can kiss, can’t they?’
‘Not like that,’ said Caro. ‘I don’t think we should do it again.’
They were going to have an argument about that, thought Philippe, and it was an argument he was determined to win.
‘We’ll talk about it later,’ he said, taking her arm. ‘Right now, we’ve got to go.’
Dinner was preceded by a drinks reception to which the great and good of Montluce had been invited to meet Philippe. Caro stood beside him, smiling and shaking hands. If she was feeling intimidated by the ferociously smart women whose gazes flickered over her dress, she didn’t show it. Amongst all those elegant little black dresses, Caro looked gloriously different.
Philippe was proud of her. She wasn’t beautiful, but he was having trouble keeping his eyes off her all the same. How was he supposed to concentrate on being a prince when his body was still humming with that kiss? When all he could think about was the creaminess of her skin, her warmth, the delicious softness shot through with excitement? When every time her mouth curled in a smile the blood drained from his head?
And when she was murmuring comments out of the side of her mouth that made him want to laugh and strangle her and carry her off to bed all at the same time?
The Foreign Affairs Minister came up to be presented. ‘Look, Apollo’s here,’ Caro whispered in his ear, and Philippe found himself looking at bulbous brown eyes, a stubby nose and mournful jowls that gave Marc Autan an expression so exactly like his great-aunt’s pug that it was all Philippe could do not to burst out laughing. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Caro biting down hard on the inside of her cheeks. Shaking Monsieur Autan’s hand and making small talk with a straight face was one of the hardest things Philippe had ever done.
‘Behave yourself,’ he said out of the side of his mouth when Monsieur Autan had at last moved on. ‘You’re going to get me cut out of the succession.’
Still, he missed her at the dinner, which was just as pompous and tedious as he had expected. They sat at a long table so laden with candelabras and silverware that he could only converse with the person on either side of him.
Caro had been put at the other end of the table, no doubt on Dowager Blanche’s instructions. Her lack of French didn’t seem to be stopping her having a good time. He kept hearing that laugh, the laugh that whispered over his skin and made his blood throb.
Philippe gripped his glass and glared down the table at the men on either side of Caro, who were so clearly enjoying her company. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be at all. He was the jaded one, the one who was always in control. The one who left before things got out of hand. He wasn’t the one who sat there and longed desperately for her to notice him.
And then Caro did look up and their eyes met. She didn’t smile, and nothing was said, but Philippe looked back at her and the awful pressure in his chest eased at last.
They were silent in the back of the limousine that took them back to the palace. Still silent, not touching, they walked along the quiet corridors and up the double staircase. Only when the last footman had bowed and closed the last door did Caro break the silence.
‘I don’t think we should do this,’ she said as if they were in the middle of a conversation, which perhaps they were. Her voice trembled with nerves. ‘I think we should stick to what we agreed.’
‘You want to leave the pillow in the middle of the bed?’
‘Yes.’ She swallowed, knowing that she was doing the right thing but unable to remember why. ‘You said you’d wait until I asked,’ she reminded him. It was hard to keep her words steady when her throat was tight with desire and the air struggled to reach her lungs. ‘You said you wouldn’t sleep with me if I didn’t want to.’
Philippe reached out and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger almost casually. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to?’
‘No … yes … I don’t know,’ she said with a kind of desperation, and he dropped his hand and stood back.
‘All right.’
Her heart cracked to see the guarded look back on his face. ‘Philippe—’
‘It’s OK.’ He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You go and put that pillow in place. I’ll be out on the balcony.’
Caro sat on the edge of the bed and looked down at her shaking hands. Who was she trying to kid? Of course she wanted him.
And she could have him, she knew that.
She should be sensible. Philippe was never going to want to settle down and if he did, it wouldn’t be with her. There was no point in dreaming about a future with him, but tonight Caro didn’t care about the future. She only cared about now, and right then she wasn’t sure she could bear to lie there in her pyjamas and know that he was on the other side of that pillow.
The boom and thump of her pulse reminded her of the pounding music as they drove through France towards the border with Montluce. Let’s make the most of being able to behave badly while we can, Philippe had said as he’d turned up the volume.
Caro’s head knew that she ought to behave sensibly, but her body wanted to behave very badly indeed and, in the end, her body won.
And she couldn’t undo the zip on her own.
Philippe was sitting on the balcony, beyond the block of lamplight from the open French windows. His feet were up on the railings, his face in shadow. He had taken off his jacket and tie and the white shirt gleamed against his throat. In silence he watched Caro as she paused in the doorway.
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