“As I recall,” he said softly, “Cinderella arrived home without one of her shoes and riding a very large squash.”
“It was a pumpkin, not a squash.”
“The point is, she wasn’t a princess to begin with, but she still went to the ball. All I can ask is that you choose to try. The future will take care of itself.”
He heard a quiet sniff. Was she crying?
He couldn’t be sure, but he continued to hold her hand until the limo pulled into her driveway.
“I’ll escort you inside,” he offered. “Walking will be difficult on those cobblestones with only one shoe.” The roar of the surf thrummed in his ears.
Down the street Laurent heard a car door slam and an engine start. Heinrich was aware of the other vehicle, too. Laurent knew that the bodyguard would wait until he received the all-clear signal from the detail in the car following them before he’d assist the princess out of the limo.
It was all clear. Heinrich opened the door for the princess and Laurent scooped Charlotte Aurora up in his arms.
It seemed a surprisingly natural gesture.
“What are you doing?” she yelped in surprise.
“Carrying you,” he murmured against the fragrant cloud of her hair as her soft curves grudgingly relaxed against his chest. “I don’t wish you to injure yourself further. This seemed the safest option.”
“Oh. I thought that might be the bodyguard’s job.”
A smile flickered to Laurent’s lips. “I outrank him.” True, his princess was far from what he had expected. But his heart pounded with a curious combination of wonder and desire as he carried her up the cobblestone path that curved through lush, blooming shrubbery to the striking stained-glass front door with its unusual pattern of flowing water. Her home was distinctive—as if it had artistically evolved from its coastal setting—an architectural triumph of gray weathered shingles and beams, stone and stained glass.
“Pass me your key,” he ordered brusquely.
Charlotte dutifully dug the key out of her purse. “I can unlock the door. I think I can do that without creating another disaster.” Proving her words, she slid the key into the dead bolt lock and opened the door.
Laurent shouldered the door open and entered the darkened foyer. “Where’s the light switch?”
“On the wall to the right.”
He turned and nudged the stained-glass door with his foot. The door closed with a solid thud, shuddering in its frame. A split second later something struck him from behind and glass shattered all around them.
Chapter Four
Laurent fell to the floor, shielding Charlotte Aurora with his body.
Had they been shot at?
He couldn’t tell in the dark. Piercing arrows of pain in his shoulders led him to fear he’d been hit. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. Where was the shooter now? He had to protect Charlotte Aurora.
She was Estaire’s only heir. If Laurent were killed, he had a younger brother who could rule Ducharme.
He ran his fingers over her, checking for signs of injury. Relief surged in his heart when he felt the rise of her chest. Good, she was breathing.
“Are you all right?” he demanded harshly. “Heinrich!” Where was the bodyguard? Had he been shot, too?
“I can’t breathe,” she responded in a strangled tone. “You’re crushing me—”
The door to the house burst open. Laurent saw the imposing broad-shouldered silhouette of a man holding a gun. Heinrich.
Gott sei Dank! Thank God. “Watch out, Heinrich,” he warned in a low tone. “There’s a shooter. I’ve been hit.”
“Stay down, sir.” Heinrich ordered him, conducting a physical sweep of the darkened foyer.
Laurent couldn’t have risen if he tried. He was aware of the excruciating darts of pain in his back and the inviting softness of Charlotte Aurora’s body beneath him.
Heinrich moved stealthily to check the rest of the house. Laurent could hear him issuing instructions, via the communications headset he wore, to the team of bodyguards who’d followed them back to the princess’s home.
Charlotte Aurora’s fingers curled against his cheek. Her voice trembled. “Sebastian, have you been shot?”
“Nowhere vital, Princess. I fear you will not escape your lessons that easily.”
Her laugh sounded suspiciously like a sob. She wiggled beneath him, making him acutely aware of her enticing curves. “Let me up. You’re hurt. You need an ambulance.”
“I cannot do that, madame. My duty is to protect your person and your safety above my own. The shooter may still be present.”
She shoved at him, and he heard the fear in her voice. “Don’t be ridiculous! You might be seriously wounded! Get off me right now!”
Laurent groaned as pain arced through him. “I’ve never been more serious in my life, Princess. Humor me.”
He gripped her hair in his fingers, holding her fast. Holding on to his future.
His mind raced with questions. Had someone followed him and Prince Olivier to California despite the security measures they’d taken to avoid the possibility of leaks? Had the threat to Charlotte Aurora originated from an Estairian faction or from within Ducharme?
The lights suddenly blazed on in the living room off the foyer. “It’s all clear,” Heinrich said. “There’s no one in the house. Or outside.”
Laurent blinked, taking in his surroundings as light filtered into the foyer. Shards of glass lay scattered across the inlaid compass pattern in the marble floor. Charlotte Aurora’s eyes were frightened blue pools in her delicate face. She pointed at the ceiling.
“Oh, my God, Sebastian. The ceiling fixture fell. That’s what hit you.”
Laurent’s breath whooshed out in a grateful sigh. It was a light fixture, not an assassin’s bullet. “I’ll take your word for it.” He gritted his teeth against the pain and eased his weight off Charlotte Aurora so she could scramble out from beneath him.
“Heinrich, please carry the princess to the other room. She only has one shoe. She’ll cut herself again.”
The princess crouched beside him. Her fingers lightly stroked his hair. “Don’t you dare touch me, Heinrich. Call an ambulance. Sebastian has glass embedded in his back.”
“No,” Laurent countermanded her. He shot a look at Heinrich, who looked uncomfortable at the conflicting orders. “How bad does it look, Heinrich?”
“Tweezers and rubbing alcohol should take care of it.”
“Do you have tweezers and rubbing alcohol?” Laurent asked Charlotte Aurora.
Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Yes, but you can’t be serious. Does Heinrich have a medical degree?”
Laurent gave her a crooked pain-filled grin. “I thought we had previously established that I am always exceedingly serious. Heinrich is trained in first aid and I trust his judgment. Please, bring the items. I have no wish to go to a hospital where it might draw attention that a Ducharmian official is in San Diego.”
Her reluctance to forgo an ambulance was stamped clearly on her face. Laurent was oddly pleased by her concern and by the trembling touch of her fingers at his temple. Perhaps she was not as immune to him as he believed. “Please, Princess, there is nothing to be gained by taking such a risk.”
“All right,” she finally acquiesced. “But I’m going on record that I disagree. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Laurent watched as the bodyguard carried her down the hallway. When Heinrich returned, he retrieved the light fixture’s hardware from the glass-strewn floor and peered up at the wiring at the ceiling.
Laurent knew exactly what he was thinking.
“Do you think it was an accident?” he said.
The burly bodyguard shook his head. “I’m not an expert, sir. But ja, it looks suspicious.”
RORY WAS SHAKING as she searched the bathroom for the first-aid kit. It was a miracle Sebastian hadn’t been killed. What would have happened if she’d arrived home alone and the chandelier had hit her? Was it even an
accident?
Heinrich and his band of merry men were making her see death threats around every turn. Her hands trembled as she grabbed cotton balls and tweezers. Sebastian had been sure she’d been shot at. He’d been willing to die for her. He’d protected her with his own body. Had he anticipated that something like this might happen? Was that why her brother had wanted to assign her a team of bodyguards?
Rory suddenly viewed her brother’s tactfully worded warning about resistance to her marriage to Prince Laurent in a whole new light. This arranged marriage was supposed to mend a feud that was three hundred years old. Three hundred years was a long time to hold a grudge.
She tried to tell herself that she was being ridiculous. She was in no danger. The chandelier’s falling was an unfortunate accident—just like the tragic accident that had killed her mother. She thanked God that Sebastian had been there to protect her tonight. With the exception of her mother, no one had ever treated Rory as if she were special and needed protection. Or said she was beautiful as if they really meant it.
She reminded herself that it was Sebastian’s job. But it didn’t matter. From the moment she’d met him, she’d felt an awareness burrow under her skin like a cactus needle, invisible to the eye but impossible to ignore.
She closed the cupboard door and hurried out of the bathroom. She knew she shouldn’t be entertaining these feelings for Sebastian. Not when she was officially engaged to his employer. Treaty or no treaty, she and Sebastian were from different worlds.
Rory scrounged two plastic bowls from the kitchen and hobbled back to the foyer in a pair of slippers.
Sebastian lay on his stomach on the white leather ottoman in the great room. The bodyguard had moved a floor lamp so that it shone on the deputy secretary’s back like an operating room light. Rory’s stomach knotted in dismay at the bits of crystal piercing his blazer.
“Oh, Sebastian, this doesn’t look good.”
She dumped the first-aid supplies onto the coffee table. The plastic bowls bounced to the floor. She hurriedly picked them up.
Sebastian turned his head toward her, his dark eyes soothing her. “Charlotte, it’s all right. I promise I’m not going to expire.”
Charlotte. He’d called her Charlotte, not Charlotte Aurora, not madame or Your Serene Highness. So, the man was capable of the occasional blunder in protocol. That, or he was in great pain.
Rory decided it was probably the latter and quickly splashed some rubbing alcohol into one of the bowls. “If I find one piece of glass that looks deep we’re going to a hospital. I took a wilderness first-aid course once, and I’m not going to run the risk of you bleeding to death if an artery’s been punctured. I don’t care who you are.”
“Why would you take a wilderness first-aid course?” Sebastian asked, his dark eyes on her face.
“My mother made me. We were going backpacking in the Grand Canyon.”
Sebastian muttered something in German. One of the words sounded like mother. Rory sterilized both pairs of tweezers in the rubbing alcohol, then handed one pair to the bodyguard. “Let’s pick out the glass first, then we’ll remove his clothes and disinfect the cuts.”
Rory pinched a piece of crystal between the tips of her tweezers. Oh, God, she’d never liked blood. “This might hurt,” she warned.
“It will hurt much worse if you don’t remove it.”
Rory eased the shard of glass from his skin and dropped it in the second bowl. A dot of blood seeped through the black wool of his coat. Sebastian muttered more German under his breath. By the time she and the bodyguard had removed all the bits of glass, she’d realized he was reciting something, “‘Und das hat mit ihrem Singen die Lorelei getan.’”
Lorelei? Why did that name sound vaguely familiar?
“There. Can you take off your jacket and your shirt?”
Sebastian sat up gingerly, his mouth so compressed that she saw a white ring around his lips. She helped ease his coat off, experiencing a peculiar urge to hug the finely tailored garment to her breast. It was warm and smelled of his luxuriously male scent, and blood.
When she moved to help him with his tie, his dark eyes bore into her, carrying a warning. “I can manage, madame.”
Okay, they were back to that again. She was not a virgin, but she had never witnessed firsthand a man of Sebastian’s caliber remove his clothing. He tugged free his tie with mastered grace and made rapid work of the buttons.
Her breath caught in her throat as he eased the black silk shirt off his shoulders. Muscles that the exquisite cut of his clothes had only hinted at were revealed in their finest glory. Rory had always found the descriptions of the male body in books more fascinating than the real chests she saw at the beach. But Sebastian’s chest completely captured her attention. An inky patch of hair matted his chest with an air of mystery, tempting her fingers to explore the flat dusky nipples and the springy, curling hair. His skin was lightly tanned, the ridges of muscles and ribs as sculpted and defined as ridges in the sand at low tide.
Below his left pectoral she saw a four-inch-long horizontal scar. And another puckered scar beside the sexy trail of hair that dipped past his navel.
Her mouth turned as dry as a Santa Ana wind with lust, embarrassment and concern. Had he received those scars while protecting his prince? God, she hoped not. An image of Sebastian being attacked rose in her mind. She stared at the shards of broken glass on the foyer floor that had been her mother’s treasured sea-spray chandelier. Was this what her life was slated to be like? One narrow escape from harm after another?
Prince Laurent had trusted Sebastian to protect her. For the first time, Rory considered the kind of man Prince Laurent might be. She knew he was educated, noble and considerate. Would she like him? Would she love him?
“Turn around,” she ordered Sebastian. “Please,” she added more gently. Her heart winced at the bleeding cuts marring his beautiful shoulders. She dabbed at the cuts with alcohol-soaked cotton balls, searching for pieces of glass they may have missed. Sebastian’s shoulders twitched at the sting of the alcohol.
It was all she could do not to cry out or press tiny comforting kisses near the worst of the wounds, but she knew Sebastian would be affronted…especially if she kissed him. Not that she would.
How could she go from disliking him to wanting to comfort him in the course of a few hours? Her only explanation was the champagne and the wine she’d drunk.
She sneaked a sideways glance at Heinrich to see if he was as appalled as she was by Sebastian’s injuries. The gruff, unsmiling bodyguard gave her a discreet nod. At least none of the cuts necessitated an emergency room visit.
Sebastian sucked in a breath as she wiped another cut.
“Almost finished. You just need some bandages and a clean shirt. I can loan you a T-shirt.” Rory and Heinrich taped at least a dozen bandages and several large gauze pads to Sebastian’s back.
Rory excused herself to find Sebastian a T-shirt. When she returned, Heinrich was sweeping up the last of the shattered crystal chandelier shards with a broom and dust pan and depositing them in a double-thickness garbage bag, and Sebastian was fitting the dented metal frame of the light fixture into another bag. They were talking in German. Judging by their stubborn expressions and their curt tones, Sebastian and Heinrich were arguing.
Heinrich shrugged his shoulders. “War das ein Unfall? Oder vielleicht ein Mordversuch?”
Mordversuch? The word reminded Rory of the word in French for death. Murder.
She hesitated in the hallway. Did they think someone was trying to kill her? Or was she just being paranoid?
Why did Sebastian look so disapproving? Did Sebastian and Heinrich think she would be an embarrassment to Prince Laurent? An embarrassment to their country? Tonight had been a complete disaster.
Rory felt a void open up inside her. She was eight years old again with skinned knees, and no one wanted to pick her for their dodge ball team because she was such a klutz.
She swallowed hard, b
attling confusion, anger and the deeply rooted childhood hurt that her father hadn’t thought his daughter worthy of his time and his love. She’d told Olivier and Sebastian she wasn’t princess material, and Sebastian had responded that all he asked was that she try. He’d sounded so sincere. On some elemental level she couldn’t fully explain, she’d wanted to trust him. Wanted to believe him.
Rory cleared her throat. She wanted the day to finally be over and Sebastian gone from her house so she could crawl into bed and try to make sense out of the unexpected turn her life had taken. Try to figure out what she wanted.
“Thanks for cleaning up the mess.” She tossed the black T-shirt she’d found in her drawer to Sebastian, knowing that it would annoy him.
He caught the shirt easily with his left hand, his intelligent dark eyes telling her he knew that she was deliberately baiting him. “Thank you.”
He pulled the T-shirt on over his head without so much as ruffling his hair. The soft cotton fabric stretched taut over his chest and biceps. He tucked his ruined shirt and jacket in the garbage bag with the light fixture.
“Heinrich, if you will be so kind as to leave us a moment. I will join you outside momentarily.” He gestured toward the garbage bags. “Take this with you.”
“Leave it. I’ll take it out in the morning,” Rory objected, but Heinrich followed Sebastian’s orders.
Her insides quivered and trepidation raced over her skin like the trace of a feather as the bodyguard left. Sebastian stepped toward her, his jaw locked tight and his inky eyes unfathomable in their intent. He touched her chin with his thumb, his voice surprising her with its gentleness. “Will you be all right here alone?”
“Yes, of course I will,” she said waspishly. “I’m not a helpless female. Besides, I need time to think.”
He nodded. “Good night then, Princess. I hope you remember this day fondly for the rest of your life.”
He was kidding, wasn’t he? But no, she saw that he wasn’t. His eyes dropped to her lips and for the craziest moment Rory thought he was considering kissing her. Her pulse kicked up into a frenzied state of alarm.
Determined to Protect, Forbidden to Love Page 28
