Praise for Cathie Linz

“Ms. Linz has the rare gift of touching the ordinary with a quiet magic that always makes our day shine a little brighter.”

—Romantic Times

A familiar fire smoldered within him.

It wasn’t the kind of flame that flared to life the instant he saw her, but it was the kind that grew in intensity each time he and Juliet were together. Instant lust Luc could deal with, but this overwhelmingly powerful attraction was something else entirely.

“I should have worn black leather,” he heard her mutter and almost groaned aloud at the sexy fantasy of her dressed like a biker babe—her thighs barely covered by a short skirt, her breasts pushing against a tight T-shirt. His body responded to the hot images, forcing him to shift position on the motorcycle, which only made her thighs rub against his even more.

When had his sweet innocent Juliet turned into such a sultry sex kitten?

Dear Reader,

Summer’s finally here! Whether you’ll be lounging poolside, at the beach, or simply in your home this season, we have great reads packed with everything you enjoy from Silhouette Romance—tenderness, emotion, fun and, of course, heart-pounding romance—plus some very special surprises.

First, don’t miss the exciting conclusion to the thrilling ROYALLY WED: THE MISSING HEIR miniseries with Cathie Linz’s A Prince at Last! Then be swept off your feet—just like the heroine herself!—in Hayley Gardner’s Kidnapping His Bride.

Romance favorite Raye Morgan is back with A Little Moonlighting, about a tycoon set way off track by his beguiling associate who wants a family to call her own. And in Debrah Morris’s That Maddening Man, can a traffic-stopping smile convince a career woman—and single mom—to slow down…?

Then laugh, cry and fall in love all over again with two incredibly tender love stories. Vivienne Wallington’s Kindergarten Cupids is a very different, highly emotional story about scandal, survival and second chances. Then dive right into Jackie Braun’s True Love, Inc., about a professional matchmaker who’s challenged to find her very sexy, very cynical client his perfect woman. Can she convince him that she already has?

Here’s to a wonderful, relaxing summer filled with happiness and romance. See you next month with more fun-in-the-sun selections.

Happy reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

A Prince at Last!
Cathie Linz

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For my senior editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey, for inviting me to participate in this fun project, and for my editor, Allison Lyons, for wining and dining me in New Orleans but especially for being so easy to work with! Many thanks to you both!

Books by Cathie Linz

Silhouette Romance

One of a Kind Marriage #1032

Daddy in Dress Blues #1470

Stranded with the Sergeant #1534

The Marine & the Princess #1561

A Prince at Last! #1594

Silhouette Books

Montana Mavericks

Baby Wanted

Silhouette Desire

Change of Heart #408

A Friend in Need #443

As Good as Gold #484

Adam’s Way #519

Smiles #575

Handyman #616

Smooth Sailing #665

Flirting with Trouble #722

Male Ordered Bride #761

Escapades #804

Midnight Ice #846

Bridal Blues #894

A Wife in Time #958

Michael’s Baby #1023

Seducing Hunter #1029

Abbie and the Cowboy #1036

Husband Needed #1098

CATHIE LINZ

left her career in a university law library to become a USA Today bestselling author of contemporary romances. She is the recipient of the highly coveted Storyteller of the Year Award given by Romantic Times and was recently nominated for a Love and Laughter Career Achievement Award for the delightful humor in her books.

Cathie often uses comic mishaps from her own trips as inspiration for her stories. After traveling, Cathie is always glad to get back home to her family, her two cats, her trusty word processor and her hidden cache of Oreo cookies!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Epilogue

Chapter One

“I’m having a bad heir day,” Luc Dumont announced with a growl as he walked into Juliet Beaudreau’s office.

“What happened?” Juliet hastily shifted a pile of papers to clear a chair for her unexpected visitor.

But Luc ignored the empty seat and paced instead, not easy to do in the tiny room that served as Juliet’s office in the lowest level of the tower in St. Michel’s de Bergeron Palace. Luc’s very presence made the room seem even smaller. He was the kind of man who made an impression.

He’d certainly made an impression the first time Juliet had met him three years ago. Ever since then she always lit up inside whenever she saw him. Tall and lean, with thick brown hair and rakishly carved features, he had the most vivid blue eyes she’d ever seen. Instead of his usual work attire of a perfectly fitted black suit and light-blue shirt with a burgundy tie, he was wearing a black shirt and pants, which made her think he’d literally just returned to the palace from his most recent trip.

He was a man of many facets, deeply serious at times, wryly humorous at others. There had always been something slightly smoldering about him, deep beneath his cultured exterior.

At the moment he simply looked gorgeous…and upset.

“What happened?” Luc repeated. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Certainly I would. Did you finally find the lost heir?” She knew that as head of the country’s Security Force, Luc had been assigned the mission of tracking down the missing heir to the throne of St. Michel.

“It looks as if I have.” Luc kept pacing.

“You don’t appear to be very pleased with the outcome,” Juliet noted, coming around the solid oak table she used as a desk to perch on the front corner. While doing so, she briefly wished she was wearing something a little more attractive than a black top and skirt before refocusing her attention on Luc’s news. “Who is it? We already know it’s not Sebastian LeMarc. His claim proved to be false.”

“That was his mother’s doing, not his. Mothers can be a deceiving lot sometimes.” Luc’s voice held such bitterness.

Concerned, Juliet placed her hand on his arm, temporarily stopping his restless pacing. “Talk to me, Luc. Tell me what’s going on. You know you can trust me.”

It stung slightly that he didn’t acknowledge her trustworthiness, but he did begin talking. “I just returned from visiting my father.”

Which might explain his unsettled mood. Maybe it had to do with his family and not with the missing heir. “Did the visit go badly?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Luc replied cryptically.

“What happened?”

“I have to fill you in on a bit of background first. My mother died when I was six,” he said curtly, “and my father remarried after that.”

“And your new stepmother was awful,” Juliet continued. “And you were sent away to school in England, first to Eton and then to Cambridge.”

Luc frowned. “How did you know that?”

Uh-oh. Juliet tried to backpedal. “Didn’t you tell me?”

He shook his head. “No. I don’t talk about my family life with anyone.”

“All right,” she reluctantly admitted. “I checked out your resumé, okay? Before he died, King Philippe granted me unlimited access to the royal archives and records.”

“To do your thesis on the history of St. Michel, not to go nosing around in my personnel files. And I’m sure they didn’t list anything about my stepmother being awful.”

“I discerned that much for myself. Are you angry with me?” She gave him her most winning smile.

He wearily shook his head. “No. I’ll let you off easy this time. Anyway, since I was sent off to school in England, my father and I haven’t spent much time together. Maybe if we had, the lies would have come out sooner.”

“What lies?”

“The lies about everything. About the man I thought was my father, the woman who was my mother, about the man I am today.” His voice was rough with emotion.

Juliet had never seen Luc so upset. She didn’t know if it was due to his English schooling or his work with Interpol before coming to St. Michel, but Luc was always a man in control, a man with hidden depths, a man who maintained his cool and kept his distance.

Juliet suspected it was because of his upbringing, that he had felt like an outsider in his own family once he was packed off to school. She knew the feeling well. As the late king’s stepdaughter, she’d never really felt like part of the royal family. Her stepsisters, once the royal princesses, had never deliberately made her feel like an outcast. But she was different. She was the dark-haired, shy, bookish one amid all the pretty and popular blondes.

She’d always felt as if she didn’t really belong. The one person who had befriended her was Luc. He might be thirty-two to her twenty-two, but she was older than her years. And she felt a special kind of bond with Luc, a bond she’d never dared explore for fear of ruining what they already had.

She knew Luc saw her only as a friend and that was fine, she’d take whatever she got. And she’d be the best darn friend Luc had ever had.

“Whatever lies might involve your father or your mother, I can tell you one thing about the man you are today,” Juliet fiercely said. “You’re an honorable man.”

“You don’t know what it’s like, finding out your entire life is based on a lie.”

“And I’m not likely to know what it’s like if you don’t tell me exactly what happened.” Now her voice was tinged with a bit of exasperation.

“I’m not making much sense am I?” he noted wryly.

“No, but that’s okay. Why don’t you start at the beginning and go from there?”

“Ah, the beginning. Well, that would be with Prince Philippe’s marriage to Katie, the one the young prince was told was invalid because Katie was underage at seventeen.”

“Yes, but we know now that that wasn’t true,” Juliet reminded him. “The marriage was legal and valid. That’s why you’ve been searching for their child all these months.”

“Yes, well, the search is over.”

“And you’re having a bad heir day. That’s what you said when you came in. And I’m assuming that you were referring to the missing heir, not to a haircut gone wrong.”

Luc had wonderfully thick brown hair. At the moment it had an unusually rumpled look about it, due to his shoving impatient fingers through it. “You assume correctly. I was referring to the missing heir.”

“And you still haven’t told me who he is.”

“I know. It’s just I’m finding this entire thing a little hard to accept.”

“What entire thing?”

“Well, finding out that my father isn’t really my father at all for one thing.”

Her exasperation instantly melted away. “Oh, Luc.”

He tried to shrug it off, but she could tell he was more disturbed than he was letting on.

“My life is turning into one of those American soap operas,” he growled in disgust.

“Did your father tell you this news while you were visiting him?”

“No. I went to see him to get to the bottom of this mess.”

She was confused. “What mess?”

“I had reason to believe that Albert Dumont might not be my real father. He confirmed it. My mother was married before. And not just once, but twice.”

“Did Albert know who your father is?”

“He didn’t know at the time, no. All he knew was that my mother was unhappy with Robert Johnson, her previous husband, and that she divorced him. Apparently the lout cheated on her. Albert did business with the corporation Robert Johnson worked for, and he met my mother at some official function. Albert was also divorced and once my mother was free, the two of them married and settled down in France. I was all of two or three at the time. I know my mother’s father died shortly thereafter, leaving her with no relatives in America.”

“So Albert thought that you were this Robert Johnson’s child?”

“Well, apparently not. Apparently Albert knew that my mother was pregnant with another man’s child when she married Robert. She asked Albert to let me believe Albert was my father, even going so far as to arrange for a fake French birth certificate for Luc Dumont, listing Albert as my father and Katherine as my mother.”

Juliet could see why he felt betrayed. The man he thought was his father turned out not to be his father after all. So many lies.

His voice was harsh. “Luc Dumont doesn’t really exist.”

“Of course you do. I’m looking at you, pacing my office like a caged lion.”

“Why did you have to set up shop down here anyway?” He dropped onto the empty chair and fixed her with an aggravated glare. “We could have found you a bigger office in the north wing.”

“I love it here.” She waved a hand at her small but cozy surroundings. The grey stone walls dated back to the 16th century, their irregular surface still showing the marks where they’d been chiseled by hand. Aside from the oak table she’d retrieved from the royal storage room, she had a pair of mismatched Chippendale chairs, a mahogany bookcase and a lady’s Victorian chintz armchair all squeezed into the tiny space. A tattered Oriental rug covered the stone floor. “You can see the gardens right outside my window.”

She paused a second to enjoy the climbing pink roses that grew along the tower walls, framing her view of brilliant-colored flowering shrubs beyond, including luscious rhododendron and some late-blooming azaleas, graced by a trio of white butterflies dancing in the air. In the distance were the beds of sweet-smelling peonies and vibrant poppies and irises in colors ranging from deep purple to palest white.

She never tired of looking outside and drinking in the natural beauty. It fed her soul. Not that she’d ever tell anyone that. They already thought she was a little strange, a bookish oddity.

“The tower is one of the oldest parts of the palace,” she continued. “Since I’m researching the history of St. Michel for my postgraduate work, this is the perfect place for me.”

“Close enough to the boiler room that you can hear the pipes clang in the winter.”

“True, but it’s spring now. And you’re trying to sidetrack me.” She returned her gaze to him. “It won’t work, you know. I have a one-track mind. It’s why I’m so good with research. Once I get an idea into my head, I carry it through. So let’s get back to you and your family. You said earlier that it all started with Prince Philippe’s wedding to Katie. How so? Did Katie know your mother?”

“You don’t understand. Katie was my mother.”

Juliet was stunned. “But…but…” she sputtered. “That would make you…”

“The missing heir.” Luc nodded. “Bingo. Now you see why I said I was having a bad heir day. Here I’ve been chasing all over Europe and America and it turns out I’m the missing heir. How ironic is that?”

She didn’t know about ironic, but it was certainly freaking her out. She could only imagine how Luc must feel.

When he’d said that his father wasn’t really his father, she’d never made the connection between his royal search and his family life. Luc had always been like her—an outsider to the inner circle of royalty, someone with regular rather than royal blood.

But not anymore. Now even that link between them was being broken.

“You’re the missing heir,” she repeated slowly. “Your father was…”

“King Philippe, who, when he was still a prince, married my mother Katherine, whom he called Katie. I should have made the connection.” He was on his feet and pacing again. “I’m a trained investigator, for heaven’s sake. But it never even occurred to me. She died when I was so young, I don’t remember much about her. The only thing I have is a book on St. Michel she used to read to me. I kept it for sentimental value.”

“Who else knows about this?”

“Sometimes it feels like everyone knew but me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“How should I know? I’m still trying to absorb it all.”

“Queen Celeste will not be pleased.” Celeste was King Philippe’s fourth and most recent wife, now widow. When King Philippe had died of a heart attack, the country had grieved, but those in power had panicked.

For one thing, according to ancient St. Michel law, the throne couldn’t be passed to a female. And when the dowager queen had made her startling declaration that the king had married secretly at the age of eighteen and that a child had resulted…well, the palace had been turned upside down.

“Celeste is still maintaining that the child she’s carrying is a boy,” Juliet said.

“And I suppose she’s still refusing to have an ultrasound to determine the baby’s sex, right?” Luc asked.

Juliet nodded. “Correct.”

“What a mess.”

“You’re the heir,” she repeated. “The oldest male. The future king of St. Michel. I’m going to have to practice curtsying.”

“You do and I won’t speak to you,” he warned her.

“But it’s protocol to curtsy to the king.”

“What do I know about being a king?”

“Well, for one thing, you’re very good at giving orders,” she pointed out with a grin.

“Sure. Orders are easy. Reporting what I just found to the prime minister and dowager queen, that is not going to be easy.”

“Why not?”

“Who’d believe that I’m the future king?” Luc scoffed. “I’m not a diplomatic man. I don’t know anything about governing.”

“You can learn. I’m certain the prime minister and the dowager queen will be delighted with this news.”

“I brought proof with me,” he said abruptly. “Not so much to convince them as to convince myself. It seems my mother left a key to a safety deposit box in Albert’s care, to use if I ever came asking about my birth father. Since I didn’t know Albert wasn’t my father, it was doubtful I’d ever think to ask him anything. Inside the box was a registered copy of my birth certificate. I thought it had to be another fake, but I checked the paper trail, this time using my mother’s name and it checks out. Before that I was looking for Katie Graham, her name on the marriage certificate to Prince Philippe. I’d already traced Katie back to Texas and found she married Ellsworth Johnson.”

“I thought you said his name was Robert Johnson?”

“Americans have this irritating habit of not using their proper Christian given names, especially Texans. Robert was his middle name. It was all there in the safe deposit box. Marriage certificates, my birth certificate and a letter from my mother.”

“Really? What did she say?”

“I haven’t read it yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t know if I can forgive her,” Luc said bluntly. “And I don’t think there’s anything she could have written in that letter that would justify her lying to me, or letting me live a lie.”

“Maybe she was trying to protect you. She was so young when you were born. Barely eighteen. Pregnant and alone. She tried to provide you with a stable home and father when she married Albert.”

“She married one man knowing she was pregnant with another man’s child.” A muscle flexed in his clenched jaw. “How honorable is that?”

“You won’t know until you read her letter,” she replied.

“I don’t need to read it to know what she did was dishonorable.”

“I realize you feel that way now, but you have to read her letter, Luc.”

“If you’re so interested, then you read it,” he growled, yanking it out of his pocket and tossing it onto her book-strewn desk. “I’m not interested. I don’t care what it says. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to prepare for my meeting with the prime minister and dowager queen and I need some fresh air to clear my head.”

With that curt announcement, Luc left as abruptly as he’d arrived.

Chapter Two

Juliet stared down at the envelope on her desk as if it were a snake that might lunge out and bite her. Her fingers trembled as she traced the elegant handwriting—Luc.

What had his mother been thinking when she’d written his name? Had she hoped that he’d never find out he was heir to the throne of St. Michel? Would she even have known? From what Luc had told her of the investigation, Katie had been told that her marriage to Philippe was illegal.

Which meant Katie would have believed her son to be illegitimate. And she’d have done everything she could to hide that fact from him.

Juliet knew how much legitimacy mattered. The royal princesses had had to weather that storm of controversy themselves when Lise’s rotten first husband Wilhelm had sold the story to a tabloid. Once the word was out that King Philippe had had a secret first wife, whom he’d never divorced, the paparazzi had swarmed the de Bergeron Palace like a bunch of locusts, feeding off the scandal.

The princesses had all left the palace now—Marie-Claire had married Sebastian, Ariane had gone to Rhineland and married Prince Etienne, Lise had finally found true happiness with her former brother-in-law, the honorable Charles Rodin. Juliet’s own half sister Jacqueline was visiting cousins in Switzerland and protected from most of the scandal while their brother Georges had headed off to the Andes in Peru for a few weeks of summer skiing.

At least things had worked out well in the end for the three older princesses, who had all found the men of their dreams.

Juliet thought she’d found the man of her dreams as well—Luc. Her chances of having him see her in a romantic way had always been slim at best, but now they were impossible.

Juliet turned and caught her reflection in the small mirror propped on top of the bookcase along the opposite wall. She’d placed it there to reflect the view of the garden rather than out of any vanity on her part.

She had nothing to be vain about. Her green eyes were all right, she supposed, but her long dark hair had never behaved properly, and was at this moment falling out of the topknot she’d secured it in with a pencil to hold it in place. Her eyebrows were bushy, or so her roommate in boarding school had once told her, and her mouth was too large to be elegant. She even had freckles, something no princess would ever have.

Of course, she wasn’t a princess. She was the ugly stepsister. The smart one, the bookworm, more interested in the past than in her future.

On those occasions lately when she had dreamt about her future, she’d placed Luc at her side. Her gaze traveled from her reflection to the letter on her desk.

The fact that Luc was the missing heir changed everything.

She certainly didn’t have what it took to make a king happy. She didn’t even have what it took to keep a rich St. Michel businessman’s son like Armand Killey happy. Three years ago, Armand had swept her off her feet, telling her he loved her quiet beauty. And she’d bought every word, had, in fact, hungered for someone to love her after her mother had died.

But Armand hadn’t really loved her at all. He’d simply been using her in order to get close to the king. Juliet had heard him and his father discussing the plan. She’d been devastated and humiliated, as well as angry with herself for being so stupid as to fall for Armand’s slick ways in the first place.

“Did you read the letter yet?” Luc asked, disrupting her thoughts and once again catching her unprepared. He must have gotten the fresh air he’d said he needed by taking a brief walk in the garden, out of her line of vision.

“No.” She paused to remove the pencil from her hair and let the dark strands tumble where they may. She’d learned long ago there was no fighting her hair, it always won. If it didn’t want to stay up, it wouldn’t. Turning to face Luc, she said, “I did not read it. And I’m not going to until you do.”

“Then you’ll be waiting a very long time,” he retorted, “since I have no intention of ever reading it.”

“Luc.” She reached out to cover his hand with hers. “You’re upset right now. Don’t make any decisions just yet.”

“Don’t make any decisions?” His voice was harsh, making him sound like a man pushed to his limits as he pulled his hand away. “I have to. I have to tell the prime minister and the dowager queen what I’ve discovered. I have an appointment with them both in less than half an hour.”

Juliet tried not to be hurt by his physical withdrawal from her, reminding herself that he had a lot to deal with. A good friend wouldn’t get all sensitive, wouldn’t show her pain. She’d be supportive and reassuring. “As I said before, I’m sure they will be pleased with the news.”

“And as I said before, I know nothing about being a king.”

“There is a silver lining in all this you know. At least you won’t have to worry about getting along with the new king.”

“Trust you to find a silver lining.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “You make me sound like a naive Pollyanna who still believes in happy endings.”

“You don’t believe in happy endings?”

“My mother never found her happy ending,” Juliet noted somberly. “She married Philippe out of a sense of duty, hoping to provide for her children, Georges and I. I don’t think she ever truly loved the king the way she loved my father. Which was perhaps a good thing given the fact that the king only wanted one thing from my mother—an heir. In the end she died trying to provide him a son.”

“Are you bitter about that?”

His question surprised her. “I try not to let myself be, but it is difficult at times,” she admitted. “After the first baby was stillborn, the doctors warned that another pregnancy might be risky. But the king wouldn’t listen and my mother went along with his wishes. Jacqueline was born a year later. I think the fact that the pregnancy went so well lulled the king and my mother into a false sense of security. Two years later my mother was pregnant again. This time things did not go as well.” Juliet’s throat tightened as it always did when she thought of those dark days. “I miss her still. That’s why I feel so strongly about you reading this letter from your mother, Luc. Because I know the influence a mother can have, and how that loss leaves a void in you.”

“My situation is entirely different. My mother died when I was six. I don’t remember much about her.”

“Perhaps reading her letter will bring back some memories.”

“I don’t want to remember,” Luc stated bluntly, returning to his earlier pacing. “I’ve got enough trouble dealing with the present without dredging up the past any more than I absolutely have to. As it is, I’ll have to rehash the entire story for the prime minister and dowager queen.”

“The dowager queen has always had a soft spot in her heart for you.”

“She just has an eye for younger men.”

“Luc!” Juliet gave him a startled look before laughing somewhat guiltily. “You shouldn’t say such things.”

“See, I told you I’m not cut out to be king. Already I’m saying the wrong thing.” His words sounded serious but there was a slight twinkle in his eyes.

“Well, the dowager queen is your grandmother so I suppose one could say something slightly outrageous about one’s own grandmother.”

“My grandmother?” Now Luc was the one who looked startled. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“And with Marie-Claire, Ariane, Lise and Jacqueline, you’ve got four sisters.”

“Half sisters,” he corrected her. “Three of whom have all married in the past few months. There must be something in the palace water that’s responsible for all these weddings.”

“Your half sisters would disagree with you, I’m sure. They all married for love.”

“A romantic idea to be sure,” he scoffed.

“You don’t believe in marrying for love?”

“It isn’t something kings are supposed to do, is it?” Luc replied, pausing in front of her desk to bestow a brooding look down at the letter still resting there. “Supposedly King Philippe and my mother were in love, and look where it got them. It seems to have messed up the rest of their lives.”

“It doesn’t have to happen that way.”

“Oh, so now you’re the expert on royal love, hmm?” He turned to face her, propping his hip on the corner of the oak table as she had earlier. “I thought your thesis was on the role royal women played in St. Michel’s history.”

“And that role sometimes included falling in love.”

“What about you? Have you ever fallen in love?” Luc asked her.

“I thought so at the time.” Then Luc had come to the palace and things had changed. Her feelings for Armand had dimmed in comparison to her awareness of Luc. “What about you?”

“Love makes you vulnerable and I try not to be vulnerable.”

No surprise there. “If you’re so invulnerable,” she teased him, “then you shouldn’t be nervous about this upcoming meeting with the prime minister. You should be cool and calm, as you always are. A man in control.”

“Is that how you see me?”

She nodded. It was easier than adding that it was one of the ways she saw him, that she also sensed something deeper within him.

“Well, I’ll take that as a compliment then. Doesn’t stop me from being uneasy about this meeting, however.”

“Do you want me to help…” Juliet began, before stopping as she remembered that it was the king, not merely Luc, she was offering assistance to. As if a king would need a bookworm’s help. “Never mind.” She took a step away from him.

“No, go ahead. You were going to offer help with what?”

“Your meeting. By coming with you. A stupid idea.”

“Not stupid at all. You’ve got a quiet way of getting people on your side. But this is one battle I’ve got to fight on my own.”

“Of course,” she said formally, taking another step back. “I understand and I agree.”

“Why are you doing that?” Luc demanded, noting the change in her voice immediately.

“Doing what?”

“Going all proper and starchy on me, pulling away from me.”

“This office isn’t large enough for me to move very far away,” she pointed out in an attempt to add a little levity.

But Luc wasn’t buying her act for one second. Giving her a dark look, he said, “Don’t you dare start acting differently now that you know about me being…” He paused and sliced the air with his hand instead of continuing.

“King,” Juliet said. “The word you are searching for is king. And you can’t expect me to act as if nothing has happened.”

“I expect you to continue to be my friend as you’ve been since I arrived at the palace three years ago.”

“I will always be your friend, Luc, but this is bound to change things between us.”

“Not if we don’t let it. And I refuse to let it,” he stated. “You must promise to do the same.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think I can promise that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you being the king changes everything. Some things we have no control over.”

“The one thing I plan on doing with this situation is maintaining control,” Luc stated firmly.

“Some things are beyond our control,” she repeated with soft sadness.

Some things…like falling in love with a man who would be king.

“So Luc, I hope the fact that you called this special meeting means you have some good news to report to us,” Prime Minister René Davoine said with his customary dignity. Slim and blessed with plenty of pewter-gray hair and a mustache to match, he was the picture of a distinguished statesman. Dressed in a two-piece dark suit as always, he appeared more somber than he actually was.

“I have news, but I’m not certain how good it is,” Luc replied.

“Don’t mutter, Luc,” Dowager Queen Simone instructed him tartly.

Standing before the two of them made him feel like a bug under a microscope. As for the dowager queen, he’d never met anyone quite like her.

Thin and regal, she possessed a presence that filled the room—and considering they were in the huge Throne Room, that was no small feat. At age seventy-five, she had her short dark hair meticulously maintained so that not one hint of gray or white showed.

Aside from her attitude, her eyes were the most memorable thing about her. They were a piercing blue, not as dark as his own, more the color of a light sabre. They certainly had a way of slicing right through a person who irritated her, which he’d apparently just done.

Queen Celeste had tried to convince anyone who would listen that Dowager Queen Simone was “dotty.” And, while the older monarch had forgotten some details of the events that surrounded her son’s early marriage, there was no denying that in most cases the dowager queen was still as sharp as a tack.

She was eyeing him with honed intensity. “Those English schools taught you how to enunciate properly.”

“I could speak in French or German or Italian, if you prefer, ma’am,” Luc retorted.

She waved his words away with an imperious wave of her wrinkled but still elegant hand. On her left hand was the elaborate diamond ring that her husband, King Antoine, had given her upon their engagement over fifty years ago. She’d outlived both her husband and her only son due not only to her strong constitution but also to her iron will. “English will suffice.”

“Please be seated, Luc,” the prime minister said with a much more inviting wave of his hand.

Luc sat on the Louis XIV chair as if it might collapse beneath him. This sudden attack of nerves was so unlike him. He’d been dealing with the prime minister and the dowager queen for months without any problem. But that had been when he’d been an employee, when he’d been head of the country’s Security Force. It was a job he enjoyed, a job he knew how to do, a job he was very good at.

Damn. He should have asked Juliet to come with him when she’d offered. She’d know what to say. While she was shy around large groups of strangers, she had a way of disarming people with her quiet smile and sincere empathy.

“Well, Luc?” The prime minister looked at him encouragingly. “Have you found the missing heir?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“You believe so?” Simone said. “You mean there is some room for doubt?”

“No. I found the birth certificate for Katie Graham’s child, a son.”

“A son.” The prime minister almost applauded with delight. “Have you located him?”

“Yes.”

“I told you Luc would succeed,” the prime minister said.

“What is this son like? Is he someone suitable? He’s not living in some American trailer park, is he?” Dowager Queen Simone demanded. “Someone who would be a disgrace to the throne and the de Bergeron name?”

“I don’t believe he’d be a disgrace, no,” Luc replied. “Naturally he’s somewhat stunned with the news.”

The dowager queen leaned forward eagerly, her thin hands resting on her gold-filigree-topped cane. “Where is he?”

“You’re looking at him.”

She blinked her laser eyes at him. “I don’t understand.”

“Katie Graham was my mother.”

Luc could relate to the look of astonishment on the prime minister’s face. He’d felt that way himself when he’d first heard the news. He still felt that way.

The dowager queen’s expression was harder to read.

“If you knew Katie Graham was your mother, then why on earth did you spend the past few months searching for her son?” the prime minister asked.

“I knew my mother as Katherine Dumont,” Luc replied. “I had no idea about her…colorful past. It was only as I began the investigation that I started putting the pieces together. Even then, I didn’t believe it could really be true. When I went to my father—the man I believed to be my father—and confronted him, he gave me the key to a safe deposit box that my mother had requested I open should I ever question my heritage. It’s all here.” He opened the manilla envelope he’d brought with him. “The entire paper trail—wedding certificate, my real birth certificate, not the one my mother had Albert Dumont falsify.”

“Falsified birth certificates seem to have reached epidemic proportions around here lately,” Simone noted tartly.

Luc flinched.

“Not that we’re accusing you of any such behavior,” the prime minister hurriedly assured him.

“I can understand your skepticism,” Luc said. “I considered not sharing this information with you at all, just pretending I never found it.”

“Why would you do something like that?” the prime minister asked.

“Because I’m not any happier about this…situation than you are,” Luc said in a clipped voice.

“You misunderstand me.” Simone put her thin hand on his arm. He was surprised to feel it trembling slightly. “Is it really possible? Could you be…my grandson?”

“According to those papers I am. Even so, I’d still like to get corroborating evidence from an independent source before we proceed any further.”

“You sound as if you’re not happy with this news, Luc,” the prime minister said. “I can tell you that I, for one, cannot think of a more honorable man to take the throne.”

Simone was looking almost gleeful. “You know what this means? It means that awful Celeste won’t get her grasping hands on the throne. Her baby is due any minute now, and if it’s a boy, well, then our ship would have been sunk.”

“I don’t think Queen Celeste will take the news about Luc very well,” the prime minister noted.

“As I said,” Luc interrupted them. “No one but the three of us and Juliet is to know about this news just yet.”

“Juliet?” Simone raised a perfectly penciled eyebrow. “So you told Juliet. Before you told us?”

Luc refused to squirm in his seat. He was a former Interpol agent, he was not a schoolboy being reprimanded by his headmaster.

“Yes, I told Juliet before I told you.” The set of his jaw communicated his aggravation. “Do you have a problem with that?”

“I fear it would do me no good if I did,” Simone replied. “I’ve always liked Juliet. She’s a wise little thing. So what did she advise you to do?”

“She didn’t advise, she listened.” Luc’s pointed look indicated it was something that the older woman could learn to do better.

Simone smiled and leaned back in her chair with satisfaction. “Yes, you will do well as the king. Quite well indeed.”

“I want you both to swear you won’t tell anyone about this information until we can get it confirmed,” Luc said. “And the situation with Rhineland also has to be addressed.”

The prime minister paused in his close inspection of the material Luc had handed him. “The birth certificate is registered, and the rest of the documents appear legitimate.”

“I know someone from Interpol, someone very discreet, who will do some follow-up work,” Luc said.

“I understand you were born in Texas,” Simone said with a slight shudder. “Thank goodness Katie had the foresight to bring you back to Europe and civilization. Imagine if we’d had to track you down in Texas, as some kind of roving cowboy.”

“You’ve been watching too many movies,” Luc said. “Not everyone in Texas is a cowboy.” He knew, he’d traveled to Texas during the course of his investigation.

“Some are ruthless businessmen like J. R. Ewing,” the dowager queen continued, “on that television show…what was it called? ‘Houston’?”

“‘Dallas’,” Luc corrected her.

“There’s no point in worrying over what might have been,” the prime minister said. “We should focus on what our next course of action should be. I will need to notify the Privy Council.”

“I’m still trying to get information from the French customs agency about Katie Graham’s arrival and departure from France. Those records from over thirty years ago are in some warehouse waiting to be transferred onto the computer system.”

“What do you hope to gain from those records?” the prime minister asked.

“The date Katie arrived in France to marry King Philippe and the date she left for the United States,” Luc said.

“But you already have so much information from earlier in your investigation,” the prime minister noted, opening his own file on the subject. “The marriage certificate between Katie and Philippe, the birth certificate of her son Lucas Johnson, the marriage certificate of Katie Graham and Ellsworth Johnson, the divorce certificate of Katie Graham and said Mr. Johnson and lastly her marriage certificate to Albert Dumont.”

“I could still be Albert’s son, just trying to pass myself off as the king’s.”

“DNA testing would resolve that.” The prime minister gazed over the top edge of his reading glasses before removing them entirely to solemnly ask Luc, “Would you be willing to subject yourself to that?”

Luc paused before nodding.

“Ah,” Simone murmured. “I understand now. It is not that you want us to be sure you are the real heir, it is that you yourself are not sure that you want to be the king. Isn’t that correct, Luc?”

Yes, Luc silently noted, the elderly dowager queen was still sharp as a tack, all right. She’d certainly summed up his emotions in no time at all.

“Your Majesty?” the footman whispered to Celeste as he delivered her lunch to her suite on the second floor of the palace. “I have some information for you.”

Shortly after her marriage Celeste had completely redecorated the suite in shades of ivory and gold. She thought the colors complemented her own coloring—the ivory of her flawless skin, the gold of her perfectly cut hair.

“Information? It had better be something good,” she warned him. “The baby has been kicking me all day and I’m not in the best of moods, Henri.”

“I overheard a conversation…”

“Overheard?”

“I was clearing the dowager queen’s tea tray from the Ruby Salon, which is right beside the Throne Room.”

“I am aware of the location of the rooms in this palace,” Celeste said. “Get on with it.”

“I happened to be standing next to the closed doorway leading into the Throne Room and happened to overhear the conversation between the prime minister, the dowager queen and Luc Dumont.”

“Luc is back from France?”

“He arrived this very afternoon.”

“With news I presume?”

“Yes, ma’am. Outrageous news.”

“Well hurry and tell me, I haven’t got all day. I believe I’ve gone into labor.” Celeste gripped the front of the footman’s ornate jacket. “Tell me…and quickly!”

“Luc is claiming that he is the rightful heir.”

Celeste’s grip on the footman tightened until she was almost choking the small man.

“Of course, I do not believe it,” the footman wheezed, struggling for air. “You are our most beloved and beautiful queen.”

“And I’m about to give birth to a boy,” she said, panting slightly. “A boy who will be the king. Go now. Fetch Dr. Mellion. Get him and no one else. You understand?”

Henri nodded so fast his footman’s cap almost fell off.

“And tell no one what you have heard about Luc,” Celeste continued. “It is all a lie, a conspiracy by that dotty old woman and her crazy prime minister. Remember, Henri—” she released her grip on him and patted his arm as she smiled her famously charming smile “—I will reward those who are loyal to me. Reward them greatly.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. My only aim is to serve you.”

Her smile slipped as another contraction hit. “Then go get Dr. Mellion and be quick about it!”

Chapter Three

“Have you heard the news?” Juliet asked Luc the next morning. She’d come to his office first thing. They were alone, and with the office door closed, assured of some privacy.

Unlike her own working space, his was spacious and possessed every modern convenience—computer, fax machine, a bank of telephones. His desk held a blotter, a penholder and a lamp. No mess, no pile of papers. Everything was neatly in its place, under control. Even the chairs in his office possessed a firm practicality that didn’t make them particularly nice to sit in, but she plopped into the nearest one anyway.

“What news?” Luc barely looked up from the file he was studying.

“Celeste had a baby boy at four this morning.”

“Oh, that news,” he said absently. “Yes, I heard.”

He’d reverted back to his usual working attire of a perfectly-fitted black suit and light blue shirt with a burgundy tie. He looked very classy…and very much like a “hottie” to quote her sister Jacqueline’s favorite terminology.

Wishing she could just sit here and admire the view—him—Juliet realized she should try to keep her mind on court business and not funny business, like making out with Luc on his smooth desktop. “Did you hear she’s proclaiming he’s the next King of St. Michel?”

“Celeste has proclaimed a number of things over the past few months. It doesn’t mean any of them are true.”

Too jumpy to sit still for long, Juliet abandoned the chair for the corner of his desk, where she perched. Luc clearly hadn’t noticed the flowing floral skirt she was wearing, nor the gauzy pink camisole top that had required all her nerve to put on. After all, she was visiting the future king. She’d almost put on the nunnish gray dress she wore to chapel. But some spark of rebellion had prompted her to stick to her present attire. “Did you tell her that you’re the real heir to the throne?”

“No.” Luc closed the file he’d been studying. “She was rather busy last night.”

“When do you plan on telling her?”

Getting up to come around his desk and join her on the front edge of the desk, Luc replied, “As late as possible.”

Juliet nodded understandingly. “She’s not going to be pleased.”

“Now there’s an understatement,” he noted dryly.

“When is the announcement going to be made about you being the true heir? How did the dowager queen and prime minister take the news? And…”

“One question at a time.” Luc placed a teasing finger over her lips, effectively silencing her questions while sending her heart into overdrive. His skin was warm against hers. She was suddenly assailed with the urge to draw his finger into her mouth, to taste his skin.

She leapt away as if burned, almost falling from the desk. What kind of wanton was she to have such thoughts? Especially about the future king! She should never have worn this camisole top. It gave a girl ideas, ideas that she was far sexier than she really was, far more confident.

“Something wrong?” Luc asked.

She frantically shook her head, her dark hair tumbling down into her eyes. A pencil wasn’t the best hairclip, but it’s what she usually used to wrap her hair up into a knot on top of her head, and she’d somehow misplaced all of hers, which wasn’t surprising. She often got so engrossed with her research that she lost track of things like pencils. So she’d had to leave her hair loose this morning.

“No, nothing.” She wanted to sit down, but now felt awkward doing so while he still stood. All of a sudden the realization that he was the king was overshadowing everything else. “Go on with what you were saying, please. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“I don’t care if you interrupt.”

“It isn’t polite.”

“Which brings me to my next topic.”

He still hadn’t answered her previous questions, but she wasn’t about to point that out now. Instead she tried to look properly attentive and respectful and not as if she secretly longed to kiss him.

“I want you to do a favor for me,” Luc said.

“I’ll do whatever I can.”

He smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that. Because I want you to give me royalty training.”

She stared at him blankly. “Excuse me?”

“I want you to teach me all the kingly things I’ll need to know.”

When she just blinked owlishly at him, he put it another way. “I’d like you to tutor me on protocol, customs and traditions of the royal family.”

“I’m sure the protocol minister would be glad to help…”

Luc cut off her words. “No way am I going to that toady fellow. I dealt with him when I first arrived at the palace and he had the effrontery to tell me not to chew gum in front of the king. What are you smiling at?”

“Your use of the word effrontery. A very regal term.”

“I don’t feel regal,” he confessed. “It feels so strange to think of King Philippe as my…father.”

“I imagine it does. I know none of this has been easy for you.”

“And it’s not going to get any easier. Which is why I need you to help me quickly learn my way about. You and no one else.”

If only that were true. If only he did need her, as a woman rather than as a friend. And if only he wasn’t the future king. And if only she were more beautiful and confident. And had bigger breasts. Hey, since she was making wishes here, she might as well wish for the entire package.

“So what do you say?” Luc asked.

“I’m honored that you’d ask me, but I truly don’t feel I’m the best person for this job.”

“I feel you are.”

“There, you’re already sounding like a king. You don’t need me.”

“You’re doing it again,” he warned her.

“Doing what?”

“Going all strange on me. All distant.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.”

“Oh please.” He rolled his eyes at her. “You used to take great joy in offending me.”

“I did not!” she vehemently denied. “Name one time when I did that.”

“When I told you that men made better leaders than women and you said I was sounding like a chauvinist pig.”

“Well, you were. But that was before…”

“I want the two of us to remain as we were before.”

Which was part of the problem. He was happy with them just being friends as they’d been before, whereas she wanted so much more. And now those hopes were futile. As king, Luc had to marry someone worthy, someone who had the confidence and polish of the royal princesses, not an ugly duckling like herself. And she knew herself well enough to know that the more time she spent with Luc, the more intense her emotions for him were likely to get. Not a smart thing. And if nothing else, she was a smart woman.

“Come on, Juliet, I can’t do this without you.”

He could, of course. She knew he could. But it was impossible for her to turn away from the look of teasing pleading in his intense blue eyes. She doubted there were many women on the entire planet who could turn Luc down when he gave them that look—no matter what he wanted.

“Protocol and traditions, right?” she said briskly.

“Right. Piece of cake, right?”

“Speaking of cake, I think we’ll begin with royal meals and formal state dinners.” She kept her voice coolly efficient. If she was going to be coerced into doing this, she was going to do it her way.

“That sounds fine. There’s just one thing. I don’t want anyone knowing you’re giving me these lessons.”

“Why?” Was he ashamed of being seen with her? The thought stung like a cruel barb.

“Why? Because I don’t want anyone else knowing yet about my being the future king,” he explained. “Not until the corroborating documentation comes in. I figure we have about a week to ten days before that happens.”

“So you’re not telling Celeste that you’re the king until then?”

“That’s right. I thought you and I could get together later at night, after everyone else in the palace has gone to bed,” Luc suggested. “Would that work for you?”

Work for her? None of this worked for her. Not one single thing. Not him thinking of her as a friend, not him being king, certainly not her spending more time alone with him. But there was no changing reality. And the reality was that she had to help him. “That will be fine.” She could only hope that stating it so confidently would make it so.

Bond. Juliet Bond. That’s how she felt. As if she were participating in some sort of covert operation.

She was even wearing the appropriate clothing—black, so she wouldn’t be seen in the palace’s shadowy hallways. King Philippe had ordered a reduction in the electricity used within the palace, and had replaced the light bulbs with low-wattage models that wouldn’t need replacing for a decade.

The dim light served her purposes well. So did the fact that most of the servants had gone home to their own beds in St. Michel, leaving only a skeletal staff behind in the palace. A hundred years ago, the staff would have lived on the top floor in the servants’ quarters. But things had changed a lot in the past century.

She tried to imagine any of the royal women she was researching sneaking down the hallway toward the Crystal Ballroom to meet the future king. Only one kind of woman did that. A royal mistress. Not that a royal mistress would ever have been caught dead wearing the tailored black slacks and black long-sleeved T-shirt she was presently wearing. Or rubber-soled shoes so her footsteps would be quiet in the marble corridors. Not the sexiest of outfits.

As often happened, Juliet was so caught up in her own thoughts she didn’t realize anyone was in front of her until she almost ran smack into him.

At least she didn’t shriek in surprise. Instead she emitted a startled oomph.

A pair of male arms circled her waist. But even before they did so, she knew it was Luc. Her nose was buried in his shirtfront and she could smell the citrus scent of his soap.

He, too, had changed from his normal working attire. Instead he was wearing the most deliciously silky shirt in a midnight blue that brought out the color of his eyes. She noticed that the minute she looked up. She also noticed the fact that he was smiling at her. Little crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes.

She’d once spent several hours trying to pinpoint the exact blue of his eyes. She’d even gone so far as to check out a color chart in an old watercolor set from her boarding school days.

She’d been younger then. And foolish.

Foolish enough to believe a man like him might come to have feelings for a girl like her. But now the man was about to become a king, leaving her even further behind.

“Nice outfit,” Luc was saying with a grin. “All you need is some face camouflage and you’d be ready for a covert op.”

“Since there are no jungles in St. Michel or in the palace, I didn’t see the point in wearing camouflage. It’s not as though we were rendezvousing in the Palm Room,” she noted tartly, not appreciating his comments about her clothes.

“I’d never find you in all those palms and ferns in there. Besides, it’s too easy for someone to spy on us.”

“Now who’s sounding like James Bond?” she countered mockingly.

“I already told you that I don’t want anyone else knowing about our meetings.”

“And I still say you’d be better off having the protocol minister assist you in this matter.”

“Now don’t go getting all prissy on me, it’s not that I’m ashamed to be seen with you or anything. That’s not what you’re thinking, is it?” Luc demanded, studying her face. “Because you’re dead wrong.”

“If you say so, your majesty.”

He glared at her. “None of that fancy talk.”

“You’re going to have to get used to it,” she firmly informed him. “So you might as well start now.”

“Not with you.”

“Yes, with me. At any official function, you’re going to have to be comfortable with the way others treat you. And they will treat you differently. You must learn to be comfortable with that.”

“Or learn to be a damn good actor,” he muttered.

“Which will no doubt come in handy as well,” she briskly agreed. “Now, one of the royal rules is that no one is to speak to you unless spoken to. I can foresee that this will be a problem since you’re so closemouthed.”

“I am not closemouthed. See?” He pursed his open lips at her.

She was immediately distracted by his actions and by the sensual outline of his mouth—the sculpted curve of his upper lip, the seductive fullness of his lower one. There was little doubt that most women would be fascinated by his smile, fascinated by him…period. Even without the title of king. Without any title at all. Without anything at all.

Oh my. She raised her hands to her cheeks. Concentrate, she fiercely ordered herself. And not on him! On protocol. Which certainly precluded her having fantasies about him. Focus on protocol. What were you saying? Oh yes, you were telling him that he was closemouthed, no, don’t look at his lips again. Stay focused.

“You must learn to speak first and initiate a conversation,” she continued as if nothing had happened. “Go ahead. Pretend I’ve just walked into the royal dining room for an official function. What do you say?”

“Whaaatsuuup?” he drawled, like those American beer commercials they saw on satellite television.

She stifled a laugh and attempted to give him a reprimanding look worthy of Mrs. Friesen, the headmistress at her boarding school. Mrs. Friesen was the queen of reprimanding looks.

He lifted a brow. “What’s wrong? Not appropriate?”

“Not appropriate,” she agreed.

“Do I know you in this scenario? Are you an old friend or someone I’ve never seen before?”

“You don’t know me,” Juliet replied.

“Are you from St. Michel?” Luc asked.

“No.”

“Then I’d ask you who were, where you’re from, what you’re doing in St. Michel…Now what’s wrong?” he demanded as she sighed and shook her head.

“I said to initiate a conversation, not to interrogate me.”

He arched one dark brow at her. “There’s a difference?”

“Yes, there’s a difference.”

“You’re talking to a man who spent eight years in Interpol before coming here to be Head of Security. I’m much better at interrogations than I am at conversations.”

“You don’t seem to have that trouble with me,” Juliet pointed out. “You and I have had some wonderful conversations.”

“You’re different.”

She wanted to ask him how she was different, but he answered before she could do so.

“You’re a friend,” Luc said.

As she’d suspected. She knew he only saw her as a friend and nothing more than that. Get used to it and get over it.

“How would you speak to a stranger?” she said.

“The way I just told you.”

Juliet sighed. Changing his many years of Interpol training was clearly not going to happen overnight. “All right, we’ll come back to conversation later. For now, let’s concentrate on royal protocol. As our monarch, you and the highest-ranking foreign dignitary will walk into the dining room together. Your respective spouses will walk behind you.”

“So which role are you playing?”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you the foreign dignitary or my spouse?”

While the thought of being Luc’s spouse made her insides melt, the thought of being the king’s spouse made her stomach clench. “I’m a foreign dignitary.”

“Fine. That means you walk into the room beside me, right?”

She nodded.

“Should I offer you my arm?” Luc asked.

“That’s not necessary, no.” She didn’t want him touching her any more than was absolutely required. Which should be no touching at all.

“It’s a little dark in here, isn’t it?” Luc noted as they entered farther into the large room.

Juliet reached over to turn on the switch controlling the porcelain hand-painted chandelier. While nowhere near as grand as any of the ones in the Crystal Ballroom, this exquisite one-of-a-kind piece had been a gift from Queen Victoria. But the main focus in the room, aside from the series of Rembrandts hanging on the wall, was the huge table that seated forty easily.

She gestured for him to sit at the table before taking the seat beside him. “Normally the footmen would take care of our chairs, pulling them out and pushing them back in. As you can see, earlier this afternoon I laid out two place settings as if this were a formal dinner.”

“There’s enough silverware here to choke a horse.”

“As the king, you shouldn’t say anything about choking a horse,” she chastised him. “It could be taken out of context and spread around the tabloids. Next thing you know, you’re being portrayed as someone who is cruel to animals. You can ride, can’t you?”

“Excuse me?”

“A horse. You can ride a horse, can’t you?”

“Yes, although I haven’t ridden a lot in the past year or so.”

“Then we should stop by the stable for a brush-up lesson. But back to the dinner. You probably attended some formal functions while you were at Cambridge.”

“Not really, no. As a university student, I drank a lot of Guinness and ate a lot of curry, the hotter the better.”

“Really? Why?”

He shrugged a little self-consciously. “It’s a macho thing.”

The idea of Luc trying to prove his machismo brought to mind more forbidden images of decidedly sensual ways in which he could demonstrate his manhood. Images filled her mind of wickedly tempting options that had him plying her with kisses hotter than any curry. That made her nervous, and, as she did whenever she was nervous, she started talking. “Usually royals stay away from spicy things.” She almost tripped over her own tongue as another chapter of images flashed into her mind—Luc and spicy things. Luc as a spicy thing. “Um, I heard that garlic, spaghetti, tomato sauce and shellfish have been banned from the menu when the Queen of England pays an official visit to Italy. And the media has an unwritten rule never to photograph or film her while she’s eating. The press has a similar rule here. Blackberries and summer raspberries are also off most royal menus, since having tiny seeds stuck in one’s teeth would disfigure a royal smile. Fish and meat are served without bones to avoid a possible choking hazard, as once befell our dowager queen in her younger days. A similar incident occurred with the Queen Mum, Queen Elizabeth’s mother, I believe.”