The Knight's Kiss

by Nicole Burnham

  She rested a shoulder against the stall door and studied him for a moment. “Keeping the museum board at arm’s length is one thing, Parliament’s another. I assume you don’t want them involved in what you’re doing.”

  “No.” He picked up a broken sword tang that had been left lying on a nearby shelf and grasped it hard, so his nervous fingers wouldn’t betray him. He’d suspected when Isabella offered him the job that this day would come, when he’d need to risk his privacy to further his research, despite her assurances to the contrary. Still, she’d already done more to guarantee his solitude than he’d expected. “My only option is the palace library?”

  “It’s the only computer not already in use. I will do my best to keep the staff away while you’re working, but it is in a busy area.”

  Parliament or the palace staff. Not the best of choices. His concern must have shown on his face, because the princess added, “I did think of another option. I could fly your secretary here.”

  He set the tang down beside the document box, thinking over the proposition. At home, Anne generally worked in her office and he worked in his, with the door shut. She didn’t monitor his movements or the details of his research. She went home promptly at 5:00 p.m., and never asked questions about his personal life. Living and working within the confines of the keep, she’d soon realize he sought something specific. Still, it was better than the alternatives. And now, inside the document box to his left, he’d finally found a record of his own existence. If he could find his own name, he could surely find Rufina, who’d been notorious at the time. Then privacy might not matter any more.

  “It’s a very kind offer.”

  “It’s no trouble, really. Especially if it improves the chance you’ll have the artifacts analyzed and catalogued in time for the expansion.”

  He flashed her a smile of gratitude. “I’ll let you know.”

  “Good.” She straightened, and her gaze slipped past him, to the jumble of furniture and rolled-up tapestries crowding the far wall of the stall. “I came for another reason, as well. As Nerina must have mentioned, I meet with the museum board tomorrow. They’ll expect a full report on your findings.”

  “I can get that to you tonight, if that works for your schedule.”

  “Should give me plenty of time to look it over, thank you.” Her voice was polite, distant, as if the last time they’d been in this room together hadn’t registered. But she shifted from one foot to another, and he guessed their proximity in the isolated room affected her, though she didn’t wish to show it.

  He wondered if she thought of their kiss as often as he did. He knew why he’d resisted kissing her, but what held her back? Why didn’t she feel she could enjoy a little comfort in the arms of a man?

  “Is there anything else you need?” she asked, taking a step back.

  You. “I don’t believe so,” he answered, matching her formal tone. “Nerina has gone out of her way to make certain I’m accommodated.”

  “Good,” she replied, but once again her gaze flicked past him.

  “What are you looking at?” He turned, curious.

  “Oh, it’s nothing. Just…I thought my mother had all the books put into crates. But I see one was left in here.” When he didn’t see it right away, she edged into the stall, so close he could breathe in her elegant, feminine perfume. Reaching past him, she lifted a book off a spindly wooden chair. “I can put it with the others, if you’d like.”

  “Thanks.” He gave it a cursory look. From what he could tell of the design, it wasn’t the correct era for the stall, anyway. Probably mid-1400s.

  The princess ran her small hands over the pigskin-covered wooden boards, admiring the worn thistle-and-leaf design on the cover. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Her voice came out in a whisper, and he could see from her face how excited the discovery made her. He didn’t doubt now that she’d studied art history at Harvard; her interest was apparent from the loving way she held the book. Despite his mind warning him not to draw any closer, not to risk touching her again, he leaned over her shoulder for a better look.

  “It has a lock on it,” she said, pointing out a blackened hinge covering the book’s endpapers. “Could it be a diary? And this metal ring at the top…what was its purpose?”

  “I doubt it’s a diary.” He dipped his head toward it. “May I?”

  She held the book out, and he took it from her hands, successfully resisting the urge to caress her fingers with his own. After fiddling with the lock for a few moments, he found the latch to spring it open. “Voilà.” The pages crackled despite his care in opening the lock. He handed the book back to her. “For you, Your Highness.”

  “Isabella.”

  “Princess.” He grinned. “Books were quite valuable in medieval times. Locks were put on the covers to protect the pages from exposure to the elements. And the ring at the top was once connected to a chain.”

  “I remember reading about those,” she said in wonder. “Didn’t they chain books to desks to keep them from being stolen from libraries and monasteries? This was how they did it, through this loop?”

  “You must have been a good student at Harvard.”

  “Had to be. Could you imagine what the tabloids would say if a princess flunked out?”

  “Royal Bombshell Bombs Out?”

  “Very funny.”

  She studied the pages, then exclaimed, “It’s in Latin… It’s a book of fairy tales!”

  “Fairy tales?”

  “From a scholar’s point of view, I think.” She pointed to a series of words near the top of the open page. “Look. It discusses how fairy tales vary from village to village, but espouse the same morals.”

  He looked down at her in awe. “You read Latin?” He shook his head. “No, of course you do.”

  “I’m a bit rusty,” she admitted. “But I think this is a description of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. See? This word is ‘girl’ and I think this is talking about the ‘house of a bear.’ What do you think?”

  He took the book back from her, careful not to tear the fragile paper. “You’re right.”

  He turned a few more pages, then laughed aloud. “What do you know? The Fox and the Grapes. A different version than I heard growing up, but essentially the same.”

  “A worthwhile discovery?”

  She turned her body just enough to gaze up at him, and once again he was struck by her innocence. Never in a million years had he expected the sophisticated Princess Isabella to be a quiet academic at heart.

  “Definitely. Here.” He took her hands and placed the book between her palms. “I know it probably should be analyzed by a literature expert, but I think you should take it for yourself.”

  “Me?”

  “It’s been down here for ages and no one’s missed it. If you kept it, no one would be the wiser.”

  She turned over the book in her hands. “I couldn’t. It belongs to the people of San Rimini, in their museum. It’s what my mother would have wanted.”

  “Your mother would have wanted you to have a birthday present.”

  He’d promised himself he wouldn’t mention it, wouldn’t do anything out of the ordinary if he ran into her today. The last thing he wanted was to let on that he had feelings for her, though of course, after two weeks of constantly thinking about her, he knew he did. What red-blooded man wouldn’t?

  But seeing her reaction to the book made him want to give it to her, resolve be damned. Didn’t she deserve a little happiness? A little something for herself?

  “Nerina told you,” she accused.

  “Maybe.”

  “I need to have a talk with her.”

  “Not that I’m sticking up for Nerina, mind you,” he cocked an eyebrow at her, “because the woman doesn’t seem to care much for me or my computer demands. But someone had to say something. Your father and Prince Antony have huge soirées for their birthdays every year. Yet you don’t have so much as a tea party planned for yourself, I’m willing to bet.�
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  “Maybe I’m not a big fan of birthday parties.”

  “Maybe you don’t want to bother anyone with planning one for you.”

  She backed up a step, a difficult feat in the cluttered stall. “I’m not the all-giving saint you think I am. For your information, I’m not doing one single thing for anyone else tonight. No fund-raisers, no state dinners, nothing. I’m treating myself to a night off.”

  He snorted. “What, sitting at your desk and reading up on world events? Studying your book on independent film? That’s not a night off. What about a night out? Don’t you want a party?”

  “I attend a lot of parties.”

  “But not parties for you. Not parties for fun.”

  She put up a hand. “Stop. I’m perfectly happy not having a party. It’s the last thing I want or need.”

  “Then how about dinner for two?”

  As soon as the words left his mouth, his chest tightened in alarm. What possessed him? He couldn’t possibly traipse around town with the princess; his picture would appear in every rag in the Western world within twenty-four hours. Plus, if he’d been tempted to kiss her after a short encounter in a dusty storeroom, what would happen over a plate of pasta and a carafe of Merlot?

  Not that she’d accept his offer.

  “Are—are you asking me for a date, Mr. Black?” Her face registered shock, but only for a moment, before she regained her ever-present poise.

  “It’s Nick. Remember, Princess?” he joked, hoping to lighten the mood. “And I suppose so.” Much as he knew it was a stupid move, he couldn’t back-pedal now. What kind of jerk rescinded an invitation to a princess? “You wouldn’t take the book. Don’t you deserve something nice on your birthday?”

  “I’m not sure it would be wise. After all, you’re on the palace payroll now, and…well, I don’t remember the last time I went out on a private date. Something other than a formal event.”

  He forced himself not to show his relief. His lack of feminine contact—if one didn’t count Anne, which he didn’t—made him take stupid risks. Now that the danger of a date had passed, however, his curiosity got the better of him. “You can tell me to take a hike, Princess, but why haven’t you dated? No available men in San Rimini?”

  She bit her bottom lip, unable to hide her smile. “No, plenty of them. All Stefano’s friends, as a matter of fact. And even a few of Antony and Federico’s.”

  “Then?”

  She rolled her eyes, a particularly unroyal reaction he found amusing. “I’m the only female in my family. It changes things for me. When the tabloids covered my brothers’ romantic interests, for instance, they mostly discussed which women they dated, where they went, things like that. But when it comes to my private life, they’ve been downright nasty. They insinuate that since I’m a woman, I should keep to a higher standard. Be more circumspect.” Isabella puffed out a frustrated breath. “My mother warned me that San Rimini’s traditional ways are still revered by many of our subjects, particularly where women are concerned, but I didn’t listen. What teenager would? But it turned out she was right.”

  Before he could stop himself, Nick closed the distance between them and put his hand on her shoulder. Even through the fabric of her suit, he could feel the delicate curve of her collarbone, and he caressed it with his thumb. “Was it really that bad?”

  “I shouldn’t be talking to you about this.” She hesitated, and Nick thought she’d ask him to move his hand or make some excuse to leave, but instead, she met his gaze with gratitude.

  “I went out on my first unaccompanied date during my freshman year at Harvard. A nice sophomore I’d met in the library. Just one date, for dinner and a movie in Cambridge. Not even a good-night kiss. Well, not a real one, if you know what I mean.”

  He forced himself not to laugh at the fiery red color creeping across her cheeks. “I know what you mean. So what happened?”

  “For the next week, tabloid reporters followed him all over campus, trying to rat out anything negative about him. Turns out that someone living in his residential college got caught smoking pot that same week. The papers made it appear that because they lived in the same building, he must also be a pothead and therefore I was an embarrassment to my country.”

  He continued to massage her shoulder through her soft suit jacket. “That’s terrible. And so unfair.”

  “It was,” she acknowledged, though her voice held no regret, only an understanding that came with time and maturity. “He had no interest in seeing me again after that, and I can’t blame him. He planned to attend law school and feared it would hurt his chances. After that, I had no interest in dating again, either. Given what the tabloids might dig up, it’s been easier not to date at all.”

  “You don’t miss it?” he asked. He certainly did. He couldn’t imagine that a woman with Isabella’s compassion and capability for love would willingly relinquish herself to the same hell on earth he faced. No wonder she’d been emotional as they’d rolled down the runway in Boston. The city held a lot of memories for her.

  She shook her head no, but he could see from her expression it wasn’t the truth. “I’m so busy I don’t have time to miss it. And it’s not as if I don’t meet men at palace events or in the course of my work. I do date, I suppose. It’s just a different kind of dating.” She raised a finger in warning, and a smile curved her lips, instantly lightening the mood. “So don’t accuse me of being lonely again.”

  “Sounds lonely to me. But if you’re commanding me not to argue, I won’t.” He hated to see her missing out on what could be a fantastic life, filled with all the love she deserved.

  “Tell you what.” She laughed. “If you can figure out how to keep the reporters away, I’ll take you up on your offer. I don’t have anything planned tonight, and I can think of nothing I’d like more than to prove you wrong.”

  Now it was his turn to register shock. His hand stilled on her shoulder. “You want to go out to dinner with me?”

  “Yes. If tonight’s good. As you said, I deserve it.”

  Her eyes held an adventurous spark he couldn’t resist. “Okay, Princess, if that’s what you want, that’s what you’ll get. Here’s how we’re going to do it.”

  Chapter Six

  “That’s the most casual outfit you own?”

  Isabella tugged at the hem of her short-sleeved lilac sweater, which topped a pair of black capri pants and simple flats she’d pulled from the very back of her closet. “It’s what I wear when I’m at our country house. And only then on days when no media access is granted. I’m afraid it’s as casual as I get.”

  Nick had promised to help disguise her, and once she’d accepted his dinner invitation, he’d sent her back to her apartments with instructions to put her hair in a ponytail—a style she never wore—and dress down as much as she could before dinner.

  “No ripped jeans? Ugly sweatshirts?” he teased. “No, of course not. Do you at least own a pair of sunglasses?”

  “At night? That’d be obvious, wouldn’t it?”

  He glanced at the small window above the desk. “Right. Been on the lower level so long I forget what time of day it is.” He studied her for a moment, his forehead creased in thought. “To pull this off, you need to dress in such a way that even if someone thinks you look just like Princess Isabella, they’ll automatically assume that you couldn’t possibly be her.”

  “Trust me, no one will believe this is me.” At least she hoped not.

  Nick shook his head in disagreement. “Maybe some reading glasses? Something you’re not photographed in?”

  The last thing she wanted Nick to see her wearing. Not that it should matter. “I have a pair in my purse. But they’re ghastly.”

  “Put ’em on, Princess.”

  She smiled to herself as she pulled out the leather case. What was it about Nick Black that made her heart leap? Certainly no one spoke to her as he did; it was as if he knew a hundred princesses and spoke to them every day. Formal enough to show respe
ct, yet relaxed enough to make her feel like a real person, someone who could hang out in a restaurant with a bunch of other twenty-and thirty-somethings, maybe slouch in her chair and have a beer without raising eyebrows.

  Okay, so she wouldn’t slouch. Or have a beer. But hanging out with people her own age, without worrying about whether she’d arrive late for her next appointment or be questioned by reporters who hung on her every word, sounded heavenly. And with Nick, it felt possible.

  “I wouldn’t call them ghastly,” he said once she had the black-rimmed glasses on. He met her gaze, assessing her disguise. His perusal sent a shiver of excitement through her. It was a huge risk, going out with Nick, knowing how attractive she found him. But today was her birthday. If ever she deserved to indulge in a little fantasy, a little adventure, it was today. Hopefully, no one would ever know. And if the tabloids did discover her, she’d just say she was conferring with an expert on a project for the museum. Surely that was boring enough not to warrant coverage.

  “Well, I feel ghastly,” she said as she slipped the now-empty leather case back into her purse. “None of the restaurants I frequent would seat me dressed like this.”

  “We’ll be sure to avoid restaurants you frequent, then.” He strode past her, searching around the desk area. Finally, he pulled open one of the lower drawers and withdrew a baseball hat. “Here we go. Wear this. I have a backpack I can put on. If you have one, you should take it instead of your purse.”

  “Why in the world would I own a backpack?” She eyed the gray ball cap with the red and navy Red Sox logo. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  He waved a hand at his own attire. While she’d been searching for casual clothes in her apartments, he’d changed into a pair of clean blue jeans, a short-sleeved black T-shirt and black loafers. “We’ll look like grad students, especially if we eat somewhere near the University of San Rimini. It’s only a mile or so away. With the backpacks on, no one will give us a second look.”