by JoAnn Ross
“My God, Sabrina!” Burke knotted his hands in her hair once more, wanting her to stop. Wanting her never to stop. She was killing him slowly with her touch. With her lips. With her warm and sensual tongue.
When that tongue made a long wet swath the entire length of his aching arousal, circling the dewy tip with all the sensual instincts of a natural-born courtesan, Burke’s tautly held control snapped.
Foregoing what he’d always proudly considered a suave approach to lovemaking, he half carried, half dragged her to the bed, tossing her unceremoniously onto the mattress.
“If you continue to play so recklessly with fire, Sabrina, my love, you will burn down my family’s two-hundred-year-old home.”
She’d landed spread-eagle on her back, her long legs splayed, the lace-edged teddy riding high on her hips. Her hair was spread out on the linen pillowcase like an angel’s gilded halo. But as she looked up at him, all wide sensual eyes and luscious wet lips, she looked anything but angelic.
When he lay down beside her, Sabrina rolled over and knelt above him. “When I was a just a little girl, back home in Tennessee,” she said breathlessly, “I used to go to summer camp.” Her mouth retraced that burning path down his throat, over his chest and stomach. “Want to know what my favorite part was?”
Hunger. He was delirious with it. Passion. He was mindless from it. Blood pounded in his head, his heart, his aching loins.
“Horseback riding?” Burke managed to croak.
“The camp fire.” Her searching lips reclaimed him, driving him to the very brink of madness. Her voice, usually modulated from voice lessons, had slipped back into her soft Tennessee roots. “I have always just loved buildin’ fires.”
“No wonder.” His desperate fingers reached between their bodies to unfasten the snaps that were guarding her feminine secrets. “Since you’re so very, very good at it.” Roughly pushing the crimson silk aside, he pulled her astride him.
Even as Burke arched his hips off the bed, Sabrina was moving downward to meet him. As he finally claimed possession of her slick body, she claimed his.
Their lips met with strangled cries of shared pleasure. And then they began to move in unison, faster and harder, higher and higher, until they took the final glorious leap into oblivion together.
* * *
THE CORONATION was scheduled for the following evening. Sabrina was disappointed, but not surprised when Burke’s duties kept him at the cathedral all day.
She’d be leaving with Dixie and her sisters tomorrow morning. And although there was still the ball to attend, she doubted if she and Burke would be able to steal much more private time together.
“At least, we’ll always have Montacroix,” she murmured as she finished dressing for the coronation ceremony. She was in her most conservative attire—an electric blue silk suit adorned with shiny gold buttons and a matching hat that dipped low over one blond brow.
“What did you say?” Ariel asked, entering Sabrina’s room in search of her misplaced gloves. Her sister’s dress was emerald green, a brilliant foil for her red hair. Raven had chosen an ivory raw-silk suit, while Dixie was in basic black.
“Nothing.” Sabrina spotted the kid gloves on a nearby table, tossed them to her sister, gave herself one last judicious perusal in the beveled floor-length mirror, then said, “Ready?” Her patently false smile was bright, belying the fact that her heart was breaking.
The coronation possessed all the pomp and circumstance Sabrina would have expected from such an important, solemn occasion. It also effectively drove home exactly how different her world was from Burke’s.
The most solemn event of her life had been her father’s funeral. And even there, Sonny’s long-time friends and fellow performers had somehow managed to bring a festive air to the proceedings by telling side-splitting tales about Sonny’s antics during his early days in Nashville and singing the songs he’d made famous.
Needless to say, there were no bawdy tales told at this event. Nor would any country songs be heard inside these august stone walls. Chantal had been right about the chamber music. She’d failed to mention the Bach.
The invited audience was, indeed, prestigious. Members of other royal families—the men handsome in dark suits, the women resplendent in formal dress and sparkling tiaras—shared the front pews with various heads of state. In the pew in front of her, on the aisle, Sabrina recognized the vice president and his wife, along with two former presidents.
Marble statues of former rulers, commissioned by Burke’s great-grandfather Léon, lined the walls, looking down on those gathered for today’s ceremony.
While she waited for Burke’s entrance—which Chantal had told her would be in the same royal coach that Napoleon had ridden in when he’d come to the cathedral to crown the first regent of Montacroix—Sabrina studied the magnificent building, taking in the graceful Norman columns, the towering windows whose stained glass caught the afternoon sun, scattering the light so that each colorful piece glowed.
At the stroke of six o’clock, the hammered-copper doors at the back of the cathedral swung open. The choir, on cue, began the processional.
The bishop of Montacroix, clad in a snowy white surplice, was the first to enter, followed by the village priest, who was, in turn, followed by a young boy carrying the royal crown on a white satin pillow. The crown, Noel had informed the Darlings, was seldom worn, since the weight of the gold and precious stones totaled more than four pounds.
Behind the crown marched a number of young boys, clad in the somber black-and-white garb of altar boys the world over. They were followed by the members of the Montacroix legislature, who were wearing red robes over their dark business suits. The prime minister was next, bearing a heavy mace encrusted with semiprecious stones. Dixie, reading from her tour book before the ceremony, had explained that the ornate mace represented the prince’s delegated authority.
Everyone took their places on either side of the high throne at the front of the cathedral.
The music changed, heralding the arrival of the royal family. Prince Eduard, clad in a flowing purple robe, and Jessica, wearing a beaded ivory gown and a dazzling display of royal jewels, led the Giraudeau procession down the red carpet. The prince was breaking with tradition by having his wife at his side rather than making her follow submissively behind him, Dixie whispered to Sabrina, her approval obvious.
Chantal was next, accompanied by Caine. Bringing up the rear of the procession was Noel. The family climbed the five carpeted steps to stand in front of the altar.
An expectant hush settled over the vast building.
And then, the door at the back of the cathedral opened again, and on a grand flourish of trumpets, Prince Burke Giraudeau de Montacroix entered the cathedral.
His expression was more serious than Sabrina had ever seen it. Once more she was reminded of his deep, unwavering commitment to his country and his family and his duty. Despite the fact that Chantal was beaming, Sabrina noticed that her eyes glistened with happy tears. As did Noel’s.
The coronation continued exactly as it had that first time, nearly two hundred years ago. The bishop gave his blessing to the proceedings, as did the priest. Then the bishop, assisted by the village priest and altar boys, offered a mass. After the royal family and the assembled spectators received communion, the bishop offered a closing prayer.
And then, finally, the moment everyone had been waiting for arrived. The prime minister rose from his gilt chair, took the heavy jeweled gold crown from its satin bed, placed it atop Eduard’s head, then bent down on one knee, accepting the prince as his sovereign.
That was the cue for Burke, who had been standing on the sidelines, to approach and kneel before his father.
Another hush fell over the cathedral as Eduard stood, lifted the ornate crown from his head, held it high, allowing all assembled to view it. Then finally, with deliberate, theatrical slowness, he placed the crown upon his son’s dark head.
A collective sigh of rel
ief rippled through the room. Prince Burke was regent; the time for rebellion had passed.
Burke rose and bowed, first to his father, then his mother, then the legislators. The prime minister returned his bow and handed him the symbolic mace.
As Burke turned and bowed to the assembled spectators, the solemn stillness was spectacularly broken by the brassy clangor of the twelve bells in the cathedral belfry sending their heart-lifting song out across the Montacroix countryside.
It was official. Montacroix had a new prince.
* * *
“I DON’T BELIEVE IT!” Ariel stared when Sabrina joined her sisters and mother in the living room of the suite. “Please tell me you’re not really planning to wear that monstrosity.”
“This monstrosity, as you so unflatteringly put it, is sculpture,” Sabrina shot back, admittedly defensive. She’d been hoping that the gown she’d maxed out her charge card for would improve with a second look. Unfortunately it hadn’t.
“That dress is a nightmare,” Raven countered. “You look like Batman in drag.”
“I do not!”
“You do too. All you’re missing is the mask and the Batmobile.”
“If you’re trying to turn Burke off, you’re certainly goin’ about it in the right way,” Ariel declared. “That dress makes a nun’s habit look downright sexy.”
“Now girls,” Dixie said, quickly stepping in to referee, as she’d done so many times when they were children, “leave Sabrina alone. I think she looks...” Her voice drifted off as she struggled to find something complimentary to say. “Very original!” She sent a sharp, warning look Ariel and Raven’s way.
“I bought it from a boutique Chantal recommended,” Sabrina said as they left the suite.
“Either the princess is fond of practical jokes, or some sadistic saleswoman saw you coming,” Raven said.
Still torn with indecision, Sabrina didn’t answer. Finally, when they reached the bottom of the stairs, Dixie turned to her and said, “You know, dear, there’s time for you to change before the first waltz.”
A gilt-framed mirror hung on a nearby silk-draped wall. One glance into it and Sabrina made her decision. “I think I will. You all go along to the ballroom without me,” she said. “I’ll be along as soon as I can.”
“Wear that beaded red dress you wore onstage in Dallas,” Dixie suggested. “The one that made all those cowboys go wild.”
Sabrina didn’t point out that was exactly why she’d bought this voluminous widow’s weed in the first place. She didn’t want to appeal to any more cowboys. What she wanted was to appear to be, if only for one night, as sophisticated and chic as all those European princesses Burke was accustomed to.
Deciding that the gold dress she wore to the casino would have to suffice, Sabrina had just reached the door to the suite when she heard voices.
“You missed your chance,” Monique was saying. “Prince Burke is now regent. Montacroix remains a monarchy.”
“Not for long,” a male voice responded. “It was too risky to make another attempt on his life during the festival or the coronation. But now that he’s been crowned, his protectors are bound to relax their guard.”
“You hope,” Monique spat back.
“I know. When the prince descends the staircase to enter the ballroom tonight, that will be his first and final appearance as regent.”
Sabrina pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle her gasp. Intending to run and warn the others of the assassination attempt, she spun around and found herself face to face with a man who seemed strangely familiar.
“Your mother should have taught you better manners, mademoiselle.” The man’s gloved fingers curled around her arm. “It is impolite to eavesdrop.”
“Eavesdrop?” Sabrina flashed him a bright smile, hoping to give the performance of her life. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I only came back to my room in order to change my dress.”
“Nice try.” His fingers tightened, pressing deeply and painfully into her flesh. “But I’m afraid that your innocent act needs a bit more polish.”
He opened the door, revealing Monique and another man Sabrina recognized to be one of the two liveried doormen who’d greeted the limousine her first day in Montacroix.
“What are you doing here?” the maid spat at Sabrina, her tone worlds different from the submissive attitude that had grated so on Sabrina’s nerves.
“Don’t be so unfriendly,” the man who held Sabrina chided Monique. “As it is, this charming American actress has provided us with a new scenario.” He ran his leather-clad hand down Sabrina’s throat. “We now have a pretty bird in the hand.”
Monique shook her head. “What does that mean?”
“It means, my thickheaded little aristocratic twit,” the man said tightly, “that rather than meet the prince on his own turf, we will use his mistress to lure him into a trap.”
“Oh.” Monique’s eyes brightened, giving her the look of a child who’s just discovered a pretty new doll beneath the Christmas tree. “I like that!”
“I thought you would,” the man agreed. “Especially since Prince Burke declined your father’s suggestion that he link two old families by marriage.”
Monique tossed her hair over her shoulder with arrogant female disdain. “I wouldn’t have the prince if he crawled over broken glass.”
“That’s what they all say,” the man agreed on a deep guttural laugh. He returned his attention to Sabrina, who was struggling valiantly for calm. She’d belatedly recognized him as the man she’d seen on the street after leaving the casino.
“You look as if you’re feeling a bit faint, my dear.” He ran the back of his leather glove down her pale cheek. “It must be all the excitement.” He handed her over to the doorman. “Why don’t you escort the lady outside for a breath of fresh air?”
The young man grinned and gave Sabrina a deep, mocking bow. “Mademoiselle, it would be my pleasure.” He pressed a gun against her side. “Now be a good girl,” the traitorous doorman advised, “and you will not be harmed.”
Sabrina didn’t believe him for a minute. When their attempt to kill Burke failed—and it was unthinkable to believe that it wouldn’t—they couldn’t risk allowing a witness to remain alive.
“And you’ve got a bridge you want me to buy, too, right?”
A look of puzzlement moved across his handsome features. “I do not understand the reference.”
“Forget it.”
The doorman currently on duty snapped to attention when Sabrina approached. Sabrina was tempted to try to break free and scream for help, but unwilling to endanger the life of an innocent man—a man who had just yesterday proudly shown her pictures of his children—she held her tongue.
“Mademoiselle Darling was feeling a bit faint,” her captor said, pushing her through a clutch of formally dressed guests who had just arrived. “I’m taking her out for some air. Prince Burke’s orders.”
“Of course,” the man agreed without missing a beat. He nodded his prematurely gray head. “You look, uh, very lovely tonight, as always, mademoiselle.”
Sabrina saw the lie in his eyes and once again wondered what had made her buy such a bleak and unfeminine dress. It was all Burke’s fault, she decided with a quick rush of temper. He’d muddled her mind so she couldn’t even think straight.
“Thank you, Kirk,” she murmured unenthusiastically.
Before she’d won the role of Maggie the Cat, Sabrina had played a troubled young woman who attempted suicide after a disastrous love affair with a married man. At the time, she hadn’t completely understood why her character, who’d moped around in baggy black sweats for two acts, had donned her most alluring nightgown before swallowing all those pills.
Now Sabrina understood the character’s motives all too well. One thing was certain. She was damned if she was going to be found dead in this stupid bat gown.
* * *
BURKE DIDN’T ATTEMPT to conceal his disappointment when the Darli
ng family arrived at the ball without Sabrina.
“Where is she?” he asked after greeting Dixie, who’d joined the long line of individuals wanting to congratulate him on his coronation.
Dixie didn’t pretend not to understand who Burke was referring to. “She’ll be along later,” she assured him. “She just wanted to change her dress. So she’d look pretty for you.”
“Sabrina would look beautiful in whatever gown she was wearing.” Or not wearing, Burke considered.
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Ariel said silkily.
Before Burke could respond, Noel broke out of the receiving line and rushed over to him. “Burke, there’s something wrong with Sabrina.”
At the same time, a crackling came from beneath Caine’s tuxedo jacket. He pulled out the walkie-talkie. “Yeah?”
Burke watched his brother-in-law and sister exchange a knowing glance and felt his heart lurch. “What is it?”
“They’ve taken Sabrina hostage,” Caine revealed. “But my man’s on their tail.”
“Where is she at this moment?”
“In the rose garden,” Noel and Caine answered in unison.
As he raced from the ballroom, creating a murmur of startled complaints from the guests still waiting their turn to speak with him, Burke vowed that when Sabrina was safe—and he could not allow himself to think that she would not be—he would not give her up.
CHAPTER 12
AS SABRINA was being dragged through the garden, her flowing dress caught on one of Jessica’s prized rosebushes, bringing her to an abrupt halt.
“Quit stalling,” her captor ground out. He nearly jerked her arm out of her socket. “We must get off the grounds before you are discovered missing.”
“I’m not stalling, dammit.” Sabrina tugged on the black crepe. “My stupid skirt is caught on all these thorns.”
Cursing, he leaned down and yanked viciously, tearing off her skirt in a ragged line just below her knees.
“Now look what you’ve done!” Forgetting all about his deadly gun, Sabrina turned on him. “Do you have any idea how much this dress cost? You owe me!”
