The Princess and the Duke

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  “Of course I want grandchildren. More than that, though, I’d like to see my children happily married.” Marissa gently patted Meredith’s hand where it rested on the linen-covered table. “Actually, Gwen tells me that, though Anastasia shared a dance with Colonel Prescott, it was you he was looking rather cozy with on the terrace last evening.”

  Meredith flushed. She should have known her mother’s dearest friend would tell her about that. “We were sharing a dance.”

  “Of course, dear.”

  Her cheeks felt even hotter. “That’s all it was.”

  “Yes.” Marissa, utterly unperturbed by her daughter’s consternation, tilted the teapot over her cup, topping off the perfect brew. “A simple dance. Nothing more. I understand completely.” She dribbled a small amount of milk in her cup, gave one swirl with a silver spoon and set the spoon smoothly on the saucer.

  Her mother’s tea routine never changed, Meredith thought, vaguely soothed by the normalcy of it.

  Her soothed senses were jogged when her mother said blandly, “Colonel Prescott cuts quite a figure in his uniform, doesn’t he.”

  “Mother!”

  Marissa smiled, her eyes glinting with a mischief reserved only for her children. “Well? I do have eyes, darling.”

  “Yes, you do. Eyes of the most beautiful robin’s egg blue,” a voice said from the door.

  Both women turned, looking with surprise at the King who was standing there with a faint smile on his handsome face.

  “Morgan.” Marissa rose to fetch a cup and saucer from the sideboard. “I thought you’d already gone this morning.”

  The King sauntered into the room, his hazel eyes lingering on Marissa as she handed him his tea. “I thought I’d have breakfast with my wife.” He brushed his thumb down Marissa’s smooth cheek in a decidedly lingering way.

  Meredith stared hard into her cup. It was better than staring hard at her father. There was no doubt in her mind that her father and mother loved each other despite the fact that their marriage had been an arranged one. Yet visible displays of affection, even within the privacy of the family and the confines of their residence, were few and far between.

  The caress seemed to fluster Marissa, as well, Meredith noted. She might be twenty-eight years old, but she absolutely was not accustomed to seeing her father flirt with her mother. She just wasn’t. It was, well, embarrassing. Which made her feel all of ten years old again when she’d first learned the facts of life. “I’ve got to run,” she announced brightly.

  “You didn’t eat a thing.” Her mother turned toward her, chiding. A queen she may be, but she still fussed over her brood.

  To satisfy Marissa, Meredith grabbed a piece of toast from the basket on the table and tucked it between her teeth as she gathered her briefcase and purse.

  “Meredith.” The King shook his head slightly and sat at the head of the table. “Really.”

  With her hands free again, she removed the toast from her mouth. “I’ve got to run by Penwyck Memorial to pick up some stuff for the children’s center opening.”

  “See you at dinner?”

  “Of course.” Meredith smiled at her mother, though it felt a little forced. Where else would she be? She hadn’t had cause to have dinner out in ages unless it was for some official function.

  Then, disgusted with her wave of self-pity, she hurried out to the drive where her car was waiting. Pitching her handfuls onto the seat beside her, she slid into the little roadster and set off with a roar of the engine.

  Oh, she really did loathe being late.

  The thought was still circling in her head an hour later when she finally sailed through the secured entrance of the Royal Intelligence Institute.

  The sight of her secretary sitting behind the reception desk brought her up short. “Lillian, how many years of newspapers do we have on record?”

  “Two years on paper. Twenty on microfilm.”

  Meredith nodded. Perfect. Juggling the strap of her briefcase and her narrow envelope purse, she stopped at the coffee stand and filled her cup, overflowing it on the first try and burning her thumb.

  Lillian half jumped from her post at Meredith’s gasp. “Are you all right?”

  Meredith waved her back. Her mind still seemed to be barely firing, and she had a vicious headache. “Just clumsy. I hate being late.”

  “I hardly think anyone will fire you for a few minutes,” Lillian said dryly.

  Meredith smiled. Lillian was correct, of course. No one at the Royal Intelligence Institute would dream of commenting over her tardiness. But Meredith took pride in being well qualified for her position. She took pride in doing well.

  Which did not include strolling into the office forty-seven minutes late. She should probably have given tea with her mother a miss. That would have shaved off about ten minutes, at least.

  “Is there something you’d like me to retrieve for you?”

  Meredith dragged her thoughts together with an effort. The newspapers. “Oh, no, Lillian. I can do it. Just something I’m sort of curious about.”

  “You’re certain it isn’t this you’re curious about?” Lillian held out her issue of that day’s paper. The front page was consumed with coverage of Megan’s wedding. A dozen photos, at least, followed the headlines, many of them not focused on the bridal couple at all.

  Anastasia and Owen commandeered their share of pictures, and Meredith—well, Meredith was caught boldly in the act of kissing Pierceson Prescott during the wedding ceremony. Next to that damning photo was a long-distance shot of her standing on the terrace alongside him, their hands very nearly touching atop the stone ledge. The captions beneath the pair of photos speculated whether the eldest princess was contemplating romance with the elusive Duke of Aronleigh.

  “Darned long-distance lenses,” Meredith murmured, and tucked the newspaper in her briefcase. She was used to seeing her photograph in newspapers. Whether she liked it or not, it was part and parcel of who she was. But on top of her mother’s comments earlier, it seemed harder to take than usual. And what idiot had allowed cameras to be part of the wedding ceremony, anyway? Was nothing sacred anymore?

  She realized her secretary was watching her curiously. “I want to look up the accounts of my uncle’s death,” she admitted, scrambling for composure.

  “Something in particular you’re looking for?”

  “No.” Meredith smiled at the woman and turned to head up the corridor to the left of reception. “Nothing in particular.” Technically, Lillian was Meredith’s secretary, and she could easily have been put on the little project. But it was only Meredith’s curiosity that was spurring on the interest, and it seemed silly to have one of the staff devote their work time to it. Aside from which, Lillian already had extra duties on her plate as she had been filling in for the regular receptionist who was away on honeymoon.

  Everyone seemed to be marrying, lately.

  The thought snuck in, adding to the throb in Meredith’s temples. She stopped and turned. “Have we received any more RSVPs for the Horizons event?”

  The woman nodded, reaching for the subtly buzzing telephone as she held out a computerized list. “The latest,” she mouthed before greeting the telephone caller.

  Meredith took the list and hurried on her way. Her briefcase flapped against her hip, and her purse strap was slipping from her shoulder, making her wish she’d gone to her office before getting the coffee.

  She rounded the last corner toward her office and nearly skidded to a halt at the surprising sight of Pierce, Admiral Harrison Monteque of the royal navy and Cole Everson, who was head of the RII, leaving Cole’s office and heading straight toward her.

  Neither Harrison nor Cole gave Meredith so much as a glance as they neared.

  Her office was at one end of the hall, Cole’s at the other. The colonel, however, looked at her without seeming to take his attention from his companions in the least.

  That one look, brief though it was, made Meredith want to smooth a nerv
ous hand over her hair. To tug at the hem of her suit jacket. To fuss with her appearance in the way women for centuries had fussed when certain men looked their way.

  Fortunately, her hands were already too full, so she couldn’t embarrass herself any more than necessary. She juggled her briefcase and her purse and managed to unlock her office door.

  But then the trio passed beside her. And she had to turn to face them. She greeted Cole and the admiral, who both nodded politely, if rather absently, as they continued on their way.

  And Pierce, well, Pierce looked her right in the eye and wished her a good morning. Then he caught the weight of her briefcase before she managed to spill her coffee right down the front of her suit. “You need another hand,” he said.

  What she needed was her head examined. Because the pleasure sweeping through her at seeing him was completely insane.

  The colonel followed her through the doorway, and her spacious office suddenly felt confining. He set her briefcase on the corner of her pristine, glass-topped desk. She murmured her thanks, fully expecting him to take his leave. She could hear the other men’s voices carrying as they headed down the corridor.

  But Pierce didn’t leave. “Nice office,” he said, looking around.

  She set her coffee cup on the desk with only a small rattle. Her office was identical to at least a dozen others in the complex. The only difference being that she’d brought in her own decorator for her office. And she’d paid for it out of her own pocket. Something that she’d often felt compelled to point out when some individuals commented on her supposed special treatment. “Thank you.” She sat in her desk chair and, feeling more herself, looked at the Colonel.

  He had fresh lines fanning from the corners of his eyes, she thought. Impossibly attractive. Yet she could tell he was as tired as she felt.

  “What brings you to the RII?”

  “A meeting.”

  “I sort of gathered that,” she said dryly. She didn’t take offense at the inscrutable answer. The RII was often involved in highly classified projects. Unless it directly involved the royal family, she was perfectly content in being left out of those numerous loops.

  “How is your head?”

  She felt her cheeks heat and cursed her fair skin. “Pained,” she admitted ruefully. “It’s the bubbles, I’ve decided. Sparkling wine always gives me a headache.”

  “Ought to stick to the unbubbled kind.”

  Lillian entered the room, and Meredith abruptly realized she was leaning on her arms toward him across the desk, smiling broadly. She hastily sat back, adjusting her expression.

  Lillian looked at Pierce. “Pardon my interruption, Your Grace,” she said, looking a little flustered at finding him in Meredith’s office. She turned quickly to Meredith and handed her a small cartridge. “I pulled the film from ten years ago,” she said efficiently.

  Meredith thanked her and set the tape aside, barely noticing when her secretary left just as quickly and quietly as she’d entered.

  “What’s interesting about ten years ago?”

  Meredith dragged her eyes from the very excellent cut of Pierce’s khaki uniform. Or, more likely, the very excellent cut of the man beneath the uniform. It was no wonder Lillian had been a little flustered. Pierceson Prescott could have that affect on anyone. “My uncle’s death,” she said absently. Did she know anyone who looked as good in a uniform as did Pierce?

  “Why?”

  She focused a little. Picked up the microfilm cartridge and turned it over in her fingers. “Well, actually, it was something you said yesterday.”

  “Me?” He looked disbelieving.

  “You know. About how I must have hardly known the man and all that. And truthfully, I don’t know the details of my uncle’s death. Not really. I’d just gone away for university. I know as much about Penwyck’s place in the world—economically, politically and socially—as it is possible to know, but when it comes to my own family…” She shrugged.

  “Ask your father.”

  “I will. If I feel the need. But I’d just as soon not trouble him with questions while he’s so consumed with the alliances. And I don’t necessarily want to ask my mother. I don’t want to bring back bad memories for her. I’d just like to understand better what occurred. I feel as if I should know more. Does that make sense?”

  He made a noncommittal sound.

  Well, no matter. She would do what she wanted whether it made sense to anyone else or not. She propped her elbow on the desk and looked at him. “You know, Colonel, this is the most I—we’ve seen of you, well, ever. Two days in a row.” Her fingertips tapped her chin. “It’s almost enough to make a person suspicious.”

  He leaned his hip against the corner of her desk, looking utterly masculine and entirely at ease. “Because I had a meeting here this morning?” A faint smile flirted with his mobile lips. “I think lack of sleep is affecting your levels of paranoia, Your Royal Highness.”

  Paranoia? Hardly. She only wished that seeing him twice in as many days had something to do with her personally. But she knew better.

  Her gaze drifted from his long legs, over the way his uniform hugged his strong thighs and narrow hips. She was not prone to visualizing men without their clothes, but she realized with a mortifying flush that she was doing just that with the colonel.

  And wouldn’t her mother have a field day with that knowledge if she ever learned of it?

  It must be a hangover from the champagne, she thought rather desperately. Champagne always had given her an aching head. And last night she’d consumed more than her share.

  Meredith had no time for the frivolities of her set. She loathed the propensity for idle hands of some of the rich. She’d never gone in for the excesses of drink, the stupidity of drugs, or the mindless pursuit of as many bedmates as humanly possible.

  Yet last night, she’d nearly drunk herself into oblivion. All because she’d been vilely envious of sweet Juliet Oxford’s ability to get the colonel out on the dance floor.

  Pierce hadn’t danced with Juliet on the terrace. The thought snuck in, but Meredith resolutely ignored it. The colonel’s behavior the previous evening was as much a departure from the norm as was hers.

  She deliberately gathered her scattered thoughts. “You were around ten years ago,” she said. “What do you remember about my uncle’s death?”

  Pierce studied Meredith’s lovely face. The morning sun shining through the windows of her office ought to have illuminated any imperfections.

  There were none. Only the clear deep green of her eyes as she watched him. There was nothing casual in her gaze, though her relaxed position behind her desk would have said there should be. He wasn’t sure if he preferred that close look of hers or the other look. The one where she sort of focused somewhere around his ear or his chin. Looking at him without really looking at him.

  If she looked too close, he was afraid she’d see straight through him.

  Pierce was a strong man. With strong values, strong beliefs. But he wasn’t sure he was strong enough for Meredith to see the truth inside him. At least when he held her at bay, he could be assured that she’d never know the worst. Never know him for exactly what he was.

  “Colonel?”

  The last time she’d used his given name, she’d been seventeen. Eleven years of wanting to see her soft lips form his name. Eleven years of wanting to hear it.

  God. If this was what he got like after a sleepless night, maybe he was getting old.

  He straightened from the desk. “There was an incident on Majorco. Edwin got caught in the crossfire.”

  “The wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Basically.”

  She rubbed her fingertip against the bridge of her nose. “And the perpetrators? The people who killed my uncle. They were never found.”

  Pierce looked out the window, staring at the thick trees surrounding the building without really seeing them. The Royal Intelligence Institute was a jewel in the crown of Penwyck. It
was world-renowned for its leading-edge research in fields from medicine to economics to music.

  All of which had nothing to do with Meredith’s comment.

  “No.” He turned to face her. “Edwin’s killer was never found.”

  Chapter Six

  Meredith sat back in her chair, folding her hands. He has that look again, she thought. What is it that bothers you about my uncle? She wanted to ask him. Would have asked him, if they’d had some semblance of comfort between them.

  Instead, she dropped her hand on the computer printout for the children’s center event. “It looks as if we’ll be bursting at the seams at the opening of Horizons next weekend.” She flipped the printout around so he could see the lengthy list. “Would you like to see it?”

  He picked it up, glancing over it. “Valdosta’s name is on here.”

  “He’s a benefactor of the hospital, and the hospital is partnering with us to establish the center. Of course he’ll be there.”

  “He’ll be there because you’re there,” Pierce said flatly, and slid the report to her over the slick surface of the desk. “Watch out for him.”

  “George?” Meredith’s eyebrows shot up. “Please. He’s thoroughly harmless.”

  “Yes, if he isn’t liquored like he was last night. Or perhaps I should say this morning. What would you have done if I hadn’t come by when I did?”

  “Kicked him in the shin as I was considering doing when you appeared. I haven’t reached the age of twenty-eight without learning how to take care of myself, Colonel.”

  “Yes, Your Royal Highness,” he said blandly. “I could see that last night.”

  Irritation tickled at her spine. “Last night, I was darling.”

  “Excuse me?”

  She had a headache. A mountain of work awaited her attention. The smart thing would be to end the conversation immediately and get to her duties. So why was she rising? Circling her desk and going to stand by him?

  “Darling,” she said softly. “You called me darling last night when you got rid of George. As if you were staking your claim.”