The Prince's Cowboy Double
Victoria Chancellor
When the Prince of Belegovia deserted his royal tour of Texas to take an impromptu holiday with a blond waitress, his PR coordinator needed to do some serious damage control. Desperate, prim-and-proper Lady Gwendolyn Reed hired rodeo star Hank McCauley–a dead ringer for the roaming royal–to stand in until the prince's return.But would Lady Gwendolyn be able to tame this willful Texan into the picture of dutiful decorum? Or would Hank seduce the stunning aristocrat into letting down her hair…and more?
“I have a proposition for you.”
Hank McCauley grinned. “That’s a surprise, darlin’, especially this early in the day.”
“A business proposition,” Gwendolyn clarified. “I represent the royal family of Belegovia on this trip to the United States. Unfortunately, Prince Alexi has disappeared.”
“Oh, yeah. I saw that prince on television. Looks like he could be my twin. I don’t know what I can do for you, Lady Wendy. That prince is sure not hiding out on my ranch.”
She took a deep breath. “No, but for all intents and purposes, he could be here.”
“Whoa!” Hank pulled his attention away from her quality attributes. “Don’t tell me you want me to pretend to be this prince until he shows up?”
“I need your assistance, Mr. McCauley, and I’m prepared to make it worth your while.”
“Lady Wendy, you shouldn’t ever leave an offer like that on the table to a real Texan.”
Dear Reader,
Happy New Year! January is an exciting month here at Mills & Boon American Romance. It marks the beginning of a yearlong celebration of our 20th anniversary. Come indulge with us for twelve months of supersatisfying reads by your favorite authors and exciting newcomers, too!
Throughout 2003, we’ll be bringing you some not-to-miss miniseries. This month, bestselling author Muriel Jensen inaugurates MILLIONAIRE, MONTANA, our newest in-line continuity, with Jackpot Baby. This exciting six-book series is set in a small Montana town whose residents win a forty-million-dollar lottery jackpot. But winning a fortune comes with a price and no one’s life will ever be the same again.
Next, Commander’s Little Surprise, the latest book in Mollie Molay’s GROOMS IN UNIFORM series, is a must-read secret-baby and reunion romance with a strong hero you won’t be able to resist. Victoria Chancellor premieres her new A ROYAL TWIST miniseries in which a runaway prince and his horse-wrangling look-alike switch places. Don’t miss The Prince’s Cowboy Double, the first book in this delightful duo. Finally, when a small Alaskan town desperately needs a doctor, there’s only one man who can do the job, in Under Alaskan Skies by Carol Grace.
So come join in the celebrating and start your year off right—by reading all four Mills & Boon American Romance books!
Melissa Jeglinski
Associate Senior Editor
Mills & Boon American Romance
The Prince’s Cowboy Double
Victoria Chancellor
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my literary agent, Linda Kruger, for her consistent
support in good times and bad.
Here’s to the future!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
After twenty-eight years in Texas, VICTORIA CHANCELLOR has almost qualified for “naturalized Texan” status. She lives in a suburb of Dallas with her husband of thirty-one years, next door to her daughter, who is an English teacher. When not writing, she tends to her “zoo” of four cats, a ferret, five tortoises, a wide assortment of wild birds, three visiting chickens and several families of raccoons and opossums. For more information on past and future releases, please visit her Web site at www.victoriachancellor.com (http://www.victoriachancellor.com).
Books by Victoria Chancellor
MILLS & BOON AMERICAN ROMANCE
844—THE BACHELOR PROJECT
884—THE BEST BLIND DATE IN TEXAS
955—THE PRINCE’S COWBOY DOUBLE* (#litres_trial_promo)
Contents
Chapter One (#ue6e41e75-974b-5ca6-b7eb-dbe1f6c813d9)
Chapter Two (#u12fb06d1-d90c-5a1f-a871-082682a0a065)
Chapter Three (#ub08efc00-390f-506f-9cfd-2de8ed25df02)
Chapter Four (#u7f59d95c-92f4-5e09-a2e2-310439bfbde9)
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)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Lady Gwendolyn Reed straightened her plum wool suit jacket, squared her shoulders in the best tradition of the British nobility, and watched the so-called cowboy approach the screen door from inside the darkened house. Backlit by a window at the end of the hallway, he appeared tall and broad shouldered. Instead of hurrying, as would be proper in this situation, he sauntered with a rolling gait she’d only seen previously in Western films.
A tiny bead of perspiration traveled down her back, keeping time with the cowboy’s slow, steady pace. Who would have imagined early May would be so dashedly hot, even in Texas?
Gwendolyn resisted the urge to tap her foot on the wide wooden planks. She didn’t want to be here. Looking back briefly to the black Land Rover parked in the gravel drive, she was at least assured she wasn’t alone. A very nervous valet watched her from behind tinted glass. The driver—an Austin resident who had grown up driving on the wrong side of the motor-ways—appeared stoic and unaffected, as usual.
One must have nerves of steel to negotiate the frightening dual carriageways and twisting rural roads of Texas, where everyone drove large vehicles—from huge lorries to caravans on holiday—at an alarming rate of speed.
“Mr. Hank McCauley?” she asked as the man stopped before her.
“That’s me, darlin’,” he drawled, running a hand through his too-long hair. He opened the thin barrier of the screen door and stepped outside. Dressed in low-slung jeans, a white towel draped around his shoulders, he appeared as though he’d recently stepped out of the shower. His long bare feet told her she’d interrupted his morning—his very late morning—grooming. His stubble indicated he hadn’t shaved yet today. He ran a hand through sun-streaked, tousled brown hair.
He looked just like a James Dean-ish, Hollywood-style version of Prince Alexi Ladislas of Belegovia.
Oh, my. Gwendolyn looked up into his sleepy, hooded blue eyes, telling herself that she should be evaluating this Texan for his suitability, not comparing his masculine attributes to the prince. Still, any woman would appreciate his tall, broad-shouldered form, his smooth, tanned skin, and the intangible air about him that screamed—no, make that whispered in a bedroom voice—I am one-hundred-percent male.
Odd that Prince Alexi, who appeared the mirror image—albeit a more polished one—of Hank McCauley had never affected her this way.
She blinked away the notion of cool sheets and warm showers, clutching her combination purse and briefcase tighter until she was sure she’d left imprints in the leather. “Mr. McCauley, my name is Lady Gwendolyn Reed and I have a proposition for you.”
He grinned. “Well, that’s a real surprise, darlin’, especially this early in the day. Most of those come at night out at Schultze’s Roadhouse.”
She assumed this roadhouse was some type of pub, one this man frequented with some regularity. “A business proposition,” Gwendolyn clarified, fighting the urge to lose her composure completely on the porch of this ranch house in the Texas Hill Country. She wondered what King Wilheim would say if she pulled her hair loose, threw down her briefcase and ran screaming across the blue-and-red flower-dotted countryside.
She’d had a very bad morning.
“I represent the royal family of Belegovia on this trip to the United States. Unfortunately, Prince Alexi—you may have read or heard of his trip to Texas—has disappeared.”
“Oh, yeah. I saw that prince guy on the television. Looks like he could be my twin,” Mr. McCauley said with a heart-stopping grin.
“Yes, well I’m sure the two of you are unrelated, although the resemblance is remarkable. Prince Alexi, of course, grew up in England while the royal family was in exile.”
“You don’t say. What did they do wrong?”
“Wrong?”
“To get exiled.”
Gwendolyn gritted her teeth. “Their only crime was to be taken over by the Soviet Union after World War II. The monarchy was restored to Belegovia after the breakup of the communist government.”
“Ah, one of those political things.”
“Quite. Now, as I was saying, I need your assistance.”
He leaned against the door frame, close enough that Gwendolyn smelled his spicy cologne and envisioned a diamond-bright sparkle coming from his sexy grin. “What can I do for you, darlin’?”
“May I come inside so we may talk?”
He straightened, using one arm to push the screen door wider. “Come right on in, Wendy.”
“That’s Lady Gwendolyn.”
“We’re not much on titles in the U.S. of A.”
“So I’ve heard. In that case, you may call me—”
“Darlin’, you look just like a Wendy to me.”
She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Be nice to the man. He’s probably the only person in this barbaric land who looks exactly like Prince Alexi. Thankfully, she’d overheard the rather vivacious waitress—the very reason Alexi was now missing—mention Hank McCauley’s name and hometown.
He leaned close enough that she saw a tiny crescent-moon scar to the right of his upper lip. “Lady Wendy, you shouldn’t ever leave an offer like that on the table to a real Texan.”
HANK WASN’T SURE WHAT the pretty English lady’s game was, but he was curious enough to listen. He hadn’t planned to do much except take a nap after his shower, anyway. All-night colic sessions took a lot out of him. Fortunately, the mare he’d walked and dosed until long past dawn had finally settled down.
“Pardon the mess,” he said, grabbing a denim work shirt off the arm of the couch with one hand and a cold mug of coffee with the other. “I’d tell you it was the maid’s day off, but that would be a lie. She’s been gone a good three months that I can recall.”
He saw indulgent sympathy in her eyes. “That’s quite all right, Mr. McCauley. Perhaps my offer will lead to the hiring of new housekeeper.”
He needed another ten hours in his day, not money for a housekeeper. But he wasn’t about to admit that to the lady until he learned why she was here. “Have a seat, Lady Wendy, while I put this stuff in the kitchen. I’d offer you some coffee, but I don’t have a fresh pot made.”
She perched on the edge of his momma’s old colonial American sofa. He sure did love that couch. Had a few happy memories…but maybe he shouldn’t think about those right now.
“Actually, I prefer tea,” the English lady said, “but please don’t prepare any. I’d rather we got right down to business.”
“I like a lady who knows what she wants,” Hank said from around the corner of the kitchen as he tossed the shirt onto a chair and put the mug on the counter. The smell of the hours-old coffee, which had nearly burned in the pot before the coffeemaker turned itself off, filled the air. He briefly considered putting on a shirt, but he kind of liked the way Lady Wendy tried not to stare at his chest. When he didn’t have busted ribs or some big old bruise, he considered his chest and a fairly respectable six-pack of abs two of his best features.
“So what business brings you to Ranger Springs?” he said, taking a seat in a leather recliner with heat and massage features. That chair had sure felt good on his aching joints when he was still on the circuit. At the moment, the cool leather gave him a little jolt against his bare back.
Lady Wendy was perched on the edge of the couch, that funny-looking purse lying flat on her lap. She had a death grip on the fine-grained leather. Instead of long talons or work-shortened stubs, she had natural-looking, clear-polished nails that looked real classy. “I’m employed by the royal family of Belegovia. I’m charged with coordinating the prince’s tour of Texas for the purpose of expanding economic opportunities and tourism.”
“I saw something about the prince on the news yesterday. He’s been up in Dallas, hasn’t he?”
“Yes. We had several engagements there before traveling to San Antonio.”
“Is that where you’re headed? ’Cause I have to tell you that you made a little detour.”
Maybe he should have made her that hot tea so she’d have something to do with her hands besides holding that purse in a death grip. “I’m aware of where I am and why, Mr. McCauley.”
“Why don’t you call me Hank, Lady Wendy? We Texans don’t stand on formality.”
“Since my proposition is a business one, I’d prefer to keep our discussions less personal.”
He shrugged. “Whatever you like. So, what’s this proposition?”
“First, I must insist this conversation remain confidential between the two of us.”
He nodded. “I’m a man of my word.” As much as he’d like to brag he’d been propositioned by a classy English lady, he’d listen to her story and keep their discussion to himself.
She took a deep breath, giving him a pretty good view of her breasts. Not buckle-bunny, pop-the-snaps quantity, but nice nonetheless. “It appears the prince has decided to take his own holiday.”
Hank pulled his attention away from Lady Wendy’s quality, not quantity, attributes. “What?”
“Prince Alexi has taken a short deviation from our planned itinerary. I’m not sure when he’ll return.”
“Is this a problem?”
“It may be. You see, we have two events in San Antonio, a dinner in Austin, then we hoped to meet with the president if he is going to be at his ranch for the weekend.”
“I guess you don’t want to stand up the president.”
“I don’t want to cancel any of these events. Prince Alexi can be…difficult, but I certainly didn’t expect him to leave me in the lurch.”
“So, are you and this prince an item?”
“I beg your pardon!” If possible, her spine got even straighter. He could probably bounce a quarter off her deltoids.
“You know what I mean. This sounds a bit personal. Are you and the prince…involved?”
“Absolutely not! I’ve known Prince Alexi Ladislas since we were both public-school mates in England, and I’ve never considered him anything more than a friend.”
“Ah, so it is personal.”
“Not in that manner.”
“But he’s your friend, meaning he let you down.”
Lady Wendy seemed to deflate just a bit. “I should have anticipated something like this. There was an unfortunate incident with an actress in Monaco last fall…” She seemed to shake herself away from her memories. “He’s been restless lately, more so since we’d planned this trip to the States.”
“I don’t know what I can do for you, Lady Wendy. That prince is sure not hiding out on my ranch.”
“No, but for all intents and purposes, he could be here.”
“What do you mean by that?”
She took another deep breath, then bent forward just enough to pull that silky material tight against her breasts. “You really are the very image of Prince Alexi, Mr. McCauley. With just a proper—I mean a similar—haircut and his wardrobe, I know that we’d be well on our way to—”
“Whoa! You want me to pretend to be this prince until he shows up?”
“Exactly,” she answered with more enthusiasm than he could have imagined. “With any luck, we’ll be able to contact Prince Alexi within twenty-four hours. I’m sure he’ll see reason and return to his entourage. Unfortunately, canceling the events until his return would appear suspicious, even if I were to come up with a good excuse.”
“Why? Is he involved in something shady?”
“Shady?”
“You know…illegal, immoral or just a little crooked.”
“Absolutely not! He’s a fine, upstanding man from one of Europe’s oldest royal families. He’s educated, intelligent and heir to a kingdom.”
Hank narrowed his eyes. “You sure you aren’t sweet on this guy?”
“No! And besides, even if I were, that’s beside the point.”
“Which is…?”
“I need your assistance, Mr. McCauley, and I’m prepared to make it worth your while.”
“How’s that?”
“While the treasury of Belegovia does not rival those of Great Britain or the Arab world, I can offer you a substantial fee for only a few days of your time.”
Hank shook his head. “I’ve got chores to do, horses to tend. Twenty-five bags of sweet feed are bein’ unloaded this afternoon. This ranch doesn’t run by itself, Lady Wendy.”
“Surely you can hire someone to fill in for a few days. If we get started immediately, I can have any alterations made to the wardrobe, brief you on the itinerary and give you some lessons on protocol.”
“Protocol, hmm? In other words, you’d tell me what to do and say. Tell me, Lady Wendy, how are you gonna explain my Texas accent?”
“I would, of course, give you elocution lessons.”
“You’d teach me to speak like some foreign prince in less than a day? I don’t think so.”
“Prince Alexi speaks English flawlessly. He grew up in England while his family was in exile. He even lived in the States for five years before returning to Belegovia.”
“Did he live in Texas?”
“No, Boston.”
“Then he might as well talk like you, Lady Wendy, because Texans can barely understand those fast-talking Yankees.”
“Surely with a little practice…”
Hank shook his head. “No offense, Lady Wendy, but I don’t think you’ve thought this plan through. Maybe it would be best to just tell everyone he’s sick. Food poisoning, or a summer cold. Those can be pretty nasty.”
“I’ve always found the ‘sudden illness’ reason generates rabid speculation by the press. The tabloids might fabricate ridiculous stories that would make Prince Alexi’s character seem in question. He’s never taken drugs, nor does he drink to excess, but that is the first thing they would write. No, I simply cannot suddenly state that he is ill. Besides, any sickness serious enough to warrant canceling the trip would worry his family needlessly.”
“You could always tell them the truth, that he’s run off for a couple of days,” Hank suggested gently.
“I can’t do that to the king. Although I didn’t grow up in Belegovia, I’ve grown quite fond of the country and the royal family.”
“I’m just not sure I can help you. I’ve never really tried, but I don’t think I’m much of an actor.” He’d talked to one of those Hollywood types about a role in a film once while a movie company had been in Austin, but Hank just didn’t see himself as a either a “pretty boy” or a thug, and he sure didn’t want to play some stereotypical Texas cowboy. He sure wasn’t a prince. Nope, he was a horse trainer now.
She seemed to deflate, slumping back against the sofa. The fire went out of her pretty whiskey-colored eyes. “I’d so counted on a successful trip…the triumph that would bring needed revenues into Belegovia. The country has come so far in so few years, but King Wilheim has such plans…plans Prince Alexi shares. But as of this morning, he’s off with a petite blond waitress from that truck stop on the interstate, and I—”
“Kerry Lynn? He’s gone and run off with Kerry Lynn Jacks?”
“I believe that is her name. As a matter of fact, she gave me the idea of asking you to fill in for the prince—indirectly, of course, since she had no idea she would be running off with the prince at the time—when she mentioned you and she were once involved.”
“Not serious. But that’s beside the point. What in the world was Kerry Lynn thinkin’, runnin’ off with some foreign prince?”
“I believe he was being noble at the time. Something about her unreliable car and a trip to see some relatives…Besides, he can be most compelling when he applies himself.”
“But still, she’s no fool. He must have fed her a line of bull.” Hank shook his finger at the British lady as he leaned forward. “If that prince so much as lays a finger on her, he’ll be answerin’ to me!”
“She kissed him!”
“What?” He slumped back into the recliner.
“Right there in the truck stop, she kissed him. She thought he was you, and she threw her arms about his neck quite enthusiastically and kissed him on the mouth.”
Hank smiled. “Kerry is a bit impulsive. I hadn’t been by to visit in quite a while and I suppose she was just glad to see me.” Hank rubbed his bristly chin. “Say, what date is this, anyway?”
“Wednesday, May 8.”
“Dang it! I’ll bet Kerry thought I was bringing her a graduation present. She’s getting her degree from Southwest Texas State University on Saturday.”
Lady Wendy looked a bit green. “How old is this young woman?”
“Well, she’s three years younger than me, so that would make her twenty-eight.”
The lady seemed to relax. “I thought for a moment that Prince Alexi had run off with someone…younger.”
He almost heard her unspoken words—much younger. Jailbait younger. Hank had to chuckle despite the serious situation of Kerry being off on her own with some foreign prince. “She’s been going to college part-time for as long as I can remember ’cause she helps her mother and sisters by working as a waitress.”
“If she’s graduating on Saturday, surely she won’t be gone long. Today’s Wednesday. If you’ll agree to stand in for the prince, I’m sure it would only be for a day or two. Miss Jacks will return with him, you and Prince Alexi can switch places, and we’ll continue the tour as planned.”
Hank shook his head again. “Haven’t you been listening? I’m a Texan, not some fancy foreigner. I can’t talk like I grew up in Europe and lived in god-awful Boston for five years.”
Lady Wendy brightened. “If that’s your only objection, then we’ll give you a sore throat. Laryngitis won’t cause any suspicion from the press.”
“Whoa, now! I didn’t say that was my only objection. I’d like to point out I don’t exactly act like a prince.”
“I can teach you.”
Hank settled back against the body-warmed leather and thought about the offer. A couple of days with Lady Wendy, learning to be a prince. No doubt eating with his pinkie sticking out. He almost grimaced at the image. For all he knew, this Prince Alexi was some dandified intellectual who knew all about Beethoven and nothing about George Strait. He probably thought Garth Brooks was some little ol’ stream in Wisconsin.
On the other hand, it wouldn’t hurt to learn some manners. Like how to eat those tiny snacks they always served at country clubs. How to order something besides a longneck if he wanted a drink. How to wear something besides new jeans and a clean shirt when he wanted to dress up.
Rich cutting-horse owners often asked him to join them in their boxes during competitions. He also had to go to cocktail parties and some fancy dinners in Houston and Dallas—sometimes even outside of Texas—to meet the kind of people who could afford a twenty- to fifty-thousand-dollar horse. He knew he needed some polish, but so far he’d gotten by with his grin and his championship bronc-riding buckle.
If anyone could make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear in just a day or two, Hank had a real good idea Lady Wendy was the person. She’d at least give it a good British try, he thought with a grin.
“You know, I could probably call Kerry’s momma, Charlene Jacks, at the Four Square Café to find out where they all went,” Hank said.
“But you don’t quite understand, Mr. McCauley. If the prince doesn’t want to be found, if he doesn’t want to come back, nothing will convince him otherwise. I think our time will be best spent training you for tomorrow’s events, then we can find the prince. Or perhaps he will come back. He always does.”
Hank thought about this for a moment. He really didn’t want to end this opportunity so quickly, even if they could locate the prince and convince him to come back. Plus he was very intrigued by the formidable Lady Wendy.
She’d looked so forlorn at the prospect of failing. He wasn’t sure why this job was so important to her—she wasn’t from Belegovia, and she’d claimed she wasn’t sweet on the prince—but whatever the reason, all the starch had gone out of her when he’d questioned her plan. He wasn’t sure he could act like some European prince, but he couldn’t live with the idea that he’d failed her.
“Laryngitis, hmm?” he asked, still grinning. “I’ll cut my hair. I’ll even wear this prince’s fancy clothes. But don’t think I’m gonna stick out my pinkie when I drink out of one of those sissy china cups.”
GWENDOLYN SUPPRESSED A sigh of relief when Mr. McCauley acquiesced to her plan for him to impersonate the prince. At least he’d give it a good try, she was sure, because for some reason he’d decided to help her. It wasn’t the money; something else motivated Hank McCauley. Perhaps he wasn’t as broke or lazy as he appeared. She certainly wished she knew what did motivate him, since she would no doubt need that knowledge later, when instructions were going poorly and he threatened to walk out. Which he probably would.
Truth be told, she wasn’t entirely certain she could turn this casual, flirting, unrefined cowboy into Prince Alexi in less than twenty-four hours. However, the idea of reporting her failure to King Wilheim was unconscionable. She had to try. And Milos Anatole, Prince Alexi’s valet, would help tremendously.
The idea of telling her father she’d been dismissed from her first independent job, especially one with the royal house of Belegovia, was appalling.
“Very good, then, Mr. McCauley. If you’d like to pack a small bag with any personal toiletries, we’ll be off.”
“Whoa, now. I have to make arrangements for someone else to help Juan take care of my stock. I can’t just walk away from seventeen horses, four laying Rhode Island Reds, and the best mouser in the state of Texas.”
Gwendolyn wasn’t sure what he was talking about—probably some types of animals—but he sounded responsible for them. “Perhaps this Juan person can handle the task. Or surely you have a friend or a neighbor who can help.”
“Well now, I have somebody I can call, but I’ve got to see if he’s available. He’s got his own place to take care of.”
Gwendolyn glanced at her watch. If they got on the road within the hour, they could arrive in San Antonio before two o’clock that afternoon. That would give her nearly twenty hours—if they had to work through the night—to get Mr. McCauley ready for the children’s hospital and zoo appearances tomorrow.
“Let’s get on with it, then.” She rose from the couch and clutched her briefcase in front of her with both hands.
Mr. McCauley frowned, leaning back in his chair to look her in the eye. “Are you always this bossy?”
She swallowed a caustic reply. “I’m sorry, Mr. McCauley, but we are on a tight deadline. If there is anything I can do to convince your friend to arrive promptly, please let me know.”
“How much were you gonna pay?”
She suddenly realized they hadn’t discussed a fee. “How much do you require?”
“We’ll talk about me later, but why don’t you pay my friend five hundred to stay here and watch my spread? That’ll cover about two days of his time.”
From knowing Prince Alexi—who had the uncommon ability to compute pounds to yen to euros—for so many years, she’d learned to compute foreign currency. Five hundred dollars seemed fairly reasonable. About ten dollars an hour American, if one counted the entire day and night. “Very well. I’ll have a check prepared for him.”
“Now, Lady Wendy, I’m not sure the bank in Ranger Springs will let him cash a check from Europe.”
Gwendolyn felt her body go rigid. “I assure you—”
“Now, don’t get all bent out of shape. This is a small town. Hell, a lot of people won’t take a check from Oklahoma, much less Belegovia. Why don’t you run into town and see if you can get some cash? I’ll get dressed, pack a bag and be ready to go when you get back.”
“This is absurd! A check from the royal treasury of Belegovia is absolutely valid!”
Hank McCauley shook his head, making a lock of unruly hair fall into his hooded eyes. “No cash, no deal.”
Gwendolyn swallowed another reply and turned on her heel. “Very well, then, Mr. McCauley. Your friend will have his cash. I’ll be back shortly. Kindly be ready to leave when I return.”
“You’ve got it, Lady Wendy.”
She heard the recliner squeak as he rose, but his bare feet made no sound on the floor. She couldn’t keep herself from looking back to see where he was located.
He was right behind her. She turned and clutched her briefcase high against her chest, drawing in a deep breath, inhaling his clean fragrance and spicy cologne. Why didn’t the man at least don a shirt? He was absolutely improper.
Absolutely intoxicating, she had to admit as her head swam.
“You might want to stop by the Kash ’n’ Karry on your way back from the bank. I’ll need a couple of six packs of Dr. Pepper—the real kind, not that diet stuff—while we’re working on this prince thing.”
“Dr. Pepper.” She was relieved her voice still worked. “Anything else?”
“Throw in some Doritos, will you, darlin’? I’ve got a good idea all this training is gonna make me hungry as well as thirsty, and I doubt they have my kind of food on the menu at the hotel where we’ll be stayin’.”
Hotel. The two of them, working until the wee hours, alone in a suite. Maybe not alone, if she could keep Milos with them all night. “Whatever you wish, Mr. McCauley.”
He stepped even closer, so close she had to look up into his blue eyes and heart-stopping grin. Too dangerous. She dropped her gaze. She could see the sprinkling of hair on his fingers as he gripped the towel around his neck. His chest appeared warm, broad and firm underneath those fisted hands. She had the irrational and totally inappropriate urge to taste his skin.
Good heavens! What was wrong with her?
“Now, Lady Wendy, what did I tell you about not leavin’ an offer like that on the table?”
“What?”
He grinned. “Never mind. You run off to the bank, now, and don’t forget those Dr. Peppers.”
TRAVIS AUSTIN WHITTAKER had just paid for a pound of ten-penny nails, a box of staples and two rolls of chicken wire when his cell phone rang. Getting his change from Jimmy Mack Branson at the hardware store, he unclipped the phone from his belt.
“Hello.”
“Travis, I need a favor.”
“What’s up, Hank?”
“I need to go out of town for a couple of days, real unexpected. Can you come over and help Juan? He needs to be home with his family at night. Also, I’ve got a new horse coming in on Friday and I’m not sure what time I’ll be back.”
“Sure, I’ll be glad to.” He paused as he held the door open for two ladies. “Got a hot prospect on a new horse?”
Hank chuckled. “Kind of a hot prospect, you might say, but not the four-legged variety.”
“Whoa. That’s news.”
“Well, not exactly. I need to keep this real quiet, Travis. Can you do that for me?”
“Sure, buddy. No problem. Will you have your phone with you?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’ll call if anything comes up I can’t handle.”
“Thanks. I’m paying you for this.”
“No way.”
Hank laughed. “Yeah, I’ve gotten you a great deal. I’ll fill in the details later.”
“Whatever.” Hank knew that Travis didn’t need the money. Besides, he wouldn’t take payment from a friend and neighbor. “I’ll come by late this afternoon if that’s okay.”
“Sure. Juan leaves around five o’clock usually.”
“See you when you get back.”
Travis hung up the phone and shook his head. So Hank was finally seeking out some female companionship. Good for him. As far as Travis knew, Hank hadn’t been in a serious relationship for months. He’d sworn off women after he quit the circuit because the gossips of Ranger Springs could sure do a number on a man’s reputation if he wasn’t careful. Just look at what had happened to Grayson Phillips—they’d hounded the poor man into matrimony last year, not that Gray seemed to mind being married to Dr. Amy Wheatley, Travis recalled with a chuckle.
So Hank was going off with a woman for two days. Well, Travis sure hoped he had a real good, relaxing time. Nothing like a little R and R to put a smile on a man’s face.
Chapter Two
He might be a rogue and a scoundrel, but he was a man of his word. He was ready to go when she returned from the bank. A well-worn carryall sat next to his chair on the porch while a large, fat yellow tabby cat wove its way through his legs.
Presumably the “best mouser in the state of Texas.”
Gwendolyn stepped down from the Land Rover, motioning Prince Alexi’s valet to follow her. She’d prefer to make the introductions before they all climbed back into the vehicle for the short trip to San Antonio.
“Would you care to join us, Mr. Boedecker?” she asked the driver.
“You go right ahead, Lady Gwendolyn. I’ll get to know Mr. McCauley later.”
Yes, at least the two men would have something in common. Same state, same economy of language. They no doubt enjoyed activities like drinking beer and flirting with women.
Well, she thought, pulling her jacket straight and marching toward the porch, Mr. McCauley would not be flirting with women for the next few days. Not as Prince Alexi. She didn’t want any rumors to get back to King Wilheim, who was intent on his eldest son marrying a suitable woman from European nobility as quickly as possible. Gwendolyn prayed that no word of Alexi’s impulsive little trip with the truck-stop waitress reached the king’s ear.
Hank McCauley rose from the wooden chair, stretching until she was certain the pearl snaps on his shirt were going to pop open. Ridiculous idea. Why in the world did these cowboy types prefer shirts without proper buttons?
“Mr. McCauley, I’d like to present His Royal Highness Prince Alexi’s personal valet, Milos Anatole, who will be assisting you with clothing and personal grooming.” She gave a slight nod, and Milos, who was very proud of his position as attendant to the future king of Belegovia, stepped forward and bowed.
“No offense, Mr. Anatole, but I’d just as soon get dressed on my own.”
“Milos will be indispensable to you in making the correct wardrobe choice,” Gwendolyn pointed out.
“He can pick ’em,” McCauley drawled, “but I’m doin’ up my own buttons and zippers.”
She suppressed a smile, noticing that Mr. McCauley’s drawl became much more pronounced when he stressed his Texas roots and independent ideas. “I’m sure we all understand your need for privacy.”
He frowned at her, but she plunged ahead before he could make any further remarks. “Milos will also assist with your instruction and other details such as protocol and menu.”
“You just tell me where to go, when to be there and what to wear, you hear?”
Good heavens, but Hank McCauley was laying it on thick today! Perhaps he was trying to convince them all that he was as opposite to Prince Alexi as night and day. Well, she’d just see about that! When she was finished with him, he’d be able to stand next to the prince and confuse even close acquaintances.
She only hoped she could fool the paparazzi and the king.
“Well, let’s be off then,” she said cheerfully. “Mr. McCauley, I’d suggest you sit in the back where the windows are tinted darker until we work more on your princely bearing.”
“Whoa again, Lady Wendy. I’m perfectly willing to go with you and help out with this impersonation, but I’m not squeezing myself into the back seat of that vehicle and taking off for San Antonio. No self-respecting cowboy would get himself stranded in town with no way back home.”
“We will, of course, provide transportation when Prince Alexi returns.”
“Nope. I need my own truck.”
Gwendolyn resisted the urge to place her hands on her hips and stamp her foot like an irate fishwife. “Mr. McCauley, we need to start work immediately on the history of Belegovia, the itinerary and all the details that you will need to know as Prince Alexi.” And she sincerely doubted she could get any work done in a rattletrap truck strewn with paper rubbish and beer cans. Not that she’d actually seen any of that debris around Mr. McCauley yet…
“Then you come with me and start working. I’m driving my own truck to San Antonio or I’m staying right here.”
Stubborn man! She would have gladly strangled him if she didn’t need his neck to be free of bruises for the next few days. “Very well,” she said as civilly as possible under the circumstances. “Let me get my briefcase and I will begin instructions at once.”
“And bring me one of those Dr. Peppers, darlin’,” he called out as she turned away.
She gritted her teeth and shooed the other man back to the Land Rover. “Make a list of whatever you feel is most urgent for Mr. McCauley’s education. We’ll meet with him in the suite after checking in to the hotel. I trust we’ve already made arrangements to enter through the service elevators?”
“Of course,” Milos answered. “No one except for a few maids will see the prince enter the hotel.”
“Very good. Call me on my mobile if you think of any problems.”
After retrieving a cold can of the soda, her sun-glasses—a recent addition to her wardrobe caused by the unrelenting glare of the sun on the shining bonnet of the Land Rover—and her briefcase, she made her way with as much dignity as possible to the porch, where Mr. McCauley awaited. At least he was fully dressed. She should have thought to give him a selection from Prince Alexi’s wardrobe, but she’d been so shaken when she left his ranch to go into town that she hadn’t planned that far ahead. She sincerely hoped this was not an omen of things to come.
“Let’s be off,” she repeated, handing him the can.
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Really, Mr. McCauley,” she said as he took her arm and steered her around the side of the house, “your sarcasm is unnecessary and inappropriate. I am the daughter of an earl, not a member of the royal family.” She took a deep breath as she rushed to keep up with his longer stride. “Prince Alexi would certainly never say such a thing to an employee.”
“I’m beginning to think this prince is a real bore.”
“Absolutely not! He’s a wonderful man.”
“He sounds like a sleazy toad who just ran off with my former girlfriend.”
“You claimed that you and Ms. Jacks were not that close.”
“That’s beside the point. I’m not real fond of this prince right now.”
Gwendolyn wasn’t real happy with him, either, but she wasn’t about to admit that to Mr. McCauley.
They stopped beside a huge, flashy pickup truck with a ram’s head emblem on the side. It was spotlessly clean, and the dark blue finish featured tiny, glistening metallic flecks that reflected the unrelenting Texas sunshine. The monstrous vehicle was so tall that it needed a step for passengers to climb inside.
Hank McCauley reached up, opened the door and gazed at the interior. “You just throw that gimmee cap in the back and boost yourself up into the dually. I’ll get us to San Antonio pronto.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“What?”
“Did it ever occur to you that the rest of the world speaks English, while you are communicating in some language that is incomprehensible to the average person?”
Hank McCauley threw back his head and laughed. Of all the gall! Gwendolyn was sorely tempted to kick him in the shin, just as she’d done to Prince Alexi when they were school chums in England and he’d teased her about a particularly lovely little straw hat she’d worn…just once.
“I’ll tell you what,” Mr. McCauley said as he grabbed her around the waist and lifted her to the steps of the monster truck. “You teach me proper English, and I’ll teach you Texan.”
She let out a gasp as she tottered on the step, bringing her eye to eye with the irritating cowboy.
“Easy does it, Lady Wendy.” His warm hands steadied her. “First lesson. This truck is a dually because it has dual wheels on the back. That’s for hauling horse trailers and other heavy equipment. Second lesson,” he said, his warm blue eyes crinkling in humor, “a gimmee cap is a cap with a logo that you get free from somebody who wants to sell you something. Like John Deere or Purina. Got it?” He didn’t wait for her reply. “Now you get your cute little butt inside the truck and don’t touch anything. You can start lecturing me as soon as I get on the road.”
With that, he turned her around—quite effortlessly, she noticed—and actually patted her on the bottom!
“Well!” she exclaimed, but she was already pulling herself onto the seat. His chuckles faded as he walked around the back of the “dually.” He probably told every woman he met that she had a “cute little butt.” As if that were true praise. If he’d really been paying attention, he might have made a tasteful remark like complimenting her suit or her general appearance, not commenting on the size of her bum.
Irritating man, she thought as she “accidentally” placed her hand on top of the gimmee cap and squashed it flat.
BY THE TIME HANK DROVE into San Antonio, his head was spinning with details of Belegovian history, social protocol, current European nobility and a hundred other subjects he’d never heard of before. Lady Wendy had taken the opportunity to brief him on these subjects so she could start their “hands-on” instruction once they reached the hotel.
Hands-on, he remembered with a chuckle.
“Something you’d like to share, Mr. McCauley?” she asked from her side of the truck.
“Just thinking about all the stuff you have stored.”
“Don’t you dare say ‘in that pretty little head of yours,”’ she said in that upper-class British voice of hers that should have left him chilled. Instead, he felt real warm. Getting hotter by the minute.
“Why, I’m shocked that you’d think such a thing!” he said in mock indignation. “You make me sound like some sexist macho pig.”
Lady Wendy sniffed and straightened her spine. “I’m surprised you’re even familiar with the feminist slur.”
“I do get around,” he informed her as they slowed for traffic where I-35 branched off. “By the way, which hotel are we goin’ to?”
“The Hyatt Regency,” she informed him. “I believe it is on what is called the Riverwalk.”
“That’s right. Best of all, it’s just a block from the Alamo.”
“Ah, the Texas landmark.”
“Darn right! I take it you’ve never been.”
“This is my first trip to Texas,” she said in a tone that implied it would also be her last. She just didn’t appreciate the state’s wide variety of attractions. Hank felt a moral obligation to change her mind.
“Now, all this learnin’ and drivin’ has tired me out,” he informed her as he took I-37 toward down-town San Antonio. “After we get checked in, I’m gonna need a little nap.”
“Absolutely not! We have to begin immediately on fitting the wardrobe, learning the speech, mannerisms and posture of Prince Alexi, and heaven knows what else to get you ready for tomorrow!”
“Princess, if I don’t get a few hours of shut-eye, I’m not going to do you a bit of good tomorrow or anytime.”
“Perhaps you should have thought of that when you stayed up all night, Mr. McCauley.”
He narrowed his eyes and gripped the steering wheel tighter, but he doubted Miss High and Mighty noticed his anger. “Well, I wasn’t thinkin’ about much but saving Sandstorm’s life last night, Lady Wendy,” he answered with as little sarcasm as possible. Darn woman probably thought he’d been out drinking and chasing women. “Have you ever seen how much misery a horse can be in when they colic? You would have been walkin’ her all night and half the morning, too, if it would have saved her.”
“Colic? Like with babies?”
“Yeah, except it’s more serious with horses. They get down on the ground, first throw their head toward their bellies, then begin to roll ’cause they’re in such pain. They can get their guts all twisted and they’ll die. It’s not a pretty sight, I’ll tell you that.”
He exited the freeway and pulled the truck to a stop at the light, which gave him a chance to take a nice, long look at his passenger.
“No, I don’t imagine it would be,” she said with a little shudder. “I take it your horse is better this morning?”
“She’s fine. I dosed her until she was all cleaned out, then—”
Lady Wendy held up a hand. “That’s enough detail for me, Mr. McCauley.”
Hank chuckled, his anger gone as quickly as it began. The light turned green and he turned right. “The hotel’s just a few blocks from here. Do you want me to pull into valet parking?”
“No, we’ve made arrangements for Prince Alexi to enter through the service entrance.”
“But I’m not Prince Alexi yet.”
“Yes, but you look enough like him that people may recognize you.”
“They might also recognize me from my bronc-riding days.”
“Really? Are you somewhat of a celebrity, then?”
Hank chuckled again. “Just if you follow rodeo, Princess.”
“Please, stop calling me those ridiculous names. As I explained, I’m not royalty.”
“Yeah, but you sure are cute when you’re riled,” he said with a grin.
“I assure you, Mr. McCauley, I’ve never been called ‘cute’ in my entire life.”
As he stopped at the light to go around the block, he looked again at Wendy. She had a real aristocratic face, kind of narrow with what might be called sharp features. Her biggest assets, in his practiced opinion, were her eyes. He imagined they could get real warm and pretty, with the topaz color and golden highlights. But she didn’t use them to flirt. As a matter of fact, she didn’t play up any of her features, even that pale, pretty English complexion.
“I think you might be real cute if you’d smile more often.”
“I smile.”
“Naw, I’m not talkin’ about one of those stingy little polite smiles. I’m talkin’ about a big old, happy-to-be-alive kind of smile.”
He suspected she was blushing, because she looked down at her hands and fiddled with the buttons on her too-heavy suit jacket. “I don’t think we should be discussing my smile.”
“Why?” He snapped his fingers, getting her attention. “Oh, I get it. You’ve got that British problem I heard about. I’m sure sorry, Lady Wendy.”
“What British problem?” she asked, obviously irritated at his teasing.
“I’m sure sorry I didn’t notice it earlier,” he whispered, then paused dramatically. “Bad teeth.”
He heard her cry of indignation as he pulled to a stop in front of the hotel. “I most assuredly do not have bad teeth!”
“Really? Let me see.” He leaned toward her.
“Mr. McCauley! Please, I’m not one of your horses!”
“Come on, now, Lady Wendy. Just open up a little and let me see.”
“You are incorrigible.”
She sounded offended, but he detected a hint of amusement under her starchy facade. “I know I am. It’s part of my charm.”
She tried harder not to smile.
Hank grinned. “You know you want to show me your pearly whites.”
“I’ll have you know my mum and dad spent a fair amount on my teeth.”
“Yeah? Mine, too. I was always busting out a tooth or chipping one when I got thrown.”
“I’ve never had a chipped tooth.”
“Really? They can be pretty sexy.”
She sucked in a breath, her topaz eyes suddenly warm. As a matter of fact, the whole inside of the truck seemed to have warmed up considerably. “How?”
He leaned a bit closer. “’Cause you can run your tongue over that little ol’ chip.”
“Why would that be sexy?” she whispered.
“Maybe I wasn’t makin’ myself clear. I meant if you were kissing me, you could run your tongue over that chip. Of course, you’d have to search really long and hard, ’cause it’s been fixed for years.”
“I see,” she said, staring at his mouth.
He couldn’t stand it a moment longer. He stretched his arm across the space dividing them, held the back of her head in one hand and kissed her while her lips were parted in surprise. He didn’t intend to take advantage of her shock, but her mouth was as sweet as Texas in springtime, and her lips were as soft as blue-bonnet petals. His tongue touched hers, then retreated to trace the shape of her teeth—teeth he’d already noted were pearly white and straight as could be. When she moaned, he cupped her cheek with his other hand and deepened the kiss.
Behind them, a car horn honked. Shaking, she pulled away.
“I think you’re right,” he said, struggling to keep his voice light. “There doesn’t seem to be anything at all wrong with your mouth.” Or her almost innocent, tentative kiss.
“I’m certainly glad to hear that,” she said, her voice thin and shaky. “Perhaps we should just forget this ever happened, Mr. McCauley.”
“I think you should call me Hank,” he said as he pulled his hand—and her barrette—away from her hair. He used his fingers to pull the silky length over her shoulders. “There.”
“What are you doing?”
“Nobody in his right might would believe that Hank McCauley would check into a hotel with a woman who has her hair all scraped back like yours was. Now you look more…presentable.”
“There was nothing wrong with how I looked before!”
“Not for everyday stuff, but checking into a hotel with a man? Naw, you just didn’t look right for that.”
“Mr. McCauley, we are supposed to be at the service entrance so Prince Alexi can go immediately to his room via the back elevator.” Her voice rose and got a little bit higher with each word. She gazed outside, panic setting in at the crowded hotel entrance.
“But I’m Hank McCauley, rodeo star, not Prince Alexi, major pain in the—never mind. Point is, no one’s going to believe I’m the prince yet.” He put the truck into gear and edged toward valet parking. “Besides, how are we gonna explain my truck around back? Your driver probably has his hands full getting that valet guy settled inside.” He pulled out his wallet, spotting a five he could give as a tip. “I’m going to have these nice young men park the dually someplace where I can get to it.”
“Are you planning on going somewhere?” she asked, trying to finger-comb her hair.
He reached over and ruffled the glossy reddish-brown strands again. “After that kiss? I don’t think so,” he said, grinning at her flushed, confused expression.
He didn’t intend to kiss her again, but she didn’t know that. He kind of liked the idea that she was just as out of kilter as he was. He knew he was her means to an end, but that didn’t mean everything had to be all serious and secretive. After all, light, fun relationships with women were the only ones he’d allowed himself in six long years.
Lady Wendy didn’t need to know that either.
BEFORE GWENDOLYN COULD come up with any more coherent arguments for using the service entrance, Hank McCauley had placed a cowboy hat on his head, jumped down, grinned at the parking attendant and walked around the truck toward her. Good heavens! What was the man thinking? They couldn’t just march in the front door and—
“Get your pretty little self on down here, darlin’,” he ordered with a smile. As soon as she unfastened the seat belt, he grabbed her around the waist and swung her to the pavement. Before she got her balance, he’d retrieved his carryall and grasped her arm. “I just can’t wait to get checked in to our room.”
“Really!”
“Yeah, really,” he said with a wink, making the two closest luggage handlers grin widely.
“Nice to see you again, Mr. McCauley,” one of them called out.
“Good to be here, Ramon.”
She looked around, half expecting to see a dozen paparazzi ready to snap their photo. The headlines tomorrow would read “Prince Seduces PR Lady at San Antonio Hotel.” King Wilheim would have a coronary. But no one was there except bellhops and other people checking into or out of the hotel. As a matter of fact, no one paid them much attention except the parking attendants.
“They know you at this hotel?” Gwendolyn whispered as they swooshed through the revolving door. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“You didn’t ask,” the irritating man replied.
She wanted to stamp her foot, frown and fume, but they were traveling through a spacious lobby toward the check-in desk. “How am I going to explain your presence here?” she asked, hoping the multitude of large plants and columns hid their arrival from most of the people inside the hotel.
“Just go on and check in. I’m going to make a little detour to the gift shop,” he said, nodding toward the glassed-in store just off the lobby. “Come get me when you’re finished, darlin’,” he said before sauntering off in that rolling gait, his hips and long legs moving easily beneath the worn denim.
“Can I help you?” someone on the other side of the desk asked. Gwendolyn blushed, ashamed she’d been caught staring at that exasperating cowboy’s…departure.
“Yes,” she said crisply, pushing her hair behind her ears and squaring her shoulders. “I’m Lady Gwendolyn Reed, checking in Prince Alexi’s party.”
A few minutes later, she found Hank McCauley paying for a large bag of merchandise at the gift shop register. She wondered if he’d charged it to the room or paid cash or used his own personal credit card. Apparently he wasn’t as broke as she’d assumed earlier if he could afford to stay at this hotel on a regular basis.
She waited for him beside the door, unwilling to endure more “darlin”’ taunts. As if someone would really believe they were a couple!
He gave her a heart-stopping grin. “Ready to go upstairs?”
“Ready to get started with your training?”
He chuckled. “You’re tough, you know that?”
“One of us has to be focused on our goal, and since that is my job, I’m the one who must insist on staying with our plan.” And staying away from any heart-stopping kisses, pats on her “cute little butt,” or any further manhandling by this blatantly sexist cowboy.
He was nothing like any Englishman she’d ever known…except in one regard. He obviously thought women should be decorative in and out of the bedroom, and quiet otherwise. His attitude bordered on that of a feudal lord who had his pick of willing wenches. Very soon, Mr. Hank McCauley was going to learn that Lady Gwendolyn Reed was no man’s willing wench.
“I still think you haven’t thought this through,” he said, breaking into her private thoughts. It took her a moment before she realized he meant the substitute prince plan.
“I have very little choice,” she said, stopping at the glass-and-brass lift beside an indoor waterway and focusing on her job, not her personal feelings. The water was quite pleasant, but she took little solace in the gurgling sounds. Every minute that passed left her closer to tomorrow’s public engagements. She couldn’t afford a hint of scandal to reach the ears—or the cameras—of the European paparazzi. Much less reach inside the palace in Belegovia.
Hank McCauley made a halfhearted attempt to hide a yawn. She supposed he really was tired after staying up all night with the horse. Perhaps she could give him an hour or so for a nap while she arranged her materials. They needed a place setting for a five-course dinner, a sampler of appetizers and a selection of wines. And Milos needed to start measurements in case alterations were necessary to the two suits Hank—as Prince Alexi—would wear tomorrow. Hopefully they wouldn’t need to purchase shoes. She doubted San Antonio stores carried the Italian style Alexi preferred.
“If you would like, you may take a nap while I gather what I’ll need to continue our training.”
The lift doors opened and a family of five exited. She and McCauley entered, only to be followed by an older couple who smiled and nodded. Her substitute prince tipped his hat, just like the hero in a Western movie.
“Whatever works best for you, darlin’, he drawled, “but you’re always welcome to join me for my nap.”
The older couple smiled at the cowboy as if he’d made a profound statement of worldly importance. Gwendolyn closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Would she ever become accustomed to his outrageous behavior?
Chapter Three
Hank awoke groggy and disoriented, a gentle tapping sound penetrating his foggy brain. He wasn’t in his own room back at the ranch, but this big bed was sure comfortable. He stretched, his hands coming in contact with his hat. He’d been wearing it when he’d gone upstairs to the suite. At the Hyatt Regency in San Antonio.
The big suite reserved for Prince Alexi of Belegovia.
The tapping sound stopped. He blinked, focusing on the door. Sure enough, it opened just enough for Lady Wendy to poke her aristocratic nose around the corner. One slim hand held on to the darkly stained wood as if she were dangling for her life.
“Mr. McCauley, are you decent?”
“Darlin’, I’m about as decent as I get.”
She looked into the room, her eyes reflecting a cautious curiosity. He immediately noticed that she’d pulled her hair back into the severe style she favored.
He couldn’t wait to mess it up again.
Whoa! He shouldn’t be thinking along those lines. He’d kissed her once, but that needed to be the end of it. Lady Wendy Reed was just a little too sweet, a little too elegant for his white-bread taste. She’d be gone from his life faster than he could say lickety-split.
“I hope you had a pleasant rest, Mr. McCauley, because we need to begin your instruction.” He noticed she wasn’t looking at him much. He looked down, but sure enough, the buttons on his Levi’s were all done up, so that couldn’t be it. Either he’d offended her somehow, or she didn’t trust herself to watch him. Either way, it didn’t bode well for their working relationship.
She sure as hell wasn’t calling him “Hank,” as he’d asked. She was keeping it real professional with “Mr. McCauley.”
He might have overdone the good old boy routine just a bit. Maybe she didn’t want to get too familiar with a slightly broken-down bronc rider who had a smart mouth and a low threshold for boredom. With a sigh, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Sure. Let me just splash some water on my face and I’ll be right out.”
“Very good,” she said crisply, pulling the door closed behind her.
She couldn’t wait to give him a princely makeover, as if he were inadequate as he was. He didn’t like the thought; he didn’t appreciate the feeling deep in his gut that to someone like Lady Wendy, he was inadequate. If he didn’t watch out, he’d work himself into a really lousy mood. That just wouldn’t do, since he was in San Antone on someone else’s dime. Sure he wanted to learn some fancy manners and figure out what to wear to which event, but he also wanted to have some fun.
Life was too short to spend it all tied up in knots.
He stretched his unreliable back, pleased that his nap hadn’t frozen up his often-abused muscles. His old injuries came back to haunt him occasionally, usually at the most inconvenient times. Like when he was trying to impress a woman.
With a big yawn, he made his way into the marble-and-brass bathroom. Time was up; he was about to become Prince Alexi.
SIX HOURS, FIVE COURSES of food, one haircut and manicure, and three alterations of clothing later, Hank was even more tired of this Prince Alexi guy than he’d been this morning. Not only had the prince run off with Kerry Lynn, but he had about the most god-awful boring job in the universe. Smiling, shaking hands, eating, sitting and wearing expensive clothes was about all the prince was good for.
Of course, Hank now understood why Alexi ran off. Only six hours in the prince’s shoes—quite literally—and Hank was ready to run screaming from the fancy suite.
“Mr. McCauley, are you listening? The family tree of the royals in Belegovia is very important information.”
“I’m sure it is, Lady Wendy, but since I’m going to have laryngitis tomorrow, I can’t imagine I’d have to talk to anyone about these relatives of the prince.”
“Still, someone may mention one of the dukes or counts, or even their wives. It’s important that you are not caught making a mistake regarding your relatives.”
“His relatives,” Hank clarified, scowling at Milos Anatole, who knelt beside him with a mouthful of pins and some chalk. “You know, these pants looked just fine to me.”
“Prince Alexi is approximately one half inch taller than you, Mr. McCauley,” the uppity, nervous valet announced around the mouthful of pins.
“Yeah, but a half inch? I’m only going to be wearing his things for a few hours.”
“It’s entirely possible someone could notice that your clothes didn’t fit perfectly,” Lady Wendy explained.
Hank shook his head. This prince really was a bore. Like the most important thing in the world was whether his pants “broke” at just the proper place above his expensive Italian shoes.
“Who’s gonna be lookin’ that hard at my pants?” Hank asked, putting both hands on his hips.
Milos frowned up at him. Wendy blinked at him as if he’d said something ridiculous.
“What?”
“Mr. McCauley, the prince is under constant observation by a variety of press. Both legitimate publications and the more irritating paparazzi track his every move. They will be at all the events.”
Hank narrowed his eyes. “You never said anything about folks following me around, taking dozens of pictures.”
“More like hundreds,” Wendy told him in a matter-of-fact voice that for some reason irritated the hell out of him.
Hank squared his shoulders, trying his best to be intimidating. “You owe me.”
“You have yet to name your price,” she informed him. “Of course, I’ve already explained that the Belegovian treasury is not an endless well of funds.”
“You want me to name my price?”
“Yes, I would appreciate the courtesy. After all, you may decide not to accept a check from the official account. Belegovia is somewhat farther than Oklahoma, as I believe you mentioned—”
“Sarcasm just doesn’t suit a sweet lady like you,” Hank complained, thoroughly tired of this hotel room and all the facts he’d been forced to memorize. Not to mention a fussy haircut and all those tiny alterations.
“I thought I was being terribly clever.”
“Well, you’re not,” he informed her peevishly. “And as for my fee, I’ve decided on part of it.”
“Part of it? Really, Mr. McCauley, I must insist you decide on a reasonable amount—”
“Tonight. I want to go out with you to the River-walk and have some fun.”
She let out a long-suffering sigh. “We are a little busy tonight.”
“We’re just about finished, that’s what we are,” he said, his fingers going to the fastening on Prince Alexi’s slacks. “We need to get out of here for a few hours. Have a little fun. I’ll bet you don’t relax enough. A couple of tequila sunrises and a stroll along the river is just what you need.”
“I need to succeed in this mission.”
“Damn, Lady Wendy, you sound like some secret agent. This isn’t life or death, you know. You said we were visiting a children’s hospital and a zoo. That means some baby kissin’ and smilin’ at cuddly little animals.”
“No, Mr. McCauley, that is not what this is all about! This is about my career, Prince Alexi’s reputation, and quite possibly the future of the monarchy in Belegovia!” Her voice had risen to such a level that Hank was surprised somebody didn’t start pounding on the wall, yelling for them to shut up. Of course, that kind of thing didn’t happen in these fancy suites like it did in the cheap motels he’d stayed at while he was on the circuit. Since he’d retired, he’d gotten used to some of the finer things in life, like nice hotels with thick terry cloth towels and twenty-four-hour room service.
“That does it,” he announced, batting Milos’s hands away from the crease in the slacks. “We’re getting out of here.”
“Haven’t you been listening? We must succeed. You must be accepted as Prince Alexi!”
“I can’t do my best work if I’m all stressed out,” he said, shaking his head. “You need to get out of those stuffy clothes and into something more comfortable. I’ve got a hankerin’ for a cold beer and some hot salsa.”
“Mr. McCauley, we are not going out on the town!”
“Sure we are. It’s part of my fee. Look in that bag over there on the couch. I bought you a T-shirt that’s just what you need for strollin’ along the river on a real pretty night like this.”
Lady Wendy ran her hands through her hair, loosening several strands. Hank smiled to himself. She was too easy to rile, too predictable for her own good. All he had to do was push her buttons and she got all huffy. If there was ever a woman who needed to relax and have some fun, she was Lady Wendy.
Besides, no one should visit San Antonio and miss the Riverwalk.
“You’d better run and change,” he told her, his hands resting on the waistband of Prince Alexi’s slacks. “In about ten seconds I’m gonna be pretty near naked. Now, I don’t mind if you don’t,” he said, easing the zipper lower, “but I figure a lady with your sensibilities wouldn’t want to see my beat up ol’ body.”
“Mr. McCauley, please! We don’t have time for fun.”
He let pass her unintentional implication that seeing his “beat up old body” would be fun. He walked a fine line—too much teasing and she’d get real mad. “Well, we need to make some, then. I just can’t tolerate the thought of you missin’ the Riverwalk, much less the Alamo. Why, it’s a national shrine!”
“If I promise to come back and visit Texas another time, will you continue working?”
Hank shook his head as he finished unzipping the slacks. “I’d like to believe you, Lady Wendy, but I just can’t. I know how busy you career women are. You can’t guarantee that you’ll make it back to Texas. It’s my duty to make sure you see as much of it as possible.”
“It’s my job to make sure you can pass as Prince Alexi.”
“Unless you’re ready to compare more than accents and clothes between Prince Alexi and me, you’d better get on out of this room and change into that T-shirt.” He lowered the slacks a couple of inches, revealing white briefs.
“Is there no way to talk you out of this insanity?” she asked, blushing a nice pink and staring at the framed artwork over the couch.
“Nope.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. Hank hid his smile. He was enjoying this way too much. He couldn’t wait to see what Lady Wendy was like after a couple of tequila sunrises and a little two-stepping.
Grabbing the bag containing the pretty Texas T-shirt he’d picked out earlier, she stalked across the room like some British general going to battle. “We’ll go to this Riverwalk for one hour,” she said, obviously trying to compromise. “I suppose you do deserve a little time off for being such a good sport.”
“With an attitude like that, we’re bound to have a good time,” he said with a chuckle.
GWENDOLYN COULDN’T remember ever being this frustrated and confused. Hank McCauley was the most exasperating, most difficult man she’d had the misfortune to meet. First, he’d insisted on driving his own vehicle—a monstrously large truck, no less. Then he’d driven right up to the front portico of the hotel, despite her instructions to go to the service entrance. He’d kissed her quite deliberately so she’d appear more like one of the women he preferred—except she knew she didn’t look a thing like the busty, flirtatious young tarts who flocked to such testosterone-rich cowboys. He’d needed a nap once they were checked in. Now, after only several hours of fittings, a haircut and lessons, he needed a little holiday on this Riverwalk!
“Damn you, Prince Alexi,” she muttered under her breath. “I hope you’re having a perfectly miserable time, wherever you are.”
If he were having a terrible time with his truck-stop waitress, he would end his trip promptly. Everything would return to normal and her job would not be in jeopardy. She would not retreat to England in disgrace to face her overly critical father, who believed she should find a titled, moneyed peer and settle down to a life of charitable works and social engagements, and produce her husband’s heir and a spare.
The key word there was settle. She had no intention of giving up her career to fit the image of what her stuffy, antiquated father thought was proper for an English lady.
She lifted the soft T-shirt from the bag. A pristine white background held a line of blue flowers—she supposed they were the famed Texas bluebonnets she’d seen on various publications—and a prettily lettered “Texas” in green below. The shirt was certainly a far cry better than some she’d seen—and even imagined Mr. McCauley preferring—which featured ugly animals called armadillos and crude sayings regarding beer, sex and other suggestive activities.
Perhaps Hank McCauley wasn’t quite as bad as she’d assumed when she’d first heard the term retired rodeo cowboy used to describe him. Or when she’d been told he lived on a ranch outside a small town called Ranger Springs. Or when he’d come to the door dressed only in a pair of nearly indecent jeans.
Heat suffused her cheeks as she remembered how he’d looked when she’d first met him, just out of his shower. Lean and sculpted with impressive muscles and smooth, tanned skin, he could have appeared on an ad for Texas, cowboys or anything else he’d wanted to endorse.
In the suite, he’d made a remark about his “beat-up body,” but Gwendolyn hadn’t noticed any scars or deformities—at least from the waist up. What was he hiding below the waist of his trousers?
More heat. She had to stop thinking about Hank McCauley’s assets. She had to forget the line of white briefs that had appeared when he threatened to lower his slacks.
At least she knew the answer to the question, boxers or briefs?
In her many years of acquaintance with Prince Alexi, she’d never speculated on his underwear. She had no idea what he preferred, nor would he ever show her his preference by lowering his trousers in her presence. He was too much a gentleman.
Her father was a gentleman, and look at what a stuffy bore he was.
Gwendolyn felt like clamping a hand over her mouth for even thinking such a thought. Prince Alexi was not like her father. Hank McCauley was not more exciting than either of the men. He was just…different. More difficult. More…male.
They were going out for one hour, she decided as she unbuttoned her silk blouse. She’d wear the T-shirt to make Hank McCauley happy, she’d even take a sip of one of those tequila sunrises he’d mentioned earlier. But she was absolutely not going dancing.
She sincerely doubted he knew how to waltz or fox-trot—or any of the other ballroom dances she’d learned as the daughter of an earl—and she refused to make a fool of herself attempting one of those fast and complicated western steps she’d seen in movies and on the telly. No matter what he said or how persuasive he was, she would not be humiliated on the dance floor.
“HANG ON, LADY WENDY. It’s time to twirl again.”
“No more twirling!” she managed to gasp as her arms circled his neck. “I believe I’m quite dizzy.”
“But you’re doin’ such a good job of polishing my belt buckle.”
“What?”
“Dancin’ real close, darlin’,” he replied, his breath a whisper against her ear. The sensation made her even more dizzy and she sagged in his arms.
“You should have told me you couldn’t handle your liquor,” Hank said.
Somewhere between a deliciously decadent appetizer called nachos supreme and a wonderfully tasty drink called a tequila sunrise, her pretend prince had become Hank rather than Mr. McCauley. She heard the humor in his voice but couldn’t muster the outrage she should be feeling. He’d been teasing her unmercifully for the past half hour, but instead of becoming angry, she was beginning to find his remarks witty.
She’d definitely had too many sips of the sweet yet tangy drink. Hank McCauley was bossy, opinionated and manipulative. He was also the sexiest man she’d ever met…and he made her feel like dancing.
She tried to unwind her arm so she could see her wristwatch, but Hank simply pulled her tighter. She gave up with a sigh, knowing she wasn’t going to win this battle any more than she’d won the rest of their skirmishes.
As soon as she’d dressed in the T-shirt and a casual skirt, Hank had knocked on her door. He’d grinned his approval, grabbed her hand and guided her to the elevator. He’d given her a history lesson of the River-walk. She’d learned how San Antonio had taken a rundown, foul-smelling river and turned it into one of the best-known attractions in Texas. When they’d walked out of the Hyatt Regency, they’d entered another world. The humidity of the river provided a perfect backdrop to the tropical foliage and abundant flowers. Fun-loving tourists crowded the sidewalk. To Gwendolyn’s surprise, there was no fence or railing. The concrete merely stopped at the water, which was really a dredged-out canal.
No telling how many people had sipped too many alcoholic drinks and fallen into the river! Hank had merely grinned and told her it was only three or four feet deep, so she didn’t need to worry.
The idea of not worrying about tumbling into the murky river was as foreign to her as thinking of Hank McCauley as Prince Alexi.
“We should be going back to the hotel,” she said. She wasn’t sure when exactly she’d lost control—whether it was when she’d first knocked on his screen door or when she’d decided to accompany him to the Riverwalk—but she was certain he was now making decisions for them both. While that realization should have caused panic, at the moment she only felt an increasing interest in what he would insist upon next.
“With any other woman, I’d take that as an invitation. But I kind of doubt you were asking me up to your room, were you?”
“Of course not!” she managed to squeal as he steered them across the floor between some very young dancers and a middle-aged pair. How he avoided the other couples was a complete mystery. “We barely know each other.”
“How much more do you need to know?”
“Well, I…That’s not what I meant.”
“You sure are cute when you’re flustered, Lady Wendy.”
Instead of feeling outraged, she had the insane urge to giggle. British peers did not giggle. She could almost hear her father’s censure, all the way across the “pond.”
“Oh, pooh,” she whispered as they neared the table where more drinks awaited.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking about my father.”
“It’s not good to tell a guy that he reminds you of your father.”
“Oh, you don’t! Believe me, two men could not be more different than you and the Earl of Epswich.” She desperately needed to change the subject before Hank started asking her more personal questions that she had no intention of answering—yet might find herself responding to, anyway.
“That chap over there is how I imagined most Texans,” Gwendolyn remarked, nodding toward a couple in fancy Western attire gliding across the dance floor. “He’s big and brash and bold. His hat alone is as large as a brolly. Do you think he drinks as much beer as his physique indicates?” The middle-aged man sported an enormous beer belly that didn’t keep him from holding his partner, a rather petite woman near his own age, close against his torso. She wore a full denim skirt, a Western shirt and boots that matched his outfit perfectly.
“If you’re asking me about the size of his beer belly, I’d have to say no. It takes more than beer to grow one that large. I’d say he had some help from chicken-fried steak and homemade pie à la mode.”
Gwendolyn couldn’t help herself. A great gasp of laughter gurgled up from inside her, erupting in a completely unladylike display of mirth. She tried to control herself—her mouth was too wide for grinning, her cheeks too dimpled—but the effort left her with watering eyes and a sore jaw.
“So you can smile,” Hank remarked, leaning close across the small table. His finger touched the corner of her mouth, making her breath catch and her grin fade. “I was wonderin’. And I can see now that there’s nothin’ wrong with your teeth. I guess I made a big mistake thinkin’ you were tryin’ to hide ugly yellow chompers.”
“Chompers?” She couldn’t control another giggle. “Really, you are too absurd. Wherever do you get these ideas, not to mention these sayings?”
“Comes with the territory, darlin’,” he said with a grin. “Kind of like Resistol hats and beer bellies.”
She got the laughter under control. “I thought cowboys wore Stetsons.”
“Not really, at least not for everyday. That just sounds good. We also don’t wear ten-gallon hats, tuck our jeans into our boots or ride horses down main streets.”
“And you certainly don’t have a beer belly.” The words burst forth before she could control her errant mouth. What was it about this man that caused her good sense to flee like tender petals in a March wind?
“Nope,” he said, running his hand over his flat stomach as he grinned in a way that made her want to smile. “Don’t plan on getting one, either.”
“I’m certainly glad to hear that,” she whispered, leaning toward him with an increasing lack of restraint. “I’d hate to have to compare yours to that chap’s over there.” She pulled back, startled at the way her mouth was running ahead of her brain. “Not that I would…or is that something men do? Compare the size of their—”
“Lady Wendy! I’m shocked you’d think such a thing. We use the same standard as the rest of the U.S. of A. to judge manliness.” He paused, grinning slowly, making her heart race in anticipation of the next outrageous remark he was about to make. The next remark she’d prompted him to make.
Ridiculous. She’d never encouraged such behavior before.
“No,” he continued, “here in Texas we don’t flaunt the size of our beer bellies. We use something far more personal.”
She felt like crawling beneath the tiny table. “Why don’t we forget I brought up this subject?”
“And miss letting you in on some cultural learning? No, you have to know that we judge a man by the size of his—”
“Mr. McCauley!”
“—truck.”
She leaned back in her chair, her eyes blinking in disbelief, before the laughter bubbled forth once more to overwhelm her senses.
HANK FELT THE EVENING had been an unqualified success. He’d had a rip-roaring good time showing Lady Wendy the Riverwalk and one of his favorite honky-tonks. She’d enjoyed her first tequila sunrise, her first taste of nachos and her first Texas two-step. Although she’d insisted they could only afford one hour away from his princely training, he’d managed to turn one hour into nearly three. At midnight he’d told her goodnight at her door, holding her hands and telling her this lapse in her precious timetable wasn’t her fault. He’d told her that he would have taken her to the Alamo if he hadn’t been so intimidated by her need for “shedyules.”
Lord knows, she couldn’t be blamed for his faults. He was a bounder, as his dearly departed grandma used to say. He loved to tease and party and dance. He loved to make women smile as much as he loved to hold them in his arms. Lady Wendy was a particular challenge due to her strict British upbringing and inflated sense of duty, but when she did unwind…shoot, boy, howdy!
Hank pulled off his boots and stretched out on the bed. He stuffed a few pillows behind him before reaching for the notes Lady Wendy and Milos Anatole had given him earlier in the evening. Forms of address, proper etiquette, drafts of speeches and a schedule of events had been stressed for several hours while Milos had cut his hair “to a civilized length,” smeared some sweet-smelling lotion on his face “to eliminate ruddiness,” and fitted him with “a proper wardrobe.” Hank supposed Wendy thought he hadn’t been paying close attention to all her instructions, but he had.
Studying an hour or so more wouldn’t hurt. He had no intention of embarrassing her or jeopardizing the monarchy of Belegovia—whatever that meant.
Even more now than when she’d shown up on his porch, he wanted to help her succeed. For reasons he couldn’t comprehend, saving Prince Alexi’s sorry butt was important to her. She’d said there was nothing going on between her and the royal bore, but Hank wasn’t convinced. Maybe when she looked at him or danced with him, she imagined she was with the prince. Maybe she’d had a royal crush for years.
How in the hell, Hank wondered, could he be jealous of a man he didn’t know? Prince Alexi had rubbed him the wrong way from the moment Wendy had told him about the prince running off with Kerry Lynn. Not that he was jealous because of Kerry Lynn. No, as much as he hated to admit it, Hank knew he was jealous because Wendy had spent so much of her time with the prince. A man who apparently had everything but common sense…and maybe common decency. Why in the world would he leave Lady Wendy—a long-time friend and employee—in the lurch to pursue a selfish desire for a little fun? How could he do that to a fine woman like her?
Hank knew he shouldn’t be thinking about Wendy’s personal situation, but there was just something about her that brought out his protective instincts. She was a foreigner in this land, far away from home and charged with a huge responsibility. She had a lot of guts, which he admired in anyone, but more than that, she was as sexy as hell for a prim-and-proper English lady.
For one thing, she had a beautiful mouth, wide and as inviting as all get out. Her teeth were straight and white, and when he’d kissed her, she’d tasted like heaven on earth. When she grinned really big, like when he’d teased her after their last dance, he’d discovered two dimples that made him want to keep her smiling for a long time. Which wasn’t going to happen. She was here in the U.S. temporarily; he didn’t plan to leave Texas unless he had to on business.
“Doesn’t matter,” Hank muttered to himself. Wendy was fun to tease, exciting in an innocent manner and admirable in her dedication to her job, but she was really just another woman who was using him to get what she wanted.
Hell, he didn’t hold that against her. He’d agreed to the job for his own reasons. He was learning some manners, getting some exposure to fine clothes and shoes, so he couldn’t complain. His ranch was in good hands for a few days and he was having fun.
He reached for the sheaf of papers, shaking off his morose thoughts for more practical matters. Tomorrow he wouldn’t be meeting any dukes, earls or barons, but he still had to look the role of a prince.
“Piece of cake,” he murmured. After all, he’d been playing the role of a devil-may-care rodeo champion for most of his adult life.
Chapter Four
“You look like you just swallowed a bad oyster,” Hank whispered as they walked through the brass-and-glass doors of the hotel for the first of two events on the “prince’s” agenda that day.
Wendy swallowed the imaginary lump, using every ounce of willpower to keep walking toward the Land Rover. She now knew what the condemned must feel like, going bravely toward their fate when their insides had turned to mush and their legs quivered like jelly.
“If I’m a bit nervous, I’m sure you can understand why.”
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