it would have been so very easy for him to bend toward her. To place his lips against hers. To taste what he thought must be the delectable honeyed sweetness of her mouth.
But the part of his brain housing his common sense flickered to life. Doubts about this woman flooded into his thoughts. He was certain she’d been playacting all night. Pretending to be something she was not. And he couldn’t help but wonder why.
In the end, he released her, clasping his hands behind his back so as not to surrender to the overwhelming desire he felt to kiss her, to touch her.
When he released her, she blinked slowly, once, twice. There was a lethargic sleepiness in her expression, and Etienne got the feeling that she was waking from a trance. He knew exactly how she felt. Then he noticed that her chest rose and fell as if she were out of breath…or physically reacting to the high intensity of the moment. Heaven could attest to the fact that he certainly was.
“I can’t believe it.”
The awe expressed on her face only made her all the more beautiful.
“I can’t believe I waltzed without crushing your toes.”
Her chuckle was filled with both giddiness and delight, and Etienne had to make a conscious effort not to reach out to her, then and there.
“Dancing won’t ever be my favorite pastime,” she remarked. “But at least now I know I can do it.” Seemingly without thought, she added, “With the right partner, of course.”
Her aside only seemed to heighten the thick atmosphere that swirled around them in the night air. He couldn’t help wondering if she was as conscious of it as he was.
“I-I’m suddenly feeling exhausted,” she whispered abruptly. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I bid you good-night.”
He nodded a single, silent farewell, but she strode away from him so quickly that he doubted she even saw it.
The rusty quality of her voice coupled with the blatant fact that she was so obviously fleeing the scene told him that—yes—she had realized the magic that the two of them had conjured in those short few minutes under the stars.
Ariane came awake slowly, stretching on the luxurious bedding like a languid kitten. Sunlight streamed into the airy room and the warbling of birds, muffled yet melodious, could be heard even though the windows were closed against the morning chill.
All through the night she’d been plagued with dreams of pewter-gray eyes so fiery that she’d become consumed by them, of an embrace so secure that it had robbed her of all thought, of skin so hot that she felt burned by its touch, of a jaw so strong it was mesmerizing, of a mouth so perfect and kissable that she’d become thoroughly obsessed by the idea of tasting—
Stop!
Opening her mouth, Ariane gulped in a head-clearing breath as she pressed her palm flat against the base of her throat. She didn’t want to think about what had happened between Etienne and herself at the ball last night. And she certainly didn’t want to dream about the man.
Okay, so they had shared a few minutes together out under the silky night sky.
A few surprising—no, amazing—minutes.
Ariane did all she could to ignore this more precise description of the time she’d spent on the terrace with the prince.
Her trip to Rhineland held a solitary purpose. To glean political information for the head of her country’s security force, Luc Dumont, who had been none too happy that she’d insisted on coming on this mission. But insist she had. She must remember her goal. She must remember that Etienne was a convenient motive for her visit. That was all he was. She refused to allow him to become anything more than that.
To allow fanciful thoughts to frolic around in her head would be useless. She and Etienne would never—could never—be anything more than they already were—mere acquaintances.
And the reality of her life was the reason.
Not only remembering, but focusing on the practicality of this fact made it all that much easier to clear the sweet but hopeless dreams from her head.
Movement at the window drew her gaze, and Ariane smiled as she watched the goldfinch that sat on the deep stone sill. The bird searched and pecked, then sang a few resounding notes, then went back to searching and pecking.
It felt so nice to be away from the tension that had built up in her home back in St. Michel. Her stepmother, Celeste, had never been the easiest person to live with, and luckily the palace was big enough that avoiding the woman was quite easy. However, since King Philippe’s death, the queen—as Celeste preferred to be called these days—had become downright cantankerous.
Granted, the woman was nearly seven months pregnant. And the stress over worrying about the gender of the child she carried was probably contributing to her ill humor.
Ariane turned over onto her side and adjusted the pillow under her head.
The only way for her stepmother to retain even a modicum of her power was if she gave birth to a boy. A male child who would be in line for the throne. Of course, Celeste had professed to have taken a test that proved the gender of her baby, but Ariane wasn’t the only one in the palace who thought it strange that the queen had yet to produce the medical documents to confirm that fact.
Smoothing her hand over the soft Egyptian cotton spread, Ariane sighed.
Even if her stepmother bore a baby boy, that child might not be first in line to be the next king. That honor would go to the child conceived during the marriage of Philippe, then crown prince of St. Michel, and an American woman named Katie Graham.
The young couple had fallen madly in love when Philippe had been eighteen. They had married without their parents’ consent, and because Katie had been under the legal age to do such a thing, Philippe’s parents had tricked them into believing that their union was null and void, that their marriage certificate wasn’t worth the paper it was written on.
Philippe’s mother, Ariane’s grandmother, Simone, had expressed a deep regret over her deceitful actions of all those years ago when she’d recently relayed the story. She’d told Ariane and her two full-blooded sisters, Lise and Marie-Claire, that she and her husband had only been acting in what they truly believed to be their son’s best interest.
So all those years ago the young couple parted. Philippe resumed his education and the training he’d need to act as king, and young Katie had left St. Michel brokenhearted—and pregnant.
If the child Katie had delivered was male…and if he was still alive…then he would be the next de Bergeron king of St. Michel.
However, Simone had told them all that as far as she knew Philippe had never heard from Katie again. And no one had any idea if the child the woman gave birth to was male or female.
What worried Ariane more than anything was the future of St. Michel. Hundreds of years ago, those wonderful, loving people had fought long and hard to form their own realm, for the right to pledge themselves to the de Bergeron family. Yet it seemed that keeping their country intact was hinging on the discovery of the whereabouts of one little baby, hopefully now a grown man.
The de Bergeron missing heir.
Ariane
