The Rebel Prince
Raye Morgan
Chef Emma Valentine is just an ordinary girl, doing an ordinary job. Okay, her new boss might be a gorgeous future king, but Emma's determined to stay professional…isn't she?As the second son, jet-setting playboy Prince Sebastian of Meridia never thought he would be king. But to save his country, Sebastian reluctantly puts his wild days behind him. It's only when he meets shy, beautiful chef Emma that he begins to learn the real meaning of duty, honor and…love. The mischievous prince has one last act of rebellion in store. He's going to promote this common chef–to princess!
“Wait a minute. You’re a woman,” the prince said, as though that thought had just presented itself to him.
Emma Valentine felt color rushing into her cheeks and she silently begged it to stop. Here she was, formless and stodgy in her chef’s whites. No makeup, no stiletto heels. Hardly the picture of the femmes fatales he was undoubtedly used to.
“That’s a rare ability for insight you have there, Your Highness,” she snapped before she could stop herself. And then she winced. She was going to have to do better than that if she was going to keep this relationship on an even keel.
But he was ignoring her dig. Nodding, he stared at her with a speculative gleam in his golden eyes. “I’ve been looking for a woman, but you’ll do.”
Emma blanched, stiffening. “I’ll do for what?”
Amusement sparkled in the prince’s eyes. He was certainly enjoying this. And that only made her more determined to resist him.
“I’m the prince, remember? And we’re in my castle. My orders take precedence. It’s that old pesky divine rights thing….”
The Rebel Prince
Raye Morgan
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
THE BRIDES OF BELLA LUCIA
A family torn apart by secrets, reunited by marriage
When William Valentine returned from the war, as a testament to his love for his beautiful Italian wife, Lucia, he opened the first Bella Lucia restaurant in London. The future looked bright, and William had, he thought, the perfect family.
Now William is nearly ninety, and not long for this world, but he has three top London restaurants with prime spots throughout Knightsbridge and the West End. He has two sons, John and Robert, and grown-up grandchildren on both sides of the Atlantic who are poised to take this small gastronomic success story into the twenty-first century.
But when William dies, and the family fight to control the destiny of the Bella Lucia business, they discover a multitude of long-buried secrets, scandals, the threat of financial ruin and, ultimately, two great loves they hadn’t even dreamed of: the love of a lifelong partner, and the love of a family reunited….
Wanted: Outback Wife by Ally Blake #3916
To Emily Ruston—thanks for your helpful guidance and tactful editing
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u6d4845f6-3cd5-50f1-a512-4ca7853dd594)
CHAPTER TWO (#ub39d1ed1-1831-5917-9f5d-a617a225ecc7)
CHAPTER THREE (#u80f12dcf-e26c-5642-9164-15e9498220d0)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
JET lag—maybe he could blame it on that.
Or maybe on the general state of simmering anger he’d been in since he’d been told life as he knew it was over and he was to submit meekly to living his brother’s life instead. That might have thrown his aim off.
Whatever.
He’d missed the shot and he’d hit the young woman by mistake. And that was when everything began to spin out of control.
Prince Sebastian wasn’t used to missing a shot—he had an arm like a rocket launcher and had once even been urged to join his country’s Olympic water-polo team. He’d never injured anyone with a shot before—except other players in the generally rough play of the game he loved. But he seemed to have the reverse Midas curse these days—everything he touched went bad.
For a fraction of a heart-stopping second, he was afraid he’d killed her.
Pacio, one of the young footmen who’d been playing the game of water polo with him, said as much, swimming over to the side of the indoor castle pool behind him.
“She looks like she’s dead. Muerta,” he added for good measure.
“She’s not dead,” Sebastian corrected sharply, though his nerves were still jumping from that momentary fear.
Vaulting out of the pool, he kicked the still-bouncing water-polo ball out of the way and crouched over her, shaking away the water that dripped from his sleek body.
“Is she breathing?” Pacio asked with interest, climbing out of the pool as well. “Wow. She went down just like a rag doll.”
Sebastian didn’t bother answering. She seemed to be unconscious. Not a good sign.
“Hello,” he tried, touching her shoulder. “Are you all right?”
There was no response.
He put two fingers to the pulse at her neck, glad to find it strong, then noted her chest move. She was breathing, but she looked so pale and vulnerable lying there in her cutoff jeans and sleeveless jersey top. He wanted to gather her up and get her off the cold floor. But he probably shouldn’t move her. Had she hit her head on the tile? Maybe she was in shock.
Snagging a large towel someone had hung on the railing, he draped it over her and bit back frustration. Why the hell wasn’t she moving? And why the hell couldn’t he remember more of his decade-old life-saving classes? It was obviously time to recruit someone who knew what he was doing.
“Go get the doctor,” he ordered as two others who’d been in the pool with them came up, shivering and dripping water everywhere.
“You mean Will?” Pacio asked hesitantly.
Sebastian looked up at the three young men who were staring at him blankly. “Of course I mean Will. Get him. Now.”
The three of them looked surprised, but they jerked into action, hurrying off. He felt a fleeting sense of satisfaction that he’d managed to conjure up a tone of command. That was something he was going to have to do often and better if he was really going to end up as the king of Meridia—if this really wasn’t just a bad dream he was going to wake up from and laugh at.
Meridia—the crazy little country that knew him as Sebastian Edwardo Valenza Constantine Marchand-Dumontier, prince of Meridia and second son of King Donatello and Queen Marguerite, both deceased. And now that his older brother Julius had abdicated the throne, Sebastian was crown prince and heir apparent. If he actually let them do this to him.
He looked down at the young woman he’d decked and swore softly, his heart doing a quick stutter. She had to be okay. If she was seriously injured…
“I’m not dead,” she murmured suddenly, though her eyes didn’t open.
His heart lurched in relief. She could talk. Thank God, he said silently, but aloud he was less reverential.
“Then why are you pretending?” he asked, not really keeping the exasperation from his voice.
“I’m not pretending,” she said drowsily. “I’m resting.”
Sitting back on his heels, he stared at her. “Strange place for a sudden nap,” he noted dryly.
She opened large blue eyes at that, eyes that widened at the sight of his bare, muscular chest, jerked up to meet his gaze, then quickly snapped shut again.
“Too much, too soon,” she muttered softly, snuggling down under the towel as if she were holding the world at bay.
Her words were barely audible and he frowned. She wasn’t making any sense.
“What was that?” he said sharply.
She didn’t respond. She was lying so still he could almost believe he’d imagined her talking a moment before.
He wanted to run his hands over her, looking for injuries, but he was fairly sure she wouldn’t accept that without protest. And he couldn’t blame her. After all, if he found an injury, what was he going to do about it? Better to wait for Will, who was supposed to know what he was doing in this arena.
At least her color was returning. She was beginning to look less like an accident victim and more like a perfectly healthy young woman. No visible signs of harm. So why was she just lying there?
Women. Who could figure them out under the best of circumstances? Luckily, for most of his life he hadn’t had to. Women came and went like the weather—a different type for every season. Very early he had learned to keep his emotions out of relationships. That way he didn’t have to try to analyze motivations. When you didn’t expect much, you didn’t feel shortchanged.
Still, she wasn’t bad to look at. He’d never seen her before, but he assumed she worked here in the castle—and as he hadn’t been around lately, he no longer knew all the staff. She seemed small and defenseless, all rounded corners, no sharp edges. No makeup, either, which made her seem awfully young at first glance. A second glance revealed a young woman in her late twenties. Honey-colored hair curled around a face that was pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way.
Not his type, though. Not at all.
“Listen, you’re going to have to communicate with me,” he ordered firmly. “I’ve got to know if you’re badly hurt.”
She stirred.
“Hurt?”
Opening her eyes again, she risked another quick look in his direction, her face scrunched up in bewilderment. Then she looked around as though she’d forgotten where she was.
“Wait a minute. Where am I? What happened?”
She didn’t remember? That seemed odd. Despite her claim to be resting, she’d obviously been stunned. He supposed a blow to the head could knock the memory center for a loop—but hopefully it was just temporary.
“You’re at the indoor castle swimming pool where you very inconveniently placed yourself in the path of a stray water-polo ball,” he told her lightly. “Next time, I advise you to duck.”
Her gaze settled on him and her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I see,” she said, her hand going to her head, probing for lumps. “And who threw this stray ball?”
He ignored the sudden unaccustomed flash of guilt. “To tell you the truth, I guess I did.”
She blinked as though trying to figure something out and he realized her mind still wasn’t really clear.
“Were you aiming at me?” she asked, her voice slightly slurred.
His wide mouth twisted. “If I’d been aiming at you, the ball wouldn’t have bounced first.”
The look of bewilderment deepened and he quickly added, “No, of course I wasn’t aiming at you. I was trying to shoot around a defender and the shot got away from me.”
“So it was an accident.”
“Of course.”
She nodded and closed her eyes again.
“Actually, it feels so good to just lie here,” she murmured drowsily. “I’m so-o-o tired. I haven’t slept for days.”
Neither had he, for that matter. Ever since he’d been told to wrap up his affairs and head back to Meridia to prepare for his own coronation, sleep had been elusive at best.
He’d flown in to Chadae, the capital where his ancestral castle stood, only a couple of hours before. Hitching a ride on a friend’s private jet had allowed him to arrive unheralded and given him the time to unwind with a short water-polo game before facing his uncle and the rest of the council.
“What’s your name?” he asked her gruffly.
“Emma. Emma Valentine.”
She was peeking at him from beneath thick eyelashes. He stared right back at her.
“Do you work here at the castle?”
“Sort of. I’m a chef. But I just arrived last night.”
Pacio came skidding back into the pool area as she spoke and Sebastian noticed she closed her eyes more tightly instead of looking up to see what was going on. She still seemed to want to ward off reality. He wondered what she was afraid of.
“Hey, Monty,” Pacio cried, calling Sebastian by the nickname, short for Dumontier, often used for him. He was grinning and motioning toward the scene he saw, with Emma still stretched out before the prince. “This is just like Sleeping Beauty. Maybe all she needs is a kiss from…”
Sebastian shot him a quelling look before he’d finished that sentence and cut him off with a demand.
“Where’s the doctor?”
Pacio stopped short and shrugged. “We can’t find him.”
Sebastian thought for a moment. “Have you checked the stables?”
“No, we—”
“Try the stables. You can call down there from the hall phone.”
“Okay.” Pacio paused, looking down at Emma, then grinned and made a kissing motion, but Sebastian shot back a murderous look that had him hurrying away again.
He turned back to the limp figure on the shiny tile. Her breathing seemed a bit shallow to him.
“Are you falling asleep?” he asked her, incredulous.
“Just a little,” she murmured softly. “I’m so sleepy. Just let me sleep.”
Staring down at her, he wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or amused.
“I don’t think you should do that. You should probably keep talking.”
“I don’t want to talk. You talk.” She pulled the towel up around her shoulders, then opened one eye just a bit to look at him. “Tell me a story,” she suggested sleepily. “I’ll bet you’re good at that. You’re the type.”
He looked at her sharply, wondering if she was more aware than he’d thought. Maybe he was being thin-skinned, but her comment sounded like derision to him.
“I think I resent that.”
She shrugged. “It’s a free country.”
“Meridia?” he muttered cynically. “What gives you that idea?”
She didn’t answer but he hadn’t meant her to. He had mixed feelings about his native country. A love-hate relationship of sorts. Meridia was his home and now his legacy. But it was also a place that had deeply damaged too many in his family—a place where his father had died under suspicious circumstances. A place that now wanted him as king.
“When are you going to start?” she asked.
He turned, looking down at her. “Start what?”
“Telling stories.”
He stared at her, wondering if she was always this strange or if he’d caused it. “Do you seriously expect me to sit here and tell you stories?”
“Sure. Why not? We’re in a castle, aren’t we? Fairy tales would seem to be in order.”
“Have you been drinking?” he asked suddenly as the possibility occurred to him.
“Just the cooking sherry,” she shot back, then giggled. “Only kidding. No, I have not been drinking. But I’m feeling kind of…I don’t know…kind of punchy.” She gazed at him through squinted eyelids. “Can getting hit on the head make you punchy?”
He shrugged. “We’ll ask Will when he gets here. If he ever gets here.”
She frowned, shading her eyes as she looked up at him. “Who is Will?”
“The castle medical man.”
She winced, then yawned. “I don’t need a doctor. I just need a better place to sleep.”
“And I’m pretty sure I’m going to need a good stiff drink myself before this is over,” he muttered. “I might even settle for the cooking sherry. I’ve settled for worse.”
He sank back against a post and tried to get comfortable on the hard floor. Every sound in the high-ceilinged pool area echoed against the walls, every lap of water against tile, every drip, giving the place an eerie, spooky feel. He supposed he could dispel that with the sound of his own voice, but he didn’t want to do that. There was no way in hell he was going to tell her a story. He might go so far as to give her a nudge with his foot if she seemed to be drifting off. Other than that, they would wait for Will.
Emma was racing through a thick forest, dodging trees. That shimmering white vision she’d just barely glimpsed had to be a unicorn. She had to find it. There! Wasn’t that it? She ran faster. You had to be clever to catch a unicorn and now she was tiring, her breath searing her throat. Just a little further. It had to be there. Just beyond that huge ragged trunk…her feet were like stones and the unicorn’s hot breath was on her neck and…
Only it wasn’t that at all, it was a strong male hand on her shoulder and it felt divine. She looked up. It was that tall, handsome man again, the one with the incredible tan and the golden chest hair and the muscles that curled and swelled like waves on a Mediterranean sea. Was she still dreaming? He was really too good to be true.
His face was strong, his features even, and he had the most beautiful golden eyes she’d ever seen. His hair was naturally dark but the ends had been bleached out by the sun, giving him a sort of golden halo effect. That, along with the dark tan, gave mute testimony to a life spent outdoors—either doing manual labor or lazing about at seaside resorts. She had a feeling she knew which it might be.
He was the sort of man women called “hot” and for the first time in her life she thought she really understood what that meant. His touch left tingles behind. She wanted to have that feeling again.
Men like this never paid much attention to girls like her, but she supposed he was only trying to be nice since he’d been the one to knock her down. What would it be like to slip into his arms and hold that beautiful body close to hers? Just thinking of it made her pulse begin to beat a rhythm at the base of her throat. He was looking at her strangely. She had a moment of quick panic—could he read her mind?
No, probably not.
But why did he keep waking her up? She was so tired and it was so hot and humid in this place and she only wanted to close her eyes and let the world go away.
But there was someone else here now. He was testing her out, checking for injuries. His touch didn’t have the same electric charge as the other one, but it had a certain confident comfort to it and she didn’t protest as he examined just about everything there was to examine on her.
“Good lord, Monty,” the new man was saying, teasing. “I’d heard you were losing it. But I didn’t know you’d gotten to the point of having to knock a woman down and drag her off just to get a date.”
Emma had to struggle to open her eyes and see who the newcomer was. But he was worth the effort—a dark-haired, handsome man in riding clothes, bearing a small black bag and looking down at her kindly.
“I didn’t knock her down,” the even more handsome man who’d been staying with her all this time and whose name seemed to be Monty was saying defensively. “Well, not exactly…”
“I heard she got hit by a water-polo ball,” the new man said, slipping a blood-pressure cuff up her arm and starting to pump. “A water-polo ball that you threw. I’d call that a knock-down.”
“We’ve already established the guilt in this situation,” Monty responded acerbically. “But the motives were pure.”
He leaned toward her. “Emma, this irritating man is Dr Will Harris. He’ll get to the bottom of this ‘resting’ business.” He nodded toward the doctor. “Will, this is Emma Valentine. She can’t seem to stop sleeping. Maybe you can find out why.”
“Emma Valentine, ay? Pretty name.” Will smiled at her. “Pretty name for a pretty lady.” He released the pressure and began to take her pulse. “What do you do here at the castle, Emma?”
She blinked at him, then closed her eyes and searched her mind. The facts seemed to have slipped away. What was she doing here, anyway?
“She says she’s a chef.” Monty answered for her. “I didn’t know we were hiring chefs. But then, I don’t know much about what’s going on here these days.”
“Yes, I was surprised to see you back so soon,” the doctor said as he pulled the cuff back off again and took out his stethoscope. “Raring to go, I imagine.”
Monty gave a short, humorless laugh. “Hardly that.”
“Something told me you might not be completely enthusiastic with the changes around here. But I assume you will do what’s expected of you. Right?”
The silence that followed seemed ripe with an emotion she couldn’t understand, but it did seem to spur her memory.
“I’ve been hired for a special job,” she said suddenly and in a surprisingly loud voice.
She smiled. What a relief to have that information back where she could retrieve it. She needed to wake up. She had to wake up. It was her first day on this job and she couldn’t afford to blow it. She had to get herself together, enforce some self-discipline. But her eyelids were so heavy. Struggling, she opened her eyes and turned so that she could see them both.
“The coronation celebration dinners,” she added. “I’m here to plan for the big event.”
“Oh. That.”
She noted the two men give each other a meaningful look but she couldn’t imagine why and she went on.
“I came, actually, to meet with the prince. You know, the one who’s going to be crowned?” She thought for a moment, then brightened. “Prince Sebastian. That’s his name. And now they tell me he won’t be here until the weekend.”
“They told me the same thing,” the doctor said with a grin she didn’t think she was awake enough to analyze.
“Never trust anything ‘they’ tell you,” Monty offered cynically. He wasn’t grinning but he caught her eye and gave her a significant look, too. She had no idea why, and she frowned at him.
“They told me Agatha was coming as well,” Will said with studied disinterest. “Any truth to that rumor?”
“Could be,” Monty replied. “I haven’t talked to her.”
She was half sitting now, while Dr Will checked out her breathing, thumping her chest and listening intently. The entire situation felt so odd and the cavernous space with the gentle lapping of the water in the background only made it more so. She was in a castle, sitting beside an indoor swimming pool and being carefully examined by two of the most attractive men she’d ever seen. It was enough to turn a girl’s head.
But she had to keep hers right where it was. She had a job to do. She had to keep reminding herself of that.
“So what’s he like, anyway?” she asked them.
They both stared at her.
“Who?” they said at the same time.
“The prince.”
“Ah.” Will laughed softly as he put away his stethoscope. “The crown prince, now.”
“The prince?” Monty chimed in, eyes shining with what she took as amusement. “He’s a fine fellow. One of the best you’ll ever meet. The toast of the nation.”
Will snorted, but he went on.
“I’m sure songs will be written about him soon,” he said in a tone she thought might be a bit sarcastic, though she wasn’t certain she was reading him right. “Stories told, legends taken down. After all, he comes from a long line of kings, and he fits the part, if you ask me. Tall as an Alpine cedar, honest as a cloistered nun, strong as a…as a…”
“A blue ox?” Will put in helpfully.
Monty gave him a baleful look.
“Strong as a northern wind, sharp as a…”
“Serpent’s tooth,” Will interjected. “And just as yellow.”
He leaned toward her earnestly. “Don’t listen to Monty. Truth be told, the prince is an ugly bloke. His eyes are small and evil and much too close together for comfort. And he’s got bad breath and he’s a bit of a drooler, if you know what I mean.”
“Really?” Emma was pretty sure he wasn’t being serious. Despite the fact that her mind was still full of cotton, she was alert enough to know when her leg was being pulled. “I’d heard he was quite handsome.”
“Who told you that?” Monty asked with interest.
But Will waved it away. “They always say that about royalty. You know the media. Always trying to hype their main product. They give royals attributes they don’t deserve, just to make them more interesting to the public.”
Emma frowned. “I don’t know if that’s true.” Her face cleared. “Oh, you’re teasing. I know he’s very handsome. I don’t think I’ve ever seen pictures myself—I don’t really follow the society pages. But I’ve heard it from others, people who pay attention to these things. I’m sure he’s quite good-looking.”
“Well, don’t you believe it,” the doctor said cheerfully as he packed away his instruments. “I know him personally. Lazy layabout, that’s what he is. Never done a day’s worth of work in his life. Always off on some yacht in the Mediterranean or the Caribbean.”
“Isn’t that pretty much the way they all are, those royals?” Emma asked him, looking for confirmation. “At least, from what I hear.”
Monty scowled but Will nodded wisely. “Over-endowed libido, under-endowed intellect,” he noted. “That’s our boy, the prince. Take my word for it.”
Monty’s head swung around at that and his mouth opened in protest. “Hey!”
“Yes, my dear,” Will droned on. “Centuries of inbreeding.” He made a face. “Leaves them a little bewildered, you know. You’ll catch a glimpse of one now and then wandering mournfully about the castle like a lost sheep.”
“That does it,” Monty said, springing lightly to his feet and lunging for the doctor. “You’re going into the pool.”
CHAPTER TWO
EMMA gasped, feeling dizzy. She was used to verbal rages between people. They happened all the time in her very volatile family. But physical confrontations were different. Were these two very large men actually going to fight?
Monty’s body seemed to be a symphony of muscles all working together taking a form a Greek statue would have envied. His legs looked like steel and his arms bulged in places she hadn’t known she liked to see bulges. And the sense she got of things barely covered by that tiny black swimsuit made her blush and suddenly, to her surprise, she had to catch her breath.
But she couldn’t tear her gaze away. Monty was just so beautiful. The only flaw seemed to be a long ridged scar from just beneath his ribs down toward his hip-bone, as though a knife had…
She shuddered, not wanting to think what might have made it. And at the same moment Monty grimaced and seemed to clutch at the scar area.
Will stopped wrestling immediately. “That still bothering you?” he asked, frowning.
Monty shrugged, straightening slowly. “It grabs now and then. Mostly it’s okay,” he said dismissively. “It doesn’t stop me from doing much.”
Still, it was obvious that the so-called fight was truly over.
“You ought to get the scar tissue massaged periodically,” Will told him. “It’s probably building up calcium deposits. A little massage with Vitamin E should help break it down again.”
Monty nodded, rubbing the scar with his hand as though that were relieving pain. “If it hadn’t been for this, you’d be in the pool by now,” he said, threatening his friend mockingly.
Will grinned and turned to Emma.
“It’s touching how protective he is of the prince,” he explained to her as he held off the other man’s by now halfhearted attack. “I’m afraid I take a more realistic view.”
“Your view of everything will be quite damp if you keep it up,” Sebastian warned him. “You got off easy this time.”
Will didn’t look particularly chastened, but he did glance at the pool, then grinned at his friend.
“Okay, you win. No more about the prince. I’ve got doctor stuff to do. Let me talk to the young lady, if you please.”
Monty let him go with some reluctance, glared at him a moment longer, then stood back and made a sweeping bow. “Be my guest.”
Emma sighed with relief as Will stepped around him rather gingerly, then smiled at his patient. Even though their entire battle had had the choreographed look of something they had done many times before, probably beginning in childhood, she was glad it was over.
And she was glad it was Will who was coming to her side. There was something nice and comforting about the doctor. She was pretty sure she was going to like him.
Monty, on the other hand, was beginning to make her distinctly uncomfortable. There was something sharp and edgy about him. He was nice to look at, but in a hard, scary way that disturbed her. His golden eyes seemed to see too much and to scorn much of what he saw. His full, beautifully defined lips seemed to stretch more often in disdain than in smiling. There was a ruthless, wild quality in him, something she’d first noticed when he was wrestling with Will. She suddenly thought of what he reminded her of—an untamed horse, a stallion that was beautiful to watch, but frightening to get too close to.
“Well, Emma, your vital signs seem normal. You’ve got a lump on your scalp. I assume it marks the spot where you hit the ground rather than where the ball hit you. Either way, it’s a rather simple scalp trauma and you’ve sustained a bit of a concussion. You’ll need to be checked on over the next twenty-four hours.”
She nodded. That seemed to fit with her picture of what was going on here.
“I don’t see anything especially serious. However, your lethargic reaction is a bit troubling. Before making a diagnosis, I always like to ask the patient himself what he…or she…thinks has brought something like this on. What do you think might have caused it?”
She shrugged. “Overwork, I guess. Lack of sleep. Stress.”
He frowned. “What are you doing that might be causing all this stress?”
That was an easy one. Ever since she’d been offered this contract, she’d been obsessed with every detail, working as hard as she ever had in her life to make sure she came through and didn’t embarrass herself, her restaurant, or—most of all—her father.
And there was more, of course. It had been a crazy summer so far, with her beloved grandfather William dying in June. Because of strained relations with her own father and a schizophrenic connection with her mother, she’d clung to the older man at times, soaking up his love and responding in kind. His death had been natural, but a sorrowful one for his huge extended family. His sad funeral had been a sort of reunion for the remaining Valentine clan, conjuring up all sorts of emotions that had been papered over for years. With so much going on, sometimes she felt as though she were running at full scream level without the sound.
But she couldn’t tell him all of that. Much easier to keep it simple.
“My job,” she said, nodding confidently. “I’ve been staying up late preparing for this special assignment for weeks now. I work all day as chef at a restaurant in London and study half the night. Then when I finally do go to bed, my heart is still racing like a hamster on his little wheel, running faster and faster. I don’t seem to be able to slow down again.”
“So the more tired you get, the less you sleep.”
“It seems that way.”
“Yet you had no trouble falling asleep on this hard tile floor.”
She crinkled her nose, thinking. “It was…pleasant. Sort of like taking a vacation from real life, lying here with my eyes closed.” She managed a weak smile. “I started to think a little temporary coma might be nice.”
He shook his head. “No comas. You might start liking them too much.”
He was right. She needed to get back into reality. Gathering all her strength, she sat up fully.
“Hey, take it easy,” Will said, reaching out to steady her.
And there it was again, that deep, provocative tingle that made her gasp. The man’s hands were like magic. Black magic. There was something in his touch that tempted her to curl herself into his arms, inviting more, but she stopped herself quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed her reaction—or her automatic recoil once she’d realized what was happening.
“I’m fine, really.” She looked up into his face, then away again quickly. “Just…just a little woozy.”
Will nodded, thinking for a moment. “I don’t want to give you anything—no pills, no shots. In my experience, things like that often create more new problems while hardly dealing with the old ones. I leave the drugs to last resort.” He paused. “What I would like is for you to take a nice long nap,” he said at last, looking into her eyes gravely.
“I’d like that too,” she said, feeling a little as though she might cry if she didn’t watch it. Emotions were bubbling inside her and she didn’t have the strength to try to sort them out as yet. “But I can’t. I’ve got to get back to work. I just went off for a walk to find a cooler place than the kitchen for a bit. I’m sure they all wonder what on earth happened to me. Especially the housekeeper.”
“I’ll let them know.” Will started to help her to her feet. “I’m going to take you to your room. Doctor’s orders.”
Monty rose as well. “I’ll come too.”
She started to shake her head, horrified, but Will beat her to it.
“No, you won’t. You can’t wander around the castle in your swimsuit like you do on your yachts. There are sensibilities to be considered. Maids will be fainting in the halls.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
But Will was serious. “Monty, you’re not who you used to be. You have a new position and you’ve got to maintain some decorum.”
Emma wasn’t sure what they were talking about, but she knew she wanted to get away from Monty and his cool gaze as soon as possible. She could tell he was bristling.
“So now you’re ordering me around?” he said coldly to his friend.
Will nodded. “I’m sure you’ll give me this much leeway,” he said softly. “For old times’ sake.”
Monty stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged and turned to Emma. “Where’s your room?” he asked her.
Her eyes widened. “I have no idea. I get lost every time I turn a corner in this place.”
“How are you going to find it again if you don’t know where it is?”
“Someone will tell us,” Will said.
“It’s very high up,” Emma added, trying to be helpful. “A nice room. The sort of place that feels like if they locked me in and I grew my hair long…”
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel?” Monty’s look of irritation stung. “There you go with the fairy tales again.” His gaze raked over her. “All right, go with Will. I’ll check on you later.”
“Monty…” Will began in a warning tone.
“You can keep your opinions to yourself,” Monty ordered, giving his friend a look that registered something close to disgust. “You don’t have to worry. She’s clearly not my type at all.”
Will made a scoffing sound in his throat. “She’s female, isn’t she?” he said softly, plainly not meaning the comment for Emma to hear.
But she’d heard all right, and her mind had cleared enough to know that she wanted to avoid a room visit from this man at all costs.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” she said quickly, stepping a bit closer to Will. “The doctor will handle it.”
He stared at her and she realized she’d been a little too obvious in her anxiety. No emotion showed in his eyes, but she could feel his hostility.
“As you wish,” he said evenly. “Goodbye, Emma Valentine.”
Reaching out, he took her hand and bent from the waist to brush her fingers with his lips. “Until we meet again.”
He left her breathless but at least he was gone.
“What did he do that for?” she asked Will as they started toward the castle elevator. Her hand was tingling and she rubbed it against her shorts.
“He likes to keep us all on our toes by doing the unexpected,” Will told her cheerfully.
He’d certainly fulfilled that image today, she thought with some irritation.
“You’re the castle physician,” she said to the doctor. “What does Monty do?”
“Monty?” He chuckled. “You might say Monty is a servant to us all.”
She frowned, wishing she could really get rid of all the cobwebs so she could understand better what was going on around her. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“All in due time, my dear. All in due time.”
She was lost. Again.
“They should hand out maps at the door of this place,” she muttered in frustration as she hurried down one hall and then up another, hoping to see something familiar—anything at all.
It would also have helped if there had been someone to ask for directions, but the halls she went racing down were empty. Maybe she was lost in a ghost castle.
But she knew better. It had only been a half-hour before that she’d had a visit from Myrna Luk, the castle housekeeper.
“Well, he’s done it again,” she’d said as she breezed into Emma’s room. A pretty woman in her late forties, she seemed harried and overworked but managed to keep a friendly look on her face, which was more than most of the staff had welcomed Emma with.
“Who’s done what?” Emma asked, reaching for her white uniform, anxious to show that she was ready to join in after having been AWOL for so long. She’d had a wonderful long nap and was feeling very much herself again. Dr Will had been to check on her and had been pleased with her condition. So things were looking up.
“The prince, of course. Prince Sebastian.” The housekeeper put a hand up to smooth down the curls of her dark brown hair. “He’s here, crept in on us unannounced. The level of service for dinner will have to be raised. It won’t just be the duke and the duchess. It will be the prince as well.” She began counting out diners on her fingers. “And the Italian ambassador, so they tell me, along with his wife and sister. The chancellor of the treasury, the minister of defense and his wife. And of course, Romas, the old duke’s son, and…let’s see…”
“The prince is here?”
Emma was suddenly nervous. She’d been ready to meet the prince and begin working out menus with him, but when they had told her he wouldn’t arrive until the weekend she’d been disappointed, but secretly a little relieved. That gave her a little more time. And now he was here after all, and she didn’t feel prepared.
“Yes, he’s here. And us being so shorthanded. So the chef tells me.” The housekeeper looked at Emma speculatively. “I know it’s not what you’re here for but you might as well pitch in. After all, you need to get the lay of the land and see how things are done around here. So…do you mind working with Chef Henri?”
“No. No, of course not.”
Emma was amenable but she wondered how Chef Henri would take it. When she’d met the man the night before she’d had the distinct impression he would have liked to see her filleted along with the fish course. Actually, she’d come face to face with a wall of hostility from most of the kitchen staff. It had been evident right away that they greatly resented that she’d been chosen as chef to the coronation over someone home-grown.
“You look a little tired,” Myrna Luk was saying. “And Dr Will filled me in on your situation. Sure you’re up to this?”
“Oh, absolutely.”
Regardless of how she felt, she had to be up to it. After all, this was the housekeeper, the only person on the staff who had actually been nice to her so far, asking for help. If she couldn’t come through for her, she might as well give up and go home.
“How are you getting on?” Myrna asked, looking her over a bit more closely.
Emma hesitated, tempted to tell her the truth—that the staff was treating her like a redheaded stepchild. But what, after all, was that going to get her—except more antagonism from them? Anyway, this was her job and she had to take care of it herself.
“Quite fine, thank you.”
“Wonderful. Then I’ll tell Chef Henri that you’re willing.”
“Yes.”
Willing, surely. But able? That remained to be seen.
Though she was refreshed from the best sleep she’d had in a week, she still hadn’t gone over what had happened that morning and come to terms with it. That would have to come later. Right now, she needed to find that darn elevator, or maybe some stairs, and get to the kitchen.
She turned a corner and there it was. The ancient elevator. Sighing with relief, she hurried up and pushed the button. The elevator lumbered toward her with much creaking and clashing of metal against metal, giving her qualms. And then the doors slid open.
“Oh, no!”
The reaction slipped out before she could stop it, for there stood the very man she most wanted to avoid seeing again.
He didn’t look any happier to see her.
“Well, come on, get on board,” he said gruffly. “I won’t bite.” One eyebrow rose. “Though I might nibble a little,” he added, mostly to amuse himself.
But she wasn’t paying any attention to what he was saying. She was staring at him, taking in the royal-blue uniform he was wearing, with gold braid and glistening badges decorating the sleeves, epaulettes and upright collar. Ribbons and medals covered the breast of the short, fitted jacket. A gold-encrusted sabre hung at his side. And suddenly it was clear to her who this man really was.
She gulped wordlessly. Reaching out, he took her elbow and pulled her aboard. The doors slid closed. And finally she found her tongue.
“You…you’re the prince.”
He nodded, barely glancing at her. “Yes. Of course.”
She raised a hand and covered her mouth for a moment. “I should have known.”
“Of course you should have. I don’t know why you didn’t.” He punched the ground-floor button to get the elevator moving again, then turned to look down at her. “A relatively bright five-year-old child would have tumbled to the truth right away.”
Her shock faded as her indignation at his tone asserted itself. He might be the prince, but he was still just as annoying as he had been earlier that day.
“A relatively bright five-year-old child without a bump on the head from a badly thrown water-polo ball, maybe,” she said defensively. She wasn’t feeling woozy any longer and she wasn’t about to let him bully her, no matter how royal he was. “I was unconscious half the time.”
“And just clueless the other half, I guess,” he said, looking bemused.
The arrogance of the man was really galling.
“I suppose you think your ‘royalness’ is so obvious it sort of shimmers around you for all to see?” she challenged. “Or, better yet, oozes from your pores like…like sweat on a hot day?”
“Something like that,” he acknowledged calmly. “Most people tumble to it pretty quickly. In fact, it’s hard to hide even when I want to avoid dealing with it.”
“Poor baby,” she said, still resenting his manner. “I guess that works better with injured people who are half asleep.” Looking at him, she felt a strange emotion she couldn’t identify. It was as though she wanted to prove something to him, but she wasn’t sure what. “And anyway, you know you did your best to fool me,” she added.
His brows knit together as though he really didn’t know what she was talking about. “I didn’t do a thing.”
“You told me your name was Monty.”
“It is.” He shrugged. “I have a lot of names. Some of them are too rude to be spoken to my face, I’m sure.” He glanced at her sideways, his hand on the hilt of his sabre. “Perhaps you’re contemplating one of those right now.”
You bet I am.
That was what she would like to say. But it suddenly occurred to her that she was supposed to be working for this man. If she wanted to keep the job of coronation chef, maybe she’d better keep her opinions to herself. So she clamped her mouth shut, took a deep breath, and looked away, trying hard to calm down.
The elevator ground to a halt and the doors slid open laboriously. She moved to step forward, hoping to make her escape, but his hand shot out again and caught her elbow.
“Wait a minute. You’re a woman,” he said, as though that thought had just presented itself to him.
“That’s a rare ability for insight you have there, Your Highness,” she snapped before she could stop herself. And then she winced. She was going to have to do better than that if she was going to keep this relationship on an even keel.
But he was ignoring her dig. Nodding, he stared at her with a speculative gleam in his golden eyes. “I’ve been looking for a woman, but you’ll do.”
She blanched, stiffening. “I’ll do for what?”
He made a head gesture in a direction she knew was opposite of where she was going and his grip tightened on her elbow.
“Come with me,” he said abruptly, making it an order.
She dug in her heels, thinking fast. She didn’t much like orders. “Wait! I can’t. I have to get to the kitchen.”
“Not yet. I need you.”
“You what?” Her breathless gasp of surprise was soft, but she knew he’d heard it.
“I need you,” he said firmly. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I’m not planning to throw you into the hay and have my way with you. I need you for something a bit more mundane than that.”
She felt color rushing into her cheeks and she silently begged it to stop. Here she was, formless and stodgy in her chef’s whites. No makeup, no stiletto heels. Hardly the picture of the femme fatale he was undoubtedly used to. The likelihood that he would have any carnal interest in her was remote at best. To have him think she was hysterically defending her virtue was humiliating.
“Well, what if I don’t want to go with you?” she said in hopes of deflecting his attention from her blush.
“Too bad.”
“What?”
Amusement sparkled in his eyes. He was certainly enjoying this. And that only made her more determined to resist him.
“I’m the prince, remember? And we’re in the castle. My orders take precedence. It’s that old pesky divine rights thing.”
Her jaw jutted out. Despite her embarrassment, she couldn’t let that pass.
“Over my free will? Never!”
Exasperation filled his face.
“Hey, call out the historians. Someone will write a book about you and your courageous principles.” His eyes glittered sardonically. “But in the meantime, Emma Valentine, you’re coming with me.”
CHAPTER THREE
EMMA glared at Sebastian. It wasn’t enough that he was arrogant and bossy—he thought he could mock her principles, too. She’d about had it with this man. Prince or no prince, he had a lesson in manners due him.
Her half-sister Rachel had warned her about this prince just a few days ago. Emma had been staying with Rachel and her new husband at their French vineyard. As she’d been packing up for her flight to Meridia Rachel had come in and flopped down on the bed.
“Be careful,” she said. “You know what these young royals are like these days. And I hear this one’s a perfect example of a playboy.”
“Really?” That wasn’t the first time Emma had heard that, but she didn’t think it was going to affect her work. “I doubt I’ll even meet with him more than once,” she assured her sister.
Rachel pursed her lips and gazed at her speculatively. “That’s probably for the best,” she said slowly. “It might be just as well if you didn’t get your pretty little head turned.”
Emma sighed. “Don’t.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Rachel, you know I’ve never been pretty. Competent, yes. Smart. Quick. Good at my job. But never pretty.”
Rachel stared at her, aghast. “What are you talking about? You’re gorgeous. Emma Valentine, I’ll bet you haven’t looked in a mirror since you were sixteen.”
Emma raised her head. “I’m looking in the mirror right now.”
“And you see a lovely woman hidden behind hair that you didn’t bother to brush this morning and a naturally lovely face with no mascara to draw attention to your beautiful blue eyes.”
“Oh, please. I have no intention of trying to be a seduc-tress here.”
“I know, but that’s not the point. A little evidence that you might be open to some male attention is all I’m asking for.”
“But I’m not.”
Rachel rolled her eyes. “Okay. We’ll talk about this later. After the Meridia gig. The last thing I would want to do would be to encourage a prince to start chasing you.”
The whole concept had made her laugh. And it was still ridiculous to contemplate. This prince was certainly gorgeous, but he was as arrogant and unpleasant as they came.
“Listen, mister,” she began, trying to pull away from his grip on her elbow. “The divine rights of kings is all very well. Just don’t forget about noblesse oblige.”
“Emma, you listen,” he said, giving every sign of a man who’d also come to the end of his patience. “I told you I need a woman’s touch. And you’re that woman.”
She looked up into his eyes and what she saw there gave her shivers. Was he really that cold-hearted? Or was this just a royal trait?
“But, I need to get to the kitchen,” she tried, knowing the weakness of her voice was giving away the fact that her stand had weakened, too.
“Calm down.” His mouth twitched at the corners as he waited a moment for her to breathe evenly again, then he gestured toward his collar where a coil of braid flapped out, flying loose. “I just need a bit of repair work. A little sewing. That’s all.”
For the first time, she noticed that he held a needle and a long tail of thread in his other hand.
“I can’t sew,” she said quickly.
“Liar.” Now he was laughing at her. “If you took cooking classes, I have no doubt a sewing lesson or two lurked in there somewhere. Come on. You’re going to sew this braid back on for me.”
“But—”
“Emma, have a heart. I’ve got to get to the reception in the entry hall. They’re waiting for me. And I can’t show up like this.” He paused, and then, with what seemed like a lot of effort, he made himself say, “Please.”
She bristled, and then slowly relaxed. There was no point in keeping up this resistance when she knew she was going to have to give in eventually anyway. And if all he really wanted was a bit of needlework, the more quickly she got to it, the more quickly she would be back on her way to the kitchen. Besides, she was a sucker for people who said “please”.
“Oh, all right,” she said, shaking her head in resignation. “I’ll give it a try. But I’m warning you, I’m not very good at it.”
He nodded and led her into a small room just a few feet away from the elevator. It seemed to be a storage center of sorts, with maps pinned and glued all over the walls and large pieces of luggage stacked on shelves and set about in piles.
“We’ll be out of the way here,” he said, dropping down to sit on a tall stool and handing her the needle. “Sew like the wind, my sweet, and we’ll be back on our way in no time.”
She put a knot in the thread rather absently as she looked down at his collar. He’d unbuttoned the top buttons so that it could be pulled to the side a bit. The braid was definitely loose, and somewhat shredded in places, but she knew she could take care of it easily. Still…
She cleared her throat nervously. “You know, this would be a lot easier to do if you took the jacket off,” she suggested.
He shook his head. “Can’t do it. You don’t know what it cost me to get into this damn monkey suit in the first place. I’ll never be able to summon the patience to do it again.”
She sighed. Nothing was ever completely easy, was it? “Hold still, then.”
Her fingers were shaking. She bit her lip, trying to stop them. If she couldn’t keep steady and the needle slipped…She winced, thinking of it. He’d have her fired for sure.
Fired! Hah! Killed, more likely.
She almost laughed aloud and somehow that thought steadied her. Taking a deep breath, she pressed the piece of braid down where it evidently belonged and began her first probe with the needle.
There. That wasn’t so hard. She took a tiny stitch, then another, and then she was moving along as though she really did know what she was doing. The trick was going to be to keep her mind off the fact that she was doing this for the prince.
The prince! The man who was going to be King of Meridia. She hadn’t let that fact sink in yet. She couldn’t think about it if she was going to get through this task alive.
But it wasn’t easy. She had to force herself to ignore the sense of his body heat that wafted up from his open-necked uniform, bringing with it a clean, masculine scent. Her fingers brushed the warm skin of his neck every now and then. And she felt a sensation—a sort of flutter of excitement—every time.
It was only natural. After all, he was a very attractive man—smooth skin, thick, shiny hair, and the most beautiful ear…Her mouth was dry and she was embarrassed. But, after all, she wouldn’t be human if all that didn’t affect her—just a little.
And she knew it didn’t mean a thing. He was as self-centered as they came. And, more than that, he was dangerous. She didn’t want to spell out just exactly what he threatened in her. Better not to think about that. But she’d known enough to shy away from him even before she’d found out he was the prince. She just had to keep that in mind.
The most ridiculous thing in the world would be to let herself get a crush on this man. But she really didn’t fear that because she wasn’t the type to get caught up in romance. It had never been all that important to her. She’d been too busy becoming the best chef she could be. So she wasn’t really very worried.
Still, if love was a contagious disease, she ought to get a vaccination. Just recently her half-sisters, the twins, Rebecca and Rachel, had both come down with it. Emma had celebrated Rebecca’s marriage in Wyoming, then stopped to visit Rachel and her new husband, Luc, at their vineyard in France before coming to Meridia.
It was wonderful that both her older sisters had found love the way they had. But it did exact its own sort of toll on her spirit. She’d never been in love herself—never had time. She was almost thirty. Was it too late for her to find a way to develop the knack for it? If it hadn’t happened in all this time, maybe it never would.
That was a disturbing thought and, added to the jumble that was now her emotional life—just another thing she didn’t have time to think about.
The sound of a voice from down the hall made her realize it had been some time since either of them had spoken. It was almost beginning to feel awkward. She tried to think of something to say, but how did you strike up a conversation with a prince?
Still, this wasn’t just any prince. This was the man who’d knocked her out with a water-polo ball, then sat with her while she’d tried to get him to tell her fairy tales. Surely she could think of something to say to him.
“So,” she said tentatively, going back over some of her stitches to strengthen the hold, “you’re going to be King. I guess that must be pretty thrilling.”
Glancing up, he gave her a quizzical look. “I can think of other words for it,” he muttered.
“Well, I’m thrilled,” she persisted. “This is going to be my first chance to show an international audience what I can do. I only hope I do you proud.”
He was looking at her as though he thought her hopelessly naïve, but she didn’t care.
“I have some really unique plans. I’d like to go over them with you when you have a minute. Maybe tomorrow morning?”
She knew she was starting to show how much she loved her work, and she also knew that such an open attitude was probably considered completely tedious in his crowd, but she couldn’t pretend to be sophisticated—because she was anything but. He was the prince and she was the commoner—and she wasn’t going to try to be anything else.
“Wait until you see some of the menus.”
“I can hardly contain my excitement,” he said dryly, and, though he didn’t put that sarcastic, mocking tone he so often used in his voice, she could tell he was having trouble holding it back, and she flushed again.
Biting her lower lip, she vowed to quit trying to be polite. It didn’t pay with this man. If he wasn’t interested in having a normal conversation, so be it.
But then she noticed he was staring at one of the maps on the wall across from where he sat. Reaching out, he could just barely reach it. Very slowly, almost lovingly, he traced the outline of Italy with his forefinger.
“Italy’s a wonderful country,” she said.
He nodded but he didn’t say anything.
“I was in Rome last year for an Italian meringue seminar. It was a trip I’ll never forget.”
He gave her a dubious look. “The Italians have their own type of meringue?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. You slowly pour hot sugar syrup over stiffly beaten egg whites and keep beating until the whole thing has cooled. It makes a much more stable meringue.”
“Great. There’s nothing I hate more than an unstable meringue.”
He was making fun of her but she didn’t react. Her mind had gone back to his tracing the outline of the map. There was something almost sad and regretful about the way he’d done it and she wondered why.
“My grandmother was Italian,” she told him. “From Naples. My grandfather met her during the war.”
“Really.” He looked up, and for the first time his eyes seemed clear and interested. “My mother was Italian. She was born in Florence.”
Their gazes met and held in a stolen moment of mutual understanding, a connection across a vast, empty plain. And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it was gone, and he looked away.
Her heart was suddenly thumping in her chest. Before she had time to catch her breath, he was speaking again, changing the subject.
“So, Emma Valentine. How did you get the job as my coronation food guru? I thought we usually used the in-house cook to do the dirty deed.”
“I’m told you have in the past,” she said quickly, hoping he hadn’t noticed how she’d responded to that momentary bond between them. She couldn’t seem to control her pulse or her breathing around him as it was and the whole thing was getting darned inconvenient. “But this time…”
She stopped and started again.
“Well, you see, Todd Akers, your coronation manager, is a regular at our restaurant in London. We’ve become friendly over the years. So when he had this fantastic assignment, he knew of my work. He contacted me and asked if I would be interested.”
“And you were.”
“Oh, yes. It’s a chance of a lifetime for me.”
He looked at her, curious. “In what way?”
“Well…As I said before, it’s an opportunity to show the world what I can do. Make my reputation.”
“And from that will come more offers for other coronations?” he asked skeptically. “How many can there be?”
“And other large affairs as well,” she explained quickly. “Also, cooking shows on television. Cookbook contracts. Positions in cooking schools. All sorts of things.”
Including a chance that her father would finally feel that she’d made it in this profession. There was always that hope, dim as it might be. But she crinkled her nose and pushed those concerns away. She would worry about that when she was back in London.
“If all goes well,” Sebastian said softly, his face taking on a strange, dreamy look.
“Of course. If I fail…” She caught her breath and shook her head firmly. “No! I won’t even entertain the thought. I’m going to give you a coronation dinner fit for a king.” She couldn’t resist a quick grin. “So to speak.”
“So to speak,” he echoed, nodding. He glanced up at her again, his eyes hooded. “So you and Todd are…old friends.”
He said it in a significant way that added a spin she couldn’t let pass. Did he really think she’d been chosen for this job because she’d been…“friendly” with Todd? Frowning, she pulled back and stared at him.
“We are not ‘old friends’.”
He raised an eyebrow, searching her gaze. “New friends?”
“We’re not ‘friends’ the way you make it sound.” She pursed her lips, gazing at him. “You really are a cynical man, aren’t you?”
He shrugged with a nonchalance that came naturally to him.
“It’s a requirement for survival, sweetheart.”
He gave his statement a Humphrey Bogart twist that almost made her smile. Almost.
Instead, she got an urge to lecture him.
No! the rational part of her warned.
Just a little lecture. For his own good.
No! Don’t be crazy! What will you get out of it?
The lecture isn’t for me. It’s for him. And he needs it.
She waited a few seconds, but the rational side didn’t seem to have an answer for that, so she took a deep breath and charged ahead.
“Since you’re interested in survival,” she began, carefully feeling her way at first, “I’ve got a tip for you. It’ll make you a better monarch.”
He looked suddenly wary. “Okay. Let’s hear it.”
She was rapidly developing a nervous twitch now that he was looking at her so intently, and wondering if it might not have been better to listen to her rational side after all, but she soldiered on.
“Requests and suggestions work better than orders,” she said as firmly as she could, concentrating resolutely on her stitches. “Don’t run roughshod over people, like you did with me just now. Make them want to help you by giving them the same respect you want from them.”
He stared up at her, shaking his head, looking like a man who felt he was being wrongly accused. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You.” She glanced at him and then back to the sewing. “You tend to order people about as though their lives aren’t as important as yours and—”
“No, I don’t.”
Now he was looking fierce, and his fierce look was enough to make her voice shake a little, no matter how tough she was determined to be.
“Yes, you do.”
He shook his head. “And, anyway, maybe their lives aren’t as important as mine.”
Throwing her free hand in the air, she appealed to the heavens. “See what I mean?”
“So you want me to pretend,” he said irritably, his jaw clenched. “To make nice.”
Her heart was racing. She’d offended him. She probably shouldn’t have brought it up. But she couldn’t back down now. She lifted her chin and held her own.
“Yes, if it comes to that,” she told him earnestly.
He glared at her. “You have some nerve, Emma Valentine,” he said in a voice that could have cut through steel.
“I know.”
He paused, staring at her, then shook his head. “Okay, Emma,” he said gruffly. “I’ll think about it.”
“Oh.” Relief flooded her system. “Well. Good.” She wanted to laugh but she didn’t dare ruin everything. “Hold still,” she said as she tied off the knotted end. “There. You’re finished.”
Rising, he buttoned his jacket up to the neck and flexed his wide shoulders inside, then bent to look into a mirror.
“Good job,” he said coolly. “It looks great.”
She nodded, turning toward the doorway. “I’m off,” she said, avoiding another last look into his eyes. “Goodbye.”
“Emma.” He caught her hand and held it until she turned back to face him. “Thank you very much.”
She looked up in surprise. The way he said it, she had a feeling he didn’t overuse that phrase.
“Let me know if there is any favor I can ever do for you,” he added.
A certain warmth filled her. Was he saying this because she’d made him more aware? There was no way to tell, but she thought there was a chance her little lecture had actually done some good.
On the other hand, was that a mocking light she saw in his eyes? With a rueful smile, she turned. It was time to get away from him and his very potent sphere of influence.
But before she could escape, he reached out and stopped her again.
“Before you go, one word of advice for you, Miss Valentine,” he said coolly, his golden eyes cynical. “When you hang around a royal castle, don’t trust anyone.”
She frowned. Was he trying to scare her? Or was his warning for real?
“Not even the king?” she asked.
His smile was humorless. “Especially not the king,” he said.
The kitchen of Rolande Castle seemed to have a personality of its own—ancient, cavernous and crusty, with a certain medieval ambience. As Emma looked around it she could imagine knights of old stomping through, armor clanging, nabbing hunks of just-roasted meat with their swords. Modern stainless-steel appliances and other attempts at updating were overwhelmed by the dark atmosphere of centuries past lingering on. A huge arched brick fireplace took up one entire wall and the heat it generated was stifling. Large copper-bottomed pots hung everywhere.
“Chef Henri,” she said, presenting herself to the chef, a pudgy man with a sense of the dramatic and a mustache that reminded her of Salvador Dalí. “The housekeeper said you could use some help tonight, so I…”
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