by Nora Roberts
“Actually, yes. I’ve also learned I detest oysters and that I have a character that demands restitution. I’ll get him back for tricking me into swallowing one of those things. In the meantime …” Turning, she leaned back against the strong stone banister. “I can see I’ve put you in a bit of an awkward position, Reeve. I didn’t intend to, but now that I have, I’m afraid I don’t intend to let you out.”
“I can handle that for myself, when and if I choose.”
“Yes.” She smiled again. Then the smile became a laugh as she tossed her head back. Fear seemed so far away. Tension was so much simpler to deal with. “You could at that. Perhaps that’s why I feel easy around you. Tonight I took your advice.”
“Which was?”
“To observe. I have a good father. His position doesn’t weigh lightly on him, nor does the strain of this past week. I see the servants treat him with great respect, but no fear, so I think he’s just. Would you agree?”
The moonlight played tricks with her hair, making the pearls look like teardrops. “I would.”
“Alexander is … what’s the word I want?” With a shake of her head, she looked overhead to the sky. The long, pale line of her throat was exposed. “Driven, I suppose. He has the intensity of a much older man. I suppose he needs it. He hasn’t decided to like you.” When she shifted her head again, he found his eyes were on line with her lips.
“No.”
“It doesn’t bother you?”
“Not everyone’s required to like me.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” she murmured. “In any case, I’ve added to whatever resentment he might feel toward you. Tonight when I said I wanted to walk outside and asked you to come with me, it annoyed him. His sense of family is very strong and very exclusive.”
“You’re his responsibility—in his opinion,” Reeve added when she started to protest.
“His opinion will have to change. Bennett’s different. He seems so carefree. Perhaps it’s his age, or the fact that he’s the younger son. Still, he watched me as though I might trip at any moment and need him to catch me. Loubet, what do you think of him?”
“I don’t know him.”
“Neither do I,” she said wryly. “An opinion?”
“His position doesn’t sit lightly on him, either.”
It wasn’t an evasion, Brie decided, any more than it was an answer. “You’re a very elemental man, aren’t you? Is it an American trait?”
“It’s a matter of pushing away frills that just get in the way. You seem to be a very elemental woman.”
“Do I?” She pursed her lips in thought. “It might be true, or it might be true now only out of necessity. I can’t afford frills, can I?”
The strain of the evening had been more than she’d admit, Reeve observed as she turned again to rest her palms against the stone. She was tired, but he understood her reluctance to go in where she’d have nothing but her own questions for company.
“Brie, have you thought about taking a few days and going away?” She lifted her head. Sensing the anger in her, he laid a hand on her shoulder. “Not running away, getting away. It’s human.”
“I can’t afford to be human until I know who I am.”
“Your doctor said the amnesia’s temporary.”
“What’s temporary?” she demanded. “A week, month, year? Not good enough, Reeve. I won’t just sit and wait for things to come to me. In the hospital I had dreams.” She closed her eyes a moment, breathed deep and continued. “In the dreams I was awake, but not awake. I couldn’t move. It was dark and I couldn’t make myself move. Voices. I could hear voices, and I’d struggle and struggle to understand them, recognize them, but I’m afraid. In the dream I’m terrified, and when I wake, I’m terrified.”
He drew in sharply on his cigarette. She said it without any emotion, and the lack of feeling said a great deal. “You were drugged.”
Very slowly, she turned toward him again. In the shadowed light her eyes were very clear. “How do you know?”
“The doctors had to pump you. It’s the opinion from the state you were in that you were kept drugged. Even when your memory comes back, Brie, you may not be able to pinpoint anything that happened during the week you were held. That’s something you’d better face now.”
“Yes, I will.” She pressed her lips together until she was certain her voice would be strong. “I will remember. How much more do you know?”
“Not a great deal.”
“Out with it.”
He flipped his cigarette over the banister and into the void. “All right, then. You were abducted sometime Sunday. No one knows the exact time, as you were out driving alone. Sunday evening a call came in to Alexander.”
“Alex?”
“Yes, he usually works on Sunday evenings in his office. He has a separate line there as all of you do in your own quarters. The call was brief. It said simply that you’d been taken and would be held until the ransom demands were met. No demands were made at that time.”
And where had she been held? Dark. All she could be certain of was dark. “What did Alex do?”
“He went directly to your father. You were searched for. Monday morning your car was found on a lane about forty miles from town. There’s a plot of land out there you own. It seems you have a habit of driving out there just to be alone and poke around. Monday afternoon, the first ransom demand was made. That was for money. There was no question about it being paid, of course, but before the arrangement could be made, another call came. This one demanded the release of four prisoners in exchange for you.”
“And that complicated things.”
“Two of them are set for execution. Espionage,” he added when she remained silent. “It took the matter out of your father’s hands. Money was one thing, releasing prisoners another. Negotiations were well under way when you were found on the side of the road.”
“I’ll go back there,” Brie mused. “To the place my car was found and to the place I was found.”
“Not right away. I agreed to help you, Brie, but in my way.”
Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Which is?”
“My way,” he said simply. “When I think you’re strong enough, I’ll take you. Until then, we move slow.”
“If I don’t agree?”
“Your father might just take Loubet’s plan more seriously.”
“And I’d go nowhere.”
“That’s right.”
“I knew you wouldn’t be an easy man, Reeve.” She walked a few feet away, into a stream of moonlight. “I haven’t much choice. I don’t like that. Choice seems to me to be the most essential freedom. I keep wondering when I’ll have mine back. Tomorrow, after I meet with my secretary …”
“Smithers,” Reeve supplied. “Janet Smithers.”
“What a prim name,” Brie observed. “I’ll go over my schedule with Janet Smithers in the morning. Then I’d like to go over it with you. Whatever it is I’m committed to do, I want to do. Even if it’s spending hours shopping or sitting in a beauty parlor.”
“Is that how you think you spend your time?”
“It’s a possibility. I’m rich, aren’t I?”
“Yes.”
“Well, then …” With a shrug, she trailed off. “Tonight, before dinner, I lay in the bath and wondered. Actually, I thought of you and wondered.”
Very slowly he dipped his hands in his pockets. “Did you?”
“I tried to analyze you. In some ways I could and others not. If I had a great deal of experience with men, it’s forgotten along with everything else, you see.” She felt no embarrassment as she walked to him again. “I wondered if I were to kiss you, be held by you, if I’d see that part of me.”
Rocking back on his heels, he studied her blandly. “Just part of the job, Your Highness?”
Annoyance flickered in her eyes. “I don’t care how you look at it.”
“Maybe I do.”
“Do you find me unattractive?”
He saw the way her lip thrust forward so slightly in a pout as she asked. She seemed a woman accustomed to flowery, imaginative compliments. She wouldn’t get them from him. “Not unattractive.”
She wondered why it sounded almost like an insult. “Well, then, do you have a woman you’re committed to? Would you feel dishonest if you kissed me?”
He made no move toward her, and the bland smile remained. “I’ve no commitments, Your Highness.”
“Why are you calling me that now?” she demanded. “Is it only to annoy me?”
“Yes.”
She started to become angry, then ended up laughing. “It works.”
“It’s late.” He took her hand in a friendly manner. “Let me take you up.”
“You don’t find me unattractive.” She strolled along with him, but at her own pace. “You have no allegiances. Why won’t you kiss me then and help? You did agree to help.”
He stopped and looked down at her. The top of her head came to his chin. With her chin tilted back, she looked eye to eye with him. “I told your father I’d keep you out of trouble.”
“You told me you’d help me find out who I am. But perhaps your word means nothing,” she said lightly. “Or perhaps you’re a man who doesn’t enjoy kissing a woman.”
She’d taken only two steps, when he caught her arm. “You don’t pull any punches, do you?”
She smiled. “Apparently.”
He nodded, then held her close in his arms. “Neither do I.”
He touched his lips to hers with every intention of keeping the kiss dispassionate, neutral. Though he understood her reasons, her needs, he also understood she’d goaded him into doing something he was better off avoiding. Hadn’t he wondered what that soft, curving mouth would taste like? Hadn’t he imagined how that slim, fragile body would feel in his arms? But he’d agreed to do a job. He’d never taken any job lightly.
So he touched his lips to hers, intending on keeping the kiss neutral. Neutrality lasted no more than an instant.
She was soft, frail, sweet. He had to protect her. She was warm, tempting, arousing. He had to take her. Her eyes were open, just. He could see the glimmer of gold through the thick lashes as he slid his hand up to cup her neck. And he could feel, as the kiss deepened beyond intention, her unhesitating, unapologetic response.
Their tongues met, skimmed, then lingered, drawing out flavors. She wound her arms invitingly around him so that her body pressed without restriction to his. The scent she wore was darker than the sky, deeper than the mixed fragrance of night blossoms that rose from the gardens below. Moonlight splashed over him and onto her. He could almost believe in fairy tales again.
She thought she’d known what to expect. Somewhere inside her was the memory of what a kiss was, just as she knew what food, what drink was. And yet, with his mouth on hers, her mind, her emotions were a clean slate. He wrote on them what he chose.
If her blood had run hot before, she didn’t remember it. If her head had swam, she had no recollection. Everything was fresh, new, exciting. And yet … and yet there was a depth here, a primitive need that came without surprise.
Yearning, dreaming, longing. She may have done so before. Aching, needing, wanting. She might not remember, but she understood. It was him, holding her close—him, rushing kisses over her face—him, breathing her name onto her lips, that brought these things all home again.
But had there been others? Who? How many? Had she stood in the moonlight wrapped in strong arms before? Had she given herself so unhesitatingly to passion before? Had it meant nothing to her, or everything? Shaken, she drew away. What kind of woman gave a man her soul before she knew him? Or even herself?
“Reeve.” She stepped back carefully. Doubts dragged at her. “I’m not sure I understand any better.”
He’d felt it from her. Complete, unrestricted passion. Even as he wanted to reach out for it again, the same reasoning came to him. How many others? Unreasonably he wanted that heat, that desire to be his alone. He offered his hand but kept his distance. It wasn’t a feeling he welcomed.
“We’d both better sleep on it.”
Chapter 4
She felt like an imposter. Brie was in her tidy no-frills all-elegance office only because Reeve had taken her there. She’d been grateful when he’d knocked on her sitting room door at eight with a simple, “Are you ready?” and nothing else. The prospect of having to ask one of the palace staff to show her the way hadn’t appealed. On her first full day back, Brie didn’t want to have to start off dealing with expectations and curiosity. With him, she didn’t have to apologize, fumble or explain.
Reeve was here, Brie told herself, to do exactly what he was doing: guide her discreetly along. As long as she remembered that, and not the moments they’d spent on the terrace the night before, she’d be fine. She’d have felt better if she hadn’t woken up thinking of them.
After a short, nearly silent walk through the corridors, where Brie had felt all the strain on her side and none on Reeve’s, he’d shown her to the third-floor corner room in the east wing.
Once there, she toured it slowly. The room wasn’t large, but it was all business. Good light, a practical setup, privacy. The furniture might have been exquisite, but it wasn’t frivolous. That relieved her.
The capable mahogany desk that stood in the center was orderly. The colors were subdued, pastels again, she noted, brushing past the two chairs with their intricate Oriental upholstery and ebony wood. Again, flowers were fresh and plentiful—pink roses bursting up in a Sevres vase, white carnations delicate in Wedgwood. She pulled out a bud and twirled it by its stem as she turned back to Reeve.
“So I work here.” She saw the thick leather book on the desk, but only touched it. Would she open it to find her days filled with lunches, teas, fittings, shopping? And if she did, could she face it? “What work do I do?”
It was a challenge. It was a plea. Both were directed to him.
He’d done his homework. While Brie had slept the afternoon before, Reeve had gone through her files, her appointment book, even her diary. There was little of Her Serene Highness Gabriella de Cordina he didn’t know. But Brie Bisset was a bit more internal.
He’d spent an hour with her secretary and another with the palace manager. There had been a brief, cautious interview with her former nanny in which he’d had to gradually chip away at a protective instinct that spanned generations. The picture he gained made Princess Gabriella more complex, and Brie Bisset more intriguing than ever.
He’d decided to help her because she needed help, but nothing was ever that simple. The puzzle of her kidnapping nagged at him, prodded, taunted. On the surface, it seemed as though her father was leaving the investigation to the police and going about his business. Reeve rarely believed what was on the surface. If Armand was playing a chess game with him as queen’s knight, he’d play along, and make some moves of his own. It hadn’t taken Reeve long to discover that royalty was insular, private and closemouthed. So much better the challenge. He wanted to put the pieces of the kidnapping together, but to do so, he had to put the pieces of Gabriella together first.
From her description of her family the day before, Reeve had thought her perceptive. Her impression of herself, however, was far from accurate. Or perhaps it was the fear of herself, Reeve reflected. For a moment, he speculated on what it would be like to wake up one morning with no past, no ties, no sense of self. Paralyzing. Then he quickly dismissed the idea. The more sympathetic he was toward her, the more difficult his job.
“You’re involved in a number of projects,” he said simply, and stepped forward to the desk. “Some you’d term day-to-day duties, and others official.”
It came back to her then, hard, just what had passed between them the night before. Being moved, being driven. Had any other man made her feel like that before? She didn’t step back, but she braced herself. Emotions, whatever they might be, couldn’t be allowed to interfere with what she had to do.
>
“Projects?” she repeated smoothly. “Other than having my nails painted?”
“You’re a bit hard on Gabriella, aren’t you?” Reeve murmured. He dropped his hand on hers, on the leather book. For five humming seconds they stood just so.
“Perhaps. But I have to know her to understand her. At this point, she’s more a stranger to me than you are.”
Sympathy rose up again. Whatever his wish, he couldn’t deny it completely. The hand under his was firm; her voice was strong, but in her eyes he saw the self-doubt, the confusion and the need. “Sit down, Brie.”
The gentleness of his voice had her hesitating. When a man could speak like that, what woman was safe? Slowly she withdrew her hand from his and chose one of the trim upholstered chairs. “Very well. This is to be lesson one?”
“If you like.” He sat on the edge of the desk so that there was a comfortable distance between them, and so that he could look fully into her face. “Tell me what you think of when you think of a princess.”
“Are you playing analyst?”
He crossed his ankles. “It’s a simple question. You can make the answer as simple as you like.”
She smiled and seemed to relax with it. “Prince Charming, fairy godmothers, glass slippers.” She brushed the rose petals idly against her cheek and looked beyond him to a sunbeam that shot onto the floor. “Footmen in dashing uniforms, carriages with white satin seats, pretty silver crowns, floaty dresses. Crowds of people…. Crowds of people,” she repeated, and her eyes focused on the stream of sunlight, “cheering below the window. The sun’s in your eyes so that it’s difficult to see, but you hear. You wave. There’s the smell of roses, strong. A sea of people with their voices rising up and up so that they wash over you. Lovely, sweet, demanding.” She fell silent, then dropped the rose in her lap.
Her hand had trembled; he’d seen it the instant before she’d dropped the flower. “Is that your imagination, or do you remember that?”
“I …” How could she explain? She could still smell the roses, hear the cheers, but she couldn’t remember. She could feel the way the sun made her eyes sting, but she couldn’t put herself at the window. “Impressions only,” she told him after a moment. “They come and go. They never stay.”
