by Day Leclaire
He erupted from the bed and dragged on a pair of jeans, not bothering to fasten them. “We have as long as we want,” he insisted, stalking toward her.
“My work in Verdonia is almost finished. I’ve already been up north in Avernos for six weeks. And I spent more than two months in Celestia. I may need to go back there for an additional week or so after I’m finished here, but…” She trailed off with a sigh of regret. “There are other countries. Other children. Europe’s a big place.”
He couldn’t resist touching her. Needed to, for some reason. “How much longer here, in Mt. Roche?”
“A few days,” she whispered. “Maybe a week.”
“It’s not enough.”
“It’ll have to be.”
She ended the discussion by vanishing into the bathroom, emerging a short time later wearing her clothes from the night before. She’d somehow managed to tame her hair, ruthlessly knotting it at the nape of her neck. In her business suit, all neatly tucked and buttoned, she looked every inch the self-possessed professional. Lander took one look at her and all he could think about was freeing that glorious mane and rumpling her tidy suit until he’d released the heart of passion that beat within the woman of calm reason standing before him.
“I’ll send a car for you tonight,” he said.
She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Maybe we should take a night off. I’m getting behind on my work and—”
“Your work isn’t going anywhere.”
“No, it isn’t,” she conceded. “But the children are hurt by any delay.”
Hell. She’d gotten him with that one. “I wouldn’t want that. Are you certain I can’t give you a ride?”
“Thank you, no.”
He could hear the unspoken “Your Highness” in her tone, the polite curtsy buried within her words. His hands folded into fists. “I’ll call you. If we can’t see each other, you can at least take five minutes to talk.”
She attempted a smile, but he caught the faint wobble and realized she wasn’t anywhere near as in control as she’d like to pretend. He took a step in her direction intent on breaking through the vestiges of that control, but she flung up a hand, stopping him at the last second.
“Don’t.” Her voice broke on the word. She shot a swift, hunted glance toward the door. “Please let me go.”
It wasn’t what either of them wanted. He could change her mind with a single touch, but he didn’t have the heart to stop her, to hurt her any more than she was already hurting. “I’ll call you later,” he repeated, more forcefully this time, and stepped aside.
She broke for the door, snatching up her purse as she went. He didn’t waste any time. Dressing as swiftly as she, he made a beeline for the elevator. Juliana was already gone, but had sent the elevator back up for him. He shook his head as he stepped inside and stabbed the button for the garage.
He found her fascinating. Passionate. Kind. Wary. Like a wild creature in need of help, but fearful of becoming trapped. He could sympathize. Soon she’d discover they were both trapped in a situation not of their making, one with only a single solution. He fingered the ring he’d taken from the museum. It weighed heavily in his pocket. It was time to end this nonsense once and for all, he decided. Time to spring the trap.
He commandeered the car from the previous night and started it with a roar. Pulling out of the garage, he turned onto the street fronting the apartment complex. To his surprise, a crowd had gathered there. He glanced over as he passed, and what he saw had him slamming on his brakes and screeching to a halt.
Damn it to hell! Someone had sprung the trap ahead of him.
The elevator ride to the lobby seemed endless, stopping at every other floor. She’d been a fool to get involved with Lander. She’d known it from the start. At least with Stewart she could claim a certain level of naiveté. She’d been woefully inexperienced. Unfortunately, with Lander she could make no such claim. She’d committed the ultimate folly. She’d allowed herself to fall in love. To believe—if only for a moment—in fairy tales and happily-ever-after endings. It had been a mistake, one she’d never make again. She had no right to involve herself with a man who would be king. None.
The doors opened on to the lobby, and after returning the car to the penthouse, she walked briskly toward the exit, the rapid-fire chatter of her heels marking the speed of her passage. She never even looked up as she pushed through the doors leading outside, never saw them until she’d burst right into their midst.
“What’s your name, miss?” The question was asked in Verdonian.
Flashbulbs exploded in her face and she flung up a hand to protect herself. “What…?”
Dozens of men and women hemmed her in on all sides, pressing, pressing, pressing. Microphones were shoved toward her, along with tape recorders and camera lenses. Everything took on a surreal quality. Noises grew too loud—the shrill, demanding voices, the desperate thrum of her heartbeat, the labored sound of her breathing. Odd, unwanted sensations heightened—the harsh feel of the sunlight scouring her face, leaving it naked and vulnerable to prying eyes. The stab of heat her panic induced, countered by the dank chill of fear. The stench of too many perfumed bodies, pulling, pulling, pulling.
“How long have you been seeing Prince Lander?” Verdonian again.
“What’s he like in bed?” American. Female. City-slick and cynically amused. Followed by, “Who are you? You look familiar. You’re not from Verdonia, are you, sweetie?”
Oh, God. Had she been recognized? “Please—”
“American,” another crowed. “Definitely American.”
She tried to push her way clear, but they weren’t about to allow that. They reminded her of a pack of hyenas cornering a foolish gazelle who’d strayed too far from the herd. She was struck with a hideous sense of déjà vu. Another time, another place, but with the same rabid mob mentality, pushing, pushing, pushing.
“Did you know your father was already married?” the voices had shouted at the helpless eight-year-old she’d been back then. “How does it feel to be a bastard?”
The flashback to that hideous, long-ago moment only lasted an instant, but it was enough to cause her chest to tighten. “Please, move.” She could feel the panic gnawing at the edges of her self-control and she fell back a pace only to be shoved stumbling into the center ring once again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I need to get to work.”
“Where do you work?”
“Do you work for Prince Lander?”
“I wouldn’t mind that sort of work.” Laughter erupted at the American reporter’s comment. “Hell, I’d be willing to pay for the pleasure, if it meant spending the better part of my day in bed with Prince Lander.”
The laughter had cut off in the middle of the woman’s comment, so the final words rang crude and unpleasant in the morning air. An uncomfortable silence descended, though Juliana remained too shocked and confused to judge the cause.
And then she heard him. He uttered just a single word, one that sang of salvation, even if it sounded more like a growl than a song. “Move.”
As one, the reporters and paparazzi parted and Lander stood there looking as much like the Lion of Mt. Roche as she’d ever seen him. His hair swept back from his face like a mane, the sunlight picking out the streaks of blond among the tawny brown. Fierce green lights burned in his gaze, and every line of his face held an implicit promise of violence. He sliced through them with a jungle cat saunter, and took what belonged to him—her.
He caught her by the hand and she felt something slide onto her finger before he turned with her, facing the press. He eyed them one by one, his gaze lingering for a fraction of an instant on the American reporter.
“Remove her.” Security closed in, security Juliana hadn’t even noticed encircling the mob until then. “Escort her to the airport and see her on the first plane out of Verdonia.” He cut off the woman’s furious protests with a single glare. “No one treats my fiancée with such disrespect and
continues working in this country.” He lifted Juliana’s hand to his mouth with old-fashioned gallantry and kissed it. “No one.”
Every last person drew a collective breath, including Juliana. Before anyone could fire a single question, Lander draped an arm about her shoulders and whisked her through the crowd to his car. It sat in the middle of the street, the engine idling, the driver side door hanging ajar. He bundled her into the passenger seat before climbing behind the wheel. In the next instant they shot down the road, security cars clearing a path in front and behind.
“Are you okay?” Lander spared her a swift glance. “Damn it. You look like you’re going to faint. Even your lips are white.” He took his hand off the wheel long enough to stroke her cheek. “And your skin is like ice.”
“It was…It was—” She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, striving to speak through chattering teeth. “I don’t handle crowds like that very well.”
“No one does. I’m sorry. I swore I’d protect you from that sort of media circus and I failed.” A muscle jerked along his jawline. “I promise it won’t happen again.”
“Of course it will.” It always did. Numb acceptance vied with a visceral fear. She twisted her hands together in silent agitation and suddenly realized she was wearing a ring. Glancing down, she gaped. It was Soul Mate, though she didn’t have a clue how it had come to be on her finger. She thrust her hand beneath his nose, her fingers trembling so badly that red sparks exploded outward from the center of the amethyst. “What? How…?”
“I slipped it on your finger right before I announced our engagement.”
For some reason, she couldn’t get her brain to wrap around his explanation. “But we’re not engaged.”
He shot her a swift, humorous glance. “We are now.”
Disjointed bits and pieces from her rescue coalesced into a less-than-cohesive whole. The snap, snap, snap of the reporters’ jaws as they bit off pieces of her for public consumption. Her helplessness and fear. And then Lander had arrived, her knight in shining armor. And he’d said…he’d said, No one treats my fiancée with such disrespect….
She closed her eyes. That’s right, she remembered that part. He’d called her his fiancée. He’d made that one reporter leave for being disrespectful. Then he’d lifted her hand and—She sucked air into her lungs and her eyes flashed open in shock. Her left hand. He’d lifted her left hand and kissed it, so that everyone would notice the ring he’d surreptitiously slipped onto her finger. She’d seen the astonished delight on the faces of the reporters. Had cringed from the speculation in their eyes as they’d scribbled their notes and recorded the moment for posterity with their cameras and video. She’d just been too far gone to comprehend the significance of what had happened.
“No!” She looked around with a rising sense of desperation. “Pull over. Pull the car over, right now. You don’t realize what you’ve done. We have to go back and fix this before you’re ruined. You have to tell the press we’re not engaged. Please, Lander!”
He shot her another look, one of deepening concern. “Two more minutes and we’ll be there. Hang on until then.”
He was as good as his word. He spun into the winding drive that led to the palace and zipped up the road and through the gates at a rate of speed that spoke of long practice, and yet had her closing her eyes out of sheer panic. When they slowed, she peeked through her lashes in time to see him turn onto a small access road that circled toward the back of the palace.
“This way,” he said as soon as they’d exited the car.
He led her through a warren of walkways and it was everything she could do to keep from battering him with a barrage of questions and demands—questions as to why he’d claimed they were engaged, and demands that they return to the apartment complex and tell the press the truth. A few minutes later they found themselves once again in a small, familiar glade at the path’s end. In the center of the clearing stood the trellis gazebo she remembered so well, the structure barely visible beneath its canopy of white roses. Their heady perfume scented the air, stirring bittersweet memories of the last time she’d been here.
“Back to where it all began,” she felt compelled to say.
“It didn’t start here.” He closed the distance between them. “It started in the ballroom when I looked up and saw you standing above me. I’d never seen anyone more beautiful than you.”
“Love at first sight?” If only that were possible. “I already told you I don’t believe in that. It’s the stuff of fairy tales and fantasies and—” Her voice broke before she managed to harden it. “And make-believe.”
“Don’t.” He gathered her close. “It’ll all work out. I promise.”
“How can it?” She pushed away from him. “You just don’t get it. You think I’m Cinderella. But I’m not. I’m the ugly stepsister. You have to go back to the apartment. You have to tell all those reporters that you made a mistake. That you were just joking about our engagement.”
“But I wasn’t joking. And it’s not a mistake.” Even though she’d pulled free of his embrace, he didn’t let her move beyond his reach. If she’d been the imaginative sort, she’d have suspected he was stalking her. “Besides, mistake or not, it’s too late to take it back.”
She stilled. “What do you mean?”
“By now the information is everywhere,” he explained matter-of-factly. “Newspapers. Television. The Internet. All of the media outlets will be trumpeting the news. And every last one will be in the midst of a pitched battle to be the first to identify you.”
She fought to draw air in her lungs. “Oh, God. You have no idea what you’ve done.”
“What’s wrong?” The sensation of being stalked intensified as he caged her against the gazebo. “Why are you in such a panic?”
Soft white roses kissed her face and shoulders while the vines snared her hair, delicately coaxing the curls loose from their confinement at the nape of her neck. “I warned you there were things you didn’t know about me.”
“Like what?”
Tears blinded her. Say it! Just say the words. “I’m illegitimate, Lander.” There. It was in the open now. She’d claimed the awful truth. Even after all these years it still had the power to wound, stirring some of the most traumatic memories of her life. “I was eight when I found out, in a manner not that different from what happened outside the apartment complex. It was…it was a big scandal at the time. My mother, my brother. We were crucified by the press.”
“Easy, sweetheart. It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not all right!”
She covered her face with her hands, struggling to contain the flood of emotions, with only limited success. It was time to get this over with, to tell him the truth and be done with it. Past time, if she were honest. She’d known this moment was coming but had been too much of a coward to face it any sooner because her desire for Lander had outweighed basic common sense. Now she had no other choice but to deal with the situation and put an end to their involvement, once and for all. Slowly she dropped her arms to her sides and stood before him like a prisoner facing a firing squad.
“No one in Verdonia knows my name yet. But that American reporter recognized me. Once she’s had time to think about it, she’ll remember where she’s seen me.” Pain underscored each word, despite her best attempts to keep her voice emotionless. “And she’ll be angry because you made her leave the country. She’ll want to get even. She’ll put things in the paper. Or online. Or go on some hideous talk show and air all the sordid details.”
“What sordid details?”
She forced herself to speak unemotionally, though it was one of the toughest things she’d ever done. “My name is Juliana Rose…Arnaud. I’m Joc’s sister. Most people in the States know me as Ana Arnaud, rather than Juliana. When it gets out that I’m the illegitimate daughter of a crook, the sister of a man who amassed his fortune through—what the press regards as—questionable means, you’ll be crucified.”
Lander’s
hands tightened on her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter who your father is, or your brother. I’ll protect you.”
“It’s not me who needs protecting!” She drew a ragged breath, staring at him in disbelief. “You say none of this matters, but you’re wrong. It does matter. Don’t you understand what I’ve done? I’ve ruined your reputation. At the very least, I’ve cost you the election. No one in Verdonia will want their king married to a bast—”
He stopped her with his mouth, cutting off the word before it could be fully uttered. It was as though he refused to have the air they breathed sullied with such an ugly declaration. Every last thought in her head evaporated beneath the heat of his embrace. He took her to new heights with that kiss, reassuring her without words. Adored her. Gentled her. Loved her.
“I don’t care,” he said between kisses. “The circumstances of your birth aren’t what matter to me.”
“My illegitimacy should matter. Don’t you understand—”
“Trust me, Juliana. I understand more than you know.” He snatched another kiss while she puzzled over that. Reaching behind her, he removed the clip at the nape of her neck, and with a swift flick of his wrist, sent it spinning over the nearest hedge. “God, I’ve wanted to do that since the first time you wore your hair in that annoying knot.”
Before she could utter a single protest, he sank his fingers deep into the loosened strands and tumbled it into a fiery halo around her face. In between swift, teasing kisses he stripped off her suit jacket and released the top three buttons of her blouse. The entire time he edged her closer to the gazebo until they scaled the half dozen stairs and stepped inside.
Shadows draped the interior, and the scent of roses hung more heavily in the confined space. Intent on putting some distance between them, Juliana retreated to the padded wrought-iron bench in the middle of the gazebo and attempted to do up her blouse. Before she could get more than a single button through its hole, Lander sat next to her and swung her legs across his lap. Removing her heels, he tossed them through the archway onto the verdant grass beyond.
