pushed open the door and stood in the doorway. Matt allowed himself a quick perusal. Why couldn’t this woman have been as homely as her fiancé? Why did she have to be so damn pretty? And small, delicate and well-rounded? He looked away hurriedly.
The maid rose from where she had knelt on the hearth, smiled at Matt and said something about dinner. She must have asked him if they wanted dinner served in their room.
“Want some dinner, honey?” Matt asked.
“She didn’t bring the brandy I requested, did she?”
“Do you or do you not want something to eat?”
“May I put in an order for both of us?” Adele asked. “That is if you trust me not to—”
“I understand enough German to figure out if you’re ordering dinner or asking for help, so go ahead, order away.”
Adele took several tentative steps into the room, looked directly at their maid and ordered dinner in German. The maid replied. The best Matt could make out, they’d be getting some kind of stew, homemade bread and the brandy Adele wanted. The maid curtsied and left the room.
Why did the maid bow to them? Had the woman recognized Adele? Or was she so used to being a servant that the bow came naturally to her?
“Before you accuse me of revealing my identity to that woman, let me tell you that it’s not unusual for servants to bow like that to anyone they consider their superior.”
“You royals are big on superiority, aren’t you?” Matt headed straight toward Adele, intending to go into the bathroom. But for some reason she apparently thought he planned to manhandle her again, so she inched along the wall, moving away from him as he neared.
“If you try to go out that door while I’m taking off my wet clothes, then you’ll wind up tied to that chair—” he glanced at the straight-back wooden chair near the fireplace “—for the rest of the night. Understand?”
“Perfectly.” She tilted her pert little nose haughtily and walked past him toward the fireplace.
He watched her for a couple of minutes as she bent over so her head was near the open fire. She speared her fingers through her short hair, fluffing it as the warmth began to dry the shiny, dark curls. One well-shaped calf peeked out from beneath her robe. Matt’s body tightened. Get a hold of yourself, he thought. Don’t go getting all hot and bothered over that one. She thinks you’re a beast, a brute and socially inferior. He knew her type. Rich, pampered, snobbish. But he’d never come face-to-face with a real princess, not until this assignment had thrown him smack dab in the middle of a true-life episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous. A good ol’ boy from Louisville, Kentucky, was definitely out of his league with Her Highness.
Forcing himself to stop drooling, Matt went into the bathroom and, leaving the door partially open so he could keep an eye on his charge, he yanked off his shirt.
Adele tossed back her head, then shook her curls as she stretched her neck. She was in a fine mess, wasn’t she? Captured and held captive by an American barbarian who couldn’t be bribed. The big brute seemed to respond better when she didn’t fight him, so perhaps charm might work where rebellion and chicanery had failed.
Taking a seat by the fire, she glanced toward the bathroom, and what she saw took her breath away. Matt O’Brien was drying himself off. The white towel moved over his muscular arms, his hairy chest and his lean belly. Thank heaven he’d left on his boxer shorts. Damp, short black hair curled over his chest, arms and legs. Adele stared at him, hypnotized by his beautiful, powerful body. He certainly wasn’t the first attractive man she’d seen in such a complete state of undress. After all, she’d grown up in Europe, had vacationed on the Riviera. Nudity wasn’t the least bit shocking to her. But she wasn’t accustomed to having a partially naked man in her bathroom. Well, technically, the bathroom was theirs since they were posing as newlyweds.
With Matt’s back to her, he continued drying himself. Adele watched in utter fascination, unable to remove her gaze from his magnificent body. What was wrong with her? What was it about this man that mesmerized her so? Oh, be honest with yourself, Adele. The man is very handsome and has a fantastic body. You would have to be dead not to notice.
The maid knocked on the outer door and asked permission to enter. Reluctantly Adele took her eyes off Matt, stood and walked across the room to open the door. The maid carried a large tray laden with food. A bottle of brandy and two snifters graced the center of the tray.
With Matt preoccupied in the bathroom, now might be a good time for her to whisper something to the maid, to ask the woman for help. The maid busied herself placing the items from the tray on an antique table by the windows. Just as Adele approached the maid, Matt walked out of the bathroom. Adele jumped, as if she’d been caught doing something naughty. Damn, why hadn’t she acted sooner? She’d let the moment—and that was all she’d had—pass. She’d been too engrossed in staring at Matt’s body to think straight.
The maid took first one chair and then another and placed them on either side of the table where she’d set their evening meal. After laying his wet jeans, shirt and underwear out in front of the fireplace, Matt tossed his jacket on the sofa, then reached into the wide pocket of the white terry cloth robe, pulled out his wallet and handed the maid a sizable tip. Adele groaned. Having received such a generous tip, the maid would hardly be inclined to believe that Matt was a bad man, certainly not a kidnapper.
The maid thanked Matt, then glanced at Adele and said in German to Matt, “Your wife is very beautiful. She reminds me of Princess Adele of Orlantha. Herr Gerwalt mentioned that he, too, noticed the resemblance.”
Adele opened her mouth to announce her true identity, but before she could speak, Matt rushed to her side, slid his arm around her waist and said in rather crude German, “Yes, we’ve heard that a lot lately, since we’ve been in Europe. But you know, I think my wife is prettier than the princess.”
The maid giggled, then hurried out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
“I’m afraid we’re stuck with lamb stew. The chef has gone home for the night.” Adele jerked away from him and went over to their makeshift dinner table. “By the way, your German is terrible.”
“Yeah, I know, but I do well enough to get by.” Matt joined her, pulled out her chair and seated her. He sat across from her, poured hot tea from a carafe into her cup then his before sniffing the thick, dark lamb stew. “Your English is almost perfect. You barely have an accent. Why is that?”
Adele sipped on her tea. “English was taught as a second language at the boarding school I attended. And I perfected the language when I attended college in England.”
“Which college?”
“Cambridge.”
“You actually went to Cambridge?” Matt lifted his spoon and delved into the stew.
Adele tore off a couple of pieces from the crusty loaf of bread.
“Why do you find that so amazing? I will one day be queen of Orlantha. My education was very important to my father. I must be prepared to lead my country.”
Matt shook his head.
“You don’t approve of educating women, Mr. O’Brien?”
“Oh,
