A Prince at Last! Page 7

  “Are we going on some kind of covert mission?” she inquired with what she thought was an admirably good example of friendly cheerfulness.

  “Let’s just say I’d rather not announce my presence to the paparazzi.”

  “They’ve been hounding the palace ever since that rat Wilhelm sold the story about King Philippe’s marriage to Katie to that tabloid.”

  “I know.” Luc led her to the edge of the formal gardens. “That’s why I tightened security around the perimeters of the grounds.”

  She paused, cautiously eyeing the thick forest before them. “If you’re planning on walking through the woods to avoid detection, I have to warn you that I’m not dressed for it.” She waved a hand down at her vintage 1950s black sundress. “You should have told me to wear slacks.”

  “There’s no need for that.” Luc wasn’t about to admit that he liked looking at her legs. “We’re not going through the woods.” He paused before a huge oak tree on the edge of the woods, walking around it to pull out…a gleaming motorcycle.

  Juliet eyed it distrustfully. “I’m not dressed properly to ride on the back of that thing.”

  “Yes, you are,” he assured her. “Come on, hop on. We’re not going far. You can tuck your dress around your legs.”

  “Easy for you to say,” she muttered.

  “Do you want me to help?”

  “No, you stay where you are,” she ordered him, resting her hand on his shoulder as she daintily mounted the motorcycle.

  Luc felt her wiggling against him as she arranged the skirt of her dress. Her breasts brushed against his back, and her legs bracketed his.

  A familiar fire smoldered within him. It wasn’t the kind of flame that flared to life the instant he saw her; it was the kind that grew in intensity each time they were together. Instant lust he could deal with, but this overwhelmingly powerful attraction was something else entirely.

  “I should have worn black leather,” he heard her mutter, and almost groaned aloud at the sexy fantasy of her dressed like a biker babe—her thighs barely covered by a short skirt, her breasts pushing against a tight T-shirt. His body responded to the hot images, forcing him to shift position, which only made her thighs rub against his even more.

  When had his sweet innocent friend Juliet turned into a sultry sex kitten?

  “I’m ready,” she informed him.

  He was ready, too, so ready that his body was about to explode. A flick of his wrist and the well-tuned engine roared to life.

  “Hang on tight,” he told her and she obeyed, plastering herself to him.

  The night air was deliciously cool against his flushed skin as he drove down the path leading past the stables to a little-used service road. He nodded at the guards on duty before stepping on the throttle and letting the Harley have its way.

  Juliet pressed her face against his back and closed her eyes, not in fear but in pleasure. Now she could concentrate on the enjoyment of being so close to him. She could smell the fresh scent of his soap, could feel the warmth of his skin through the cotton of his T-shirt. She had her arms wrapped around his flat stomach, her hands gripping his sides. She could feel him breathing.

  Her lips automatically pursed in a tiny kiss before she realized what she was doing. Turning her face so that only her cheek rested against his back, she opened her eyes and tried to focus on the passing scenery but it was going by too quickly.

  “We’re almost there,” Luc yelled over his shoulder, as if sensing her sudden restlessness.

  He might have sensed it, but he couldn’t know the reason for it. Reality had reared its ugly head once again in her mind. A king on a Harley. The days when Luc would be able to take off like this were limited. She knew that would be very hard for a man like him, a man who valued his independence and freedom.

  She would be there for him, she vowed. To help him adjust.

  And then what? The taunting question demanded an answer. Then do you sit by like a good little girl while he marries some gorgeous princess?

  Oh, do be quiet, she silently ordered her wayward thoughts. Let me just enjoy this evening for what it is, a night out with Luc.

  Luc stopped the Harley on the carnival grounds a few minutes later. The colorful lights of the various rides reflected off the metal of the motorcycle as he dismounted with ease and turned to help her. Her skirt had somehow hiked up during the ride, and was now at the mid-thigh mark. Before she could rectify that matter, Luc put his hands on her waist and lifted her from the back of the bike as if she weighed no more than a feather.

  When she’d given him the first lesson in the royal dining room, and he’d talked to her about biking to classes at Cambridge, she’d fantasized about him riding a gleaming motorbike. And here he was. Her fantasy come to life, grabbing her by the hand and hurrying her along to the carnival’s entrance. There might be flashing clown faces instead of cherubs, but to Juliet this was heaven, sheer heaven.

  A large arch lit their way, flashing lights perched on top in a garishly cheerful illumination. This was no classy night at the ballet, Luc silently noted. He hoped Juliet wouldn’t be disappointed.

  The place was crowded, mostly with young people. Teenage girls in shorts, tank tops and body glitter roamed in packs, pausing to giggle and whisper whenever they saw a group of their male counterparts. Teenagers in St. Michel were the same as teenagers in the rest of the world. Out to have a good time.

  Luc could relate to that. He had the same goal tonight. To have a good time and not think about the future.

  The midway was lined with rides that tilted, rolled or shook. But it was the Ferris wheel that caught his eye. “Let’s go on that first.”

  “I’m not very fond of heights,” Juliet warned him.

  “Just hang on to me,” he replied.

  That she could do, having perfected “hanging on” while sitting behind him on that motorcycle. As she boarded the Ferris wheel with Luc at her side, Juliet wondered how many more fantasies of hers would be fulfilled tonight.

  The ride started gently enough. It was only as they were lifted higher and higher, that a flutter of anxiety hit her.

  “Don’t look down,” Luc advised, taking her chin in his hand and gently lifting her face skyward. “Look up. Look at all those stars.”

  It was a glorious spring night. The dark sky was dotted with sparkling pinpricks of light, a divine necklace strung together across the heavens. And there, just above the horizon, a golden full moon was rising. It truly was a magnificent sight.

  “It’s magical,” she breathed.

  “Magical,” he agreed, looking at her instead of the sky.

  The ride ended too soon, and Juliet insisted on taking another before Luc laughingly demanded they move on to the next one.

  An hour later they stopped at the food tent for a meal of sausage and crisp pommes frites—french fries—which they washed down with chilled red merlot from one of the many local vineyards. St. Michel was well-known for its wines. For dessert they had freshly made cotton candy wrapped around paper cones.

  As they left the eating area, Luc happened to see a father with his small son. The man held the boy’s hand, and the child looked up at his father with awe and delight.

  The scene reminded Luc of when he was that age. Had he ever looked up at Albert that way? Was that why he felt this stupid ache in his chest?

  Or was it because the man he had believed to be his father all these years wasn’t his father after all?

  Not that Luc had spent a lot of time with Albert. Once Luc had reached the age of eight, school had become his home—first Eton then Cambridge. While at university, Luc had become good friends with Jeremy Landing, the son of a high official in Interpol. Luc had spent several summer vacations with Jeremy and his family. He’d preferred doing that to dealing with the tension between Albert and his second wife, feeling like an outsider in what was supposed to be his own home.

  Jeremy’s father, Spencer, had been impressed with Luc, who spoke five languag
es fluently and had excellent grades in all his subjects at Cambridge. Spencer had been the one who’d suggested that after leaving university, Luc should consider a career in Interpol.

  It seemed like a great idea to Luc. Interpol, an international police force, was an appropriate home for someone who felt that he belonged nowhere in particular.

  Luc still felt that way, as if he belonged nowhere in particular. This despite the fact that he now had blood relatives—a grandmother, several half sisters, a baby half brother.

  But he couldn’t seem to get comfortable with the idea that he was no longer on his own. And he couldn’t seem to get comfortable with the idea of his future being locked into the strict codes and traditions of royalty.

  This was where blind passion had landed them all. In a carnival house of mirrors—where nothing was as it seemed. His mother and King Philippe hadn’t been able to be practical and control their emotions, so they’d run off and married. And now look at the convoluted mess they’d left behind.

  Luc gave the father and son a brooding look, angry at the tug he felt at his heart, the tug of a little boy who’d had a father and then lost him to a second marriage. He’d rightly told Juliet that he avoided love because it left you feeling too vulnerable. Not giving a damn was a much saner, a much more sensible way.

  His gaze shifted to Juliet. He didn’t seem to be able to be sensible about her. Yet sometimes it felt as if she was the only sensible and solid thing left in his life. During this past week she’d been his Rock of Gibraltar. When it had felt as if everything else in his life had been turned upside down, Luc had only to look at her and feel better.

  The trouble was that looking at her didn’t merely make him feel better. It also made him want her. So, in a way, even his relationship with Juliet had changed. Because in the past few years, while he’d always considered her to be a good friend, he’d never gotten sexual ideas about her. But all that had changed.

  Now he thought about her when he restlessly tossed in his bed at night. He dreamt about her, about that kiss they’d shared in the Crystal Ballroom the other night.

  Luc felt as if he were a man on the run from his own destiny, a destiny not of his own choosing. So here he was tonight, playing hookey like a kid who’d run off to join the circus.

  “Everything all right?” Juliet asked him.

  “Yes. Come on, let’s try our luck at one of the booths.”

  “Win a tiara for the lady!” a burly bald man invited with the feigned cheer of a natural-born salesman. “Come on then, sir, win a bright and shiny bauble for your pretty sweetheart.”

  “What do you say?” Luc turned to ask Juliet. “Wouldn’t you like a tiara of your own?”

  “Doesn’t every girl long for a tiara of her own?”

  She’d just been kidding, but Luc took her seriously. “Here.” He handed over some money to the vendor who quickly counted it.

  “This will give you ten chances to hit the red center of the target with one of these balls,” the vendor said.

  “I won’t need that many,” Luc confidently replied.

  In the end he was right. He hit the target on his fifth try. The vendor grudgingly handed over the prize before turning his attention to more customers.

  Luc led Juliet to a small stand of trees that afforded them a bit of privacy before turning to her and bowing. “Your tiara, m’lady.” He placed it on her head before standing back to admire his handiwork. “It looks good on you.”

  She laughed and shook her head, making the tiara slip to one side. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I’m not the royal type.”

  “Neither am I,” he noted quietly.

  “Luc, I’m sorry.” She placed a hand on his bare arm. His skin was warm beneath her fingers. “I didn’t mean to bring that up. I know you’re trying to forget it all tonight.”

  “That’s not as easy to do as I thought.”

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated, reaching up to remove the tiara.

  “No.” His hand stopped her. “It does look good on you. You look good.”

  She laughed self-consciously. “I’m sure I have mustard on my chin and there are probably remnants of cotton candy on my cheek.”

  Luc cupped his hand beneath her chin and lifted her face. Leaning down to study her closely, he declared, “No mustard. Not a trace. The cotton candy claim may need further investigating, however.”

  He completed that investigation with his lips, tasting his way from her left cheek across her lips to her other cheek and back again. “Mmm,” he murmured against her mouth. “Sweet, very sweet.”

  It was sweet—and hot and tempting. And when he leaned away to grin at her, Juliet wished they weren’t just pretending, wished they really were just a man and a woman out for an evening of fun. Instead she worried about him getting into trouble for being out with her.

  He’s the king. Who’s going to yell at him?

  Yes, Luc would be in charge, but he would also be expected to behave in a certain way and required to conform to rigid standards. Kissing her at a carnival did not conform. She was not suitable. She was no European aristocrat, she had no royal blood of her own. She was just a commoner who was falling in love with a king.

  Not a wise move, to be sure.

  “Come on,” Luc said as he had all evening, once again grabbing her by the hand. “There are still a few sights we haven’t seen yet.”

  He headed them toward the other side of the midway, pausing in front of a fortune teller’s tent. “Let’s see if she says there’s a crown in my future,” Luc said with that contagious smile of his.

  The interior of the tent was so dark Juliet had to pause to get her bearings. In the center was a woman seated at a table, with a bright light shining down on a crystal ball and a deck of tarot cards. The fortune teller had a brilliantly patterned scarf wrapped turban-style around her head. Large gold hoop earrings hung from her ears and a pair of gold front teeth flashed in her mouth as she gave them a huge smile. “Welcome, come in, sit. Let me tell you about things to come. I am Magda and I do it all—read palms, tea leaves, tarot cards, the crystal ball. Which would you prefer?”

  “Which one has the highest degree of accuracy?” Luc asked as he held out one of the chairs for Juliet before taking the other for himself.

  “Ah, for you, I think reading the palm would be best.” Magda quickly reached for his hand and turned it over to study it closely. “Hmmm, very interesting. You have a split life line here. Which means that you will be leading two lives, each one very different from the other. And your love line is interesting, too. I see conflict and confusion here. Your health line is good but has several fractures, times when you have been in great jeopardy. I see a time like that approaching you. Wealth is coming to you soon as well, a great deal of wealth. But it is uncertain whether it will bring you happiness.”

  Luc snatched his hand away. “Do my friend’s hand now.”

  Juliet tried to ignore her irritation his calling her a friend had caused. Magda took Juliet’s hand and said nothing for the longest time. “You are very smart, and you see more than most. You have one great passion in your life. He is tall, dark—”

  “—and handsome,” Luc supplied.

  “And in danger,” Magda corrected him. “The outcome is still unsure at this point.” Looking Juliet in the eye, Magda added, “But I sense that you are an old soul and are prepared to fight for your future. I wish you luck, miss, and I fear you will need it.”

  After paying Magda and going back outside, Luc said, “Well that went as expected.”

  “You expected her to tell you that you’re in danger?”

  “I expected that tall, dark and handsome would come up. I hoped in your reading and not in mine,” he added with a roguish grin.

  But Juliet couldn’t smile. The fortune teller’s words had unsettled her. “She said you were in danger, doesn’t that bother you?”

  “Not really. It wouldn’t be
the first time I was in danger. Listen, all that hot air made me thirsty. Let’s go get a drink.”

  And he was off again, this time leading her to a small concession stand that had been set up to one side. The striped red-and-white colors made it easy to spot, and it was the only place to get a drink on this side of the midway.

  Luc sat Juliet at a nearby bench while he stood in line. When he finally placed his order, they were all out of everything except for the local beer. The vendor indicated a barrel filled with ice and told him to pick out his bottles. Luc did so, turning his back to the metal pole holding up the tent canopy.

  A moment later the heavy metal pole crashed down on him.

  Chapter Seven

  “Luc!” Juliet cried, leaping to her feet and running over to the fallen concession tent.

  The collapsed canopy covered everything now, preventing her from seeing him.

  “I’m okay,” Luc’s voice was muffled by the heavy canvas.

  The vendor came scurrying around from the back, apparently not caught up in the collapse. “I am so sorry, so sorry,” he kept repeating as he enlisted the help of some passing men to lift the remnants of the heavy canopy and free Luc.

  When she finally saw Luc emerge, she almost cried with relief.

  “Are you sure you’re okay?” she demanded, running her hands down his arms as if needing to verify for herself that he hadn’t broken anything.

  “I’m fine. It would take more than a stupid canopy falling on me to hurt me.”

  “Luc, that heavy metal supporting pole narrowly missed you and believe me that was capable of doing plenty of harm had it connected with your head or your back.”

  “But it didn’t. It was just one of those stupid accidents, like almost getting hit by a piece of falling masonry from the palace the other day.”

  His words made her go cold in the gentle warmth of the night. “Whaa…at?” Her voice sounded as shaken as she felt.

  “You know where they’ve recently set up that scaffolding along the edge of the south wing to do some repair work? Well, I was walking by when half a gargoyle or something fell down, narrowly missing me. The thing must have weighed a ton. It shattered on the pavement.”