Ariane and her sisters. But the fact that her own parents’ marriage had been invalidated and that Ariane and her sisters had been deemed illegitimate should have upset Ariane more than it did. She should be terribly distressed by the idea of having her title stripped from her, of losing her position in society. Ariane couldn’t quite put her finger on why the notion didn’t ruffle her more.
It could be that the calm she felt over her situation was possible because she knew no one but her sisters, her country’s prime minister, close family members and Luc Dumont, the head of St. Michel’s security force—trusted family members and friends, one and all—were privy to her and her siblings’ predicament. Once the rest of the world learned of the fact that she was misbegotten, then it could be that she’d fall completely to pieces.
What would Prince Etienne think when he learned the news? The question flitted unbidden through her head like a leaf tossed on the wind.
Ariane threw back the blanket and sat up on the edge of the mattress. She shoved the silly query from her mind. What did she care what he thought? What did she care what anyone thought?
A nice hot cup of tea was what she needed to clear away all these unpleasant doubts and questions.
The guest suite in the Kroninberg Palace was spacious and sunny. It consisted of two en suite bedrooms, one for her and one for her lady-in-waiting, connected by a delightful high-ceilinged sitting room. That’s where she found Francie munching on a piece of buttered toast.
“What time is it?” Ariane asked, surprised to see that breakfast had been served on a large tray. “Shouldn’t we be taking the meal with our hosts?”
“Everyone’s sleeping in this morning.” Francie wiped her fingers on the crisp, white linen napkin in her lap. “The maid told me when she delivered the tray, so I decided not to wake you.”
Ariane poured a steaming cup of tea from the porcelain pot. “So how did you sleep?” she asked. After dropping in one sugar cube, she stirred and then eased herself down in the velvet armchair flanking Francie’s.
“Just fine.”
Her lady looked as if she were the proverbial cat that had swallowed a canary.
“Okay,” Ariane said, “out with it. What’s on your mind?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Francie’s voice had a sing-song quality to it that relayed that the opposite was the real truth of the matter.
“It’s just that I watched you go outside with the prince…and not too much later you came rushing back through the doors and right out of the room. Your face was flushed and you looked…well, you looked as if something had happened.” She swept a few nonexistent crumbs from her lap. “When I followed you up here, you’d already shut yourself up in your bedroom. Which was a clear sign to me that you didn’t want to talk about what happened. Which tells me that something did actually happen.”
“You’re deluding yourself, my friend.” Ariane took a sip of her tea, but she was cognizant of the slight tremble of her fingers. The last thing she wanted to talk about was her time out on the terrace with Etienne. “Nothing happened. Nothing at all.” When Francie’s eyes rolled expressively, she reasserted, “Nothing.”
Her friend chuckled. “What is that old saying? The one about the princess protesting too much? I think that just might fit you to a T. ”
Ariane let her gaze settle on the ornate teacup and said nothing.
Evidently not getting the message that Ariane didn’t want to discuss the matter, Francie boldly asked, “What did you talk about when you were with Etienne? And how come you rushed away from him and left the party?”
“You don’t take a hint very well, do you?” Ariane quipped.
Just remembering those pewter eyes, and how she’d seemed to fall headfirst into them…Ariane’s heart tripped an unsteady beat and she felt all shaky inside.
She had no idea what had happened to her during those moments. Etienne’s arms had enveloped her securely. She’d become almost entranced by his steady gaze. The heat of him had swathed her like a warm and protective cloak. Somewhere in the back of her brain she’s been aware that the spicy scent of his cologne held a hint of citrus. The combination had been utterly enticing.
Trust me.
Even now, the mere memory of his rich, resonant voice sent shivers coursing down her spine like a shower of cool spring rain.
She’d been enraptured. By his gaze. His scent. His touch. By him.
Never before had she been so stirred by another human being.
When Ariane failed to rise to Francie’s bait, the woman remarked, “Etienne is awfully handsome.”
She waited, and Ariane remained stubbornly silent.
“He looked awesome last night.”
More silence.
Finally, Francie blurted, “And those trousers he wore accentuated his nice, tight butt, too.”
Ariane gasped, tea splashing over the rim of the cup. “Francie!”
Her friend giggled. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re alive and well. With all the silent treatment I’d thought you’d died right where you sat.”
Sighing, Ariane pursed her lips for a moment. Then she said, “I am alive and well. And I agree with everything you just said. The prince is a handsome man. And he looked delectable last night.” She grinned. “And I did notice his butt. Are you happy now that I’ve bared my soul?”
Francie grinned with clear delight.
Then Ariane’s shoulders drooped a fraction and she lifted her chin determinedly. “But tell me something…what is the fabulous prince going to say once he learns that I’m no longer a princess?”
The pleasure slowly slid from Francie’s expression.
“I’m here on a mission,” Ariane continued firmly. “I’m on an assignment that just might help our countrymen. That’s what I have to focus on.”
Francie looked contrite. “Yes, but there was no royal proclamation that said you couldn’t have a little fun while you’re here.”
Ariane shook her head in disagreement. “That kind of fun will only lead to hurt and heartache. For everyone involved.”
Chapter Three
Etienne sat at the end of the long table, making a great effort to appear interested in the story being recounted by the man sitting next to him. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn’t seem to spark an interest in the gentleman’s escapades of starting a coffee bean plantation in Kenya. In fact, it was all he could do not to doze off into his raspberry sorbet.
It could have been because the man’s adventure had taken place nearly a half century ago, or that he kept losing track of the storyline which caused him to repeat some portions of the tale several times over. Still, Etienne
