Cordina's Royal Family Collection

by Nora Roberts

  “You don’t have to. But I’ll have to talk to her.”

  Brie’s lips curved. “Oh, I think she’s planning on it.” She kissed him then in the light, friendly manner she could assume so unexpectedly. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For not telling me all the reasons I shouldn’t have done it.”

  “The decision was always yours, Brie.”

  “Was it?” She laughed, shaking her head. “I wonder. My bath is cooling,” she said, deliberately changing the mood. “You’ve detained me.”

  “So I have.” Smiling, he ran a fingertip lightly down her breast and felt it tremble.

  “The least you can do is wash my back.”

  “Sounds fair. Trouble is, I’ve missed my bath, as well.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.” She drew away from him to rise. “I once wondered if I’d shared the tub with anyone. It’s very large.” Naked, with the sun filtering in behind her, she began to refasten her pins. “And we have more than an hour before dinner.”

  Chapter 12

  Glitter. Glamour. Fantasy. That was a royal ball in a centuries-old palace. Elegance, sumptuousness, sophistication were what was expected when you brought together the rich, the famous and the royal.

  Five Baccarat chandeliers trembled with light. Some of the colors couldn’t even be named. A half-acre of floor gleamed, the color of aged honey. There was silver, crystal, white linen and masses and masses of flowers. But even these paled when compared to the glow of silks, the fire of jewels: the beautiful people.

  Brie greeted the guests and tried to forget she was tired. For twelve hours she’d worked nonstop to make certain everything was perfect. It was. She had the satisfaction of that to offset her nerves. Cinderella had had her ball, she mused. But Cinderella hadn’t had to deal with the florist.

  There were gorgeous clothes and luxurious scents, but for her, there was a sea of faces and a mental list of names too long for comfort.

  Her father was by her side, dressed in his most formal uniform. It reminded people that he’d been a soldier, a good one. But Brie thought he looked like a god—handsome, powerful. Remote.

  She was curtsied to. Her hand was kissed. The conversations, thankfully, were brief and general before each person passed on to Reeve and her brothers.

  She’d seen to the details, Brie reminded herself. Successfully. She’d succeed here, as well. She smiled at the man in the black silk jacket with the mane of white hair, recognizing him as one of the great actors of the century, one the British Queen had seen fit to knight. He took her hand, but kissed her cheek. Brie had been told he’d bounced her on his knee when she was a baby.

  She was terrified, Reeve thought. And so beautiful. There was nothing he could do but be there. Protect, support—no matter how much she’d resent both. Had anyone told her she’d already pulled off a minor miracle? he wondered. She’d regained her strength, held on to her hope and given herself to her obligations. Princess or not, she was a hell of a woman. For now, she was his.

  She looked like a fairy tale tonight. Like the fairy tale he remembered from years before. There were diamonds in her hair, winking fire against fire. She wore them at her ears, subtle and effective, and at her throat in three dripping tiers. And on her hand, he reminded himself, as a symbol.

  But while the fire danced around her, she’d chosen ice for her dress. A contrast in fashion? he wondered, or a statement that she had both?

  White—stunning, cool, untouchable white—draped her. Slashing low at her throat to frame the fire there, rippling down her arms to meet the light and power on her fingers. Yards and yards of rich, smooth silk flowed down her until it nearly brushed the floor. Aloof, regal? So she was and so she looked. But the fire breathed around her passionately.

  Once a man had had such a woman, would he ever, could he ever, turn to another?

  “Did you see her?” Bennett mumbled so only Reeve could hear.

  He’d only seen one woman, but he knew Bennett. “Who?”

  “Eve Hamilton.” Bennett gave a low sound of approval. “Just fantastic.”

  Beside him Alexander scanned the crowd and found her, but there wasn’t any approval. She wore a ripe red dress that was cut beautifully, even conservatively. The color said one thing, the style another. “She’s a child,” he muttered. And he’d found her too precocious and too intelligent a child.

  “You need glasses,” Bennett told him, then smiled and kissed the hand of a dowager. “Or vitamins.”

  The line of guests seemed endless. Brie stood it by reminding herself just what the ball would mean to her charity. But when the last black tie and shimmering dress passed her, she almost sighed with relief.

  It wasn’t over, but with music there was some escape.

  The orchestra knew its business. It took only a nod from her for the first waltz to begin. She held out her hand to Reeve. He’d open the ball with her this first and this last time. She let his arms and the music carry her. Sooner or later, midnight would strike, and the dream would be over.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  They swirled together under the lights. “My dressmaker’s a genius.”

  He did something they both knew was not quite acceptable. He kissed her. “That’s not what I meant.”

  Brie smiled and forgot she was weary.

  Prince Armand led out the sister of an exiled king. Alexander chose a distant cousin from England. Bennett swept Eve Hamilton onto the floor. And so the ball began.

  It was, as it should be, magical. Caviar, French wine, violins. Oil barons rubbing elbows with lords. Ladies exchanging gossip with celebrities. Brie knew it was her responsibility to be available to dance and to entertain; but it was a relief to discover she could enjoy it.

  While she danced with Dr. Franco, she looked up at him and laughed. “You’re trying to take my pulse.”

  “Nonsense,” he told her, though he had been. “I don’t have to be a doctor to look at you and know you’re more than well.”

  “I’m beginning to believe I’ll be completely well very soon.”

  His fingers tightened only slightly. “Has there been more?”

  “These aren’t your office hours,” she told him with a smile. “And it’s nothing you’d find with your little black bag. I simply feel it.”

  “Then the wait will have been worthwhile.”

  Her smile only faltered a little. “I hope so.”

  “Brie looks relaxed,” Christina commented as she kept her hand light on Reeve’s shoulder through the dance.

  “Your being here helps.”

  She shot him a look. Though she’d seen to it that they’d already had a private talk, Reeve hadn’t completely mollified her. “It would have helped if I’d been here sooner.”

  He liked her, perhaps because of the tongue-lashing she’d delivered. “You still think I should be horsewhipped.”

  “I’m thinking it over.”

  “I want what’s best for her.”

  She studied him a moment. “You’re a fool if you don’t already know what that is.”

  Brie worked her way expertly through the couples and the groups. Janet Smithers stood discreetly in a corner with her one and only glass of wine.

  “Janet.” Brie waved the curtsy aside. “I was afraid you’d decided not to come.”

  “I was late, Your Highness. There was some work I wanted to see to.”

  “No work tonight.” Even as Brie took her hand she was casting around for a suitable dance partner for her secretary. “You look lovely,” she added. Janet’s dress was both plain and quiet, but it gave her a certain dignity.

  “Your Highness.” Loubet stepped to her side and bowed. “Miss Smithers.”

  “Monsieur.” Brie smiled, thinking he’d be her solution.

  “The ball is a wonderful success, as always.”

  “Thank you. It’s going well. Your wife looks stunning.”

  “Yes.” The smile bespoke pleasure and pride
. “But she’s deserted me. I’d hoped Your Highness would take pity and dance with me.”

  “Of course.” Brie sipped her wine, then found, to her satisfaction, that Alexander was within arm’s reach. “But I’ve promised this dance to my brother.” Plucking at his sleeve, she gave him a bland look before she turned back to her secretary. “I’m sure Miss Smithers would love to dance with you, wouldn’t you, Janet?”

  She’d successfully maneuvered them all. Pleased that she’d given her secretary a nudge onto the dance floor, Brie accepted Alexander’s hand.

  “That wasn’t very subtle,” he pointed out.

  “But it worked. I don’t want to see her huddling in a corner all night. Now someone else is bound to ask her to dance.”

  He lifted a brow. “Meaning me?”

  “If necessary.” She smiled up at him. “Duty first.”

  Alexander cast a look over Brie’s shoulder. Loubet’s slight limp was less noticeable in a dance. “She doesn’t look thrilled to be dancing with Loubet. Maybe she has some taste, after all.”

  “Alex.” But she laughed. “In any case, I haven’t told you how handsome you look. You and Bennett—where is Bennett?”

  “Monopolizing the little American girl.”

  “Little—oh, you mean Eve.” She lifted a brow, noting the disapproval. “She’s not that little. In fact, I believe she’s just Bennett’s age.”

  “He should know better than to flirt with her so outrageously.”

  “From what I’ve seen, it’s hardly one-sided.”

  He made a restless move with his shoulders. “Her sister should keep a tighter rein on her.”

  “Alex.” Brie rolled her eyes.

  “All right, all right.” But he skimmed the room until he’d found the slim brunette in the ripe red dress. And he watched her.

  She lost track of how many dances she danced, how many glasses of wine she’d sipped at, how many stories and jokes she’d listened to. It had been, she realized, foolish to be nervous. It was all a blur, as such things should be. She enjoyed it.

  She enjoyed it more when she found herself waltzing in Reeve’s arms again.

  “Too many people,” he murmured against her ear. Slowly, skillfully, he circled with her toward the terrace doors. Then they were dancing in the moonlight.

  “This is lovely.” There were flowers here, too, creamy white ones that sent out a delicate vanilla fragrance. She could breathe it in without having it mixed with perfumes or colognes. “Just lovely.”

  “A princess should always dance under the stars.”

  She started to laugh as she looked up at him, but something rushed through her. His face seemed to change—recede, blur? She wasn’t sure. Was it younger? Were the eyes more candid, less guarded? The scent of the flowers seemed to change. Roses, hot, humid roses.

  The world went gray. For a moment there was no music, no fragrance, no light. Then he had her firmly by the arms.

  “Brie.” He would have swept her up, carried her to a chair, but she held him off.

  “No, I’m all right. Just dizzy for a moment. It was …” She trailed off, staring up into his face as if she were seeing it for the first time. “We were here,” she whispered. “You and I, right here, on my birthday. We waltzed on the terrace and there were roses in pots lining the wall. It was hot and close. After the dance you kissed me.”

  And I fell in love with you. But she didn’t say it, only stared. She’d fallen in love with him when she was sixteen. Now, so many years later, nothing had changed. Everything had changed.

  “You remember.” She was trembling, so he held her lightly.

  “Yes.” Her voice was so quiet he leaned closer to hear. “I remember it. I remember you.”

  He knew better than to push, so he spoke gently. “Anything else? Do you remember anything else, or only that one night?”

  She shook her head and would have drawn away. It hurt, she discovered. Memory hurt. “I can’t think. I need— Reeve, I need a few moments. A few moments alone.”

  “All right.” He looked back toward the ballroom, crowded with people. She’d never be able to make it through them now. Thinking quickly, he took her down the terrace, through another set of doors. “I’ll get you to your room.”

  “No, my office is closer.” She hung on, pushing herself to take each step. “I just want a moment to sit and think. No one will bother me there.”

  He took her because it was closer, and it would take him less time to go back for the doctor. It would take him less time to tell Armand that her memory was coming back and the next step had to be taken. The arrests would be made quietly.

  The backup guard was well trained, Reeve told himself. He wouldn’t have even known he was there if Armand hadn’t explained that Brie was watched always, not only by Reeve, but by others.

  The office was dark, but when he started to turn on the lights, she stopped him.

  “No, please. I don’t want the light.”

  “Come on, I’ll sit with you.”

  Again she resisted. “Reeve, I need to be alone.”

  It was a struggle not to feel rejected. “All right, but I’m going to get the doctor, Gabriella.”

  “If you must.” Her nails were digging into her palms as she fought for control. “But give me a few moments first.”

  If her voice hadn’t warned him away, he would have held her. “Stay here until I get back. Rest.”

  She waited until he closed the door. Then she lay down on the little sofa in the corner of the room, not because she was tired, but because she didn’t think she had even the strength to sit.

  So many emotions. So many memories fighting to get through, and all at once. She’d thought that remembering would be a relief, as if someone released strings around her head that had been tied too tightly. But it hurt, it drained and it frightened.

  She could remember her mother now, the funeral. The waves and waves and waves of grief. Devastation—hers, her father’s, and how they’d clung to each other. She could remember a Christmas when Bennett had given her a silly pair of slippers with long elephant tusks curling out of them. She could remember fencing with Alexander and fuming when he’d disarmed her.

  And her father, holding out his arms for her when she’d curled into his lap to pour out her heart. Her father, so straight, so proud, so firm. A ruler first, but she’d been born to accept that. Perhaps that’s why she’d fallen in love with Reeve. He, too, was a ruler first—of his own life, his own choices.

  She didn’t know she was weeping as one memory slipped into another. The tears came quietly, in the dark. Closing her eyes, she nearly slept.

  “Listen to me.” The whisper disturbed her. Brie shook her head. If it was a memory, she didn’t want it. But the whisper came again. “It has to be tonight.”

  “And I tell you it feels wrong.”

  Not a memory, Brie realized dimly, but still a memory. The voices were there, now, coming through the dark. Through the windows, she realized, that opened up onto the terrace. But she’d heard them before. Her tears dried. She’d heard them before in the dark. This time she recognized them.

  Had she been so blind? So stupid? Brie sat up slowly, careful not to make a sound. Yes, she remembered, and she recognized. Her memory was back, but it didn’t hurt any longer; it didn’t frighten. It enraged.

  “We’ll follow the plan exactly. Once we have her out, you take her back to the cottage. We use a stronger drug and keep her tied. There’ll be no guard to make a fatal mistake. At one o’clock exactly, a message will be delivered to the prince. There, in the ballroom, he’ll know his daughter’s been taken again. And he’ll know what he has to pay to get her back.”

  “Deboque.”

  “And five million francs.”

  “You and your money.” The voice was low and disgusted and too close. Brie gauged the distance to the door and knew she had to wait. “The money means nothing.”

  “I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing Armand had to pa
y it. After all these years and all this time, I’ll have some restitution.”

  “Revenge.” The correction was mild. “And revenge should never be emotional. You’d have been wiser to assassinate him.”

  “It’s been more satisfying to watch him suffer. Just do your part and do it well, or Deboque remains in prison.”

  “I’ll do my part. We’ll both have what we want.”

  They hate each other, Brie realized. Why hadn’t she seen it before? It was so clear now, but even tonight, she’d spoken to both of them and suspected nothing.

  She sat very still and listened. But there was nothing more than the sound of footsteps receding along the stone. They’d used her and her father. Used her while pretending concern and even affection. She wouldn’t be used any longer.

  Still, she moved quietly as she crossed the room. She’d find her father and denounce them both. They wouldn’t take her again. She twisted the knob and opened the door. And found she wasn’t alone.

  “Oh, Your Highness.” A bit flustered, Janet stepped back and curtsied. “I had no idea you were here. There were some papers—”

  “I thought I told you there’d be no more work tonight.”

  “Yes, Your Highness, but I—”

  “Step aside.”

  It was the tone that gave her away, cold and clear with passion boiling beneath. Janet didn’t hesitate. From her simple black bag, she took out a small, efficient gun. Brie didn’t even have time to react.

  Without fuss, Janet turned and aimed the gun at the guard who stepped from the shadows, his own weapon raised. She fired first, and though there was only a puff of sound, he fell. Even as she started toward the guard, Brie felt the barrel press into her stomach.

  “If I shoot you here, you’ll die very slowly, very painfully.”

  “There are other guards,” Brie told her as calmly as she could. “They’re all through the palace.”

  “Then unless you want other deaths on your hands, you’ll cooperate.” Janet knew only one thing—she had to get the princess out of the corridor and away before anyone else happened along. She couldn’t risk taking her in the direction of the ballroom. Instead she gave Brie a quick push.