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Of course this turn of events—this fantastic story brought to them by Simone—affected Ariane and her sisters. But the fact that her own parents’ marriage had been invalidated and that Ariane and her sisters had been deemed illegitimate should have upset Ariane more than it did. She should be terribly distressed by the idea of having her title stripped from her, of losing her position in society. Ariane couldn’t quite put her finger on why the notion didn’t ruffle her more.
It could be that the calm she felt over her situation was possible because she knew no one but her sisters, her country’s prime minister, close family members and Luc Dumont, the head of St. Michel’s security force—trusted family members and friends, one and all—were privy to her and her siblings’ predicament. Once the rest of the world learned of the fact that she was misbegotten, then it could be that she’d fall completely to pieces.
What would Prince Etienne think when he learned the news? The question flitted unbidden through her head like a leaf tossed on the wind.
Ariane threw back the blanket and sat up on the edge of the mattress. She shoved the silly query from her mind. What did she care what he thought? What did she care what anyone thought?
A nice hot cup of tea was what she needed to clear away all these unpleasant doubts and questions.
The guest suite in the Kroninberg Palace was spacious and sunny. It consisted of two en suite bedrooms, one for her and one for her lady-in-waiting, connected by a delightful high-ceilinged sitting room. That’s where she found Francie munching on a piece of buttered toast.
“What time is it?” Ariane asked, surprised to see that breakfast had been served on a large tray. “Shouldn’t we be taking the meal with our hosts?”
“Everyone’s sleeping in this morning.” Francie wiped her fingers on the crisp, white linen napkin in her lap. “The maid told me when she delivered the tray, so I decided not to wake you.”
Ariane poured a steaming cup of tea from the porcelain pot. “So how did you sleep?” she asked. After dropping in one sugar cube, she stirred and then eased herself down in the velvet armchair flanking Francie’s.
“Just fine.”
Her lady looked as if she were the proverbial cat that had swallowed a canary.
“Okay,” Ariane said, “out with it. What’s on your mind?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Francie’s voice had a sing-song quality to it that relayed that the opposite was the real truth of the matter.
“It’s just that I watched you go outside with the prince…and not too much later you came rushing back through the doors and right out of the room. Your face was flushed and you looked…well, you looked as if something had happened.” She swept a few nonexistent crumbs from her lap. “When I followed you up here, you’d already shut yourself up in your bedroom. Which was a clear sign to me that you didn’t want to talk about what happened. Which tells me that something did actually happen.”
“You’re deluding yourself, my friend.” Ariane took a sip of her tea, but she was cognizant of the slight tremble of her fingers. The last thing she wanted to talk about was her time out on the terrace with Etienne. “Nothing happened. Nothing at all.” When Francie’s eyes rolled expressively, she reasserted, “Nothing.”
Her friend chuckled. “What is that old saying? The one about the princess protesting too much? I think that just might fit you to a T. ”
Ariane let her gaze settle on the ornate teacup and said nothing.
Evidently not getting the message that Ariane didn’t want to discuss the matter, Francie boldly asked, “What did you talk about when you were with Etienne? And how come you rushed away from him and left the party?”
“You don’t take a hint very well, do you?” Ariane quipped.
Just remembering those pewter eyes, and how she’d seemed to fall headfirst into them…Ariane’s heart tripped an unsteady beat and she felt all shaky inside.
She had no idea what had happened to her during those moments. Etienne’s arms had enveloped her securely. She’d become almost entranced by his steady gaze. The heat of him had swathed her like a warm and protective cloak. Somewhere in the back of her brain she’s been aware that the spicy scent of his cologne held a hint of citrus. The combination had been utterly enticing.
Trust me.
Even now, the mere memory of his rich, resonant voice sent shivers coursing down her spine like a shower of cool spring rain.
She’d been enraptured. By his gaze. His scent. His touch. By him.
Never before had she been so stirred by another human being.
When Ariane failed to rise to Francie’s bait, the woman remarked, “Etienne is awfully handsome.”
She waited, and Ariane remained stubbornly silent.
“He looked awesome last night.”
More silence.
Finally, Francie blurted, “And those trousers he wore accentuated his nice, tight butt, too.”
Ariane gasped, tea splashing over the rim of the cup. “Francie!”
Her friend giggled. “Well, I’m glad to see you’re alive and well. With all the silent treatment I’d thought you’d died right where you sat.”
Sighing, Ariane pursed her lips for a moment. Then she said, “I am alive and well. And I agree with everything you just said. The prince is a handsome man. And he looked delectable last night.” She grinned. “And I did notice his butt. Are you happy now that I’ve bared my soul?”
Francie grinned with clear delight.
Then Ariane’s shoulders drooped a fraction and she lifted her chin determinedly. “But tell me something…what is the fabulous prince going to say once he learns that I’m no longer a princess?”
The pleasure slowly slid from Francie’s expression.
“I’m here on a mission,” Ariane continued firmly. “I’m on an assignment that just might help our countrymen. That’s what I have to focus on.”
Francie looked contrite. “Yes, but there was no royal proclamation that said you couldn’t have a little fun while you’re here.”
Ariane shook her head in disagreement. “That kind of fun will only lead to hurt and heartache. For everyone involved.”
Chapter Three
Etienne sat at the end of the long table, making a great effort to appear interested in the story being recounted by the man sitting next to him. No matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn’t seem to spark an interest in the gentleman’s escapades of starting a coffee bean plantation in Kenya. In fact, it was all he could do not to doze off into his raspberry sorbet.
It could have been because the man’s adventure had taken place nearly a half century ago, or that he kept losing track of the storyline which caused him to repeat some portions of the tale several times over. Still, Etienne did his best to chuckle at all the right places and raise his brows to show he was impressed when the exploits required it.
All through dinner, though, his gaze kept skimming down to the other end of the table where Ariane sat at his father’s left. For the past several evenings Kroninberg Palace had been a hive of activity. First had been the ball welcoming Ariane to Rhineland. Then for three nights running, the formal dining room had been filled with government officials, dignitaries and special friends of the family who wanted to spend some time with the princess.
Etienne would have given his eyeteeth to have been seated next to Ariane. But since she was the guest of honor, her place was near his parents. And as a member of the Kroninberg family, Etienne had to do his part by sitting at the opposite end of the table and entertaining the guests who were not fortunate enough to sit nearer the princess.
During each lingering meal, Etienne had had a hard time giving the dinner guests his full attention. And the reason was simple.
Ariane.
Tonight she wore a sleeveless, figure-hugging dress in a captivating shade of burnt orange. The hue of the shiny-looking fabric set off both her deep blue eyes and her tanned, curvy body. Her honey-blond hair fell, sleek and loose, just past her shoulders, and Etienne kept daydreaming about combing his fingers through those soft tresses.
Ariane’s easy smile flashed now at something his mother said, and he felt as if someone had stirred a pile of slow-burning embers inside him. Heat coiled in his belly and his jaw unwittingly tightened against the yearning that was kindled.
He wanted this woman. In the worst way.
Etienne still suspected she was playacting. That the empty-headed persona she was presenting was just that. A mask. A guise.
However, he had to admit that he wasn’t quite sure. If she was putting on a show, she sure was good at it. Not once in the days that she’d been in Rhineland had she slipped up. Time and again, she’d draw the government officials into political discussions only to make some outlandish remark that made her seem downright silly.
But why did she continue to choose a topic on which she seemed to know so little? Did she not realize how dense it made her appear? Maybe she really was flighty and shallow.
No. Etienne refused to fall for that, no matter how hard the princess was working to make everyone around her believe it. There was an intelligence in those midnight eyes of hers that just seemed to be screaming for release.
What he needed to do was force her to show her true self. To somehow trip her up. And he didn’t want to do that in the company of anyone else.
Suddenly a plan formed in his head. He’d invite her to dinner in his private suite, talk to her about world governments. She certainly seemed interested in the subject. He’d make some purposefully erroneous remarks about different political principles and then he’d see if she rose to the bait. He nearly chuckled at the perfection of his plan. No woman could resist correcting a man who was blatantly wrong. Ariane would be no exception.
But what to do about the princess’s lady-in-waiting? Simple good manners dictated that he invite Francie along to dinner, too.
Then he thought of Harry, his equerry. The two of them were close friends…Etienne suppressed a grin…they’d even been partners in crime a time or two when they’d been students together at Eton. Berkshire, England hadn’t known what had hit it after the two of them had pulled a couple of their harmless pranks.
His friendship with Harry had been what had prompted Etienne to ask the Brit to move to Rhineland as his personal assistant.
Harry’s ornery streak was still thick enough that he could easily come up with a scheme to coax Francie out of Etienne’s apartments, leaving Etienne alone with Ariane for a while. Better yet, Harry could waylay Francie even before the two women were to arrive for dinner.
Etienne could hardly contain his mirth as he realized that his own ornery streak hadn’t faded much over the years.
The plan set, he nodded enthusiastically at something the old gentleman beside him said, and when everyone around him laughed, he followed suit. However his mind was focused on tomorrow evening…when he’d succeed in getting Ariane alone.
Where in the world was Francie? Ariane paced the sitting room of the guest suite. She’d been dressed and ready for half an hour.
Dinner with the prince. In his apartments.
Ariane trembled inside.
Her case of nerves had a twofold cause. First off, she was uneasy about her ability to keep up this brainless façade. So many times over the past few days she’d nearly blurted out her true opinions to the administrators and bureaucrats she’d talked with. She’d discovered just how much she abhorred looking like a senseless idiot.
And secondly, she’d done everything she could to keep from being alone with Etienne. Those mesmerizing moments they had shared on her first night in his country had really thrown her for a loop.
Before arriving in Rhineland she’d thought of Etienne as nothing more than a means to an end in her goal of discovering who was plotting against her country. But she’d quickly discovered that the prince was an alluring man. A sexy danger to her mission. Like flint against steel, he sparked feelings in her that she wasn’t up to dealing with right now.
When she’d received his dinner invitation this morning, her first reaction had been relief. All those formal meals were beginning to get to her. She’d smiled so much that her cheek muscles were becoming sore.
Fretfulness had Ariane actually opening the door of the guest suite and peering down the hallway one way, then the other, in search of Francie. She stepped back inside and shut the door.
She glanced at the beautifully carved German cuckoo clock on the wall. Being fashionably late was one thing, but this was bordering on nothing short of bad manners.
What was worse? she wondered. A terribly tardy arrival? Or visiting the prince’s private apartments without her lady in tow?
Certainly, Etienne would have staff members in attendance to serve the meal. And surely Harry, his personal assistant, would be present, as well. There should be plenty of people milling about to act as chaperones.
Not that a princess needed a chaperone in this day and age. However, Ariane almost smiled as she thought of how her elderly and quite conservative grandmother, the dowager queen, would respond. It was never seemly, Simone would say, for a single woman to visit a bachelor’s private rooms unescorted.
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