‘Um…we have an audience,’ she whispered at last.
He kissed her hair again and said gravely, ‘Do you care?’
‘If we walk into my room and shut the door we won’t have an audience,’ she tried.
‘Ah, but the story will out,’ he said gravely.
‘So it should if you go creeping into strange women’s bedrooms in the small hours. I should yell the house down.’
She was trying to sound indignant. She was trying to pull back so she could be at arm’s length, so she could see his face. She wasn’t trying hard enough. She sounded happy-and there was no way she was pulling back from this man.
‘You could if you wanted and you’d have help,’ he said gravely. ‘The footman’s on guard duty. In case the Huns invade-or strange women don’t want strange men doing this creeping thing you describe. But if the woman was to welcome this strange man, then we don’t need an audience. Gianetta, are you hungry?’
Hungry. The thought was so out of left field that she blinked.
‘Hungry?’
‘I’m starving. I was hoping you might come down to the kitchen with me.’
‘After I’ve pulled your boots off?’
‘Yup.’
‘You want me to be your servant?’
‘No,’ he said, lightness giving way instantly to a gravity she found disconcerting. ‘For this night, I want you to be my friend.’
Her friend, the prince?
Her friend, her lover?
Ramón.
Part-time mistress?
Forget Sofía, she told herself fiercely. Forget Perpetua. Tonight she’d hold on to the fairy tale.
‘So…so there’s no royal cook?’ she managed.
‘There are three, but they scare me more than my valet. They wear white hats and speak with Italian accents and say béchamel a lot.’
‘Oh, Ramón…’
‘And there’s no security camera in the smaller kitchen,’ he told her, and she looked up into his face and it was all she could do not to burst into spontaneous combustion.
‘So will you come?’ His eyes dared her.
‘I’m coming.’ Mistress or not, dangerous or not, right now she’d take whatever he wanted to give. Stupid? Who knew? She only knew that there was no way she could walk away from this man this night.
‘Slippers and robe first,’ he suggested and she blinked.
‘Pardon?’
‘Let’s keep it nice past the footman.’ He grinned. ‘And do your belt up really tight. I like a challenge.’
‘Ramón…’
‘Second kitchen, no security camera,’ he said and gave her a gentle push back into her bedroom. ‘Slippers and gown. Respectability’s the thing, my love. All the way down the stairs.’
They were respectable all the way down the stairs. The footman watched them go, his face impassive. When they reached the second kitchen another footman appeared and opened the door for them. He ushered them inside.
‘Would you like the door closed?’ he said deferentially and Ramón nodded.
‘Absolutely. And make sure the Huns stay on that side.’
‘The Huns?’ the man said blankly.
‘You never know what they’re planning,’ Ramón said darkly. ‘If I were you, I’d take a walk around the perimeter of the palace. Warn the troops.’
‘Your Highness…’
‘Just give us a bit of privacy,’ Ramón said, relenting at the look of confusion on the man’s face. ‘Fifty paces from the kitchen door, agreed?’
Finally there was a smile-sort of-pulled back instantly with a gasp as if the man had realized what he was doing and maybe smiling was a hanging offence. Impassive again, he snapped his heels and moved away and Ramón closed the door and leaned on it.
‘This servant thing’s got knobs on it. Three months and they still treat me like a prince.’
‘You are a prince.’
‘Not here,’ he said. ‘Not now. I’m me and you’re you and the kitchen door is closed. And so…’
And so he took her into his arms and he held her so tight the breath was crushed from her body. He held her like a man drowning holding on to a lifeline. He held her and held her and held her, as if there was no way he could ever let her go.
He didn’t kiss her. His head rested on her hair. He held her until her heart beat in synchronisation with his. Until she felt as if her body was merging with his, becoming one. Until she felt as if she was truly loved-that she’d come home.
How long they stayed there she could never afterwards tell-time disappeared. This was their moment. The world was somewhere outside that kitchen door, the servants, Sofía’s words, Perpetua’s warnings, tomorrow, but for now all that mattered was this, her Ramón. Her love.
The kitchen was warm. An old fire-stove sent out a gentle heat. A small grey cat slept in a basket by the hearth. All Jenny had seen of this palace was grandeur, but here in this second kitchen the palace almost seemed a home.
It did feel like home. Ramón was holding her against his heart and she was where she truly belonged.
She knew it was an illusion, and so must he. Maybe that was why he held her for so long, allowing nothing, no words, no movement, to intrude. As if, by holding her, the world could be kept at bay. As if she was something that he must lose, but he’d hold on while he still could.
Finally he kissed her as she needed to be kissed, as she ached to be kissed, and she kissed him back as if he was truly her Ramón and the royal title was nothing but a crazy fantasy locked securely on the other side of the door.
With the Huns, she thought, somewhat deliriously. Reality and the Huns were being kept at bay by powdered, wigged footmen, giving her this time of peace and love and bliss.
She loved this man with all her heart. Maybe what Sofía had said was wrong. Maybe the Perpetua thing was crazy.
The cat stirred, coiling out of her basket, stretching, then stepping daintily out to inspect her food dish. The tiny movement was enough to make them stir, to let a sliver of reality in. But only a sliver.
‘She’s only interested in her food,’ Jenny whispered. ‘Not us.’
‘I don’t blame her. I’m hungry, too.’ Ramón’s voice was husky with passion, but his words were so prosaic that she chuckled. It made it real. Her Prince of the Blood, dressed in medals and tassels and boots that shone like mirrors, was smiling down at her with a smile that spoke of devilry and pure latent sex-and he was hungry.
‘For…for what?’ she managed, and the devilry in his eyes darkened, gleamed, sprang into laughter.
‘I’d take you on the kitchen table, my love,’ he said simply. ‘But I just don’t trust the servants that much.’
‘And we’d shock the cat,’ she whispered and he chuckled.
‘Absolutely.’
He was trying to make his voice normal, Jenny thought. He was trying to make their world somehow normal. In truth, if Ramón carried out his earlier threat to untie the cord of her dressing gown, if he took that to its inevitable conclusion, there was no way she’d deny him. Only sense was prevailing. Sort of.
Where he led, she’d follow, but if he was trying to be prosaic…maybe she could be, too.
‘I could cook in this kitchen,’ she said, eyeing the old range appraisingly, the rows of pots and pans hanging from overhead rails, the massive wooden table, worn and pitted from years of scrubbing.
‘The pantry adjoins both kitchens,’ Ramón said hopefully. ‘I’m sure there’s eggs and bacon in there.’
‘Are you really hungry?’
‘At dinner I had two queens, one duke and three prime ministers within talking range,’ he said. ‘They took turns to address me. It’s very rude for a Crown Prince to eat while being addressed by a Head of State. My Aunt Sofía was watching. If I’d eaten I would have had my knuckles rapped.’
‘She’s a terrifying lady,’ Jenny said and he grinned.
‘I love her to bits,’ he said simply. ‘Like I love you.’
�
��Ramón…’
‘Gianetta.’
‘This is…’
‘Just for tonight,’ he said softly and his voice grew bleak. ‘I know this is impossible. After tonight I’ll ask nothing of you, but Gianetta…just for tonight can we be…us?’
His face was grim. There were vast problems here, she knew, and she saw those problems reflected in his eyes. Sofía had said the ghost of his father made this palace hateful, yet Ramón was stuck here.
Can we be us?
Maybe they could go back to where they’ started.
‘Do you want bacon and eggs, or do you want muffins?’ she asked and tried to make her voice prosaic.
‘You could cook muffins here?’ Astonishment lessened the grimness.
‘You have an oven warmed for a cat,’ she said. ‘It seems silly to waste it. It’ll mean you need to wait twenty minutes instead of five minutes for eggs and bacon.’
‘And the smell will go all through the palace,’ he said in satisfaction. ‘There’s an alibi if ever I heard one. We could give a couple to Manuel and Luis.’
‘Manuel and Luis?’
‘Our Hun protectors. They think I’m taunting them if I use their real names, but surely a muffin couldn’t be seen as a taunt.’ His eyes were not leaving hers. He wanted her. He ached for her. His eyes said it all, but he was keeping himself rigidly under control.
‘You think we might find the ingredients?’ he asked, but she was already opening the panty door, doing a visual sweep of the shelves, then checking out the first of three massive refrigerators. As anxious as he to find some way of keeping the sizzle between them under control, and to keep the tension on his face at bay.
‘There’s more ingredients than you can shake a stick at.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Lots of ingredients,’ she said in satisfaction. ‘It seems a shame to abandon bacon entirely. You want bacon and cheese muffins, or double chocolate chip?’
‘Both,’ he said promptly. ‘Especially if I get to lick the chocolate chip bowl.’
‘Done,’ she said and smiled at him and his smile met hers and she thought, whoa I am in such trouble. And then she thought, whatever Sofía said, or Perpetua said, no matter how impossible this is, I’m so deeply in love, there’s no way I’ll ever be able to climb out.
CHAPTER EIGHT
T HEY made muffins. Not just half a dozen muffins because: ‘If I’m helping, it’s not such a huge ask to make heaps,’ Ramón declared. ‘We can put them on for breakfast and show the world what my Gianetta can do.’
‘You’ll upset the chefs,’ Jenny warned.
‘If there’s a turf war, you win hands down.’
‘A turf war…’ She was pouring choc chips into her mixture but she hesitated at that. ‘I’m not interested in any turf war. Frankly, this set-up leaves me terrified.’
‘It leaves me terrified.’
‘Yes, but…’
‘But I have no choice,’ he said flatly, finishing the sentence for her. ‘I know that. In the good old days, as Crown Prince I could have simply had my soldiers go out with clubs and drag you to my lair.’
‘And now you give me choices,’ she retorted, trying desperately to keep things light, whisking her muffin mix more briskly than she needed. ‘Just as well. I believe clubbing might create an International Incident.’
‘I miss the good old days,’ he said morosely. He was sitting on the edge of the table, swinging his gorgeous boots, taking taste tests of her mixture. So sexy the kitchen seemed to sizzle. ‘What use is being a prince if I can’t get my woman?’
My woman. She was dreaming, Jenny thought dreamily. She was cooking muffins for her prince.
My woman?
She started spooning her mixture into the pans and Ramón reached over and took the trays and the bowl from her. ‘I can do this,’ he said. ‘If you do something for me.’
‘What?’
‘Pull my boots off. I asked you ages ago.’
‘I thought you were kidding.’
‘They’re killing me,’ he confessed. ‘I’ve spent my life in either boat shoes, bare feet or steel-toed construction boots. These make me feel like my feet are in corsets and I can’t get them off. Please, dear, kind Jenny, will you pull my boots off?’
He was sitting on the table. He was spooning muffin mixture into pans. He was holding his boots out for her to pull.
This was so ridiculous she couldn’t help giggling.
She wiped her hands-it’d be a pity to get chocolate on leather like this-took position, took a boot in both hands-and pulled.
The boot didn’t budge. It was like a second skin.
‘See what I mean,’ Ramón said morosely. ‘And I really don’t want to wake a valet. You think I should cut them off?’
‘You can’t cut them,’ Jenny said, shocked, and tried again. The boot budged, just a little.
‘Hey,’ Ramón said, continuing to spoon. ‘It’s coming.’
‘I’ll pull you off the table if I tug any harder,’ Jenny warned.
‘I’m strong,’ he said, too smugly, keeping on spooning. ‘My balance is assured.’
‘Right,’ she said and glowered, reacting to his smugness. She wiped both her hands on her dressing gown, took the boot in both hands, took a deep breath-and pulled like she’d never pulled.
The boot held, gripped for a nano-second and then gave. Jenny lurched backward, boot in hand, lost her balance and fell backwards.
Ramón slid off the table, staggered-and ended up on the floor.
The half-full bowl slid off after him, tipped sideways and mixture oozed out over the floor.
Jenny stared across at him in shock. Ramón stared back at her-her lovely prince, half bootless, sprawled on the floor, surrounded by choc chip muffin mixture.
Her Ramón.
She couldn’t help it. She laughed out loud, and it was a magical release of tension, a declaration of love and happiness if ever there was one, and she couldn’t help what happened next either. It was as if restraint had been thrown to the wind and she could do what she liked-and there was no doubting what she’d like. She slid over the floor, she took Ramón’s face in both her hands-and she kissed him.
And Ramón kissed her back-a thoroughly befuddled, laughing, wonderful kiss. He tasted of choc chip muffin. He tasted of love.
He tugged her close, hauling her backward with him so she was in his arms, and they were so close she thought she must…they must…
And then the door burst open and Sofía was standing in the doorway staring at them both as if they’d lost their minds.
Maybe they had.
The little cat was delicately licking muffin mixture from the floor. Sofía darted across and retrieved the cat as if she were saving her from poison.
‘Hi, Sofía,’ Ramón said innocently from somewhere underneath his woman. Jenny would have pulled away but he was having none of it. He tugged her close and held, so they were lying on the floor like two children caught out in mischief. Or more.
Sofía stared down at them as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she hissed.
‘Making muffins, Ramón said, and he would have pulled Jenny closer but the mixture of confusion and distress on Sofía’s face was enough to have her pulling away. The timer was buzzing. Somehow she struggled to her feet. She opened the oven and retrieved her now cooked bacon muffins. Then she thought what the heck, she might as well finish what she’d started, so she put the almost full tray of choc chip muffins in to replace them.
‘Gianetta’s a professional,’ Ramón said proudly to his aunt, struggling up as well. ‘I told you she was fabulous.’
‘Are you out of your minds?’
‘No, I…’
‘You’re just like the rest,’ she hissed at him. ‘They’re all womanisers, all the men who’ve ever held power here. You have her trapped. Ramón, what on earth is it that you’re planning?’
‘I’m not planning anything.’
‘It’s nothing to do with Philippe,’ Ramón snapped. ‘Why are you here?’
‘Why do you think?’ Sofía’s anger was becoming almost apoplectic. ‘Did you think the two of you were invisible? Everyone knows where you are. Ramón, think about what you’re doing. You’re no longer just responsible for yourself. You represent a country now! She’s a nice girl, I won’t let you ruin her, or trap her into this life.’
‘I won’t do either,’ Ramón said, coldly furious. ‘We’re not talking marriage. We’re not talking anything past this night. Jenny will be leaving…’
‘Ramón, if she goes to the island now… There’ll be such talk. To take her in the palace kitchen…’
‘He didn’t take me…’ It was Jenny’s turn to be angry now. ‘My dressing gown cord’s still done up.’
‘No one can tell that from outside,’ Sofía snapped and walked across and tugged the door wide. ‘See? The harm’s done,’ she said, as two footmen stepped smartly away from the door.
‘You can’t be happy here,’ she whispered. ‘No one knows anyone. No one trusts.’
‘I know that,’ Ramón told her. ‘Sofía, stop this.’
‘I told her you should take her to the island. I told her. You should have waited.’
‘Excuse me?’ Jenny said. ‘Can you include me in this?’
‘It’s nothing to do with you,’ Sofía said and then seemed to think about it. Her anger faded and she suddenly sounded weary and defeated. ‘No. I mean…even if you were suitable as a royal bride-which you aren’t-you aren’t tough enough. To do it with no training…’
‘Sofía, don’t do this,’ Ramón said. Sofía’s distress was clear and real. ‘We aren’t talking about marriage.’
‘Then you’re ruining her for nothing. And here’s your valet, come to see what all the fuss is about.’
‘I don’t want my valet,’ Ramón snapped. ‘I don’t want any valet.’
‘You don’t have a choice,’ Sofía said with exasperation. ‘None of us do. Ramón, go away. I’ll stay here with Jenny until these…whatever you’re making…muffins?…are cooked. We’ll make the best of a bad situation but there’s no way we can keep this quiet. This, with your stupid insistence on dancing with her first tonight… She’ll have paparazzi in her face tomorrow, whether she leaves or not.’
Cinderella: Hired by the Prince Page 13
