Resolutely she folded her fingers into a fist, burying it in the cashmere blanket she was resting on. “Are you accusing me of bias, Your Highness?”
“If the shoe fits.”
Instead of the ire she expected to feel, satisfaction poured through her. “You realize what you’ve done? Now you have to give me an interview about the Champagne Pact.” She played her trump card. “For balance.”
He waited long enough for his silence to tell her he didn’t have to do anything. “I’ll consider it,” he said finally. “In the meantime, you’re to rest.”
In truth, she needed to rest, but not here. “I don’t have anything with me for an overnight stay.”
“The staff will provide for your needs. Are you hungry?”
By rights her reaction to the plant venom should have killed her appetite. It hadn’t. “A little,” she admitted.
“I’ll have a meal sent in to you.”
This had gone far enough. “Now that your doctor’s potion has done its job, I’d prefer to return to my hotel. I can rest there as easily as I can here. If it makes you feel better, you can provide a limo for me and a guard to make sure I get there.”
The prince stepped closer, looming over her. “I have a better idea. You can spend the night in one of the guest suites, where the doctor will be on call.”
It was an improvement on remaining where she was. “Very well.”
“And dine with me.”
“I wouldn’t want to impose.”
More than she had already done, his expression telegraphed more effectively than words. “Think nothing of it. I’ll give the orders. When you’re recovered enough to move, someone will escort you to me.”
“I’m ready now.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed, gripping the edge when the room swam around her. She didn’t resist when he turned her shoulders and eased her back onto the pillow. “Well, maybe in a little while,” she conceded, alarmed at feeling so weak.
He smiled. “Take all the time you need.”
She let her eyes drift shut and the room slowly steadied. She heard the prince talking to the doctor, but felt too enervated to focus on what they were saying. She should be pleased with herself. She had gained something that had long eluded her—an honest-to-goodness prince who was willing to talk about royal life from the inside. If she could convince him to do it on camera, she would have an award-winning program.
Not a bad payoff for getting herself attacked by a carnivorous plant, she thought as her senses shut down.
She awoke feeling disoriented. Then memory flooded back. She sat up cautiously, but the room stayed steady. The doctor’s potion and a long rest had done their work. “What time is it?” she asked the nurse who came in and checked a chart at the foot of her bed.
The woman dropped a hand to Annegret’s wrist and counted beats before saying, “It’s almost six.”
Watching the nurse make a note on the chart, Annegret asked, “Six in the evening?”
The nurse replaced the chart. “You slept so soundly, Prince Maxim ordered that you not be disturbed.”
Warmth infused Annegret. She had dreamed of Maxim standing over her, taking her hand. Had it only been a dream? “Was he here while I was asleep?”
“Twice. Would you like to freshen up? He had someone fetch your things from the Hotel de Merrisand. They’ll be conveyed to your suite as soon as you are discharged from the infirmary.”
Annegret was sure she hadn’t told him the name of her hotel, and she most certainly hadn’t given permission for anyone to go into her room. “How did he…”
“He is the prince,” the nurse said, as if it explained everything.
Perhaps it did. At least Annegret could be thankful he hadn’t gone to her hotel room himself. She found it easier to think of a stranger touching her personal belongings, than to imagine Maxim doing it. It would be like having him touch her.
A shudder rippled through her, earning a concerned look from the nurse. “Are you sure you feel all right?”
Did heated skin and a light head count as all right? Aftereffects of her misadventure, Annegret assured herself. Nothing more. Certainly nothing that would justify fantasizing about Maxim.
“I’ll be fine after I’ve showered and changed,” she said, levering herself gingerly off the bed. Picking up her bag, she moved toward a doorway that she could see opened onto an adjoining bathroom.
Half an hour later, greatly refreshed and wearing a white three-quarter-sleeve top and a black lace skirt, she emerged to find the bed tidied and the chart gone. On the pillow lay a single, long-stemmed red rose and a card bearing the royal crest. With her heart beating ridiculously fast, she picked up the card. “When you’re ready, you’ll be escorted to my apartment, although I believe you already know the way.”
No signature. She held the rose to her face, breathing in the heady fragrance. If Maxim was trying to make a favorable impression, he was succeeding. It wouldn’t influence how she portrayed him in her program, but she had to grant that His Royal Highness had style.
The corridors the uniformed footman led her along were steeped in shadows. Air-conditioning kept the temperature constant, so she must be imagining a chill from the thick stone walls, she told herself as she followed the servant. “What is Prince Maxim really like?” she asked the man.
“He is the prince.”
The same answer the nurse had given her in the infirmary, as if it explained everything about him. “How does he spend his time?” she tried again.
“Administering the Merrisand Trust demands most of His Highness’s time.”
She knew that the trust raised millions of dollars to help children in need. “Surely the prince’s staff do most of the work?” she prompted.
“The prince involves himself directly in the day-to-day running of the trust,” the man said a little stiffly.
So he wasn’t a figurehead. “But what is he really like?” she persisted, not sure that research was her only motivation. “What are his hobbies?”
The man hesitated, as if unsure how much to reveal. Evidently deciding it wouldn’t undermine the stability of the crown, he said, “His Highness has a passion for cartography—old maps.”
Her irritation rose. “I know what cartography is.”
“He is also a master astronomer. The Mount Granet Observatory he founded is one of the largest privately owned facilities in the southern hemisphere.”
The prince as a stargazer? The idea was almost too romantic—and unsettling. Because it doesn’t fit your preconceived notion of him? she asked herself. Surely she wasn’t so prejudiced against royalty that she couldn’t deal with Maxim as a human being?
They
