by Liz Fielding
‘Ordinary’ girls could get away with breaking the rules. Katie wasn’t ordinary, and he wanted her to be mature enough to cope with those pressures before she stepped into the spotlight.
That Laura meant well he did not doubt, but the very idea of ‘time out’ from being a princess was ridiculous. There was no ‘time out’. It was a life sentence—
Enough. He did not have to justify himself to some passing stranger with an over-developed sense of public duty. Even one whose voice had bubbled with laughter, the joy of life. For a moment, sitting close to her, he had felt as if all he had to do was reach out, hold her and he would feel it, too.
Ridiculous.
He picked up the next file from those awaiting his attention.
Katie would call her tomorrow. Make her apologies. Send Laura Varndell some appropriate token. There was a selection of small pieces of jewellery bearing the Montorino coat of arms kept for exactly this purpose. A brooch, perhaps. He was sure there was a brooch….
“‘Milk Quotas”.’ He read the name on the report in front of him, saying it out loud, forcing his attention back to the matter in hand. Dragging his hand over his face to keep himself awake.
Forget Katie—he was the one in need of a day off.
It wasn’t going to happen. He was in London to fly the flag for his country; create interest in Montorino’s fledgling tourist industry by appearing at all manner of high society events; sign trade agreements; support the charities of which he was a patron.
All of which had been orchestrated so that he could stay in London to keep an eye on Katie while she spent three months on a student exchange visit.
Some job he was making of that. She’d been here just over a week and already she was getting into trouble. It had only been Laura Varndell’s presence of mind that had alerted him to her escapade. He felt a chill ripple through him at the thought of her climbing down that drainpipe. If she’d really fallen—
He gave up on the report, finished the brandy he’d poured earlier. Laura had barely touched hers, he noticed. He frowned, wondering why she was afraid of heights, as he picked up her glass, placed it beside his on the tray before abandoning the problems of agricultural subsidies and heading for bed.
Not a brooch, he decided as he turned out the light. Young women didn’t wear brooches. She would just put it in a drawer and forget about it.
Which actually would not be such a bad thing.
He should do the same.
‘Laura?’
Laura clamped the phone beneath her chin and groped for the bedside clock, looking at the time before lying back with a silent groan. She’d forgotten to set it and, after another night in which sleep was transient, disturbed by dreams in which cold dark eyes had burned with a repressed heat and tender hands…
Trevor McCarthy’s voice cut through her sleepy thoughts, dragging her back to the real world. ‘Did I wake you?’
‘Trevor—’ She laughed to cover a yawn. Ha, ha, ha. ‘Of course not. I’ve been awake for hours.’ Which was true. It was only as the birds had begun to twitter that she’d finally fallen into a deep sleep.
‘I got your e-mail.’
‘Great,’ she said. So why wasn’t she more thrilled that he hadn’t wasted any time in calling her about it?
‘So? Surprise me. What have you got?’
She might be short of sleep, but she wasn’t stupid. ‘Nice try, Trevor, but if I tell you that why would you take me back?’
‘No reason at all. I take it we’re talking about Princess Katerina?’
That got her full attention and she sat up. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Bad news. The opposition scooped you. There’s a picture in the Courier this morning of Her Royal Highness arriving at some club.’
Oh, great! Katerina had chosen to break the rules at a place with a paparazzi encampment and now her exclusive had been blown right out of the water. It was as if someone was trying to tell her, repeatedly, that she just wasn’t meant to be a journalist.
‘You should have turned in your story last night, instead of playing hard to get. Now, if there’s nothing else, I’ve got a paper to get out—’
‘Of course there’s something else,’ she rapped out. ‘That photograph is nothing compared to what I have.’
‘Do you want to share?’ he enquired. She wasn’t fooled by his bored voice. Royal stories were like gold dust.
‘Prince Alexander?’ she offered.
‘What about him?’
‘I spent some time in his inner sanctum last night. Talked to him.’ She sensed she had his total attention. ‘Are you interested?’ she asked.
‘That depends on what he said. Any pictures?’
Pictures? Did the stupid man think that Prince Alexander would just sit back while she took snaps for her family album?
‘It was a chance encounter, Trevor. I didn’t have a concealed camera about my person.’
‘No problem. I’ll bike one over to you. When can you deliver?’
‘When?’ she repeated, playing for time. So far out of her depth now that she was treading water.
Rescue came in the form of a long peal on the doorbell. ‘Trevor, there’s someone at the door,’ she said. ‘I’ll call you back.’
‘Don’t bother unless you have pictures.’ Before she could answer, she was listening to the dialling tone.
She grabbed her wrap as there was a second insistent ring, dragging her fingers through her slept-in hair. Not that it mattered how she looked—it was undoubtedly the guy from the top-floor studio flat, an out-of-work actor who couldn’t afford decent coffee so drank hers instead. He wasn’t usually so impatient. He must be desperate for caffeine.
It wasn’t Sean.
It was Her Highness Princess Katerina Victoria Elizabeth of Montorino.
Last night she had been dressed entirely in wild-child black, with boots, a hair-do that had looked as if she’d stuck her finger in an electric socket and the kind of makeup job designed to give doting uncles nightmares.
Today her fine skin had been left to shine unadorned—well, almost unadorned—her hair was looped neatly back with a thick bow and she was wearing a full-skirted flower-print dress, with neat low-heeled pumps on her feet. The effect had been finished off with pearl studs in her ears, white gloves and a Kelly bag.
She was also carrying an exquisite posy of cream rosebuds, which presumably were in the nature of a peace offering and the reason for her call. Unlike princes, princesses apparently did it in person. With flowers.
‘Nice outfit, Your Highness,’ Laura said, with a grin of genuine appreciation for the effort involved. If the girl’s career in the family business hadn’t been mapped out from birth, she would have made a fine actress. She’d already had a demonstration of her talent last night when she’d feigned a broken ankle. This was different. ‘Very Audrey Hepburn,’ she said. ‘You need an urchin cut to be truly authentic, of course, and perhaps you overdid it with the white gloves—no one wears white gloves now and they smack of caricature—but impressive nonetheless.’
The Princess grinned back, clearly delighted with this response. ‘Xander said I had to dress appropriately.’
‘And you went for Roman Holiday. Good choice. It’s a great movie, but forgive me if I don’t curtsey. My mother was an American and I’m a natural republican. With a small R.’ She held the door open. ‘Do you want to come in and say your piece?’
Princess Katerina stepped over the threshold and waited while Laura closed the door. Then she took a deep breath. ‘Miss Varndell, I owe you an apology,’ she said gravely. ‘I played a very wicked trick on you last night.’ And she held out the posy of creamy rosebuds, exquisitely wrapped in layers of coffee and cream tissue. ‘I do hope you can forgive me.’
‘I’ve met your uncle,’ Laura said, taking the flowers. ‘There’s nothing to forgive. And, since I’ve had enough Miss Varndells to last me a lifetime, I’d appreciate it if you called me Laura.’ She lifted the rosebuds to her face, breath
ed in the sweet scent. ‘These are lovely. Thank you.’ Then, ‘I’m just about to make coffee. Would you like some?’
There was a flicker of pleased surprise. ‘Really? I’m not disturbing you?’
‘Not at all, Your Highness,’ Laura assured her. If it had been her uncle that would have been a different story. But it wasn’t, and she made a brave effort not to be disappointed. Surprisingly, that was harder than she imagined possible. ‘Your timing is excellent.’
Better than excellent. She needed a story. The princess could help, even if it was only by giving her the inside story on being sent home for last night’s breakout. Photographs were something else, but this was a start. She could always add her own faintly mocking subtext that cast ‘Uncle Xander’ in the role of pompous killjoy. There should be plenty of library pictures to match that description.
She ignored a raised eyebrow from her subconscious. A what-did-he-do-to-you? look.
Easy. He’d had his footman call her. How pompous was that?
‘Come on through to the kitchen while I put these in water,’ she said. Then, glancing back at her guest, ‘I’m sorry I really can’t bring myself to call you ma’am.’
‘Not if you want to live,’ Princess Katerina agreed, dropping the perfect princess act. ‘And one Your Highness goes a long way, too.’ She pulled a face. ‘It makes me feel like some old dowager. My friends just call me Katie.’
It was Laura’s turn to hesitate as, belatedly, she recognised the danger. She already felt more compassion for this young woman than was entirely wise. This was her big chance, she told herself. Her way back. She couldn’t afford to go soft. Not this time.
It wasn’t as if she’d be spilling any secrets about the girl. She’d already made the diary page of the Courier and would be a marked girl for the rest of her stay. Which wouldn’t be for long if her uncle had his way. Of course, if Katie had behaved herself last night, accepted that her uncle knew best, there would have been no story.
‘Okay, Katie it is,’ she said brightly, ‘but only if you pull up a stool and relax. I’m not your uncle. We don’t stand on ceremony here.’ She put on the kettle, then filled a vase and unwrapped the flowers. ‘Did he give you a hard time last night?’ she asked.
‘Xander?’ Katie laughed as if the idea was ridiculous. ‘He looked stern, growled a bit. He hasn’t given me my marching orders yet.’
Laura turned, surprised. ‘I got the impression you were going to be on the first available flight to Montorino.’
‘Yes, well, it’s a bit tricky.’
‘Is it?’ She didn’t believe that His Serene Highness confronted too many obstacles to his will. ‘If the flights are all full I’m sure he could put his hands on a private jet.’
‘It’s not that. The tricky bit is that I’m on a high-profile student exchange programme. European Union stuff. I’m relying on the fact that it will cause even more of a hoo-ha if I’m sent home in disgrace.’
Laura thought it was probably a bit late to worry about that. The ‘hoo-ha’ had already hit the fan.
Could it be that he’d actually been listening when she’d sounded off at him? Or had the Audrey Hepburn lookalike outfit done the trick? He surely didn’t believe Katie had learned her lesson? Reformed overnight? He didn’t look stupid.
‘Anyway,’ Katie said, ‘I’m on my best behaviour, hoping to convince him to give me another chance. Meanwhile, I’m grounded until further notice. No public engagements. School and home, with an escort. One more incident—’ She drew a finger, graphically, across her throat. It didn’t quite match the single strand of pearls she was wearing.
Biting her lower lip to stop herself from grinning, Laura said, ‘That’s tough.’
‘Well, it has its bright side. It’s Royal Ascot next week and Xander has a horse running. He was going to take me. As a treat.’ She looked solemn. ‘I have this dear little suit in very pale pink that was designed especially for the occasion. And a hat.’ She demonstrated its proportions by holding her hands about a foot either side of her head. Then she pulled a face. ‘It makes me look like a gangly mushroom.’
The grin won. ‘So—it’s not all bad news, then?’
Katie giggled. ‘Great night out, no boring races. It would have been a total result but for the picture in the paper this morning. I might have got away with just a ticking off, but that was the last straw.’
‘Picture?’ Laura enquired innocently.
‘It was nothing.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, okay, I suppose it was something. We were only at the club for half an hour, but it was long enough for someone to get a picture of me kissing Michael.’
‘And Michael is?’
‘The brother of one of the girls at school. We met when he picked her up in his sports car.’
No wonder Trevor was mad at her, Laura thought. If she’d phoned the story in straight away he’d have had the story behind the picture. Honours even in the gossip column war.
Still, she was getting there.
‘Half an hour—’ She frowned. ‘It was a lot longer than that before I got a call to say you were safely home.’
‘Oh, well, Xander didn’t know about the picture, fortunately, so I was allowed to stay out as long as we left the club and adjourned to somewhere that didn’t need ID. No music. No dancing.’ She grinned. ‘Just Michael.’
‘What happened to the others?’
‘They were all older so they stayed at the club. Which was fine.’
‘I’ll bet.’ So, Prince Alexander had been listening. How he must be wishing he hadn’t. ‘Pity you didn’t wait until you were there before you kissed Michael.’
Pity someone had had a camera turned on them. That was what happened when she tried to do someone a good turn. When her conscience insisted she wait until the girl was safely home before contacting the paper. Her story had been stolen right out from under her.
Worse, she had to admit that Alexander Orsino did know best.
‘Xander didn’t yell at me,’ Katie assured her. ‘He just gave me the newspaper so I would understand that he wasn’t some old misery trying to stop my fun. And why I’m not allowed out on my own again until he’s sure he can trust me.’ She gave a very unprincesslike shrug. ‘Which basically means the rest of my life.’
‘Tough break,’ Laura said with feeling.
‘What’s really tough is that no one is really interested in me. What they really want is Xander caught on camera kissing some gorgeous girl. If he’d just be a little less of the Prince and a little more of the playboy, now that would be a story.’ She drooped over the breakfast bar. ‘And I could get a life.’
‘He doesn’t have anyone for—’ Laura she made a vague gesture that in no way betrayed the way her heart was hammering against her ribs ‘—kissing?’
‘Xander? Once upon a time maybe. Unfortunately, he’s far too busy running Montorino for anything that frivolous these days.’
‘Too bad.’
‘I just hope he gets over it quickly. Missing Ascot is a bonus, but I really wanted to go to Wimbledon with him, meet the tennis stars. Don’t you just love the legs on those men?’
‘Totally,’ Laura said. ‘But I wouldn’t mention the legs to your uncle. I don’t think it would help soften his attitude.’
‘You seem to have him all worked out.’
‘Do I?’
Laura laid out a couple of cups, trying hard not to be distracted by the thought that Prince Alexander had the kind of powerful wrists that suggested he’d be a great tennis player. If he ever had the time.
She’d got a close-up of them when he’d been cleaning the graze on her face. He had good hands. Not soft….
‘Well, I’m glad you had fun last night,’ she said, dragging her mind back to the present. ‘After such an unpromising start. You weren’t hurt at all? When I flattened you? I have a feeling I’m the one who should be apologising—’
‘No.’ Katie’s unexpected blush was of the same era as the print frock. ‘Actually, I t
hink you were terribly brave. If I’d been a real burglar—’
‘Forget brave. The word is stupid. You know, if you’d told me what you were doing last night I would have looked the other way while you legged it.’
‘Would you?’
‘I was your age once. Centuries ago.’
Katie giggled. ‘You’re really nice. I don’t suppose you’d consider kissing Xander, would you? Somewhere really public? That would really take the heat off me.’
Laura, taken completely by surprise, needed a second or two to catch her breath before she could think of a coherent answer. Kiss him? Now, there was a thought.
Katie, fortunately, took her hesitation for politeness.
‘No, of course not. Silly question. I suppose he’s pretty much past the age where anyone would fancy him. I mean, okay, he’s a prince and everything, and there is a certain type of woman who finds that whole power trip a turn-on, but Xander hates that.’
Laura, her hands just a little shaky as she took some cream from the fridge and placed it on the table, decided that she shouldn’t be having this conversation with his seventeen-year-old niece. No matter how tempted she was.
Then, because it seemed like a good idea to change the subject, and because it had been bothering her, she said, ‘Your uncle said you’d apologise, but I expected a phone call. How did you know where I live?’
This was a problem. If her story about the princess’s unorthodox exit from her uncle’s house had appeared in her own paper this morning, she’d have had not Princess Katerina but His Serene Highness on her doorstep, forcing her to eat her words about his niece living a normal life.
She’d bet her new laptop that he wouldn’t have sent the footman. The thought was more appealing than it should have been.
‘He didn’t send you home in the Rolls?’ Katie asked.
‘No—’ She stopped as there was a further summons on the doorbell. ‘Is this your watchdog, wondering what’s happened to you?’ she asked.
‘No, it’s her day off. Karl is doing double duty this morning—driver and prisoner escort. But he’s more concerned about the car getting clamped than me behaving badly, so I gave him my word I wouldn’t do anything stupid.’
