by Nora Roberts
will be attending, sir. I presume he will wish to discuss the matter of the proposed health-care bill.”
“Your warning is appreciated,” Alexander murmured, and wondered if he would survive the deadly boredom of the evening. Unless he missed his guess, the redoubtable Madame Cabot would have him seated between herself and her reedy-voiced, heavy-handed and unmarried daughter.
If only he could stay home, sit in his own garden at moonrise. With Eve beside him. She’d smell darker, more exotic than the gardens. He’d pick a spray of jasmine for her and her skin would be softer, smoother, than the petals. Her eyes would be the rich, dark blue that tempted a man and her voice would pour, warm and fluid over his skin until he was driven to taste her. She would smile at him, for him, as her arms reached out….
Damn the woman.
Both valet and secretary braced as the prince’s brows drew together.
“What of tomorrow?” Alexander demanded, rising to face the window. He saw the gardens and deliberately looked beyond them to the sea.
Henri rose automatically and balanced the appointment book on his open hands. “Eight o’clock breakfast with the president of Dynab Shipping. Ten-fifteen, a personal appearance at the opening of the Le Havre Seaport Museum. One-thirty, you speak at a luncheon for the benefit of St. Alban’s Hospital. At three-forty-five …”
Alexander sighed and let the rest of his day pass by him. At least he was home, he reminded himself. Plans were already in the works for his European tour that winter.
One day he would visit the moors of Cornwall and the vineyards of France as he wished, rather than as Cordina’s representative. One day he would see the people and places as they were, rather than as they looked for a prince. One day. But not today and not tomorrow.
“Thank you, Henri, that’s certainly thorough.” His hands linked behind his back, Alexander swore at himself. It was hardly Henri’s fault. In fact, the only fault lay within himself and his sudden restless yearning to be free. He turned and smiled as the old man took off his glasses as elaborately as he had put them on. “How is your new granddaughter?”
A hint of color came into Henri’s cheeks. All pleasure. “She is beautiful, Your Highness. Thank you for asking.”
“Let’s see, she must be … three months old now.”
“Three months tomorrow,” Henri agreed, his pleasure doubling that Alexander remembered.
Alexander recognized it, understood that small things were sometimes the most precious, and cursed himself for being so abrupt with his staff over the past few weeks. He would have liked to lay his mood at Eve’s door, as well, but found it firmly lodged at his own.
“Certainly you have a picture of her. Annabella, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” Almost beet red now, Henri reached for his billfold, carefully tucked into his breast pocket. Alexander took it and studied the nearly bald, chubby-faced infant. She was no beauty, but Alexander found himself grinning at the wide eyes and toothless smile.
“You’re a fortunate man, Henri, to have such a legacy.”
“Thank you, sir. She’s very precious to all of us. The Princess Gabriella sent my daughter the lace dress, which had belonged to young Princess Louisa. My daughter cherishes it.”
“So she should, if anything survives Louisa.” He glanced at the white lace around the baby’s wide face. How like Brie to have been so generous. “Give my best to your family, Henri.”
“I will, sir. Thank you. We all look for the day when you give Cordina a son or daughter. That, Your Highness, will be a day of celebration.”
“Yes.” Alexander handed back the billfold. Give Cordina. His son would be heir even as he was now. The bond, both exquisite and heavy, would never be broken. And the mother of his children would have to accept the rules that had been carved out centuries before. What he would have to ask of her could be no less than what he asked of himself. If he made a mistake in his choice, he would live with it always. There could be no divorce for the ruler of Cordina.
At thirty, Alexander was the oldest unmarried heir in Cordinian history, a fact that the press reminded him and his country of at regular intervals. Yet marriage was something he still refused to contemplate.
Henri cleared his throat deliberately to bring back Alexander’s attention. “Your fencing partner will be here by five-thirty, Your Highness. You must be at the Cabots’ by eight-thirty.”
“I won’t forget.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, dressed in white trousers and jacket, Alexander walked down the main staircase. The tension he’d carried with him for days hadn’t eased. No amount of logical thinking helped. The war remained inside him, raging. Duty against need. Responsibility against desire.
The front door opened as he reached the bottom step. He stopped, muscles taut, thinking of Eve.
But it was Bennett who walked through, with a young, very shapely redhead on his arm.
“I can’t believe I’m going to get a tour of the palace.” Though her voice was breathy with excitement, the diction was perfect. After a moment’s study, Alexander recognized her as one of Eve’s troupe.
“Are you sure it’s all right?”
“Darling, I live here.” Alexander heard the amusement in his brother’s voice as Bennett stroked a hand over the woman’s shoulder.
“Of course.” With a nervous laugh, she looked at Bennett. “It’s so hard to think of you as a prince.”
“That’s fine. Why don’t you think of me as— Hello, Alex.” Bennett straightened away from the woman and his smile was crooked. “Have you met Doreen? She just joined Eve’s troupe before they left the United States.”
“Yes, we met at the dinner last week. A pleasure to see you again.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” On cue, she curtsied. Bennett had a moment to think wryly that she had no trouble seeing Alexander as a prince. “Your brother, ah, Prince Bennett, offered me a tour of the palace.” She sent Bennett a glowing look.
“How delightful.” No one but Bennett would have recognized the sarcasm in the dry tone. “Perhaps you’d like to see the parlor first.” While Bennett looked on in confusion, Alexander took Doreen’s arm and led her a few steps down the hall. “It’s quite comfortable and some of the furnishings are seventeenth-century. You can amuse yourself, can’t you, while I have a word with my brother?”
“Oh, yes, Your Highness. Thank you.”
Alexander watched Doreen wander toward the mantel and the Wedgwood before he strode back to his brother.
“Very smooth,” Bennett commented. “Now why don’t you tell me why you wanted her out of the way?” At Alexander’s look, Bennett’s heart stopped. “Is something wrong? Father?”
“No.” Normally Alexander would have hastened to reassure him. At the moment he had only one focus and one purpose. “How could you bring that woman here?”
“What?” Relief became confusion and confusion amusement. Bennett’s deep, infectious laugh rolled down the ancient hallway. “Doreen? Alexander, I promise you, I don’t intend to seduce her in the portrait gallery.”
“But somewhere else, and at the first opportunity.”
Bennett stiffened. He tolerated his reputation in the press and, a fair man, was willing to accept the fact that he deserved the title Playboy Prince to a certain extent. Elder brother or not, he wouldn’t tolerate it from Alexander.
“If, when and whom I seduce remains my business, Alex. Try to remember you’ll rule Cordina, but not me. Never me.”
The fury rippled just under the surface of cool, biting words. “I don’t care if you take one of the kitchen maids in the pantry, as long as you’re discreet.”
Bennett’s innate humor didn’t surface. “Perhaps I should take that as a compliment, but I find it difficult.”
“Don’t you care anything for her feelings?” Alexander exploded. “That you’d flaunt one of your—distractions here, in her face? And that you should choose one of her own people. I’ve never known
you to be cruel, Bennett. Careless, even selfish, but never cruel.”
“Wait a minute.” Bennett ran a hand over his face and through his thick mane of hair. “I feel as though I’ve walked in on Act Two. Are you talking about Eve? You think she’d be upset that I’m, well, let’s say flirting with one of her actors?”
Alexander felt the rage spill over for a man who had the sun and only insisted on courting lesser stars. “If you must continually be unfaithful, can’t you limit it while she’s under our roof?”
“Unfaithful?” Bennett shook his head. “Now I’m afraid I’ve missed Act Two altogether. I don’t have anyone to be unfaithful to …” The words trailed off as the full meaning struck. He stared at his brother, then collapsed in uproarious laughter. “Eve?” He choked on another fit of chuckles and leaned against the newel, carved three hundred and fifty years before into the head of a cat. “I can’t believe that you—” Bennett struggled for breath, pressing a hand to his heart as Alexander’s eyes grew darker and darker. “I can take that as a compliment, brother, and a truly inspired joke.” He draped an arm around the newel, ankles crossed. There was nothing he liked so much as a good joke. “Alexander, you of all people should know better than to believe what you read in the paper.”
Rigid with fury, Alexander remained where he was. “I have eyes of my own.”
“But your vision’s clouded. You can’t seriously believe there’s anything … God, how to put this delicately.” He ran his hand over his face again, then dropped it. The smile was still in place. “Anything intimate between me and Eve?”
“You can stand there and tell me you’re not lovers?”
“Lovers? Sweet Lord, I’ve never even touched her. How could I?” Though the amusement still colored his tone, sincerity balanced it. “She’s part of the family. She’s as much sister to me as Brie.”
Something twisted open in Alexander’s heart, but he remained a cautious man. “I’ve seen you together, walking in the garden, laughing in corners.”
Bennett’s smile faded slowly as Alexander spoke. Comprehension came just as slowly. His brother loved, and because their family bond was strong, Bennett understood the torment it would have caused him. “Because she’s about the closest friend I have, and one I see so seldom. There’s nothing between us, Alex.” He stepped closer, wondering how long his proud, stubborn brother had been hurting. “If you’d asked me sooner, I’d have told you.”
The weight began to lift from his shoulders, the back of his neck, his heart. And yet … “Perhaps there’s no attachment on your side. Can you be so sure of Eve?”
The grin returned, quick, dashing, confident. “Alex, if there’s one thing I know, it’s what a woman feels about me. But if you don’t want to go with that, why don’t you just ask her?”
“I have. She didn’t deny it.”
“To spite you,” Bennett said with instant comprehension. “It would be just like her—and I’d also guess it had something to do with the way you asked.”
Alexander remembered the way he had approached her, with cutting accusations and anger. No, she hadn’t denied it, but had let him dance on his own hot coals. He couldn’t damn her for that.
Alexander studied his brother again and saw that his feelings were no longer his alone. In youth they had shared a great deal, secrets, complaints, jokes. Alexander could only thank God they wouldn’t share the same woman.
“How could you not want her?”
Bennett leaned back again and looked at his brother. Someone had finally pierced the impenetrable, shaken the unshakable. “I did. The first time I saw her, I thought she was the most delectable creature I’d ever met.” At Alexander’s narrowed look, Bennett chuckled. “Don’t challenge me to a duel yet. Besides, if you challenge, I pick the weapons. I’m a better shot than you are.”
“Why is it you seem to find this so amusing?”
“Because I love you.” It was said with the simplicity of truth. “It isn’t often enough that those who love you see you act human, Alex. If I didn’t enjoy seeing Prince Perfect falter a bit, I wouldn’t be human. I’d say this round of jealousy’s been good for you.”
The childhood nickname didn’t irk him so much as the reference to jealousy. “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in months.”
“Enormously good for you.” Bennett picked a rose from a vase at his elbow, thinking it would complement Doreen’s skin. “But to get you off this pin you’re stuck on, I was attracted to Eve, and I like to think it was mutual. Then before anything could be done about it, I was flat on my back in the hospital. She came in every day.”
“I remember.”
“Fussing and nagging,” Bennett added. “Standing over me until I ate that pap they forced on me, lecturing me. By the time I was on my feet again, we were friends. We’ve never been anything else.” He passed the flower under his nose. “Now if you’re satisfied, I have a lady with incredibly long legs waiting for me.” He started down the hall, then stopped and turned. “You’ve never been one for advice, but I’ll give it, anyway. If you want Eve, don’t circle around it. She’s a woman for the direct approach, no pretty lies, no staged seductions. She’s gold, Alex, solid gold, with a mind as strong and sharp as a scalpel. A man would have to recognize that unless he wants small pieces sliced out of him.”
If any man he knew understood women, it was Bennett. Alexander felt the first smile form. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He watched his brother disappear into the parlor. Seconds later, there was a delighted feminine laugh.
Alexander stayed where he was a moment, trying to absorb what he knew, what he felt. Not his brother’s woman. Never his brother’s woman. But his. From this moment. Alexander strode toward the east wing quickly, needing to expend the energy racing through him.
* * *
She’d had a hell of a day. Tired and annoyed with the world at large, Eve let herself in the east entrance of the palace. Only friends and family used the small, secluded garden entrance. Normally she would have come straight in the front, but at the moment, she wanted to see and speak to no one.
Her director was edgy, and it showed. Her actors were picking up on it and had been sniping at one another as often as they blew their lines.
As producer, she could dump a lot of the heartache on her stage manager. But, damn it, it was her company. She’d conceived it, nurtured it, and she just wasn’t ready to cut the apron strings.
As a result she’d spent the past two hours in a full meeting, cast and crew, letting the gripes and misconceptions be aired.
The members of her company were mollified. She was wired.
Face it, she told herself as she closed the pretty, carved door at her back. You’ve been wound tight for weeks and it hasn’t a thing to do with the company.
He was making her crazy—mind, body, soul. How was it he could go through the motions, day after day, night after night, as though nothing had happened between them? How was it he followed routine, apparently without a ripple, when she spent sleepless nights worrying about an anonymous phone call?
The time was up, she thought, and rubbed at her aching temples. Deboque was still in prison, would remain in prison. How long would it take before the threat she’d received became action?
She remembered vividly the picture of Bennett lying on the stone floor of the terrace, the blood seeping out of him and onto the dark rock. It took little imagination to see Alexander there.
She could lose him. Though she knew he wasn’t hers, had never been hers, the threat of losing him clenched the muscles of her stomach. Whether or not he loved her, whether or not he trusted or respected her, she wanted him alive and whole.
And the forty-eight hours were up.
Perhaps it had been only a threat. Giving in to fatigue and nerves, she leaned back against the cool wood of the door and shut her eyes. The Bissets weren’t taking it seriously. If they were, wouldn’t she have seen extra guards at the gate? Wouldn’t security have been tightened around the pal
ace? Because she had checked personally, she knew Armand was in Cordina, meeting with the Council of the Crown. The rest of the royal family were keeping both official and social engagements as usual.
And the forty-eight hours were up.
Nothing was going to happen. Anything could happen. Why did it seem that she was the only one wrapped up in nerves?
Royalty! she thought, and pushed herself away from the door. Did they think that because their blood was blue it couldn’t be shed? Did they think that a title worked as an invisible shield against gunfire? Even Bennett refused to listen to her. In fact, he wouldn’t even discuss it with her. Trust them to bind themselves together in this. But all she could see was the picture of wagons drawing into a circle as Indians attacked.
Enough, Eve warned herself. She was through losing sleep over them, all of them. She had a company to run and plays to produce. She’d leave the Bissets to run their own lives and their own country.
Then she heard footsteps, whispers. And froze.
Her first reaction was quick and primitive. Run. Almost as it formed came another. Protect.
Eve braced herself against the wall, breathing deeply. Her legs spread, knees bent, her body turned slightly, she lifted her arms to complete the fighting stance. Warriors had used it for centuries when facing an enemy with no more than body and wit.
As the footsteps came closer, she drew her right arm back, her shoulders set straight as a ruler. She took one step forward, leading with her stiffened open hand. Her breath came out in a whoosh. She stopped a scant half inch from Bennett’s straight, aristocratic nose.
“Damn, Eve, I didn’t think you’d be that upset about me dating one of your people.”
“Ben!” With muscles gone limp, Eve collapsed against the wall. She’d gone white as a sheet and he could do nothing but grin. “I might have hurt you.”
Healthy masculine pride came to the rescue. “I doubt it. But what are you doing lurking around the corridors?”
“I wasn’t lurking. I’ve just come in.” Her gaze shifted to the young redhead. She should have known Bennett would have ferreted this one out before long. “Hello, Doreen.”
“Hello, Ms. Hamilton.”
Eve straightened her shoulders, then worked away embarrassment by brushing a speck of lint from her jeans. “Ben, if I’d followed through, I’d have broken your jaw. Why are you sneaking around?”
“I wasn’t—” He caught himself on the edge of justifying his presence in his own home. Bennett shook his head, amazed that Alexander would mistake his relationship with Eve for anything like sexual attraction. “It seems I have to keep explaining that I live here. In any case, my jaw is safe. I’m showing Doreen the palace before dinner.”
“That’s nice.” It was only a murmur as nerves flooded back. The hands that had been stiffened and ready to attack twisted together. “Is everyone else home?”
“Yes.” Recognizing her concern, Bennett tugged on her hair. “Everyone’s fine. Oh, Alexander is a bit out of sorts, but—”
“What happened?” Instantly her hands were clamped to his shirt. “Was he hurt?”
“He’s fine. For heaven’s sake, mind the material.” If he’d had any doubt about Eve’s feelings toward his brother, he had none now. “I saw him an hour ago,” he continued as he pried her fingers from the freshly laundered silk. “He was a bit annoyed at my, ah, flaunting one flower in front of the other. If you get my drift.”
She did, and her eyes narrowed. “Idiot.”
“Yes, well …” To keep himself from laughing at his brother in front of Doreen, Bennett coughed into his hand. “I straightened him out on all counts. So the problem’s solved.” He smiled charmingly, glad to do them both a favor.
“Straightened him out, did you?” Now her eyes were slits, dark, dangerous slits. “You feel you had the right to speak for me?”
“For myself.” Bennett held up a soothing, or protecting, hand, palm out. “I simply explained that …” He shot a look at a quiet, but raptly attentive Doreen. “Ah, that nothing had ever been—well, been.” Uncomfortable he shifted. “It seemed to satisfy him.”
“Oh, did it? Isn’t that lovely.” Eve jammed restless hands into her pockets. “I’ll do my own explaining in the future, thank you.” Her voice was honey with a dash of bitters. “Where is he?”
Grateful that the temper in her eyes was about to be pointed in another direction, Bennett smiled. His only regret was that he wouldn’t see the results. “Since he was dressed for fencing, I’d say he’s in the gym with his partner.”
“Thanks.” She took three strides down the hall before calling over her shoulder, “Rehearsal’s at nine sharp, Doreen. I want you rested.”
* * *
Eve had always liked the area in the east wing the Bissets had converted to a gym. She was a physical woman, and one who could appreciate the beauty and contrast of a room with lofted, carved ceilings and steel machines and weights. There was no scent of the sea here, no pretty cut flowers in crystal vases, but the stained glass windows were rich and ancient.
She passed through the exercise room. Normally she would have admired the first-rate equipment and setup. Now she did no more than glance around to assure herself the room was empty.
The tang of chlorinated and heated water hit her as she entered the solarium, where a red fiberglass spa dominated. Steam rose up; the sun poured in. Through the clear glass you could see the sky and touches of the sea with its deeper blue. Another time she might have been tempted to relieve her tensed muscles in the soothing water. Again she passed through with only a glance. And when she opened the next door, she heard the clash and scrape of swords.