Mail-Order Prince In Her Bed (Silhouette Desire)

by Kathryn Jensen

  She was dwelling on such thoughts when the orchestra first began to play in the salon and Antonio came up to her. “The first waltz, if you please?” he asked, holding out his hand for her.

  Maddeningly, tears came to her eyes. A prince, a waltz, and as close to a ballroom as there existed these days. What woman wouldn’t be satisfied with an evening like this?

  You wish for too much, a voice whispered from her heart.

  “I’d love to,” she said quickly, only too late remembering she didn’t know how to waltz.

  But this didn’t seem a deterrence for Antonio. He led her through the time-honored rhythm—glide, step, step…glide, step, step—holding her firmly yet gently, making sure she stayed within the circle of his arms as they swirled across the room amidst other couples.

  He looked down at her. She tried to turn her face into his shoulder so that he wouldn’t see her blinking away tears. But he brought her right hand in his up to nudge her chin with one knuckle and he looked into her eyes.

  “What’s wrong? Don’t you like the party?”

  “It’s very special,” she said. “I’m sorry if I’m spoiling it for you.”

  “You aren’t.” He looked suddenly angry. “Just tell me what you’re thinking, Maria, that makes you so sad.”

  “I’m leaving.”

  “Eventually, I suppose.” He scowled at her when she didn’t respond. His features hardened. “You have a contract.”

  “And I will fulfill it,” she assured him hastily. “But we’re running ahead of schedule. The filming of your commercials will be completed within the month. By then I will have finished all the research I need to do in Carovigno, in Italy for that matter. The film editing, voice-overs, final cuts can all be done in the States. I’ll complete the work in D.C. while I’m working to coordinate your print ads with the TV and radio commercials.”

  “I had no idea.” He frowned, looking disappointed.

  “Listen,” she said softly, “it’s for the best for other reasons too. We both know there can’t be anything more between us than there’s already been. We’ve already discussed this. I don’t want you to feel you’re being forced to enter into a relationship you can’t comfortably commit to. And I won’t give up my future for an affair—extended or otherwise. So there’s no place for this relationship to go.”

  “I see,” he said stiffly. His gaze fixed on hers, and she felt her throat constrict and tears begin to well up again. But a diplomatic cough and tap on the shoulder brought Antonio around to see who it was.

  A tall, blond man stood erect, smiling. “May I cut in?” he asked in polite, lightly accented English. “That is, if the lady is agreeable.”

  Maria was surprised but also relieved. The interruption had come at an ideal time from her perspective. She couldn’t have stayed in Antonio’s arms another moment before she would have burst into frustrated sobs.

  The man introduced himself as he swept Maria across the wide expanse of parquet floor. He turned out to be a nephew of Genevra Boniface.

  “Are you from around here?” Maria asked pleasantly.

  “I live in Milan.” He went on to tell her about teaching at the university there.

  They chatted pleasantly through the next two dances, then another man tapped her current partner, and she was transferred smoothly into his arms. Again, he introduced himself formally and told her he had driven all the way from Naples expressly for the party…and to meet her. When he also informed Maria that he was single and started, as her other partner had, to describe his financial background, she became more than a little suspicious.

  Maria looked across the room to where Genevra was holding court with two other young men. One turned, looked Maria’s way, and gave a subtle nod of acknowledgement.

  What are the odds, she wondered, at least one of them will want a dance?

  Meanwhile, she could see Antonio standing alone on the far side of the room, scowling darkly into his drink. She wondered if he too had noticed a strange pattern.

  Sure enough, after another song had finished, one of the two men who had been talking with Genevra presented himself as her new partner.

  Maria smiled up at him, more curious and amused than offended by what appeared to be a well-coordinated conspiracy. “Tell me, what did Genevra Boniface say to you and your friend before you approached me?”

  He looked flustered. “Ah, well, La Signora…she is most discreet. I assure you.”

  “Discreet about what?”

  “Why…your mission. Your causa for coming to Carovigno.” His English was stilted, but she had no trouble understanding him.

  “And what cause is that?” she asked.

  He seemed to lose the music’s beat for a moment, but recovered quickly. “I do not wish to make the difficulty for La Signora,” he whispered.

  Maria’s smile broadened encouragingly. “Of course not.”

  “She confided in me, almost exclusively, that you are interested in finding a husband.” He kept his voice low. “I couldn’t believe, as attractive as you are, signorina, and with your wealth, that you had been unable to find a mate in America.”

  Maria’s mouth dropped open.

  “But,” he continued proudly, “she explained how you favor Italian men, which is quite understandable.”

  “I see.” This smile took more effort. “And you are interested?”

  He grinned, nodding energetically. “Si!”

  “What if I told you that I wasn’t wealthy? That I own no property other than secondhand furniture and a ten-year-old compact car?”

  He blinked at her, looking confused. “I suppose La Signora, she could have been mistaken. Perhaps that is why she so generously offered to provide a dowry?”

  “A dowry?” Maria choked out the words. The room turned a noxious shade of red. Then tilted and pitched beneath her feet. Maria grabbed the man’s jacket lapels for support. “A dowry.”

  “Si, when you marry she is promising to give the groom fifty-thousand American dollars. Most generous, yes?”

  Maria swallowed and finally managed, “Most…yes!” She looked around frantically for Genevra, but the eager matchmaker seemed to have disappeared among the guests, perhaps sensing she’d been discovered. Or maybe like a heat-seeking missile, honing in on another prospective suitor.

  Meanwhile, her partner seemed unfazed by her confessed lack of funds. “So,” he purred in her ear, dragging her closer, “we can be frank, no? You like Rufio?”

  Maria slipped down and out of his arms. “I like you very much, Rufio. But not enough to marry you. Excuse me.” She gave him a brief, teeth-gritting smile and dashed across the room.

  Before she was halfway to the other side, Antonio intercepted her. Seizing her arm, he pulled her up short. “Where are you off to so quickly, Miss Popularity?”

  She glowered at him. “Let me go. I have a bone to pick with your dear mother.”

  “Really. Not enough men to go around? Could be you’re monopolizing them all.”

  She couldn’t believe it—he chose this moment to turn into the green-eyed monster! Men!

  “Oh, yes,” she snarled, “I’ve been enjoying myself immensely. Being auctioned off to every eligible bachelor in Italy is just what I’ve always wanted.”

  Antonio’s grip weakened, and she shook herself free. But when she started past him, he stepped to one side to block her. His expression looked dangerously stormy. “Woman, what are you talking about?”

  “I’m referring to your mother’s real motive for throwing this little bash. Me!”

  “But of course, she planned everything in your honor. She consulted me on every detail beforehand, to make sure you would approve.”

  “Along with the ice sculptures and lovely menu, did she happen to mention she was putting a fifty-thousand-dollar bounty on my head?”

  Antonio’s electric-blue eyes turned incredulous. “Su! What the hell are you talking about, Maria?”

  “Genevra has offered money to any man who c
an get me to marry him. Do you suppose there’s a somewhat lesser amount waiting should one of them talk me into bed for a night?”

  “I don’t believe it.”

  “I,” Maria stated firmly, “believe it. I don’t put anything past that woman. I’m having a word with her. Now!”

  “Wait!” But it was too late. Maria was off at a run to do battle. Gown, formal satin heels and all.

  Antonio cursed under his breath, cursed again for good measure and took off after her. He had serious doubts whether either of the two females would survive the next hour if he didn’t interfere.

  But Maria was quick.

  By the time Antonio fought his way across the salon between clusters of guests, he was horrified to discover Maria had pulled his mother away from her friends and was speaking to her in a low tone. He grimaced, not eager to shed his own blood in the mêlée to come.

  Perhaps the situation would resolve itself? Dreamer! No, he would step in if things got physical, although he had trouble imagining his aristocratic mother duking it out with little Maria.

  Still…Maria looked ready for a good brawl.

  He circled the two women cautiously, desperately trying to pick up a few words without too obviously eavesdropping. His mother’s expression was grim as she listened to Maria, who spoke animatedly, her hands flying to emphasize her words. She looked very Italian. Very cute. He had trouble not smiling.

  He moved closer, stepping behind his mother to hear better.

  From here he could see Maria’s expression, and he was astonished to see that she was smiling. If she wasn’t enjoying herself, she was putting on a damn good show.

  He moved closer.

  “I understand your concern,” Maria was saying. “But there’s no reason to worry about my taking either of your men away from you. In two months I’ll have finished all I need to do here. Then I’ll return to the States. Alone. I’m here to work, for no other reason.”

  Antonio searched her eyes desperately for any sign of her pleasant smile weakening, but could find none. It broke his heart. He had hoped that he might still convince her to stay with him. But she sounded so sure of herself, so set on doing what she felt was the right thing.

  He didn’t stand a chance.

  Two months. They would be eight weeks—one hundred sixty-eight hours each—of longing and frustration. If she’d given in and slept with him, he could at least have hoped to get her out of his system. Most affairs, he knew from his own premarital experiences, and those of friends, burned themselves out in a few months.

  Why was it too much to ask for just an average length affair with the woman? He felt like punching out one of those damn ice sculptures.

  If he’d been less than honorable, he might have lied to Maria like other men. Told her he loved her and promised her they’d marry. Perhaps use his mother as an excuse for not announcing their engagement immediately. He might have asked her to give him time to warm Genevra up to the idea of their marriage. While she granted him those weeks, he would be enjoying all the benefits of having a fiancée—including her sweet body.

  Unfortunately, he was not that kind of man.

  Antonio tuned back in on the conversation between the two women while he picked up a plate and pretended to select food from the buffet.

  His mother was speaking in careful English. “I was only trying to encourage suitors for you, Maria. Any mother would do as much.”

  “But you’re not my mother,” Maria pointed out gently. “And I’m not interested in marrying any of these men.”

  “You are a pretty young woman. You should have gentlemen friends. I see no one coming to call on you.”

  “I’m working while I’m here in Carovigno. I don’t want the distraction of dating.” She laid a hand on his mother’s arm. “I know how close you are to your son and grandson. Even if I had the power to take them from you, I would never do that.”

  He turned to see his mother’s expression.

  She held herself proudly erect and spoke solemnly. “Perhaps you do not intend to hurt this family. But I know what I see. You are in love with my Tonio. He has been lonely so he is drawn to you. But he will never marry again. You will see.” She nodded wisely. “You will see, Maria McPherson.”

  Maria stood silently, watching Genevra walk away from her. Her gaze drifted to the floor. She didn’t move.

  Antonio walked over to her. “I’m sorry. She speaks her mind. At times it’s not appropriate or even the truth.”

  Maria glanced up at him, her eyes rimmed with pink but dry. “I expect she’s right on target this time.”

  Antonio shook his head. “She’s right about my not wanting to marry again. But the rest—”

  “You mean about my being in love with you?” Maria laughed, but he detected no humor in the clipped, unnatural sound from her throat. “I used to believe that one person couldn’t possibly love another who didn’t return their love. It seemed like asking for pain. How could a person have so little respect for herself? But I can see you don’t love me, and…” Her beautiful silver-gray eyes filled with tears. Words trembled on her lips then dissolved. “Oh, damn you, Antonio…”

  She turned and ran from him, past a glistening sculpture of a butterfly, past servers carrying trays laden with caviar and delicate pastries. He glanced at his mother and saw that she had been watching them.

  Shooting her a look intended to remind her that he was his own man, Antonio ran after Maria.

  Eleven

  Maria’s heart felt as if it had been fed through a paper shredder. Was she so utterly transparent? Did everyone who even looked at her when she was with Antonio immediately know how smitten she was?

  What a dreadful mistake she’d made coming here! She’d understood from the beginning that Antonio wanted an intimate relationship. Purely physical—no promises, no obligations. He’d been honest about that much.

  She knew it! Yet she’d walked boldly into his world, and now she’d made everything worse, all but admitting that she’d fallen in love with him. She had no one to blame but herself for her shattered heart. What had she been thinking?

  Stopping only long enough to kick off each of her dress pumps, Maria ran barefoot across the garden and out through the estate’s main gate. She kept on running up the road toward town, through narrow, deserted streets. Up and up twisting alleys of stone that smelled of bread, mold and, she realized with revulsion, urine.

  Not much had changed here since the Middle Ages…certainly not in the men bred by this town. Men like Antonio who ran their lives according to their own whims or desires.

  She swore under her breath, fought back tears, ran on through dark streets putting space between herself and the masseria, as her feet began to hurt from pounding against the hard earth and cobbled roads. At last, out of breath, she crested the hill on which Carovigno had been built millennia ago, rounded the ancient castle’s walls, and started down the other side, through twisting paths and rubble.

  It seemed odd that she had seen only a few shadowy figures moving through the streets in all this time. The entire town must have been invited to the party. And every eligible bachelor had undoubtedly been informed of her availability! She groaned at the humiliation.

  At last she ran out of civilization, found herself in a steeply sloping field crowded with boulders and almond trees. Olive trees ranged below and off into the dark distance. Among them were a few little conical-roofed huts of what looked like stone blocks. Collapsing into the grass, desperately pulling air into burning lungs, she dissolved into tears. She wished she’d never had a twenty-fifth birthday. A birthday that had brought such a maddening, self-centered, amazing man into her life.

  After a while, she heard ragged breathing from above her, then footfalls skidding down the rocky hillside. Her stomach clenched. Hastily, she wiped the dampness from her cheeks and tried to melt into the grass.

  “You never…told me you’d…gone out for cross-country,” a deep voice gasped.

  “Go
away, Antonio,” she muttered.

  “Are you upset because my mother told you what I had already confided in you?”

  “I said, go away!” There wasn’t a thing he could say to make her like him again, she told herself. Not a thing. “How did you find me anyway?”

  “That white dress…it stands out in the moonlight like a beacon. I’ve been…Dio!…tailing you since you hit the main road into town. Nearly killed me!” He gulped down a few more breaths, took a seat beside her on the ground before managing to continue. “Is she right?” he asked softly. “Are you in love with me, Maria?”

  She twisted around in the grass and glowered at him. “I hate you!”

  More to the point, she hated that he looked so damn good in a black tuxedo, in the moonlight, with chunks of granite as a backdrop. How was a girl supposed to respond rationally to a man under such circumstances?

  “You hate me,” he stated, studying her expression intently.

  She had to look away from him. “Listen, I’m not about to feed your male ego. Let’s just leave it that we’re different. Rather, what we want from life is different.”

  “What if I told you I’m not sure what I want?” he said in a voice that drew her in.

  She shook her head fiercely, fighting the feelings. “I don’t believe that. At the very least, you know what you don’t want. You don’t want a wife. And you don’t want more children. And those are exactly the things I do want—marriage and a family.”

  He opened his mouth to say something, but she barreled on.

  “A conventional marriage, as in two people who love each other and work together to raise their children, and trust that the other person will be there for them when times are rough. Maybe you’re still hurting from tragedy, but I don’t really believe that. Not after seeing you these last few months. Maybe it’s just that marriage isn’t exciting enough for your royal blood. Doesn’t give you enough freedom or whatever rationale you want to use.” She turned to face him. “But this is my life too, Antonio, and I have a choice, dammit!”