The Virgin's Proposition

by Anne McAllister

  But the truth was, she’d barely given him a thought since the night she’d had dinner with Demetrios.

  Now she felt oddly cold and disconnected as she repeated, “We?” Did he meant the royal “we” or “the two of them”?

  “My government,” Gerard clarified briskly. “The party was planned to occur whether I was here or not. We hoped to attract film companies, you know. The revenues are an excellent boost to the economy.”

  “Yes, of course.” Her father believed that, too.

  “And since I’ve finished my work in Toronto, I’m able to be here. And it will be a wonderful opportunity for us to host it together.” He sounded delighted.

  Anny wasn’t certain. “Are you sure I should host it with you?” she asked. “I mean, we’re not married.” As if he needed reminding.

  “Not yet,” Gerard agreed. “But soon. That is something we need to discuss, Adriana.”

  “What is?”

  “The date of our wedding.”

  “I thought we agreed we’d wait until after I finished my doctorate.”

  “Yes, but we can make plans. It will not be an elopement, you know.”

  “Of course not. But there will be time—”

  “Yes,” Gerard said cheerfully. “Tonight. After the party.”

  “But—”

  “So, no, you will not be my official hostess,” he went on, “but we have waited long enough. I’ve missed you, Adriana.”

  “I’ve—” Anny swallowed “—missed you, too.”

  He heard the hesitation in her voice. “You are upset that I wasn’t here last week.”

  “No. I—”

  “I’m sorry I couldn’t be,” he explained to her. “Duty called. It often does,” he added wryly. “You understand. Better than anyone, you understand.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I am here now. And I’m looking forward to seeing you tonight. I will be there for you at eight.” He rang off before she could object.

  Object? Hardly. Gerard had the same ability to command that her father did. It came from a lifetime of expecting people to fall in with his plans. And even if he had stayed on the phone, what possible objection could she have made?

  Of course he had sprung it on her at the last minute. But it wasn’t as if she couldn’t pull herself together, find a dress, be prepared to leave at eight.

  Princesses were always prepared. It was part of their job description.

  She just wished she felt more prepared to marry him.

  “His Highness regrets that he is unable to come in person,” the driver said respectfully as he bowed, then helped Anny into the back of the black sedan that had arrived outside her flat at precisely 8:00 p.m. “He is hosting a dinner meeting. He will be on the yacht when you arrive.”

  Anny tried to look regretful, too. But what she felt was relief. While she could make conversation with anyone anywhere, thinking about being alone with Gerard in the confines of the car had made her edgy for the past three hours.

  He would be all that was proper and polite. And so would she. They would make small talk. Discuss the weather. His trip to Toronto. Her latest chapter notes on her dissertation.

  Or their upcoming wedding.

  She flashed a quick smile at the driver. “C’est bien. Merci.”

  He shut the door, and immediately the silence enveloped her. Sometimes riding in cars like this suffocated her. She felt as if she were buffered from the real world, isolated, with the sounds and commotion beyond the doors held firmly at bay.

  But right now, for a few minutes, she welcomed it. The short ride to the harbor would give her a chance to compose her thoughts, to prepare herself, to become the princess of Mont Chamion she would have to be this evening.

  But as the car approached the harbor, she became distracted by the rows of yachts and sailboats, thinking about how Demetrios and his brother had brought Franck here. Now she scanned the multitude of boats as if, just by looking, she might be able to tell which one was Theo’s.

  Of course chances were very good Demetrios’s brother was already gone. And it didn’t matter anyway. The memories of her night with Demetrios had been intended for her to take out and savor, yes. But they weren’t intended to distract her from the obligations at hand.

  Now, though, even when she turned her gaze away from the harbor and stared resolutely straight ahead, it wasn’t the driver she saw. In her mind’s eye she still saw Demetrios making love with her.

  “Go away,” she muttered under her breath.

  The driver glanced around at the sound of her voice and met her gaze in the rearview mirror. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness?”

  “Nothing.” Anny pressed her fingers to her temples, feeling a heachache coming on. “I was simply thinking aloud.”

  And she needed to stop. Now.

  A small launch carried her to where the royal yacht lay at anchor. As they approached the yacht she could see tuxedo-clad staff scurrying around. She caught snatches of the lively sounds of live music. Maybe she and Gerard would dance. He would hold her in his arms and they would find love together. It had happened that way for Papa and Mama. Her father had assured her it was so. Their marriage had been arranged and it had been wonderful. It could happen.

  Determinedly Anny lifted her chin and made herself smile at the prospect.

  She even made a point of minding her royal manners and staying primly seated until the crew brought the launch alongside the yacht when she would have preferred to stand up and let the wind whip through her hair or, worse yet, be the one to throw the line and clamber aboard the way she always had on her father’s smaller yacht when she was a child.

  So she was definitely in princess mode when she heard Gerard say, “Ah, wonderful. Here you are at last.”

  He was waiting on deck and gave her his hand to help her aboard, then let his gaze travel in slow admiration down the length of her navy blue dress with its galaxies of scattered silver sequins for a long moment before he kissed her on both cheeks.

  Then, to her surprise, he wrapped her in a gentle embrace. “It’s so good to see you again, my dear.”

  He truly did look pleased.

  He was a lovely man, Anny reminded herself guiltily. Kind. Gentle. Capable of love. He had after all, by all accounts, loved his first wife very very much.

  “Gerard,” she greeted him warmly, and smiled not only with her lips but her voice as well.

  He linked his arm through hers and drew her onto the deck beside him. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t able to come and get you in person. But I had a dinner meeting with Rollo Mikkelsen. Come. I want you to meet him. Rollo is the head of Starlight Studios. He’s interested in possibly setting future projects in Val de Comesque.”

  Anny smiled. “What wonderful news.”

  “It is.” Gerard opened the door to the main salon where a table had been set for perhaps ten people. The meal was over now and the dinner guests had left the table to chat in small groups. “Rollo.” He drew Anny with him toward the nearest group of men. “I’d like you to meet my fiancée.”

  They all turned as Gerard slipped an arm around Anny’s waist and said proudly, “Her Royal Highness, Princess Adriana of Mont Chamion, may I present Rollo Mikkelsen, head of Starlight Studios.”

  A man took her hand.

  Anny didn’t see him at all. He was nothing but a blur. Her heart pounded. She smiled perfunctorily, murmured politely, “Mr. Mikkelsen, a pleasure.”

  “And Daniel Guzman Alonso, the producer,” Gerard said, introducing the next man.

  Another blur. Another hand shook hers. Now her ears were ringing as well. Her voice worked, though, thank God. “Mr. Guzman Alonso, I’m delighted to meet you.” Years of social deportment practice had something to recommend it, after all.

  “And of course you must recognize Demetrios Savas,” Gerard was saying jovially, “whose latest film Rollo has just agreed to distribute.”

  Demetrios was not a blur at all. Sharp and clear, tall and impo
sing. And, judging from the hard jade glare in those amazing eyes, somewhere between stunned and furious. His gaze raked her accusingly.

  Anny could barely breathe. Nor could she stop her own eyes from fastening on him, hungrily, devouring him. Wanting him again so badly that how she could ever have thought one night would be enough, she hadn’t a clue.

  “Mr. Savas.” She held out her hand to him, polite, proper, sounding—she hoped—perfectly composed.

  Demetrios crushed it in his. “Your Highness,” he said through his teeth. “Imagine meeting you here.”

  A princess?

  Anny Chamion was a princess?

  She was the “delightful fiancée Princess Adriana” that Gerard had mentioned over dinner?

  His fiancée would be joining them later, the crown prince of Val de Comesque had said. She was busy with her day job—unspecified—and since he hadn’t given her any warning, he’d only asked her to come to the party, not appear for dinner.

  “Even we royals have to work hard these days,” he’d joked. “You will meet her tonight.”

  Now here she was, with Gerard’s arm around her, looking serene and elegant and every bit as royal as the man she was marrying.

  Which made Gerard her “elderly widower”?

  Demetrios’s teeth came together with a snap. Maybe she hadn’t used the term “elderly,” but that was what he’d thought.

  The slim fingers he was crushing between his were trying unsuccessfully to ease out of his grasp. For a moment he didn’t even realize he was still gripping them.

  Then, still staring into Anny’s—no, Princess Adriana’s—wide eyes, he dropped them abruptly, took a step back and shoved his hands into his pockets.

  It was probably some sort of social solecism, to have his hands in his pockets in front of a princess, but short of strangling her, he could think of nothing else to do with them.

  Besides, as far as social gaffes went, it was no doubt a bigger one to have slept with her!

  He shot her a glare. He doubted she noticed. She wasn’t looking at him. She was smiling at Rollo Mikkelsen, answering a question he’d asked her, her voice low and melodious, steady and completely at ease—just as if she were not standing between the man she was going to marry and the man she’d taken to her bed!

  And he’d thought Lissa was a lying cheat!

  Abruptly he said, “Excuse me. I see someone I need to speak to.” And he turned and walked out of the room as fast as he could.

  It was no bigger lie than hers. And almost at once he did see someone he knew. Mona Tremayne was standing on deck by herself, looking at the sunset, and even if it meant listening to her extol the virtues of her darling starlet daughter Rhiannon, he was determined to do it.

  It was better than standing there listening to the lying Princess Adriana charm all and sundry while her fiancé looked on!

  Mona was delighted to see him. She kissed him on both cheeks, then patted his arm. “It’s lovely to see you, dear boy. I’m glad you’re back among the living.”

  Demetrios took a careful breath and tried to focus solely on her. “It wasn’t that bad,” he told her. He liked Mona, always had. She called a spade a spade, and she couldn’t help it if her daughter was a ditz.

  “Maybe not for you. But we can’t afford to let talent go to waste,” she said with a throaty laugh caused by too many years of cigarettes. “You do good work. You’ve been missed.”

  “Thanks.” His heart was still pounding, but he refused to look back toward the salon. He didn’t gave a damn where the princess was. He slanted Mona a grin. “Does that mean I can toss an idea at you?”

  “You want to marry my daughter?” Another wonderful husky Mona Tremayne laugh.

  Demetrios managed a laugh of his own as he shook his head. “I’m through with marriage, Mona.” Truer words had never been spoken.

  “I’m not surprised,” Mona said briskly, her eyes telling him that she knew more than he had said. Then she smiled and added, “Well, if you ever change your mind, you’ve got a fan in my household. More than one.”

  Demetrios smiled, too. “Thanks.”

  She leaned against the railing and stared out across the water before slanting him a sideways glance. “So toss me the idea,” she suggested. “I’m listening.”

  It was the sort of chance he’d been waiting for all week. Mona at his disposal, her daughter nowhere to be found. And he did have an idea for her. He tried to pitch it.

  He’d have done better if, a few minutes later, he hadn’t been instantly distracted by the sound of Anny’s voice nearby and the knowledge that she and Gerard had come out onto the deck.

  He lost his train of thought as he glanced over his shoulder to see where she was. His fingers strangled the railing because he still wanted to grab her and shake her and demand to know why the hell she hadn’t bothered to tell him who she really was. Not to mention what she thought she’d been doing inviting him into her bed!

  He was still steaming. Still furious.

  And not paying any attention at all to whatever Mona was saying in reply to his movie pitch.

  “—think I’ll jump overboard,” Mona ended conversationally and looked at him brightly.

  In the silence Demetrios recollected himself and tried to get a grip. “Huh?”

  “Oh, my dear.” Mona patted his cheek. “We should talk another time—when you can focus.”

  “I’m focusing,” he insisted.

  But only, it seemed, on Anny. He couldn’t seem to make sense of anything beyond her soft voice somewhere behind him, followed by the melodious sound of her laughter. Then he heard Gerard, too, chiming in, speaking rapidly in French to whoever they were talking to, and then Anny switched to French as well. Their conversation went too quickly for him to have any idea what they were saying.

  She sounded happy, though. Was she happy? What about her loveless marriage?

  “But if I drowned, I couldn’t be in your film then, could I?” Mona was saying.

  He stared at her blankly.

  She laughed, again. “Never mind, dear.” She gave him air kisses and began to move away. “Another time. I think I’ll find another drink.”

  “I’ll get you a drink,” he said hastily.

  “No, dear boy. I’m fine. You stay here and entertain royalty.” And giving his cheek one more pat, she swept away.

  He turned to protest again—and came face-to-face with Anny.

  Her wide eyes were searching his face. Her smile, so polished earlier, looked slightly more strained now. “Demetrios.”

  He drew himself up straight. “Your Highness,” he said stiffly.

  “Anny,” she corrected, her voice soft, the way it had been in bed.

  He ground his teeth. “I don’t think so.” His voice was, he hoped, pure steel. He braced his back and elbows against the railing, and glared down at her.

  “Anny,” she insisted. “It’s who I am.”

  “Certainly not all of who you are,” he reminded her sharply. “You could have told me.” He looked around for Gerard, expecting him to appear at her side. But her prince had moved away and on the other side of the deck, deep in conversation with Rollo and another studio executive Demetrios knew.

  “I could have,” she admitted. “I didn’t want to. Why should I?” Her tone was indifferent, as if it could make her idiocy appear perfectly reasonable.

  “Because I might have liked to know?” he snapped.

  No one was close to them. The sextet had begun to play. A clarinet was warbling. Thank God, because this wasn’t a conversation anyone should be overhearing.

  “I asked you to tell me what I should know about you,” he reminded her.

  “You didn’t need to know that.”

  “You asked me to sleep with you!”

  Color flared in her cheeks. She glanced around quickly as if fearing people would hear.

  A corner of his mouth twisted. “Something else you don’t want anyone to know? Afraid your elderly widower will lea
rn what you were up to?”

  “My what?” She looked confused.

  “Your fiancé,” he bit out. “The man who is oh-so old and decrepit and who doesn’t love you.”

  “I never said he was elderly or decrepit. Gerard is twenty-one years older than I am,” she said through her teeth. “Which may not seem like much to you, but it is a different generation.”

  He grunted, acknowledging that. But it didn’t explain the rest. “So why are you marrying him? Daddy forcing you? Are you making a governmental alliance?” He spat the words.

  “Something like that.”

  He snorted. “Give me a break. This is the twenty-first century!”

  “It can still happen,” she maintained.

  “You’re saying your old man sold you off to the highest bidder?”

  “Of course not! It was simply…arranged. It’s good for both countries.”

  “Countries? That’s what matters? Not people?”

  She lifted her chin. “Gerard is a fine man.”

  “Whom you betrayed by sleeping with me,” he pointed out sardonically.

  She opened her mouth as if she would deny it, but then she closed it again, her lips pressing into a thin line. The color was high in her cheeks. She looked indignant, furious, and incredibly beautiful.

  “Obviously I made a mistake,” she said tightly, hugging her arms across her chest. “I was out of line. I never should have suggested anything of the sort. It was…” She stopped, her voice not so much trailing off as dropping abruptly.

  “What was it?” Demetrios asked her, trying to fathom what was going on in that beautiful head of hers.

  She shook it. “Nothing. Never mind. Forget it.”

  “Will you?” he asked her.

  “Yes.” The word came out quickly. Then her gaze dropped. So did her voice. “No.”

  At her soft yet stark admission, his own eyes jerked up to search her face, to try to understand her. Once he’d caught on to Lissa’s duplicitous behavior, he began to have an inkling what she was up to, though God knew he’d had no idea how far she would go.

  But Anny didn’t sound like she was lying now. Not this time.