There was no trace of easy living on this man’s frame. Jess stared up at him, stunned. Even a little afraid?
But then he smiled-and the fear evaporated, just like that.
You couldn’t fear a man with a smile like this.
‘Good morning,’ he said softly. ‘You must be Jessica. How are you feeling?’
‘I… Yes. I’m Jessica and I’m fine.’ Unconsciously her hands tugged her bedcovers to her chin, in a naïve gesture of defence. Why? He didn’t make her feel afraid, she thought. He just made her feel-small? Young? In her flimsy cotton nightgown, with her short crop of chestnut curls tousled from sleep and her freckled face devoid of make-up, she felt about twelve.
‘I’m Raoul,’ he told her.
She’d guessed. ‘Y…Your Highness.’
‘Raoul.’ His voice firmed, and there was even a tinge of anger, as if he was repudiating something he found offensive.
‘Jessica’s been fretting about Sarah’s death,’ his mother told him. ‘I’ve told her she’s not to blame herself.’
‘How can you blame yourself?’ Raoul was speaking in English. His voice was strong and deep, and only faintly tinged with the accent of his native country.
Where did he fit in? How did this family fit into the government of this place? Jess thought, trying desperately to remember what she’d learned of this country before she came here. Not much. Her trip this time been more an excuse to get away than to learn about another culture, and her only other visit here had been fleeting and had ended in disaster.
But she knew a little. Alp’Azuri was a principality, a tiny country edged by the sea. There’d been some recent tragedy, she thought, remembering flashes of international news in the past few weeks. A dissolute prince and his princess found dead. A tiny crown prince, orphaned.
Where did that leave Raoul?
‘I’ll not have you blaming yourself for Sarah’s death,’ Raoul was saying, and she blinked, trying to haul herself back to reality. To now.
‘Um…’
‘Sarah killed herself.’ Raoul’s voice was stern, sure of what had to be said. ‘Oh, not intentionally. We’re sure of that. But she’d been drinking. She was driving too fast on the wrong side of the road and the police say the only reason you weren’t killed also was because you were being incredibly cautious. Somehow, miraculously, you managed to avoid a double tragedy.’
‘But if I hadn’t been there…’
‘Then she might have hit someone else further down. Maybe with even worse consequences.’ He shook his head. ‘If it had been a family…’ He closed his eyes, as if to shut out a tragedy that could have been. ‘We’re all grateful that you were there, Jessica, and that you somehow prevented what could have been a lot, lot worse.’
‘But your fiancée…’
‘Yes.’ His eyes were open again now, and behind their cool, appraising look she could see pain. And something else. Despair? Defeat? ‘But we move on.’
‘Edouard will stay with me,’ his mother said softly and Jess frowned at this strange twist in the conversation. ‘We will fight for him. We must.’
Jess was lost. Edouard? Fighting?
Was this yet another tragedy? She pulled her covers even higher, in a gesture of protection that was as crazy as it was unhelpful.
‘I’ve been lying here for too long,’ she managed and Louise smiled.
‘My dear, it’s been six days. You were concussed and you dislocated your shoulder. But Dr Briet says-and Raoul concurs-that you seem to have been suffering more than that. He says you seem exhausted. You were taken initially to the Vesey hospital but when it was clear that all you needed to do was to sleep, it seemed best to bring you here.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s not possible to keep the Press away anywhere else, and Raoul has been on hand if needed.’
This was making less and less sense. ‘You’ve been very good,’ Jess managed, ‘in the face of your own tragedy.’ She hesitated, but there was more to be said. Edouard. The name had brought back a memory now, remembrance of news reports she’d read surely less than a month ago. ‘And it’s not just Sarah, is it?’
‘You can’t know…’ Louise started but Jess was too distressed to stop.
‘I’m remembering the deaths of the crown prince and his princess,’ Jess said. ‘And your grandson being orphaned. I heard of it back in Australia. I’d just…forgotten.’
Of course. When her own world had collapsed, so had her ability to take in tragedies of those about her. But the deaths had been front-page news at home at a time when her world had been blank and meaningless, and it had been dreadful enough to haul her out of her pool of misery, into someone else’s.
She remembered cringing inside. The prince and his princess, in a chalet high in the mountains. An avalanche? A storm? She couldn’t remember. But she remembered that the child was alive, unharmed, but with his parents both dead.
The world had been captivated.
Deep in her own personal tragedy, Jess had hardly taken it in. But now… She forced herself to think back to those half-remembered newspaper headlines. Rumours that it hadn’t been a storm that had killed them. That the storm had cut off access to the cabin and meant that normal checks couldn’t be made. The royal couple had escaped their minders and there’d been drugs.
This was not her scene, she told herself fiercely. It was not her business.
She looked up at Raoul and there was that look on his face that precluded questions-and how to ask a question like the ones that were forming in the back of her mind? She couldn’t. She didn’t need to. Thankfully.
She was so tired.
She lay back on her pillows and closed her eyes, allowing the exhaustion and distress to wash through.
Unexpectedly Raoul stepped forward and lifted her hand. The gesture was a measure of comfort that was surprisingly successful. It was strong and reassuring and compelling. ‘Don’t distress yourself,’ he told her. ‘You mustn’t.’
His touch warmed her more than she’d thought such a gesture could. It was unexpected, a gesture that he didn’t need to make. Maybe in the same circumstances she’d find it impossible to make this gesture herself, she thought. To touch the cause of more sadness…
‘Jess, you’re not to focus on this,’ he told her, his voice, like his touch, strong and warm and sure. ‘You’re here as our guest for as long as you need before you feel strong enough to face the world.’
‘I’m well now.’ She opened her eyes and he was close, she thought, dazed. Too close.
‘You’ve had a hell of a time,’ he told her. ‘And maybe not just this week?’
It was a question. She swallowed. This man was wounded too, she thought.
‘We’re a pair,’ she whispered and there was a stillness.
‘I…’
‘I’ll leave you as soon as I can pack,’ she said wearily. ‘I’m fine. It was very good of you to let me stay this long.’
‘Jess, as soon as you leave this place you’ll be inundated,’ he said warningly. ‘The world’s Press want interviews. This tragedy has caught the attention of the international media and you won’t be left alone. Plus after six days in bed you’ll be as weak as a kitten. Stay here. Within the walls of this castle I can protect you. At least for the next few days. Outside…I’m afraid you’re alone.’
Silence.
Within the walls of this castle he’d protect her?
It was crazy. She didn’t need protection.
She couldn’t stay.
Where could she go?
Home?
Home was where the heart was.
She had no home.
‘Stay for a few more days.’ It was Louise, gently adding her urging to her son’s. ‘We feel so responsible. You have no idea what the Press will be like. You seem exhausted. Let us give you just a little time out.’
Time out.
It was an idea that was almost incredibly appealing. And it was the only thing she could think of to do. What else? Pick up the threads?<
br />
What threads?
She was bone-weary and she was faced with a choice. These pillows and the protection of castle walls for a few more days-or the scrutiny of the world’s Press. There was suddenly no choice. Especially as Raoul was smiling down at her like…like…
She didn’t know. All she knew was that his smile warmed parts of her that desperately needed to be warmed. Stay? Of course she’d stay.
She must.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and she was rewarded by a widening of that killer smile.
‘Good.’ Raoul’s voice was strong again, commanding and sure. His eyes met hers, filled with warmth and pleasure that she’d decided to be sensible. ‘Join the world slowly again, no? Start with dinner tonight. With us.’
‘I…’
‘It’s very informal,’ Louise told her, guessing immediately the confusion such an invitation would cause. ‘Just my son and myself.’ She smiled, and her smile was ineffably sad. ‘And the odd servant or six.’
‘Have just Henri serve us tonight, Mama,’ Raoul told her. ‘Give the other servants the night off.’
She nodded. ‘That would be lovely. If you don’t think it’s cowardly.’
‘Maybe we need to be cowardly,’ he told her. ‘Maybe we all do. For a while.’
CHAPTER TWO
JESS wallowed-that had to be the word for what one did in such a sumptuous bathtub-and thought about what she was about to experience.
Dinner with the Prince Regent of Alp’Azuri…
As a little girl she’d read the tale of Cinderella-of course she had-and she’d dreamed of princes. But now…
Reality was very different, she thought. Real princes weren’t riding white chargers ready to whisk a woman away from the troubles of the world. Real princes came with tragedies of their own.
It made the whole situation seem surreal, so much so that as she dried and dressed, slowly, in deference to her aching muscles and myriad scratches, she didn’t cringe that she had no fabulous evening gown to wear, or a fairy godmother on hand to transform her.
She should wear severe black, she thought, but she shoved that thought aside as well. Black? When had she ever?
At least she had her stock-in-trade-the reason she was in this country. Her wardrobe had been brought more to show suppliers what she wanted than to wear herself. Tonight she chose a simple skirt, cut on the bias so it swirled softly to her knees. The skirt combined three tones of aquamarine, blended in soft waves. The colours were almost identical but not quite, and when spun together they were somehow magical. She teamed the skirt with an embroidered, white-on-white blouse with a mandarin collar and tiny sleeves. It hid her bruises perfectly.
That was that. No make-up. Like black, make-up was also something she didn’t do. Not since long before Dominic.
She brushed her close-cropped chestnut curls until they shone, then gazed at her reflection in the mirror.
These were great clothes, she conceded, but it was a pity about the model. This model had far too many freckles. This model had eyes that were too big and permanently shadowed with grief.
The model needed a good…life?
‘You’ve had your life,’ she told her reflection. ‘Move on. They’re waiting for you to go to dinner.’
But still she gazed in the mirror, and something akin to panic was threatening to overwhelm her.
This was a suite of rooms. ‘It’s one of several guest suites we have, dear,’ Louise had told her. It consisted of a vast bedroom, a fantastic bathroom and a furnished sitting room where the fire had crackled in the hearth the whole time she’d been here, its heat augmenting the spring sunshine that glimmered through the south-facing windows. The windows looked down over lawns that stretched away to parks and woodland beyond.
The whole place was breathtakingly beautiful, yet until now Jess had simply accepted it as it was. It was as if her mind had shut down. For the last few days she’d simply submitted to these people’s care.
Now she had to move. She’d said she’d go to dinner. She was dressed and ready. But outside was a castle. A castle!
How had Cinderella coped with collywobbles?
But then there was a knock on the door and Henri was there. The elderly butler was someone she was starting to recognise, and his smiling presence was steadying and welcome.
Her own private fairy godfather?
‘I thought I’d accompany you down, miss,’ he told her, his twinkling eyes letting her know that he recognised her butterflies and that was exactly why he was here. ‘It’s easy to get lost in these corridors.’ He surveyed her clothes with approval. ‘And if I may say so, miss, you look too lovely to lose.’
Jess smiled back, knowing if she was inappropriately dressed he would have warned her, but his smile said she was fine. He held out his arm and she hesitated a little and then stepped forward to take it. Yep, he was definitely a fairy godfather and she wasn’t letting go of his arm for anything.
‘You know, they’re just people,’ he told her as they started the long trek toward the distant royal dining room. ‘They’re people in trouble. Just like you.’
That initial time Jess had seen Raoul-the one time he’d entered her bedroom-she’d thought he was stunningly good-looking. Now, as Henri opened the dining-room door, she saw he was dressed for the evening, and good-looking didn’t come close.
The cut of his jet-black suit and his blue-black silk tie clearly delineated his clothes as Italian-designed and expensive. The crisp white linen of his shirt set off his deeply tanned skin to perfection. And his smile…
Good-looking? No. He was just plain drop-dead gorgeous, she decided. Toe-curlingly gorgeous.
Henri paused at the dining-room door, smiling, waiting for Raoul to react. And he did. He rose swiftly, crossed to take her arm from Henri’s, led her to her seat and handed her into it with care.
It’s just like I’m a princess, Jess thought, and she even managed to get a bit breathless. OK, she’d been shocked into a stupor where she’d hardly noticed her surroundings these last few weeks, but there were certain things that could pierce the thickest stupor.
Raoul Louis d’Apergenet was certainly one of them.
Her outfit was too simple for this setting, she thought fleetingly, with a tiny niggle of dismay, but Raoul was smiling at her as if she was indeed a princess and Louise was gazing at her skirt with admiration and saying,
‘Snap.’
‘Snap?’ Jess sat down-absurdly aware of Raoul’s hands adjusting her chair-and gazed at the array of silver and crystal before her. Snap? Card games was the last thing she was thinking about.
The table must be one of the palace’s smallest. It was only meant for eight or ten-but it was magnificent. The array of crystal and silverware made her blink in astonishment.
‘I think the word is wow,’ she said softly. ‘Snap has nothing to do with it.’
‘I meant your skirt.’ Louise was still smiling. ‘If I’m not mistaken that’s a Waves original. The same as mine.’
Jess focused-which was really hard when there was so much to take in. And when Raoul was smiling with that gentle, half-sad smile, the smile that said he knew…
She was being ridiculous.
Louise’s skirt. Concentrate.
Her hostess was indeed wearing a Waves skirt. It was one of Jess’s early designs, much more flamboyant than the one she was wearing, a calf-length circle of soft spun silk, aqua and white, the colours mingling in the shimmering waves that were Jess’s trademark-the colours of the sea.
‘I love the Waves work,’ Louise was saying. ‘And you must, too. But then you’re Australian. Waves is by an Australian designer, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Jess said and then because she couldn’t think of anything else to say she added, ‘Um, she’s me. Waves, that is. It’s what I do.’
‘You work for Waves?’
‘I am Waves,’ she said a trifle self-consciously. Actually, until a year ago she wouldn’t have said that. She woul
d have said she was half of Waves. But then, that had never been true. She’d supported Warren, and when she’d needed him…
No. She closed her eyes and when she opened them Henri was setting a plate before her.
‘Lobster broth, miss,’ he said and it gave her a chance to catch her breath, to look gratefully up at him, to smile and to recover.
‘I own Waves,’ she told them, conscious of Louise’s eyes worrying about her and Raoul’s eyes…doing what? He seemed distant, assessing, but then maybe he had room for caution. ‘I started designing at school and it’s grown.’
‘You’re not serious? You own Waves?’ Louise’s expression was one of pure admiration. ‘Raoul, do you hear that? Waves is known throughout the world. We have a famous person in our midst.’
‘I’m hardly famous,’ she managed. She tried the broth. ‘This is lovely,’ she told Henri, though in truth she tasted nothing.
‘Are you here on a holiday?’ Raoul was gently probing, his eyes resting on her face. He seemed to be appraising, she thought, as if maybe he suspected his mother needed protecting from impostors and she might just be one.
She was being fanciful.
‘I… No. I’m here on a fabric-buying mission.’
‘There was no fabric in your car,’ Raoul said.
Once again, that impression of distrust.
‘Maybe because my plane landed the morning of the crash,’ she told him and there was an edge to her voice that she hadn’t intended. She tried to soften it. ‘I’m here to buy but I’ve hardly started. I’d heard that the Alp’Azuri weavers are wonderful and the yarns here are fabulous.’ She hesitated but couldn’t help herself. ‘I have already been to one supplier. If you’ve searched my luggage you’ll have found yarns.’
‘I didn’t search your luggage,’ Raoul said, swiftly, and Jess raised her brows and managed a slight, disbelieving smile. Good. It was good to have him defensive.
Why? She didn’t know. And maybe she was being dumb. To get a European prince of the blood offside…
Princess Of Convenience Page 2
