Again Dharr held up his glass. “Then we are all agreed?”
Mitch touched his flute to Dharr’s and Marc’s. “Agreed.”
Modern-day musketeers entering into an all-for-one pact.
Marc raised his glass. “Let the wager begin.”
Marc had no qualms about the ante. He could most definitely resist the temptation of a woman bent on tying him to an uneventful existence. He had no reason to marry, nor was he bound by duty to do so. Only one thing would be as unappealing to Marc as marriage—leading his country. But thanks to his birth order, Prince Marcel Frederic DeLoria would never have to suffer the fate of becoming king.
Nine years later
Marcel Frederic DeLoria had become a king.
Kate Milner had known him only as Marc, a seriously charming young man. A seriously inept biology student by his own admission, the reason why Kate had tutored him their freshman year at Harvard. And now he was the ruler of Doriana, a small European country.
Incredible.
Of course, the fact that she was standing in a storybook castle thousands of miles from home, preparing to see him again almost a decade later, seemed highly improbable, too. That made Kate smile.
But her smile immediately dissolved when he appeared at the end of the ornate palace foyer, a starched and polished middle-aged gentleman at his side. The mirrored walls, reflecting bursts of light from the crystal chandeliers, seemed to shrink as he drew closer, his confidence and calculated control almost palpable, even at a distance. His hair was still the same golden brown, somewhat longer than before, Kate realized, the fine layers windswept away from his face. Although he stood only slightly over six feet tall, he seemed more imposing now than when she’d known him before, with a broader chest and equally broad shoulders encased in a short-sleeved, form-fitting navy knit shirt that enhanced the considerable bulk of his biceps. He also wore a pair of faded jeans that outlined his narrow hips and solid thighs—the kind of clothes he’d worn in college, much to Kate’s surprise. He was, after all, nobility.
Good grief. Had she really expected him to be decked out in a jewel-encrusted crown and red velvet robe? That he would be clutching a scepter instead of a pair of sunglasses? Silly that she would even consider such a thing. But she’d expected he at least would be wearing an expensive suit, not attire that could be found in a chic women’s magazine ad extolling the virtues of cosmopolitan casual on hard-body hunks. Not that she was complaining.
When he came to a stop a few feet away, Kate was suddenly gripped by the sheer power of his presence, her pulse accelerating in response. She clung tightly to her composure when she contacted his piercing cobalt blue eyes—eyes that no longer held the mirth she had often witnessed during their previous time together. She saw something there that she couldn’t quite peg. She also sensed an edge about him, a definite change that went far beyond the physical aspects.
One thing Kate did know, he gave no indication whatsoever that he recognized her. But why should he? Kate had changed, too, hopefully for the better.
The attendant took a brusque step forward and executed a slight bow. “Dr. Milner, I am Bernard Nicholas, His Majesty’s primary aide.”
Kate had the illogical urge to salute—or curtsy. She opted for a smile. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Mr. Nicholas turned his attention to the silent, stoic king. “Your Majesty, may I present Dr. Katherine Milner, our latest candidate for the hospital position.”
Marc moved forward and extended his hand, which Kate took after a slight hesitation. “Welcome to Doriana, Dr. Milner, and please forgive my appearance. I wasn’t given much notice in regard to your arrival.”
His voice sounded much the way Kate remembered, European sophisticated and distinctly seductive, only deeper. Yet he didn’t look at all pleased, didn’t even hint at a smile. In fact, his courtesy seemed almost forced. Considering the early hour, and his unshaven face, she couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he’d just left the company of a woman, quite possibly a woman’s bed.
His extracurricular activities shouldn’t concern her. Yet the feel of his large masculine fingers wrapped around hers brought about a keen sense of awareness, the kind of awareness that came when confronted with a man she had been far too fond of. But Marc DeLoria was no ordinary man; he never had been. And obviously he had no recollection of their time together.
Kate decided he simply needed a reminder. “It’s very nice to see you again, Your Majesty.”
He released her hand and frowned, fine lines deepening at the corners of his eyes, but they didn’t detract from his magnificent face. “Have we met before?”
“Actually, the last time we were together, we were dissecting a deceased frog.”
Confusion worked its way into his sedate expression followed by a fleeting glimpse of the carefree charmer she had once known. “Katie? The tutor?”
Kate’s gaze faltered for a brief moment as she became the circumspect girl again. She forced away that notion, forced herself to look at him straight on. “Yes, that’s me. Katie, the tutor. But I prefer Kate now. Or Dr. Milner, if that’s more acceptable considering your current circumstance.”
“My current circumstance?”
He actually had to be reminded of that, too? “You’re a king.”
“Ah, yes. That circumstance.” He stared at her for a long moment, as if he couldn’t quite believe she was there. Kate couldn’t quite believe it, either.
After a bout of awkward silence, she finally said, “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, quite a while.” Although his smile had yet to form, he at least looked a little less perplexed when he gestured to a nearby room. “Shall we conduct the interview in the library, Doctor?”
Obviously he had no intention of taking a walk down memory lane. “Of course.”
When Marc stepped to one side of the room’s entry, Kate passed by him and caught a whiff of fresh air and fragrant cologne—clean, expensive, heavenly. Even though she shouldn’t react so strongly, he still made her breathless. She’d always been that way to some degree in his presence.
Gathering her wits, Kate slowly turned around to survey the mahogany shelves lining the room. “This is quite a collection of books.”
“My mother’s favorites.” He indicated a small settee near the window. “Please, have a seat.”
Kate slid onto the green brocade sofa while Marc took the burgundy wingback chair across from her. When Mr. Nicholas positioned himself near the now-closed door, Marc told him, “That will be all.”
The man stood steadfastly in place like a sentry, shoulders square, feet slightly apart, hands behind his back. “Beg pardon, but I believe it would be best if I remained, considering our guest is a lady.”
“This is not the
