Princess Alison, was Lorne’s Australian wife. With her egalitarian ideals, she was like a breath of fresh air in the royal family. So was Caroline, the American woman Michel had married, Adrienne thought, smiling to herself as she recalled how Michel had been betrothed to Caroline’s twin sister in an ancient ceremony when they were children. They hadn’t expected to be held to the contract when they grew up, and it was Caroline that Michel really loved. But it had worked out well in the end, when Caroline’s twin schemed to get them back together. Like Lorne and Allie, Caroline and Michel were blissfully happy, and Adrienne couldn’t wait to become an aunt to their child in a few months’ time.
“What are you thinking about? I’ll bet it isn’t tonight’s affair,” Cindy guessed, watching her royal employer.
Adrienne drew herself back to the present. For a moment she had let herself fantasize about being happily married like her brothers, with a husband to admire her appearance instead of a paid assistant. Cindy was supportive, but it wasn’t the same, somehow. “I was thinking of someone I met today,” she confessed.
The cowboy she dismissed as being of no consequence, a drunk who didn’t know any better. The American was another matter. He haunted her thoughts in a way that disturbed her for some reason.
Cindy’s face dimpled into a smile. “A man?”
“They do comprise half of the universe.”
“Not this universe.”
In spite of herself, Adrienne sighed, knowing Cindy was right. Before her assistant could ask about the man occupying her thoughts, Adrienne said, “We’d better get down to business. Who are the important names on the guest list tonight?”
Opening her file, Cindy reeled off a list of mostly elderly local nobles. Adrienne nodded. “No surprises there.” Since tonight’s gala was in recognition of donations to the children’s charity she chaired, the princess knew most of the major benefactors already. It promised to be a dull evening, but she could endure it for the sake of the orphans, she told herself. “Any new faces?”
“Anyone young, you mean?”
Cindy knew her too well. “It would make a pleasant change.”
Cindy scanned the list. “Hardly anyone our age. The youngest is a thirty-something foreigner, a Mr. Hugh Jordan, here to finalize an investment project with Prince Michel.”
Adrienne felt a jolt and wondered at its source. “Is that why he got an invitation?”
Cindy shook her head. “My note says he was the largest single donor to the appeal.”
“No doubt he thinks the donation makes him look like a big man in Michel’s eyes.” She had recognized the man’s name as soon as Cindy said it. Hugh Jordan planned to establish a vast ranch north of Nuee City, on land that Adrienne had wanted for the same reason.
It still rankled that her brother was more willing to trust a foreigner with the project and the boost it would give to Nuee’s economy than Adrienne herself. She knew as much about breeding horses as any man. But she was a princess and princesses didn’t do that sort of thing, she thought angrily, recalling Michel’s reasoned response.
He hadn’t used those exact words, preferring ones like inappropriate and taking up too much of your valuable time, but the end result was the same. Hugh Jordan got to do what an accident of birth prevented her from doing.
It seemed Michel had told the man about her interest in horse breeding, particularly the Nuee saddlebreds, and he had asked to meet her. But she told her brother she had no intention of sharing her hard-won expertise with the stranger so he could enjoy all the benefits.
Michel had thought her response petty. He was probably right but she didn’t care. Now Hugh Jordan had finagled his way into her charity dinner, anyway. His donation to the appeal was so substantial that there was no way she could avoid meeting him tonight.
“I’ll bet Hugh Jordan smokes cigars and only talks about price movements on the stock exchange. And he’s probably this big,” Cindy said.
As her assistant pantomimed a huge girth, Adrienne was forced to laugh. “And no matter how stuffy or boring he is, you’ll charm him into giving an even larger donation to your beloved children,” Cindy added more seriously.
Adrienne let her eyes flash acceptance of the challenge. “I’ll consider it a personal obligation.”
Cindy dealt with the rest of the details in her usual efficient way, then closed the file. “That’s everything you need to know for now.” Adrienne stood up and felt herself sway slightly. Cindy looked concerned. “Are you all right? Perhaps you overdid things by going out this afternoon.”
Adrienne heard the disapproval in Cindy’s voice. Her assistant made no secret of disliking her employer’s habit of going out incognito, even though she had lent the princess her own car for the purpose.
“I’m fine. I probably just need to eat something before I go down.”
“I’ll have a tray sent up right away.”
She was as good as her word, but Adrienne couldn’t bring herself to eat much before she made her entrance into the ballroom. She took her place at the head of the room as the orchestra played the Carramer national anthem, “From Sea to Stars.” No matter how many times she heard it the music still stirred her blood.
As her experienced staff organized a receiving line, Cindy moved to Adrienne’s side ready to discreetly prompt the princess with any names and personal details she might need. She wasn’t needed a great deal. Adrienne considered herself lucky in having a good memory, and now she greeted each person by name, asking after their partners, children and any other concerns that came to mind.
Then she felt herself go cold from head to foot.
“Mr. Hugh Jordan, rancher from San Francisco,” Cindy murmured, thinking Adrienne’s hesitation meant she needed help identifying the next guest.
“Your Highness, this is indeed a surprise,” the man said, his rich, deep voice laced with irony. From the glitter in his remarkable blue eyes, Adrienne gathered that the surprise wasn’t any more pleasant for him than it was for her.
Far from being the paunchy, stuffy businessman she and Cindy had envisioned, Hugh Jordan was tall, muscular and undeniably good-looking. Even in the relative anonymity of a tuxedo, she recognized him instantly. Mr. Hugh Jordan, rancher from San Francisco, was the man who had come to her rescue at the fair.
Like the other guests he touched her hand in a token handshake, but instead of releasing her immediately as protocol required, his strong fingers curled into her palm and a shiver ran through her. “Small world, isn’t it,” he said softly.
Only years of royal training enabled her to keep a bright smile on her face, although her features felt as if they might crack at any moment. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jordan.” Her heart was beating so rapidly that she felt lightheaded, but not by so much as a flicker of an eyelash did she let herself acknowledge their previous meeting.
For a fleeting moment a shadow of a doubt crossed his face, and she saw him mentally comparing the princess in front of him with the woman he’d encountered earlier. In her designer gown with her hair expertly dressed and a fortune in diamonds and emeralds adorning her head, neck and earlobes, she knew she looked very
