A Bravo princess always gets her man—and she’ll settle for nothing less than true love in the newest addition to USA TODAY bestselling author Christine Rimmer’s popular miniseries, The Bravo Royales!

Alice Bravo-Calabretti was expected to conduct herself like a proper princess. No more impulsive jaunts to neighboring countries. No more tabloid escapades. But the hot new stable hand was a scandal waiting to happen. His bold blue eyes and come-hither smile could tempt a Bravo Royale to misbehave. Until Alice discovered her “penniless groom” was an American tycoon looking for a princess bride!

Alice was everything Noah Cordell wanted in a wife. But his royal heartthrob refused to say “I do” until he gave up his most carefully guarded secret. And she wouldn’t settle for anything less than everything he had to give. Only then could they share a true meeting of minds and hearts—Bravo-Cordell style!

“Marry me, Alice. Say yes.”

She put her hand on his chest. “I know you have a heart, Noah. I can feel it beating away strong and steady in there.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I know what I want now, after years of throwing myself wildly into all kinds of iffy situations.” Just like a woman. She knew what she wanted, but she failed to share it with him.

“And what, exactly, is it that you want, Alice?”

“I want it all. I’ll have nothing less. I want everything. Not only your strength and protection, your fidelity and your hot body. Not only your brilliant brain and great sense of humor and your otherworldly way with my horses. I want your heart, too. And I know I don’t have that yet. And until I do, I won’t say yes to you.”

The Bravo Royales: When it comes to love, Bravos rule!

Dear Reader,

I love a man who knows what he wants and goes after it. Noah Cordell is that kind of guy. Charming, killer hot and something of a player, Noah started with nothing and he’s come a long way.

Professional horse breeder Alice Bravo-Calabretti, Princess of Montedoro, is at a crossroads in her life. She’s always been the adventurous one in her family, the impetuous, unpredictable one. But just recently, an innocent evening of fun went a little too far and turned into a major tabloid scandal. Since then, Alice has sworn to behave in a more princesslike manner. She’s been keeping a low profile and reexamining what she wants out of life.

Enter Noah, who wants Alice.

He’s willing to offer her everything—except for his shadowed heart. But Alice won’t be satisfied with his strength and protection, his fidelity, his hot body and half of everything he owns. She wants more from him than his “brilliant brain and great sense of humor and his otherworldly way with her horses.”

Alice will settle for nothing less than true love. And so, in the process of relentlessly pursuing what he wants, Noah just might end up getting what he really needs.

Happy reading, everyone,

Christine

How to Marry a Princess

Christine Rimmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been everything from an actress to a salesclerk to a waitress. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine is grateful not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves who loves her right back, and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oregon. Visit Christine at www.christinerimmer.com.

For MSR,

always.

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

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

On the first Wednesday in September, temptation came looking for Alice Bravo-Calabretti.

And she’d been doing so well, too. For more than two weeks, she’d kept her promise to herself. She’d maintained a low profile and carried herself with dignity. She’d accepted no dares and avoided situations where she might be tempted to go too far.

It hadn’t been all that difficult. She’d spent her days with her beloved horses and her nights at home. Temptation, it seemed, presented no problem when she made sure there was none.

And then came that fateful Wednesday.

It happened in the stables well before dawn. Alice was tacking up one of the mares, Yasmine, for an early-morning ride. She’d just placed the saddle well forward on the mare’s sleek back when she heard a rustling sound in the deserted stable behind her.

Yasmine twitched her tail and whickered softly, her distinctive iridescent coat shimmering even in the dim light provided by the single caged bulb suspended over the stall. A glance into the shadows and Alice registered the source of the unexpected noise.

Over near the arched door that led into the courtyard, a stable hand was pushing a broom. He was no one she recognized, which she found somewhat odd. The palace stables were a second home to her. Alice knew every groom by name. He must be new.

Gilbert, the head groom, came in from the dark yard. He said something to the man with the broom. The man laughed low. Gilbert chuckled, too. Apparently the head groom liked the new man.

With a shrug, Alice gave the beautiful mare a comforting pat and finished tacking up. She was leading Yazzy out of the stall when she saw that Gilbert had gone. The stable hand remained. He’d set his broom aside and lounged against the wall by the door to the courtyard.

As she approached, the man straightened from the wall and gave her a slow nod. “Your Highness.” His voice was deep and rather stirring, his attitude both ironic and confident. She recognized his accent instantly: American.

Alice had nothing against Americans. Her father was one after all. And yet...

As a rule, the grooms were Montedoran by birth—and diffident by nature. This fellow was simply not the sort Gilbert usually hired.

The groom raised his golden head. Blue eyes met hers. She saw mischief in those eyes and her heart beat faster.

Temptation. Oh, yes.

Down, girl. Get a grip.

So what if the new groom was hot? So what if just a glance from him had her thinking of how boring her life had become lately, had her imagining all kinds of inappropriate activities she might indulge in with him?

Nothing inappropriate is happening here, she reminded herself staunchly.

And then, in an attempt to appear stern and formidable, she drew her shoulders back and gave the man a slow once-over. He wore a disreputable sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped off, old jeans and older Western boots.

Hot. Definitely. Tall and fit, with a scruff of bronze beard on his lean cheeks. She wondered briefly why Gilbert hadn’t required him to dress in the brown trousers, collared shirt and paddock boots worn by the rest of the stable staff.

He stepped forward and her thoughts flew off in all directions. “Such a beautiful girl,” he said in a tender tone—to the mare. Alice stared, bemused, as he stroked Yazzy’s long, sleek face.

Like most of her ancient hotblood breed, Yasmine was a fiercely loyal, sensitive animal. She gave her trust and affection to very few. But the bold and handsome American worked a certain magic on the golden mare. Yazzy nuzzled him and nickered fondly as he petted her.

Alice permitted his attentions to the horse. If Yazzy didn’t mind, neither did she. And watching him with the mare, she began to understand why Gilbert had hired him. He had a way with horses. Plus, judging by his tattered clothing, the fellow probably needed the work. The kindhearted head groom must have taken pity on him.

Finally, the new man stepped back. “Have a nice ride, ma’am.” The words were perfectly mundane, the tone pleasant and deferential. Ma’am was the proper form of address.

The look in his eyes, though?

Anything but proper. Far from deferential.

“Thank you. I shall.” She led the mare out into the gray light of coming dawn.

* * *

The new groom had disappeared when Alice returned from her morning ride. That didn’t surprise her. The grooms were often needed outside the stables.

Her country, the principality of Montedoro, was a tiny slice of paradise overlooking the Mediterranean on the Côte d’Azur. The French border lay less than two kilometers from the stables and her family owned a chain of paddocks and pastures in the nearby French countryside. A stable hand might be required to exercise the horses in some far pasture or help with cleanup or fence repair at one of the paddocks.

And honestly, what did it matter to her where the handsome American had gone off to? He was nothing to her. She resisted the urge to ask Gilbert about him and reminded herself that becoming overly curious about one of the grooms was exactly the sort of self-indulgence she couldn’t permit herself anymore.

Not after the Glasgow episode.

Her face flamed just thinking about it.

And she needed to think about it. She needed to keep her humiliation firmly in mind in order to never allow herself to indulge in such unacceptable behavior again.

Like most of her escapades, it had begun so innocently.

On a whim, she’d decided to visit Blair Castle for the International Horse Trials and Country Fair. She’d flown to Perth the week before the trials thinking she would spend a few days touring Scotland.

She’d never made it to Blair Castle. She’d met up with some friends in Perth and driven with them down to Glasgow. Such fun, a little pub hopping. They’d found this one lovely, rowdy pub and it was karaoke night. Alice had enjoyed a pint or two more than she should have. Her bodyguard, huge, sweet old Altus, had caught her eye more than once and given her the look—the one meant to warn her that she was going too far, the one that rarely did any good.

As usual, she’d ignored the look. Repeatedly. And then, somehow, there she was up on the stage singing that Katy Perry song, “I Kissed a Girl.” At the time, it had seemed like harmless fun. She’d thrown herself into her performance and acted out the lyrics.

Pictures of her soul-kissing that cute Glaswegian barmaid with her skirt hiked up and her top halfway off had been all over the scandal sheets. The paparazzi had had a field day. Her mother, the sovereign princess, had not been amused.

And after that, Alice had sworn to herself that she would do better from now on—which definitely meant steering clear of brash, scruffy American stable hands who made her pulse race.

* * *

The next morning, Thursday, the new groom appeared again. He was there, busy with his broom, when she entered the stables at five. The sight of him, in the same disreputable jeans and torn sweatshirt as the day before, caused a thoroughly annoying flutter in her solar plexus, as well as a definite feeling of breathlessness.

To cover her absurd excitement over seeing him again, she said, “Excuse me,” in a snooty abovestairs-at-Downton-Abbey tone that she instantly regretted, a tone that had her wondering if she might be trying too hard to behave. “I didn’t catch your name.”

He stopped sweeping. “Noah. Ma’am.”

“Ah. Well. Noah...” She was suddenly as tongue-tied as a preteen shaking hands with Justin Bieber. Ridiculous. Completely ridiculous. “Would you saddle Kajar for me, please?” She gave a vague wave of her hand toward the stall where the gray gelding waited. As a rule, she personally tacked up any horse she rode. It helped her read the horse’s mood and condition and built on the bond she established with each of the animals in her care.

But once she’d opened her mouth, she’d had to come up with a logical excuse for talking to him.

And she was curious. Would he work the same magic, establish the same instant comfortable rapport with Kajar as he had with Yazzy?

The groom—Noah—set aside his broom and went to work. Kajar stood patiently under his firm, calm hands. Noah praised the horse as he worked, calling him fine and handsome and good. The gelding gave no trouble through the process. On the contrary. Twice Kajar turned his long, graceful neck to whicker at Noah as though in approval and affection.

Once the job was done, the groom led the horse from the stall and passed Alice the reins. His long fingers whispered across her gloved palm and were gone. For a moment she caught the scent of his clean, healthy skin. He wore a light aftershave. It smelled of citrus, of sun and cedar trees.

She should have said, “Thank you,” and led the horse out to ride. But he drew her so strongly. She found herself instigating an actual conversation. “You’re not Montedoran.”

“How did you guess?” Softly. With humor and a nice touch of irony.

“You’re American.”

“That’s right.” He looked at her steadily, those eyes of his so blue they seemed almost otherworldly. “I grew up in California, in Los Angeles. In Silver Lake and East L.A.” He was watching her in that way he had: with total concentration. A wry smile stretched the corners of his mouth. “You have no idea where Silver Lake is, or East L.A., do you? Ma’am.” He was teasing her.

She felt a prickle of annoyance, which only increased her interest in him. “I have a basic understanding, yes. I’ve been to Southern California. I have a second cousin there. He and his family live in Bel Air.”

“Bel Air is a long way from East L.A.”

She leaned into Kajar, cupping her hand to his far cheek, resting her head against his long, fine neck. The gelding didn’t object, only made a soft snuffling sound. “A long distance, you mean?”

One strong shoulder lifted in a shrug. “It’s not so far in miles. However, Bel Air has some of the priciest real estate in the world—kind of like here in Montedoro. East L.A.? Not so much.”

She didn’t want to talk about real estate. Or class differences. And she needed to be on her way. She went as far as to stop leaning on the horse—but then, what do you know? She opened her mouth and another question popped out. “Do your parents still live there?”

“No. My father was killed working construction when I was twelve. My mother died of the flu when I was twenty-one.”

Sympathy for him moved within her, twining with the excitement she felt at his nearness. Kajar tossed his head. She turned to the gelding, reaching up to stroke his elegant face, settling him. And then she said to Noah, “That is too sad.”

“It is what it is.”

She faced the groom fully again. “It must have been horrible for you.”

“I learned to depend on myself.”

“Do you have brothers and sisters?”

“A younger sister. Lucy is twenty-three.”

She wanted to ask his age—but somehow that seemed such an intimate question. There were fine lines at the corners of his eyes. He had to be at least thirty. “What brings you to Montedoro?”

He seemed faintly amused. “You’re full of questions, Your Highness.”

She answered honestly. “It’s true. I’m being very nosy.” And it’s time for me to go. But she didn’t go. She kept right on being as nosy as before. “How long have you been here, in my country?”

“Not long at all.”

“Do you plan to stay on?”

“That depends....”

“On?”

He didn’t answer, only held her gaze.

She felt the loveliest, most effervescent sensation. Like champagne sliding, cool and fizzy, down her throat. “You love horses.”

“Yes, I do. And you’re wondering how a guy from East L.A. learned to handle horses....”

Tell him that you really do have to go. “I have been wondering exactly that.”

“When I was eighteen, I went to work for a man who owned a horse ranch in the Santa Monica Mountains. He taught me a lot. And I learned fast. He kept warm bloods. Hanoverians and Morgans, mostly.”

“Excellent breeds.” She nodded in approval. “Strong, steady and handsome. Not nearly so testy and sensitive as an Akhal-Teke.” All her horses were Tekes. Akhal-Tekes were called the “heavenly horses,” the oldest breed on earth. Originating in the rugged deserts of Turkmenistan and northern Iran, the Teke was swift and temperamental and very tough. Both Genghis Khan and Alexander the Great chose Akhal-Tekes to carry them into battle.

“There is nothing like an Akhal-Teke,” he said. “I hope to own one someday.”

“An admirable goal.”

He chuckled and the sound seemed to slide like a sweet caress across her skin. “Aren’t you going to tell me that I’ll never be able to afford one?”

“That would be rude. And besides, you seem a very determined sort of person. I would imagine that if you want something strongly enough, you’ll find a way to have it.” He said nothing, only regarded her steadily through those beautiful eyes. She was struck with the sense that there was much more going on here than she understood. “What is it?” she asked finally, when the silence had stretched thin.

“I am determined.”

She found herself staring at his mouth. The shape of it—the slight bow of his top lip, the fullness below—was so intriguing. She wondered what it might feel like, that mouth of his touching hers. It would be so very easy to step in close, go on tiptoe and claim a kiss....

Stop. No. Wrong. Exactly the sort of foolish, bold, unprincess-like behavior she was supposed to be avoiding at all costs.

“I...” She was still staring at his lips.

“Yeah?” He moved an inch closer.

She clutched the reins tighter. “...really must be on my way.”

He instantly stepped back and she wished that he hadn’t—which was not only contrary but completely unacceptable. “Ride safe, ma’am.”

She nodded, pressing her lips together to keep them from trembling. Then she clucked her tongue at Kajar and turned for the wide-open stable door.

* * *

Once again he was gone when she returned from her ride. That day, she worked with a couple of the yearlings and put one of the show jumpers through his paces. Later she went home to shower and change.

In the afternoon, she met with the planning committee for next year’s Grand Champions Tour. Montedoro would host the sixth leg of the tour down at the harbor show grounds in June. Through the endless meeting, she tried very hard not to think of blue eyes, not to remember the deep, stirring sound of a certain voice.

That night, alone in her bed, she dreamed she went riding with Noah. She was on Yasmine and he rode the bay stallion Orion. They stopped in a meadow of wildflowers and talked, though when she woke she couldn’t remember a thing they had said.

It was a very tame dream. Not once did they touch, and there was none of the heated tension she had felt when she’d actually been near him. In the dream they laughed together. They were like longtime companions who knew each other well.

She woke Friday morning as usual, long before dawn, feeling edgy and dissatisfied, her mind on the American.

Why? She hardly knew this man. She didn’t know him. She’d seen him twice and shared one brief conversation with him. He should not have affected her so profoundly.

Then again, there was probably nothing profound about it. He was hot and mysterious, untamed and somehow slightly dangerous. He called to her wild side. She found him madly attractive.

Plus, well, maybe she’d been keeping too much to herself. She wanted to avoid getting wild in the streets, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a life. She’d been sticking too close to home. This obsession with Noah was clear proof that she needed to get out more.

And she would get out, starting that very evening with a gala party at the palace, a celebration of her sister Rhiannon’s recent marriage to Commandant Marcus Desmarais. It would be lovely. She would enjoy herself. She would dance all night.

She rose and dressed and went to the stables, expecting to see Noah again, unsure whether she wanted to see him—or wished that he wouldn’t be there.

He wasn’t there.

And her uncertainty vanished. She did want to see him, to hear his voice again, to find out if her response to him was as strong as it had seemed yesterday. As she tacked up the black mare Prizma, she was alert every moment for the telltale sound of someone entering the stables behind her. But no one came.

She went for her ride, returning to find that he still wasn’t there. She almost asked Gilbert about him.

But she felt too foolish and confused—which wasn’t like her at all. She was a confident person, always had been. She spoke her mind and had few fears. Yes, she was making a definite effort not to get into situations that might attract the attention of the tabloids and embarrass her family. But that didn’t mean she was all tied up in emotional knots. She liked to live expansively, to take chances, to have fun.

She was no shy little virgin afraid to ask a few questions about a man who interested her.

The problem was...

Wait a minute. There was no problem. She’d met a man and found him attractive. She might or might not see him again. If she ever did get something going with him, well, it could be a bit awkward. She was a princess of Montedoro and he was a penniless American from a place called East Los Angeles.

They didn’t exactly have a whole lot in common.

Except that they did. She was half American after all. And they both loved horses. And she had so enjoyed talking with him. Plus, he was very easy on the eyes....

She’d made way too much of this and she was stopping that right now. He was only a man she found intriguing. She might see him again.

And she might not. The world would go on turning however things worked out.

At six o’clock, Alice returned to her villa on a steep street in the ward of Monagalla, not far from the palace. Her housekeeper, Michelle Thierry, met her at the front door.

“I thought you’d never get back,” the housekeeper chided. “Have you forgotten your sister’s party?”

“Of course not. Relax. There’s plenty of time.”

“You’re to be there at eight, you said,” Michelle accused.

“Oh, come on. It’s definitely doable.”

Michelle wrinkled her nose. “What have you stepped in?”

“I work all day with horses. Take a guess.”

The housekeeper waved her hands. “Don’t just stand there. Get out of those boots and come inside. We’ll have to hurry. There’s so much to do....”

“You are way too bossy.”

Michelle granted her a smug smile. “But you couldn’t get along without me.”

It was only the truth.

In her late forties, Michelle was a wonder. She not only took excellent care of the villa but also cooked beautiful meals and played lady’s maid with skill and flair. Michelle loved her work and had impeccable taste. Alice knew she was lucky to have her.

Laughing, she perched on the step and took off her boots, which the housekeeper instantly whisked from her hands.

“The bath,” Michelle commanded, waving a soiled boot. “Immediately.”

Alice had her bath, did her hair and makeup, put on the red silk-taffeta Oscar de la Renta that Michelle had chosen for her and then sat impatiently, fully dressed except for her shoes, while Michelle repaired her manicure and pedicure and clucked over her for not taking proper care of her hands.

The car was waiting outside when she left the villa at ten of eight. The drive up to Cap Royale, the bluff overlooking the Mediterranean on which the Prince’s Palace sprawled in all its white stone glory, should have taken only a few minutes. But the streets were packed with limousines on their way to the party. Alice could have walked it faster—and at one time, she would have simply told the driver to pull over and let her out. But no. The goal was to be more dignified, less of a wild child. She stayed in her limo like everyone else. The car finally reached the palace at 8:28 p.m. Hardly late at all, the way Alice saw it. But her mother would think otherwise. Her Sovereign Highness Adrienne expected the members of her family to arrive promptly at important events.

The guests in their gala finery were still streaming in the red-carpeted main entrance. Alice had the driver take her around to a side door where two stern-faced palace guards waited to let in intimate friends and members of the princely family. She gave her light wrap and bag to a servant.

Then she took a series of marble hallways to another exit—the one that led out to the colonnade above the palace gardens. Alice paused at the top of the white stone stairs leading down to the garden.

Below, a giant white silk tent had been erected. Golden light glowed from within the tent, where dinner for three hundred would be served. The palace, the tent, the gardens, the whole of Montedoro—everything seemed ablaze with golden light.

“There you are.” Her sister Rhiannon, five months pregnant and glowing with happiness, clutched the frothy tiered skirts of her strapless ivory gown and sailed up the stairs to Alice’s side, her growing baby bump leading the way.

Alice adored all four of her sisters, but she and Rhia shared a special bond. They were best friends. “Sorry I’m a little late. The streets are awash in limousines.”

The sisters shared a quick hug and kissed the air by each other’s cheeks. Rhia whispered, “I’m just glad you’re here. I’ve missed you....” Flashes went off. There were always photographers lurking around, way too many of them at an event like this.

Alice hooked her arm through Rhia’s. They turned as one to face the cameras. “Smile,” Alice advised softly, trying not to move her lips. “Show no weakness.”

Rhia braced her free hand proudly on the bulge of her tummy and smiled for the cameras. She had a lot to be happy about. For almost a decade she’d struggled to deny her love for Marcus Desmarais. Now, at last, she and her lifetime love were together in the most complete way. Rhia and Marcus had married in a small private ceremony three weeks ago. They’d flown off for a honeymoon in the Caribbean on the same day Alice had made that fateful trip to Scotland.

The party tonight was in lieu of the usual big wedding. The world needed to see how the Bravo-Calabretti family welcomed the new husband of one of their own.

Rhia’s groom had been orphaned soon after his birth. He’d started with nothing—and become a fine man, one who’d gone far in spite of his humble beginnings. The party wasn’t just for show. The Bravo-Calabrettis did welcome him.

Alice loved that about her family. They judged a man—or a woman—by his or her behavior and accomplishments. Not by an accident of birth or a string of inherited titles. If Alice were to choose a man with nothing, her family would support her in her choice.

Not that she was anywhere close to choosing anyone. Certainly not a bold blue-eyed American she’d only just met and would likely not see again.

She banished the stable hand from her mind—yet again—as Rhia grabbed her hand and pulled her down the curving staircase. They wove their way through the crowd toward the wide-open entrance to the big white tent. Alice spotted her brother Damien, the youngest of the four Bravo-Calabretti princes, entering the tent, his dark head thrown back as he laughed at something the tall golden-haired man beside him had said....

“Allie?” Rhia turned back to her with a puzzled frown.

Alice realized she’d stopped in midstep at the base of the stairs and was staring with her mouth hanging open. Her brother and the other man disappeared inside the tent. She’d only caught the briefest glimpse of the other man from the back. And then from the side, for that split second when he’d turned his head. “It can’t be...”

“Allie?” her sister asked again.

“I could have sworn...”

“Are you all right?” A worried frown creased the space between Rhia’s smooth brows.

Alice blinked and shook her head. Lovely. Not only was she obsessing over a near stranger, she was also hallucinating that she saw the same man, perfectly turned out in white tie and tails, chatting up her brother. “Did you see that tall blond man with Dami? They just went inside the tent.”

“Dami? I didn’t notice.”

“You didn’t notice Dami, or the man with him?”

“Either. Allie, really. Are you all right?”

“I’m beginning to wonder about that,” she muttered.

“You’re mumbling. Say again?”

Alice would have loved to drag her favorite sister off somewhere private, where she could tell her all about the scruffy, sexy, unforgettable stable hand—whom she could have sworn she’d just seen wearing a perfectly cut designer tailcoat and evening trousers and sharing a joke with their brother. She wanted a comforting hug and some solid, down-to-earth advice. But now was not the time. She tugged on Rhia’s hand. “It doesn’t matter. Come on. Let’s go in. Marcus will be wondering where you’ve gone.”

* * *

The family table was a long one, set up on a dais at the far end of the tent. All their brothers and sisters were there. The married ones had come with their spouses. Even dear Belle, who lived in America now with her horse-rancher husband, Preston McCade, had come all the way from Montana to celebrate with Rhia and Marcus. Only the little nieces and nephews were missing tonight. This was a grown-up party after all.

Rhia whispered, “We never have time to talk anymore.”

“I know. I miss you, too.”

“Come to our villa at seven Sunday night. We’ll have dinner, catch up. Just the two of us.”

“What about Marcus?”

“He’s dining at the palace with Alex. Something about the CCU.” Alexander, Damien’s twin, was third-born of their brothers. Alex had created the elite fighting force the Covert Command Unit, in which Marcus served.

“I’ll be there,” Alice promised.

With a last hug, Rhia left her to join her groom in her seat of honor at the center of the table.

Alice went to greet her parents. Her mother, looking amazing as always in beaded black Chanel, gave her a kiss and a fond, “Hello, my darling,” and didn’t say a word about her tardiness. Her mother was like that. HSH Adrienne had high expectations, but she’d never been one to nag.

In the past, Alice had crashed a motorcycle in the marketplace, run off with a sheikh for a week in Marrakech, been photographed for Vanity Fair wearing only a cleverly draped silk scarf and been arrested in Beijing for participating in a protest march. Among other things.

Until Glasgow, her mother had never done more than gently remind her that she was a princess of Montedoro and expected to behave like one. But after Glasgow, for the first time, Alice had been summoned to her mother’s office. HSH Adrienne had asked her to shut the door and then coolly informed her that she’d finally gone too far.

“Alice,” her mother had said much too sadly, too gently, “it’s one thing to be spirited and adventurous. It’s another to be an embarrassment to yourself and our family. In future I am counting on you to exercise better judgment and to avoid situations that will lead to revealing, provocative pictures of you splashed across the front pages of the Sun and the Daily Star.”

It had been awful. Just thinking about it made her feel a little sick to her stomach.

And sad, too. A bit wilted and grim.

Shake it off, she commanded herself. Let it go.

Alice looked for her place card and found it between her older sister Belle’s husband, Preston McCade, and her younger sister Genevra. Genny wore shimmering teal-blue satin and was giggling over something with another sister, the youngest, Rory, who was seated on Genny’s other side.

Damien sat at the opposite end of the table. No sign of the man who looked like Noah. Alice considered hustling down there and asking Dami...what?

Who was that man with the dark blond hair, the one you came in with?

And what if he stared at her blankly and demanded, Allie, darling, what man?

She waffled just long enough that she missed her chance. Her mother rose and greeted the guests. A hush fell over the tent. Then her father stood, as well. He picked up his champagne glass to propose the first toast.

Allie reached for her glass, raised it high and drank on cue. Then she took her seat. She greeted her sisters and Preston, whom she liked a lot. He was charming and a little shy, with a great sense of humor. He bred and trained quarter horses, so they had plenty to talk about.

There were more toasts. Alice paced herself, taking very small sips of champagne, practicing being low-key and composed for all she was worth. By the time the appetizer was served, she felt glad she hadn’t asked Dami about the broad-shouldered stranger with the dark gold hair and perfectly cut evening clothes.

It was nothing. It didn’t matter. She would have a fine evening celebrating her dearest sister’s hard-earned happiness. And no one else would know that she’d imagined she saw someone who wasn’t really there. She accepted a second glass of champagne from a passing servant and picked up a spear of prosciutto-wrapped asparagus—and then almost dropped the hors d’oeuvre in her lap when she glanced over and saw Noah.

He wore the same perfect evening attire she’d glimpsed earlier. And he sat between a stunning blonde and a gorgeous redhead several tables away, staring right at her.

Chapter Two

Noah was watching Alice when she spotted him. Her mouth dropped open. Her face went dead white.

About then it occurred to him that maybe he’d carried his innocent deception a little too far.

She pressed her lips together and looked away, turning to her younger sister on her right side, forcing a smile. He waited for her to glance his way again.

Didn’t happen.

Jennifer, the redhead seated on his left, put her hand on his thigh and asked him how he was enjoying his visit to Montedoro. He gently eased her hand away and said he was having a great time.

She hit him with a melting, eager look and said, “I’m so pleased to have met you, Noah, and I hope we can spend some time together during your stay. I would just love to show you the real Montedoro.”

Andrea, the blonde on his other side, cut in, saving him the necessity of giving Jennifer an answer. “I love all of Prince Dami’s friends,” Andrea said. “Dami and I were once, well, very close. But then he met Vesuvia.” A model and sometime actress, Vesuvia was often called simply V. “Dami is exclusive with V now,” Andrea added. None of what she’d said was news to Noah. Or to anyone else, for that matter. “They’re all over the tabloids, Dami and V,” Andrea whispered breathlessly. She was mistress of the obvious in a big, big way.

“Or at least, the prince is mostly exclusive with V,” Jennifer put in with a wicked little giggle. She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I mean, they are always fighting and I notice that V’s not here tonight....”

The meal wore on. Jennifer and Andrea kept up a steady stream of teasing chatter. Noah sipped champagne and hoped that Alice might grant him a second look.

If she did, he failed to catch it.

Had he blown it with her, misjudged her completely? It was starting to look that way.

But no. It couldn’t be.

She’d assumed he was an itinerant stable hand and all he’d done was play along. He’d thought she would find the whole thing funny.

It hadn’t even occurred to him that she might be upset about it. How could he have gotten it so wrong? He’d done his research on her after all. She was bold and curious and ready for anything, the darling of the scandal sheets. He’d never imagined she would freak out when she finally saw him as he really was.

So what did he do now?

He wouldn’t give up, that was for damn sure. Not now that he’d met her, talked to her, seen her smile, looked in those eyes of hers that could be blue or gray or green, depending on the light and her shifting mood. Not now that he’d discovered she was exactly the woman he’d been looking for—and more.

Somehow he would have to make amends.

The meal finally ended. Princess Adrienne rose and congratulated the newlyweds again. She wished them a lifetime of married bliss. Then she invited the guests to enjoy the moonlit garden and to dance the night away in the palace ballroom upstairs.

Jennifer whispered an invitation in his ear. He turned to express his regrets.

When he glanced toward the dais again, Alice was gone.

* * *

Alice slipped out of the tent through the servants’ entrance behind the dais.

She’d recovered from her initial shock at the sight of Noah sitting between those two beautiful women, looking as though he belonged there. At least by the end of dinner, she’d become reasonably certain she wasn’t hallucinating. He was not a bizarre figment of her overactive imagination. The man who looked exactly like Noah the stable hand really did exist.

That meant she wasn’t losing her mind after all—a fact she found wonderfully reassuring.

But was he actually the same man she’d first met sweeping the stable floor before dawn on Wednesday morning? Was this some kind of bizarre practical joke he was playing on her? And if so, did that make him a palace groom posing as a guest at the palace? Or a jet-setter friend of her brother’s who enjoyed masquerading as the help?

She considered tracking down Dami and quizzing him about that friend of his who looked exactly like the poverty-stricken groom she’d met Wednesday.

But no. Not tonight. Damien might be able to enlighten her, but then he would have questions of his own. She just wasn’t up for answering Dami’s questions. And it didn’t matter anyway. She knew what to do: forget it. Forget him.

It was all too weird. It made no sense and she wasn’t going to think about it.

She would enjoy the rest of the evening and move on.

A familiar voice behind her said, “Allie, I haven’t seen you in ages.”

She turned to smile at a longtime friend. “Robert. How have you been?”

“I can’t complain.” Robert Bentafaille was compact and muscular, with an open face and kind green eyes. The Bentafailles owned orange groves. Lots of them. He and Alice were the same age and had gone through primary and secondary school together. “You look beautiful, as always.”

“And you always say that.”

“I hear the orchestra.” He cast a glance back at the palace, at the lights blazing in the upstairs ballroom. Music drifted down to them. He offered his hand.

She took it and they turned together to go inside.

* * *

Alice danced two dances with Robert.

Then another longtime friend, Clark deRoncleff, tapped Robert on the shoulder. She turned into Clark’s open arms and danced some more.

After that she left the floor, accepted a glass of sparkling water from a passing servant and visited with Rhia and Marcus for a bit. Rhia was sharing her plans for the nursery when Alice spotted Dami across the dance floor. He was talking to the man who almost certainly was Noah. She stared for a moment too long.

The man who had to be Noah seemed to sense her gaze on him. He turned. Their eyes met. His were every bit as blue as she remembered.

She had no doubt now. It had to be him. Quickly, she turned away and gave her full attention to Rhia and her groom.

Noah didn’t matter to her. She hardly knew him. She refused to care what he was doing there at her sister’s wedding party or what he might be up to.

Marcus asked Rhia to dance. They went off together, holding hands, looking so happy it made Alice feel downright misty-eyed and more than a little bit envious.

Her eldest brother, Maximilian, came toward her. The heir to their mother’s throne, Max was handsome and magnetic—like all of her brothers. He used to be a happy man. But three years ago his wife, Sophia, had died in a waterskiing accident. Max had loved Sophia since they were children. Now he was like a ghost of himself. He went through all the motions of living. But some essential element was missing. Sophia had given him two children, providing him with the customary heir and a spare to the throne. He didn’t have to marry again—and he probably never would.

“We hardly see you lately,” Max chided. “You haven’t been to Sunday breakfast in weeks.” It was a family tradition: Sunday breakfast in the sovereign’s private apartments at the palace. She and her siblings were grown now, but they all tried to show up for the Sunday-morning meal whenever they were in Montedoro.

“I’ve been busy with my horses.”

“Of course you have.” Max leaned closer. “You did nothing wrong. Don’t ever let them crush your spirit.”

She knew whom he meant by them: the paparazzi and the tabloid journos. “Oh, Max...”

“You are confident and curious. You like to get out and mix it up. It’s who you are. We all love you as you are and we know it was only in fun.”

“I’m not so sure about Mother.”

“She’s on your side and she never judges. You know that.”

“What I know is that I’ve finally managed to embarrass her.” It wasn’t so much that she’d French-kissed a girl. It was the pictures. They came off so tacky, like something out of Girls Gone Wild.

“I think you’re wrong. Mother is not embarrassed. And she loves you unconditionally.”

Alice didn’t have the heart to argue about it, to insist that their mother was embarrassed; she’d said so. Instead, she leaned close to him and whispered, “Thank you.”

He smiled his sad smile. “Dance?” Though Max would never marry again, women were constantly trying to snare him. They all wanted to console the widower prince who would someday rule Montedoro. So he tried to steer clear of them. At balls, he danced with his mother and his sisters and then retired early.

“I would love to dance with you.” She pulled him out onto the floor and they danced through the rest of that number and the next one.

Before they parted, he asked her directly to come to the family breakfast that Sunday. “Please. Say you’ll be here. We miss you.”

She gave in and promised she would come, and then she walked with him to where their youngest sister, Rory, chatted with Lani Vasquez. Small, dark-haired and curvy, Lani was an American, an aspiring author of historical novels set in Montedoro. She’d come from America with Sydney O’Shea when Sydney had married Rule, the second-born of Alice’s brothers.

Alice had assumed Max would dance next with Rory. But he took Lani’s hand instead. The music started up again and Max led the pretty American onto the floor.

Rory said, “Well, well.”

“My, my,” Alice murmured in agreement. For a moment the two sisters watched in amazement as their tragically widowed eldest brother danced with someone who wasn’t his sister.

Then a girlfriend of Rory’s appeared out of the crowd. She grabbed Rory’s hand and towed her toward the open doors to the balcony. Alice considered following them. It was a lovely night. She could lean on the stone railing and gaze out over the harbor, admire the lights of the casino and the luxury shops and hotels that surrounded it.

“Alice. Dance with me.”

The deep, thrilling voice came from directly behind her and affected her just as it had when they were alone in the stables. It seemed to slip beneath her skin, to shiver its way along the bumps of her spine, to create a warm pool of longing down in the deepest core of her.

She didn’t turn. Instead, she stared blindly toward the open doors to the balcony. She wasn’t even going to acknowledge him. She would start walking and she wouldn’t look back.

If he dared to come after her, she would cut him dead.

But really, what would that prove? That she was afraid to deal with him? That she didn’t have the stones to stand her ground and face him, to find out from his own mouth what kind of game he was playing with her? That Max had been right and the tacky tabloid reporters, the shameless paparazzi, really had done it? They’d broken her spirit, made her into someone unwilling to face a challenge head-on.

Oh, no. No way.

She whirled on him and glared into his too-blue eyes. “It is you.”

He nodded. He held out his hand. “Let me explain. Give me that chance.”

She kept her arm at her side. “I don’t trust you.”

“I know.” He didn’t lower his hand. The man had nerves of steel.

And she couldn’t bear it, to let him stand there with his hand offered and untaken. She laid her fingers into his palm. Heat radiated up her arm just from that first contact. Her breath caught and tangled in her chest.

How absurd. Breathe.

With slow care, she sucked in a breath and then let it out as he turned and led her onto the floor. She went into his arms. They danced.

He had the good sense to hold her lightly. For a few endless minutes, neither of them spoke, which was just as well as far as Alice was concerned. She longed to wave her arms about and shriek accusations at him. Unfortunately, shrieking and waving her arms would attract attention, and that would no doubt land her on the front pages of the tabloids again.

She caught a hint of his aftershave. Evergreen and citrus, the same as before. It was all too disorienting. She’d thought he was one person and now here he was, someone else altogether. She felt shy. Tongue-tied. Young.

And at a definite disadvantage. She needed to take back the upper hand here. She had questions for him. And he’d better have good answers.

The next song began, a fast one. Couples separated and danced facing each other, moving to the beat but not touching. Noah didn’t let her go, just picked up the rhythm a bit and danced them out of the way of the others.

“You’re angry,” he said at last.

“What happened to your two girlfriends?”

“What girlfriends?”

“That sexy redhead and the stunning blonde.”

“They’re not my girlfriends.” He kept his voice low, but he did pull her fractionally closer. She allowed that in order to hear him over the music. “They were seated on either side of me at dinner, that’s all.”

“They seemed very friendly.” She spoke quietly, too. She didn’t want anyone overhearing, broadcasting their conversation, starting new rumors about her.

He held her even closer and whispered much too tenderly, “Is that somehow my fault?”

She fumed in silence, refusing to answer. Finally, she demanded, “Who are you, really?”

“I’m who I said I was.”

“Noah.”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a last name?”

“Cordell.” He turned her swiftly and gracefully to the music, guiding her effortlessly, keeping them to the outer edges of the floor.

“Are you a stable hand?”

“No. And I didn’t say I was. You assumed that.”

“And you never bothered to enlighten me. Do you live in Los Angeles?”

“No. Not for years. I have an estate in Carpinteria, not far from Santa Barbara. I live there most of the time. I also have a flat I keep in London. And a Paris apartment.”

“So you should have no trouble affording that Akhal-Teke you said you want.”

“No trouble at all. But it’s a specific horse I’m after.”

She should have known. “Let me guess. One of mine?”

“Orion.”

She drew in a sharp breath. In that foolish dream of hers, he’d been riding Orion. “I’m not selling you Orion.” That was a bit petty, and she knew it. Not to mention a bad business move. Alice bred her horses for sale—to buyers who would love them and bond with them and treat them well, buyers who appreciated the beauty and rarity of the breed. Her pool of buyers was a small one, as she also demanded a high price for her Tekes. She might be angry with Noah, but he knew horses and loved them. She’d be smarter not to reject him out of hand—as a potential buyer, anyway. “I don’t wish to discuss my horses with you right now.”

“You brought it up.” The next song was a slower one. He effortlessly adjusted to the change in tempo, all the while gazing down at her, watching her mouth. As if he planned to kiss her—a bold move he had better not try.

She accused, “I brought it up as an example of the way that you lied to me. Not with words, maybe. But by implication. By action. The first time I saw you, you were sweeping the stable floor. Gilbert seemed to know you. What else was I to assume but that he’d hired you?”

“Gilbert was joking with me. He saw me sweeping and asked me if I needed a job. Your brother Damien had introduced us the day before. Dami knows I love horses and wanted me to have a chance to ride while I was here. And I had told him I was hoping to buy one of your stallions. He said I would have to talk to you about that.”

“You’re great friends, then, you and my brother?”

“Yes. I consider Damien a friend.”

She thought again of the blonde and the redhead at dinner. He’d seemed to take their fawning attentions as his due. “You’re a player. Like Dami.”

“I’m single. I enjoy a good life and I like the company of beautiful women.”

“You’re a player.”

“I am not playing you, Alice.” He held her gaze. Steadily. Somehow the very steadiness of his regard excited her.

She did not wish to be excited. “You’ve been playing me from the moment you picked up that broom and pretended to be someone you’re not.”

“Everything I told you was true. Everything. Yes, I’ve got all I’ll ever need now, but I started out in L.A. with nothing. My parents were both dead by the time I was twenty-one. I have one sister, Lucy.”

“And you went to work on a ranch when you were eighteen?”

“No. I visited that ranch. Often. My boss took a liking to me. He flipped houses in Los Angeles for a living and he hired me as a day laborer to start. I learned the business from the ground up, beginning on his low-end properties in East L.A.”

“You’re saying you learned fast?” She wasn’t surprised.

“Before the crash, I was buying and selling in all the major markets. I got out ahead of the collapse with a nice nest egg. Now I manage my investments and I do what I want with the rest of my time. Oh, and that second cousin you mentioned, the one who lives in Bel Air?”

“Jonas.”

He nodded. “I know him. Jonas Bravo and I have done business on a couple of occasions. He’s a good man.” He pulled her a little closer again. She allowed that, though she knew that she probably shouldn’t. They danced without talking for a minute or two.

Finally, she muttered grudgingly, “You should have told me all of this at the first.”

“I can see that now.” He sounded so...sincere. As though he truly regretted misleading her.

She tried not to soften. “Why didn’t you, then?”

“Alice, I...” The words trailed off.

“At a loss? I don’t believe it. Just tell me. Why weren’t you honest with me from the first?”

“I don’t know, exactly. Because it was fun. Exciting. To tease you.”

She started to smile and caught herself. “That’s not a satisfactory answer.”

“Look. I came early to ride and I saw you there, saddling that beautiful mare. It was still dark out and there was no one else around. I didn’t want to scare you. I picked up the broom and started sweeping, because what’s more nonthreatening than some guy sweeping the floor? And then... I don’t know. You thought I was a groom and you talked to me anyway. I liked that. I got into it, that’s all. In a way, the Noah you met in the stables really is me. Just...another possible me. The one who didn’t make a fortune in real estate. I thought it would be something we would laugh over later.”

The dance ended. For a moment they swayed together at the edge of the floor. She should have pulled away.

She stayed right where she was.

He was getting to her. She was liking him again. Believing the things he told her....

Yet another song started.

He pulled her even closer and whispered, his breath warm across her skin, “I screwed up, okay?” He whirled her around. They danced in a circle along the outer rim of the floor.

“You knew who I was from the first. Before we met. Right?”

He pulled back enough to give her a look. Patient. Ironic. “Please. I’m friends with your brother. He’s told me about you—and your sisters and brothers. Also, I want one of your stallions and I know you’re quite a horse trader, not only brutal when striking a bargain but particular about whom you’ll sell to. I’ve made it my business to learn everything I can about you.”

Which meant he would have seen the Glasgow pictures.

Well, so what? She’d done what she’d done. She’d gone over the top and she’d suffered for it. She was tired of being ashamed. “You know all about me? That sounds vaguely stalkerish.”

He shrugged, his muscular shoulder lifting and then settling under her hand. “You could look at it that way, I suppose. Or you could admit that it’s just good sense to find out what you can about the people you’ll be dealing with.”

“So of course you won’t mind if I track you down online the next chance I get.”

“I would expect nothing less.” And he smiled, rueful. And somehow hopeful, too. He was way too charming when he smiled. “And when you find out I’ve told the truth, do I get another chance with you?”

All at once she was too sharply aware of his hand holding hers, his warm fingers and firm palm at her back, his big body brushing hers. Little arrows of sensation seemed to zip around beneath her skin. “A chance with me? I thought we were talking about your buying Orion.”

He eased her closer. His breath touched her hair and his body burned into hers. Her skin felt electrified. And he whispered, “You know we’re talking about more than the horse. Who’s lying now? Ma’am?”

She liked it too much, dancing so close to him. She liked him too much. “Please don’t hold me so tightly.”

He instantly obeyed, loosening his hold so he embraced her easily, lightly, again. “Better?”

She nodded, thinking that this particular Noah, self-assured and sophisticated in evening dress, was every bit as brash and manly as the one she’d assumed was a groom. And smooth, too. She hadn’t planned to forgive him for pretending to be a penniless stable hand—but somehow she already had.

And not only had she forgiven him, she was actually considering letting him have Orion after all. Because she did like him and she’d seen him with her horses. Orion would thrive in Noah’s care.

He pulled her closer again. She allowed that. It felt good and she wasn’t really afraid of him. She was afraid of herself, of her too-powerful response to him. And then there was her basic problem: it had always been so easy for her to get carried away. She would have to watch herself.

Then again, her goal tonight had been to get out and have a little fun.

So all right. It shouldn’t be too difficult to do both—to have a little fun and yet not get carried away.

They danced the rest of that dance without talking. When it ended, they swayed together until the next dance began and then danced some more.

“Walk in the garden with me,” he said when that song was over.

“Yes. I would like that.”

He took her hand and led her from the dance floor.

* * *

It was going pretty well, Noah thought as he walked with her down the stone stairway that led to the big tent and the palace gardens beyond. She seemed to have gotten past her fury with him for pretending to be someone he wasn’t. But he sensed a certain residual wariness in her. Which was fine. Few things worth winning came easily.

“Something to drink?” he asked.

“I would like that.”

So they stopped in the tent, where waiters offered wine and cocktails and soft drinks, too. They both took flutes of champagne and went out the back exit behind the dais into the moonlit garden strung with party lights.

She said, “You implied when we talked in the stables that you were staying in Montedoro indefinitely....”

“Not anymore. It turns out there are a couple of meetings I have to get back for. I’ll be leaving Thursday.”

“Is your sister visiting with you?”

“No, she’s at home in California.”

“I assume Dami has you staying here at the palace?”

He shook his head. “Lots of guests at the palace this weekend. I went ahead and took a suite at the Belle Époque.” The five-star hotel was across from Casino d’Ambre.

Another couple came toward them. They nodded in greeting as they passed. When it was just the two of them again, Alice said, “I love the Belle Époque. We used to go for afternoon tea there now and then when I was a girl, my sisters and I. We would get our favorite table—on the mezzanine of the winter garden, with that amazing dome of stained glass and steel overhead. I would stuff myself with tea cakes, and the governess, Miss Severly, would have to reprimand me.”

“Governess? I thought your brother said you all went to Montedoran schools.”

“We did. But after we grew out of our nanny, Gerta, we also had Miss Severly. She tutored us between school terms and tried to drum good manners into us.”

“Were you scared of your governess?”

“Not in the least. Once reprimanded, I only grew more determined. At tea I would wait until Miss Severly looked the other way and then try to stuff down as many cakes as I could before she glanced at me again.”

“Did you make yourself sick?”

She slanted him a glance. “How did you know?”

He thought of all the tabloid stories he’d read about her. Of course she’d been a girl who gobbled cakes when the governess wasn’t looking. “Just a guess.”

They came out on a point overlooking the sea. An iron bench waited beneath a twisted cypress tree and an iron railing marked the cliff’s edge. Alice went to the railing. She sipped her champagne and stared out over the water at the distant three-quarter moon.

As he watched her, he had the oddest feeling of unreality. It was like a dream, really, being there with her. She was a vision in lustrous red, her bare shoulders so smooth, her arms beautifully shaped, muscular in a way that was uniquely feminine.

Eventually, she turned to him. Her eyes were very dark at that moment. Full of shadows and secrets. “I’ve never been as well behaved as I should be. It’s a problem for me. I’m too eager for excitement and adventure. But I’m working on that.”

He moved to stand beside her, and leaned back against the railing. “There’s nothing wrong with a little adventure now and then.”

She laughed, turning toward him, holding her champagne glass up so he could tap his against it. “I agree. But as you said, now and then. For me it’s like the tea cakes. I just have to eat them all.” She sighed. And then she drained the glass. “So I’m trying to slow down a little, to think before I jump, to be less...excitable.”

“It’s a shame to curb all that natural enthusiasm.” He wanted to touch her—to smooth her shining hair or run the back of a finger along the sleek curve of her neck. But he held himself in check. He didn’t want to spook her.

“Everybody has to grow up sometime.” She leaned in closer. Her perfume came to him: like lilies and leather and a hint of the ocean. He could stand there and smell her all night. But she was on the move again. In a rustle of red skirts, she went to the bench and sat down. “Tell me about your sister.” She bent to set her empty glass beneath the bench.

“She’s much younger than I am. We’re twelve years apart. She’s been homeschooled for most of her life. She’s sensitive and artistic. She could always draw, from when she was very little, and she carries a sketch pad around with her all the time. And she loves to sew. She’s better with a thread and needle than any tailor I’ve ever used. She makes all her own clothes. And now she’s suddenly decided that she wants to study fashion design in New York City.”

Alice patted the space next to her. “And you don’t want her to do what she wants?”

He went to her. She swept her skirt out of the way and he sat beside her. “Lucy was homeschooled because she was sick a lot. She almost died more than once. She had asthma and a problem with a heart valve.”

“Had?” She took his empty champagne flute and put it under the bench with hers. “You mean she’s better now?”

“The asthma’s in remission. And after several surgeries that didn’t do much good, two years ago she finally had the one that actually worked.”

“So she’s well? She can lead a normal life.”

“She has to be careful.”

Alice was studying him again, and much too closely. “You’re overprotective.”

“I’m not.” He sounded defensive and he knew it.

“But Lucy thinks so....”

He grumbled, “You’re too damn smart.” He could almost regret not choosing a stupid princess. But then all he had to do was look at her, smell her perfume, hear her laugh, watch her with her horses—and he knew that no silly, malleable princess would do for him. Alice was the one. No doubt about it.

“I certainly am smart,” she said. “So you’d better be honest with me from now on. Tell me lies and I’ll find you out.”

“I have been honest.” Mostly.

She shook her head. “Do I have to remind you of your alter ego, the stable hand—again?”

“Please. No.” He held up both hands palms out in surrender.

“Oh, my.” She pretended to fan herself. “You’re begging. I think I like that.”

He set her straight. “It was a simple request.”

“No, no, no.” She laughed. She had a great laugh, full-out and all in. “You were definitely begging.” Smiling smugly, showing off the dimples that made her almost as cute as she was beautiful, she asked, “You said Lucy is twenty-three, right?”

He kept catching himself watching her mouth. It was plump and pretty and very tempting. But he wasn’t going to kiss her, not tonight. He’d just barely salvaged the situation with her and he couldn’t afford to push his luck by moving too fast. “Why are we talking about Lucy, anyway?”

“Because she’s important to you.” She said it simply. Openly.

And all at once he wanted to be...better somehow. It was bewildering. She stirred him, more than he’d ever intended to be stirred. He started talking, started saying real things. “When our mom died, we had nothing. Lucy was nine and sick all the time. I was twenty-one, just starting out, working days for that guy with the horse ranch I told you about, taking business classes at night. Our mom died and Child Protective Services showed up the next day to take Lucy away.”

“I am sorry....” She said it softly, the three simple words laden with sadness. For him.

He wanted some big things from her. Sympathy wasn’t one of them. “Don’t be. It was a good thing.”

“A good thing that you lost your sister?”

“I didn’t lose her. She went to an excellent foster mom, a great lady named Hannah Russo who made me welcome whenever I came to visit.”

“Well, that’s good.”

“It was, yeah. And that they wouldn’t let me take care of my sister was a definite wake-up call. I knew I had to get my ass in gear or I would never get custody of her. She was so damn frail. She could have died. I was afraid she would die. It was seriously motivating. I was determined, above all, to get her back with me where I could take care of her.”

Her eyes were so soft. He could see the moon in them. “How long did it take you?”

“I got custody of her three years after our mom died, when Lucy was twelve. I’ve taken care of her since then. She’s my family. Sometimes she doesn’t see it, but I only want what’s best for her.”

“I know you do.” She leaned in close again. He smelled lilies and sea foam. “I like you, Noah.” She said his name on a breath. And then she leaned closer still. “You’re macho and tough. Kind of. But not. You confuse me. I shouldn’t like that. But I do. I like you far too much, I think.”

He whispered, “Good.” His senses spun. She affected him so strongly. Too strongly, really. More strongly than any woman had in a long, long time—maybe ever. Above all, he had to remember not to push too fast. Not to kiss her. Yet.

Her red skirts rustled as she leaned that little bit closer. Her breath brushed his cheek, so warm, so sweet.

What now? Should he back off? Did it count as moving too fast if she was the one doing the moving?

She whispered, “I promised myself I wouldn’t kiss you....”

“All right.” It wasn’t all right. Not really. And she was too close, making it way too hard to remember that he wasn’t going to kiss her. Not now. Not tonight....

“But, Noah. I really want to kiss you.”

He held very still, every molecule in his body alert. Hungry. He wanted to go for it, to grab her and haul her into his aching arms. He wanted that way too much for his own peace of mind. “Remember,” he said on a bare husk of sound, “you have a plan.”

“What plan?” Her gaze kept straying to his mouth.

“You promised yourself you would think before you jump.” Did he mean to be helpful? Maybe. But somehow it came out as a challenge.

And, as everything he’d read about her had made crystal clear, Her Highness Alice never could resist a challenge. “To hell with my plan.”

“Tomorrow you’ll feel differently.”

“Tomorrow can take care of itself.” She swayed that fraction closer. “Right now I only want to kiss you.” She lifted those plump, sweet lips to him.

He made himself wait. He managed, just barely, to hold himself in check until her mouth touched his.

Then, with a low groan, he reached out and wrapped his arms good and tight around her.

Chapter Three

Alice knew very well that she shouldn’t be kissing him.

Kissing him, after all, was exactly what she’d said she wouldn’t do.

But the scent of him was all around her—like his big strong arms that held her so very tightly. His chest was broad and hard and wonderful beneath the snow-white evening shirt.

And his kiss? Deep and demanding at first, thrilling her. His hot breath burned her mouth; his tongue delved in.

But then a moment later he dialed it down, going gentle, easier. He tempted her all the more forcefully by using tenderness, by taking it slow. His big hands roamed her back, making her shiver with delight. And his lips... Oh, my, the man certainly did know how to kiss. She could go on like this forever, sitting under the moon with the soft sigh of the sea far below them, all wrapped up in Noah’s arms.

Then again, anyone might come up on them out here in the open like this. The paparazzi were everywhere. She’d learned that the hard way, over and over again.

If someone got a shot of her now, plastered all over a virtual stranger, soul-kissing him deeper than she had that redheaded barmaid during the karaoke escapade...

With a low moan, she put her hands to his hard chest and pushed him away. He made no move to stop her.

Breathless, still yearning, she faced forward again. Sagging against the iron back of the bench, she stared out beyond the railing at the moonlit sea.

Noah said nothing. She was grateful for that.

Back on the path behind them, a woman laughed. It was more of a giggle, really. A man spoke as though in reply, his voice low and intimate, the words unclear. More feminine laughter, and then the man said something else, the sound of his voice retreating as he spoke. Whoever they were, they had turned and gone back toward the palace.

There was silence. Only the breeze off the sea and the distant cry of a gull.

Alice smoothed her hair and straightened the bodice of her strapless gown. “Sometimes I really disappoint myself.”

“Is it possible you’re trying too hard to be good?” he asked in that lovely sexy rumble that had stirred her from the first.

She shot him a scoffing glance. “More likely, I’m not trying hard enough.”

He caught her hand. Before she could pull away, he pressed his wonderful lips to the back of it. His mouth was so warm, so deliciously soft compared to the rest of him. “You’re amazing. Just as you are. Why mess with a great thing?” His words were pure temptation. She wanted only to sigh and sway against him again, to kiss him some more, to give him a chance to flatter her endlessly. She wanted to let him kiss her and touch her until she forgot all the promises she’d made to herself about learning a little discipline, about keeping her actions under control.

Instead, she said, “I would like my hand back, please.” He released her. She rose and brushed out her taffeta skirt. “Good night. Please don’t follow me.” She turned for the trail, glancing back only once before she ducked between the hedges.

He hadn’t moved. He sat facing the sea, staring out at the moon.

* * *

Alice collected her bag and wrap from the attendant at the side entrance and called for her driver.

Twenty minutes after she’d left Noah staring out to sea, the driver was holding the limo door for her. She slipped into the plush embrace of the black leather seat.

At home she had another bath. A long one, to relax.

But she didn’t relax. She lay there amid the lily-scented bubbles and tried not to feel like a complete jerk.

Noah had really stepped up. He’d made an honest, forthright apology for misleading her at the stables. And then he’d gone about being a perfect gentleman. He’d also been open and honest with her about his life, his past. About the tensions between him and his little sister.

He had not put a move on her. She’d made sure that he wouldn’t, by going on and on about how from now on she planned to look before she leaped.

After which she had grabbed him and kissed him for all she was worth.

Seriously, now. She was hopeless. She needed a keeper, someone to follow her around and make sure she behaved herself. Twenty-five years old and she couldn’t stop acting like an impulsive, greedy child.

Her bath grew cold. She only grew more tense, more annoyed with herself.

Finally, she got out and dried off and put on a robe. It was after two in the morning. Time for bed.

But she couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking how Noah had said he had no problem with her looking him up on the internet.

Finally, she threw back the covers, grabbed her laptop and snooped around for a while.

She learned that everything he’d told her that night—and in the stables, for that matter—was the truth. He was quite a guy, really, to have come from a run-down rented bungalow in the roughest part of Los Angeles without a penny to his name and built a real-estate empire before he was thirty. When he was twenty-eight, he’d been one of Forbes’ thirty top entrepreneurs under thirty. Two years ago he’d been a People magazine pick for one of America’s ten most eligible bachelors. His Santa Barbara–area estate had been profiled in House & Garden.

There were several pages of images. Some of them showed him with Lucy, who had a sweet, friendly smile and looked very young. But most of them were of him with a gorgeous woman at his side—a lot of different gorgeous women. He’d never been linked to any one woman for any length of time.

The endless series of beautiful girlfriends reminded her of all the reasons she wouldn’t be getting involved with him. The last thing she needed was to fall for a rich player who would trade her in for a newer model at the first opportunity.

It was after four when she finally fell asleep. She woke at noon, ate a quick breakfast, put on her riding clothes and went to the stables.

Noah wasn’t there. Excellent. With a little luck, she would get through the last five days of his Montedoran visit without running into him again.

* * *

Sunday morning, Alice kept her promise to Max and went to breakfast at the palace. Everyone seemed happy to see her.

Her mother made a special effort to ask her how the plans were coming along for next year’s Grand Champions Tour. Alice gave her a quick report and her mother said how pleased they all were with her work. She’d sold two mares, a stallion and a gelding in the past month. The money helped support her breeding program, but a good chunk of it went to important causes. Her mother praised her contribution to the lives of all Montedorans.

Alice basked in the approval. She knew what it meant. Her mother was getting past her disappointment over her antics in Glasgow.

At the table, she ended up next to Damien. He threw an arm across her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Allie. You’re looking splendid, as always.”

“Flatterer.”

Dami shrugged and got to work on his eggs Benedict. He looked a little tired, she thought. But then, he often did. He was quite the globe-trotter. Most people thought he was all about beautiful women and the good life—and he was. But he also held a degree in mechanical engineering and design. He was a talented artist, too. And beyond all that, he loved putting together a profitable business deal almost as much as their second-born brother, Rule. And then there were the charities he worked hard to support.

No wonder he looked as though he needed a long nap.

She was tempted to ply him with questions about Noah. But what was the point? She’d already decided that she and Noah weren’t going to be happening, so it didn’t matter what Dami might have to tell her about him.

Dami sipped espresso. When he set down the demitasse, he turned to her again and said softly, “I heard you danced more than one dance with Noah Cordell last Friday. After which you went walking in the garden with him....”

Well, all right, then. Apparently, she was going to hear about Noah after all, whether she wanted to or not. “I met him in the stables. He was there Wednesday and Thursday mornings, early. He said you had introduced him to Gilbert.”

“That’s right.”

“We...chatted.”

“And danced,” he repeated, annoyingly patient. “And walked in the garden.”

“Yes, Dami. We did.”

“You like him.” It wasn’t a question. His expression was unreadable.

She answered truthfully. “I do. He’s intelligent, fun and a good dancer, as well.”

“He’s worse with women than I am.”

“But you’re not so bad—lately. I mean, what about Vesuvia?”

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