The Prince’s Outback Bride

by Marion Lennox

  ‘Hello? I’m right here,’ Pippa said, but she was ignored.

  ‘Pippa has authority to spend as much as she pleases,’ Max snapped.

  ‘The old prince never gave carte blanche to any of his servants.’

  ‘Pippa is not a servant,’ he roared, in a voice that startled them all. A toddler, being pushed in a stroller nearby, started to cry.

  ‘What is she, then?’ Daniella asked, looking at Pippa as if she were pond scum. Well, she had seen her in her bargain-basement knickers, Pippa conceded. She just knew Daniella wore kinky lace. But she couldn’t get a word in edgeways.

  ‘She’s Pippa,’ Max said through gritted teeth. ‘She’s part of the new order of things, so you’d better get used to it.’

  They were building an audience. The players from the hall emerged as well. They’d obviously watched them leave and the sound of Max’s roar had been just too enticing. They were crowding onto the pavement to watch.

  ‘Pippa needs a tiara if she’s going to be part of the royal family,’ the wardrobe mistress called. ‘Come back and I’ll find you one.’

  ‘No, thanks,’ Pippa called. ‘It wouldn’t be seemly.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be seemly?’ Max demanded. ‘Why can’t you have a tiara?’

  Pippa blinked, thrown off stride. ‘I’d look ridiculous.’

  ‘I’ll buy you a tiara.’

  ‘You do that,’ the wardrobe mistress called. ‘She should have a real tiara. Everyone says she loves the new little prince to bits.’

  ‘But she’s not part of the royal family,’ Daniella snapped.

  ‘Your part of the royal family is dead and gone,’ one of the players called. ‘The Levouts’ time is finished.’ Then, as Max and Pippa looked confused, he explained. ‘She’s Carver Levout’s mistress. She thinks she’s royal herself.’

  Suddenly the atmosphere was nasty.

  ‘Can we get out of here?’ Pippa asked and Max nodded and held the car door open.

  ‘We need to go,’ he called. ‘Thanks for your help with the dress.’

  ‘Who helped with the dress?’ Daniella demanded, white-faced. Maybe she was realising she was missing out on a commission she just might need in the future.

  ‘We did,’ the wardrobe mistress called. ‘Ooh, it’s lovely. She’s going to look really royal.’

  ‘Especially beside him,’ one of the players added. ‘What a hunk.’

  ‘They make a lovely couple,’ the wardrobe mistress said mistily. ‘A real royal couple.’

  ‘We’re leaving,’ Max said, revolted, and slipped into the driver’s seat beside her. He gunned his little car into life, but they were surrounded by players, smiling and laughing and edging Daniella out of the picture.

  ‘We’re so glad you’re here,’ was the general message, though it came in many shapes and forms.

  Max nosed the car forward.

  ‘A real family,’ the wardrobe mistress sighed.

  ‘Levout’s day is over,’ someone else called. ‘As of next Friday,’ they yelled. ‘We’re aching to see Levout’s face when those documents are finally signed.’

  They drove in silence. Pippa stared straight ahead, her face expressionless.

  Max was feeling ill.

  What was happening here? Why was it such a mess?

  He had to get back to Paris.

  It had taken him twenty hard years to get where he was now, he thought dully. Some said he’d been lucky, and that was true. His former boss had been a fantastic craftsman and his skills, combined with Max’s business acumen, had been a winning combination. But Max had earned his luck. He worked seven days a week, always obliging, always learning, desperate to achieve a fortune in his own right. A fortune that wasn’t tainted by royalty.

  He’d achieved his aim. He and his former boss had created one of the biggest construction firms in Europe. His mother had one of the finest apartments in Paris and the best of medical care.

  None of it was paid for by royal money.

  To abandon his career and come back here because of guilt.

  No and no and no.

  Marc would make a fine prince, he told himself. He and the twins would be happy here.

  Only because Pippa would stay with them. Because he was forcing Pippa to stay. He was giving her no choice.

  And he had a choice. He’d rejected becoming Crown Prince, but if it would take that look off Pippa’s face…

  But would she go back to the farm? Would her sense of honour let her stay here?

  ‘What’s happening next Friday?’ Pippa asked, cutting across his thoughts. ‘What documents are being signed?’

  He grimaced. He’d meant Pippa to be happily settled in the castle, determined never to revert to poverty, before he set this before her. Why was it suddenly so complicated?

  He loved her?

  The thought was so incredible that he took his foot off the accelerator for fear of doing something dumb.

  Love?

  Impossible. He didn’t do love.

  ‘Tell me about Friday,’ she demanded in a small, cold voice and he forced himself to focus.

  Friday.

  ‘The succession has to be decided by next Friday.’ Somehow he made his voice free of inflexion. ‘The incumbent to the throne has to accept that position within sixty days of Bernard’s death.’

  ‘The incumbent. You mean Marc.’

  ‘I guess so. Though you’ll have to sign in his stead.’

  ‘Because you won’t?’

  ‘I can’t sign for him.’

  ‘I mean you won’t be Crown Prince.’ She brushed her arm across her eyes in a gesture of weariness. ‘No. Of course you can’t.’

  ‘Pippa, this will be a wonderful life for you.’

  ‘It will,’ she said dully. ‘I can see that.’

  He swore and shoved his foot on the brake. The car stopped dead, right in the middle of the road.

  ‘I hate doing this to you.’

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘No, really.’

  ‘Just leave it, Max.’

  ‘I can’t,’ he said miserably. ‘Hell, Pippa, to drag my mother through such a mess…’

  ‘I can’t see that’s necessary.’

  ‘I mean figuratively.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said flatly. ‘Figuratively. I see.’

  ‘You don’t see,’ he said and he reached out and took her shoulders, turning her so she was forced to meet his gaze. ‘My mother was a teenage bride-seduced by my father’s looks and money. He got her pregnant. The only reason he married her was that he was in the midst of a row with his own father at the time. Louis wanted him to marry an heiress and he married my mother out of spite.’

  ‘You don’t need to tell me this.’

  ‘I need you to understand.’

  ‘I do understand.’

  ‘Pippa, you’re gorgeous.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ she said and tried to pull away. ‘Cut it out.’

  ‘I mean it. Hell, Pippa, all I’m thinking about is you. I’m trying to sort out the succession, the politics, the way the country needs to be structured and all I can think about is you.’

  ‘Then stop thinking about me,’ she said angrily. ‘You’ remaking me miserable, and I can’t be miserable. I’m going back to the palace to be chirpy like I always am. I’m going back to singing.’

  ‘Like you were in the dairy. To block things out.’

  ‘You’re blocking the road.’

  ‘Pippa-’

  ‘You’re blocking the road.’

  ‘Dammit, I’m the Prince Regent of Alp d’Estella,’ he growled. ‘I’m at least the Prince Regent. If I want to block a road then I damn well can.’ He glared at her for all of a minute, daring her to gainsay him.

  She didn’t gainsay him.

  ‘You just sit there looking at me…’ he growled.

  ‘What am I supposed to do?’

  He knew what he was supposed to do. His path was suddenly crystal-clear.

  He kissed her.


  He kissed her, and suddenly confusion fell away. Whatever else was wrong in this crazy world, this was right.

  She tasted…like Pippa.

  Nothing more. Nothing less. He wanted nothing else.

  Pippa.

  His hands grasped her shoulders so he could pinion her lips right where he wanted them. His mouth claimed hers. For a fraction of a moment she held herself rigid, as if she might pull away-as if she might react with horror, slap him once more?-but it was the sensation of a moment. Nothing more. He felt her resistance slump out of her. He felt her lips open under his.

  Pippa.

  She was perfection. His hands lowered to her waist and he gathered her close. Dammit, the gear stick was in the way. Why the hell did he have such a tiny car? He was hauling her close, closer and still the damned gear stick was between.

  He’d break the thing if he could.

  He couldn’t. There was no room on her side of the car for him, or his side for her. Outside there was bare bitumen.

  He had to make do with what he had. Which was Pippa, kissing him as he was kissing her. Opening her lips and letting him taste her as deeply as he wanted. Letting his hands hold the curves of her, slip under her T-shirt to feel the silken smooth curve of her bare skin.

  He wanted her. He wanted her as he’d never wanted a woman. He wanted her in his bed, and more.

  Her hands were in his hair, making him crazy. Of all the erotic sensations…She was deepening the kiss all by herself. Wonderful woman, he thought, amazed by the cleverness of her gesture. Wonderful, wonderful sprite. A red-headed minx who had the knowledge that if she pulled him tighter the kiss couldn’t be broken…

  He was nuts. He was granting her intellect for one simple gesture. The idea made him smile from within, a great, warming, inward sigh of pure wonder.

  Any woman might have done the same, he thought, but there was only one Pippa.

  The kiss was endless. Neither of them was willing to break the moment. Maybe if this had been another time, another place, with just a fraction more privacy, without the awful impediment of a gear stick, then they would have taken this further, tumbling into glorious passion.

  But they couldn’t. They were in the middle of a one-way cliffside road.

  Someone was watching.

  Max had closed his eyes, savouring the moment. Suddenly some extra sense made him open one eye.

  Cautiously.

  There were three men and a woman right beside their open sports car. Their audience was watching with every evidence of enjoyment.

  ‘Don’t mind us, M’sier,’ one of the men said, and he recognised one of the players from the village. ‘Our director tells us to study real life. Romain thought we should sound the horn so you could move your vehicle, but, no, I said, one is only young once and maybe we have forgotten. It does no harm to remind ourselves.’ He gave a rueful smile. ‘The play we are performing, you see,’ He said, apologetic but still smiling. ‘I play a young man with a young man’s passion. Like yourself. But I’m fifty-three years old and I should not be cast as a young man. No matter. All our young have left to try and find work in Italy or France so we are left to do what we can. But it does the heart good to see such reminders.’

  Max’s eyes were wide open now. As were Pippa’s. She was still in his arms but she’d burrowed her head into his shoulder. She choked.

  ‘You laugh and I’ll have to kill you,’ he whispered.

  ‘Or kiss me again?’ she whispered back and he fought to maintain a straight face. Kiss her again? Mmm.

  But his audience was waiting for a response. ‘I was just comforting Miss-’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ the only woman in the group said, understandingly. ‘It’s very nice that our Prince Regent comforts the guardian of our new Crown Prince. It’s a very satisfactory thing to happen. You and this lady? Yes and yes and yes.’

  ‘Levout said at the end of one month you intend to go back to Paris,’ the first player told him, settling in for a mid-road chat. ‘We asked how is that possible-when the country needs a ruler as much as we do? But of course it’s nonsense. Miss will never leave the children. And you…the rumour is that the lady, your mother, was not exactly truthful with your father. All the servants are whispering. Before when we don’t see you we accept that she play-how you say-fast and loose. But you…you are a de Gauiter. Yes and yes and yes. So now…This is good.’ He grinned. ‘This miss will need much comfort. And not in Paris.’

  ‘Hey, I do not need much comfort,’ Pippa squeaked, tugging herself away. As much as she could. Which wasn’t very far, as Max’s arms still held her.

  ‘Miss, if you need to deal with the likes of Levout and his compatriots you will need help,’ the woman said. ‘He is like an octopus. His tentacles are everywhere. His people will wish you nothing but evil.’

  ‘That’s nonsense,’ Max said, but he felt suddenly uneasy. Or more uneasy. These people were verbalising what he already suspected.

  And her words were heard and understood by Pippa. ‘Let’s go home,’ she said, no longer laughing. ‘Marc-’

  ‘He’s fine.’

  ‘Yes, but I want to go home. Please, Max.’

  ‘Sure,’ he said and he let her go.

  ‘You keep them all safe,’ the woman said.

  ‘This is a wonderful family,’ another added. ‘We wish you joy.’

  ‘We wish us all joy,’ the woman added. ‘And maybe it comes true. Maybe it comes true for all of us.’

  They drove for the next few minutes in silence. Max stared straight ahead, his mind whirling.

  What they’d said was right. He couldn’t leave her.

  But his mother…His construction company…How could he let them go? And how could he stay here? He’d stay here for what? To keep Pippa safe? And spend the rest of his life in the goldfish bowl as well?

  He wanted to pick them all up and take them back to Paris. Be done with the whole sordid mess.

  Hell.

  ‘If you grip the steering wheel any harder you’ll break it,’ Pippa said conversationally, and he eased his grip. A little. With enormous difficulty.

  ‘It’s not a great choice, is it?’ she said softly.

  ‘No.’

  ‘By Friday next week, you say?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There’s a lot of thinking for both of us,’ she whispered. ‘Meanwhile…Max, please don’t kiss me any more. It clouds the issues and we badly don’t need clouds.’

  The vague sense of unease they’d felt at the player’s mention of evil was unfounded. They arrived back as the last of the day’s sun played tangerine light on the massive stone walls and turrets, turning the place into more of a fairy-tale setting than it already was. Pascal-Marie, the butler, met them sedately, and Beatrice was close behind. All was well.

  ‘The children have gone to sleep,’ Beatrice told them. ‘They were too excited to have an afternoon nap. Because the formal photograph session is set for eight tonight, we fed them early and put them to bed. I thought we could wake them at seven.’

  ‘I’ll check them,’ Pippa said, crossing to the stairway.

  ‘Pippa?’ Max called after her and she paused, three stairs up.

  ‘Yes?’

  Pippa.

  He couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  ‘Oh, there is a problem with your dog,’ Beatrice added and Pippa stilled. Maybe all wasn’t well.

  ‘With Dolores?’

  ‘She’s asleep by the fire in the front sitting room,’ Beatrice said. ‘She romped with the children in the fountain this afternoon. Like a great puppy. We dried her off, and she went to sleep in the sun. It’s probably laziness but when the children went up to bed they couldn’t persuade her to join them.’

  She was through to the sitting room in an instant. Max followed.

  The old dog was still sleeping. This room faced south west, with windows all round. Dolores would have had direct sunlight, with the fire adding a little top-up warmth if necessary. The
rugs here were inches thick. Why would an old dog move? Max thought appreciatively.

  ‘Dolores,’ Pippa whispered and dropped to her knees. The dog opened her eyes, gave her tail a feeble wag and closed her eyes again.

  Pippa lifted the old head and cradled it on her lap, running her hand over her flank, letting her fingers lie on her chest. ‘Dolores?’

  ‘Is she okay?’ Max asked, feeling he was intruding on something personal.

  ‘She’s okay,’ Pippa whispered, laying her cheek on the old dog’s head. ‘She’s just really, really old, and it’ll have been exciting with the children today. The vet told us that this would be her last winter.’ She looked up at Max and her eyes glimmered with unshed tears. ‘But thanks to you she’s had a summer instead of a winter. She has sunbeams and log fires.’

  But still that sheen of tears. ‘Hey…’

  ‘Could you carry her upstairs for me?’

  ‘To the children’s bedroom?’

  ‘I might stay in a room by myself tonight,’ she murmured, stroking the dog’s soft ears. ‘The beds are big but not so big to hold three kids, me and Dolores. The kids are feeling safe and happy now, so Dolores and me will sleep next door with the door open.’

  Dolores and me. She was sleeping with a dog. Dolores nuzzled against her cheek and he found it within himself to be jealous of a disreputable, ancient Labrador-something.

  ‘Fine,’ he managed, neutrally, and he stooped to lift her.

  Pippa rose with him, her hands still on the big dog’s head.

  Dolores’ eyes stayed closed.

  ‘She trusts you,’ Pippa whispered. ‘She knows people, does Dolores. She’s never been wrong yet.’

  She was too close. The hint of tears in her eyes was damn near his undoing.

  Dolores gave a gentle snore, breaking the moment.

  ‘You’re sure you want to sleep with her?’

  ‘What’s a little snoring between friends?’

  What indeed?

  He was gazing at Pippa. She was stroking Dolores’ ears.

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said, and he thought, Right, let’s go.

  He so badly wanted to gather her into his arms. How could he do that with an armful of dog?