There was a pendant round her neck that she hoped was paste but she suspected was a diamond so big she couldn’t comprehend it. Her hair was pinned up in a deceptively simple knot and her make-up had been applied with a skill so great that when she looked in the mirror she saw someone she didn’t recognize.
She felt like…Gianetta. For the first time in her life, her father’s name seemed right for her.
‘I’m just glad they can’t see me back at the Sailor’s Arms in Auckland,’ Gordon muttered, and she glanced at the weathered seaman who looked as classy as she did, in a deep black suit that fitted him like a glove. He, too, had been transformed, like it or not. She almost chuckled, but then the music rose to a crescendo and she stopped thinking about chuckling. She stopped thinking about anything at all-anything but Ramón.
Crown Prince Ramón Cavellero of Cepheus.
For so he was.
The great doors of the cathedral had swung open. The Archbishop of Cepheus led the way in stately procession down the aisle, and Ramón trod behind, intent, his face set in lines that said this was an occasion of such great moment that lives would change because of it.
He truly was a prince, she thought, dazed beyond belief. If she’d walked past him in the street-no, if she’d seen his picture on the cover of a magazine, for this wasn’t a man one passed in the street, she would never have recognized him. His uniform was black as night, skilfully cut to mould to his tall, lean frame. The leggings, the boots, the slashes of gold, the tassels, the fierce sword at his side, they only accentuated his aura of power and strength and purpose.
Or then again…maybe she would have recognized him. His eyes seemed to have lost their colour-they were dark as night. His mouth was set and grim, and it was the expression she’d seen when he’d known she was leaving.
He looked like…an eagle, she thought, a fierce bird of prey, ready to take on the world. But he was still Ramón.
He was so near her now. If she put out her hand…
He was passing her row. He was right here. And as he passed… His gaze shifted just a little from looking steadily ahead. Somehow it met hers and held, for a nano-second, for a fraction that might well be imagined. And then he was gone, swept past in the procession and the world crowded back in.
He hadn’t smiled, but had his grimness lifted, just a little?
‘He was looking for you,’ Gordon muttered, awed. ‘The guy who helped me dress said he told the aides where we were to sit. It’s like we’re important. Are you important to him then, lass?’
‘Not in a million years,’ she breathed.
She’d come.
It was the only thing holding him steady.
Gianetta. Jenny.
Her name was in his mind, like a mantra, said over and over.
‘By the power vested in me…’
He was kneeling before the archbishop and the crown was being placed on his head. The weight was enormous.
She was here.
He could take this nowhere. He knew that. But still, for now, she was here on this day when he needed her most.
She was here, and his crown was the lighter for it.
The night seemed to be organized for her. As the throng emerged from the great cathedral, an aide appeared and took her arm.
‘You’re to come this way, miss. And you, too, sir,’ he said to Gordon. ‘You’re official guests at the Coronation Dinner.’
‘I reckon I’ll slope back down to the boat,’ Gordon muttered, shrinking, but Jenny clutched him as if she were drowning.
‘We went round the Horn together,’ she muttered. ‘We face risk together.’
‘This is worse than the Horn.’
‘You’re telling me,’ Jenny said, and the aide was ushering them forward and it was too late to escape.
They sat, midway down a vast banquet table, where it seemed half the world’s dignitaries were assembled. Gordon, a seaman capable of facing down the world’s worst storms, was practically shrinking under the table. Jenny was a bit braver, but not much. She was recognizing faces and names and her eyes grew rounder and rounder as she realized just who was here. There were speeches-of course-and she translated for Gordon and was glad of the task. It took her mind off what was happening.
It never took her mind off Ramón.
He was seated at the great formal table at the head of the room, gravely surveying all. He looked born to the role, she thought. He listened with gravitas and with courtesy. He paid attention to the two women on either side of him-grand dames, both of them, queens of their own countries.
‘I have friends back in Australia who are never going to believe what I’ve done tonight,’ she whispered to Gordon and her skipper nodded agreement.
Then once more the aide was beside them, bending to whisper to Jenny.
‘Ma’am, I’ve been instructed to ask if you can waltz.’
‘If I can…?’
‘His Royal Highness wishes to dance with you. He doesn’t wish to embarrass you, however, so if there’s a problem…’
No. She wanted to scream, no.
But she glanced up at the head table and Ramón was watching her. Those eagle eyes were steady. ‘I dare you,’ his gaze was saying, and more.
‘I can waltz,’ she heard herself say, her eyes not leaving Ramón’s.
‘Excellent,’ the aide said. ‘I’ll come to fetch you when we’re ready.’
‘You do that,’ she said faintly.
What have I done?
The entrance to the grand ballroom was made in state. Ramón led the procession, and it was done in order of rank, which meant Jenny came in somewhere near the rear. Even that was intimidating-all the guests who hadn’t been at the dinner were assembled in line to usher the dining party in.
If the ground opened up and swallowed her she’d be truly grateful. Too many people were looking at her.
Why had she agreed to dance?
Ramón was so far ahead she couldn’t see him. Ramón. Prince Ramón.
She wasn’t into fairy tales. Bring on midnight.
And Gordon had deserted her. As she took the aide’s arm, as she joined the procession, he suddenly wasn’t there. She looked wildly around and he was smiling apologetically but backing firmly away. But she was being ushered forward and there was no way she could run without causing a spectacle.
Cinderella ran, she thought wildly. At midnight.
But midnight was still a long time away.
Courage. If Cinders could face them all down, so could she. She took a deep breath and allowed herself to be led forward. The aide was ushering her into the ballroom, then into an alcove near the entrance. Before them, Ramón was making a grand sweep of the room, greeting everyone. The heads of the royal houses of Europe were his entourage, nodding, smiling, doing what royalty did best.
And suddenly she realized what was happening. Why she’d been directed to stand here. She was close to the door, where Ramón must end his circuit.
She felt frozen to the spot.
Ramón. Prince Ramón.
Ramón.
The wait was interminable. She tried to focus on anything but what was happening. A spot on the wax of the polished floor. The hem of her gown. Anything.
But finally, inevitably, the aide was beside her, ushering her forward and Ramón was right in front of her. Every eye in the room was on him. Every eye in the room was on her.
She was Jenny. She made muffins. She wanted to have hysterics, or faint.
Ramón was before her, his eyes grave and questioning.
‘Gianetta,’ he said softly, and every ear in the room was straining to hear. ‘You’ve arrived for my coronation, and I thank you. You’ve brought my boat home and thus you’ve linked my old life with my new. Can I therefore ask for the honour of this dance?’
There was an audible gasp throughout the room. It wasn’t said out loud but she could hear the thought regardless. Who?
But Ramón was holding out his hand, waiting for her to put hers
in his. Smiling. It was the smile she loved with all her heart.
Was this how Cinders felt?
And then Cinders was forgotten. Everything was forgotten. She put her hand in his, she tried hard to smile back and she allowed the Crown Prince of Cepheus to lead her onto the ballroom floor.
Where had she learned to dance?
Ramón had been coached almost before he could walk. His grandmother had thought dancing at least as important as any other form of movement. He could thus waltz without thinking. He’d expected to slow his steps to Jenny’s, to take care she wasn’t embarrassed, but he’d been on the dance floor less than ten seconds before he realized such precautions weren’t necessary. He took her into his arms in the waltz hold, and she melted into him as if she belonged.
The music swelled in an age-old, well-loved waltz and she was one with the music, one with him.
He’d almost forgotten how wonderful she felt.
He had to be formal, he told himself harshly. He needed to hold her at arm’s length-which was difficult when he was not holding her at arm’s length at all. He needed to be courteously friendly and he needed to thank her and say goodbye.
Only not yet. Not goodbye yet.
‘Where did you learn to dance?’ he managed, and it was a dumb thing to say to a woman after a three-month separation, but the tension eased a little and she almost smiled.
‘Dancing’s not reserved for royalty. My Papà was the best.’
This was better. There was small talk in this. ‘He should have met my grandmother.’
‘Yes,’ she said, and seemed to decide to let herself enjoy the music, the dance, the sensation of being held for a couple more circuits of the floor while the world watched. And then… ‘Ramón, why are you doing this?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Why did you ask me to dance…first?’
‘I wanted to thank you.’
‘You paid me, remember? It’s me who should be thanking. And the world is watching. For you to ask me for the first dance…’
‘I believe it’s the last dance,’ he said, and the leaden feeling settled back around his heart as the truth flooded back. Holding her was an illusion, a fleeting taste of what could have been, and all at once the pain was unbearable. ‘I’ve wanted to hold you for three months,’ he said simply, and it was as if the words were there and had to be said, whether he willed them or not. ‘Jenny, maybe even saying it is unwise but, wise or not, I’ve missed you every single night.’ He hesitated, then somehow struggled back to lightness, forcing the leaden ache to stay clear of his voice. He couldn’t pass his regret onto her. He had to say goodbye-as friends. ‘Do you realize how much work there is in being a Crown Prince?’
‘I have no idea,’ she said faintly. ‘I guess…there’s speeches to make. Ribbons to cut. That sort of thing.’
‘Not so much of that sort of thing.’ His hand tightened on her waist, tugging her closer. Wanting her closer. Sense decreed he had to let her go, but still not yet. ‘I haven’t even been official Crown Prince until today,’ he said, fighting to make his voice sound normal. ‘I’ve not even been qualified as a ribbon-cutter until now. I’ve been a prince in training. Nothing more. Nothing less. But I have been practising my waltzing. My Aunt Sofía’s seen to that. So let’s see if we can make the ghosts of your Papà and my Grand-mère proud.’
She smiled. He whirled her around in his arms and she felt like thistledown, he thought. She felt like Jenny.
He had to let her go.
He didn’t feel like a prince, she thought as he held her close and their bodies moved as one. If she closed her eyes he felt like Ramón. Just Ramón, pure and simple. The man who’d stolen her heart.
It was impossible, he’d said. Of course it was. She’d known it for three months and nothing had changed.
The world was watching. She had to keep it light.
‘So it’s been practising speeches and waltzing,’ she ventured at last. ‘While we’ve been braving the Horn.’
‘That and getting leggings to fit,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘Bloody things, leggings. I’d almost prefer the Horn.’
‘But leggings are so sexy.’
‘Sexy isn’t leggings,’ he said. His eyes were on her and she could see exactly what he was thinking.
‘Don’t,’ she whispered, feeling her colour rising. Every eye in the room was on them.
‘I’ve missed you for three long months,’ he said, lightness disappearing. He sounded goaded almost past breaking point.
‘Ramón, we had two weeks,’ she managed. ‘It didn’t mean anything.’
He stopped dancing. Others had taken to the floor now, but they were on the edge of the dance floor. Ramón and Jenny had central position and they were still being watched.
‘Are you saying what we had didn’t mean anything to you?’ he asked, his voice sounding suddenly calm, almost distant.
‘Of course it did,’ she said, blushing furiously. ‘At the time. Ramón, please, can we keep dancing? I don’t belong here.’
‘Neither do I,’ he said grimly, and he took her in his arms again and slipped back into the waltz. ‘I should be leaving for Bangladesh right now. My team’s left without me for the first time in years.’
‘Speeches are important,’ she said cautiously.
‘They are.’ The laughter and passion had completely disappeared now, leaving his voice sounding flat and defeated. ‘Believe it or not, this country needs me. It’s been bled dry by my grandfather and my uncle. If I walk away it’ll continue to be bled dry by a government that’s as corrupt as it is inept. It’s not all ribbon-cutting.’
‘It’s your life,’ she said simply. ‘You’re bred to it and you shouldn’t be dancing with me.’
‘I shouldn’t be doing lots of things, and I’ll not be told who I should be dancing with tonight. I know. This can only be for now but I will dance with you tonight.’
The music was coming to an end. The outside edge of the dance floor was crowded, but the dancers were keeping clear of the Crown Prince and his partner. A space was left so that, as soon as the dance ended, Ramón could return to his royal table.
Waiting for him were the crowned heads of Europe. Men and women who were watching Jenny as if they knew instinctively she had no place among them.
‘You have danced with me,’ Jenny said softly, disengaging her hands before he realized what she intended. ‘I thank you for the honour.’
‘There’s no need to thank me.’
‘Oh, but there is,’ she said, breathless. ‘The clothes, this moment, you. I’ll remember it all my life.’
She looked up into his eyes and felt an almost overwhelming urge to reach up and kiss him, just a kiss, just a moment, to take a tiny taste of him to keep for ever. But the eyes of the world were on her. Ramón was a prince and his world was waiting.
‘I believe there are women waiting to dance with the Crown Prince of Cepheus,’ she murmured. ‘We both need to move on, so thank you, Ramón. Thank you for the fantasy.’
‘Thank you, Gianetta,’ he murmured, and he raised his hand and touched her cheek, a feather touch that seemed a gesture of regret and loss and farewell. ‘It’s been my honour. I will see you before you leave.’
‘Do you think…?’
‘It’s unwise? Of course it’s unwise,’ he finished for her. ‘But it’s tonight only. Tomorrow I need to be wise for the rest of my life.’
‘Then maybe tomorrow needs to start now,’ she said unsteadily and she managed a smile, her very best peasant to royalty smile, and turned and walked away. Leaving the Crown Prince of Cepheus looking after her.
What had he said? ‘We can’t take it further…’
Of course they couldn’t. What was she thinking of? But still she felt like sobbing. What was she doing here? Why had she ever come? She’d slip away like Gordon, she thought, just as soon as the next dance started, just as soon as everyone stopped watching her.
But someone was stepping into her
path. Another prince? The man was dark and bold and so good-looking that if she hadn’t met Ramón first she would have been stunned. As it was, she hardly saw him.
‘May I request the honour of this dance?’ he said, and it wasn’t a question. His hand took hers before she could argue, autocratic as Ramón. Where did they learn this? Autocracy school?
It seemed no wasn’t a word in these men’s vocabularies. She was being led back onto the dance floor, like it or not.
‘What’s needed is a bit of spine,’ she told herself and somehow she tilted her chin, fixed her smile and accepted partner after partner.
Most of these men were seriously good dancers. Many of these men were seriously good-looking men. She thought briefly of Cathy back in Seaport-‘Jenny, get a life!’ If Cathy could see her now…
The thought was almost enough to make her smile real. If only she wasn’t so aware of the eyes watching her. If only she wasn’t so aware of Ramón’s presence. He was dancing with beautiful woman after beautiful woman, and a couple of truly impressive royal matriarchs as well.
He was smiling into each of his partner’s eyes, and each one of them was responding exactly the same.
They melted.
Why would they not? Anyone would melt in Ramón’s arms.
And suddenly, inexplicably, she was thinking of Matty, of her little son, and she wondered what she was doing here. This strange creature in fancy clothes had nothing to do with who she really was, and all at once what she was doing seemed a betrayal.
‘It’s okay,’ she told herself, feeling suddenly desperate. ‘This is simply an unbelievable moment out of my life. After tonight I’ll return to being who I truly am. This is for one night only,’ she promised Matty. ‘One night and then I’m back where I belong.’
Her partner was holding her closer than was appropriate. Sadly for him, she was so caught up in her thoughts she hardly noticed.
Ramón was dancing so close that she could almost reach out and touch him. He whirled his partner round, his gaze caught hers and he smiled, and her partner had no chance at all.
Cinderella: Hired by the Prince Page 11
