There was no eager zealousness in her gaze as she stared at him. And with the terrace illuminated, he could see her as well as he would in day light.
She stared at him, those almond eyes seeing more than he felt sure he was imparting.
“In what way?”
“It’s well known we’re overpopulated.”
She pursed her lips. Her disapproval amusingly evident. “As is most of the planet.”
He nodded. “Indeed. Veronia comes after Japan with its head per capita. We’re not the largest nation in the world, but we attract a lot of émigrés seeking…”
“A tax-free haven?” She cocked a brow at him, daring him to deny it.
He shot her a swift grin. “That, as well as its other charms. Three hundred and twenty days a year of sunshine? Beautiful coastlines. Culture, history. Monuments? It’s a fascinating country.”
“Have you lived here all your life?” she asked, her eyes seeming to soften at his passionate words.
“No. Unfortunately not.” When her head tilted to the side in question, he explained, “I attended a boarding school in England. I also studied at university there.”
She sat up, her interest evident. “What did you study?”
“Botany and horticulture.”
“Really?” Perry’s eyes widened. “How fascinating!”
It was his turn for his to widen. Nobody had ever called his degrees fascinating.
If anything, if he dared mention anything green, people’s eyes would glaze over and he’d change the topic onto boring politics or something that would make it seem like he was interested in maintaining a conversation. It was why he preferred to avoid these events like the plague!
“Do you work in the field?”
He shook his head. “I can’t.” He grimaced. “I’d love to, but my estates require too much of my time. I’ve been implementing changes into the way the farms work on my land. Making sure we’re not abusing the soil, developing ways to irrigate the crops without wasting water, that kind of thing.”
“Now that is fascinating,” she murmured, leaning forward. “Did previous generations not leave enough fields to lie fallow?”
Surprised that she knew enough to understand what ‘fallow’ even meant, he murmured, “That, but also, we used to have a too-large head of cattle that fed from the land. The numbers were impossible to maintain. These last few years I’ve been working to breed a variation that’s less hard on our resources.”
For some reason, the more questions she asked, and the more he answered, well aware he was talking to someone with a brain filled with something other than just gossip and court intrigue, he found her more and more attractive.
Her beauty had stunned him from the start.
But her intelligence?
It floored him.
She was genuinely interested in his work. More than that, she was curious and eager to learn and understand. Had even made suggestions that made damn sense, when it came to his recent experimentation with effective and non-chemical pesticides.
After close to an hour of speaking on various matters, as well as his pet project—an organic fruit farm he was cultivating not far from here—he saw her yawn.
Disappointed, his tone was a little stiff as he murmured, “I’m sorry. I must be boring you.”
She scowled. “No! Not at all. Yours is the first decent conversation I’ve had all evening. I’m just…” She sighed. “I arrived this morning. So the jet lag’s fatal.”
His eyes flashed with regret. “I’m so sorry. Here I am, keeping you awake.”
“No, please, don’t apologize. I’ve really enjoyed it.” She smiled at him, and the smile lit her green eyes in a way that turned them into glinting amber.
Arousal sluggishly pulsed through his veins at her visceral response. Even innocent, it affected him like nothing else.
He got to his feet before he said or did something rash. “Let me escort you home.”
She shook her head. “That’s not necessary.” Her smile lessened the rejection as she took his hand and got to her feet. “I’m staying here.”
His back stiffened at her words. “You are?”
“I am.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“I’m here to work on Veronia’s environmental problems. I’m going to be spending the next month here, trying to ascertain the root causes of why the drought has hit the country so hard when rain levels haven’t dropped.”
“Poor infrastructure,” Xavier immediately retorted. “I’ve told the King’s advisors several times that the dams were not only poorly located but badly maintained. They leak more than they hold.”
Her eyes flashed with anger. “Really?” She gritted her teeth. “Well, don’t you worry.” Perry patted his hand. “I’ll make sure the King is aware of that.”
His lips twitched at the sudden appearance of the tigress before him. Quite certain Uncle Philippe was about to have an ear lashing, he murmured, “If you only arrived this morning, then you can’t know the palace well. Where are your quarters?”
She grimaced. “I don’t know. It’s called the Tulip Room. The maid told me to remember that and everyone on staff would be able to guide me back.”
His brows rose. She was in the private wing of the palace. Philippe must really be rolling out the red carpet for her…
He wondered why he hadn’t known of an environmental scientist making an appearance in their nation.
If anyone would be interested in that, it was him. Had his uncle kept it from him?
Xavier grimaced as he guided her off the terrace; it was far more likely he’d not been paying attention.
Politics bored him. To death.
“I know where your room is,” he advised her kindly, leading her through the palace’s many corridors and up several grand staircases to reach the private area of the palace. “I know this place like the back of my hand,” he told her.
“You do? It’s like a maze to me.” She shrugged. “But then, I’m used to a two-bedroom apartment.” Her snicker had him chuckling. “My lab back in Boston is big though, but it’s still smaller than this place.”
“I can believe it. I spent many nights here as a child though. Played in most of the rooms, even when I wasn’t supposed to.”
Her green eyes sparkled with merriment. “Really? It’s hard to imagine you as a child, Xavier.”
He laughed. “It is? Why?”
“I don’t know,” she said calmly, turning to look at a magnificent marble statue of Aphrodite flowing to shore on a clamshell. Á la Botticelli’s masterpiece. “You’re very serious. Somber, almost. It’s just hard to picture you as lighthearted as a child.”
He shrugged. “My responsibilities are numerous now. I don’t have it as easy as I did then.”
“True.” She smiled up at him. “We spend our teen years praying to be twenty-one, then we hit it, and wish all we had to worry about was homework and not getting detention.”
“I can’t imagine you were a troublemaker,” he chided as he guided her into the opulent, gilded hallway that put St. Catharine’s Palace in St. Petersburg to shame.
With its voluptuous molding and dreamy blue walls, it was the epitome of eighteenth-century splendor.
“No. I was a good girl,” she admitted with a wrinkle of her nose. “Boring.”
“That I also doubt,” he teased as they approached her bedroom door. With a gallant waft of his hand, he murmured, “Your quarters, milady.”
She laughed. “I’m no lady.”
Her words hit him with their rawness. He reached for her chin, held her in place as he stared straight into her eyes and murmured, “You are a true lady.”
She licked her lips in astonishment. “T-Thank you. That’s kind.”
He meant it.
He’d known Ladies of the Court all his life. This American commoner had more charm and class than those protocol-peddling jackals.
“You’re welcome. It’s the truth.”
She
placed her hand on his arm, her eyes still connected with his as she whispered, “I-I know it might seem forward, Xavier, but… would you like to come in for a drink?”
He tilted his head to the side. “You must be tired.”
“I am.” Her smile was rueful. “But I think I need a nightcap.”
Was she coming onto him or genuine in her need for company? It was her first night on foreign soil, and not just foreign soil… she was in a palace; one of the oldest palaces in Europe no less—some of the castle walls dated back to the eighth century.
“Of course. I’ll gladly keep you company.”
Her smile was relieved and all the more charming for it. She opened the door and slipped inside, letting him trail in after her.
It was called the Tulip Room based upon the over-flowing vases that dotted every surface of the room. The sweet, earthy scent permeated the very air. Staff members refilled the vases every few days with fresh tulips; varying in colors.
They were every-damn-where.
Something she’d shortly be changing, he hoped.
The idiots of the Royal household didn’t seem to realize how much water they wasted, or how large the carbon footprint was on each one of these damn posies.
Sure, they were gorgeous, but so was a wall full of cacti. And cacti were far better for the environment.
Although, the ‘Cacti Room’ didn’t pack the same punch, he supposed.
Otherwise, it was a rather grand stateroom, with a bed so large dynasties could and may well have been formed on its surface, a fireplace tall enough for him to stand in, and a small seating area overlooking a patio door that was a silent sentinel to the city in the distance.
She headed for the seating area, and waving a hand at him, invited him to sit down. “Brandy?” she asked, veering off course for the low dresser which contained a silver tray housing cut glass decanters.
“Please.”
As he took a seat, the only sounds in the room were that of the liquid trickling into the brandy glasses.
He thanked her when she handed him his, then grinned into his glass when she slipped out of her shoes and curled up on the sofa opposite him—he’d decided the armchair was safer.
For him or for her, he wasn’t sure yet.
“God, I’m glad I didn’t wear heels tonight.”
Her sigh was so loaded with relief, he had to smirk. “I can see that. I’m surprised they’re not glued to your feet. Most women wear them.”
She shot him a rueful look. “I’m not most women.” Perry took a sip of her brandy, and he watched as she took too large a mouthful, her eyes flaring wide in alarm, before she started coughing and spluttering.
It wasn’t very kind of him, but he chuckled at her as she clapped her chest.
“Jesus,” she wheezed. “What’s in that? Dynamite?”
“Probably the finest brandy from the Armagnac region,” he advised ruefully, studying her red eyes with amusement as she swiveled her head to gawk at him.
“You mean that’s good stuff? Hell, it tastes like rocket fuel.”
“Well, I can’t say if that’s true or not. Maybe that’s Elon Musk’s secret?” He raised a toast. “To brandy instead of diesel.”
She chuckled. “I’m not sure which would be worse for the environment.”
He winked, but grinned. Now she’d stopped spluttering, he could tell the brandy had worked its magic on her. She could sink a little deeper into the sofa and there was a calmness about her that relaxed even him.
She hadn’t exactly been agitated before, but he knew how jet lag worked.
It was like a long adrenaline spike. Out of nowhere, it could hit.
They sat in silence for a while. Xavier studying the brandy in his glass, comfortable not to speak. Perry studying him, equally content to stay quiet.
He knew her eyes were on him.
Knew it because he could feel her attention.
Had the brandy dropped her barriers? He couldn’t say.
She wasn’t drunk. But the jet lag with the brandy had probably combined to lower her inhibitions a tad. That was probably why he could sense her gaze on him.
It wasn’t in cool disinterest either. But warm regard.
His cock stiffened at her simple charms. She wasn’t direct. Wasn’t aggressive. If anything, she was the opposite.
Content to let the tension between them thicken without saying or doing a damn thing. Because he couldn’t be the only one feeling this, could he?
Thanks to an attraction that had started from a first glance, but that had developed thanks to a riveting conversation and mutual interest, it was like the air was clogged with desire because their attraction wasn’t singly faceted.
Deciding to see if he was right on the money, he flickered his glance toward her and saw her pupils were dilated. Her chest heaved a little with rapid breaths, and she had a rosy flush on her cheeks.
His hand clenched around his glass. “I should go.”
Distress had her mouth forming a perfect ‘o’ with those scrumptious pouty lips. “Go?”
“You’re tired, Perry,” he told her softly, swigging the rest of his brandy back. The burn had a kick to it, she was right about that, but it was a good kick.
What he needed if he was to leave this room and ignore the promise in her eyes.
Her sharp inhalation had his attention flickering to her. “What is it?”
“You don’t feel this?” she asked softly, a confused frown puckering her brow.
“Oh, no. I feel it.” His tone couldn’t have been more rueful if he’d tried. “But you’re exhausted from traveling, have had to attend a boring event, and just got kicked in the spleen by a rather potent liquor… I’m not about to take advantage of you.”
She stunned the hell out of him by licking her lips, and whispering, “What a shame. Because I want to take advantage of you.”
Chapter Four
Where those words came from, Perry would never know.
Anger at George for abandoning her at the event? The burn of the brandy which made her chest ache with its potency while setting fire to her blood? Or the bizarre fact that every single one of the DeSauvier heirs was so sinfully handsome? God had to have been playing a joke on womankind the day he produced them.
She’d never acted like this before.
Had never even contemplated a one-night stand, but tonight? The devil was at her heels.
His nostrils flared at her challenge. “We should talk about this in the morning.”
Her courage, liquid or otherwise, would have disappeared by then. And this handsome beast of a man, a freaking Duke no less, wanted her.
She was useless with anything with XY chromosomes, but even she could see the desire he felt for her. Maybe that wouldn’t last the night. Maybe his ‘brandy’ goggles would have evaporated by then. All she knew was this had to happen tonight.
Before he could do little more than tense, she sat up and tilting to the side, began to unfasten the zip at the side of her bodice.
It sat snugly under her arm, so damn snugly she’d wanted to castrate George, yet again, for picking something so goddamn small.
How difficult was it to buy a large anyway? It said the size on the label, for God’s sake!
This had to be a medium. Maybe even a small. She’d barely squeezed into the stupid thing earlier, and as she unfastened the zipper, as the teeth released, she wanted to sigh in relief.
Not that that would be sexy, of course. And sexy, or an attempt at it, was her current MO.
With each inch, she could breathe easier, and though she wanted to suck in a deep gulp of air, she couldn’t. Not with Xavier looking on.
Who named their kids that, anyway?
Xavier.
What kind of woman put their son out there with a name that was going to drive the rest of her sex wild?
Surely it was just cruel.
Her bottom lip pouted as the top of the bustier sagged down, revealing the bra set that George had also
taken upon himself to pack for her.
It was a bra with a strange kind of decoration under the underwire. The bra didn’t end there, but a few inches along her rib cage.
The black lace was delicate enough to not have her feeling too mortified by the notion of George sending someone out to buy this stuff for her.
She was just pleased to feel the sexy lace against her skin, especially when Xavier’s brown eyes looked as though they were on fire.
Just like his cousins, Xavier was gorgeous.
Where they were chestnut and dark blonde, he was close to auburn. But it was so dark, truly it was more russet. Dark brown highlights outweighed the red, but it was prominent enough to glint in the light.
His eyes were smoky green, like hers really, and his mouth was made for kissing.
He had a bold nose, a jaw like granite, and a wide brow that puckered when he frowned. He wasn’t frowning now though.
Edward was Crown Prince, but somehow, Xavier was more serious. As Crown Prince, she didn’t even have a damn clue what kind of responsibilities the man would have, but Xavier looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
She ran her hands over her breasts, as she looked him up and down hungrily.
Like the rest of the men at the event, he wore a tuxedo. The white, gently ruched shirt lay flat against his stomach. He broke protocol by not wearing a bowtie unlike the rest. He just had the top button open, revealing a shadow of hair at the throat.
His tux fit him like a glove while somehow making him look bigger. Stronger. Taller.
From the top of his head to the soles of his feet, he was as polished as George and Edward, but he had more rawness about him.
She knew George and Edward didn’t mind playing the game. They’d been born for it. But Xavier minded.
He minded a lot.
He didn’t want to be here tonight. Not at the palace anyway. Her bedroom, on the other hand, she figured he was A-Okay being here if the inferno blazing across the room was any indication.
She sucked in a shaky breath as she squeezed her breast through the delicate lace, and he licked his lips.
“Perry,” he warned.
Perry and Her Princes (Kingdom of Veronia Book 1) Page 4
