by Carolyn Zane
“That is not dancing. That’s the mating ritual of the socially challenged.”
“Ah. Looks as if it’s working.”
“Yes, it does, doesn’t it?” Marie-Claire sighed. “We haven’t been formally introduced. You are Luc?”
Luc held out his hand. “Dumont. Yes. Forgive my breach of etiquette.”
“Of course. I’m Marie-Claire de Bergeron.”
“Yes. I’m pretty familiar with everyone in your family.”
“So you are. I noticed that you are acquainted with Juliet.”
“We met some years ago, yes. She’s lovely.”
“She is indeed. So. Tell me, Mr. Dumont,” Marie-Claire tore her gaze from Sebastian and Veronike long enough to dart him a curious smile, “why are you still hanging around? I thought the case of the missing heir had been solved.”
Luc shrugged. “Maybe.”
Marie-Claire’s brows flew up. “Maybe not?”
“Maybe.”
At that moment, Claudette danced by with the prime minister and, with a covert look about to see who was watching, steered poor Mr. Davoine into the path of the paparazzi. Bulbs flashed. Claudette’s smile was triumphant. By morning their picture would be splashed across the society pages.
Knowing intrinsically that she could trust him, Marie-Claire decided to confide her fears about Claudette in Luc.
“I think she is lying.”
“You, too?”
“So we agree.”
“I believe I could unearth enough dirt to fill several books.”
“Really?” Marie-Claire patted the chair next to her and when Luc was seated, she leaned toward him. “What do you think Claudette’s motivation for lying could be? Everyone knows that she’s a social climber, but to sacrifice her son? To chance being discovered? To what end?”
“Desperation. From what I’ve been able to find out, she is in debt up to her diamond earrings. I believe she has her sights set on the royal payroll.”
“Really,” Marie-Claire murmured, feeling almost sorry for the woman. Claudette had no idea what a treasure she already had in Sebastian. “What do you suggest we do?”
“Tonight? Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Without the proper proof, there is nothing we can do. But don’t fret. Time is on our side.”
As Marie-Claire watched Veronike ooze to the beat around Sebastian, Eduardo, cups of punch sloshing, stumbled in her direction. She sighed.
“Mr. Dumont, I’m running out of time.”
Marie-Claire needed air.
Looking a little flushed himself, Eduardo was only too happy to accompany her out of doors. She could feel Sebastian’s eyes watching as they swept by, Eduardo chattering about the computer club and chess team, and she limping along and pretending to hang on his every word.
When they got out to the verandah, Eduardo dropped a casual arm around her shoulders. At first, Marie-Claire enjoyed the rather romantic gesture thinking, let Sebastian stick this in his pipe and smoke it.
Then Eduardo grinned at her, and a chill ran down her spine at the quixotic expression on his face. The way his teeth protruded between his lips, gleaming in the moonlight, suddenly struck Marie-Claire as somewhat feral. Vampirish. That, coupled with the fact that his hand had just slid to her bottom, had her wondering exactly what was in that punch he’d been guzzling for the last half hour.
“I can’t believe we are finally here, together,” he husked, “alone.”
Marie-Claire emitted some uncomfortable laughter and pointed out, “Not completely alone. There are several thousand people right back there, in the ballroom.”
Eduardo ignored that fact and, nostrils flaring, buried his face in her hair and inhaled. “I’ve been dreaming of this moment ever since I was in the seventh grade and I saw you ride out to the pond for a swim.” He blew several strands of her hair out of his mouth, scratched his face and went back to snuffling. “You were so beautiful. I was going to tell you that I was there, fishing on the other side of the pond, but Sebastian came and told you to get out of the water.”
“You…were there?”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t see everything.” He chuckled and his other hand slipped to join the first one at her bottom. “I think that’s where I fell in love with you.”
“In—” Marie-Claire swallowed, “—love?”
“Yes, I have a scrapbook filled with pictures of you.”
Uh-oh. A lump of foreboding rose into her throat. Reaching behind her, she gripped his wrists, attempting to keep his boa-constrictor act in check. “Uh, Eduardo? I think we should go back—”
“Marie-Claire,” Eduardo rooted around at the side of her neck, “I know that we were meant to be together. I’ve known it ever since that night.”
“Y-Y-You have?”
“Yes.” Teeth leading, he traversed her jaw and headed for her mouth.
“Oh, Eduardo.” Flabbergasted, Marie-Claire strained back, chin to neck, leaning as far away as his steely grip would allow. She tried to act as if she knew he was teasing. “This is our first date. You can’t be in love with me.”
As she uttered the words, she knew that wasn’t exactly accurate. That same night at the pond was enough time to press Sebastian into her heart for time and eternity. Marie-Claire was losing the battle as Eduardo slowly forced her forward for a little kiss. The confidence in her voice turned to pleading.
“Oh, no, no thank you, Eduardo.”
“Just one kiss, Marie-Claire. Then you’ll see.”
“No, Eduardo, I don’t think that would be such a goo—”
Eduardo’s lips crashed down on hers and Marie-Claire feared she was bleeding from the collision.
“Mmm….eee…Eduar-dooo, no, please don’t. I said…no, Eduardo.” Frantically, Marie-Claire squirmed, trying to pry his hands from around her waist, but Eduardo tightened his hold. His hands, incredibly strong now, roved from her hips to the top of her zipper and Marie-Claire feared he was going to disrobe her then and there.
Tears of humiliation welled in her eyes. Damn her foolish pride. She wouldn’t be in this predicament if she hadn’t been trying to torture Sebastian. Ashamed, she pushed against Eduardo until he suddenly popped away like a cork from a champagne bottle. Her eyes widened as she marveled at her strength.
Until she saw Sebastian.
Holding Eduardo by the scruff of his neck, Sebastian growled, “Eduardo, man, did you hear the woman? She said no. Snap out of it.”
Fists flying in the air, Eduardo took a swing at Sebastian and managed to land a solid punch to his gut.
“Owww!”
A kick to the shins had Sebastian gasping with pain yet again.
“Dammit, Eduardo. Stop it, man. That hurts!”
“No!” Eduardo panted, still flailing. Though Sebastian held the boy at arm’s length by the head, he was just lanky enough to do some pretty serious damage.
“Don’t hurt him, Sebastian,” Marie-Claire screamed.
Sebastian turned to stare at her. “Do I…ufff, dammit Eduardo…do I look like I’m hurting him?”
“It’s all my fault,” she sobbed.
“Leave us alone,” Eduardo shouted.
“No,” Marie-Claire cried.
Sebastian dropped his head and gave it a disgusted shake. “Will you two make up your minds?”
“She wants me. She cares for me, I know it.” Eduardo’s protestations grew pathetic. “Tell him, Marie-Claire. Tell him how much we have in common…tell him.”
“Oh, Eduardo. I’m so sorry.” Marie-Claire sagged against the concrete railing and pushed her hair out of her face. “I…I’m in love with someone else.”
Sebastian’s eyes fell closed.
Her words had a sobering effect on Eduardo as well and the boy flagged. His miserable smile was without rancor as he drew himself up and stepped away from Sebastian. “I knew it was too good to be true.”
As he ran a hand over his bruised belly, Sebastian said, “Eduardo, no wom
an likes to be pawed to death on the first date.”
“You know—” Eduardo’s laughter was mirthless as he dropped his head into his hands and moaned. “I’m such a jerk.”
“No more so than I, Eduardo,” Marie-Claire said. “I’ve made such a fool of myself tonight. I’m so sorry if I gave you the wrong impression.”
“Don’t be.” He stood for a long, silent moment, then said, “Maybe tonight was one of those horrible experiences that we will look back on one day and laugh.”
“I will if you will.”
Eduardo smiled his boyish, buck-toothed smile, and Marie-Claire could see that someday he would grow into a decent man. “It’s a date, then.”
With a nod at her and then at Sebastian, Eduardo brushed himself off, straightened his cummerbund and shuffled back into the party.
Sebastian watched in silence as Marie-Claire dropped to a concrete bench beside the low row of fat balustrades. Gingerly, she removed her boots, then tossed them over the rail and into the bushes. The hat and fruit followed. With her thumbs, she began to rub circles into the soles of her feet, little mewling moans ushering forth from her throat. He longed to sit next to her and take her feet into his lap, and do that for her, but prudence allowed him to come only as far as the end of the bench.
“Sebastian.” She didn’t look up as she spoke, seeming more interested in her feet than in the message she began to impart without emotion. “I’ve been such an idiot. I’ve been letting other people tell me what to do as far as you are concerned, and that’s been a terrible mistake.”
The concrete was cold and rough against his palms as he backed up to the railing and stood, ankles crossed. “It hasn’t been easy, Marie-Claire. For either of us.”
“No. But I have to tell you that I can’t go on like this. I will never be able to accept you as a brother. It’s simply impossible. And, since you won’t accept me as your love—”
“I can’t right now, Marie-Claire! You know why!”
“Do I, Sebastian?” She stopped rubbing and looked up at him.
Hands flexing, Sebastian wrestled with his frustration. Even if Claudette was not telling the truth, the very hint of doubt hanging over their relationship would be devastating. Marie-Claire had no idea how damaging a rumor of incest would be. She thought she could handle the fallout, but until they had to face that particular disgrace, she couldn’t begin to understand.
Marie-Claire dropped her feet to the ground and standing, padded to stand directly in front of him. Laying her cheek on his chest, she circled his waist with her slender arms and sighed a light sigh of homecoming. Her familiar scent enveloped him: soap and something floral in her hair and perfume and fresh air, all combined to produce a powerful aphrodisiac for him.
She tilted her face up to his. “I refuse to let other people run my life. Why don’t you?”
Like a martyr on his way to slaughter, Sebastian wilted, his eyes dropping shut. Because I’m trying to protect you, he wanted to shout. Instead, he said, “Because we can’t always have what we want, when we want it.”
“Not even when it’s right?” Marie-Claire whispered, her lips a hairbreadth from his, the taboo quotient holding him motionless except for their labored breathing.
Never had he wanted to kiss anyone more than he wanted to kiss Marie-Claire at that moment. Never had he been more tortured. But, until there was conclusive evidence, the return of the DNA tests that Luc had covertly sent off to the lab in Chicago, there was no way he could chance her reputation. And, even though it was killing him, he could not even give Marie-Claire the slightest hint that she might be right. To do so would only invite disaster.
“Sebastian, I don’t care what your mother says. I don’t care what the world thinks. I love you. Shouldn’t that be enough?”
“It should. But it’s not.”
“Sebastian, please.”
Unable to take another second of this torment, Sebastian did the only thing he knew how. The only thing that could save her from herself. From scandal and public humiliation that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
He withdrew her hands from around his waist and stepped back. “Marie-Claire, stop it. We cannot be together. Not now. Maybe—maybe not ever.” Though it was killing him, Sebastian turned and walked away without looking back to see her reaction.
For to do so would only have him running back to carry her off. And he loved her too much to do that.
Just inside, he found Veronike waiting for him. A sixth sense had her offering her mouth to his for a kiss and though he was loath to do so, he took her up on her offer, then led her to the dance floor.
Chapter Ten
Numb with grief, Marie-Claire couldn’t even cry. For hours now, she’d been sitting by her window, staring at the twilight sky. Outside, the sounds of dawn reached her through an open window and the whisper of a cool breeze caressed her face. On the ground below, the servants who’d cleaned up after the gala were leaving for home. Voices murmured their partings, car engines rumbled to life. Off in the distance, a rooster heralded the advent of a new day and, at a table by her side a lone candle burned low, hissing.
Dully, Marie-Claire shifted her gaze to the flickering flame and saw her life.
It was over.
Even if Sebastian was not the crown prince, she knew that her foolishness had lost him forever to Veronike. Or, if not Veronike, some other woman who wouldn’t go to such ridiculous lengths to prove her love.
She blinked once, then shifted her unseeing stare back out the window. Why would she and Sebastian harbor such intense feelings for each other for five long years only to have it come to such a disastrous end? It simply did not make sense.
A light tapping at her door interrupted her wretched ruminations. Ariane appeared, carrying a valise and dressed in a sensible wool traveling suit. Quite a change from the last time she’d entered the room, Marie-Claire reflected, lifting a hand in despondent greeting.
Ariane set her purse and bag on Marie-Claire’s bed and then silently moved across the room. Gently, her fingers combed through Marie-Claire’s hair and she whispered, “I just stopped by to tell you goodbye.”
“Already?”
“It’s Sunday morning.”
Marie-Claire nodded. “So. You are off to Rhineland.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Ariane’s chuckle rang false as she fussed with a small tangle of strands. “Why? Because Etienne invited me, of course.”
“He invited you?” Marie-Claire briskly rubbed her face with her hands. Life just kept getting curiouser and curiouser, as Alice would have said when confronted with Wonderland. “Ariane, in the past, you’ve found Etienne to be arrogant and overbearing. Why the sudden change of heart?”
With a careless shrug, Ariane moved behind the chair and began to twist Marie-Claire’s hair into a French plait. “Things change.”
Cheeks puffed, Marie-Claire exhaled long and slow. “Um-hmm. Don’t I know it.”
“Are you going to be all right?”
“Eventually.”
“Marie-Claire, I don’t think Sebastian cares a fig for Veronike. After you left last night, he didn’t speak a word to her.”
“Before he kissed her or after?”
Marie-Claire could fairly hear Ariane grimace. “He kissed her?”
“On her big, bloated…bulbous…bulging lips.”
“Really?” Surprised, Ariane stilled her hands and then she tut-tutted and once again began to weave her efficient braid. “Well, it couldn’t have been that great because every time I saw him, he was by himself and looking miserable. Eduardo on the other hand, mixed it up rather well on the dance floor with a number of young local ladies.”
Marie-Claire lifted her shoulder a notch. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve lost him.”
“Eduardo?” Ariane tried to inject a little levity.
“Well, I’ve hurt him, too. I have a lot of apologizing to do.”
“When you do, you must bri
ng me with you. Most of that kooky stuff was my idea.”
“But I was the one with the fruit on my head.”
“Yes, well, we all make mistakes. Especially when it comes to love.”
“Is that what you are doing now, by heading off to Rhineland?”
“Perhaps.” Ariane secured Marie-Claire’s braid with a clip and bent to kiss her cheek. “Call me?”
“Mm-hmm. I’ll be calling from Tatiana’s house in Denmark. For some reason, when my life falls apart, she is the only one able to step in and mother me.”
“Give her my love.”
She covered Ariane’s hand with her own. “I will.”
As Marie-Claire watched her sister gather her belongings and slip into the hall, she wondered listlessly at Ariane’s sudden interest in Etienne Kroninberg, prince of Rhineland. For a while now, she’d noticed that Ariane had been acting rather more secretively than usual, and her motives for going to Rhineland were weak. After all, just six months ago Ariane seemed to have no feelings for Prince Etienne whatsoever. What had changed?
Fingertips wet from a touch to her tongue, Marie-Claire snuffed her candle, crawled into bed and assumed a fetal position. Her eyes drifted shut and she decided to worry about Ariane after she woke up.
Over a week later, Marie-Claire was just now able to lift her head from her pillow and venture out into the world again. She pulled her scarf more closely about her face and hunched against the blustery wind that nudged her down the busy streets of Copenhagen. Tatiana needed eggs and milk for a dessert she was making, hoping, no doubt, to put some weight on her granddaughter’s skinny bones.
Marie-Claire snorted into the furry collar of her coat. Fat chance. Since she’d arrived in Denmark, she’d already lost five pounds. In all the wrong places. Story of her life.
Like a salmon fighting upstream, Marie-Claire navigated through the crowded sidewalk, faces coming, going, all strange, all a blur. Horns sounded, people shouted. Typical, these sounds of life in the city. Marie-Claire was glad for the anonymity. Being able to come and go without the intense scrutiny of the security guards was a rare and wonderful privilege.
As she drew near the market, she passed a newsstand and paused to catch up with life.