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
