“There’s no need to apologize.”

Amusement danced in his gaze. “I wasn’t planning to. As far as I know, it isn’t a crime to kiss royalty in Carramer, especially when it’s by invitation.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“Guilty as charged,” he agreed, without the slightest trace of remorse. “I wasn’t the only one. Your imagination was working overtime, as well, my beautiful princess.”

Her anger flared, a close cousin to frustration. In his arms she had imagined all sorts of possibilities, most revolving around the drifts of sweet-smelling hay around their feet, inviting them to sink down and take the exploration so much further. Knowing it was impossible left her aching with disappointment.

She was appalled at herself. How could she feel this way about someone she had good reason to dislike? His willingness to use what he knew about her to get what he wanted was bad enough. So why did she yearn so for his touch?

Dear Reader,

Silhouette’s 20th anniversary celebration continues this month in Romance, with more not-to-be-missed novels that take you on the romantic journey from courtship to commitment.

First we revisit STORKVILLE, USA, where a jaded Native American rancher seems interested in His Expectant Neighbor. Don’t miss this second book in the series by Susan Meier! Next, New York Times bestselling author Kasey Michaels returns to the lineup, launching her new miniseries, THE CHANDLERS REQUEST…. One bride, two grooms—who will end up Marrying Maddy? In Daddy in Dress Blues by Cathie Linz, a Marine embarks on his most terrifying mission—fatherhood!—with the help of a pretty preschool teacher.

Then Valerie Parv whisks us to a faraway kingdom as THE CARRAMER CROWN continues. The Princess’s Proposal puts the lovely Adrienne and her American nemesis on a collision course with…love. The ever-delightful Terry Essig tells the tale of a bachelor, his orphaned brood and the woman who sparks A Gleam in His Eye. Shhh…. We can’t give anything away, but you must learn The Librarian’s Secret Wish. Carol Grace knows…and she’s anxious to tell you!

Happy Reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

The Princess’s Proposal
Valerie Parv

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Books by Valerie Parv

Silhouette Romance

The Leopard Tree #507

The Billionaire’s Baby Chase #1270

Baby Wishes and Bachelor Kisses #1313

*The Monarch’s Son #1459

*The Prince’s Bride-To-Be #1465

*The Princess’s Proposal #1471

VALERIE PARV

lives and breathes romance and has even written a guide to being romantic, crediting her cartoonist husband of nearly thirty years as her inspiration. As a former buffalo and crocodile hunter in Australia’s Northern Territory, he’s ready-made hero material, she says.

When not writing her novels and nonfiction books, or speaking about romance on Australian radio and television, Valerie enjoys dollhouses, being a Star Trek fan and playing with food (in cooking, that is). Valerie agrees with actor Nichelle Nichols, who said, “The difference between fantasy and fact is that fantasy simply hasn’t happened yet.”

HISTORY OF CARRAMER

The Carramer Crown takes place in the fictitious island kingdom of Carramer in the South Pacific. French explorer la Perouse called Carramer “the loveliest fleet of islands anchored in any ocean.” Carramer comprises three inhabited islands and a handful of tiny offshore islands. The main island is Celeste, home to the capital city of Solano, and the ruling monarch, Lorne de Marigny. Across the Carramer Strait lies the larger, blissfully beautiful Isle des Anges (Island of the Angels) and its near neighbor, tiny Nuee, both governed by Prince Lorne’s younger brother, Michel, next in line to the throne after Lorne’s son, Nori. Younger sister Adrienne sees no role for herself in government and yearns to establish a horse-breeding stable.

Carramer’s traditions are a mixture of French and Polynesian influences. It enjoys a perfect climate, as near-constant trade winds prevail throughout the year, and most rain falls as daytime showers that are accompanied by rainbows, giving rise to the popular name for Carramer of “the Rainbow Isles.”

There is rumored to be another royal offspring living in the United States, but so far that story remains untold.

Valerie Parv

Official historian to the sovereign state of Carramer

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Chapter One

“Would you like a balloon, miss? Souvenir of the Nuee Fair.”

Adrienne tensed involuntarily as the fairground hawker approached her, then told herself that he couldn’t possibly know who she was, far less that he was trying to sell one of his metallic silver creations to Her Highness, Princess Adrienne de Marigny, daughter of the ruling house of Carramer.

Her simply cut navy pants and white hand-knit shell had been chosen to ensure that she blended in with the thousands of people attending Nuee’s annual Fair and Horse Show. Her straw sunhat and dark glasses not only disguised her much-photographed features and waterfall of glossy raven hair, they protected her delicate skin from the hot afternoon sun, as well.

A sense of adventure caught hold of her and she smiled at the hawker. The last time she was offered a balloon, she had been eight years old and a nanny had purchased and carried it for her. Adrienne had attended other fairs since then, but always in an official role. Today there was no one to tell her how unseemly it was for a princess to carry such a frivolous toy. “I’d love one, thank you.”

The hawker grinned back. “Choose any one you like. Of course, a pretty girl like you should let the man in your life buy it for you.”

“He might if there was one,” she said. The man probably called every woman under a hundred a pretty girl, unaware that, as a princess, Adrienne was as restricted in her choice of men as she was in where she went and what she did.

If her brothers, Lorne and Michel, knew she was out in disguise and unescorted, they’d have a fit, especially her older brother Lorne, she thought, picturing his frown of disapproval. Their parents had died when she was much younger, so Lorne considered himself her guardian as well as her monarch. She knew her brother only wanted what was best for her, but she felt that at twenty-three years old she was capable of taking care of herself.

With both her brothers safely married now, her role as royal hostess was much reduced, too. At last she could shake off the yoke of public service she had worn all her life and just be herself, at least sometimes.

Today was one of those times. With a precious few hours all to herself before she had to turn back into a princess in time to host a gala charity dinner tonight, she had decided to join most of the city’s population at the annual agricultural fair and show. At the top of her must-see list of things were the equestrian events, starting with a demonstration by the roughriders, for which the island was renowned.

The hawker held out a silver balloon emblazoned with a bloodred rose. “I’d guess you’re a rose kind of girl.”

“It’s pretty, but I’m more of a horse person,” she said, indicating one painted with the head of a stallion. Wild of eye and mane, the picture reminded her of the native horses that roamed the hills of Nuee. The roughriders caught and tamed them for use in their daredevil performances.

“I’ll make you a present of it,” the hawker said on impulse. “Then you can say a man gave it to you.”

She saw only sincerity in his expression. “It’s kind of you, but I can’t do you out of your livelihood,” she insisted, fumbling in her purse for a coin. She so rarely paid for anything in cash that she knew she handled the gesture with little grace and felt annoyed with herself.

His callused hand closed around hers. “Save your money for the rest of the show. This is my treat.”

“Well…thank you.” She felt herself flush as she accepted the balloon, wondering why such a small gesture should touch her so deeply. If he had known who she was, she would have suspected him of trying to curry favor, but he was simply a kindly old man, spreading a bit of happiness around.

It made her even more sure that she was justified in slipping away from the palace to attend the show as an ordinary person. As a princess she rarely experienced the simple human interactions other people took for granted. When she attended events like this in her official capacity, she was escorted to the head of every line and the way was cleared for her through the crowd. She would have missed meeting the hawker altogether. Looking satisfied with his good deed, he moved away, his bouquet of balloons bobbing above his head.

“Careful, you’re about to lose that.”

Lost in thought, she started as another man’s hand closed around hers, this time stopping her helium-filled balloon from heading skyward. The man’s touch was so firm, warm and undeniably masculine that she felt herself jerk away as if strung.

“Easy, easy,” he said as if he was talking to a shying horse. He let his hand drop to his side. “You seemed to be about a million miles away.”

She looked at him more closely. A dark-brown jacket skimmed wide shoulders and a fit-looking body, an open-necked shirt the man’s main concession to the heat. He was as tall as Adrienne’s brothers, an irritant in itself, since she had always resented having to look up to meet their eyes. When she did so with the stranger, she encountered a gaze of startling blue flecked with gold and fringed by luxuriant dark lashes.

Although he was dressed as a businessman, his tanned face and hands suggested he spent a lot of time out of doors. Rugged was the best word to describe him, she thought, adding to herself, ruggedly handsome. His accent identified him as an American, and she wondered what brought him to the Nuee Fair as she said, “Thanks for saving my balloon.”

“Why don’t you try this?” Without waiting for a response, he tied the string of the balloon around her wrist. For an instant his strong fingers with their trim oval nails closed around the slender bones as if he was measuring her for a bracelet, and she felt an unaccustomed warmth surge through her. It lasted only until he released her, but she found the intensity of it oddly disquieting.

He looked up at the toy waving in the air over her head, noting the distinctive design. “You like horses, or balloons?”

“Both,” she conceded, wondering why the fine hairs on the back of her neck lifted at the sound of his voice. It reminded her of dark chocolate and the stroke of velvet against her skin. Foolish, she chided herself. It must be because she was so seldom touched by anyone other than her staff that she was having such fanciful thoughts.

Above their heads a loudspeaker crackled to life with the news that the roughrider demonstration was about to start. “Are you going to watch the show?” she asked, somehow sure that he would say yes. It came to her that he looked as if he belonged in the show, rather than in the audience.

He nodded, then hesitated, as if considering an option that he wasn’t sure was a good idea. “I have a pass to the members’ pavilion. Would you like to see the show from there?” he asked in a rush. For some reason she felt sure that had he given himself time to think he wouldn’t have issued the invitation.

As the show’s royal patron she had access to any part of the fairgrounds including the members’ pavilion. At least Princess Adrienne did, she reminded herself. Her alter ego, plain ordinary Dee, had no such privileges.

She was strongly tempted to accept, perhaps for the same reason that prompted him to suggest it. The sparks of awareness arcing between them were intriguing enough to warrant investigation. But it was too risky. In the members’ pavilion she might run into someone she knew and her disguise was far from foolproof.

“I can’t,” she said, unable to conceal her reluctance. “I’m…meeting someone.”

The hesitation in her voice betrayed the hastily invented excuse for what it was, and she saw his eyes take on a shuttered look. “In that case I hope you enjoy the show.” He touched two fingers to his forehead in a sketchy salute and melted into the crowd.

When he had gone, she was stricken with a sudden, inexplicable sense of regret. He was only being polite in offering her the hospitality of the pavilion, she thought, and was probably thankful not to be taken up on it. All the same, she suspected she would have found the experience interesting. She sighed as she turned toward the public part of the arena.

He must be crazy, Hugh told himself as he followed the signs to the members’ stand. Didn’t he have enough to worry about, working with Prince Michel to establish a counterpart of his American ranch on Nuee? Hugh knew that his plans were rock solid and good for Carramer’s economy, but until the ranch was a reality, he had no business letting anything sidetrack him, even a woman as intriguing as the one he’d just left.

He glanced over his shoulder. The silver balloon bobbing in the air marked her passage through the crowd surging toward the arena. She wasn’t the only woman wearing a hat and dark glasses, but she was the only one who looked as if she wore them to hide behind, he thought.

Against his better judgment, he felt his curiosity stir. From her cultivated voice, she was an aristocrat, speaking English with the same refined accent as Prince Michel, as if she was a product of the best education that money could buy.

Instinct told him that her excuse about meeting someone was a brush-off. He probably wasn’t to her taste, but she was too well-bred to say so. The term soured his thoughts, reminding him uncomfortably of his ex-wife. He grinned wryly to himself. If anyone had taught him the futility of chasing the unattainable, it should have been Jemima Huntly-Jordan.

He’d known when they met that Jemima Huntly was as far outside his class as diamonds were to cut glass. He should have heeded the warning signs when she lectured him on proper behavior on their first dates. But he had been a few years younger, although not enough to excuse his foolishness, and madly in love with her. He had to admit he had also been flattered that a woman like her—daughter of an ambassador, and “old money” from head to toe—could love a rancher with no family background and money so new it crackled.

What a fool he’d been, he thought. Later she’d admitted to being bored with her own social set and attracted by his no-frills attitude to life. The novelty had started to wear off almost as soon as they were married, particularly when he tried to rein in her reckless spending habits.

He hadn’t expected her to live like a pauper, only to moderate her spending once in a while. Asking her to limit herself to one clothes-shopping trip to Europe a season had seemed reasonable to Hugh, but evidently not to Jemima, who acted as if he had asked her to wear rags.

“I’m a rancher, not an oil sheik,” he’d reminded her, his hands full of accounts emblazoned with the crests of foreign fashion houses.

“You resent me spending money but you’ll squander millions on that horse—Caravan, or whatever its name is.”

“Carazzan Liberte,” he’d supplied, knowing it was useless to try to explain the horse’s importance to their future. Ever since his last foster father had dragged him outside and challenged him to a fist fight that had settled once and for all that Hugh wasn’t as tough as he pretended, he had finally found out what he was—a rancher who belonged to the land as he belonged nowhere else.

Hugh would always be grateful to Big Dan Jordan for showing him that, and for recognizing the potential in a kid nobody else wanted. Until Dan took him in hand, Hugh had been thrown out of a string of foster homes for being uncontrollable. He bitterly regretted Dan’s premature death from a heart attack and had set out to justify the faith Dan had shown in him by leaving him the land that gave him his start.

Dan had passed on to Hugh his dream of breeding the world’s best riding horses. He’d known that Carazzan was the key after seeing a news story about an old horse trainer who had spotted the young stallion leading a wild herd on Nuee and had come out of retirement to catch and tame this one fantastic horse. Hugh knew how the man must have felt. He had wanted Carazzan from the moment he saw the story.

He had hardly been able to contain his excitement on hearing that Carazzan was for sale. But Jemima had drained their account of the money Hugh had set aside to buy the horse and took off to Paris with it. As a result Carazzan was bought by a member of the Carramer royal family. Maybe trying to buy the horse from them was a fool’s errand, but Hugh had been a fool before and would be again. He only knew he wouldn’t rest until the horse was where it belonged, in his possession.

Even so, he could have forgiven Jemima for taking the money. What he couldn’t forgive was her taking another man with her then flaunting it when friends mentioned to him having seen them in each other’s arms.

“It was a fling with an old flame. It means nothing,” she had said when he confronted her.

It meant a lot to Hugh. Having lost the first person in the world he’d been able to trust, he couldn’t believe his own wife could betray his trust without realizing the damage she’d done. He had quietly asked for a divorce, offering to take all the blame himself and to give her whatever she required for a comfortable life without him.

He had reckoned without her fury at being, as she put it, cast aside. Jemima had set out to spread rumors that his finances were in trouble, he was about to lose the ranch and he was impotent to boot. He could laugh about it now, but eighteen months ago she had nearly achieved her aim and finished him. As the baseless rumors spread, business associates began to avoid him, his credit dried up, and land he needed for expansion became mysteriously unavailable.

It had taken every ounce of street-cunning he possessed to ride out the crisis and to show the world that, not only was he not in trouble, he was prospering. Little by little, confidence in him was reestablished and he could get back to business-as-usual.

About the slurs to his manhood he could do nothing, but he had never cared what others thought of him and didn’t plan to start now. After his experience with Jemima, he wasn’t about to get tangled up with another woman, especially the pedigreed kind who lived in a different world from the one he inhabited.

Like the woman with the balloon, he told himself as his thoughts came full circle. He was no expert on fashion, but Jemima had taught him to recognize couture when he saw it. Although her clothes were ordinary enough, the woman with the balloon yelled couture from the top of her designer sun hat to the manicured toes of her sandal-clad feet.

She was also trouble with a capital T, he sensed. What was behind those big dark glasses? Every one of his survival instincts, honed while growing up in foster homes and institutions, told him she was hiding something. He would give a lot to know what it was.

He had no business even wondering, he told himself as he flashed his pass at the entrance to the members’ pavilion and was ushered inside. Until that brief encounter, he’d come to the show only to check out the Nuee horses. Found nowhere else on earth, they were a spectacular hybrid of the Lipizzans that the Spaniards had brought to the island long ago and a hardy native breed. The combination had proved extraordinary, and the most extraordinary of them all was Carazzan Liberte, a stallion capable of siring the perfect riding horses Hugh dreamed of breeding.

Carazzan wasn’t on show here, but he hadn’t expected it any more than he would expect to run into the stallion’s royal owner in the crowd. Later would do for that, when he attended a gala charity affair at the palace. He wasn’t looking forward to overdosing on so much pomp and ceremony, a legacy of his misfit youth, he supposed. But attending was the only way he could get close enough to the princess to convince her that Carazzan belonged at the centerpiece of Hugh’s new ranch.

A cheer went up from the crowd, and Hugh focused his attention on the arena, seeing the roughriders surge in at full gallop, stirring up clouds of dust and filling the air with their bloodcurdling cries. This was what Hugh had come to see.

Adrienne’s heart picked up speed as the roughriders galloped past, crossing and recrossing one another’s paths in impossibly tight formation. She knew the routines were inspired by centuries-old scenes depicted on cave walls throughout Nuee. The Mayat, ancestors of the modern-day Carramer people, had been legendary riders, training their wild horses to perform feats such as leaping from a cliff into the seething surf with a rider aboard, then carrying them safely back to the shore.

What she wouldn’t give to have seen that, Adrienne admitted. The riders supposedly had no other obligations but to ride to the glory of the gods. According to legend, they had lived with their horses and sometimes died with them. Then some of the famous Lipizzans had been brought to Nuee by their Spanish owners, the native horses interbreeding with the Lipizzans over time to produce horses of spectacular beauty as well as high intelligence and ready trainability.

The proof was in the demonstration in front of her. Fast, furious and exacting, the mock battle routines demanded split-second timing and hair-trigger reflexes. But the rough-riders and their mounts lived up to their name, and although a couple of carefully executed near-misses brought the crowd to their feet, there were no mishaps. By the time the thrilling display ended, Adrienne felt wrung out, as if she had ridden the course instead of watching it.

From force of habit she turned left out of the arena, toward the stables, which she made a point of visiting whenever she attended an event at the showground in her official capacity. She realized her mistake when she rounded a corner and found herself in a side alley with a cowboy barring her path. He wore a roughrider costume, but she hadn’t seen him in the show. And he was drunk, she discovered as soon as he opened his mouth.

“This area’s off-limits to the gen’l public,” he mumbled, swaying slightly.

“My mistake,” she said, backing away.

He followed her. “I’d be glad to give you a private tour.”

“No, thank you, I’ll just go back the way I came.”

He closed the distance between them. “No hurry. Nobody here but us. You like cowboys, little lady?”

His beefy hand closed around her arm, and he yanked her roughly toward him. The smell of alcohol bloomed on his breath, making her gag. “Please let me go,” she said as calmly as she could, although her heart was pounding.

“Inna minute. The name’s Kye. What’s yours?”

“Dee,” she said, still hoping she could make him see reason. The last thing she wanted was to be involved in a scene and risk having her identity discovered. “I didn’t see you in the show, Kye.”

“I was on this morn’n. Come on, whadda ’bout that tour? My horse is back here.”

His grip on her arm was like iron as he began to tow her toward the stables. As the balloon tied to her wrist broke free and drifted away, she struggled not to panic. “I can’t go with you, Kye. Someone will be looking for me soon.” She lifted her voice. “I’m back here, near the stables.”

The man squinted the way she’d come. “Nobody comin’.”

“I’m over here,” she tried again, louder this time.

“Stop that.” The cowboy’s free hand clamped over her mouth, reducing her cries to muffled protests. Lack of oxygen made her head start to swim. Keep calm, she willed herself. There has to be a way out of this.

Her legs almost buckled with relief when another man walked around the corner into the alley. Even more amazingly, she recognized him as the man she’d spoken to before the show. Desperately she bit down on the cowboy’s hand. He yelped and loosened his grip long enough for her to say, “Over here,” before her air was cut off again.

Without appearing to hurry, the man closed the distance between them, and she saw him size up the situation at a glance. But he didn’t wrest her assailant off her. He simply said quietly, “What’s the problem?”

“Just a little dis’greement between me and my girl,” the cowboy mumbled. “Nothin’ to do with anybody else.”

“How about you let the lady go so she can speak for herself,” the American said in the same low, controlled tone. There was no hint of threat in it, but his stance altered marginally, his assured body language suggesting that he was more than ready to back up his words with action if required.

She saw the cowboy read the same message, but he drew himself up belligerently, keeping a firm grip on his prize. “It’s none of your business. She’s with me.” But he did remove the beefy hand covering her mouth.

Hugh glanced at her. Surely this wasn’t the man she had claimed to be meeting? They seemed as ill-matched as chalk and cheese. Then he thought of himself and Jemima. “Are you with him?”

The disgusted set of her mouth gave him his answer. “I never saw him before, and if I never see him again it will be too soon.”

Once again Hugh was stricken by her porcelain-doll looks. What he could see of her skin was a flawless honey-gold, and there was a hint of glossy black hair under the sun hat. It had stayed on throughout the struggle. He couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark glasses but he imagined they would be as striking as what he could see. What in blue blazes was a woman of her apparent breeding doing, wandering around the stables of a fairground? Didn’t she know it only took a few too many drinks before these cowboys fancied themselves as Don Juan?

Despite his vow not to concern himself with her, it wasn’t in his nature to abandon someone who needed his help. “I said let her go.” His tone suggested that he wouldn’t like to have to say it a third time.

The cowboy’s certainty wavered visibly. Hugh was as tall as he was, although more compactly built. Balancing lightly on the balls of his feet, he let his stance suggest—accurately—that he could take care of himself. He could almost read the cowboy’s dilemma: give up the female companionship he’d anticipated or take on a fight he wasn’t sure of winning. Given the woman’s seductive appeal, Hugh wasn’t sure which decision he would make if it were up to him. It came to him that the woman looked worth fighting for. He braced himself instinctively.

Before the cowboy could resolve his dilemma, the woman brought her knee up between his legs and connected with her target with a crunch that made Hugh wince inwardly in sympathy. With a befuddled screech, the man dropped into a spinning crouch, giving vent to a torrent of Carramer words that Hugh would bet shouldn’t be used in polite company, before hobbling away toward the stables.

“I’ll call security.”

She couldn’t let him call the authorities. It would mean too much explaining she didn’t want to do. Her hand on his arm stayed him. “There’s no need to call anyone, I’m all right.”

“But that drunken oaf attacked you.”

“Drunken is the right word. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

“And if he tries it with some other woman?”

Another woman might not have a white knight handy to help her, the princess admitted to herself. “I’ll…I’ll report it when I get home,” she conceded. “He isn’t going far in that condition.”

“You’re probably right.”

He sounded reluctant to leave it there, and she got the impression he was a man who liked to see justice done. It would be, but not right now. “Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said. “How did you know I was here?”

“That silly balloon of yours. I saw it jerking around in the air from the other side of the wall.”

That silly balloon as he called it just might have saved her life, she thought, and shuddered. He noticed her shudder and asked again, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

She wasn’t, but she made herself nod.

Hugh noticed the way her lovely long-fingered hands were clenched together, the gesture not quite concealing how much she was trembling. He took her arm. “Come on, we’re going to get you a drink.”

It was a measure of her agitation that she didn’t argue this time, he thought as he led her out of the alleyway and through the crowd to the members’ pavilion. In the lounge, he found a quiet table in a corner and pulled out a chair for her. “What would you like to drink?”

She sank into it and rested her head on her hands. “Just coffee, thank you. I…I can’t stay long.”

He corralled a waiter to bring them steaming cups of the wonderfully aromatic local coffee. When it arrived, his companion seemed content to cup her hands around it, drawing comfort from the warmth.

“Feeling better now, Dee?” he asked her.

Her head came up. “What did you call me?”

“That is the name you gave the cowboy, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “He said his was Kye.”

“That should help you identify him for the authorities.”

“Yes, of course.” Making a complaint officially would involve too many awkward explanations, so she would have to find another way to make sure the cowboy was held accountable for his behavior. She was thankful when a commotion on the other side of the room saved her from further explanation. “What’s going on there?”

“They’re introducing Miss Show Princess to the press,” he explained. “It’s mentioned in the program.”

The sight of so many cameras and microphones made her distinctly uneasy and she half-rose. “I should leave.”

“Finish your coffee,” he urged. “We’re not in anyone’s way.”

All the same she kept her head bent toward her companion as if they were deep in conversation. Among the press she had spotted a couple of the paparazzi who made the royal family their special targets. At least their attention was on another kind of princess for the moment, she thought gratefully, wincing as flashbulbs exploded around a glamorous young woman wearing a satin sash across a traditional leuer gown.

“You’re on edge,” the American said when she jumped. “It’s hardly surprising. You should have your doctor check you over when you get home.”

She looked up at him, mesmerized by his brilliant gaze. He was really worried about her, she thought. Tears prickled the backs of her eyes and she put it down to her recent brush with the drunk, but knew there was more going on here. It was so rare to have someone concern themselves with her as an individual, rather than because of her position, that she was touched in spite of herself. “It’s good advice.”

“Then make sure you take it.”

Another flashbulb popped, close to them this time. Miss Show Princess and her entourage had moved across the room to take advantage of the panoramic view of the fairgrounds beyond the lounge windows. It brought them to within a few feet of Adrienne’s table. Shaken, she pushed her chair back. “I really must go.”

The American moved to her side to help her up but was jostled by one of the photographers, throwing him against Adrienne. Instinctively he reached for her, steadying her. Anyone might have done the same, but she was stunned by the eddies of awareness the contact set up in her. She put it down to her heightened vulnerability after her encounter with the cowboy, but that hardly accounted for the strength of her response. She looked up at the American in confusion.

At that moment another flashbulb popped, then a whole barrage of them as Miss Show Princess paraded for the cameras. Adrienne used the moment to slip away toward the door, aware that the American was close behind her. “There’s no need to leave on my account,” she insisted.

“I only came for the equestrian events,” he said. “I’ll see you home.”

“No.” The word came out more forcefully than she intended, and she saw his expression turn cold. After he had done so much for her, she hadn’t meant it to sound so much like a dismissal, but she could see he had taken it as one. “I mean, my car’s parked right outside.”

“Then I’ll see you to your car,” he said coolly.

Thankfully, she had borrowed an unpretentious sedan from her assistant, who knew about her little adventures. Her staff might not approve, but their loyalty to her ensured that they helped her and kept her secret. “Thank you for everything,” she said as she got in. He nodded.

He watched as she maneuvered the small car out of the tight space and drove off. About to turn away, he spotted a flash of crimson on the ground. Her scarf must have caught in the door and been pulled off when she closed it.

He picked it up, and a faint whiff of her scent teased his nostrils—richly floral, like a balmy tropical evening, he thought. He tucked it into his jacket pocket. Nuee was a small island. It wouldn’t hurt to hang on to the scarf in case they met again.

Chapter Two

In response to a direct tap on her dressing room door, Adrienne said, “Come in.”

It was her personal assistant, Cindy Cook. The leather-bound file she carried under her arm made an interesting contrast with her pale-blue ball gown. She bobbed a curtsy then stopped short. “You look wonderful, Your Highness.”

Cindy had worked for the princess since they graduated from university together, so she wasn’t given to flattery for its own sake. Adrienne felt pleased that her new gown had made such a strong impression.

It was a glorious emerald-green, the color being one reason Adrienne had fallen in love with it; the design was another. From the front it looked like a stylish sheath that outlined her slender curves before fanning into a miniature train at her feet.

The back was a different matter. Cut almost to the waist, the dress was supported by a web of shoestring straps crisscrossing her bare back. With her glossy black hair swirled into a mass of curls high on her head and set off by an emerald tiara, she looked every inch the royal princess, she knew. Her alter ego, Dee, was nowhere to be seen.

“You don’t think it’s too daring for a charity affair?” she asked Cindy.

“The photographers will love it.”

As an answer it was a clever evasion, Adrienne recognized. It probably was overly daring but it was too late for her to change now. In any case, she was in the mood to cause a stir tonight and wondered if it was an aftereffect of her bad experience at the show. She hadn’t told Cindy about the cowboy or the man who had come to her rescue, telling herself no lasting harm had been done. But had it? She felt so fragile that she couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t even report the incident to anyone without revealing that she had gone out incognito.

“The dress is by an Australian designer, Aloys Gada. Allie recommended him,” she told Cindy.

Allie, or more precisely Her Highness, Princess Alison, was Lorne’s Australian wife. With her egalitarian ideals, she was like a breath of fresh air in the royal family. So was Caroline, the American woman Michel had married, Adrienne thought, smiling to herself as she recalled how Michel had been betrothed to Caroline’s twin sister in an ancient ceremony when they were children. They hadn’t expected to be held to the contract when they grew up, and it was Caroline that Michel really loved. But it had worked out well in the end, when Caroline’s twin schemed to get them back together. Like Lorne and Allie, Caroline and Michel were blissfully happy, and Adrienne couldn’t wait to become an aunt to their child in a few months’ time.

“What are you thinking about? I’ll bet it isn’t tonight’s affair,” Cindy guessed, watching her royal employer.

Adrienne drew herself back to the present. For a moment she had let herself fantasize about being happily married like her brothers, with a husband to admire her appearance instead of a paid assistant. Cindy was supportive, but it wasn’t the same, somehow. “I was thinking of someone I met today,” she confessed.

The cowboy she dismissed as being of no consequence, a drunk who didn’t know any better. The American was another matter. He haunted her thoughts in a way that disturbed her for some reason.

Cindy’s face dimpled into a smile. “A man?”

“They do comprise half of the universe.”

“Not this universe.”

In spite of herself, Adrienne sighed, knowing Cindy was right. Before her assistant could ask about the man occupying her thoughts, Adrienne said, “We’d better get down to business. Who are the important names on the guest list tonight?”

Opening her file, Cindy reeled off a list of mostly elderly local nobles. Adrienne nodded. “No surprises there.” Since tonight’s gala was in recognition of donations to the children’s charity she chaired, the princess knew most of the major benefactors already. It promised to be a dull evening, but she could endure it for the sake of the orphans, she told herself. “Any new faces?”

“Anyone young, you mean?”

Cindy knew her too well. “It would make a pleasant change.”

Cindy scanned the list. “Hardly anyone our age. The youngest is a thirty-something foreigner, a Mr. Hugh Jordan, here to finalize an investment project with Prince Michel.”

Adrienne felt a jolt and wondered at its source. “Is that why he got an invitation?”

Cindy shook her head. “My note says he was the largest single donor to the appeal.”

“No doubt he thinks the donation makes him look like a big man in Michel’s eyes.” She had recognized the man’s name as soon as Cindy said it. Hugh Jordan planned to establish a vast ranch north of Nuee City, on land that Adrienne had wanted for the same reason.

It still rankled that her brother was more willing to trust a foreigner with the project and the boost it would give to Nuee’s economy than Adrienne herself. She knew as much about breeding horses as any man. But she was a princess and princesses didn’t do that sort of thing, she thought angrily, recalling Michel’s reasoned response.

He hadn’t used those exact words, preferring ones like inappropriate and taking up too much of your valuable time, but the end result was the same. Hugh Jordan got to do what an accident of birth prevented her from doing.

It seemed Michel had told the man about her interest in horse breeding, particularly the Nuee saddlebreds, and he had asked to meet her. But she told her brother she had no intention of sharing her hard-won expertise with the stranger so he could enjoy all the benefits.

Michel had thought her response petty. He was probably right but she didn’t care. Now Hugh Jordan had finagled his way into her charity dinner, anyway. His donation to the appeal was so substantial that there was no way she could avoid meeting him tonight.

“I’ll bet Hugh Jordan smokes cigars and only talks about price movements on the stock exchange. And he’s probably this big,” Cindy said.

As her assistant pantomimed a huge girth, Adrienne was forced to laugh. “And no matter how stuffy or boring he is, you’ll charm him into giving an even larger donation to your beloved children,” Cindy added more seriously.

Adrienne let her eyes flash acceptance of the challenge. “I’ll consider it a personal obligation.”

Cindy dealt with the rest of the details in her usual efficient way, then closed the file. “That’s everything you need to know for now.” Adrienne stood up and felt herself sway slightly. Cindy looked concerned. “Are you all right? Perhaps you overdid things by going out this afternoon.”

Adrienne heard the disapproval in Cindy’s voice. Her assistant made no secret of disliking her employer’s habit of going out incognito, even though she had lent the princess her own car for the purpose.

“I’m fine. I probably just need to eat something before I go down.”

“I’ll have a tray sent up right away.”

She was as good as her word, but Adrienne couldn’t bring herself to eat much before she made her entrance into the ballroom. She took her place at the head of the room as the orchestra played the Carramer national anthem, “From Sea to Stars.” No matter how many times she heard it the music still stirred her blood.

As her experienced staff organized a receiving line, Cindy moved to Adrienne’s side ready to discreetly prompt the princess with any names and personal details she might need. She wasn’t needed a great deal. Adrienne considered herself lucky in having a good memory, and now she greeted each person by name, asking after their partners, children and any other concerns that came to mind.

Then she felt herself go cold from head to foot.

“Mr. Hugh Jordan, rancher from San Francisco,” Cindy murmured, thinking Adrienne’s hesitation meant she needed help identifying the next guest.

“Your Highness, this is indeed a surprise,” the man said, his rich, deep voice laced with irony. From the glitter in his remarkable blue eyes, Adrienne gathered that the surprise wasn’t any more pleasant for him than it was for her.

Far from being the paunchy, stuffy businessman she and Cindy had envisioned, Hugh Jordan was tall, muscular and undeniably good-looking. Even in the relative anonymity of a tuxedo, she recognized him instantly. Mr. Hugh Jordan, rancher from San Francisco, was the man who had come to her rescue at the fair.

Like the other guests he touched her hand in a token handshake, but instead of releasing her immediately as protocol required, his strong fingers curled into her palm and a shiver ran through her. “Small world, isn’t it,” he said softly.

Only years of royal training enabled her to keep a bright smile on her face, although her features felt as if they might crack at any moment. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jordan.” Her heart was beating so rapidly that she felt lightheaded, but not by so much as a flicker of an eyelash did she let herself acknowledge their previous meeting.

For a fleeting moment a shadow of a doubt crossed his face, and she saw him mentally comparing the princess in front of him with the woman he’d encountered earlier. In her designer gown with her hair expertly dressed and a fortune in diamonds and emeralds adorning her head, neck and earlobes, she knew she looked very different from the woman he’d met earlier. Could she convince him it was a case of mistaken identity?

Then he returned his gaze to her face and his eyes hardened. She felt her heart sink. Convincing a man like Hugh Jordan that he was wrong wasn’t an option, she saw.

“The pleasure is mine, Your Highness,” he said in a tone so smooth and hard it reminded her of volcanic glass. “I look forward to spending some time later this evening discussing our…mutual interests.”

Before she could summon her voice to reply, he released her hand and moved on, forcing her to deal with the next guest and giving her no time to collect herself. Only part of her mind was on her duty, she found. What did he mean—discuss their mutual interests? He had come to Carramer to negotiate setting up a ranch on Nuee, the ranch she herself had wanted to establish. If the American thought he could take advantage of their earlier encounter to involve her in his project against her will, he was in for a disappointment.

The idea was so distasteful that she rejected it instinctively. She recognized an element of wishful thinking in the hope that he wasn’t the type to do such a thing. Just because he had come to her rescue didn’t necessarily mean he wouldn’t use it to get something he wanted. Her position made her an ideal target, she knew.

Hugh Jordan had stumbled on a secret known only to her immediate staff. How would he use the information? The question nagged at her all through the ritual of predinner drinks. Usually she enjoyed circulating among her guests, showing her appreciation for their generous support of the children’s charity. Tonight she was so agitated that Cindy put a hand on her arm and steered her aside.

“Are you feeling all right, Your Highness?”

“What makes you ask?”

“You’re on your second glass of champagne already. That isn’t like you at all, especially when you’ve eaten so little.”

Adrienne looked at the goblet in her hand, surprised to find it almost drained. She had drunk it without being conscious of it. Cindy was right. Usually she restricted herself to mineral water before meals and a single glass of wine at dinner. “Thanks for noticing. I guess I’m a little distracted tonight.” Shaken, she handed the glass to Cindy.

Her assistant set it aside. “You looked a bit shell-shocked when I introduced Hugh Jordan. Do you know him?”

“Tonight was the first time we’ve been introduced.”

Cindy accepted the literal truth without question. “Just as well, because as the appeal’s largest donor, he’s seated on your right at dinner. He’ll be coming to escort you in at any minute.”

Adrienne’s gaze was drawn irresistibly to the man who captured her attention even across the considerable expanse of the ballroom. Again her heart started its uncomfortably fast beating at the sight of him. Wearing hand-tailored evening clothes, he managed to look more like one of the cold-eyed lawmen she’d seen in films about the American West. He was a head taller than most of the other male guests, and she saw him methodically scan the crowd until he located his quarry—her.

He started toward her like an aimed bullet, the crowd making way for him as if Hugh and not Adrienne had been royalty. She sensed his disapproval from a dozen feet away, and it cut through her like a knife. “Is there time to change the seating arrangements?” she asked Cindy in a low voice.

Cindy checked her watch. “We’re due to sit down in four minutes. I’d have to ask the kitchen staff to delay serving dinner while I reshuffle the seating.” She sounded frayed and Adrienne knew if anyone else had suggested it, her assistant would have told them what she thought in no uncertain terms.

“Don’t bother, then, everything will be fine,” she assured her assistant. It wasn’t fair to burden her with a problem Adrienne had to admit was of her own making. She lifted her head and fixed her best princess-smile to her face as the source of her tension reached her side. “Mr. Jordan, I’m told we’re to be dinner partners.”

He offered her his bent arm, and she was proud of hesitating only fractionally as she tucked her hand into it. “All things considered, you should call me Hugh,” he growled. “I already know the name you prefer to answer to.”

She knew he was referring to Dee, the name he had heard her use at the fair. “My name is Adrienne,” she said firmly, wishing she wasn’t bound by the rules of etiquette to keep her hand in his arm when every instinct urged her to tear herself free and run as fast as she could away from him.

The banquet table was large enough to land a small plane on, but with Hugh at her side she felt as if it was barely roomy enough for the two of them. “What brings you to Nuee, Hugh?” she made herself ask in a conversational tone, as the first course was served with the precision of a military operation.

“I’m sure your staff briefed you on why I’m here. But for the record, I plan to establish a ranch north of Nuee City and breed saddle horses. It’ll be the South Pacific counterpart of a similar facility I own back in the States.”

As the governor of the islands of Isle des Anges and Nuee, her brother, Prince Michel, had to give royal assent before a foreigner could make an investment on that scale in Carramer, she knew. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to convince Michel to change his mind. “How far advanced are your plans?” she asked.

“Far enough. The land is already mine through a Carramer-based holding company. All I need now is royal approval to set up the ranch.”

Approval her brother had withheld from his own sister, she reminded herself, feeling her anger rise. “I suppose you want me to put in a good word for you with Michel,” she said, her tone unconsciously harsh.

He took a sip of the excellent French wine she had refused in favor of mineral water. “I should think you’d be more worried about what I might say to the prince than what you should say to him,” he said.

She was uncomfortably sure that she knew exactly what he was suggesting but she decided to make him spell it out. “I can’t imagine what you mean.”

He glanced around, but the guests nearest to them were engrossed in conversation and enjoying the seafood course that had been placed before them. “You know exactly what I mean…Dee.”

So he did intend to take advantage of what he had learned about her activities. Her spirits plummeted. “Kindly don’t call me that here,” she said, keeping defeat out of her voice with an effort. She hadn’t known quite how much she valued her vacations from duty until they were under threat.

“I gather no one knows about your little foray but you and me.”

“My personal staff know that I like to…keep in touch,” she said awkwardly.

“Is that what you call risking your beautiful neck for a few thrills?”

She drew herself up regally. “You presume a lot on very little knowledge, Mr. Jordan.”

His hand slid over hers in a fleeting but oddly possessive gesture. “It’s a bad habit of mine, especially with a lady whose beautiful a—anatomy I’ve had the pleasure of saving.”

“Crudely put but accurate,” she snapped. “Why do I sense that a simple thank-you isn’t enough to persuade you to drop the subject?”

“Because it won’t be,” he said so mildly that it hardly sounded like a threat at all. More a promise, she thought. Men like Hugh Jordan didn’t threaten. “Why did you refuse me when I asked for a meeting?”

“I didn’t—”

“Oh, the princes’ office gave me the official excuses, but in my experience we can generally do the things we most want to do. Therefore, you wouldn’t see me because you didn’t want to.”

It was bad enough being cut off in midsentence. Of the many people in her life, perhaps only her brothers would have dared. “Royalty has its obligations,” she said, annoyed at being second-guessed so accurately.

“Then Nuee’s prosperity should be high on the list.”

“Of course it is. It’s the smallest of Carramer’s main islands with the least resources.”

“One of them being native horses with the potential to be the world’s greatest saddlebreds.”

“Agreed,” she said.

“So why put up a fight?”

“Because I refused a meeting?”

His eyes gleamed. “A confession, princess?”

Too late, she saw the trap. “A question…and you haven’t answered it.”

He spread his long fingers wide. “Your brother tells me you’re the greatest living expert on Nuee’s native horses. With your expertise and my setup, we could conquer the riding world.”

“Why not the other way around?” she said softly.

His breath hissed between those inviting full lips. “So that’s what this is all about. You wanted that land for yourself, didn’t you?”

“It’s perfect for raising saddlebreds.”

“So why didn’t you buy it?” He swept a gaze around the banquet hall. He knew the value of the silverware alone would feed a normal family for a year. “It can’t be lack of money.”

“Try lack of a Y chromosome.”

He looked startled, as if the idea would never occur to him. “Because you’re female? Carramer isn’t that feudal.”

“It depends on one’s family.”

“Your brothers?” When she nodded, he said, “They must have good reason for keeping you out of the ranching business. Maybe they’re trying to protect you.”

“Spoken like a typical male,” she said. “I can take care of myself.”

“The way you did this afternoon? What’s with you, anyway, princess? You could have been injured or killed sneaking out like that.”

She let her eyes flash regal fire at him and waited for him to quail. When he didn’t, she snapped, “I would have handled that drunken oaf. I did handle him, come to think of it.” She saw Hugh wince at the memory of her well-aimed kick. “And I never sneak.”

“So this isn’t the first time you’ve gone out alone and in disguise.” It wasn’t a question. It was certainty. He didn’t seem surprised when she didn’t deny it and went on in an angry voice, “Princess, it seems to me that you don’t know when you’re well-off.”

Confusion gripped her. She had feared he would use what he knew to gain some benefit, but instead he sounded angry on her account. This was getting much too personal. Luckily the next course was being brought in. “I’m glad we had this talk, Hugh, but I can’t monopolize you all evening.”

He knew a dismissal when he heard one. He might be a self-made man but his education, rough as it was, had included the rules of etiquette. Both of them owed some of their attention to the guests on either side of them. “There’s still my dance,” he reminded the princess before she could turn to the man on her left. He had the satisfaction of seeing her lovely eyes widen.

“Your dance?”

“As your appeal’s biggest benefactor, I get to dance with the princess at least once tonight.”

“I may retire early.”

“Even you wouldn’t buck the system that far.”

He was right, damn him. She still had a feeling he wanted something from her, something he hadn’t mentioned yet. She resolved to make it a short dance. “Very well, then, we’ll continue this later.”

He nodded graciously enough but muttered something that sounded like, “You bet we will.” With a resigned sigh, she turned her attention to the man seated on her left. He was a meteorologist, she remembered from Cindy’s briefing. She hoped discussing the weather would be easier on her blood pressure than talking with Hugh.

Even with her attention directed elsewhere she was aware of him, she noticed uncomfortably. As her companion launched into a long dissertation about the effects of the various currents on Carramer’s water temperatures, she nibbled around the edges of her food, mostly pushing it around her plate to give the appearance of eating.

When the lecture faltered, she dragged a snippet of information out of her memory. “I believe you’re also interested in the thermal mapping of tropical storms.”

The meteorologist colored with pleasure. “Your Highness is well informed.”

Efficient, too, in studying the briefing notes Cindy had prepared for her ahead of time. Adrienne inclined her head. “It’s kind of you to say so. Please, go on.”

This started a fresh wave of information that she absorbed with only half her attention. The other half kept shifting to Hugh who had his head bent close to a middle-aged blond woman on his right. Had Cindy mentioned her? She was somebody’s wife, Adrienne recalled, although right now she wasn’t acting much like one.

The woman was all but batting her eyes at him. Hugh didn’t seem to mind, lapping up the attention like mother’s milk. She wasn’t jealous. The woman was welcome to him, Adrienne told herself. He annoyed her, and not only because he knew her secret. He refused to treat her with the deference due her position, challenging and insulting her in a way no one else dared to do.

In fairness she couldn’t blame him for securing the land she had wanted for herself. That fault lay with her brother. But she did resent Hugh’s ready acceptance of it as his right, and his attitude that, as a woman and a princess, she needed protecting from the big, bad world.

All the same he intrigued her, possibly because she didn’t intimidate him. America had no royal family, she recalled, having shed their ties with their monarch centuries before. Yet Hugh’s attitude didn’t seem to come from lack of experience with royalty as much as from the depths of his own character. He would bow before anyone who had earned his deference, but not otherwise, she sensed.

The thought of dancing with him was scary and exhilarating by turns.

At the end of the elaborate meal she stood up, signaling a return to the ballroom, where her heart started to flutter in anticipation. Surely she couldn’t want to dance with Hugh Jordan? If he passed on what he knew, he could cause trouble for her with her brothers. By right she should keep as far away from him as possible. Yet her eyes sought him out with the same recklessness that sent a moth darting to a fatal flame.

“May I have this dance, Your Highness?” he asked formally as the orchestra struck up a waltz.

“Yes.” Strange how hard it was to force the single word out.

With a smoothness she hadn’t expected, he took her hand in his and led her into the center of the room. Pressing against the small of her back, his other hand felt fiery, the almost-backless dress no shield against his touch. She was relieved when they completed the obligatory circle of the room and other dancers joined them on the floor. Alone with Hugh in the spotlight, she had felt exposed and vulnerable.

“You look surprised that I can dance,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear. “Did you doubt that the foreign cowboy had it in him?”

His breath ruffled her hair, distracting her. “You obviously know your way around a banquet hall and a dance floor, and you’re smart enough in business to impress Michel. So why pretend you’re a hick cowboy?”

“Because it’s what I am. A street kid, a foundling, call it what you like. I wasn’t born with your advantages.”

She tensed involuntarily. “You mean belonging to the royal family?”

“I mean belonging to any family. I didn’t have a family until I was fourteen years old, but you have since birth. Maybe that’s why you don’t appreciate it.”

His harsh tone made her wince almost more than the grip on her hand which had tightened as he spoke. “What makes you think I don’t?”

“Why else would you run away from everything you are for the sake of a cheap thrill or two?”

“You could never understand,” she said bitterly.

“I’m not sure I want to, princess.”

“Must you keep calling me that?”

The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “Would you prefer Dee?”

“I’d prefer you let me go. We’ve done our duty now and…oh.”

She felt herself sway, held upright only by his arm around her. “Are you okay?”

“Just a little lightheaded. I’ll be fine if I can get some air.”

Still half supporting her, he led her through a set of French doors opening onto a wide terrace lit by flaming torches. By their flickering light he found a stone bench and pressed her onto it. “You didn’t eat much in there, did you?”

“A little.”

“And I’ll bet you didn’t see a doctor when you got back, either.” Her look gave him his answer. “Don’t you realize you could be in shock after what happened at the show?”

“But I’m not,” she insisted.

To her chagrin, his strong fingers pried her eyelids up one after the other and he inspected her pupils as he might have done a horse he intended buying at auction. “Your eyes are clear and your color is good. Next time eat a little more before hitting the dance floor.”

She was tempted to remind him whose fault it was she was there in the first place, but she was too distracted by the feel of his palm against the side of her face and had to fight a stupid inclination to lean into it. “I’m just tired,” she ventured.

“And willful and dangerously reckless,” he added. “At one time I’d have given my right arm for a brother who cared about me as much as yours do, and you don’t have the sense to appreciate them.”

No one had ever spoken to her so bluntly, not even her brothers. She drew herself up shakily. “Kindly remember to whom you are speaking.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he said softly, touching a finger to her chin and tilting her face up a fraction more. “It’s the only thing stopping me from doing what I wanted to do this afternoon at the show.”

She could hardly speak. “What’s that?”

“Kiss you senseless.”

Her breath snagged in her throat as she felt her arousal build. It seemed inconceivable that Hugh could have such an effect on her with a few words and a touch, but he had. “You don’t even know me.”

He shrugged dismissively. “Call it chemistry, but it’s the way I feel. I spent most of the time between the show and coming here wondering how to find you again.”

“And now that you have?”

He glanced around but the others were still dancing. They had the terrace to themselves. “I find you’re so far above me that I can’t reach high enough to touch you.”

“Are you sure?” She stood up so their faces were as close to level as his extra inches in height would allow. Her stiletto-heeled shoes didn’t help nearly enough.

It was all the invitation he needed. With an indrawn breath he slid his arms around her and found her mouth. His lips were as commanding as she’d imagined, shaping hers to some hidden agenda of his own.

There was nothing hesitant in the way he gathered her against him and merged his mouth with hers. His hand slid to the back of her neck, pressing her closer, letting her feel his body heat as the rich masculine taste of him filled her mouth.

If she’d thought she was aroused before, it was nothing compared to the fire racing through her by the time he released her. She felt so shaken that it was an effort to slip her mask of royal reserve back into place. “Satisfied now?”

He seemed far less moved by the kiss than she was, and the discovery rankled for some reason.

“Let’s say it’s a start.”

“It can’t be any such thing,” she said haughtily. “This is insane. If I was feeling better…”

“You’d do exactly what we just did,” he supplied with infuriating coolness. “You wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss you.”

But in his case it meant a lot less, she saw. Wanting to hit back, she said, “It’s done now. Over.”

Slowly he shook his head. “Oh, no, princess, it isn’t over by a long shot. There’s still the matter of your reckless behavior to be discussed, and another matter I intended to bring up with you.”

“What’s that?” she asked suspiciously.

“It will keep. Right now, you should rest—and have your doctor take a look at you.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes, how soon can I see you again?”

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