by Teri Wilson
She wanted to explain that she’d packed the suitcase the day before, not this morning. She wanted to confess why she’d left Delamotte. She wanted to tell him what she’d learned about her parents’ marriage and about the fate that awaited her when she returned to the palace.
She wanted to tell him how she felt about him.
She wouldn’t, of course. Couldn’t. Not here. Not now.
“I can’t.”
Dalton swiveled his gaze toward her. Finally.
Artem’s brow furrowed. “Pardon?”
Oh God. Had she said that out loud?
Dalton slid his hand around her waist, and to her utter mortification, the tenderness in his touch nearly made her weep. “Why don’t we go sit down?”
“Wait.” Artem held out a hand. “Can I have a word with you, brother?”
Dalton gave a terse shake of his head. “There’s no time. The show is about to start.”
“Diana’s class doesn’t compete for another half hour. Why don’t we go fetch drinks for the ladies and discuss a little business as well?” Artem’s mouth curved into one of his charming smiles, but his eyes went dark.
Dalton sighed under his breath. “Very well. If it absolutely can’t wait...”
“It can’t.” Artem reached for Ophelia’s hand, gave it a squeeze. “Darling, why don’t you show Aurélie around for few minutes?”
Ophelia slipped a willowy arm through Aurélie’s. “I’d be happy to. Artem’s right. The show doesn’t technically start until ten o’clock. It’s only 9:30.”
9:30.
If it was 9:30 in New York right now, that meant it was 3:30 in Delamotte. Her portrait sitting with Lord Clement was scheduled in less than an hour.
She swallowed.
Across the world, her gold dress was no doubt hanging in her dressing room with her glittering silver Jimmy Choos set out beside it. The Marchand family tiara would have been removed from its vault. Her old life was ready and waiting for her to slip back into it.
Like a dress that no longer fit.
* * *
Once they were out of earshot, Dalton didn’t bother waiting for Artem to speak. He knew what was coming.
“Again, this isn’t how it looks,” he muttered under his breath as they fell in line at the bar.
“So you’ve mentioned,” Artem said drily.
Clearly, Artem didn’t believe him. Maybe because this time things were exactly how they looked.
Dalton’s jaw clenched. A dull throb started up in his temples. He shouldn’t have brought Aurélie here. It had been a mistake. Obviously.
Dalton didn’t make mistakes. Not when it came to business. Rather, he hadn’t until the past twelve hours or so.
Now he couldn’t seem to stop.
And he’d tried. By God, he’d tried to get a handle on himself.
He’d intentionally spent the better part of the three-hour ride to the Hamptons on his laptop rather than interacting with Aurélie. He was woefully behind on plans for the Drake Diamonds gala. Mrs. Barnes had emailed him three menu options for review, along with photographs of floral arrangements in various sizes and shades of Drake blue, and she’d been pressing him for a response for days. He hadn’t even given the guest list a cursory glance since the invitations had been mailed out. And of course the most important detail still required his attention—the arrangement of the Marchand eggs.
As much as he’d told himself he was simply doing his job, Dalton knew better. He’d wanted the distraction. Needed it. Because having Aurélie situated right beside him in the backseat of the town car, wearing another one of her quirky vintage getups, was killing him.
There was the faintest hint of lace peeking out from the hem of her dress today, and her legs were covered in opaque tights. Or perhaps they were stockings... Dalton had spent far too much time pondering the possibility of a garter belt beneath the swish of her full skirts. There wasn’t a big enough distraction in the world to rid himself of his curiosity regarding that particular matter. It had consumed the majority of his thoughts during the entire stretch of I-495.
And then there’d been the matter of the email.
Less than an hour away from Manhattan, Dalton’s tablet had dinged, indicating he’d gotten a new email. He’d glanced at the notification and his gut had tied itself in knots.
From: The Office of His Majesty,
The Reigning Prince, Delamotte
Re: Her Royal Highness, Aurélie Marchand
* * *
He’d switched the tablet off before Aurélie could see it. There was no reason to alarm her until he’d had a chance to read the message. It didn’t necessarily mean they’d figured out where she’d gone.
But things didn’t look promising. His fists clenched at his sides and he cursed himself—yet again—for not sending her home last night. Last night...before things had gotten so carried away. Before he’d danced with her in the street. Before she’d undressed for him in that shaft of immaculate moonlight.
He’d remember how it felt to look at her beautiful body for the first time until the day he died. Like time had somehow reversed itself. He’d felt young again. Alive. Whole.
Artem stared at him long and hard, turning his back on the course where the riders and horses were warming up, preparing for competition. He shook his head and sighed. “When are you going to admit what’s going on, brother?”
Dalton shrugged. “There’s nothing to admit.”
It was a half truth, at best. At worst, a full-fledged lie. Dalton had so much to confess where Aurélie was concerned that he’d lost track. But he didn’t care to discuss it. Especially not with Artem, whom Dalton had so often chastised for failing to control his libido. The day his brother had slipped a diamond on Ophelia’s hand, he’d become a different person.
Maybe you can become a different man, too.
“Who is it you’re trying to fool?” Artem said. “Me? Or yourself?”
“The exhibit is going forward as scheduled. I have things under control.” But that wasn’t even the whole truth, was it? He still had no idea what was in the email from the palace. Even now, the cell phone in his pocket vibrated against his leg.
He reached for it and checked the screen. Incoming call: Drake Diamonds. Whatever was happening at the store could wait. For now.
He powered down the phone and slid it back in his pocket. He was having enough trouble concentrating on what was happening around him today as it was.
He took a deep breath and refocused his attention on Artem, who was still standing there. Watching. Waiting. Apparently, he wasn’t going to let the Aurélie thing go.
Dalton cleared his throat. “Look, I appreciate your concern, brother. But I don’t need a heart-to-heart about my sex life.”
He wouldn’t be taking Aurélie to bed again, anyway. His feelings on the subject no longer mattered.
Except they did matter. The fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about that damned suitcase told him his feelings mattered a whole hell of a lot.
Aurélie should have been back in Delamotte by now. He’d lain awake half the night trying to figure out why he hadn’t put her on the plane when he’d had every intention of doing so, and he’d been unable to come up with anything remotely resembling a logical explanation. Then again, the decadent sight of Aurélie naked in his bed might have had something to do with his inability to think.
It had taken every shred of self-control in his arsenal not to kiss her, to touch her—right here, right now—when every time he closed his eyes he saw her sitting astride him, heavy-lidded with desire.
“I’m not talking about sex,” Artem said. “You have feelings for Aurélie.”
Dalton couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
Artem rolled his
eyes. “I’m not the one being ridiculous here. You’re in love with her. Ophelia sees it. I see it. Why can’t you?”
“Listen, I’m happy for the two of you, happy about the baby. Thrilled. Delighted. But just because you’ve suddenly become a family man doesn’t mean I’m one.”
“But you are. You always have been.” Artem threw his hands up. “Look around, for crying out loud. You’re at a horse show.”
Dalton didn’t need to look around. He knew perfectly well where he was. The Winter Hamptons Equestrian Classic was an off-season event, although most serious jumpers like Diana competed year-round. Diana participated twelve months a year, and since both their parents were now deceased, Dalton tried to attend every show within driving distance of Manhattan.
Not that their father had ever displayed much interest in his only daughter before his fatal heart attack. Geoffrey Drake had been writing checks since Diana began taking riding lessons at the age of four, but that had been the extent of his support for her career. He’d never attended a single horse show.
As far as Dalton knew, his sister hadn’t considered this at all strange. The Drakes had always expressed affection via their checkbooks, after all.
Family man. Right. Dalton didn’t even know what a family man looked like.
Dalton himself had never seen Diana ride until after Clarissa died. To this day, he wasn’t sure why he’d turned up in the grandstand at that first show he’d attended. Maybe he’d been looking for an escape. Maybe he’d simply needed a place to go on Sunday morning before the store opened in those early days when he couldn’t bear the stark white interior of his apartment.
He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that it had made him feel better knowing that at least one Drake had managed to build a life that didn’t revolve around the family business. He would have gladly flung himself on Diamond’s back and galloped far away if he could.
If it hadn’t been too late.
If he hadn’t already devoted his entire existence to Drake Diamonds.
“You deserve to be happy, Dalton. Whatever is happening between you and Aurélie has nothing to do with the past.” Artem’s gaze shifted to the packed dirt floor. “It’s got nothing to do with Clarissa.”
Dalton glared at his brother. “You’re out of line. And for what it’s worth, categorically wrong.”
You’re in love with her.
In love?
Impossible.
He wanted Aurélie. He didn’t love her. There was a difference. A big one.
Falling in love with Aurélie Marchand would make him the biggest idiot on the island of Manhattan. Possibly even the entire continent.
Although if he was being honest with himself, he had been acting rather idiotic lately.
“I’m wrong, am I?” Artem glanced at the box where Ophelia and Aurélie were chatting with each other like two old friends. Like sisters. “Then why haven’t you sent the princess packing?”
Dalton wished he knew why. Oh, how he wished that.
Chapter Twelve
Aurélie did her best to make conversation with Ophelia as they sat in the Drake Diamonds private box in the front row. She listened patiently to Ophelia’s explanation of the rules of showjumping, nodding in all the right places and making note of which riders were serious contenders for the Winter Hamptons Equestrian Classic Grand Prix title.
Diana was one of them. Dalton’s sister rode with a passionate confidence that took Aurélie’s breath away, as if she and the horse were one.
But as she followed their movements around the ring during the warm-up and Ophelia kept up her merry chitchatting, Aurélie couldn’t shake the knowledge of what was going on 4,000 miles away.
Her time was up.
Palace officials may have discovered her absence earlier this morning. In all likelihood, they had. Perhaps even yesterday. But so long as Aurélie didn’t know for certain, she could hold onto the hope that she was still flying under the radar. She could choose to believe that no one would come looking for her. But once Lord Clement arrived at the palace, there would be no denying the truth. In just a few short minutes, she’d no longer be able to lie to herself.
No matter how badly she wanted to.
She couldn’t stop glancing at the digital time display beside the judge’s table, couldn’t stop herself from counting down each minute, each precious second of freedom. Yet, she felt oddly calm. The minutes ticked by, and her pulse remained steady. There were no nervous butterflies, no panicked heartbeats. On the contrary, a detached serenity seemed to come over her.
She was dangerously calm. Numb. So much so that it frightened her.
“I wonder what’s taking Artem and Dalton so long. The show is about to start, and Diana and Diamond are the first team up.” Ophelia glanced around the crowded tent. “Do you see them anywhere?”
Aurélie scanned the area by the bar, and spotted them on the way to the box. Both of them carried a champagne glass in each hand, and both of them wore grim expressions. Although Dalton’s was significantly grimmer than Artem’s.
“Here they come,” she said.
The closer they came, the clearer she could discern the barely contained fury in Dalton’s posture. She wondered if something terrible had happened back at the store. A robbery perhaps.
Or maybe...
No. She shook her head, unwilling to even consider the possibility that the palace had somehow already found out where she was. Not that. Please not that.
She still had a few minutes left until the palace realized she was missing. At least she thought she did.
Artem’s expression softened the moment he set eyes on his wife again. He handed a glass to Ophelia and winked. “It’s just water, darling. But I had them put it in a fancy glass for you.”
“Thank you.” They exchanged a kiss that lasted just long enough to make Aurélie clear her throat and look away.
Dalton took the seat beside her. “Your champagne.”
Bubbles rose from the pale gold liquid in the glass that Dalton handed her—a saucer-style glass with a delicate stem. A Marie Antoinette glass, as it was known in Delamotte.
Stop. Just stop.
She vowed to quit thinking about Delamotte and what might be going on back at the palace, yet still found herself lapsing into French. “Merci beaucoup.”
Dalton barely looked at her. He kept his gaze glued straight ahead, yet didn’t seem to follow the gallop of Diamond’s hooves as the horse swept a wide loop around the course. His jaw hardened into a firm line.
Something was definitely wrong.
She glanced at the clock again. 9:58.
Two more minutes.
She took a large gulp from her champagne glass and slid her gaze toward Dalton. “Is everything okay?”
“Fine,” he said under his breath.
“Clearly.” She took another sip of champagne and watched Diana trot into the ring on Diamond’s back.
The buzzer rang, signaling the start of her run, and Diamond shot forward in a cloud of red dust. His glossy black tail streamed straight out behind him. The ground shook as he thundered past the Drake box.
Horse and rider soared over the first jump, clearing the rails by such a large height that it looked like they were flying. Diana rose out of the saddle and leaned forward. Aurélie could see the dazzling smile on her face clear across the ring.
What must it feel like to be that fearless? She wished she knew. “Wow.”
Her heart leaped to her throat as they approached the second obstacle, which was a water jump. Diamond soared over the partition and then seemed to hang suspended over the glistening pool. Without thinking, Aurélie gripped Dalton’s arm and held her breath until the horse touched down gracefully on the other side.
She let out a relieved exhale. Then she real
ized she was still holding onto Dalton’s sleeve.
Her face went hot. “Sorry.” She let go. “You don’t get nervous watching Diana ride?”
“No. She’s an excellent competitor,” he said stiffly.
Okay then.
Diana and Diamond galloped past the box again. Artem, Ophelia and Aurélie all cheered while Dalton remained silent.
Aurélie stared at him. “Are you sure everything is okay?” Other than the fact that we slept together last night and today has been awkward on every possible level. “Because you seem awfully cranky all of a sudden. Even for you, I mean.”
“Quite sure. Artem can be a real pain in my ass sometimes. That’s all,” he said.
Then he turned and looked at her. Really looked at her for the first time since he’d sat down. Possibly even for the first time since she’d so bluntly informed him that she wouldn’t be sleeping with him again.
His gaze softened, and his mouth curved into a smile. But it was a sad smile. Bittersweet. All at once, memories from the night before came flooding back—the reverent expression on his face as her dress fell to the floor, the tenderness of his lips on her breasts, the exquisite fullness as he’d entered her. Tears gathered behind Aurélie’s eyes, and he said, “Then again, every once in a while my brother is right about some things.”
She bit her lip to keep from crying, blinked furiously and did her best to keep her attention on the ring where Diamond was gathering his front legs beneath him to soar over another set of rails. But Dalton’s gaze was a palpable force.
She turned to him again.
“Dalton.” Her voice was a broken whisper.
He cupped her cheek. “Princess.”
And for the briefest of seconds, she felt it again—the tenuous connection they’d shared the night before, as precious as a diaphanous dream.
It was real. This is real.
A hush fell over her heart, and in that sliver of a moment, everything slipped softly into place. There was no faraway palace, no royal wedding. Just him. Just her.
Just us.
