-WAITING BRINGS CURTSIES AND SMILES.

  The photograph beneath this caption showed Charlie and Rafe in the children’s ward, standing close together, grinning with delight and applauding as the little girl in the crocheted cap performed her curtsy.