look beautiful tonight, Doctor,” Max said, his eyes roaming the length of her. “Care for an escort?”
For a moment, she saw herself standing beside him, slipping her hand through his arm, feeling the muscles in his biceps flex against her fingers. But the moment passed. “Thanks, but I can manage.”
He raised a dark brow. “Is it just me, or do you have a problem with all men who show you an ounce of chivalry?”
“No, it’s just you.” The retort came out fast and unplanned, and she wondered if she’d offended him.
But Max only grinned at her impudence. “Come with me,” he said, starting for the door, which was being held open by a stoic older gentleman in black tie and tails.
Fran glanced first at the open door, then at Max. “Come with you where?”
“Out.”
“But the king invited me—”
“My father is on the phone with the president of Lithuania. He sends his regrets and has asked me to entertain you.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” The remark was calm, but beneath her cool exterior, her heart pounded fiercely. Entertain her how?
“Stop being so suspicious,” he said, a grin pulling at his full lips. “I promised you no more tricks.”
“All right,” she said, walking toward him. “I am pretty hungry.”
He chuckled. “And I’m flattered.”
“Where are we going?” Into town maybe? She’d read about several wonderful restaurants and ice-cream shops, and even a taffy shop. But did royalty go to town for a meal?
“We’re going to the lighthouse,” he said as he ushered her past and out the door.
Sounded like a restaurant. Nice seafood place with… Fran paused, her surroundings seizing her attention. Milky-white clouds had taken over the sky and sunset, riding low and thick on the ground.
“What happened here?” Fran asked on a laugh, standing dead center in the haze.
“Fog.”
“Fog? But the sun was so bright today, no clouds at all. When did this come on?” She turned around once, feeling the cool mist against her skin. “It’s as dense as cotton candy. I can hardly see five feet in front of me.”
Max took her hand in his. “You’ll get used to it.”
“I will?” she asked lamely, her mind and every one of her senses focused on the feel of Max’s large warm hand. Maybe she should’ve pulled free, sent a message to him and to herself that touching of any kind was inappropriate. But she didn’t. She forgot about a jacket, a purse, all things practical and held on, just let him guide her across the lawn and away from the castle.
“When my ancestors first came to this land,” he began, “the elders of both the Thorne and Brunell royal families wanted their firstborn children to marry. But the Thornes’ eldest daughter, Sana, was deeply in love with another man, a poor ship worker, and her father strictly forbade her to see him again. On the day before her wedding, Sana took her life.” Max’s hand tightened around Fran’s. “That night was the first time the fog came.”
“Is that a legend?” Fran asked, awe threading her query.
“No. A fact. History.” Max guided her around a large rock. “From then to now, the fog rolls in at six every night and disappears by seven. Many have said that the one hour of cover is granted by Sana for all ill-fated lovers. For that one hour, they can meet without fear of being discovered.”
Wonder moved through Fran, taking hold of the soft parts of her heart, and she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Have you ever met anyone in the fog?”
He chuckled and said, “Not until today,” as he led her expertly through the grounded cloudbank.
And just as she realized that they weren’t going to town, the scent of the ocean hit her. She stopped and faced Max. “I thought you said no more tricks.”
His gaze impaled her. “This is no trick, Francesca.”
“Then what are we doing here?”
“I live here.”
He led her forward a few paces until she saw it.
Barely visible through the fog were the first two stories of a lighthouse. A lighthouse that she imagined was tall and imposing—just like its owner. Warm, inviting light spilled through the windows, beckoning them to come inside.
Without a word, Max guided her up a set of stone stairs, across a bed of rocks, then through a massive oak door and into the lighthouse.
“You live here?” she asked, wonder thick in her voice. “And not in the palace?”
“I prefer to live alone,” he said, releasing her hand.
Being free of his grasp was a strange sensation. In one respect she was relieved to have the heat, the strength, gone. But in another respect, she felt displaced, as if a part of her remained with him when he’d dropped her hand.
Fran followed him up the lovely spiral staircase to what she guessed to be the second floor of a three-story dwelling. Persian rugs covered polished hard-wood floors, and comfortable couches in deep shades of plum sat facing each other, a rich mahogany chest between them. A marble fireplace took up most of one wall, and a cluster of windows the size of computer screens another. While still another wall boasted French doors, which hung open, allowing the cool ocean breeze to filter into the room, only mildly upsetting the gold cloth napkins which rested atop what appeared to be solid gold plates on a small mahogany dining table. A table set elegantly for two.
“This is magnificent,” Fran said. “You’ve done a wonderful job with this space.”
“Thank you. It was a labor of love. I always coveted the lighthouse when I was a child, escaped here when I had the chance. And when Llandaron no longer had use for it, I converted it into my home.” He walked over to the table and held out a chair for her. “May I?” He grinned devilishly. “I promise I won’t pull it out the minute you sit down.”
She couldn’t help the smile that came to her lips. “I appreciate that.” This whole scenario was surreal—the beautifully set table in front of the prime ocean view—and Fran had to warn herself as she sat down on the plush cushion of plum silk, that she’d better remember who she was and where she’d come from—and more importantly, that a real live prince sat across from her.
In seconds, a woman with a mop of graying hair and a pleasant smile appeared and placed several wonderful-smelling items in front of them.
After thanking the woman, Fran turned to Max and whispered, “Cheeseburgers, French fries and beer?”
He picked up a fry and winked. “An American meal for your first night away from home.”
She laughed as she placed her napkin in her lap. Burgers and fries on a solid gold plate—too funny.
“I
