Pippa would keep things safe.
And there was another niggle.
Pippa was gorgeous.
So what?
So he wanted to kiss her. He’d already kissed her and it had felt excellent. He wanted, quite desperately, to kiss her again.
Which was dumb. Even one kiss was dumb. Even though for him it had been a light-hearted bit of fun-it must have been-she might not have thought of it as that.
Of course she had. She’d giggled. She’d ruffled his hair then as she’d ruffle one of the kids’ hair. She was beginning to hold him in some sort of affection, he thought. She was starting to think of him as family.
Which was good.
Except…did he want her to see him as family? Even that was too close. She’d bulldozed him into staying here for a month and that was a month too long.
He should telephone his mother and let her know what was happening.
Not yet, he thought. He needed to get things sorted first.
What sorted?
It was his thoughts that needed sorting, he decided. His normally razor-sharp intellect was fogged with one sprite of a red-headed woman in soggy jeans and with a bare midriff.
A red-headed woman…
‘Excuse me, sir.’ He’d been walking up the vast steps to the castle entrance, but as soon as he walked through the doors he found a deputation waiting. Two footmen, carrying boxes. One ancient retainer in topcoat and tails. ‘Can you spare a moment?’
He stopped and frowned. ‘You are?’
‘I’m Blake, sir,’ the man said, in the country’s mix of French and Italian but with a heavy English accent. ‘I was valet to the last prince, and to his father before him.’
‘The devil you are.’ Max’s eyebrows rose. ‘They really had valets?’
‘Yes, Your Highness. I knew your mother,’ he added gently. ‘And your father.’
‘Right.’ Max had his measure now and he’d recalled information he’d read just that afternoon. The castle was full of people like Blake. Blake had been on the castle payroll for sixty years, but the death of the last prince had left no provision for retirement. Long-serving staff had been paid peanuts for years. Unless they stayed working here they’d be destitute.
He’d get reparation under way tomorrow, he thought, watching the old man take one of the parcels from the footman. His hands were shaking as if he had early Parkinson’s.
‘This is your dress regalia,’ the old man said, handling the box with reverence. ‘When you flew in before going to Australia you left some clothes behind and we took the liberty of taking measurements and having this made. It would mean a lot to the staff if you were to wear it tonight, the first night of the new order in this Court. Your Highness.’
He lifted the lid with reverence and held it out.
Max stared at Blake. Then he stared down at the box as if he’d just been handed a box of scorpions.
‘Dress regalia.’
‘As befits the Prince…Regent. You know, we were concerned that the monarchy would disintegrate,’ Blake explained. ‘But today there’s been children’s laughter on the lawn and it’s not just the staff who are deeply thankful. It’s all of the country. But this little prince is only eight years old. We’re not so foolish that we think he can possibly rule. You’ve agreed to be Prince Regent and that means for the next thirteen years you’re the country’s ruler.’ He hesitated. ‘As you should be,’ he added softly. ‘Starting tonight.’
‘No, I-’
‘Levout says you’ll be a puppet ruler,’ the old man said, more softly this time, so softly that the two footmen behind him couldn’t hear. ‘We desperately don’t want that to happen.’
‘I’ll stay in control from a distance.’
‘From France?’
‘Yes.’
The man’s rheumy old eyes misted. ‘Sir, that won’t work.’
‘Of course it will work.’
‘This country needs you. For measures to be put in place…well, the people in charge here have been in charge for a very long time.’
‘I’ll be in close contact.’
‘Your Highness…’ The man fell silent. There was laughter from outside. Max looked out to where Pippa and the kids were collecting their clothes in readiness to come inside. The children were playing some sort of keepings-off game, and clothes were going everywhere. Pippa was dodging about on the grass, barefooted, laughing, grabbing Marc and hauling him up to whiz him round and round until he shrieked with delight, then setting him down and chasing a chortling twin.
They’d been here for less than a day. They’d changed the castle.
Could he walk away?
‘She’ll love it,’ he said softly and the old man followed his gaze.
‘She has enough responsibility in looking after the children.’ It was almost reproof.
‘There are people here who’ll help her.’
‘Are you saying you want her to take over the administration?’
‘There’s not that much administration.’
‘If you please, Your Highness-’
‘Don’t call me Your Highness. And he’ll gain a crown.’ Max was watching Marc duck away from Pippa with a shriek of laughter. ‘It’s not as if he’s getting nothing.’
‘No, sir. Marc will gain a crown. The little girls will be princesses. What will your position be?And what will Miss Pippa get?’
Max’s gaze swivelled to stare at him. He’d never met this man until tonight. ‘You know nothing of this,’ he snapped.
‘No, sir,’ the man agreed. ‘I’m only…your valet. And an old friend to your mother. But you do need to make a statement tonight to the castle and to the press. We’re suggesting a photo opportunity in the great hall after dinner.’
‘A photo opportunity?’
‘Mr Levout said we need no such thing,’ he said. ‘But we need…the country needs a statement that things are changing.’ He motioned to the magnificent clothes. ‘We need an official prince.’
‘You really want me to dress up?’
‘Do you have a choice, sir?’
‘Of course I-’
‘Do you want the press agreeing with Levout that nothing will change?’
‘Dammit…We can’t have a photo session without warning Pippa.’
‘Shall we make it tomorrow?’
‘Three or four days,’ he snapped. ‘Maybe Thursday.’
‘Very well, Your Highness,’ the old man said, smiling. ‘I’ll let the appropriate people know that there’ll be an official photograph session on Thursday. But meanwhile I hope you’ll wear this uniform tonight, to give Levout the appropriate message.’
‘I-’
‘He’ll be in ceremonial dress,’ Blake said smoothly. ‘I imagine he’ll want to put you on the back step.’
‘Dammit…’
‘I’ll be in your room in an hour to help you dress,’ Blake said gently. ‘It will be an honour. Your Highness.’
This wasn’t right.
She stared at the vast dressing room mirror. Her reflection came back at her from six directions.
Freckles. Coppery curls but short. Snub nose and freckles. Black skirt to her knees. Pink twin-set that had seen better days. Sensible shoes.
Yuk.
She dusted her freckles until they disappeared, stared at herself some more, wiped off too much face powder and saw her freckles emerge again. She grimaced and went into the bedroom.
Beatrice was there. The oldest housemaid. House-matron, Pippa thought. Calling her a housemaid was ridiculous.
She was sitting on the edge of the bed. The kids were curled up under sumptuous covers, waiting to be told a story.
‘I should stay,’ she said. ‘The kids are still awake.’
‘We’re good,’ Sophie said cheerfully. ‘Dolores is asleep under the bed and Beattie’s going to tell us a story.’
‘Just like our grandma did,’ Marc added shyly.
‘I know a lot of stories,’ Beatrice said and sm
iled at her. ‘Go on with you. We know where you are if we need you.’
‘In the dining room.’
‘The state dining room,’ Beatrice corrected her. ‘There are six dining rooms.’
‘And the state dining room…’
‘Is the biggest?’
Pippa took a deep breath. ‘Why the biggest? Why tonight?’
‘We’re all wanting to make a statement to Mr Levout,’ she said simply. ‘That there’s a new royal family in this palace.’ She checked Pippa’s dress out and her nose wrinkled. ‘My dear, have you nothing more…formal?’
‘No,’ Pippa said bluntly. ‘But I’m not actually family. It doesn’t matter.’
‘No,’ Beatrice said doubtfully. ‘But the Prince Maxsim-’
‘Won’t be dressed up,’ Pippa said. ‘He knows the limitations of my wardrobe. He wouldn’t dare.’
She was just a little bit…wrong?
Pippa came down the vast stone staircase, her exploration with the kids holding her in good stead. An ancient butler-the average age of these retainers must be about ninety!-was waiting for her. He swept open the huge double doors into the state dining room. She trod over the threshold and she stopped dead.
Tassles. Sword. Medallions.
Max.
She forgot to breathe.
She’d never seen anything more gorgeous. His Royal Highness, Maxsim de Gautier, Prince Regent of Alp d’Estella.
His suit was jet-black, and it fitted him like a glove. There was a touch of white at his throat and at his wrists, accentuating his tan, the darkness of his eyes and his deep black hair. A vast array of medals and insignia was arranged across his breast. A purple sash slashed across his chest. There were gold tassels on his shoulder-epaulets? There was a braided gold cord on the opposite shoulder to his sash, and another tassel at his hip.
He was wearing a sword.
She had to breathe. She told herself that. Okay, breathe. You can do this.
He took a step towards her and smiled and she forgot to breathe all over again.
‘Phillippa…’
It was a couple of moments before she figured out how her voice worked. He was waiting for her to respond. He’d called her Phillippa.
He’d set this up. This formal situation, this amazing dress…
For a girl in a pink twin-set.
‘You rat,’ she managed at last. ‘You bottom-feeding pond scum.’
He blinked. ‘Pardon?’
‘I’m wearing my church clothes,’ she wailed. ‘My Sunday best for Tanbarook. What do you think you’re doing?’
‘Phillippa, here’s Mr Levout.’
They weren’t alone. For the first time she realised there was another man present-Carver Levout. Like Max, Levout was also in ceremonial regalia. He looked a lot less impressive than Max, but a million times more impressive than Pippa.
One of the buttons had fallen off her cardigan during transit. Pippa had decided since she couldn’t find it she’d leave her cardigan open and hope no one would notice. Levout noticed. He stared pointedly at the gap where the button should be, and it was all Pippa could do not to run.
‘She’s a real provincial,’ the man said in his own language to Max, crossing the room to take her hand in his. ‘What a drab mouse. Shouldn’t we be feeding her in the servants’ quarters? She’d be much more comfortable.’ He smiled and raised her hand to his lips. ‘Charming,’ he said in English and then reverted to his own language to add, ‘How the hell are we going to cope with her in the public eye? She’ll have to be seen as the nanny.’
There was a deathly hush. Levout looked suddenly uncomfortable. Maybe he guessed…Forget guessing. It was time he knew. ‘Then we’re four provincials together,’ she said, sweetly in his language. ‘Marc and Sophie and Claire and me. Plus our dog. Provincials all.’
Levout stared. Then he flushed. It was no wonder he’d assumed she wouldn’t speak this language. How many people did? ‘Mademoiselle, I’m devastated,’ he started.
‘You’re also excessively rude. Both of you.’
Max said nothing. He stood in front of the mantel, quietly watchful.
She ignored him. Or she pretended to ignore him. She’d never seen a man in a dress sword…
Concentrate on something else, she told herself fiercely. Like the table. The mahogany table was twelve feet long and it was so highly polished she could see her face in the wood. There was a place laid at the head. There were two places set on either side, halfway down. The cutlery was ornate silverware, each piece a work of art in its own right. There were, she counted, six crystal glasses by each plate. An epergne was set in the middle of the table, silver and gold, all crouching tigers and jungle foliage.
‘Goodness,’ Pippa said faintly. ‘This is amazing. I’m amazed.’ But then she shrugged. She still carefully didn’t look at Max but addressed herself instead to his companion. ‘I’m not welcome here,’ she said. ‘You’ve made that clear. You guys can play fancy dress by yourselves. I’m going to the kitchen to see if I can find myself a vegemite sandwich.’
‘Pippa…’ Max said.
‘Yeah, I’m Pippa,’ she said. ‘If you wanted Phillippa you should have given me warning, but what you see is what you get. See you later.’ She turned and swept out of the room with as much dignity as a girl in a twin-set with a missing button could muster.
Max caught her before she’d taken half a dozen steps across the hall. He seized her by her shoulders and turned her to face him.
She was furious. It didn’t take a clairvoyant to see that. Her eyes were bright and wide, and there was a spot of burning crimson on each cheek.
She turned but she didn’t react. She had her arms tightly folded across her breasts.
‘Let me go,’ she muttered and she took a step backwards, tugging away.
He released her. ‘Pip, I’m sorry.’
‘What the hell were you thinking?’
‘I don’t-’
‘There’s no need to try and show me up,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve never denied I’m a provincial.’ She took a deep breath and tilted her chin. ‘I’m even proud of it.’
‘You’re not a provincial.’
‘Oh, sure. Max, I’m a child of a single mother. I’ve scraped a living as best I could. For the last four years I’ve worked as a navvy on a farm.’ She held out her hands, showing work-worn fingers with nails that were cracked and stained. ‘I’m illegitimate poor trash and I bet he knows it. I bet you’ve told him.’
‘I haven’t. And there’s no need to be melodramatic.’
‘Says the prince with a dress sword,’ she said scornfully. ‘I’ve never seen such a melodramatic outfit in my life.’
‘It is, rather,’ he said ruefully and stared down at his costume. ‘Do you know these pants have fifteen buttons?’
‘Fifteen…’ Momentarily distracted, she stared at the line of buttons leading from groin to hip. ‘Wow.’
‘It took me three minutes to do them up,’ he said. ‘Honest to God.’
She shook her head, dragging her gaze away with difficulty. He was all too good at distracting her. The man was too distracting altogether. ‘So you’ve achieved what?’ she demanded, a trifle breathlessly. ‘By doing up fifteen buttons?’
‘Believe it or not, I’ve made an old man happy.’
‘Levout?’
‘There’s no way I’ll make him happy. He’s nervous as hell. What he’s just heard has made him even more nervous and what I set in motion in the next few days will give him a palsy stroke. But my valet-’
‘Your valet!’
‘Ridiculous or not, I have a valet. He’s eighty-four. He and the rest of the servants organised this outfit specially and they’d have been desperately hurt if I hadn’t worn it tonight. As would the team of people who worked their butts off to get it ready for me. It’s amazing.’
‘Amazing,’ she agreed and tried to turn away again.
He caught her and twisted her back to face him. ‘Pippa, you mus
t see how desperate these people are for reassurance. All these people. The royal household and the outside community. This place is a microcosm of the country. We’re important.’
‘You’re important,’ she snapped. ‘Not me. I’m a provincial.’
‘Will you leave it?’
‘Not the least bit of warning?’ she demanded, still fixated on her missing button. ‘No, Pippa, you might want to think about what you’re wearing tonight ’ cos I’m coming in fancy dress?’
‘I thought if I told you what I was wearing you wouldn’t come at all. And I didn’t know what I was wearing last time I saw you. I’d have had to send a message to the nursery.’
‘Or come yourself. It wouldn’t be so impossible.’
‘I won’t come to the nursery.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t intend to spend any more time with you than I must.’
Um…maybe that wasn’t the wisest thing to say, he thought. He reran the words in his head. Nope, that hadn’t sounded good. It had been a really dumb thing to say.
Just because it was true…
The color had drained from Pippa’s face. ‘What do you mean?’ she said at last and he spread his hands.
Okay, maybe it had to be faced. ‘Hell, Pippa, you know what I mean. This thing between us…’
‘What thing?’
‘I shouldn’t have kissed you on the plane.’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘At least we agree on that.’
‘I don’t want to give you any ideas.’
Her jaw dropped. ‘Of…of all the conceit,’ she stammered. ‘And so unnecessary. Provincials don’t have any ideas. You of all people should know that. After all, you’ve been mixing with me for days. Of all the arrogant, mean-minded, conceited, over-dressed popinjays-’
‘Popinjays?’
‘I read it somewhere,’ she snapped. ‘It’s what you are.’
‘Levout will be listening to every word.’
‘Really?’ She raised her voice.
‘Look, it was your idea that I stay here. Not mine.’
‘Don’t you dare do this to me.’
‘Dare do what?’
‘Take my concern for the children as some sort of interest in you. I don’t want you here. Your presence, however, guarantees security for Marc and Sophie and Claire. You go, then we go. But you’re right. We needn’t spend any more time together than we must. Not because I just might jump you, Maxsim de Gautier, but because I might slap your handsome, arrogant face.’
The Prince’s Outback Bride Page 12
