The Royal Groom (Wrong Way Weddings Book 4)

by Lori Wilde

  He should have ordered Hans to keep an eye on her. If she went outside to find a taxi at this time of night, anything could happen. He told himself she wasn’t foolish; in fact, he’d never met a woman better able to fend for herself. But he was still worried.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m afraid Leigh isn’t feeling herself tonight. I should check on her again. It’s been a great pleasure.” He smiled, shook hands, called people by name. It was his job: the royal dismissal.

  He went directly to Hans, who was surveying the milling crowd from a vantage point near the wide entryway on the west side.

  “Have you seen Miss Bailey recently?” Max asked.

  “Yes, Your Highness. She went up the stairs about ten minutes ago.”

  “She was fascinated by the kitchen gadgets,” Max mumbled, embarrassed admitting, even to one of the men who virtually lived in his pocket, that his fiancée had disappeared on him. “Watch the front entrance. If you see her, tell her I’m looking for her.”

  He ran up the flight of broad steps built as part of his grandfather’s renovations, feeling more winded than the climb warranted. A few people had left the reception area to wander among the displays again, and he was held up by the need to be marginally courteous when they spoke to him.

  His stiff-necked pride wouldn’t allow him to ask anxious questions or run about calling her name. The converted warehouse was damnably large, but he managed to determine she was nowhere on the second level.

  The third and top floor was devoted to patented failures, a favorite of his grandfather’s: peculiar inventions that never quite lived up to their inventors’ expectations. He started searching for her in the maze of rooms, struck by the irony of searching for his “fiancée” among things that had disappointed their originators.

  Several people were chuckling over a helmet that was supposed to stimulate hair growth with mild electrical shocks. Rogaine it wasn’t. Max managed to avoid them, growing more worried as he eliminated places where she could be. And warmer. It was unseasonably hot for September—or so people repeatedly told him—and there was no air-conditioning system on this level. He went into a room full of farm-related devices, surprised to see that a small door leading to a fire escape had been left open.

  A faint but welcome whiff of cooler air drew him closer, then prompted him to step outside onto the iron grating. “Leigh, what are you doing out here?”

  Her face was a pale oval framed by silky hair, and he forgot his anger.

  “I’m just getting some air.”

  “I think you’re hiding. I searched every room on two floors looking for you.”

  “I should have gone back to the table. My job for the evening wasn’t quite done, was it?”

  “No doubt you had a good reason for staying away.” He was inviting her to explain her absence; she didn’t.

  “I’m sorry about the way I’m dressed. My bag of evening gowns really was stolen after we got to the hotel.”

  “I’ll have Albert check in the morning. He’s very good at finding lost things, but you have nothing to apologize for. You’re beautiful just the way you are.” He reached out and fingered her locket, wishing he had the right to open it.

  “You’re being kind.”

  “No, I mean it.” He took a deep breath, amazed because she genuinely didn’t realize how lovely she was. “What you’re wearing is perfect. Every man in the room envied me tonight.”

  She laughed softly, but he could hear a haunting sadness in the sound. Or was he imagining depth that didn’t exist? He’d never been less sure of anyone.

  “Is there something you want me to do?” she asked.

  He wanted her to explain away the phone call she’d made, but he couldn’t ask her about it without admitting he’d hung back in the shadows and eavesdropped. Why couldn’t he have run a nurse or a teacher off the road? Why did she have to be a journalist?

  “You’ve played your part well. I won’t ask more of you this evening,” he said.

  She turned away from him, looking down on a well-lit parking area and a pair of dumpsters. He didn’t want to leave her there alone.

  “What do you think of my grandfather’s museum?” he asked.

  “It’s interesting. I never dreamed machines could have so much style, so much soul. I love the outboard motor that looks like part of an airplane.”

  “It wasn’t very successful on boats, I’m afraid.”

  “I guess a lot of things that look wonderful don’t live up to expectations.”

  The sadness was back in her voice; he drew closer, feeling big and clumsy beside her finely molded shoulders and slender bare arms. He reached out with his knuckles, rubbing them against the thin satin covering one of her shoulder blades.

  “Leigh.”

  She turned and faced him, backed against the steel railing of the landing, so close her perfume teased his nostrils.

  “You really do look”—he groped for words—“stunning.”

  He wanted to kiss her, really kiss her, without the restraint of being watched. He knew the outline of her lips and the sweetness of her mouth, but he wanted to know much more. How would she sound in the throes of passion? Was she daring enough to trust him completely?

  He leaned forward, putting his hands on the rail to imprison her between his arms. Everything was against this—fair play, common sense, and his own promise not to take advantage of their arrangement. She started to say something, but the words didn’t come. He covered her mouth with his and wrapped his arms around her.

  She couldn’t breathe. No kiss had lasted this long or felt this wonderful. Then his breath was warm on her cheek, and she gasped for air, ready when he drew her lips between his and did magical, wonderful things.

  This wasn’t a kiss; it was lovemaking. She didn’t want to resist. Her hands found the muscular leanness of his rib cage under his jacket and clung to him like a drowning victim.

  Light-headed, dizzy with arousal, she let his tongue slide deeper and deeper, fusing her need and his desire.

  The faint light coming from the inside of the building went off, then on again, blinking three times.

  “Our signal to leave,” he whispered huskily.

  “Or we’ll be locked in?”

  “I don’t think Albert will allow that to happen.”

  He was supposed to watch out for the prince, so why wasn’t he here to prevent this, she thought, halfway between elation and despair. What was happening here? This wasn’t the way business partners kissed each other—not that they should kiss each other at all.

  “We have to go.” Max sounded stern and determined.

  She obeyed, wondering how she could face the elegant strangers after this. She might as well have “I’ve been making out with the prince” tattooed on her forehead.

  “The car will be waiting at the service entrance. Follow me,” Max ordered.

  She resisted the impulse to stick her tongue out at him. Sure, she’d follow him. All he had to offer was a wildly exciting, totally insane ride on an emotional roller coaster.

  6

  He’d lost control last night.

  Max was ashamed, but there it was. If he’d had to walk through throngs of people, someone would surely have noticed his...agitation. As it was, he’d had to scowl and send his men scurrying on needless errands while he hurried Leigh into the limo.

  Otherwise one of them would have noticed something was amiss. He employed them to be alert and observant. They never disappointed.

  He was disappointed—in himself. Worse, he felt guilty as sin. He’d given his word of honor, not something he did lightly, even to a woman whose only interest in him was professional.

  When he started searching for her in the museum, he’d fully intended to vent his anger on her. Was she so eager to dissect him in print she had to rush to a phone in the middle of a social engagement?

  Then, when he’d finally found her on the fire escape landing...

  “Stop here,” he said to Albert,
who was driving the sedan through still-heavy morning traffic. “You won’t be able to park—Just circle until I come out, hopefully in twenty minutes or so.”

  Like a man about to do penance, he got out of the car and resolutely entered the large department store, hoping sunglasses would cut down on the recognition factor. Hans was behind him, keeping a wary eye out for physical danger, but Max knew he had more to fear from adoration than assault. Americans, deprived by the lack of a royal family, were always designating someone King of Rock and Roll or Crown Prince of Baseball. When real royalty visited, they went wild.

  He sighed. It would be nice to travel incognito, but the tabloids guaranteed that was impossible.

  Leigh stared at the latest delivery: a huge bouquet of long-stemmed yellow roses. It was squeezed between a fall-color arrangement and the American beauty reds on the windowsill. Who were all these people with a hotline to flower shops? Did they get up at dawn to score social points with the newly engaged prince? Her hotel room looked like a funeral parlor.

  She needed to jog or at least take a long, fast walk, but she was totally daunted by the prospect of going through the hotel lobby. She’d never dreamed it was so complicated to be one of the beautiful people. She needed a disguise, and sunglasses alone wouldn’t do it. She thought of wearing her rumpled jeans, stuffed into her own bag, and pigtails, but how inconspicuous could she be with Fred following her?

  Apparently, he’d lost the toss today; he was her designated shadow.

  She flipped TV channels for the hundredth time; it was like biting down on an aching tooth to test how bad it was. Somehow TMZ had found Doug Bolt, Dopey Doug, a boy she’d gone out with once in the tenth grade. Some bimbo in Orlando led him through an interview that ran every half hour after the hippo-birth piece. Dopey called her an angel who kissed like a goddess.

  “Jerk!” She couldn’t even remember kissing him.

  Dopey Doug’s interview was due again when someone knocked.

  “If it’s more flowers, I swear I’ll load them all on a housekeeping cart,” she muttered, opening the door.

  “Hello.”

  “Oh, it’s you.”

  “May I come in?” Max asked, his arms so full she had to close the door after him.

  “If you’re not allergic to flowers. Have you seen this?” She gestured at the TV. “I dated that opportunist once when I was fifteen. He makes it sound like I was the love of his life.”

  “No doubt you were.” Max was grinning. “If it’s on television, it must be true.”

  “You’re enjoying this. You knew what would happen. Why did you get me into this...this...”

  “Circus? Media feeding frenzy? Welcome to my world, Leigh,” he said with good-humored irony. “May I put these things on the bed? I don’t see any place else.”

  “You found the garment bag.” She took it from him, putting it down to unzip it. “Everything seems to be here.”

  “Your gown for the Silver and Gold Ball is, fortunately. It appears somebody was pulling a prank. The bag was found inside a locked stall in the ladies’ room. The thief went to a great deal of trouble.”

  “She, or he, crawled under?”

  “Had to.”

  Leigh laughed, enjoying the thought of Natasha slinking under the door on her belly like the snake she was. But she couldn’t share her suspicion with Max. He might think she was making a false accusation because she was jealous of the model.

  “How did you get it back?” she asked.

  “Albert made it known that the employee who returned it would receive a sizable reward, no questions asked.”

  He was still holding a big plastic department store bag. She turned off the TV; the sudden silence was awkward.

  “I had an opportunity to survey the merchandise in one of your large stores,” he said, beginning to doubt the wisdom of his purchase.

  “You mean you went shopping? Every tourist should give it a whirl, I guess. Did you buy a present for your father?”

  “I guess I’m a bad son. It didn’t even occur to me.”

  Part of him wanted to tell the truth—that he hadn’t thought of anyone but her since he’d found her on the fire escape landing. But how could he admit that to a woman who was counting the hours until she could interrogate him for her story?

  “Well, thank you for bringing the garment bag,” she said.

  “You’re welcome. Are your accommodations satisfactory?”

  “Yes, fine. Is there some protocol about flowers? Should I write thank-you notes? I’ve never heard of most of the senders.”

  “I’ll have Albert take care of it. Just give him the signature cards with a notation of what was sent, if you would, please.”

  “Could he do something with the flowers? Maybe send them to a nursing home? It seems wasteful to have so many here. But the roses are beautiful, aren’t they?”

  “Stunning.”

  He didn’t mean the flowers. She seemed to give off a glow, a radiance that enchanted him in spite of the devil’s bargain he’d struck with her. He couldn’t blame her for their situation. It had made sense at the time to ask her to pose as his fiancée. He should have foreseen the complications, but holding her in his arms while the hurricane threatened had dulled his reasoning powers.

  “This is for you,” he said.

  He held out the bag.

  She didn’t take it.

  He laid it on the bed. “Please, open it and see if you like it.”

  “Is this something you want me to wear?”

  He sensed her reluctance and tried to explain.

  “Only if you choose to. It’s a gift for you—not part of the wardrobe you insist be donated to a charitable cause.”

  “A souvenir of our brief engagement?”

  “An apology.”

  She looked up sharply, still hanging back as though she expected something in the box to bite her. He’d never had such a hard time presenting a gift to a woman.

  “I promised not to take advantage of our arrangement. I broke my word last evening,” he said. “I had no right to kiss you.”

  “About that—”

  “Open your gift.”

  He watched intently as she lifted the cover of the box and folded back the tissue.

  “What is it?”

  “Take it out.”

  She unfurled the midnight blue velvet and touched the glittering rhinestone clip.

  “It’s a cape.” She sounded astonished.

  “You’ll need an evening wrap. Let me help you.”

  He took the soft satin-lined velvet and draped it around her shoulders, letting his hands linger for a moment on the incredibly soft fabric. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s beautiful! I love it. You’ll have to take it back. Don’t laugh! I mean it, Max.”

  “That’s why I’m laughing—you do mean it. Will your journalistic integrity be compromised if you accept my small gift as an apology?”

  What a gift she had—for making him angry and amused at the same time. Unfortunately, nothing she did diminished his desire for her.

  “About last night—it can’t happen again,” she said, not meeting his eyes.

  “It?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  He shook his head, refusing to make it easy for her.

  “Please, don’t kiss me again. It’s not part of our deal.”

  “Yes, I overstepped the boundaries of our agreement. This is my peace offering. I’ll be grateful if you accept it.” He held his hands out, palms up, wondering why it was so important to him.

  “As long as you understand.” She lifted a fold of the velvet and ran it over her inner wrist. “I’ve never felt anything so soft. Thank you, Max. It’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever worn.”

  He wanted to wrap it around her naked body and make love to her in the midst of its folds, but those thoughts would drive him crazy.

  “I’m here to take you somewhere,” he said, forcing himself to concentrate on more mundane matte
rs.

  “Should I change?” She took off the cape and carefully refolded it in the box. “It’s so complicated knowing what to wear when I’m with you. Maybe I should have Albert advise me.”

  “Your instincts are marvelous. Wear what pleases you. But you’re fine dressed the way you are.”

  “But I’m wearing my own clothes.” She stared down at the rust-colored skirt and ballet flats.

  “Don’t worry. We have a long drive, and we’re expected for tea.”

  “Tea?”

  “Come on.” He grabbed her hand.

  Max escorted her through the lobby and into the front seat of the waiting sedan.

  “No bodyguards?” she asked, clicking on her seat belt.

  “None needed.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “On a mystery trip.”

  “Tell me. I don’t like surprises.”

  “Curiosity or caution?” he teased.

  “I like to know where I’m going.”

  “You will in due time.”

  “Max! Don’t do this to me.”

  He pulled out into traffic, seemingly at ease in the city’s congestion.

  “Do you need GPS?” She opened the map app on her phone.

  “Chicago is my second home. I’ve been coming here since I was a boy. Darcy and I used to play together like brother and sister. Her mother is from here.”

  “Are we going to see her?”

  “Good Lord, no! She travels with the jet set—or so she likes to think. Her husband is writing a book on casino gambling. He’s been researching it for twenty-some years.”

  “You sound disapproving. Don’t you like to gamble?”

  “I don’t like to lose.” He glanced at her and smiled. “And all gamblers do lose eventually. I’d rather buy gifts for beautiful women.”

  “No doubt you expect a payoff of another kind,” she said dryly.

  “Playboy prince scores again? I almost believe you’re addicted to the tabloids, Leigh.”

  “I’m not.”

  He was baiting her, and she’d jumped right into the trap. “Then what proof do you have I’m a womanizer?” he asked.