A Prince at Last!

by Cathie Linz

  Juliet had to smile. “No. If you don’t like the protocol minister, there’s always the Privy Council.”

  “Not one of whom is a day under seventy.”

  “I’m sure the prime minister is.”

  “Yes, but any group that makes the prime minister look like a spring chicken isn’t a group I want to dance with. Capiche?”

  Her smile had turned into a full-blown grin by now. “Capiche. Your fluency with so many languages will serve you well as…”

  Luc placed his finger over her lips as he had the other night. “The walls have ears,” he warned her.

  She firmly moved his hand away from her mouth. She was not about to succumb to temptation tonight. She was going to be practical from the get-go. “I still don’t see why you have to be so secretive about this news.”

  “Remember what happened with Sebastian? The tabloids were all speculating that he was the heir and the announcement was almost made that he was. I don’t want something like that happening again. Which is one of the reasons I wanted independent confirmation of everything I learned in France about my true heritage.”

  “And what’s the other reason?”

  “The Rhineland situation needs to be addressed plus I wanted some time to learn the royal ropes, so to speak.”

  “Speaking of which, we should resume our dancing lessons. We don’t have all night.”

  “Why not? Do you have someplace else you have to be?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” Juliet teased him. “I’ve got a hot date waiting to pick me up outside the palace walls.”

  “You’d better not,” Luc growled, surprising her with the intensity of his voice.

  “Why not?”

  “Because of this…” Without further ado, Luc kissed her.

  Chapter Five

  Juliet didn’t know who was more shocked—herself or Luc. She did know that being kissed by him was better than she’d ever imagined, and she’d imagined it very often in vividly sensual detail.

  But none of those fantasies had prepared her for the sheer pleasure of the real thing. The candlelight flickered against the walls, showing their shadows merged together. She closed her eyes and focused on his mouth, returning his kiss with fervor.

  His lips were warm and unexpectedly soft. They were also seductively hungry and erotically intent.

  Tilting his head in the opposite direction, he targeted her mouth again, his lips parting hers in a sensual dalliance that made her knees melt.

  He slid his arms around her, his hands burning through the thin silk of her dress as he clasped his fingers at the base of her spine and tugged her closer. She felt the smooth material of his tuxedo jacket beneath her fingertips, smelled the burning candles.

  She felt as if she, like those candles, was going up in flames. She had known with a feminine instinct that he was destructive to a woman’s reason, but she had no idea how powerful a distraction he could be—wiping out all thought of propriety or common sense and replacing it with sheer sensation.

  Flickers of desire soared upward from the depths of her body. She felt the thud of his heart against her breast and knew her own nipples were rubbing against the fine material of his jacket. She should be outraged, she should be embarrassed, but she was neither. He made her shiver and burn at the same time with a powerful response that she couldn’t control.

  His mouth promised an ecstasy beyond belief, while his tongue tempted hers to come play an erotic game of hide-and-seek. Her lips parted even farther. He quickly accepted her invitation, his tongue darting inside to explore the dark recesses of her mouth even as his hands explored the curve of her derriere.

  She was intoxicated with pleasure, gasping for breath as he shifted his kisses along her face to nibble at her ear.

  The moment’s respite was all it took for reality to reassert itself.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered, whether to herself or him she couldn’t be sure.

  “Kissing you,” Luc whispered in reply, his voice as hazy as hers.

  “You shouldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re…you and I’m…”

  “You’re Juliet,” he murmured against her lips. “You smell like lemons and taste like heaven.”

  “Do you say that to all your friends?”

  Friends. The word doused Luc like a bowl filled with ice water. He had no business kissing her this way. He immediately released her and stepped away.

  “Sorry,” he said curtly, turning away so she wouldn’t see the effect she’d had on his body. “I don’t know what came over me.”

  Liar, he silently mocked himself. He knew damn well. Ever since he’d tumbled Juliet onto his lap the other night, he’d known she was getting to him. He wasn’t sure why. Why now? Was it fate’s way of laughing at him? Of turning every single corner of his life upside down, including his friendship with Juliet, a friendship he’d come to rely on strongly. The idea of ruining that friendship was one of the few things that truly scared him.

  But this newfound sexual awareness of Juliet as a woman was also more than a tad disconcerting. She was ten years younger than he, and much more inexperienced. He had to be the responsible one here. He should have been the one to come to his senses first, instead of her questioning his motives.

  She’d been right to call a halt to things when she had, before they had gotten completely out of hand. In the middle of a ballroom, for heaven’s sake.

  It had to be the candlelight and the music. He marched over to the portable stereo and leaned down to hit the Stop button with so much force the electronic equipment skidded on the marble floor.

  There, that should be better. He turned to face Juliet. “Again, I’m sorry about that.”

  Juliet was at a loss for words. What could she say? That she wasn’t the least bit sorry? That she’d loved every minute of it? That would be an understatement.

  “You were just trying to be a friend by helping me out here,” he continued, “and I took advantage of that.”

  A friend. That dreaded word again. Juliet wished she could obliterate it from their vocabulary. But if she did that, what was she left with?

  “Do you want to continue the lesson or would you rather call it quits for tonight?” he asked her.

  “What do you want?” she asked in return.

  Luc looked at her for a moment, his sensually brooding gaze seeming to indicate that he wanted her, before he turned away from her.

  “I want my life back,” he said, his voice harsh. “I just want my damn life back.”

  “I demand to speak to the Privy Council!” Celeste angrily informed the prime minister first thing the following morning.

  “No one is allowed to speak to the Privy Council, aside from the king and he is no longer with us.”

  “My son is the king,” Celeste declared.

  “The Privy Council would have to make that determination,” the prime minister calmly replied.

  “Which is why I must speak to them. It’s been nearly a week since my son Philippe II was born, yet still they refuse to make the proclamation declaring him king.”

  “And you know the reason why. You are aware of the fact that King Philippe was married to Katie Graham and that together they produced a child—possibly the heir to the throne.”

  “I know that the dowager queen has been telling such stories, but that is all they are. Stories. Figments of her imagination.”

  “It is more than imagination. We have documentation.”

  “I can supply experts who will say that your documentation is a forgery,” Celeste countered, narrowing her eyes. “There is already talk that you and the dowager queen concocted this story to keep my child from the throne. Is the Privy Council aware of this fact?”

  “I will inform the Privy Council of your concerns.”

  “Of course you will,” she mocked him.

  “If you doubt my word about speaking before the Privy Council, you have only to read the Royal Charter of St. M
ichel. It is all there. In the case of questionable succession, the Privy Council will meet and discuss the situation. No member of the royal family is allowed in on those discussions. The Privy Council includes the prime minister and four noblemen whose families have held the position for hundreds of years.”

  “I also know that it states in the Royal Charter that if there is no male heir then St. Michel reverts back to Rhineland.”

  “That is not going to happen,” the prime minister firmly declared.

  “And it’s not going to happen because my son is the male heir, the only son of King Philippe.”

  “The Privy Council is waiting for me. I must go, ma’am.”

  “Oh, you’ll be going all right,” Celeste muttered as she watched him walk away. “Right out the palace door, the minute I’m in charge of things. I don’t need you or your musty old Privy Council. I’ve got more powerful allies than you’ll ever know.”

  Juliet spent the entire morning immersed in the early 1800s. It was better than dealing with her own life in the present day.

  Luc’s kisses last night had left her tossing and turning all night. No matter how she tried, she couldn’t get the memory out of her mind. The texture of his lips, the taste of his mouth, the tantalizing swipe of his tongue against the roof of her mouth. All these things and more took control of her senses, put her in danger of losing her senses.

  She’d come to work early, determined to make some major headway in her research reading. She’d fallen behind schedule because of Luc.

  She had completed one section of Queen Regina’s diaries and was ready to move on to the next volume when something outside caught her attention. The sun was shining as it often did this time of year in St. Michel, and the flowers in the garden basked in the light. The irises were past their peak glory but still put on a colorful display—from pale yellow to darkest purple. But it was the woman who’d just entered the garden who made Juliet pause. She appeared distressed as she hurried across the path toward the gardener’s quarters at the back of the palace. It was Yvette, the head gardener’s wife.

  Perhaps she was just in a hurry to return home. Juliet knew that Yvette had recently had a baby, and she had meant to give her a baby gift. She had one wrapped in her quarters all ready to go, but all her spare time was spent preparing lessons for Luc—or lusting after Luc. The bottom line was that Luc had distracted her.

  She was also distracted by the sight of something shiny out of the corner of her eye. Turning, she saw that it was a large foil box of candy and it was being held by Luc. Actually, he was waving it as if it were a white flag of surrender.

  “I come bearing gifts.” Luc took a few steps into the room, as if to gauge her reaction before deciding to proceed further. Apparently deciding it was safe, he came in and elegantly propped himself on the corner of her desk. He waved the now-open box practically under her nose. “Chocolate, to apologize for my behavior last night. I was in a strange mood and had no right venting my frustrations on you.”

  His words stopped her in midreach for a dark chocolate truffle. “Is that what kissing me meant to you? Venting a few frustrations?”

  “No, I meant afterward. When I said I wanted my life back and called off the lesson.”

  “And went storming off, don’t forget that part.”

  He didn’t hesitate. “And went storming off.” He paused as if unsure what to say next.

  He looked so awkward that Juliet had to say something to break the ice. “So you kissed me to avoid dance lessons, is that it?”

  He smiled. “Yes, that’s it.”

  They both knew it wasn’t, but there was a certain shared relief in falling back on old familiar friendship patterns. She took a chocolate. “You’re a devious man.”

  “A devious man with chocolate.”

  “Which makes you all the more dangerous.” She popped the truffle into her mouth before closing her eyes in ecstasy.

  “And hard to resist?” he asked hopefully.

  “Impossible to resist,” she said. “How did you know these are my favorites?”

  “I know a lot of things about you.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like the fact that you lose pencils at an alarming rate, that you have a weakness for vintage clothing and kittens. And a talent for looking beneath the surface dents to see the real beauty beneath.”

  She wondered if that was a talent he had, to look beneath her bookworm appearance to the real her.

  “Other people see junk,” Luc said. “You see…possibilities.”

  She had the feeling that they were no longer talking about furniture here. “Because I see the possibilities in you?”

  He nodded.

  “I’m not the only one, Luc. The dowager queen and the prime minister both admire you so much.”

  “The Privy Council is meeting again today.”

  She nodded. “I know. I still have that letter from your mother, if you’re ready to read it.”

  “I’m not,” he said curtly.

  She knew he would be, someday. And when he was, she wanted to be by his side.

  The Privy Council wasn’t known for moving quickly. Glaciers were speedier than this noble body of elders. Today’s meeting had lasted the entire day and well into the evening. It was days like this that made retirement look very pleasant to Prime Minister René Davoine.

  While the prime minister had gone to his office to check on the day’s business, the Privy Council had taken an early and extended dinner break before returning to the Privy Council Meeting Room for after-dinner cognacs and cigars.

  Opening the ornately carved heavy wooden door, René had to wave his hand in front of his face to clear some of the cigar smoke from the room. It was so thick he couldn’t even see the series of dour portraits hanging from the dark paneling along the walls. Peering through the stale air he could just make out the other four members of this elite group. All wore heavy red velvet robes and matching white wigs dating back to the eighteenth century.

  Prior to the present situation, St. Michel hadn’t had a meeting of the Privy Council since 1866, when it had been alleged that the oldest son had been borne to the king’s mistress and that the rightful heir was the second son. The Privy Council had met then to look over the documents and make a decision. It had taken them four years.

  Today’s members showed a similar inclination to be snail-like in the speed of their decision-making. They had first come together after King Philippe’s death and had hit several bumps in the road since then. This was not a crowd for bumpy roads.

  Baron Severin was the oldest and therefore the self-proclaimed leader. White-haired and a bit hard of hearing, he had the upright bearing of a military man. By contrast, the Duc de Montreaux was noticeably bow-legged, caused by his lifelong enthusiasm for riding. Sir André DeVallis and Count Baptiste Rivaux looked very much alike. Both men were balding with florid faces and very rotund builds. Neither did much talking.

  “Gentlemen,” René said. “I’m here to see if you have reached a decision about Luc Dumont’s claim to the throne.”

  “Eh?” Baron Severin bellowed, having refused to wear his hearing aid because it interfered with the fit of his wig. “Luc’s on the phone?”

  “His claim to the throne,” René corrected, speaking succinctly and as close to the older man’s ear as he could. “Has the Privy Council reached a decision?”

  “These things take time, my boy.”

  Baron Severin was the only one who would think that at age sixty René was a boy.

  “I fear that Queen Celeste may be about to make trouble,” René warned them.

  “That confounded woman has been trouble since the moment King Philippe got engaged to her,” the Duc de Montreaux proclaimed.

  “It’s a shame the days when the Privy Council had to approve a royal engagement are over,” Baron Severin said.

  The other three solemnly nodded their agreement.

  René tried to get them back on track. “Be that as it
may, gentlemen, may I remind you that you still need to make a decision regarding Luc Dumont.”

  “Fine fellow,” Baron Severin said.

  “Excellent head of security,” Duc de Montreaux agreed. “I say we keep him on.”

  René sighed, gathering his tattered patience before reminding them, “We have the birth certificate stating that he is the son of King Philippe and Katherine, also known as Katie Graham.”

  “Well, now, it wouldn’t be the first birth certificate we’ve seen proclaiming someone to be their son, now would it?” Baron Severin in turn reminded him. “We’re still awaiting confirmation from the authorities in France that the documentation is indeed true and accurate. You cannot hurry these things along, my boy.”

  “St. Michel needs its king, gentlemen. We have been without a monarch long enough,” René said.

  “You really think this Luc is the one?” Count Rivaux asked, speaking for the first time.

  “I do,” René replied.

  “And you believe he will carry the de Bergeron family name with dignity and honor?” Baron Severin asked.

  René nodded. “I do. Luc is a serious man. He isn’t one to take duty lightly. I do not believe there is a frivolous bone in his body, in fact.”

  “Is that so?” Duc de Montreaux said from beside the window. “In that case, what is he doing slipping out the back of the palace with that young filly Juliet in tow?”

  Chapter Six

  “Where are you taking me?” Juliet demanded breathlessly as Luc hurried her down a garden path, away from the palace.

  “To a carnival,” he replied. “We’ve been working hard, it’s time we took a break.”

  Luc was casually dressed in black jeans and a black T-shirt. He was the epitome of a sexy cat burglar, moving with an elegant smoothness and speed. Pulled along behind him as she was, she had the most tempting view of his body, his slim waist tapering to lean hips and long legs. And his derriere…even thinking of it as a royal posterior didn’t slow down her racing heart.

  She had to say something to break the sexual tension building within her. She focused on his dark clothing.