The Prince's Royal Dilemma

by Brenda Harlen

  Lara had enjoyed their lessons—and Marcus’s shameless flirting. Maybe it was because he was close to her own age, or maybe it was that he clearly didn’t worry about the pomp and protocol that went along with being a royal, but she was more comfortable with him than with any of his brothers and soon they became good friends. She also learned how to ride.

  Marcus had applauded her as an eager and gifted student; she was certain her success was more the result of his skill as a teacher. Because, as much as the youngest Santiago brother might enjoy his reputation as a man who had no sense of purpose or direction except if it took him toward the nearest pub or a willing woman, Lara quickly learned that there was a lot more to the playboy prince than he wanted people to know. And she’d realized that he had a passion for and commitment to the horses that exceeded his interest in or affection for anything or anyone else.

  She’d been given leave to ride whenever she wished, and generally chose Regal Lady as her mount when she did so. The red roan mare was as gentle as she was strong, and Lara loved the feel of racing over the fields on her back, the mare’s hooves pounding the ground, the wind whipping through her hair.

  She pushed open the stable doors and stepped inside, smiling as she inhaled the familiar earthy scents of hay and horses. She made her way down the cobblestone corridor that divided the rows of stalls, pausing now and again to stroke a long nose that poked over a gate to investigate the sound of her approaching footsteps. She stopped in front of Regal Lady’s stall and couldn’t hold back her sigh of disappointment when she found it empty.

  “Eddie took Lady out,” a gruff voice said from behind her.

  “Oh.” She turned to Frank, the stable manager, and lifted a shoulder. “I just thought I’d peek in and see if she needed some exercise.”

  “She’ll be sorry she missed you,” he said so solemnly she couldn’t help but smile.

  “Maybe I’ll try to get down here again later in the week.”

  “Maybe you could try another mount today.”

  Lara hesitated.

  “Royal Folly could use a good run,” Frank told her.

  As if on cue, the chestnut stallion in the neighboring stall pawed the ground and snorted out an impatient breath. While Lara had always admired the animal’s powerful build and proud carriage, she’d also been more than a little intimidated by the creature. Not to mention the fact that Folly had been Princess Catherine’s horse.

  She wanted to refuse, not certain she had the skill or strength to control him, but before she could say anything, the stallion bumped his head against her shoulder. She turned and found herself staring into soulful dark eyes. Instinctively she brushed her hand down his nose, rubbing gently. “You miss her, too, don’t you?” she murmured softly.

  The stallion tossed his head, in agreement or impatience, she wasn’t sure, but in that moment her decision was made.

  “They all do,” Frank said, his gruff tone indicating that it wasn’t just the horses that were missing the princess’s presence down at the stables. “But Folly probably more than most.”

  “You think I can handle him, Frank?”

  His nod was abrupt. “Prince Marcus taught you to ride, didn’t he?”

  “He did,” she agreed.

  “Then I have no doubts.”

  “Okay, then,” she said to Folly, rubbing her hand down his muzzle again. “Looks like you and I have a date.”

  Though she was more than capable of tacking her own mount, she let Frank help her with the task. He liked to remind her that it was his job to oversee everything that had anything to do with the horses and that it was a job he’d been doing for more than forty years now. He also liked to talk while he worked, so almost half an hour passed before Lara was in the saddle and riding away from the stables.

  She could feel Folly’s excitement in the quivering flank clamped between her thighs as she fought to maintain control, at least until they’d reached more open ground. Then she nudged him with her heels, and they flew across the fields.

  Rowan heard the pounding of hooves, was aware of the horse and rider drawing nearer, but didn’t move out of the shadows. He hoped that if he stayed hidden, they would race right past. He’d come out here to be alone, to steal some much needed solitude and breathing space.

  No one but Frank knew he was here, and when the pounding slowed, he silently cursed the end of this peaceful interlude. He wasn’t nearly ready to return to the palace and the obligations that awaited him there, but he knew if the old groom had tracked him down, it was because he was needed somewhere.

  The rider steered the stallion toward the creek.

  Definitely not Frank.

  Lara.

  It wasn’t the shiny copper hair that gave her identity away, but the sharp punch of lust that hit low in his belly when his gaze landed on her. That familiar and frustrating reaction was unmistakable. Undeniable.

  He’d had a similar instinctive response to only one other woman—Margot Olivier. He knew that Lara wasn’t Margot, just as he knew that he wasn’t the same man he’d been when he fell in love with the stunning coed more than a dozen years before. He’d grown up and he’d changed, in no small part because of the experience with his conniving girlfriend. And he’d vowed that he would never open up his heart so completely again—and he’d never been tempted to do so.

  Until Lara.

  She haunted his thoughts when he was awake, his dreams when he was sleeping, and now even this stolen moment of solitude was no longer his own.

  As he watched her descend from the top of the hill, he saw that she sat a horse well, obviously confident and comfortable in the saddle. The jeans she wore were faded and slim fitting, hugging narrow hips and a waist that he could probably span with his hands. Her blouse was sleeveless, showing long toned arms and just a hint of cleavage where the top few buttons were undone.

  She slid off the back of the horse, rubbed her hand over his cheek and murmured something that he couldn’t hear. As she turned to lead him down to the creek to drink, Rowan saw the tears on her own cheeks.

  Before he could remind himself of the thousand reasons it was a bad idea, he moved out of the shadows and went to her.

  She jolted when he touched her arm. “Your Highness! I didn’t realize anyone was here.”

  “Obviously.” Her lashes were wet and spiky, her emerald eyes shimmering. Her nose was red, her cheeks were streaked with tears, and she was still so beautiful. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her.

  “Thank you.” She accepted the neatly pressed square of linen, wiped her cheeks. “I don’t want to intrude. As soon as Folly’s finished drinking, we’ll go.”

  “Don’t.” He hadn’t thought he wanted company or that he would want hers in particular, but now that she was here, he realized he wanted her there.

  “You wanted privacy,” she guessed.

  He sat back down, hoping to put her at ease. “That’s what I thought, but now I realize I just wanted to get away for a while.”

  When she still looked uncertain, he added, “Stay. Please.”

  She lowered herself to the ground—a couple of feet away from him. He wasn’t sure if he should be insulted or amused by her obvious attempt to keep him at a distance.

  “How is it that you have free time in the middle of the day?” she asked him.

  “I rescheduled a meeting with the minister of finance, then had Lionel cancel my lunch with the VP of the Arts Council.”

  “Ah, so you’re playing hooky.”

  “I prefer to think of it as creative scheduling.”

  She smiled at him, and he felt something curl deep inside.

  “How did you find this place?” he asked her.

  “Princess Catherine and I used to bring the kids here for picnics. Prince Julian, too, sometimes, if he could manage some creative scheduling.”

  “Did you know that Julian proposed to Catherine out here—right under this tree, in fact?”

  “No, I didn
’t.” She leaned back on her elbows, her face tilted up to the sun. As she shifted, so did his attention—to the open neck of her shirt, the creamy vee of skin that was visible where the material parted. “But she did tell me that the first time he ever kissed her was out here.”

  “He probably would have tried to do more than kiss her if Eric hadn’t fallen out of the tree almost right on top of them.”

  “Eric was spying on them?”

  “Marcus and I were spying on them,” he admitted. “Eric came with us because he could climb high enough in the tree to see the boats out at sea. Even as a kid he wanted nothing more than to be on the water.”

  “I bet Julian wasn’t too pleased with any of you that day.”

  “He was furious,” Rowan admitted.

  She smiled again, and his gaze was drawn to her mouth, lingered there. Her lips were the palest pink, like the inside of a shell, and exquisitely shaped. He didn’t know that he’d ever been so fascinated by a woman’s mouth before, or so tempted.

  He wondered what she would do if he leaned over now and touched his mouth to hers. Would she kiss him back? Or push him away? Would she taste cool, like the water flowing in the stream? Or hot, like the blood churning in his veins?

  He lifted his eyes and met hers.

  For a long moment neither of them said anything. There was no sound but the rustle of the leaves in the breeze. No one around but the two of them.

  He was suddenly aware of how far away they were from the palace, from the rules and responsibilities that governed there, from the pressure that was being exerted on him to find a suitable bride. Here he could almost believe he wasn’t a prince and she wasn’t a nanny. They were just a man and a woman, with no barriers between them.

  “It’s hard to accept that they’re gone, isn’t it?” she said softly.

  The question jerked him out of his fantasy.

  “I was thinking about them,” she continued. “On my way here. Remembering the times we’d been here together.”

  “That’s why you were crying.”

  She nodded, but said nothing else, only reached out briefly to touch his arm. An offer of comfort, friendship.

  As he sat and talked with her in the afternoon sun, he found himself accepting her offer, and grateful for it. Except for one problem: he didn’t want her comfort or friendship. He wanted Lara.

  Chapter Six

  Over the next few weeks, Lara found herself spending more time with the prince regent and his niece and nephews. She was pleased to find that there was more to Rowan than the solemn prince that he let the rest of the world see, and she was thrilled to watch as the children gradually warmed toward their uncle.

  But it was difficult for her, because the more she saw him with the children, the more she saw the warm and compassionate side of him and the more attracted she was to the man. She wished she could disregard her feelings as an irrational hormonal attraction, but with every day that passed, her feelings were growing and deepening.

  The man Tanis liked to refer to as His Royal Arrogance was actually more down-to-earth than she would have expected. She’d seen him smile, heard him laugh, and while the cynical part of her wanted to believe that he was making an effort to lighten up so the children would like him, she knew it wasn’t true.

  And the more she got to know him, the more she wanted to know. Beyond the attraction she’d felt from the very beginning, she found herself genuinely liking him—and that was a complication she hadn’t anticipated.

  The children were a little more ambivalent in their feelings—or so she’d thought until they approached her with their idea.

  “A birthday party?” Lara echoed dubiously.

  “A surprise party,” Lexi said.

  Damon clapped his hands together. “Party! Party!”

  She hesitated and glanced at Christian. He was the only one who had yet to speak and, as usual, she couldn’t begin to guess what he was thinking.

  “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” she said. “He might already have plans.”

  “Christian checked with Henri to make sure it was okay,” Lexi told her.

  Her older brother confirmed this information with a solemn nod. “His calendar is open between six and eight tonight.”

  Lara still had her doubts, but the children were clearly united in their desire to throw a party for their uncle and she didn’t want to disappoint them. “Well, then, I guess we have a celebration to plan.”

  “He’s coming! He’s coming!” Damon announced, racing back into the prince’s office that had been lavishly decorated with colorful streamers and bouquets of helium-filled balloons.

  Lara had given up trying to stop him from dipping his fingers into the thick chocolate icing of the cake they’d made. To distance him from the temptation, she’d assigned him the task of watching for his uncle.

  “Is he really this time?” Christian asked, clearly losing patience with the little brother who had made the same announcement three times already, then dissolved into a fit of giggles while they all waited silently in the darkness.

  “Really, really, for true,” Damon insisted.

  With a last look around the room to ensure that everything was in its place, Lara hit the switch to kill the lights. Damon snuggled close to her when it went dark, his little body fairly vibrating with excitement.

  Lexi stood closest to the door, with handfuls of glittery confetti she planned to toss at her uncle when he entered the room. Lara had tried to talk her out of that one, but the little girl would not be dissuaded.

  She felt her stomach knot as she tried to anticipate Rowan’s reaction to the surprise. He might be annoyed rather than pleased, but at least he was here. One of her biggest worries had been that the prince might not come home after his meeting ended because he’d had a more personal celebration planned for his birthday. She’d been reassured when Henri offered to help with the party, certain he would have discouraged the children if he believed the party was a mistake. Or maybe he had tried to discourage them and had run into the same wall of determination that had blocked Lara’s protests.

  In any event, it was too late to back out now.

  She heard the murmur of voices in the hall, drawing nearer, and felt the knots in her stomach tighten.

  “If you could just take a look at the papers now, then we can discuss them at greater length in the morning.”

  “Can’t they wait until the morning?” Rowan asked wearily. “I’m supposed to be meeting—”

  “I’m aware of your schedule,” Henri told him.

  It occurred to Lara that Henri’s interruption was intended to prevent the prince from revealing details about the meeting to her and the children. Because the meeting was about a sensitive political matter? she wondered. Or because he was meeting a woman?

  “So much for the ruler’s birthday being a national holiday,” Rowan muttered.

  “Only for everyone else,” Henri told him.

  Finally the door was pushed open and the lights went on.

  “Surprise!” The children yelled in unison, though Lexi and Damon with significantly more enthusiasm and volume than their older brother.

  Then Lexi remembered the confetti and tossed it high in the air, showering tiny silver-colored stars all over her uncle and everything else in the vicinity.

  Rowan’s lips curved slowly as his gaze moved around the room, noting the colorful decorations, the small stack of presents and the slightly lopsided chocolate cake on the silver tray in the center of his desk.

  “It looks like someone’s having a party,” he said.

  Lexi beamed. “It’s a birthday party for you.”

  “A surprise party,” Damon piped up.

  “It certainly is that.” Rowan glanced at Henri, hovering in the doorway and smiling. “I assume those papers you mentioned were merely a ruse.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Then I have no other business tonight?”

  “Just that one meeting.” />
  “Which you can cancel, Henri.”

  “Sir?” His friend and advisor was clearly taken aback by this instruction.

  “I’d like to spend what is left of my birthday with my family.”

  “Of course.” Henri bowed and ducked back out of the office.

  Rowan stepped farther into the room, his eyes on the cake. “How many candles are on there?”

  “Thirty-five,” Damon told him. “I counted ’em to be sure, ’cause Lara said that’s how really old you are.”

  “I told him that’s how old you really are,” she quickly corrected, conscious of the heat that filled her cheeks.

  “Not that you’re really old.”

  But Rowan didn’t seem offended, his eyes sparkling with humor when they turned to her. “I imagine thirty-five seems really old to a four-year-old.”

  “And an eight-year-old,” Lexi agreed, throwing in her lot with her brother.

  “Did you know you can be thrown into the dungeon for insulting a member of the royal family?” Rowan asked her.

  “I am a member of the royal family,” she reminded him in a tone that left no doubt about the blue in her blood.

  “And the dungeons were closed before the end of the last century. I learned that at school. And that means no one can be thrown into the dungeon anymore.”

  “What’s a dungeon?” Damon wanted to know.

  Rowan squatted beside the boy and lowered his voice to an ominous whisper. “A cold, dark room deep beneath the castle where naughty little boys and girls are kept shackled and fed only bread and water.”

  Damon’s eyes widened and he took a step back before asking, “What’s shackled?”

  “Tied up in chains,” Lexi told him. “And no one’s going to be shackled or put in the dungeon.”

  “Did they tell you who closed the dungeon?” Rowan asked his niece.

  She shook her head.