The Prince's Convenient Proposal

by Barbara Hannay

  Charlie wondered what Olivia would make of these stories, if she saw them.

  ‘Are you happy with this?’ she asked Rafe, holding up the paper.

  ‘My press officer’s happy, so that’s the main thing.’ Over his coffee cup, he smiled at her again. ‘You did well. I told you that yesterday. Everyone loved you.’

  Charlie supposed she should be pleased, but she didn’t really know how to feel about this. It was all too weird, and now that she wasn’t quite so stressed about Isla she found herself wondering about her other sister. Olivia.

  What was the real reason for Olivia’s decision to take off? Would these photos of her double bring her out of hiding? If so, when would she show up? How would that scene play out?

  Charlie couldn’t help wondering if Rafe had thought this charade through properly, considering all possible consequences.

  Then again, Charlie knew that for herself there was only one possible outcome. As soon as Olivia returned, Charlie’s role at Montaigne would be over, which meant she could be gone from here within a matter of days.

  Hours?

  In no time she would find herself back in Sydney, back in her little flat that she’d decorated so carefully. She would be reunited with Dolly, her cat, and she’d see all her friends again and resume her role at the gallery. Once again she would be living in hope that she might sell her father’s paintings for an enormous sum.

  Taking her seat at the breakfast table, Charlie wished she felt happier about the prospect of going home. It didn’t make sense to feel miserable about going back to her own world and her old life, the life that had been perfectly satisfactory until she’d been so suddenly plucked from it.

  Her low mood was annoying. Puzzling, too. She knew she couldn’t have fallen in love with Rafe in such a short space of time. And anyway, even if she had, foolishly, lost her head, it couldn’t be an emotion of the lasting kind.

  She was simply dazzled...starstruck. This man and his castle and his beautiful principality were all part of a fairy tale, after all. This world wasn’t real—not for an everyday average Aussie girl.

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Rafe asked her in French.

  Charlie blinked and it took her a moment to compute his simple question. ‘Of course,’ she said at last. ‘I was just wondering when a certain person might be found.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I know.’ He frowned. ‘It’s very frustrating.’

  Charlie suspected that Rafe might have said more, but a young man with carefully slicked-back hair, dressed in a pristine white shirt and black trousers, appeared to pour her coffee and to politely offer her warmed platters of food awaiting her selection. She copied Rafe and took a croissant with scrambled eggs and a little smoked salmon.

  ‘I’m going to be busy for most of today,’ Rafe told her as the young man hovered to pour his second cup of coffee and to make sure Charlie had everything she needed. ‘But I’ve arranged for Mathilde to give you that VIP guest list with the photos.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And I won’t forget our arrangement to meet prior to the ball. I think seven o’clock should give us enough time.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll make sure I’m ready.’ Charlie was rather looking forward to their dancing lesson.

  Rafe nodded. ‘There’s nothing else you need today?’ And then almost immediately, he answered his own question. ‘Of course, you’ll need jewellery for tonight.’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose I shall.’

  ‘What colour is your gown?’

  Charlie thought about the beautiful gown hanging in her wardrobe. She remembered the slinky sensation of the fully lined satin and the way it had clung and rippled about her body as she moved. Now that the ball was drawing close, she was a bit self-conscious about wearing it in public.

  ‘It’s a sort of pale green.’ she said. ‘Not an apple green, a pale—I don’t know, a smoky green, perhaps?’ The colour was hard enough to describe in English, but trying to do so in French was almost impossible. Charlie knew she was making a hash of it. ‘I think Monique may have called it sea foam, or something like that.’

  ‘Sea-foam green?’ Rafe’s grey eyes widened. He didn’t look impressed.

  Charlie lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. ‘Don’t worry, Rafe, it works. That colour shouldn’t suit me with my blue eyes, but it seems to.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s very beautiful, Char—Olivia.’ It was the first time Rafe had ever slipped up with her name. Was it a sign that he was nervous about her performance tonight? This would be her first real test in front of all the most important people in Montaigne. She was beginning to wish that she’d chosen a nice safe white or blue dress.

  But then, to her surprise, Rafe said, ‘I can’t wait to see you wearing it.’ And he sent her a smile so smouldering it should have been illegal. Charlie was too busy catching her breath to reply.

  ‘I imagine,’ he said next, ‘that pearls and diamonds might be best suited to your sea foam.’

  ‘Yes,’ Charlie agreed, very deliberately calming down, despite the exciting prospect of wearing royal pearls and diamonds. ‘I think they’d be perfect.’

  ‘Good. I’ll arrange to have them sent to your room before seven.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  * * *

  It was yet another day of new experiences. Charlie had been to hair salons before, of course, and had once indulged in a spray tan at a beauty salon in Sydney. But she’d never been to a suite of salons as grand and luxurious as the place Rafe’s chauffeur delivered her to for today’s appointments.

  She’d certainly never been so pampered. By the end of the day she’d been given a warm oil body massage and a winter hydrating facial, as well as a manicure, pedicure and eyebrow wax—and of course, there had been a beautiful healthy lunch that included a ghastly looking green smoothie that was surprisingly delicious.

  Charlie’s hair had been given a special conditioning treatment, too, and her scalp had been massaged, her curls trimmed.

  ‘Oh, my God, Olivia! Your hair has grown so much since your last cut!’

  Charlie merely nodded at this. ‘It grows fast,’ she agreed, crossing her fingers under her cape.

  After a short but intense discussion among the hairdressers about the Prince’s expectations for the ball, Charlie’s hair was styled into a glamorous updo. And then her make-up was applied. She’d been rather nervous about this. She was worried that the make-up would be too heavy, that it would involve false eyelashes and she’d end up looking like a drag queen. She wanted to be able to recognise herself when she saw her reflection.

  There was no problem with recognition, however. In fact, the results were amazing. The girl in the mirror was the same old Charlie, but her skin now had a special glow, a feat she had never managed before without making her nose shiny. Her eyes seemed to have acquired an extra sparkle and glamour. Her hair was glossy, her curls artistically tamed. The result was faultless.

  Charlie was a little overawed by this newly refined and sophisticated version of herself. She almost felt like a princess. She quickly stomped on that thought before it took root.

  * * *

  By seven o’clock the names and faces on the supplied list had all been memorised—Charlie had tested herself several times—and she was dressed and ready. The sea-foam dress still looked good, she was relieved to see.

  It was sleeveless with a scooped neckline and an elegant, low cowl back, but it was the slinky way the dress flowed, responding to every subtle movement of her body, that made it so special.

  She had never gone out of her way to draw attention to herself, but she knew this was the sort of dress that would let everyone, male and female, know she was in the room. The addition of Rafe’s heirloom pearls and diamonds—delivered by his valet, Jacques—completed her transformation. She had expected a neck
lace and earrings, but there was a tiara as well, which Jacques kindly helped her to secure.

  When the valet left she was rather stunned when she saw herself in the mirror. The dress was a dream, the make-up dewy-perfect. The elegant up-sweep of her hair and the gleaming pearls and sparkling diamonds of the tiara had combined to create the perfect image of a princess.

  Charlie Morisset was in for a big night.

  For Rafe’s sake, she only hoped she could get through it without making too many blunders.

  * * *

  Rafe was due at any moment and, rather than waiting for him to knock, Charlie opened her door, ready for his arrival. As she did so she heard strange noises—blasts and ripples of music floating up the staircase from the grand ballroom on the lower floor. Trumpets, clarinets, saxophones and flutes. The band was warming up.

  Excitement and anticipation pinged inside her and she drew a quick, steadying breath. Not that it did her any good, for a moment later Rafe stepped out from a doorway across the hall and she completely forgot how to breathe.

  He was dressed in a formal black military uniform with gold braid on his shoulders, a colourful row of medals and a diagonal red and gold sash across his broad chest. His dark hair, as black as a raven’s wing, gleamed in the light of overhead chandeliers and he looked so handsome and so splendidly royal that Charlie’s knees began to tremble.

  Drop-dead gorgeous had just been redefined.

  It didn’t help that Rafe had come to a complete standstill when he saw her, or that his smile was replaced by a look of total surprise.

  The trembling in Charlie’s knees spread to the rest of her body and she might have stumbled if she hadn’t kept a death grip on the door handle. She wished that Rafe would say something—anything—but he simply stood there, staring at her with a bewildered smile.

  After an ice age or two, she managed to speak. ‘Are you coming in?’

  Rafe nodded and she stepped back to allow him to enter her room. ‘That’s an amazing uniform,’ she said, hoping to ease the obvious tension. ‘You look very—regal.’

  ‘And you look, literally, breathtaking, Charlie.’ He turned to her and gave a shaky smile as he let his burning gaze ride over her from head to toe and back again. ‘You’re going to steal the show tonight.’

  She managed to smile. ‘You had your doubts about the sea foam.’

  Rafe shook his head. ‘I knew you would choose well.’

  ‘I’m glad it’s OK, then.’

  ‘OK? C’est superbe. Magnifique!’

  As Charlie closed the door Rafe stepped towards her, reaching for her hands. His grey eyes were shining so brightly they’d turned to silver. A knot in his throat moved as he swallowed. ‘My dear Charlie,’ he whispered, taking her hands in his and drawing her nearer. ‘I think I’ve made the most terrible mistake in bringing you here.’

  Charlie’s throat was suddenly so painfully tight she could barely squeeze out a response.

  ‘Why is that?’ she managed at last.

  Rafe’s mouth twisted, as if he was trying for a smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. ‘I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to let you go.’

  Oh, Rafe.

  She wanted to weep, to melt in his arms, to acknowledge the unmistakable emotions that eddied between them, to give in to the sizzling chemistry. But a warning voice in her head reminded her that she had to be sensible.

  In less than an hour they were expected to host a royal ball that would be attended by all the local VIPs, including Rafe’s enemies. Being seen at such an occasion was the very reason she’d been brought to Montaigne. Decorum was required. Dignity, not passion.

  She shook her head at him. ‘Don’t pay me compliments, sir. Not now. You’ll make me cry, and that will spoil my make-up, and I’m sure it cost you a small fortune.’

  A rueful chuckle broke from him. ‘I’ve never met a girl so worried about money. But, OK, no more compliments.’

  ‘Good.’ Although Charlie feared that a dancing lesson with Rafe would be even more dangerous than his compliments.

  ‘I’ll have to kiss you instead,’ Rafe said next. ‘Perhaps there is no make-up here?’

  Before she quite realised what was happening Rafe touched his fingers to her bare shoulder and, before she could gather her wits to stop him, he pressed his warm, sexy lips to the same patch of skin.

  Charlie gasped as his lips brushed her in the gentlest of caresses. Her skin tingled and flamed. The blood in her veins rushed and zapped.

  ‘Or perhaps here?’ Rafe murmured as he pressed another kiss to Charlie’s neck and caused a starburst of heat, just above the pearls and diamonds.

  ‘What about here?’ he whispered, and Charlie had no choice but to cling to him, grabbing at the stiff cloth of his jacket, closing her eyes, as he kissed the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. And then gently nibbled at her earlobe.

  She tried to tell herself that he was just being a playboy, and she might have believed this, if she hadn’t already seen that shimmer of a deeper emotion in his eyes.

  And now she was only too painfully aware of the truth about her own feelings. She was in love with this man. Totally. Utterly. Deeply.

  It didn’t make sense, she knew it was wrong, but she couldn’t help it. From the moment she’d left Australia, this Prince had charmed every cell in her body. Right now, she was powerless.

  ‘You do crazy things to me, Charlie.’ Rafe’s arms tightened around her and his voice was hoarse and breathless as he whispered close to her ear. ‘You make me want to forget everything, throw off my responsibilities. You make me want to believe in your fairy tales.’

  Oh, Rafe. Charlie’s throat ached with welling tears. What have we done?

  And now, his grey eyes were fierce, burning with an intensity that was almost scary, as he ever so gently touched the backs of his fingers to her cheek. ‘I’ve never really believed in love till now. But my problem was that I’d never met the right girl. And now I have. Now I want to believe.’

  Emotion and longing rioted through Charlie. She thought she might burst.

  Rafe’s sad smile was breaking her heart. ‘Is it safe to kiss your lips?’ he whispered.

  She knew she should step back, tell him no. If he kissed her mouth, heaven knew what else might happen.

  But it was so hard to be sensible. To her dismay, she heard herself say, ‘I have a new lipstick for touch ups.’

  Idiot.

  It was all the invitation the Prince needed. Slipping his arms around Charlie’s waist, he gathered her closer, and now she could smell the expensive cloth of his jacket, the light cologne on his skin.

  His lips found hers and her heart seemed to burst into flames. She tipped her head to access the dizzying pleasure, and worried, fleetingly, that her tiara might slip, but this worry and all others were shoved aside as Rafe’s lips worked their magic. His kiss was all-seeking and possessive, commanding every shred of her attention.

  Happiness and hunger in equal parts rose through Charlie like a bubbling geyser. She no longer cared that she’d fallen under this Prince’s spell. She would happily hand him her heart on a platter.

  With unforgivable ease, he had won her completely and, as his kiss deepened deliciously, a soft moan of deepest pleasure escaped her.

  But the moan was cut short as the door burst open.

  A woman’s voice yelled, ‘What the hell’s going on?’

  CHAPTER TEN

  OLIVIA.

  The woman bursting through the door couldn’t be anyone else. An exact replica of Charlie, she was dressed in a magnificent white fur coat and elegant, knee-high white boots. She looked stunning. Stunning and very angry.

  Ignoring Rafe, the newcomer directed her glaring gaze straight to Charlie. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

&nb
sp; ‘Olivia.’ Rafe had gone pale, but he managed to sound calm. ‘What impeccable timing you have.’

  Slamming the door behind her, Olivia flounced past them into the room and flung her expensive copper-toned handbag onto the nearest sofa. ‘Don’t talk to me about timing, Rafe. I deserve an explanation. What’s going on? What’s she doing here?’

  Hearing herself called ‘she’, Charlie felt weirdly dislocated from this scene, as if a real-life version of herself had taken centre stage, and she was an invisible spectre watching on.

  ‘I’ll explain in due course,’ Rafe told her coolly. ‘Just as soon as you’ve apologised for your disappearance. You knew full well that you’d cause me enormous problems by taking off like that, without warning or explanation. You knew my country was left in grave danger.’

  Olivia pouted. ‘I always planned to come back.’

  Rafe looked unimpressed. ‘It would have been helpful if you’d informed me of your plans.’

  This brought a shrugging eye roll from his fiancée. Olivia reminded Charlie of a petulant teenager.

  Rafe was standing with his shoulders braced, his eyes wary but determined. ‘Where have you been, Olivia?’

  ‘In Monaco.’ She gave another offhand shrug, as if her answer was obvious. ‘I needed to—see someone.’

  Charlie could sense the fury mounting in Rafe as he glared at her sister.

  Olivia pouted back at him. ‘You haven’t explained what she’s doing here.’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? You know very well that I needed a fiancée. A visible, available fiancée.’ Rafe turned to Charlie and his grey eyes now betrayed a mix of sadness and resignation. With a courteous nod to her, he said, ‘Charlie, allow me to introduce you to your sister, Olivia Belaire. Olivia, this is Charlotte Morisset, from Australia.’

  If Charlie had dreamed of being greeted by Olivia with a sisterly hug, she was promptly disappointed. Olivia didn’t so much as offer a handshake, let alone a kiss on the cheek. Instead she lowered herself onto the arm of the nearest sofa, letting her fur coat fall open to reveal a tight, tiny, copper silk dress.