The Prince & The Showgirl

by JoAnn Ross

  "Unfortunately," Chantal said, "Prince Leon did not feel that a foreign flamenco dancer was an appropriate wife for the future regent of Montacroix."

  "But Phillipe, who had inherited the strong Giraudeau independent streak, married Katia anyway," Noel divulged. "Without great-grandfather Leon's blessing."

  "Of course Leon was furious," Chantal continued.

  "You see, Leon had inherited the infamous Giraudeau temper," Burke said, slanting a significant glance his father's way.

  "He threatened to disinherit Phillipe," Noel said. "Which of course, he couldn't do."

  "Because of the male line of ascendancy," Burke said. "Phillipe was Leon's only son. If he failed to provide a male heir, the country would return to French rule."

  "But in the end, it all turned out for the best," Chantal said. "Once our father was born, great-grandfather Leon welcomed the couple back with open arms."

  "So, Montacroix's future was assured, and Leon stepped down, allowing Phillipe to take his rightful place on the throne," Burke concluded.

  "That's a real romantic story," Dixie said. "It sounds just like one of Sonny's ballads."

  "It does, doesn't it?" Chantal agreed. "And if you think that story is romantic, you should hear how our father scandalized all of Europe when he fell madly in love with our mother."

  "All right," Eduard interrupted, throwing up his hands. "I surrender. Burke, you will be permitted to select your own bride."

  "Why, thank you, Father," the younger prince said with smiling formality. "That's very benevolent of you. So tell me, baby sister," he said, turning his attention to Chantal in a not-very-subtle attempt to change the subject, "what names are you and Caine considering?"

  Three hours later, Sabrina was standing at the window, looking out at the star-strewed sky. You never saw stars like this in Manhattan, she mused. Nor in Nashville. Although she feared she could be guilty of romanticizing again, the sparkling pinpoints of light reminded her of diamonds scattered across lush black velvet.

  Along with the starlight, a half moon slanted silvery light over the royal gardens beneath her window. In the distance, she could see the yellow glow of incandescent lights coming from some building, mute proof that she was not the only one finding sleep an elusive target.

  The jet lag that had made her tired before dinner, now had her feeling wired. Her inner clock was definitely off, and Sabrina knew from experience that forcing herself to remain in bed, staring up at the ceiling while her thoughts were whirling, would only make matters worse. Eventually she'd adjust. She just had to give it time.

  Worried that her continued pacing would only wake up Ariel, who was asleep in the adjoining room, Sabrina pulled on a pair of jeans and a cotton sweater and slipped out the bedroom door.

  Burke put away the wrench, wiped his grimy hands on an equally grimy rag and grinned his satisfaction. Although he'd hired the best mechanic in Grand Prix racing, he'd always enjoyed working with engines himself.

  Fortunately, as Sabrina had so succinctly stated earlier, rank did indeed have its privileges. And if the Prince of Montacroix chose to tinker with his car's engine, who was going to stop him? Of course it helped that he was very, very good at what he did.

  Burke's mechanical skills were a great deal like his lovemaking talents. He took his time, absolutely refused to rush, and paid extraordinary attention to detail. The satisfaction he felt when he listened to the throaty purr of a well-tuned Ferrari engine was the same pleasure he received when he brought a woman to an earth-shattering orgasm.

  He glanced down at his watch, surprised to find that it was past midnight. It had happened again; he always lost track of time when working.

  "It's late," he said to the other man in the room. "You should go to bed."

  Drew Tremayne, a tall muscular man who'd proved surprisingly helpful in reprogramming the computer that adjusted the fuel lines, wiped his own hands. "My replacement isn't due to show up for another hour."

  "This around-the-clock surveillance is ridiculous," Burke complained.

  Massive shoulders, clad in a black fisherman's sweater designed to blend into the night shadows, lifted, then dropped again. "Caine likes to cover all the bases. That's why he's so good."

  A perfectionist himself, Burke could appreciate such a trait in others. He knew Caine was intelligent, incisive and every bit as single-minded as Burke himself was.

  During the two years the former naval aviator and presidential security agent had been married to his sister, Burke had come to know his brother-in-law well. Caine was not a man with doubts. He was also not a man to overestimate danger. If he felt that these recent threats were legitimate, if he believed the rebels intended to attempt to disrupt the coronation, Burke had no choice but to believe him.

  That didn't mean, however, that he had to like it.

  "From what he says, you're not so bad, yourself," he said.

  The harsh mouth, which Burke had thus far only seen set in a grim straight line, curved upward in a bold grin, revealing a chipped front tooth that gave him a vaguely wolfish look.

  "He's got to say that," Drew said on a slow drawl that attested to seven generations of Tennessee ancestors. "I'm his partner."

  "Which says a lot right there. Caine would never settle for second best." Which was the reason he'd married Chantal, Burke considered.

  "Caine and I have had some high old times together," Drew agreed, with what Burke suspected was typical understatement. He pulled a chocolate bar out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and offered a piece to Burke, who refused.

  Drew was a nice man. Still, Burke realized that his bodyguard's easygoing exterior was camouflage for a quick mind and, if necessary, a willingness to indulge in violence. Burke knew from the way this man handled his Beretta, that he could not be in better hands.

  Still, the idea of even needing a bodyguard continued to sting. Frowning at the idea of having a shadow for the next nine days, Burke glanced idly out the open garage door. When he caught a glimpse of pale blond hair shimmering in the moonlight, he cursed.

  "I thought my sisters had been assigned bodyguards as well."

  "They have."

  "Then what the hell is Noel doing out wandering out in the garden alone?"

  Drew's puzzled frown was even darker than Burke's. He pulled the pistol from its leather holster at the back of his belt. "Wait here."

  "She's my sister," Burke complained. "If she's in danger, I want to help her."

  "Fine. So help her by not screwing things up."

  Frustrated, but realizing this mountain of a man had a point—after all, his experience with guns was limited to shooting clay pigeons on the palace gunnery range—Burke reluctantly agreed. He ground his teeth as he watched Drew slip out of the garage, blending into the dark shadows.

  After what seemed an eternity, but was only moments, Drew returned, emerging from the dark with the same unnerving skill he'd used to disappear.

  "It's not the princess," he answered Burke's sharp, questioning glance. "It's one of those singers. Sabrina Darling."

  That explained the blond hair he'd mistaken for Noel's. "Did she see you?"

  "Nah. I didn't want to scare her. I was tempted to ask for her autograph, though," Drew admitted sheepishly.

  "You've seen her act?"

  "No, I can't say I've ever had the privilege. But I sure do remember when she was on TV with her daddy. I've always been a big Sonny Darling fan," he revealed on a slow drawl that belied his quick mind. "Saw him once in concert, back home in Tennessee. That man sure could hold an audience."

  "Obviously, at least one of his daughters inherited that talent," Burke said, remembering how she'd held him spellbound for two amazing hours in that London theater.

  "They're all good," Drew allowed. "Although it was a long time ago, and I was just a kid, I can remember critics saying that of the three Little Darlings, Ariel had the beauty and Raven had the voice. But Sabrina had inherited her daddy's ability to sell a song."


  Burke believed it. From what he'd seen of Sabrina thus far, he decided that she was a woman who could probably sell antifreeze to the Arabs.

  An unpalatable thought suddenly occurred to him. "If we thought she was Noel—"

  "There's a good chance someone else might make the same mistake," Drew cut in. "Which is why I radioed for one of the guys inside the palace to come outside and keep an eye on her."

  "That's very efficient," Burke allowed.

  "You get what you pay for."

  "Still, it'd probably be better if Ms. Darling was inside, where she belonged."

  "True enough," Drew agreed. "But I decided hog-tying her and dragging her back to her bedroom might be overkill."

  Burke smiled at that provocative image. If he had to be stuck with a bodyguard, Burke decided he could have done a lot worse than this friendly giant.

  "Why don't I give it a try?" he suggested.

  "Good idea," Drew said as he opened a bag of chocolate-covered peanuts. "I imagine there's not many women who could resist a true-to-life prince."

  Since the easily stated remark was reasonably true, Burke did not comment on it. "It's no wonder you and Chantal get along so well," Burke observed, casting a disparaging glance at the bright yellow candy bag. "Between the two of you, you must keep the world's chocolatiers in business."

  "That's pretty much what Caine says," Drew agreed equably. "But then, your brother-in-law is one of those health nuts who gets up in the morning and wolfs down a bowl of nuts and twigs. Lord, I used to hate doin' stakeouts with that man."

  Burke laughed, swallowed the last of the too sweet coffee Drew had poured them earlier from an insulated metal thermos, and left the garage.

  The lone figure silhouetted in the upstairs palace window, observing the woman walking in the garden, also witnessed the bodyguard's cloaked surveillance.

  Now, alone and shrouded by darkness, the figure watched intently as Prince Burke approached Sabrina Darling.

  Was this midnight rendezvous merely coincidence? the silent observer wondered. Or was it preplanned? A romantic tryst, perhaps?

  The answer, the interested onlooker mused thoughtfully, might prove very interesting indeed.

  4

  Sabrina wandered through the royal garden maze, inhaling the sweet perfume that wafted on the still night air. Having grown accustomed to the night sounds of Manhattan—the traffic, the sirens, the blare of horns of the New York Times trucks racing down Broadway—she found the silence immensely soothing. It reminded her of lazy summer nights on her family's Nashville farm.

  But Montacroix was a long, long way from Nashville. And although the house that Sonny Darling's royalties had built had once seemed the most magnificent home in the world, she now realized that as impressive as it had been, it was not the dazzling white palace she once believed it to be.

  She shook her head, remembering how she'd believed her father to be a fairy-tale prince, come to carry her off to his castle, where she'd live happily ever after.

  She'd been so young. So naive.

  "So stupid," Sabrina muttered now. Experience had taught her the hard way that any woman foolish enough to believe in happily-ever-afters was destined to be disappointed.

  "Excuse me." Startled by Burke's unexpected appearance, Sabrina jumped as he emerged from the shadows. "I did not mean to intrude on your privacy."

  If there was one thing six years of marriage had taught her, it was to recognize a prevarication when she heard one. Some inner voice told her that Burke was lying.

  "It appears that I was about to intrude on yours," she said, regaining her composure. She glanced past him at the now-dark building. "How's the car coming?"

  The scent of gardenias rose from her skin, blending with the sweet perfume of the roses on the summer air. Her eyes, in the slanting moonlight, were the hue of sterling buffed to a warm sheen.

  "There was an additional problem with the fuel mixture—the engine was running too lean—but I believe the situation is solved."

  "Did you check the microchips in the fuel computer?"

  Burke gave her a sharp look that revealed his surprise. "The crew had installed the wrong chips. How did you guess?"

  "My father was a die-hard racing fan. He drove stock cars when he was younger, but by the time I came along, Dixie had put her foot down about his racing and he had to console himself with just being a spectator. But he never lost his love of cars. When I was sixteen, when one of his albums went platinum, he bought a bright red Ferrari. A convertible, like Magnum P.I. drove."

  "Ferraris are very fine automobiles." Burke had a Testarossa, along with a white winged Lamborghini Countach and Mercedes roadster parked in the palace garage.

  "It was certainly a very fast car. Unfortunately fast cars have always been my secret weakness."

  She hadn't owned a car in Manhattan; Arthur didn't drive and refused to pay for garage space for the sporty Mustang convertible she'd left at the farm in Nashville.

  Once again Burke saw the flash of annoyance come and go in her eyes. Once again he wondered at its cause.

  "Daddy emphatically declared it off-limits, but I couldn't resist and one night, when he was away on tour, I borrowed it."

  Forgetting that it was unwise to relax her guard around this man, Sabrina sighed with reminiscent pleasure. "I had it up to one hundred and ten miles an hour before the highway patrol caught me in a speed trap."

  "You could have been killed." He could see her, racing down the highway, her hair streaming out behind her like a silver banner.

  "That's what Daddy said. But he put it a bit more strongly." Her remarkable eyes were still laughing. "In fact, his language could have stripped paint. I was grounded for six months, but he gave in and suspended sentence after two weeks."

  Burke wasn't surprised by her father's surrender. He had a feeling it would be very difficult to deny this woman anything.

  "That doesn't explain how you knew about the fuel chips."

  "Oh, that. My father took the entire family to the Indianapolis 500 every year. And when he performed in Arizona, I flew out to see him and we went to the Phoenix Grand Prix. It was the most exciting thing I've ever seen."

  "Dad had a pit pass," Sabrina said offhandedly, as if such extraordinary privilege were run-of-the-mill. "I remember one of the drivers having a problem with his engine. It turned out to be the microchips."

  She had bittersweet memories of that halcyon afternoon. It was the last time she'd seen her father alive. If she'd only known, Sabrina considered, she would have cherished the day even more.

  Burke viewed the shutter that seemed to come down over her eyes and heard her faint sigh. "I'm sorry about your loss," he murmured. "It always hurts to lose family."

  After six months, the loss of her father still stung. Sabrina suspected it would for a very long time. Yet, after all the many words of condolences she'd received, Burke's simple statement touched her.

  She didn't know that his own mother had been institutionalized when he was a mere infant. Yet when he'd learned that Clea Giraudeau had died by her own hand, three years ago, Burke had experienced a deep, visceral sense of loss.

  "It was so sudden," she murmured, as much to herself as to him. "And so unexpected."

  She felt the sting of hot tears burning at the back of her lids and blinked them away. "Daddy always seemed larger than life. And although I know that it's irrational, I believed he'd always be there for me. For all of us."

  However, Sonny Darling had, unfortunately, proved distressingly human.

  "I've often felt the same way about my own father," Burke allowed. "Some men—some people—seem invincible. Although I've spent a lifetime preparing to be regent, lately I've worried about living up to the high standards set by my father."

  Burke was shocked to hear himself admit such a personal thought to a virtual stranger.

  Sabrina Darling affected more than his hormones. She was, surprisingly, distracting his mind.

  "From everything
Chantal has told me, I have no doubt that you'll be a wonderful ruler."

  Burke searched her face, seeking some flaw, some imperfection that would deflate the wild, romantic fantasies that had sprung full-blown in his mind.

  Her lips lured; her scent enticed. His mouth was so very close to hers. All he'd have to do is lean forward, the least little bit and…

  A gust of wind blew in off the lake, causing the nighttime temperature to suddenly drop. Sabrina shivered.

  The involuntary shudder didn't escape Burke's shrewd eyes.

  "You should go back inside," he suggested, remembering his reason for seeking her out in the first place. "Before you catch a cold."

  "I suppose I should." Her heart was thumping uncomfortably. What was it about this man that made her throat dry up and her nerves jangle?

  Burke watched her lips tighten and mistook the reason for her frown. "I'm sorry if I saddened you by bringing up memories of your father."

  "It wasn't you." With a wistful sigh, she looked out over the moon-gilded waters of the lake. "I think about him all the time."

  "It sounds as if you and he were very close."

  "I adored him," Sabrina said simply.

  A very strong part of Sabrina still did. Another part which she knew to be irrational, continued to be angry at her father for not having been perfect.

  "Enough to put aside your career to pay his tax bills?" It was a shot in the dark, gleaned from something Chantal had told him after dinner. If his sister had found his sudden interest in Sabrina strange, she had been thoughtful enough not to comment.

  "My father was not a tax dodger!" Sabrina rose quickly and heatedly to Sonny's defense. Just because she was angry with him didn't mean that her loyalty toward the man had diminished.

  "I'm sorry. I did not mean to offend you. Or your late father."

  Sabrina knew that her quick flare of anger had been an inappropriate response. She'd always had difficulty controlling the Darling temper, especially when her nerves were on edge.