as the fairground hawker approached her, then told herself that he couldn’t possibly know who she was, far less that he was trying to sell one of his metallic silver creations to Her Highness, Princess Adrienne de Marigny, daughter of the ruling house of Carramer.
Her simply cut navy pants and white hand-knit shell had been chosen to ensure that she blended in with the thousands of people attending Nuee’s annual Fair and Horse Show. Her straw sunhat and dark glasses not only disguised her much-photographed features and waterfall of glossy raven hair, they protected her delicate skin from the hot afternoon sun, as well.
A sense of adventure caught hold of her and she smiled at the hawker. The last time she was offered a balloon, she had been eight years old and a nanny had purchased and carried it for her. Adrienne had attended other fairs since then, but always in an official role. Today there was no one to tell her how unseemly it was for a princess to carry such a frivolous toy. “I’d love one, thank you.”
The hawker grinned back. “Choose any one you like. Of course, a pretty girl like you should let the man in your life buy it for you.”
“He might if there was one,” she said. The man probably called every woman under a hundred a pretty girl, unaware that, as a princess, Adrienne was as restricted in her choice of men as she was in where she went and what she did.
If her brothers, Lorne and Michel, knew she was out in disguise and unescorted, they’d have a fit, especially her older brother Lorne, she thought, picturing his frown of disapproval. Their parents had died when she was much younger, so Lorne considered himself her guardian as well as her monarch. She knew her brother only wanted what was best for her, but she felt that at twenty-three years old she was capable of taking care of herself.
With both her brothers safely married now, her role as royal hostess was much reduced, too. At last she could shake off the yoke of public service she had worn all her life and just be herself, at least sometimes.
Today was one of those times. With a precious few hours all to herself before she had to turn back into a princess in time to host a gala charity dinner tonight, she had decided to join most of the city’s population at the annual agricultural fair and show. At the top of her must-see list of things were the equestrian events, starting with a demonstration by the roughriders, for which the island was renowned.
The hawker held out a silver balloon emblazoned with a bloodred rose. “I’d guess you’re a rose kind of girl.”
“It’s pretty, but I’m more of a horse person,” she said, indicating one painted with the head of a stallion. Wild of eye and mane, the picture reminded her of the native horses that roamed the hills of Nuee. The roughriders caught and tamed them for use in their daredevil performances.
“I’ll make you a present of it,” the hawker said on impulse. “Then you can say a man gave it to you.”
She saw only sincerity in his expression. “It’s kind of you, but I can’t do you out of your livelihood,” she insisted, fumbling in her purse for a coin. She so rarely paid for anything in cash that she knew she handled the gesture with little grace and felt annoyed with herself.
His callused hand closed around hers. “Save your money for the rest of the show. This is my treat.”
“Well…thank you.” She felt herself flush as she accepted the balloon, wondering why such a small gesture should touch her so deeply. If he had known who she was, she would have suspected him of trying to curry favor, but he was simply a kindly old man, spreading a bit of happiness around.
It made her even more sure that she was justified in slipping away from the palace to attend the show as an ordinary person. As a princess she rarely experienced the simple human interactions other people took for granted. When she attended events like this in her official capacity, she was escorted to the head of every line and the way was cleared for her through the crowd. She would have missed meeting the hawker altogether. Looking satisfied with his good deed, he moved away, his bouquet of balloons bobbing above his head.
“Careful, you’re about to lose that.”
Lost in thought, she started as another man’s hand closed around hers, this time stopping her helium-filled balloon from heading skyward. The man’s touch was so firm, warm and undeniably masculine that she felt herself jerk away as if strung.
“Easy, easy,” he said as if he was talking to a shying horse. He let his hand drop to his side. “You seemed to be about a million miles away.”
She looked at him more closely. A dark-brown jacket skimmed wide shoulders and a fit-looking body, an open-necked shirt the man’s main concession to the heat. He was as tall as Adrienne’s brothers, an irritant in itself, since she had always resented having to look up to meet their eyes. When she did so with the stranger, she encountered a gaze of startling blue flecked with gold and fringed by luxuriant dark lashes.
Although he was dressed as a businessman, his tanned face and hands suggested he spent a lot of time out of doors. Rugged was the best word to describe him, she thought, adding to herself, ruggedly handsome. His accent identified him as an American, and she wondered what brought him to the Nuee Fair as she said, “Thanks for saving my balloon.”
“Why don’t you try this?” Without waiting for a response, he tied the string of the balloon around her wrist. For an instant his strong fingers with their trim oval nails closed around the slender bones as if he was measuring her for a bracelet, and she felt an unaccustomed warmth surge through her. It lasted only until he released her, but she found the intensity of it oddly disquieting.
He looked up at the toy waving in the air over her head, noting the distinctive design. “You like horses, or balloons?”
“Both,” she conceded, wondering why the fine hairs on the back of her neck lifted at the sound of his voice. It reminded her of dark chocolate and the stroke of velvet against her skin. Foolish, she chided herself. It must be because she was so seldom touched by anyone other than her staff that she was having such fanciful thoughts.
Above their heads a loudspeaker crackled to life with the news that the roughrider demonstration was about to start. “Are you going to watch the show?” she asked, somehow sure that he would say yes. It came to her that he looked as if he belonged in the show, rather than in the audience.
He nodded, then hesitated, as if considering an option that he wasn’t sure was a good idea. “I have a pass to the members’ pavilion. Would you like to see the show from there?” he asked in a rush. For some reason she felt sure that had he given himself time to think he wouldn’t have issued the invitation.
As the show’s royal patron she had access to any part of the fairgrounds including the members’ pavilion. At least Princess Adrienne did, she reminded herself. Her alter ego, plain ordinary Dee, had no such privileges.
She was strongly tempted to accept, perhaps for the same reason that prompted him to suggest it. The sparks of awareness arcing between them were intriguing enough to warrant investigation. But it was too risky. In the members’ pavilion she might run into someone she knew and her disguise was far from foolproof.
“I can’t,” she said, unable to conceal her reluctance. “I’m…meeting someone.”
The hesitation in her voice betrayed the hastily invented excuse for what it was, and she saw his eyes take on a shuttered look. “In that case I hope you enjoy the show.” He touched two fingers to his forehead in a sketchy salute and melted into the crowd.
When
