Duets™

Two brand-new stories in every volume…twice a month!

Duets Vol. #83

Royalty makes an appearance in the line this month with a fun-filled Double Duets by fan favorite Carrie Alexander. Look for the sexy, sassy RED-HOT ROYALS miniseries from this author whom Romantic Times says is “a gifted writer, with a fresh distinctive voice.” The regal miniseries continues next month with Jill Shalvis!

Duets Vol. #84

Bonnie Tucker and Holly Jacobs team up this month to write about disastrous weddings. Bonnie’s The Great Bridal Escape features a runaway bride who elopes with the best man. Holly follows with a quirky story, How To Catch a Groom, about a hunky hero left at the altar with only the gorgeous wedding coordinator to console him. Enjoy all the matrimonial antics with this dynamite writing duo!

Be sure to pick up both Duets volumes today!

Once Upon a Tiara
Henry Ever After
Carrie Alexander

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Once Upon a Tiara

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Epilogue

Henry Ever After

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Once Upon a Tiara

“Ooh, my blouse is all damp,” Lili said.

She peeled off her pink jacket and reached to unbutton the blouse. The wet silk had gone transparent, clinging to the curves of her breasts.

Good God! Simon thought. Breasts! Naked! Lucky, lucky man!

Then: Bodyguard! Royal outrage! Disgrace!

Worth it!

“Do you have a hair dryer?” Lili asked.

“There are hand dryers in the lavatories. I’ll take your things, if you like.”

His brain had lost too much blood for him to think straight. Staring at the ceiling, he reached out a blind hand, hoping she’d put the clothes into it.

“I’ll do it.” She stood suddenly.

Simon got a handful of breast instead.

The princess gasped.

Lili looked at him with bright, inquisitive eyes, her clothing clutched to her chest. “Now that you’ve touched my breast, you practically have to take me on a date.”

He hesitated. “Would I get to touch the other breast?”

Dear Reader,

I had such fun writing for the RED-HOT ROYALS miniseries. I’m never going to be a princess—and, honestly, I wouldn’t want to be—but occasionally it’s a treat to indulge in the fantasy world of ball gowns, tiaras and fairy godmothers. Of course, since this is the wild and wacky world of Duets, I also threw in a few less perfect elements: bee stings, bad dates, pickpockets and a Gypsy curse. To say nothing of two rather improbable Prince Charmings…

Please enjoy the intertwined stories of my two princesses, Lili and Jana. One’s not quite as royal as the other—except to her hero. That’s as it should be. Because we’re all princesses where it counts!

Yours, with a sprinkle of fairy dust,

Carrie Alexander

P.S. Amelia Grundy isn’t finished yet. Remember to look for Lili’s sisters’ stories, A Royal Mess and Her Knight To Remember by Jill Shalvis, next month.

Books by Carrie Alexander

HARLEQUIN TEMPTATION

839—SMOOTH MOVES

869—RISKY MOVES

HARLEQUIN BLAZE

20—PLAYING WITH FIRE

HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

1042—THE MAVERICK

To Susan Sheppard, a final pearl for the true pearl

Thanks for everything, “Clam”

1

“PEANUT BUTTER,” Lili said to herself, gazing beyond the wisps of vaporous clouds. The airplane was beginning its descent.

Soon, she, Liliane Brunner, Her Serene Highness of Grunberg—oh, my, my. La-di-da!—would have her first taste of genuine American peanut butter. To be excited over such a silly little thing was not at all grown-up or sophisticated. Even though Lili had sworn to her family that she’d behave on this trip, at the moment she didn’t give a fig about what a proper princess would do. There were peanut butter jars to explore! Childish or not, she’d wanted to stick her finger into a jar of Skippy or Jif ever since she’d heard of the exotic brands.

And grab a handful of M&M’s, she added silently, leaning closer to the small window to get a glimpse of land. Oh, and I mustn’t forget hot dogs, slathered in mustard and ketchup and relish and sauerkraut and pickles and five-alarm chili…

Perhaps it would be best not to try it all at once!

Lili smiled, propping a fist beneath her chin in a gesture left over from her storybook childhood, when life at the royal castle in Spitzenstein had been one grand entertainment after another. Her mother’s death in an avalanche in the Swiss Alps had changed all that. Lili had been nine. Her father had grieved deeply, withdrawing from the world for several years. Afterward, he’d become far more restrictive about what he allowed for his three young daughters. Lili and her two older sisters, Natalia and Andrea, had grown up as sheltered as possible in the modern day.

Despite her mother’s tragic demise, Lili’s optimism and outgoing personality could not be stifled. She tried to be good to please her father—especially since Natalia, the eldest, had grown into a rebel, while Andrea played the nonconformist—but being good was terribly boring. Lili loved life—all of it! She wanted to experience everything. This was her first trip to America as an adult, and she was practically light-headed, her anticipation so fizzy it was as if she’d been guzzling expensive champagne straight from the bottle.

Lili nipped the tip of her tongue to quell an eruption of sheer excitement. If she let it out, she might not be able to stop…and it wasn’t very princessy to giggle in first class.

Then again, why should only she have to behave? Prince Franz, her father, was spending a weekend in Cap d’Antibes with his va-va-voom mistress—though Lili wasn’t supposed to know that—while Andrea, the tomboy, and Natalia, who was Lili’s role model for mis behavior, completed preparations to attend a wedding in the American Southwest. They had been enlisted to lecture Lili about the importance of maintaining proper royal comportment, but really… Was she seriously expected to take instruction from Natalia, with her leather miniskirts and bite-my-heinie attitude? Or Annie, who knew her own mind and spoke it frequently?

Lili was the baby at twenty-two. Old enough, in her opinion.

Her father had another, however. She was considered too capricious to handle vital duties. For her first overseas outing as a solo representative of the royal family, the opening of an exhibition of the royal jewels in a diddly-squat museum in Middle America was as safe and insignificant an assignment as Prince Franz could find. Lili didn’t mind. She’d been waiting for any opportunity to strike out on her own.

At her first glimpse of land, Lili nearly bounced out of her seat. She’d spotted green trees and golden-hued fields far below. Those had to be the “amber waves of grain”—a phrase that had piqued her curiosity far more than “purple mountains majesty.” She’d seen plenty of those in her homeland, a pocket-sized principality tucked between the Swiss Alps and the Austrian border. America was a thousand times the size of Grunberg, whose citizens were so stuck upon their traditions they didn’t even have the Golden Arches.

Too thrilled to keep silent, Lili turned to her traveling companion, Mrs. Amelia Grundy. “This is the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Mrs. Grundy, a solid British sort not given to hyperbole, shook her head at the young princess. “Surely, sweet child, it’s not better than the time the sheikh from Abu Dibadinia offered Prince Franz two hundred camels and a sixty-carat ruby for your hand in marriage.”

Lili let out a huge smile. “Oh, much better. You know red’s not my color. Besides, he offered three hundred camels for Natalia. I was highly insulted.”

“What about when you ran off with the young Scottish laird of Kirkgordon to the topless beach in Monaco?” Mrs. Grundy had heartily disapproved of the escapade, even though her eyes had twinkled while she’d scolded the young princess. Lili was certain that she brought it up now only to remind the princess of past transgressions.

“That should have been exciting,” Lili mused, her lips curving into a reminiscent smile, “but poor Johnnie, with his unfortunate red hair and all those freckles—he wasn’t prepared for the hot sun of the Riviera.”

“And a lucky sunburn it was for you, young lady. Because of the lad’s solar allergy you made it off the beach in the nick of time. The papparazzi arrived a full five minutes before the palace bodyguards.”

Lili put on a pretend pout. “I never even got to take my top off.”

Mrs. Grundy rolled her eyes heavenward. “Goodness, no. Remember, my dear, you promised. There will be no mischief on this trip.”

Lili opened her mouth. How very dull that sounded! “But—”

“No ifs, ands or buts about it, Your Serene Highness. You know what I always say—”

“Not to worry.” Lili interrupted before the dear woman repeated one of her favorite expressions. It was always a bad sign when Amelia Grundy launched into the Your-Serene-Highness song and dance.

Lili glanced sidelong with a foxy smile. “I hear that Americans still emulate the Puritans when it comes to nudity…and other regards. It’s extremely unlikely that Blue Cloud, Pennsylvania, will offer me a single opportunity for naked shenanigans.” She gave an airy sigh. “What a pity.”

“If I didn’t know that you’re teasing me…”

Lili gripped the older woman’s hand. “Of course, I am, Amelia. I remain as pure as the driven snow.” In spite of my best attempts.

Amelia Grundy’s stern but kindly face crinkled into dubious speculation. She was sixtyish, rather tall and formidable, built as round and solid as a ski mogul, with keen blue eyes and silvered hair she wore on top of her head in a pouf. A widow, she’d been with the royal family since before Lili was born, acting first as the three sisters’ nanny, then—when the princesses chafed at being overseen by someone who bore such an old-fashioned term—as their combination escort, companion, social secretary and lady-in-waiting.

“Perhaps you are pure in deed,” Amelia said, “but not, I fear, in thought or intent.”

Lili scrunched her nose. How true! She never could manage to fool old Grundy, who had an almost mystical omniscience when it came to the three princesses. Many a time she’d shown up where least expected, just at the right moment to stop one of their wild adventures or dangerous stunts. Or facilitate a dignified exit when none seemed possible. The sisters had come to accept, and even rely upon, their former nanny’s more “magical” abilities.

Now that Lili was an adult, Amelia’s way of knowing what was on her mind—often before she knew it herself—could be as annoying as it was helpful. When a girl was trying to lose her virginity, it didn’t help to have a nanny overseeing her. Transcendentally or not!

“It’s the twenty-first century, Mrs. Grundy. These days, no girl stays a virgin until marriage.”

“Unless she is the daughter of His Serene Highness, Prince Franz Albert Rudolf of Grunberg, and subject to public scrutiny in all that she does.” Amelia nodded complacently, as if the subject was settled, and reopened the romance novel she’d been reading all the way across the Atlantic.

Lili sighed to herself. Upon their official debut into European society, she and her sisters had become known in the tabloids as The Three Jewels. Although their country was small and inconsequential and their father avoided the press whenever possible, much attention—and not a little speculation—had been devoted to the sisters’ love lives.

Or lack thereof, Lili thought, squirming against the restraint of the safety belt as she peered out the window. They were circling the airport now. She was mere minutes away from freedom. Or as close to freedom as she could get with both Amelia Grundy and Rodger Wilhelm, the bodyguard her father had insisted she take along, watching her backside as if it were spun from glass and subject to shatter at the merest touch. Natalia and Annie were better off; they’d been granted permission to travel on their own. As the youngest, Lili was babied more than she liked.

But no more. She was determined about that. This trip would be the start of something tremendous for her. She could sense it.

Peanut butter, M&M’s, hot dogs and hamburgers, Lili chanted to herself. America was so diverse, so raw, so much an adventure-in-waiting. Hip-hop, bebop, shop till you drop. Drive-ins, push-ups, hoedowns and take-outs!

As the plane dropped toward the runway, anticipation rang in Lili’s ears. This was her chance. She would have herself an authentic American experience or her name wasn’t Liliane Marja Mae Graf Brunner.

Why, she wouldn’t even say no to a daring whirlwind fling with a dashing American playboy!

“WITH ALL THAT’S going on at the museum,” Simon Tremayne said as he waited for the first passengers to disembark, “meeting a spoiled princess from some backward little European country no one but us has ever heard of is the last thing I have time for.”

“Take off your glasses,” said Cornelia Applewhite, the mayor of Blue Cloud, who had a tendency to ignore all complaints, which made it easier to bulldoze her constituency. “You’ll look less like a nerd and more like a dignitary.”

Simon did so, pretending there was a smudge. After he’d finished wiping the lenses with the end of his tie, he slipped the glasses into the breast pocket of his suit coat. Who knew why? It couldn’t have been because in photographs the princess was young, blond and cute as a buttercup.

“I suppose I have to kiss her hand?” he said, making sure to sound long-suffering.

“Didn’t you read the protocol report I faxed over to the museum?”

“I intended to.” It was on his list, right after Put On Clean Underwear.

“Si-mon!” the mayor pealed.

He winced. Cornelia—you had to remember to pronounce it Cor-nell-ia, and saints preserve the person who shortened it to Corny—was a short woman with a voice and figure like Foghorn Leghorn. Speaking in a normal tone made her vibrate. When she turned it on full blast to give orders—and she lived to give orders—her entire body swayed with the effort, from the tassels on her pumps to the rooster fringe of her upswept hairdo. Simon wondered if it was considered good protocol to megaphone greetings forceful enough to puncture the princess’s eardrums.

“They’re coming,” Cornelia said to the small group of Blue Cloud VIPs she’d recruited to greet the princess. “Look sharp, people. Pretend you know what you’re doing. And you, Simon, tuck in your tie.” She took a closer look. “King Tut? Couldn’t you have gone for a nice sedate blue or gray?”

“Too late now,” he said, tucking Tut in. The greeters murmured with excitement. The princess and her entourage had naturally been deplaned first. Between the oncoming phalanx of tall, stern people in dark blue suits, all Simon caught of the princess was a flash of pink and a glimpse of ruffled corn-silk hair.

The blond head bobbed. Several times. He chuckled. The petite princess was on springs.

Cornelia said “Shush,” to him in her normal tone—loud—just as the princess’s plaintive voice announced, “But I can’t see anything!”

Everyone hushed.

A small feminine hand appeared on the broad shoulder of the closest bodyguard. Next, a blond head with short hair going in six different directions pushed past the woolen sleeve of a woman who looked as starched as her collar. The princess peeped out at the group from Blue Cloud. She blinked several times. Long spidery lashes curled back from her eyes like stamens.

The greeters returned the stare in complete silence.

“My goodness,” she said. “I do hope you weren’t shushing me. I haven’t been shushed since boarding school, even though I suppose there were plenty who might have liked to.”

She smiled, very prettily.

And Simon’s heartstrings went zing.

Fortunately, Cornelia began booming her practiced welcome speech, and he was able to classify the electric thrumming in his veins as sound-wave reverberation. Corny’s reverb had been known to register on the Richter scale.

He had neither the time nor the inclination for dallying with princesses, even when they were cuddly little blondes built for the boudoir. The very idea was absurd, particularly when he remembered who he was: Simon Stafford Tremayne, boy genius, college egghead, museum wonk. Before he’d learned to keep activities that required tuxedos and courtliness permanently outside of his comfort zone, his greatest success with the opposite sex was slow-dancing with Valerie Wingate at his high school prom, and that had happened only because she was mad at her quarterback boyfriend and had grabbed the nearest nerd at hand for revenge. That one dance had earned Simon a broken nose, and it hadn’t even been worth it. Valerie Wingate had been so vapid, not even the chance to look down her cleavage was compensation. At least, not after the first thousand or so mental slow-motion replays.

The older woman with the bulk and the bulging leather satchel was shaking each of their hands, taking names, and introducing them to the princess. “Mrs. Amelia Grundy,” she said to Simon.

He gave his hand. “No, it’s Simon Tremayne, actually.”

Her lips crimped. No sense of humor. She gripped his hand a beat too long, staring straight into his eyes. Damned if he didn’t feel the zing again. Well, that was good. That meant the feeling could be anything—static electricity from the carpet or maybe indigestion. He’d inhaled a spicy burrito at lunch. Give him a Tums and he’d be safe from all manner of embarrassing eruptions. Burps to bolts from the blue.

“Cor-nell-eee-yah,” Princess Buttercup was saying, with an ill-concealed mischievous glitter to her eyes.

“Cornelia Applewhite. My, that’s too long a name. I shall call you…”

She glanced at Simon. He arched a brow.

“Nell,” she said. “You look like a Nell to me, born and bred among the amber waves of grain on a wholesome American farm.”

Simon barely withheld his laugh. Cornelia, for once, was too flustered to bluster. She was hugely and loudly proud of her venerable family background, but contradicting princesses was undoubtedly against protocol.

The stern Englishwoman glanced sidelong, her mouth pinched into a disapproving knot.

The princess saw the look and sobered so suddenly it was comical. She drew herself up, tipping the saucy royal chin into the air and taking on a formal tone. “That is, unless you prefer Mayor? Or would it be Madam Mayor?”

The British battleship returned her attention to Simon. “And you are?”

“Boggled.”

Mrs. Grundy frowned. “Is that a distasteful American slang term?”

“No, it’s the Queen’s English.” He’d never been so irreverent in his life, but there was a certain gaiety in the air and he couldn’t resist. “Its definition is to be overwhelmed with fright or amazement.”

“Ah, that sort of boggled.” She looked him over. “You’re not cowering…”

His gaze strayed to the princess, who’d relaxed as soon as Grundy wasn’t looking. She was charming Corny’s cravat off despite the farm-girl nickname. “Maybe I’m amazed.”

“Wings,” Mrs. Grundy said, surprising him. “Paul McCartney. A Liverpool lad.” Simon tore his attention off the princess and refocused on the Mistress of Starch. Amelia Grundy’s eyes were Atlantic blue, and not nearly as humorless as he’d first assumed.

“I’m the curator of the Princess Adelaide and Horace P. Applewhite Memorial Museum,” he said. It was a terrible mouthful; the townspeople had already shortened the museum’s name to “The Addy-Appy.” “We are most honored to host the debut exhibition of the Brunner family jewels.”

Usually the term family jewels provoked a grin or a snicker—Blue Cloud wasn’t a bastion of sophistication despite Corny’s pretentions—but all he got from Grundy was a stiff nod. “As is the princess to be your guest of honor,” she said.

“Indubitably,” Simon said, because it sounded very British.

Mrs. Grundy’s lips twitched as she passed him over to the princess, introducing him by name and occupation. “Mr. Tremayne,” she continued, “may I introduce Her Serene Highness, Princess Liliane Brunner of the sovereign principality of Grunberg.”

You may indeed.

The princess placed her hand lightly in his, palm down. He found himself succumbing to a deep bow, propelled by some instinct he hadn’t known he possessed, his lips hovering above the smooth skin on her delicate hand. Her scent suited the season—spring fresh, green and sweet as tender rosebuds.

Gather them while ye may, he thought, one hair-breadth away from a courtly kiss when his suit coat gaped. His glasses fell out, landing on the princess’s toes. She trilled a startled “Oh, my!” and gave a little backward hop. Her big, jowly bodyguard moved in swiftly, crunching Simon’s glasses beneath his heel before Grundy could wave him off.

Princess Liliane patted the mastiff’s arm. “It’s quite all right, Rodger.”

The guard swung around to glare at Simon. Crackle.

“Dear me, your glasses,” said the princess.

She and Simon knelt at the same moment. “Please, let me.” She lifted the mangled wire-framed spectacles in both hands as if she were cradling a bird with a broken wing. “I’m afraid they’re ruined.”

He plucked them off her palm. Tiny cracks spider-webbed through one of the lenses. “I have another pair at the museum, Your Royal…uh, Your Serene Princess—”

“Please call me Lili.” She looked into his eyes.

“Lili,” he said, blinking.

“Are you nearsighted?”

No, just boggled. “Farsighted.”

“Then I’m too close…” she whispered, bringing her face another millimeter nearer nonetheless.

“For what?”

Her face was youthfully round, her skin like buttermilk. Her smile was generously wide and unaffected, but it was her lips that stole his breath away—they were full and pink and utterly, undeniably kissable. “For you to see me clearly,” she said, suddenly turning her face up and her delectable smile down when Mrs. Grundy reached between them and pulled the princess unceremoniously to her feet, bracing Lili on a protective, sturdy arm as if the young woman were an invalid.

Simon also rose, the glasses dangling from his fingertips. He didn’t need them to see that he was more than boggled. He was enchanted.

What a pain in the patoot.

WITH ALL THE FAWNING and milling around, it took Simon several minutes to sort out that the princess’s entourage, which consisted of a large portion of airline personnel and only two official watchdogs: Amelia Grundy and Rodger Wilhelm, the heavyset middle-aged bodyguard, who kept shooting suspicious glances at Simon, as if museum curators were high on the dangerous-kook list.

Kooks, yes, he conceded, thinking of a colleague who’d paid a cool million for a fake Rembrandt or the poor sot who’d had a scarab stolen out from beneath his nose. Kooks, but not dangerous kooks.

The assemblage moved toward the exit. The princess’s head was on a swivel, as if the small municipal airport was a fascinating tourist site. Simon overheard her telling “Nell” that she’d hadn’t been to America since she was a child. Apparently, her father considered the country an immoral wasteland filled with mobsters, cowboys, homeboys and decadent Hollywood movie stars.

“Well, my goodness, that’s just ridiculous,” Corny said, forgetting that it was bad etiquette to deprecate princely opinions—even those belonging to the ruler of a mostly overlooked sliver of a country that had produced nothing of consequence for the last three or four hundred years of his family’s monarchy. “Your grandmother was an American.”

“Hot dogs!” the princess said.

What a scatterbrain, Simon thought, certain his eyes were glued to her as they’d be to a train wreck. She trotted to the airport restaurant, where a half-dozen shriveled wieners rotated on spits around a feeble warming bulb. They were withered, like an old man’s…finger.

And she was in raptures. “I’ve always wanted to taste a genuine American hot dog, not the pale European imitation. Please, may I have one?”

“Of course,” said Corny, with less than her usual gusto. Doubtless, she was thinking of the tea-and-cake tent reception planned for the princess’s arrival in Blue Cloud.

Simon stepped in. “Trust me, Princess Liliane, you don’t want one of those. We can get better hot dogs at the Blue Cloud drive-in.”

“A drive-in restaurant? Like the one in American Graffiti?” Lili’s eyes widened. They were exotically almond-shaped. Brown, almost black—the color of semisweet chocolate. “Do you promise?”

Before Simon could make the date—protocol demanded it—Grundy interrupted. “We must follow the schedule, Princess.” She literally said “shedjul,” but only Simon seemed to notice. He pressed his lips together, holding back a smile.

“Yes, you’re right.” Lili quickly conceded, allowing them to hustle her away even though she threw a longing glance over her shoulder. At the hot dogs, alas, and not him.

Simon shrugged. There must be hot dogs in Grunberg. The country was a stone’s throw from Germany, home of the bratwurst. In the days of the World Wide Web and supersonic air travel, even a sheltered, pampered princess couldn’t be that naive. Going by the diamonds in her elfin ears, the pale pink designer suit wrapped around her luscious curves and, particularly, her easy charm—well-schooled, perhaps—she had to be more sophisticated than her bubbly personality would have him believe.

It’s because she’s only twenty-two, practically a child, he thought, with all the wisdom and maturity of his twenty-nine years. A bright, enthusiastic child. You can’t have a crush on a child.

Even one packaged in a hoochie-mama body.

“IT LOOKS LIKE a picture postcard,” Lili said as they drove past the rolling green-and-gold fields, quilted by white fences and mounds of trees that grew medievally thick. She was enjoying herself again, after being momentarily distracted by disappointment when only the mayor and a bald, beady-eyed man named Spotsky had accompanied her, Grundy and Rodger in the limousine from the airport. The oddball museum guy with the flashy tie and the quiet chuckle had been left at the curb along with the rest of the greeters.

She’d been subjected to Nell’s running discourse on the history of the town ever since. If the oddball had come along, he would have smirked, devilishly. His eyes would have twinkled and one brow would have arched high on his even higher forehead, and Lili might have gotten the little hitch in her throat again. He wasn’t knock-your-socks-off handsome, not in that awful tie and the terribly wrinkled suit, but there were his intelligent eyes to consider, and the cowlick that distracted from his receding hairline, and the adorable way the two sides of his face didn’t quite match up…

Simon Tremayne, she thought. Not a solid All-American name like Chip or Hank or Dave, but it suited him. She liked him instinctively, even if he wasn’t what she’d expected. Or hoped for.

Lili tuned in to the mayor, who was saying, “My esteemed grandfather, Horace P. Applewhite, founded the Society of Concerned Citizens, putting into action the preservation of the…”

She tuned her out again, careful to maintain a wide-eyed look of interest. It was a talent she’d developed when stuffy state dinners became de rigeur, quickly followed by de trop. Mrs. Grundy would fill her in on the highlights later. If there were any.

Lili let her gaze stray to the window. Despite her longing to emulate her sisters and quit trying to conform to her father’s expectations, it seemed to her that she was always looking at the world out of windows, from a distance. Was it so wrong of her to want to experience her life instead of only observing it in a dull and stately manner? She wasn’t blunt like Annie, nor gutsy like Natalia. All she wanted was a bit of fun now and then.

The limo was entering the town. Lili was delighted by what she saw, even if it was through a pane of glass. Blue Cloud appeared to be the quintessential small American town. There was a spare white church with a steeple on one corner, a stone post office with an American flag on the other. The car passed through a bustling downtown—with parking meters!—populated by gift shops and tourists, who pointed and took photos of the limo. She glimpsed something called a Freezee Treat, a redoubtable bank with pillars and stone lions and an old-fashioned brick schoolhouse—with a crossing guard!—and then they were cruising through tree-lined streets of quaint bungalows and wood-frame houses as upright as Puritans.

Lili pressed the toggle to roll down the window. “Prin-cess,” cautioned Mrs. Grundy, but Lili went ahead anyway and thrust her face into the wind, not caring a whit that she would probably be mistaken for a Pomeranian with its head hanging out the car window. Her hair fluttered against her cheeks and forehead, just like the little flags at the front of the car. Wonderful!

Bright sun, the rush of wind, the smell of blacktop and hot brick and—

Rodger tugged her back inside. The occupants of the car stared at her, smiles wavering. Nell had actually stopped talking. So it hadn’t been the wind in Lili’s ears drowning her out. Good, she thought. Good. I don’t want to be a jewel, refined and polished to perfection. There was nothing more boring than perfection.

An immense sea of cars shining in the sun caught Lili’s eye. “Oh,” she cried, “I want to shop there.” The limo had passed through town and was cruising along a busy boulevard. Cars surrounded a building that looked like a cement bunker. A plasticky sign in primary colors—so American—read: Salemart.

“But that’s the Salemart,” the mayor said, aghast. “It’s cheap and tacky.”

Lili beamed. “Perfect.” She wanted a pair of flip-flops, a T-shirt with a silly slogan and one of those fluorescent-colored beverage concoctions that was so giant, it looked as if you’d stuck your straw in a bucket.

The limo was slowing to turn into a glade of green so emerald it made Lili squint and miss what the discreet signpost read. A mass of trees shimmered against the blue and white of the sky. The razor-edged curve of lawn was as plush as carpeting. She would dance on it in her bare feet, given the chance….

Suddenly there were people everywhere, scattered across the tarmac road, parting to make way for the limo, then moving in to surround them as they cruised to a stop. A red-and-white striped tent was set up on the lawn, against the backdrop of shade trees. There was also the museum building, but Lili didn’t have time to look at it. She was smoothing and rebuttoning, preparing herself for display.

Showtime.

“This is it! The Princess Adelaide and Horace P. Applewhite Memorial Museum,” the mayor announced proudly, before Rodger extended an arm and pulled her out of the car, along with the town’s car repair-shop owner, Rockford Spotsky, who hadn’t said a word the entire trip, only stared bug-eyed at Lili until she’d wanted to hand him a magnifying glass.

Mrs. Grundy pulled a handkerchief out of the breast pocket of her woolen traveling suit and dabbed at a spot on Lili’s cheek. “Now, remember, my girl. You are representing not only the royal family, but your country, as well.”

Suddenly Lili was nervous. “Are there reporters? Cameras?” What if she tripped or stammered or peed in her fancy silk drawers the way she had when she was six and invited to take part in the Assumption Day pageant?

“There are always cameras.”

Not always, thought Lili. She’d escaped on occasion, sometimes tagging along after Annie and Natalia and sometimes completely on her own. Brief, memorable occasions.

With a murmur of reassurance, Mrs. Grundy left the car.

Lili looked out her window. So many smiling faces, soon to be focused exclusively on her. You’d think she’d be accustomed to the attention, but it seemed there was benefit in being the youngest of three sisters after all. Or demurring to the powerful presence of her father.

You wanted this, Princess, she said silently.

Rodger opened her door.

No, I wanted peanut butter.

Mayor Cornelia Applewhite stood nearby, ready and waiting. “Ladies and gentleman, I present to you…”

The polite applause began as soon as Lili emerged from the limo. “…Her Serene Highness, Princess Liliane of Grunberg.”

Lili stood. Shutters clicked. Flashbulbs popped. The applause grew, peppered with “oohs” and “aahs” as if she were an especially impressive roadside attraction.

She gave a friendly wave to acknowledge the cheers, but her smile felt awkward and fake. Then she saw Simon Tremayne, standing beside the silent, staring Spotsky, and a warmth spread inside her. Only inside. Her silk drawers were safe…for now.

A child came forward to present her with flowers. Lili spoke to the girl, thanking her by name, then straightened and lifted the extravagant bouquet of sweet freesia to her face. She took a deep breath, momentarily losing herself in the scent.

Her lips parted with a sigh of pleasure. She dropped her nose into the fresh blossoms for a second, even deeper whiff, then popped back up, startled by a strange sensation. Something was buzzing inside her mouth, bumping against the back of her throat.

She’d inhaled a bee.

Lili motioned frantically to Amelia, her eyes bulging. Should she keep her mouth closed? Should she spit? Was it better to swallow? Could she swallow a bee even if she wanted to?

A sharp sting on her tongue settled the question.

With a howl of pain, Lili’s mouth opened wide.

And the bee flew out.

2

“AM AW WIDE,” the princess said.

“She’s all right,” Mrs. Grundy translated.

“I’b nod awwergick.”

“She’s not allergic.”

“Got that one,” Simon said. He’d hustled Lili into the museum to tend to her, leaving the mayor outside to marshal her forces and continue the tea party without the guest of honor. Lili had insisted, smiling a brave smile even though there were tears in her eyes.

“Here we are,” said Edward Ebelard, who was an RN at the Blue Cloud Medical Clinic and had accompanied them to Simon’s office. He held up an ice pack made from a plastic bag and two pounds of ice chips taken out of the soft-drink machine in the museum snack bar. “Stick out your tongue, dearie.” Edward was thirty, six-three, two-fifty, bearded; to compensate, he spoke like a nurse of the old school.

Lili stared up at the towering RN with big dark eyes. She looked at Simon. He shot her a thumbs-up. She gave a watery hitch of her chest, then squeezed her eyes shut and stuck out her tongue. The tip was fiery red and swollen to twice its normal size. Or at least what Simon assumed to be its normal size.

Edward tsk-tsked as he peered at the tongue, poking it with a pencil he’d liberated from the holder on Simon’s desk. He plopped the ice pack on Lili’s tongue.

Her head wobbled under the sudden weight. “There we are. That will soon take the swelling down, Princess. We’ll be better in no time.”

Mrs. Grundy grabbed the bag of ice and applied it more gingerly to the princess’s tongue. Lili whimpered softly.

“Is that all you can do?” Simon asked the RN.

Edward shrugged. “Yes. Unless she wants to go to the clinic for a shot. But you really only need that if you’re allergic.”

Lili waved a hand, the lower half of her face obscured by the lumpy bag of ice. “No shaw. No shaw.”

“No shot,” Simon and Grundy said in unison.

“She’s not awwergick,” Simon added. The princess crinkled her eyes at him.

“It will be sore for a few hours, but there should be no lasting effect,” Edward said as Simon showed him out. “I could stay, just in case. I’d be happy to. It’s not every day I have a princess for a patient.”

“I’ll handle it from here.” Simon shook Edward’s hand. “Thanks for all your help.” He lowered his voice, imagining the lewd spin the tabloid reporters could put on a story about the princess’s red, naked, swollen tongue. “If the reporters ask, you can tell them she was stung by a bee, but keep the details to yourself.”

Edward inhaled. “Of course. I do have my professional ethics, you know.”

“Indeed.”

The RN looked with reverence at the pencil in his hand, the one he’d used on the royal tongue. “Mind if I keep this?” He put it in his shirt pocket. “For a souvenir.”

“Help yourself.” Simon thanked Edward again, then closed the door behind him and turned back to Princess Lili. She sat on the couch placed against the paneled wall of his office, her head thrown back against the cushions as Mrs. Grundy applied the ice-chip pack to her open mouth. It was already melting. Droplets of water leaked onto her white lace collar, spreading in a large wet patch. There had to be a better way.

He got a paper cup and plastic spoon from over by the coffee machine in the reception area. Lili was pushing the ice pack away when he returned. “Maw howe mowf—”

“Your whole mouth is frozen,” Simon said, sitting beside her. “Let’s try this.” He scooped some of the melting ice chips into the cup and fed Lili a spoonful.

She opened her lips as obediently as a baby bird, looking at him with glistening eyes. “Thank ooh.”

“You’re welcome. Hold the ice against your tongue until it melts. Is the sting still painful?”

“Naw so much.”

“Will you be able to return to the reception, Princess?” Mrs. Grundy asked. “There are a hundred guests waiting to be greeted.”

Lili nodded dutifully.

“Give her fifteen minutes,” Simon said. He looked at the older woman, nudging her along with a head bob. “Maybe you could go and report to the mayor? I’m sure Cornelia can delay the program for another fifteen minutes.”

Mrs. Grundy glanced from one to the other, squinting a skeptical eye. “Princess?”

Lili shooed her.

She hesitated. “Rodger’s right outside if you should need his assistance.”

Simon fed Lili another spoonful of ice chips. “I’m a mild-mannered museum wonk. I assure you, the princess is safe with me.” Grundy, mollified, finally left.

Lili looked at him and smiled through the ice melting on her tongue. “They thay ith alwayth the quiet one.”

He waggled his brows, knowing no one with a cowlick and a metallic King Tut tie could ever look dangerous. “You’re talking better. Swelling going down?”

“Yeth.”

“More ice?”

“No, thank you. Already feel like an iceberg.”

“Would that make me the Titanic?”

She blinked. “How?”

“We’ve had one encounter and already you’ve torn off a vital piece of my heart.”

She was quite fetching when she giggled—her eyes slitted, her cheeks plumped, her wide smile infectious. “Is that a line that works on American girls?”

“I wouldn’t know, being a museum wonk.” He’d never tried an idiotic line like that on a girl in his life. When it came to hitting on women, his batting average was too dismal to account. He’d even come to the conclusion that associating with the female gender was dangerous to his welfare. Too bad about the biological urges he was having more and more trouble supressing. Thoughts of swollen body parts and how they meshed kept popping into his head. Definitely not on the how-to-treat-a-princess list.

“Then you’re not married?”

He managed to cover his surprise, telling himself that she was polite, not interested. “Only to my work. The sarcophaguses—sarcophagi?—would get jealous otherwise.”

She smiled as he fed her more ice. “You’re very amusing.”

“I practiced my act special for you.”

“Ooh, I’m all damp,” she said, and for an instant he was nonplussed by the idea of damp swollen body parts, before he realized she was referring to her clothing. She peeled off the pink jacket and reached under her lace jabot to unbutton the blouse. The wet silk had gone transparent, clinging to the curves of her breasts, outlining the plunging neckline of her undergarment.

She kept unbuttoning. He pulled his gaze away, rising from the couch. “Hold on. I’ll step outside.”

“Don’t bother. We Europeans are accustomed to going topless.”

Good God! Simon risked a quick glance and saw that she was taking off her blouse entirely. He spun around, keeping his back to her, every synapse firing. Breasts! Naked! Lucky, lucky man!

Then: Bodyguard! Royal outrage! Scandal! Disgrace!

Worth it!

He clenched his hands. Naked breasts were also surely against Corny’s protocol. “Uh, Princess, I really don’t think this is—”

“Oh, it’s all right, you silly man. I was only joking with you. I’m wearing a camisole.”

He glanced over his shoulder. The camisole was soft, silky, loose-fitting. It covered about as much flesh as a tank top. The fabric tented over her round breasts, held up—rather flimsily—by narrow satin straps. Even at a glance, it was obvious that the princess possessed a nice set of erect nipples. They were properly positioned and everything.

And everything.

He tore his gaze away a second time. It had taken the Titanic hours to go down, and here he was, sunk in mere minutes. “Could you put on your jacket?” he asked the ceiling.

“It’s damp, too. Do you have a hair dryer?”

Self-consciously, he passed a hand over his hair. It was clipped close to his skull despite an excess of forehead and temple. He figured he’d be bald by the time he was forty, so why fight it? “There are hot-air hand dryers in the lavatories.”

“Would you?” she said, holding out her blouse and the pink jacket. “Please?”

He sidled closer, still not sure that he should look directly at her, as if she were the sun. The sun, with breasts that shifted beneath the silk camisole every time she moved. His brain had lost too much blood for him to think straight and maintain willpower, so it would be best if he left the room as quickly as possible.

He reached out a blind hand, hoping she’d put the items of clothing into it.

She’s royal, she’s privileged, she thinks of me as a handy servant, he told himself. A valet. There’s nothing for me to see because in her eyes I barely even count as a person.

Ha! Nice try, but no go. This princess was no snob.

“I’ll do it,” she said, standing at the same time as he reached again for the clothes.

He got a handful of breast instead.

Sliding silk. Plump, firm breast. Taut nipple.

The princess gasped.

“Sorry,” he said, whipping around and pulling his hand away as if it had been burned.

Her face had gone as pink as her tongue. “My fault.”

“No, mine. I’m clumsy.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Shouldn’t a museum wonk be good with his hands and eyes? All that detail work.”

Every detail of her breast was carved into his brain. Sparks were still shooting up his arm. “Clumsy socially,” he clarified. “I’m no good once you take me out of the museum.”

She patted his hand, and he realized it still hung in the air between them. He let it drop.

“You’re doing fine.” She sighed. “I’m the one who’s fouling everything up.”

“You couldn’t have anticipated a bee in the bouquet.”

“Maybe not, but it doesn’t matter. These things always happen to me when I make public appearances. My father won’t let me out of the castle till I’m forty if I turn this event into a fiasco.”

“You’re an adult, aren’t you? You can do as you please.”

She shook her head. “I’m twenty-two, but they still treat me like a child. Ours is a traditional, hidebound monarchy, you see, and my father became very strict after my mother died. I know he’s only worried about his responsibility to me and my sisters, seeing that we have a proper upbringing, but it’s very hard to—” Lili stopped. “Listen to me. Complaining about life in the castle. You must think I’m a spoiled brat.”

“No…”

“You do. Admit it.”

“I don’t know you well enough to judge.”

She looked at him with bright, inquisitive eyes, her clothing clutched to her chest. “Now that you’ve touched my breast, you practically have to take me on a date.”

His eyeballs were on the verge of popping out and rolling across the floor like marbles. “A date?”

“The hot dogs,” she said. “You promised.”

He hesitated. “Would I get to touch the other breast?”

For a moment, she looked as stunned as he. Her mouth dropped open—the sight of the tender, red, swollen tip of her tongue made him feel curiously protective—and then she burst into laughter.

He shook his head, relieved by her reaction, but still appalled at himself. “I can’t believe I just said that to Her Serene Highness of Grunberg.”

She lowered the hand she’d clapped over her mouth. “Honestly, I’m glad you did.”

His brow went up.

“I didn’t mean…not because of…” Her lashes fluttered. “Or maybe I did.” She cozied up to him, one hand tucked into the crook of his arm. “You see, this is my first time out on my own. It’s my chance to assert my independence. I was hoping to meet a dashing American playboy, but perhaps you’ll do.”

He was feeling pretty good, up until the last several words. They made him snap to attention.

He’d do, as a means to an end.

Story of his life. From Valerie Wingate to Paula Manthey, the grad student who’d faked a romantic interest in hopes of securing herself a cushy position on his team of researchers, women would far rather use him than amuse him. They saw him as a social misfit, an egghead scholar desperate enough to accept any female advance, whatever its motive. Sometimes, he even thought that way about himself. Which was why he was better off spending all his time with museum artifacts. Women were a species not even a man with an advanced degree could understand.

And Princess Buttercup was potentially more trouble than all the rest put together.

He’d take her for hot dogs if she insisted, but he’d definitely be ignoring the annoying little zings of his heartstrings.

Because if he didn’t, the beautiful young princess would soon be playing him like a violin. Just like all the rest.

“WOULD YOU LIKE to see the tiara?” Simon asked, after she’d dried her blouse and jacket and he’d met her outside his jumble of an office. They were returning to the outdoors reception. The museum was spacious and silent. Their footsteps echoed as they descended a wide stone staircase to the double-height first-floor entrance hall. Large arched openings on either side led to the exhibition rooms. Everything but the exhibits themselves was new and clean and shining. Lili was accustomed to old and crumbling and venerable.

Worrying the tip of her sore tongue against her teeth, she stopped in the center of a design inlaid on the marble floor. She’d said or done the wrong thing, back in the office. Suddenly Simon had lost his irreverence. He was being stiff and formal with her, like all the rest.

Certainly, they’d been too familiar. If she’d seen what had happened, Mrs. Grundy would have gone into a stuffy British form of apoplexy and probably have put Lili on the next plane home. But Lili hadn’t come to America to play it safe. She’d come for an adventure.

She tossed her head at Simon. “Why not?”

“This way, Princess,” he said, his fingers nearly, but not quite, touching her elbow.

She practiced her royally reserved face as they walked through a room lined with glass cases. Placed on velvet and satin backdrops, lit by subtle spotlights, all the finest pieces from the royal jewels of the Brunner monarchy were on display. Despite her position, Lili seldom had the opportunity to examine the jewels. On formal occasions, the three sisters might be allowed to wear one of the valuable pieces, but that was rare. She wasn’t particularly interested, either. Who wanted to be draped in history so valuable and weighty you had to be escorted by six guards and armed with an emergency panic button?

“It’s in here,” Simon said, exchanging a word with a uniformed security guard before entering a second, smaller room. A case with a glass dome had been set up in the center of the room to capitalize on the “Ah!” factor.

Despite her training, Lili wasn’t very skilled at curtailing her natural reactions. When she saw the famous tiara, nestled on a hillock of watered blue satin, she stopped and gave the obligatory exclamation.

Simon shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. He looked pleased with himself. “It’s something, isn’t it?”

Lili was in awe, as well as ah. “Yes, it’s something.”

“Have a closer look.”

She approached slowly. She’d seen the bridal tiara only twice before, at similar exhibitions in London and Spitzenstein, their capital city. Both times, she’d been a child, enchanted by the story of the long-ago prince who had so loved his betrothed, he’d commissioned the greatest jeweler in all the land to create a bridal tiara with the Vargas diamond, a gem of somewhat mysterious origins, as its centerpiece. Ever since, the tiara was only worn at royal weddings. Each new Brunner bride was given the honor, including Lili’s American grandmother, Adelaide, a simple country girl from Blue Cloud, Pennsylvania, who had married the crown prince of Grunberg exactly fifty years ago.

“It’s beautiful.” A delicately wrought construction of platinum and many tiny diamonds in addition to the spectacular center gem, the tiara was truly a work of art. Lili walked slowly around the case, looking at the piece from all angles. There was a thick velvet rope set up to keep onlookers out of touching distance, but that was mainly a psychological barrier.

She gave a little laugh. “How’s security?”

Simon’s face grew even more serious. He motioned around the dimly lit room. Lili realized that there were two more security guards, positioned in shadowed niches. “The case is alarmed, as well,” he explained. “Breathe upon the glass—it’s shatterproof, of course—and the entire museum will go into lockdown mode, alarms blaring.”

“I see how you were able to persuade my father to let the royal jewels out of the country for their first American exhibition.”

“Our museum is state of the art,” Simon said with pride.

“It’s new?”

“Brand-new. Cornelia Applewhite’s family provided a large portion of the funding, hence the unwieldy name.”

“I wonder what my grandmother would have thought about being celebrated in such a way.” Oversized blowup portraits of Princess Adelaide had been placed here and there as decoration. She’d been a beautiful, kind and graceful woman, but not one who’d enjoyed the spotlight, a vestige of her humble Pennsylvania origins. She had passed away from illness at sixty-one, when Lili was only six, followed in death three years later by her daughter-in-law, who’d perished in the skiing-vacation tragedy. All of Grunberg had mourned the losses.

“Blue Cloud is very proud of Princess Adelaide,” Simon said. “She’s their one claim to fame. The town officials are hoping that a museum dedicated to her memory will pull in the tourists.”

Lili understood. Her country was in much the same position. Her father’s advisors had even mentioned how beneficial a royal wedding would be to the economy. “And what about you?”

“Me?”

“How did you come to be the curator? Are you a scholar of royalty?”

“Not in particular. My field of specialty was—is—Egyptology.”

Simon had put on a second pair of wire-framed glasses, but they did not disguise the evasive shift of his eyes. Lili grew more curious. “Then why are you here in Blue Cloud…?”

“It’s a fine job.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets and tucked in the gaudy gold-and-blue King Tut tie. “Should we return to the reception?”

“There are many things we should do,” she answered in all solemnity. “Are you an eat-all-your-vegetables kind of guy?”

“No, I’m a burrito-takeout kind of guy.”

“When was the last time you had hot dogs?”

“Wednesday.”

“Is this evening too soon to have them again?”

“Tonight? Are princesses allowed to run away from their responsibilities on a whim? Don’t you have a shedjul to keep?”

“Mrs. Grundy has one. I don’t.”

“And the responsibilities?”

Lili sighed. “You are an eat-all-your-vegetables kind of guy.”

“I can’t be responsible for—”

She cocked her head. “I’m responsible for myself!”

“Then why do you have a bodyguard and a—What is Mrs. Grundy? Your baby-sitter?”

“Close,” Lili said, feeling a tiny bit snippety. “She’s my nanny.”

Simon put out his hands, as if he’d been knocked off balance. The velvet rope swung. “Your nanny?”

“She was my nanny. Now she’s my traveling companion.”

“You have a nanny.”

“No. She’s my social secretary.”

“A nanny.”

Lili narrowed her eyes. Had she thought Simon was amusing? He wasn’t. He was irritating. “My lady-in-waiting.”

“Jeez,” he said, running a hand through his mouse-colored hair. It was too short to stand up on end, except for the strands of the cowlick where his part ended in a swirl that showed a little too much scalp. “You live in a fairy tale.”

“I am a princess. I have a certain duty to my homeland. An image to maintain.” Regardless of her yearnings to be free.

“It’s difficult for Americans to conceive of such a thing. We’re an independent, egalitarian society.”

“I know. That’s why I was so excited to come here. There’s so much I want to see and do and taste and touch—” She stopped suddenly. If that was so, why she was wasting time with a self-described museum wonk? The adventure of her lifetime wasn’t in here, among the static displays. Artifacts might satisfy Simon Tremayne, but they’d never be enough for her.

“Don’t bother yourself about the hot dogs,” she said, giving him a brisk pat on the arm as she moved past him. “I’ll find my own way to them.” Her heels tap-tap-tapped across the polished floors as she hurried away.

“Wait,” Simon called, catching up. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t take you.” He held open the wide front door for her and she swept through with her head held high, as befitted a woman of royal blood.

“I’m sure I’ll manage on my own.” She looked over the animated crowd, the men in light-colored summer-weight suits, the women in hats and pretty dresses. A few of them had actually worn white gloves. Not even Amelia expected to put Lili in white gloves. “Perhaps I’ll find a dashing playboy among the guests to act as my escort.”

Simon muttered a response, but the mayor had spotted them and was shouting a hello, her arms in semaphore mode. Lili waved back.

“There’ll probably be a reception line,” Simon said, sounding as though he dreaded it as much as she. “Is your tongue up to it?”

“I won’t be kissing any babies.” She poked it out at him.

“Still swollen. Does it hurt?”

“Thum.” She closed her lips. “It hurts, but the ice helped a lot. Thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome.”

She studied his cockeyed face. One brow was tilted higher than the other, his high-bridged nose was crooked, his lips were lopsided. Even the glasses sat slightly canted. But there was something about him—the warmth in his eyes, the smile creases that ran from his nose to his mouth—that made him attractive. He was the kind of man who wasn’t exciting, but who was strong and capable and quirky and kind. It would never be dull, talking to him. It might even be interesting to kiss him….

“If you’re recovered, Princess,” Mrs. Grundy said, from several steps away, “your public is waiting.”

“May we begin the introductions?” Mayor Apple-white intoned with a bit of an edgy chuckle. “The cakes are cut and the tea leaves are suitably steeped.”

Lili winked at Simon as she turned away. She gracefully descended the steps, her throbbing tongue curled against the roof of her mouth, her smile dutifully intact. The guests responded with a smattering of applause.

“Stay away from the flower beds,” she heard Simon say as the mayor swept her into the eager, pressing crowd.

SIMON DREADED this part of his job. There were curators who developed a slick schmooze, who knew how to curry favor with the right people to secure grants and gifts for their institutions. He couldn’t even identify the right people from the wrong, though anyone from Cornelia Applewhite’s lengthy guest list was a good bet. If it wasn’t for Corny’s exclusive Platinum Patron list, Simon would have raised no more cash than a pauper on the street.

Basically, he’d lucked into the Royal Jewels of Grunberg exhibition. A friend from grad school knew a translator who knew an attaché to the Swiss ambassador who oversaw the tiny neighboring principality. It hadn’t hurt that a couple of Princess Adelaide’s Blue Cloud cousins still lived on the family farm, either. Corny had worked the two old ladies like a bagpipe, huffing and puffing over the honor and privilege of the new museum hosting the exhibition on the fiftieth anniversary of Princess Adelaide’s marriage until whatever influence the Wolf sisters had with the royal family was brought to bear.

However it had happened, securing the go-ahead from the palace had been a coup for Simon. One he sorely needed, considering the ignominious past that had landed him here in the first place. He’d been “asked” to leave his previous job—his dream job—after he’d let the wrong woman cloud his judgment. Sticky-fingered Traylor Bickett had been the last straw in a short lineup of users masquerading as girlfriends. He’d promised himself never to be so gullible again. Unfortunately, all but one of his subsequent job applications had been refused.

Which was why he was stuck here. Curating an exhibit that was a royal pain.

The security setup was a nightmare, blowing his budget right off the start because he’d had to overcompensate for the previous mistake: one tiny scarab stolen from under his nose. Given Simon’s track record, the Grunberg officials had insisted on tripling normal security. Luckily, Corny had hosted a Platinum Patron party and persuaded her wealthy friends to pull out their checkbooks. With the influx of funds, Simon had been able to correct glitches in the system and hire another guard.

Even so, there were a thousand details to handle before the official grand opening tomorrow afternoon. The last thing Simon needed was to become preoccupied with the visiting princess.

Yet here he stood, drinking strong tea and popping tiny frosted cakes by the handful, watching as Lili greeted guest after guest after guest. Her smile never wavered. But it was a professional smile. Already he could tell the difference between it and the naughty little twitch of her lips that preceded her mischievous moments. For now, she was on her best behavior.

Alas.

Simon scanned the crowd. Socially inept or not, even he recognized that the party could use some livening up. He supposed it was proceeding exactly as the mayor had envisioned. That was the trouble. Corny prided herself on her old-world stodginess.

Lili’s laughter drew Simon’s attention. Darned if she wasn’t up on her toes, reaching a hand to the top of an overgrown young man’s lofty head. The Tower lowered his chin obediently. Her hand sank into his thick, curly hair. Thick? It was as dense as a jungle. The guy had twice as much hair as he needed. He could donate half of it to Charles Barkley and have enough left over to weave himself a hair shirt.

Simon edged closer. What was Lili doing?

“I heard they grew them tall in America,” she said admiringly. “Are you a basketball player, Mr. Stone?”

Simon missed the man’s response. His voice was a low rumble, an avalanche on a mountain. Figured.

“Ever since I saw Dallas play in the Super Bowl when I was a little girl, I wanted to be a Dallas Cowboys cheerleader. The boots, the pompons—such fun.” Lili tilted her head back, listening to the Tower. Another peal of delighted laughter. “Oh, that’s football? And what about baseball? How do you keep all your odd sports straight?” She tapped him on the chest. “You Americans are so healthy and vigorous.”

Simon grabbed the shoulder of Blue Cloud’s solid, tenacious police chief, Henry Russell, as he walked by.

Henry was also a bachelor, only a few years older than Simon, though he was more of the plainspoken baseball-and-bowling type. They’d become well acquainted while coordinating their efforts to secure the safety of the jewels. Simon admired the man. There would be no screwups if Henry, who was in charge of the town’s small but well-run police department, had anything to say about it.

“Who’s that guy?” Simon asked. Henry knew every blade of grass and leaf of marijuana in Blue Cloud. You couldn’t filch a plastic jewel from a gum-ball machine without him hot on your trail.

Henry lifted the brim of his hat as if that would give him a better look. Simon had already seen the man’s blink-of-an-eye assessment.

“Tourist,” the sheriff said. “We’ve got a lot of them in town this weekend.”

“Are you sure?”

“Sure I’m sure.”

“He doesn’t look suspicious to you?”

Henry’s eyes narrowed. His lantern jaw bulged. “Everyone looks suspicious to me.”

“He’s too slick, don’t you think?” The Tower was dressed in Amana or whatever they called that sort of unrumpled designer tailoring. Definitely the dashing playboy type.

Henry wasn’t perturbed at all. He scanned the crowd swarming in and out of the tent instead of keeping an eye on the suspicious snake who was charming Lili. “The princess seems to approve.”

Simon scowled. The stranger was holding up the receiving line. As they talked, Lili glancingly touched his arm, his shoulder…hell, she even flipped up the end of the guy’s subdued maroon silk tie and giggled a little.

The Tower put his hands on her waist, bent down, said something about her being a “tiny little package,” and squeezed. Simon’s face got hot. He wasn’t a violent man, but suddenly he wanted to use his fists like sledgehammers.

“Stone,” he remembered. “His name’s Stone.”

“Ah.”

“Does that mean anything to you?”

“Nope,” Henry said.

“Can’t you run the name through your, uh, system? I don’t like him.” He has too much hair. He has too many white teeth. He has too many hands on Lili.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Henry pledged. But his eyes were elsewhere, following a woman’s dark head through the crowd. Simon was too distracted by his own fixation to give more than a fleeting notice to the chief’s.

Until a sharp cry rose above the babble of the crowd.

“Pickpocket!”

3

EVEN BEFORE Simon turned, Chief Russell was gone, shooting through the crowd toward the disturbance. A woman in a feathered hat warbled like a particularly high-pitched ghost: “Oo-oo-oo-oo-oooh!”

Her squat husband was the one raising the ruckus. “Pickpocket! Pickpocket! They got into Dora’s purse.” He patted his behind. “Sonovabiscuit. My wallet’s gone, too.”

A shrill panic overtook the guests, with everyone checking their purses and pockets for missing valuables. A shout went up about another missing wallet. The chief and his force of one officer quickly took control, calming the crowd as they herded them under the tent like cattle.

Simon looked for Lili. She was fine, attended by the royal bodyguard. Her face was animated, sympathetic in expression, but with lively eyes and a high color in her cheeks. It figured that she’d enjoy the excitement.

The mayor spread loud platitudes, assuring the attendees that Chief Russell would take care of the “minor disturbance.” Mrs. Grundy and Wilhelm tried to coax the princess into the museum, away from harm. Lili, patting the distraught feather-woman’s hand, refused to go.

The guests milled around, gabbling and fussing. Despite instructions, a number were slipping away, heading off to the parked cars. Henry left the other officer in charge and went to round up the renegades.

Out of suspicion—or maybe mere curiosity—Simon looked around for the Tower of Hair who’d charmed Lili. Nowhere in sight. That was interesting…possibly.

Simon had begun to make his way forward to aid the police officer with crowd control when a plump woman in head-to-toe polka dots let out a squawk. She clutched at her throat. “My pearls,” she said, and fainted dead away—straight into Simon’s arms.

“Oof,” he said, catching her under the armpits. She was no bantamweight. Nor a middleweight. He nudged a knee into the small of her back to help hold her up.

“Oh, dear, poor Elspeth,” said a companion, tearing off the collapsed woman’s straw hat to fan her flushed face. “The pearls are a family heirloom,” she told the crowd, flapping. “Worth a pretty penny.”

“Somebody,” Simon choked out, jostling the woman’s sagging weight. “Help.”

A man grabbed Elspeth’s ankles and another wrapped his arms around her hips. They lugged her toward the tables. Simon meant to sit her upright in a chair, but the fellows holding the rest of Elspeth heaved her onto one of the abandoned tables. Splat—her polka-dotted rump landed in a plate of petits fours. A plastic cup of punch fell over, staining the paper tablecloth red as the spill crept toward the inert woman.

Cornelia was frantic. She whipped out a lace-edged handkerchief to sop up the encroaching flow of punch. Simon recognized the invalid at last. Elspeth Hess was tops on the Platinum Patron list. Losing her good graces would be disaster for the museum’s donor fund.

Corny looked at Simon and sputtered unintelligibly. “Watch over Mrs. Hess,” he said, not adverse to taking advantage of the mayor’s momentary loss for words to make his getaway. “I’ll go and see what’s happening.”

Henry had rounded up the defectors—the man named Stone among them—and was issuing commands and restoring order, directing the crowd to quiet down, to take seats and wait to be interviewed about the apparent pickpocketing incidents. He had an angry young woman by the elbow and wasn’t letting her go. She stood quite still, her chin tipped up in the air, a yellow flyer that matched the ones that were scattered about the grounds clutched in her fist. She was holding equally tight to her temper, but she looked ready to shoot sparks.

Simon approached cautiously. “I’m going to take the princess into the museum, if that’s all right with you, Chief Russell.”

Henry nodded. “That would be best.”

“If you need my help…”

“Not necessary. I’ve got another officer on the way to manage the crowd. We’ll have to take names and do as many interviews as we can on the spot.” The chief looked significantly at his captive. “I expect one of them will have seen something suspicious enough to warrant a body search. With any luck, we’ll find the stolen goods before the day is out.”

“A body search!” With a swish of her glossy hair and long loose skirt, the woman tossed her head. She set her hands on her hips. “Just you try it,” she said through thinned lips, her voice seething with haughty insult. Although her demeanor was all fiery outrage whereas Lili’s was sweet and fluffy as cotton candy, there was something about the pair of opposites that struck Simon as similar. Perhaps the quick tongue—too much of it in both cases.

“Body search,” the woman snapped at Henry. “I’ll give you a body search, Chief Russell.”

Henry was unperturbed, though Simon noticed how white his knuckles were where they clenched on his captive’s elbow. “Thanks for the offer, Ms. Vargas.” Henry’s mouth made a grim, flat line, betrayed by an infinitesimal twitch at one corner. “I can take care of the search. You only have to provide the body.”

The woman’s cheeks flamed. Henry kept his eyes on her face, but Simon did not. It was obvious that she had a one hell of body, all right, even hidden beneath her fringed shawl, a loose blouse and long, layered skirt, cinched by a bright green sash that showed off her slender waist. She wore sandals and much jewelry, as flashy as the Emperors nightingale, right down to the rings on her toes. Not your average, everyday Pennsylvanian, but Simon wasn’t making any guesses. Maybe the Gypsy look was fashionable, for all he knew.

“Harassment,” the woman hissed.

“Not yet,” Henry said threateningly.

“Are you threatening me?”

Perceptive woman, Simon thought.

A muscle jumped in the sheriff’s jaw. “Depends whether or not your cohort slipped away with the goods.”

She inhaled. “My cohort?”

“The young man you were looking for in the crowd. Possibly working with.”

“I wasn’t. I told you. I’m here alone.”

“We’ll see.”

“What about Stone?” Simon said, interrupting the pair’s mutual glare. “He’s a stranger in town and he tried to get away when you told everyone to stay put. That’s suspicious, isn’t it?”

The woman shot Simon a grateful look.

“So did Reverend Anderson and Tommy Finch, the paperboy,” Henry said. “Don’t worry, Simon. I know how to do my job.”

“Of course,” Simon conceded. He had no good reason to suspect Stone. Or to be resentful. All there was between himself and Lili was a suspended hot dog date.

“If there’s anything you need,” he offered, before stepping away to search for Lili.

“There may be.” The police chief indicated his prisoner. His grip hadn’t loosened a notch. “I’d like a room to stash my suspect in.”

She smiled poisonously. “Why don’t you just handcuff me in the town square and let the townsfolk pelt me with rotten fruit?”

Simon snorted with laughter.

Even Henry had to smile. “I’m saving that for after the trial.”

“How nice to know I won’t be summarily executed without one.”

There it was again. Simon took another look at her. That thing—what was it? Peppery pride, scrappiness, inborn spirit?

“I’ll set you up with a room,” he said to Henry, more than eager to get back to the princess, his own sparring partner.

“Preferably one that’s secure, private and—” Henry scowled at his prisoner “—far away from the jewels.”

Simon went to Lili, which wasn’t easy because she was buttressed by her nanny and bodyguard. “How are you?” His glance skipped over Grundy and Wilhelm. “Everything okay here?”

Lili’s eyes sparkled. “What a to-do! I thought small towns were supposed to be boring.”

“Not this weekend.”

“We must move the princess away from the riffraff,” Mrs. Grundy said. A camera flash made her lips pucker. “Even more importantly, away from the photographers and reporters.”

Simon realized that a small number of media were circling like sharks, grabbing hold of the incident for what would no doubt be sensationalized stories and photos. The museum board had hoped for enough publicity to put their new facility on the map. Looked like they had it in spades.

“We can take her back to my office,” he offered.

“I am here,” Lili protested. “Don’t talk over my head as if I’m a child.”

Simon looked down at her. “Sorry.”

Her smile flickered from polite to genuine. “Apology accepted.”

“Form a wedge,” Wilhelm instructed. “We must move quickly.” Mrs. Grundy opened her satchel and removed a folding umbrella. With a snap, she opened it to full length, leaving the spokes and fabric furled. She dug the sharp tip into the ground, squared her shoulders and threaded an arm through the princess’s.

Simon took the other elbow. “Off we go, then,” he said cheerily. He was quite happy to be leaving the Tower behind, subject to interrogation, sans princess.

“No talking. No stopping.” Wilhelm took the lead position, parting the crowd like the prow of a ship. “No deterrence.”

“Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead,” Simon whispered to Lili as they quickly moved out from beneath the tent and across the tarmac road.

She tittered. “Grunberg doesn’t have a Navy. We’re landlocked.” The reporters closed in on them, but were no match for Lili’s bodyguard. Mrs. Grundy’s bulk effectively blocked the photographers from getting good angles on the princess. When they pressed too close, she jabbed at them with the umbrella. The quartet swept up the steps and into the museum.

Henry and the woman, who was apparently his prime suspect, arrived on their heels. After assuring the security guards that all was under control, Simon made introductions. “Princess Lili, this is Henry Russell, the main man in Blue Cloud’s police department. He’s in charge.”

“Pleased to meet you, Chief Russell.” Lili offered him her hand. “Even if it is under trying circumstances. Was there honestly a pickpocket loose among the guests?”

“It looks like it. We have two missing wallets and one ransacked purse. Possibly a stolen necklace. My officers will be searching the grounds thoroughly.”

Lili’s eyes widened. “Are the royal jewels safe?”

Henry and Simon exchanged a glance before the chief responded in an official tone. “I apologize, Your Highness, but I can’t give a one-hundred percent guarantee. In my estimation, today’s criminals are no more than petty thieves, out to take advantage of the holiday crowds. Only a sophisticated burglar could successfully lift the jewels.” He looked at Simon, who nodded in agreement. Henry relaxed—slightly. “Nothing for you to worry about, Princess.”

The chief’s suspect glowered at him from beneath a sheaf of dark, silky hair. A leaf clung to the disheveled tresses. Henry picked it off.

Tilting her head, Lili regarded the woman with interest. They were as opposite as Simon had assumed—one fair, the other dark; one well-dressed, polite and poised, the other brazen and belligerent in her flashy ornaments and cheap silks. And yet…there was that common bond. The moments of regal hauteur, ameliorated by an obvious zest for life.

Lili held out her hand. “Hello. I’m Princess Lili of Grunberg.”

“Oh, I know who you are.” The captive’s top lip lifted into the slightest of sneers as she swept her gaze up and down the blond princess. She clasped the royal hand, every inch the queen herself, despite her outer dishevelment. “I am Jana Vargas.”

Lili gasped. “Vargas?”

A nod.

“How peculiar, considering that the Brunner bridal tiara is set with the Vargas diamond! Have you ever been to Grunberg? Could you be related to someone who owned the diamond previous to my family?”

“No, I’ve never been to Grunberg. But some of my people were there…a long time ago.”

“Would I know of them?” the princess asked.

Jana dismissed the possibility with a small, ironic smile. “Not very likely. Romany folk don’t get invited to the castle for formal dress balls.”

Henry and Simon exchanged a second look. A confused one, for Simon’s part. Romany? Was Jana Vargas a true Gypsy, or simply playing the part for her own devices?

“Romany,” breathed Mrs. Grundy, under her breath. Her keen eyes clouded. For the first time, Simon saw her less than sure of herself. Perhaps even taken aback.

Lili must have noticed, too. “Amelia?” she asked. “Do you know how the Vargas diamond came by its name?” She looked at the others. “There’s quite a legend associated with the tiara, but I don’t recall why it’s called the Vargas diamond.”

Grundy’s expression closed. “I couldn’t say.”

“I could,” Jana Vargas said. She handed Lili the colored paper that had been crumpled in her left fist. “If you care to learn the truth…”

Lili glanced at the wrinkled flyer. Her face lighted. “A Gypsy carnival? Ooh, with fortune-telling!”

Grundy went pale.

Wilhelm put out a meaty hand, inserting it between the two young women. “Princess, I must insist.”

Grundy recovered. She moved deliberately in front of Jana, nudging the princess along after she’d snatched away the flyer. It fluttered to the floor. “Shall we go upstairs to regroup?” she said, a steely non-question. “Rodger, you may call for the car. We’ve had quite a day. It’s time we retired to our hotel. We shall send regrets to Madam Mayor.”

“Just when events were getting interesting,” Lili protested, although she allowed herself to be shepherded up the stairs.

“You may use the museum snack shop,” Simon told Henry as they followed, noticing that the chief had retrieved the paper and was examining it closely. “It’s empty and quiet. Three doors, but we’re keeping everything locked up tight, so they’re all inaccessible. Here’s the key.” He slipped a key from the ring he carried in his pocket. The same master key opened several doors in the working areas of the museum: storage, kitchen, supplies, lavatories. No state secrets there.

“I’ll get this back to you as soon as we’ve finished. I want to stash Ms. Vargas, here—” Henry still hadn’t let go of the woman’s arm “—while I oversee procedures outdoors.”

“Stash me?” Jana said. “I’m a human being, not a piece of luggage. You can’t detain me for no good reason.”

“I have reason. You may be a conspirator in the pick-pocketing scheme, which means it’s well within my bounds of authority to hold you for questioning. For the time being, consider yourself in police custody, Ms. Vargas. You will remain so until my suspicions are proved.”

“Or disproved,” she retorted with a double helping of sarcasm.

A troubled sympathy shone from Lili’s eyes when she looked back over her shoulder. Wilhelm and Grundy hustled her into the reception area of Simon’s office.

The princess was a soft touch, Simon deduced. He remembered the weight and curve of her breast. Very soft.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Lili was saying to Mrs. Grundy when he entered the inner sanctum of his office. She brushed aside the woman’s solicitations. “Please stop fussing. No one came near me.” Lili’s eyes sought Simon’s. They danced with a saucy, provocative humor. “Alas, as Simon would say,” she added, lifting her brows at him.

“Princess!” Grundy aimed a narrow look at Simon. “Really, my dear, you’ll give Mr. Tremayne the wrong impression.”

She laughed. “Oh, I do hope so.” She clapped her hands. “And now, I’d like to freshen up. Mr. Tremayne, sir, I hate to be a bother, but would you please unlock the ladies’ room for me—again?”

Simon bowed. “Your wish is my command. After you, Princess.”

Lili stopped the older pair from following her. “I’ll be quite all right. Simon will stand guard.”

He patted his pocket. “I gave the key to Henry. Just a moment.” He rummaged in his desk. “Here’s a spare.”

The princess whipped the key from his fingers when he held it up. “Thank you, kind sir.” She put her nose in the air and swept from the office, stepping along the corridor with a sassy rhythm to her shoulders and hips. He was amused, knowing she was putting on the grand lady act for his benefit.

“I’ll do it,” she said when he tried to take the key from her. She turned it in the lock, then palmed it. Watching his face, she pushed open the swinging door to the lavatory with her backside. “I can wipe my bottom by myself, too.”

He nearly choked, recovering only as the door was swinging shut. “There’s a limit to my servitude, Princess,” he called after her, hoping for her Tinkerbell laugh. She did not disappoint. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, making a small gesture of triumph with his clenched fists. He might not make her swoon, but at least he could make her laugh.

He cracked an eye open. Oops. At the other end of the hallway, Grundy and Wilhelm were peering from the office door. Simon shrugged somewhat sheepishly and thrust his hands in his pockets. The party was a disaster and the museum’s funds were at serious risk. Didn’t matter.

One laugh from the princess and he felt like a million bucks.

Unfortunately, Simon couldn’t quite sustain his exhilaration when Lili still hadn’t emerged thirteen minutes later—he knew the time exactly because he’d been checking his watch. He paced the width of the corridor, counting under his breath. Another three minutes went by, excruciatingly slowly. Neither Grundy nor Wilhelm had budged. In fact, they were beginning to glare, as if he’d done something to delay the princess.

He went to the door and knocked. “Princess?”

No answer.

He put his ear to it. Silence—not even running water. The princess’s attendants were coming toward him now, craning their necks to hear. “Princess Lili?” he called, pushing the door open an inch. “Are you doing okay?”

There came a thud, then a crash. A female grunt. “Fiddlesticks!”

“Lili?” Simon burst into the room, followed by Wilhelm and Grundy. His first shocking sight of the princess sent him skidding to a stop, with the other two piling up behind him.

Mrs. Grundy pushed by. “Princess, what have you done now?”

“I think my foot is stuck,” Lili said. She was sprawled on the tile floor with her tight skirt rucked up around her hips, showing a good portion of a rounded, wriggling, panty-clad backside. One foot was trapped in a swivel-lid trash can, which lay on its side, a number of crumpled tissues spewing from its maw.

“Shall I call an ambulance?” Wilhelm said.

“Heavens, no!” Lili stopped wriggling and lifted her head and shoulders off the floor, her hands splayed on the tiles. She looked up at them with big, dark, glistening eyes, like an innocent baby seal. “Nothing’s broken. Just help me pull my leg out of here, for pity’s sake.”

Mrs. Grundy knelt awkwardly and tugged Lili’s skirt down a few inches. “However did you…?”

“It was an accident.”

Wilhelm crouched, his big hands outspread, hesitating to place them on the exposed royal thigh. He went for the trash can instead, giving it a wrench. Lili winced, twisting partway onto her side. “Ooh! Ouch! Wait!” Her gaze rose to beseech Simon. “Would you? Please? The lid is pinching the back of my thigh.”

“All right,” he said, kneeling beside her. He examined the…uh, situation. Grundy huffed at the insult, hurriedly unbuttoning her jacket. She threw it across Lili’s lower half.

Simon put his hand on her leg—on top of the scratchy tweed covering. Somehow, the princess had managed to insert her leg all the way down inside the can, but they should be able to maneuver it out easily enough. “Another fine predicament you’ve gotten us into,” he murmured to distract them all as he slid his hand beneath the jacket. Lili tensed as he reached around her warm thigh, his fingers gently probing. He pushed his flattened hand between her thigh and the lid, easing its bite on her tender flesh.

She sighed with relief. “That’s better.”

He smiled at her. “Mrs. Grundy? Could you reach in here and push the lid down to make more room? I’m sure I’ll be able to help Lili pull her leg free if we have another inch of space.”

Grundy pinched her lips tight and reached down. While the bodyguard held the can steady, Simon gripped Lili’s leg and slowly eased it out, trying not to look as she parted her thighs even wider to squirm free.

Grundy let go and the lid snapped back in place. She and the bodyguard were immediately at the princess’s side, helping her to her feet. Simon saw that Lili had lost both shoes, so he set the can on end and fished inside. No shoes.

He spotted them on a ledge by the sink. Odd. He retrieved them, wondering why she’d taken them off in the first place. “Your slippers, Cinderella.”

Grundy snatched the shoes away. “Let me help you into them, Princess.” She knelt.

Lili murmured her thanks, balancing herself with one hand on Wilhelm’s arm as she lifted her feet for Grundy. She looked at Simon. She was blushing. “I apologize, Mr. Tremayne. I didn’t intend to destroy your washroom. I was—” Her eyes flitted. “Well, you see, I was…”

“No explanations necessary,” Simon put in. He’d seen the open window, high up on the wall. “My museum is your museum.”

“You’re very understanding.”

“I make special allowances for royalty.”

She had the grace to look abashed. “It seems that I demand plenty. I will try to be on my best behavior tomorrow.”

He inclined his head. “We’re happy to have you on any behavior, Your Serene Highness.”

Her eyes rolled. “Oh, please. We’re definitely past that stuck-up claptrap. If you can’t remember to call me Lili, I won’t be able to eat hot dogs with you.”

“Then it’s a date?” he said quickly, refraining from adding an “Again?”

Lili tilted her tousled head. “Why not?”

Grundy cleared her throat as she stood. “What about the schedule?”

“The shedjul will survive, Amelia.” Lili stamped her newly shod feet, intercepting Simon’s amused glance. “You may be a prince of a guy, Mr. Tremayne, but I’m not allowed to surrender my feet to just anyone.”

He chuckled. A prince? Impossible. He’d always been the frog.

Mrs. Grundy took Lili’s arm, not unlike the way Henry Russell had taken Jana Vargas’s. “Enough of that, Princess. We really must be on our way.”

“Yes, we must.” Lili cast a lingering parting glance at Simon. “See you soon?”

He swallowed. “Indubitably.”

She stopped, pulling the key from an inside pocket of her short pink jacket. “I almost forgot.”

He took it, surprised that she still possessed it. Maybe his suspicions were wrong?

Had she fallen into the trash on her way out the window, or on the way in? Either way, he’d better go and find the chief. Henry should be told immediately that it was very possible the princess of Grunberg had been conspiring with a pickpocketing suspect. Simon could think of no other reason for Lili to have deliberately taken her shoes off and climbed through the window. Since she still had the key, she must not have been able to successfully pass it to Jana Vargas, in the snack shop next door.

THE LIMO AWAITED.

Lili stopped short, preventing Wilhelm from opening the door for her. “I wonder if you’d mind…” This was going to be delicate. “It’s been such an eventful day. I’d like a few moments of…quiet time.” She smiled hopefully at Mrs. Grundy, cutting her eyes in the direction of the front seat.

The older woman maintained a stony face. “As you wish, Princess Lili.”

Lili knew she wasn’t fooling Amelia for a second. But that didn’t matter, as long as she wasn’t betrayed to the authorities. For all of the former nanny’s lectures and reprimands, Amelia put the princesses’ desires above any other concern. She could be trusted with the most precious of secrets.

“You can scold me later,” Lili said, as Amelia joined the driver in the front seat. Wilhelm insisted on opening the door, but Lili stepped inside quickly so he wouldn’t see much of the interior. Fortunately, the limo was commodious enough to hold a marching band.

Wilhelm and the driver boarded the vehicle, shutting the doors behind them. Thunk. Thunk. The solid black privacy panel was in place, giving Lili complete solitude.

The car pulled away from the museum, moving slowly past the disordered remains of the reception. As they rounded the bend, Lili turned to watch through the back window. Simon Tremayne was loping down the steps in his gangly, loose-limbed way, his ridiculous Egyptian tie flapping in the breeze.

Lili knew he’d figured it out. And that he would tell. But that was okay. He was too late for the police chief to stop their getaway.

“Well,” she said to her passenger as she settled in. “You made it.”

Considering that she was a fugitive taking a limo ride in the company of a princess, Jana Vargas looked remarkably at ease. “Yes,” she said. “Nothing to it.”

4

LILI AGREED. She’d done the most difficult part—hoisting herself up and stepping along the brick ledge between the windows. A crazy impulse. When she’d realized that the key to the ladies’ room could set Jana free, she hadn’t been able to resist offering the Romany woman a chance to get away from the handsome, but awfully stern, police chief. So she’d gone out the window, sidled along the ledge to the next window and passed the key to Jana in the snack shop, who’d unlocked her door and then given the key back.

Stepping into the trash can had worked marvelously as a distraction, although Lili certainly hadn’t planned it that way.

“How did you manage to get into the limo without my driver noticing?” she asked Jana.

The Gypsy snapped her fingers. “Nothing to it. He—and everyone else—was watching the pandemonium under the tent.”

“And none of the museum guards saw you?”

“I’m adroit. Besides, they’re not looking for a person stealing out of the museum.”

“Chief Russell?”

“Him.” Jana’s brows drew together. “He’s going to hunt me down first thing, you know. Our little escape means nothing.”

“I know.” Lili shrugged. “It won’t matter in the end, since you’re innocent.” She didn’t know why, but she believed Jana was honest. Mutual circumstances had created an immediate sisterhood between them. “At least you’re free for now.” She opened the limo’s small built-in refrigerated compartment. “Aha. Champagne?”

Jana sat silently while Lili poured them each a glass. Lili checked the windows—there wasn’t much time to spare before their arrival at the hotel—then clinked flutes. “To us, for putting one over on the men, however briefly. I love a good caper.”

Jana sipped, continuing to watch Lili warily. Finally she blurted, “Why did you do this? Why did you help me?”

“I don’t know. Sympathy, I suppose.”

“But I could be guilty as sin. I might even steal your jewelry, right here, right now.”

“Phooey.” Lili couldn’t pretend to be a perfect judge of character; after all, she’d nearly let Lars Krunkel sweep her off her feet when she was eighteen, and he’d turned out to be the biggest two-timer in Spitzenstein. She’d always been susceptible to a handsome face and a smooth line. “You’re innocent. Mrs. Grundy wouldn’t have let me get in the limo with you otherwise.”

One side of Jana’s mouth quirked into a reluctant smile. “How would Mrs. Grundy know?”

“That’s what my sisters and I often wonder! But she does. She always knows.” Lili shrugged. “It’s the strangest thing. There’s something almost…magical about her. Like a fairy godmother.” Lili laughed a little to show how silly that was. Even though it wasn’t, really.

Strangely, Jana seemed accepting of the absurdity. She nodded at the privacy panel. “If that’s the case, then she knows I’m back here right now. She might be arranging for the police chief to meet us at your hotel.”

“Don’t worry.” Lili pressed the switch that opened her side window. “Mrs. Grundy wouldn’t do that to either of us.”

Jana didn’t look convinced, but she let it go. “You haven’t answered my question.”

Lili emptied her champagne out the window. She took Jana’s flute and did the same. “Swill,” she said, raising the window.

“Sympathy isn’t reason enough.”

“Perhaps it was…freedom.” Lili lifted the empty glasses as if she meant to toss them out the window, but then returned them to their fitted niche instead. She gave a soft sigh. “You see? I’m too well trained. I have my moments, but in the end I’m always dutiful to my position. That’s why I envy your lack of responsibility. Your total freedom.”

“Oh, please.” Jana folded her arms, looking cynical, except for the sympathetic rapport that Lili had already discerned beneath the brunette’s brittle shell. Lili was certain that if they could forget their “stations” and apparent clashing family histories, they would be great friends.

“I know. Poor me, subjected to first-class luxury and limos on demand, albeit ones stocked with domestic swill.” She shrugged, aware that the car were slowing and turning as they made their way through the downtown area. The hotel was moments away—the mayor had proudly pointed it out earlier. “But it’s true, Jana. What I wouldn’t give to be you for the night, a Gypsy, free to go where I want, when I want. To dance, to sing, to travel…”

“To spend the night in Chief Russell’s jail cell.”

“But you’re innocent!”

“That means very little when you’re a Roma. Our reputation precedes us.”

Impulsively, Lili reached out and squeezed Jana’s hands. “What can I do?”

“Nothing. I will handle Chief Russell.”

Lili grinned. The police chief was one handsome hunk of man. “I’m sure.” She checked their progress. No time left, and she had so much to ask! “Can you tell me what you know about the Vargas diamond? I’m sensing there’s more to the story of the bridal tiara than I’ve been told.”

“My family’s side of it isn’t fit for the official version.” Jana regarded Lili steadily. “You’ve been protected….”

Lili made a face. “It shows?”

“Sometimes that’s a good thing.” Jana turned her face away. “You should probably ask Mrs. Grundy for the entire story. I’m sure she knows it.”

“But what if she won’t tell me!” The car had stopped at a traffic light in downtown Blue Cloud. “When can I see you again, Jana? I know. I’ll come to the carnival.”

“We’re camping outside of town,” Jana said. “You’re welcome anytime.” She hesitated. “At least by me.” Before Lili could respond, Jana whispered, “Thank you,” opened the door and slid out, as elusive as water trickling from a palm. Lili threw herself across the seat to catch the door, hoping for a last word, but the mysterious Gypsy was gone, moving swiftly away from the car, lost among the pedestrians.

After a long moment of inner struggle, Lili resisted the urge to follow. She pulled the door shut, resting her head against it. Oh, to succumb to the temptation of escaping her schedule, if only for one night!

The intercom telephone trilled. Lili bolted upright and picked it up.

“Princess?” said Rodger Wilhelm. “Are you still back there?”

“Yes, certainly, of course I am.” Where else? On cue, the limo accelerated through the intersection. Lili looked behind them with a sigh, searching for Jana Vargas, who didn’t know how lucky she was. Although Lili’s day had been full of misadventure, nothing had changed. Not really. She was still looking at life from behind a pane of glass.

AT TEN, Amelia Grundy appeared in Lili’s room at the hotel. She was in curlers and a white terry-cloth robe that belted tightly around her waist, making her middle section look like a marshmallow in a rubber band. A film of chunky oatmeal gook covered her face; she was quite proud of her English Rose complexion and maintained it rigorously.

Lili pulled the bed covers up to her chin. “I certainly hope you haven’t come to tuck me in.”

“Tch, tch, Princess. You’re too old for that.”

“One would think so,” Lili said darkly.

Mrs. Grundy’s brows arched, opening cracks in the stiffening oatmeal mask. “One should know so.”

Lili made a face. Amelia had a point, but…why shouldn’t she be allowed some fun before she settled into a lifetime of royal duty? Her father was such a traditionalist, he probably wouldn’t be happy until he’d married her off to a scion of one of the stuffy old Grunberg families who could trace their ancestors back to the Great Flood.

“I might be willing to listen to a bedtime story,” Lili said with a light laugh, looking hopefully at her former nanny. She’d asked Amelia about what she knew of the Vargas diamond and how it could possibly be connected to Jana’s Romany clan. Amelia had scoffed, claiming the name must be a coincidence. The diamond’s provenance had always been a mystery, she’d insisted, dismissing the subject. Lili knew she wasn’t getting the entire story. For some reason, Amelia wouldn’t reveal the truth—a rare occurence.

“No stories for you, child,” Amelia said, smoothly avoiding the subject again. “You’ve had a long day, Lili. Rather more adventurous than intended.”

“I shouldn’t be blamed for that. The bee sting was an accident, and the pickpocketing was entirely beyond my control.” She wasn’t going to explain the bit with the trash can unless Amelia forced the issue.

“You did very well, all things considered.”

Lili blinked. Maybe for once her former nanny didn’t know. “I did? You really think so?” Her will to please had always been at odds with her will to par-taaay, as the Americans said.

“Your father was reasonably satisfied.” Amelia sat on the bed and patted the lump that was Lili’s knee.

She hunched her shoulders, keeping a tight hold on the covers. “I don’t see why we have to report in to him twice a day and every night. He’s so old-fashioned about everything else, why did he have to get a cell phone? I swear it was only to keep track of me and my sisters!”

“Likely so.” Amelia’s bristly head inclined, her irises an intense blue in contrast with the oatmeal mask. “Indulge him, Lili. He’s concerned only with your well being.”

Lili wasn’t having it. “That excuse might have worked for the first years after mother’s death, when we were still children. But no longer.”

“Isn’t that why you’re here, Princess? Your father has put his trust in you to represent the family. It was a big step for him, letting his baby bird fly the nest.” Amelia gave her another pat. “Don’t betray his trust in you, my dear.”

“Never.” Was enjoying herself a betrayal?

“That depends,” said Amelia, rising. She straightened her robe and repositioned a bobby pin, stabbing it into her scalp without a flinch. “Mr. Tremayne seemed harmless enough, but you shouldn’t have flirted so. The poor fellow was too flustered to concentrate on his job.”

Lili batted her lashes, smiling at the memory of the baffled but intrigued look she’d brought to Simon’s funny, crooked face.

“Although I’d rather you’d stayed with Mr. Tremayne than with that rather tall young chap from the receiving line. I didn’t like the looks of him, not a whit.”

Lili’s mouth turned down. Amelia had made that clear when Trey Stone had phoned an hour ago. Without a word, her stern expression had discouraged Lili from agreeing to a date—even though she couldn’t have overheard the suggestive banter he’d been whispering in Lili’s ear. “Trey Stone? What was wrong with him?” Was she being warned off by her nanny’s sixth sense?

Mrs. Grundy paused at the connecting doors of their hotel suite. “He reminds me of your old boyfriend, Lars. Too smooth by half.” She shook her head. A flake of oatmeal fell off her chin onto her lapel. “I am so very pleased you’ve outgrown that type of fellow.”

Lili swallowed. I have?

Darn that Grundy! The woman was a wet blanket. No wonder her father had insisted she accompany Lili to America.

Amelia went on. “Your head may be in the clouds, but your heart’s in the right place, Princess. Listen to it and you’ll do your father proud.”

Lili avoided the woman’s sharp eyes as they said good-night. As soon as the door closed, she let her shoulders sag. The bedclothes dropped to her waist. She looked down at her casual knit top and the jeans she’d tucked into her luggage after Amelia had finished packing the fussy matching outfits that gave Lili nightmares of wardrobes to come.

Here she was, twenty-two and still sneaking out past bedtime for a forbidden assignation. But what choice did she have?

Lili crawled out of bed. Annie and Natalia weren’t so beholden to pleasing their elders—they’d go their own way, despite what Papa and Amelia had to say about it. And look at Jana Vargas—not even the chief of police intimidated her.

Lili put on a pair of sneakers, grabbed a jacket and applied one of her Biore facial strips to the door mechanism so it wouldn’t lock behind her. Mrs. Grundy had taken charge of their keys, not even allowing Lili that much control over what was, after all, her own life.

“Time to start living it,” she said to herself as she headed for the elevator. Trey Stone, Mr. America in the flesh, had promised to wait for her in the lounge if there weren’t any annoying reporters lurking about. Her heart might have wished for her late date to be the more unconventional Simon Tremayne, but he wasn’t suited to her present needs. When it came to deflowering a princess, she had the feeling that Trey would be much more amenable to taking on the task, with no second thoughts for propriety.

“IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED, lovely Lili?” Trey crooned as he snaked his arm around her shoulders and dragged her across the front seat of his convertible toward himself.

Technically, she had to admit that it was. Going for a moonlit convertible ride was supposed to be so Cary Grant and Grace Kelly. Instead it felt more like—like—

Lili cast about for the name of the television serial that had played endlessly on Grunberg’s one local TV channel. Oh, yes—Happy Days! Or better yet, Laverne and Shirley.

Like that lovably wacky duo, Lili had gotten herself into another predicament. It was turning out that, despite his promising first impression, a little Trey Stone went a long way. So did his arm, unfortunately.

She lifted his large hand from its familiar position, fingers dangling within brushing distance of her breast. Trey gave her shoulder a squeeze, apparently quite comfortable to be driving with only one free hand. Lili stifled her sigh.

She looked up at the dark sky, studded with stars to rival the tiny diamonds in her ears. “This is very nice.” Then why aren’t I enjoying myself?

After one quick drink and much smooth talk in the nearly empty lounge, Trey had hinted that they should move their party to a private location. Lili, nervous about being spotted, had rashly agreed. Although Trey was also staying at the hotel, he wasn’t quite so bold to invite her up to his room. Not that she’d have gone. She wasn’t so stuck on the idea of a madcap fling that she’d throw herself at the first Casanova who came along. It was true that she’d had high hopes for Trey, particularly when he suggested they go cruising in his convertible, but her enthusiasm was fading…for some reason.

They’d driven around for a while, even stopped at the drive-in restaurant that Simon had mentioned. Now they were traveling a country lane outside of Blue Cloud. Lili wasn’t sure where, exactly. A needle of doubt poked through her blanket of assurance. The problem with always being taken care of was that she hadn’t developed good self-defense mechanisms. Trey had better be trustworthy!

He glanced at her, his face classically handsome in the moonlight. “She walks in beauty like the night of starry skies and cloudless climes…”

“How sweet.” How uninspired. She smiled up at Trey, locked under his weighty arm. He said all the right things, he really did. He was glib, charming and ever so slightly devilish. Aside from groping her shoulder, he hadn’t made a wrong move all night.

Maybe that was it. She was taken with Simon’s peculiarities. And the awful, hokey pickup lines he blurted out when he was trying to be charming.

The sporty convertible took the curves like a race car. Fresh, pure country air whistled past the windshield. Lili was a little chilly, but she couldn’t snuggle up to Trey without sending him the wrong signal. She wrapped her arms around herself. “This truly is lovely,” she said to fill the silence. “Truly.”

Trey’s white teeth gleamed at her. “We can pull over, if you like.”

Lili knew what that meant; the kids on Happy Days went parking on Blueberry Hill. It wasn’t as popular a practice in Grunberg, where cars weren’t commonly owned by teenagers, and princesses on dates were trailed by hot-and cold-running bodyguards.

Trey didn’t wait for her approval. When they came to a clearing in the trees that bordered the road, he slowed and drove a short way into the grassy area. A large graceful willow tree hung over the car, its drooping branches rustling slightly in the wind. “This is pleasant,” Lili said, keeping her voice unimpressed, even though he probably wouldn’t take the hint. She probably shouldn’t come right out and say, “Shove it, buster.” Princesses were always polite.

“Nice, sweet, lovely, pleasant,” Trey said teasingly, shifting his large body around so he was facing her. One arm was draped on the steering wheel. The other had released her shoulders, although now his hand rested heavily on the back of her neck. Lili wanted to shrug it away. But she ought to give him a chance. He certainly looked like the kind of man she’d imagined she’d meet in America—tall, dark and handsome.

“I’m a princess,” Lili explained with a touch of irony. “I live in a sugar-spun fairy tale where life is beautiful all the time.”

“And you come complete with tiara.”

She laughed politely. “Sorry to disappoint! I don’t wear the tiara as common practice.”

Trey’s fingertips crawled along her nape. “You must have tried it on at least.”

She blinked. “The Brunner bridal tiara?”

He leaned closer. “Yesss.”

“Um.” Why did men think that hissing in her ear like a snake was seductive? “Actually, no. Even though my sisters and I begged my mother to let us try it on, she never would. There’s a legend…” Lili lost track of her words because Trey had dropped his arm around her shoulders again and was drawing her toward his mouth. “Only Brunner brides are supposed to…” Goodness, he had a lot of teeth.

His breath was hot. Minty.

Yeesh, she thought as Trey landed a kiss that consumed the lower half of her face. The kiss was much too wet and loose. She struggled a little, but he held her tightly, applying his mouth to hers like a suction hose. Slurp.

She put her hands on his chest and pushed. Still polite, but plenty firm. His mouth left hers with a wet pop. She gagged a little and swiped the back of a hand across her lips. Spittle wasn’t polite. “Urg. Slow down, big guy.”

For an instant, Trey didn’t look so pleasant. Then he smiled again and winked at her, a thick lock of dark hair fallen rakishly across his forehead. “You said you wanted a real taste of America.”

Yes, indeed she had. “But not all at once, thank you.”

He fingered her hair. “You’re a cute kid.”

She squinted. “Meaning?”

“You’re nothing like your sister, are you?”

“Which one?”

“Natalia.”

“How do you know Natalia?”

Trey stroked her cheek. “Oh, I don’t. I read about her in the tabloids. She’s the wild one, right?”

“I suppose there are some who call her that. To me, she’s just my sister. I’m the youngest, so she’s closer to Annie than I am.” Lili tilted her head to get away from Trey’s persistent fingers. “I’m surprised you’ve read about us. We’re not all that well known in America. Aside from here in Blue Cloud, of course, because my grandmother was born here—”

She stopped, struck by suspicion. Over drinks, Trey had claimed that he was in town to visit friends. She’d asked about his job, but she realized now that he’d evaded the question, leading her to believe, with a few casually dropped comments, that he was independently wealthy. Meanwhile, he’d probed for information about her, the Brunner family, their castle in Grunberg. He’d even hinted around for VIP passes to the grand opening of the jewel exhibit and an invitation to the formal ball. It was pretty clear that he was more interested in the princess than the woman.

In her eagerness for experience, she’d been too trusting. Suppose he was playing her?

Suppose?

“What did you say you do again?” she asked.

Trey grinned. “I didn’t.”

“You’re not a reporter, are you?”

He threw back his head and laughed. “Hell, no!”

“Then why the interest in me and my family?”

“No sinister motives.” He leered, his eyes glinting at her from the pattern of light and shadow cast by the moonlight filtering through the branches of the willow tree. “If you must know, I collect pretty girls.”

She pushed his hand away. “Some might consider that sinister.”

He buffed his nails on his expensive suit. “What can I say? I’m a ladies’ man.” He was practically boasting. “I assumed you’d had plenty of experience with suave European suitors. And you sure seemed eager enough to partake of the American variety.”

“I’m sorry. You’re mistaken.”

“I can promise you a good time. No strings attached.”

Lili wormed her bottom toward the passenger door. “No, thanks.”

“Aw, c’mon.” Trey reached for her. “Don’t be a prude. I know what goes on among you jet-setters. Topless beaches, drunken orgies, wife-swapping. You like to party, don’t you, baby princess?”

She slapped his hand away. He reached again, cajoling her with smarmy compliments. “C’mon, Princess. My lovely Lili-Pond.” He gripped her waist; she twisted away. “Give me that sweet smile.” His fingers plucked at the buttons of her blouse. “Show me your pretty little—”

Lili brought her leg up and jabbed him in the kneecap with the heel of one sneaker. Too bad. She usually hit her targets, but the man’s oversized stilts had gotten in the way.

Trey clutched at his knee. “Ahhh!”

She grabbed the bucket-size soft drink from its holder and upended it over his head. Orange soda and a shovelful of ice chips cascaded over his head and shoulders.

Trey shook himself like a dog, spraying the front seat with sticky soda. Lili jumped out of the car.

He clambered after her, swearing so ripely that more spittle flew. There’s a lesson for you, Lili told herself. Never trust a man with excess saliva.

The curses trailed off to whimpers. “Damn, that was vicious. You didn’t have to kick so hard. I have a trick knee. And look at my hair. My suit! It’s soaked.”

“Count yourself lucky. I was aiming higher.” She strode toward the road, breathing hard. For all her idiocy, she was high on triumph. She might have gotten into a predicament, but she’d also gotten herself out of it. And all on her own!

Trey got back in the car and started the engine. He backed up toward the road. Lili picked up her pace, trotting along the edge of the pavement. Good thing she’d worn sneakers.

“Don’t run away, Lili,” Trey called from the car. “I’ll give you a ride back to town.”

“No, thanks!”

“It’s all right. I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“No!”

“You’re going the wrong way.”

Lili stopped. Oh. She’d been too steamed to notice.

“C’mon, Princess,” Trey coaxed. She had to give him a sliver of credit. He hadn’t abandoned her. She couldn’t even blame him for getting overly amorous; she had flirted. “I promise not to touch you,” he added.

She was tempted to accept the ride, but decided to hold her ground. Once a fool, and all that. “I’d rather not. There’s a farmhouse nearby. I remember passing it. I’ll go there and call for a cab.” Fiddlesticks. If she hadn’t been forced to sneak out, she could have borrowed Mrs. Grundy’s handy cell phone. That was what came of relying on others to handle the necessary details.

Trey said, grudgingly, “I have a phone. I can call for you.”

“I’d rather not be in your debt,” she persisted, although she was beginning to realize that she wasn’t entirely out of her predicament. The owner of the farmhouse might not be thrilled to be awakened by a stranger knocking at the door at midnight, even if the stranger was a princess. And the road was extremely dark and deserted. Whether that was good or bad, she wasn’t sure.

“Suit yourself.” Trey gunned the engine, then peered over his shoulder one more time. His white teeth flashed. “I suppose those VIP passes are out of the question?”

She almost laughed. Kissing Trey was worse than kissing a slimy toad—at least the toad didn’t kiss back. But there was something roguishly charming about the guy, for all his crudeness. Maybe…

She wondered if it was possible to accept his cell phone but not his overtures. Trey said, “Well? I’m getting cold,” then shrugged and peeled out with a squeal of the tires, tossing Lili a devil-may-care wave.

“Um, Trey?” she said.

It was a minute before the sound of the convertible died in the distance. Lili gathered her courage. This wasn’t a problem. No, it actually was, but she could handle it. They must have taxicabs in Blue Cloud, so she had every hope of getting back to the hotel with no one the wiser…except herself.

She’d walked several paces before certain unusual sounds penetrated her consciousness. She stopped, flummoxed. Music—very faint, but carried on the night breezes. In the opposite direction from the farmhouse. Maybe there was another house just down the road, its inhabitants obviously still awake.

Hmm. Lili turned back, her interest piqued. Was that a violin? Accompanied by a guitar? Not a recording. She drew closer to the source, driven to hurry. There were voices, and laughter. It was beginning to sound like a free-form party; exactly the kind of excitement and adventure that she’d wished for.

She smelled wood smoke. Saw the flicker of a bonfire. Tents in a field. Dancers. A Gypsy encampment…Jana’s people! Of course. Not unlike the bands of Romany who occasionally traveled through Grunberg and neighboring countries. She hadn’t realized until Jana Vargas’s appearance at the reception that there were Romany clans roaming America also.

Lili’s blood stirred. An evening in a Gypsy camp! What a treat to stumble upon. Jana had seemed sincere about welcoming Lili, even if there was some question about the Vargas diamond lurking between their families.

“AMELIA GRUNDY, HERE.”

“Whazzat?”

“Grundy. I’m with the princess.”

“Er…right. Lili.”

“Her Serene Highness, Princess Liliane of Grunberg.”

“That’s what I said.” Simon scrubbed a hand through his matted hair. He’d fallen asleep with an open book resting on his chest. Bad form for a swinging single bachelor. “Who’s this, again?” he said into the telephone, heaving up to switch on the bedside lamp. He righted his twisted glasses. “Grundy, you say?”

Why would the British nanny be calling him?

“The princess is missing.”

“Missing?” he echoed, suddenly feeling more alert.

“Since ten o’clock. It’s now half past twelve.”

“But you said you’re with her.”

“Not literally, Mr. Tremayne. She’s vanished.”

“For two and a half hours. That hardly constitutes an emergency, does it? The princess struck me as a lively sort of girl. She’s probably out having a good time.”

“Exactly.”

“Ah.”

“She shouldn’t be on her own,” Grundy said.

“Are you certain she is?”

“Evidence suggests she is not.”

The book on Simon’s chest became as heavy as a headstone. He knocked it aside. “What am I supposed to do about that?” He sounded crabby, but he couldn’t help it. Initially he’d thought that he and the princess had shared a moment. An understanding. Apparently not. Lili was cavorting, and it wasn’t with him. Stood to reason. The lovely princess was such a distraction that he kept forgetting about his rotten luck with women. Every one of his short list of relationships had ended with him being the chump.

“She’s of age,” he said.

“Only twenty-two. One mustn’t forget that she comes from a traditional society. She’s been protected all her life. This is her first time on her own—”

“Poor girl. No wonder she’s kicked away the traces.”

Grundy carried on as if he hadn’t interrupted. “She’s inexperienced, our Lili. Naive, one might say.” She fell quiet, but her silence was obviously expectant.

Inexperienced? Naive? That wasn’t his impression of the princess, Simon thought, recalling how she’d teased him with her “innocent” little stripper act. Was he missing a clue?

“I am worried,” Grundy said. “Princess Lili plays the flirt, but I do think she’d be susceptible to overtures from the wrong kind of gentleman.” She paused significantly. “One who is perhaps planning to ‘bag a trophy,’ I believe you’d say in the American vernacular.”

“Send the bodyguard after her.”

“I have, sir. However, I believe reinforcements are called for. Mr. Wilhelm has discovered from the concierge that the princess left the hotel with a stranger.”

“Was it the Tower?”

“Pardon?”

“The man she met at the reception. Tall, well-dressed. Cleft chin. Freakishly hirsute.” Simon was feeling around on the floor for his trousers. He found a sweatshirt and put it on instead, right over his pajama top, holding the phone with his chin. “His name’s Stone.”

“Yes, I do believe that’s the one. I have a terrible feeling he’s not on the up-and-up.”

“Where’s Wilhelm now?”

“Searching for the convertible they drove away in.”

Simon thrust his arm, and the phone, through a sleeve, then brought it back to his mouth. “I’m going to hang up now and call Henry—Chief Russell.”

“My goodness, no. We can’t have the police involved. This must be kept discreet, lest the muckrakers get wind of it.”

“Henry will keep it off the record, if possible. The man’s a bloodhound. He’ll probably sniff the air once and know exactly where Lili—Her Highness—is. We’ll have her back to you in no time, none the worse for—” He stopped.

Inexperienced? Naive? Susceptible?

Was Grundy trying to tell him the princess was a virgin?

“Indeed,” said the Brit.

“Huh?” said Simon, feeling damn slow on the uptake. The hair on the back of his neck was tingling. Oddly, he suspected that Grundy had read his mind and responded in agreement.

“Indeed, the princess will return none the worse for the adventure. She always has before.”

Now that she’d hooked him, Grundy was sounding less urgent. Even complacent. “The princess has done this in the past?” Simon asked.

“On occasion.”

Then why call out the big guns? Simon shoved his left foot into the running shoe he’d found under the bed. He was searching through the clots of dust for the other when it struck him that he wasn’t the big gun. He was the mild-mannered museum dweeb, not the hero. He didn’t rescue damsels in undress.

So why in tarnation had the efficient and spookily perceptive Amelia Grundy chosen to call him?

AMELIA HUNG UP the phone, a small smile puckering her lips. Magic had been in the air the instant Lili met Mr. Tremayne—she herself had felt the thunderbolt that crackled between the young couple. But one had to be circumspect about these things, especially when it came to guiding impulsive young princesses. Mistakes might be made.

Not even “fairy godmothers” were foolproof. Look at the Princesses Natalia and Andrea—now there was a pair of stubborn young ladies!

“Patience,” Amelia whispered to herself. “Their time shall soon come.” Just as Princess Lili’s had.

It wasn’t for Amelia to force the issue. Better to be discreet, waiting patiently for Lili to blunder about blindly until the perfect moment struck. When it did, Amelia would ensure that the princess’s eyes were opened to her intended destiny.

Which wasn’t to say that in the meantime Amelia couldn’t give a nudge or two to point the reluctant Prince Charming in the right direction….

5

“THANKS A LOT,” said Henry. “I’d just gotten home. Didn’t even have time to take the uniform off.” Minutes after Simon had called, the police chief had driven up in a patrol car, wearing his uniform of a medium-blue shirt with the badge emblem on the pocket, and navy pants, not as crisp and perfectly creased as usual. But still not as rumpled as Simon, who could put a wrinkle in a concrete wall if he had to wear one.

Henry shook his head. “I knew all this museum malarkey would be a major pain in my keister. And it’s not even the weekend yet.”

“Technically, it is.” Simon tapped his watch face. “Past midnight.”

Henry glowered. “And I’m on baby-sitting duty.”

“Princess rescue unit would be more accurate.”

“Why do I have the feeling we’re rescuing someone who doesn’t want to be rescued?” Henry had scanned the streets as they drove through town, but now his attention was mainly on the road. They were traveling north on a wooded lane. Although Simon wasn’t privy to the reasons why, there was a dogged look on Henry’s face that said he knew what he was doing.

“The princess’s personal desires don’t seem to be a priority. It’s all about her public persona.” Simon looked out at the rolling hills, the forests, punctuated by the occasional stately brick house or family farm.

“How are we supposed to find her?” he asked, his voice betraying an edge of desperation. The idea of Lili frolicking with Stone somewhere out here in total isolation did not sit well.

“You’ll see.”

Simon glanced at Henry’s set jaw. “Sorry about this. I thought you’d want to be informed—” In his time in town, he’d learned that the police chief was the repository of all town gossip, accusations and petty squabbles, and Henry seemed to want it that way. “But maybe I shouldn’t have called, after the day you had—”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

“Then you managed to reapprehend your suspect?”

Henry had been more steamed than Simon had ever seen him when he’d returned to the museum to interview Jana Vargas and found the snack shop empty. Although the door was still locked, one of the small second-story windows had been left open—all of a quarter inch. Henry had spotted that at once. Simon obviously wasn’t a crime-stopper, but he hadn’t needed his college degrees to deduce that Lili was involved. The Gypsy woman had probably crawled out the window, saw it was too far to jump, then got lucky in finding the princess in the next room. Lili had removed her shoes and stood on the trash can to pass over the key, then slipped, crashing into the position he’d discovered her in. This afternoon, he hadn’t gotten the chance to explain his theory to Henry. The chief had raced off in pursuit of Jana Vargas.

Henry grunted. “My suspect walked into the station, bold as you please.”

“What?”

Apparently the chief wasn’t fully satisfied by the surrender. He shook his head in disgust. “Not even an hour after she’d escaped.”

“Then she’s still in custody?”

“Nope.” Henry shrugged. “I questioned her, but I had no good reason to hold her. No evidence. Her partner got away with the loot and we haven’t been able to pick him up. We don’t even have a clear ID on the guy. I couldn’t hold either of them for long, unless we can catch them fencing the necklace.”

“So why’d she turn herself in?”

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