does the Janus lily,” he reminded her gently.
Her eyes widened fully and she uncurled her hand in front of her face, inspecting the damage. “Does it hit everybody like that?”
He shook his head. “You must be particularly susceptible.”
She lowered the hand, wincing when it pained her. “Remind me to stay away from them from now on.”
He suspected she wouldn’t need reminding. He turned to the doctor hovering at his shoulder. “How long before the antidote takes full effect?”
“Almost immediately, but because of the severity of the reaction, I advise keeping her here overnight for observation,” the doctor said.
“I don’t need to stay here. I’m fine, really.” She struggled to sit up, then fell back against the pillow.
“So I see.” Maxim addressed the doctor. “You have my permission to keep Miss West here as long as medically necessary.”
“What about my permission?” she asked tartly.
He folded his arms over his chest. “After researching royalty for your documentaries, you should know that our word is invariably law.”
“You mean you ride roughshod over everybody because you can.”
He felt the corners of his mouth twitch, but kept his expression severe. “Take it as you like, as long as you remain here.”
Her tantalizing mouth curved into a shaky smile, her defiance plain even when she must be feeling hellish. “You realize you’re confirming everything I’ve ever written about royalty?” she asked softly.
Something snagged deep inside him, something more than admiration for her resilience. He resisted, wondering at the same time why he had to work so hard to do so. Some defiance of his own made him ask, “Isn’t that what you came to Carramer for?”
Anger flashed across her delicate features. She started to rise again, but he caught her shoulders and made her lie back, the “something” gaining strength as he touched her. He pulled his hands away as if singed.
When he straightened, she rocked her head to one side, avoiding his gaze. “I came for Donna and Kevin’s wedding.”
“And afterward?”
“A holiday.”
“And then?”
“All right, I had some thought of researching the Champagne Pact for my TV series.”
If she hadn’t felt so terrible, Annegret knew she wouldn’t have made the admission so readily. In her experience, people were more open if they didn’t know her purpose, at least not at first. Ethics demanded that she identify herself at some point, but she hadn’t lied to the prince. She had come to his country for Donna’s sake.
As teenagers, she and Donna had sworn a childish oath to attend one another’s weddings, imagining the handsome men who would one day sweep them off their feet. It had happened to Donna. For herself, Annegret wasn’t sure it was ever going to. Prince Maxim might look like the magnificent specimen who had starred in her young dreams, but there the resemblance ended.
He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Was that why you were snooping around, looking for the painting?”
She felt a flash of annoyance. “I wasn’t snooping. No one stopped me from exploring, so I did.”
“Unfortunately, I can’t argue with you.” His tone said the security lapse would be fixed so it wouldn’t happen again. Heads would roll, she didn’t doubt.
She didn’t want it to be on her account. “Please don’t hold your people responsible. I was the one at fault.” Fleetingly, she wondered what her colleagues back home would say if they could hear their take-no-prisoners boss pleading with royalty.
His jaw hardened. “Nonetheless, they are responsible. However, since the same circumstances are unlikely to occur again, a reprimand should suffice.”
She couldn’t help herself. “It must be nice having so much power,” she said dryly.
Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he observed, “The same might be said about you.”
Given that she was the one lying flat on her back on a hospital bed, even one as luxurious as this, she was puzzled, and said so.
He freed a hand to gesture elegantly. “In your line of work, you reach millions of people with your belief that royalty is parasitical and unproductive.”
“I never said that.”
“You imply it every time you deal with the subject.”
Since it was what she believed, she couldn’t argue. But his suggestion that she was one-sided in her handling of it stung more than the doctor’s shot. “I haven’t had much luck convincing your peers to tell their side of the story.”
His gimlet gaze skewered her. “Our side?”
She shifted restively, wishing their relative positions didn’t put her at such a disadvantage. She settled for raising herself higher on the pillow. This time he didn’t try to restrain her. Pity. “There you go,” she stated. “You don’t feel you have anything to prove, do you?”
“Not to you.”
“What about to the people who believe royalty is a relic of the past?”
“Preaching to the converted isn’t the same as presenting a balanced viewpoint.”
She felt another flash of annoyance. He had a knack for touching sore spots, she’d noticed. That wasn’t all he touched. The way he looked at her now, arrogant enough to prove his point and yet self-assured enough not to care, made her mouth go dry.
He wore a designer suit that skimmed the taut lines of his body. Handmade shoes polished to a mirror shine. Every hair was in place except for an errant curl escaping across his high forehead. That curl managed to make him look distractingly human, and she felt her hand stir, wanting to brush it back for him.
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.
