didn’t want to think about what he was doing, about what she wanted him to do. “She’s cute—a tabby with calico spots and white fur on her chin and belly.” Christina watched with anticipation as he ran his fingertips along the circumference of the silk-covered button. “She’s a good cat. When I rub her belly, she purrs like an engine.”
Prince Richard flashed her a devastating grin that made her want to meow. “Belly rubs work wonders.”
“Yes, they…”
Warning bells sounded inside her head. You almost meowed, for heaven’s sake. Get away from him. Now.
Christina searched for a way out, an escape route. She saw nothing except two leather chairs in front of the fireplace. They would have to do. “About our sleeping arrangements, Your Highness. I can sleep on one of the chairs or on the floor.”
“The floor?” Prince Richard laughed. “That would be so uncomfortable. Surely we can do better than that.”
Not if she had any say in the matter. Christina stepped around him and moved toward the chairs. “That’s okay, Your, er, Highness. You wouldn’t believe some of the places I’ve bedded down, I mean, slept.” Needing to shut up before she said something stupid, she faked a yawn. “I’m really tired.”
“If you are tired, it should not matter if we share the bed.”
“It would matter,” she said a little too quickly. “I mean—”
“What do you mean, Christina?”
Her name rolled from his lips with the slight hint of a French accent. She loved the way he said her name. No, she hated it. “I toss and turn. And I snore.”
“Did Francis tell you that?”
Damn. Caught in her own trap. She never could tell even the smallest of white lies. Her cheeks warmed. Only a soft knock on the door saved her from further embarrassment.
“Who is it?” Prince Richard asked, sounding impatient.
“Your mother,” a female voice answered.
His mother? That could only mean one thing—trouble. Christina exchanged a panicked look with Prince Richard.
“Just a minute,” he said to his mother, then turned to Christina. “Hide.”
“Where?”
He glanced at the bathroom and another door. “If my mother finds you here…”
The beautiful Princess Marguerite probably wouldn’t understand why Christina was in the prince’s room at this late hour and wearing his pajama top.
He opened the doors to his armoire and pointed. Looking inside the wardrobe, Christina hesitated. “In there?”
“Richard?” Princess Marguerite called out. “I must speak with you immediately.”
He tensed. Without a second thought, Christina climbed in, moving aside the tails of shirts hanging side by side. Prince Richard rolled her gown and tossed it to her. He closed the armoire, leaving her in darkness.
The cramped armoire smelled like cedar. She clutched her gown to her chest. A tight fit, but it worked. For the time being. “Don’t forget my shoes, Your Highness.”
“Richard? Open this door,” his mother said.
He messed his hair, rumpled the sheets and kicked Christina’s pumps under the bed before unlocking the door. “Good evening, Mother.”
Marguerite pushed her way into the room. Her black gown swished against the Savonnerie carpet. “I hope I did not interrupt anything.”
“No, I was in bed.”
“Alone?” She peered around him to stare at his bed.
Her question did not deserve an answer. She always seemed disappointed when she failed to find a woman spending the night. It meant waiting that much longer for grandchildren. “I thought you would be asleep by now, Mother.”
“How could I sleep after what happened tonight? I want to know what’s going on, Richard.” Crossing the room, she glanced in the bathroom. “And do not tell me you evacuated the palace because of your uncle’s heart attack. I know he was pretending.”
“He was not pretending.” Richard saw the contrast of green against the black of the bed skirt. One of Christina’s pumps stuck out from under his bed. Damn. “He simply mistook a bout of indigestion for the real thing.”
“He ruined your party.”
While his mother peered inside his walk-in closet, Richard nudged the shoe farther under his bed. “He thought he was having a heart attack, Mother. Surely his health is more important than a party?”
“But the ring.” She shut the closet door. “There were so many lovely young women present at the ball. I was hoping you would find her tonight.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you.”
“It’s not your fault the ring didn’t fit any of the women or the party was cut short.”
“Fate seems to have conspired against me.”
It most definitely had. A piece of green fabric—Christina’s gown?—stuck out of the bottom of his armoire. His mother had not seen it. Yet.
“I simply wanted you to experience the same love and happiness the Legend of the Ring brought your father and me.”
“Happiness, Mother?” Richard could not believe he was hearing this. He hurried to the armoire. Leaning against it, he struck a casual pose and hid the fabric with his heel. “For the past ten years, you have done nothing but wear black and mourn him.”
“I miss him, Richard, but do not forget we had twenty-one years of joy before his death. I will always have the memories, and I have the ring to thank for that.”
A ring could not bring happiness, true love, no matter how much his mother wanted to believe it. Just listening to her…She spoke as if she had died, too. She sounded so sad. The way she had sounded since his father’s death. Richard blamed her sorrow on the Legend of the Ring. “Why not experience that joy again, Mother? You can fall in love and remarry.”
As his mother moved closer to him and the armoire, her smile disappeared. “The love your father and I shared…I cannot replace that with another. I would not even want to try. But I do want you to marry and provide me with the grandchildren I so long to have.”
He knew how much his mother wanted him to marry, to produce an heir—grandchildren. Talking about the legend and his birthday ball had brought the light back to her eyes. Now it was gone.
Completely.
What kind of son was he, putting his wants ahead of his mother’s? He did not want to know the answer.
“Where is the ring?”
Torn between his own happiness and hers,
