by Nora Roberts
“Apparently he went out for a drive and came back brooding and snarly. It’s a good sign.”
“Camilla’s been distracted and out of sorts all afternoon. It’s going perfectly. Oh, and my spies tell me Delaney asked about her several times this morning.”
“The best thing was her being so busy and unavailable. Give that boy time to think.”
“He won’t be able to think when he sees her tonight. Oh, Alice, she looks so beautiful in her gown. I was at her last fitting, and she’s just spectacular.”
“They’re going to make us beautiful grandchildren,” Alice said with a sigh.
* * *
He didn’t like wearing black tie. There were so many pieces to it, why a man needed all those pieces where a shirt and pants did the job was beyond him.
But he’d made up his mind to leave in the morning, so that was something. He’d already come up with the necessary excuse for his early departure—an urgent e-mail from the site.
No one would know the difference.
He’d fulfill his obligation tonight—for his parents—find a way to apologize or at least come to terms with Camilla. And then get back to reality as soon as possible. He wasn’t a man for palaces. Digging under one maybe—now that could be interesting.
All he had to do was survive the sticky formality of one more evening. He was sure he could manage to slip out early from that event as well. In the morning, he’d pay his respects to his hosts, then get the hell out of Dodge.
Only one little chore had to be done first. He had to—in all good conscience—express his appreciation for the help in funding to Camilla. Face-to-face, and without the stiffness he’d fallen back on in correspondence.
That had been small of him and unworthy of her gesture.
Dressed, and wanting nothing more than to get the entire ordeal over with, he joined his parents in their sitting room.
“Well, hell, look at you.” It was a rare event to see his mother elegantly attired. He grinned, circling his finger so that she turned. The simple black gown showed off her trim, athletic figure, and the Brigston pearls added panache.
“You’re a babe,” he decided and made her laugh.
“I figure I can stand these shoes for about an hour and a half, after that, it’s anybody’s guess.” She walked over to straighten her husband’s formal tie.
“Don’t fuss, Alice. I’m getting rid of the damn thing at the first opportunity.” Still Niles smiled as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. “But the boy’s right. You are a babe.”
“This ‘do’ will be crawling with babes. Speaking of which,” Alice said casually to her son, “have you seen Camilla today?”
“No.”
“Ah, well. You’ll see her tonight.”
“Right.” With hundreds of people around, he thought. How the hell would he manage to say what he had to say—once he figured out what that was—when they were surrounded? “Let’s get this over with,” Del suggested.
“God. Just like your father.” Resigned, Alice took each of her men by the arm.
Guests were formally announced, then escorted to the receiving line. The bows and curtsies went on endlessly in Del’s estimation. Then he got his first look at Camilla, and forgot everything else.
She wore a gown the same tawny gold as her eyes. In it, she was iridescent. Luminous. It left her shoulders bare, nipped in to a tiny waist, then simply flowed out with what seemed like miles of skirt that shimmered like sundrenched water in the elegant light of countless chandeliers.
White and yellow diamonds sparkled at her ears, dripped in complex tiers toward the swell of her breast. And fired in the tiara set on the glossy cap of her hair.
She was, in that moment, the embodiment of the fairytale princess. Beauty, grace and elegance, and all of them bone-deep.
He had never felt so much the frog.
But he thought—hoped—he’d managed to roll his eyes back into his head by the time he reached her.
“My Lord.”
“Madam.” He took the hand she offered, sliding his thumb over her knuckles. Had this woman actually scrambled eggs for him? If this was reality, maybe all the rest had been some complex fantasy.
“I hope you’ll enjoy your evening.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
Her polite smile never wavered. “Then I hope you don’t find it overly tedious.”
“I need five minutes,” he murmured.
“I’m afraid this is an inconvenient time. Let go of my hand,” she said in an undertone as his grip tightened. “People are watching.”
“Five minutes,” he said again and their eyes locked, then he reluctantly moved up the line.
* * *
Her heart might have raced, but she continued to stand, smile and greet guests. The combination of willpower and breeding stopped her from giving into the towering urge to crane her neck and find Del in the crowd moving into the ballroom. Curiosity pierced with a splinter of hope made her almost ill by the time her aunt and uncle opened Cordina’s Autumn Ball.
He’d looked at her—hadn’t he—as he had at odd moments in the cabin. As if she were the center of his thoughts.
But, as she and her cousin Luc crossed the floor for their first dance, she had no time for private thoughts.
When the palace opened its doors for a ball, it opened them wide and with brilliant ceremony. Glamour was allowed full sway here and given the satin edge of pomp. Waterfalls of chandeliers showered light on dazzling gowns, glittering jewels, banks of sumptuous flowers. Frothy champagne bubbled in crystal.
On the terrace beyond there was the seductive glow of candles and torchères. Hundreds of antique mirrors lined the walls and threw back reflection after reflection of gorgeously gowned women and elegantly garbed men as they spun around the polished floor.
Jewels flashed, and music soared.
Camilla danced, for duty and for pleasure, and then for love with her father.
“I watched you and Mama.”
“Watched us what?”
“Dancing just a bit ago. And I thought, look at them.” She pressed her cheek to his. “How can anyone look anywhere but at them. They’re so beautiful.”
“Did I ever tell you about the first time I saw her?”
Camilla leaned back to laugh into his eyes. “A million times. Tell me again.”
“It was her sixteenth birthday. A ball, very much like this. She wore a pale green dress, not so different from what you’re wearing now. All those billowing skirts that make a woman look like a fantasy. Diamonds in her hair, the way they’re in yours tonight. I fell in love with her on the spot, though I didn’t see her again for ten years. She was the most exquisite thing I’d ever laid eyes on.”
He looked down at her daughter. “Now I’m dancing with the second most exquisite thing.”
“Daddy.” She took her hand from his shoulder to touch his face. “I love you so much. I’m sorry you were mad at me.”
“I wasn’t mad, baby. Worried, but not mad. Now as far as that jackass you were with—”
“Daddy.”
The warning light in her eye had him glaring right back at her. “I have one thing to say about him. He has potential.”
“You don’t really know—” She broke off, narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Is this a trap?”
“I used to worry that some slick-talking pretty boy was going to come along and sweep you off before you realized he was a jerk. Well, you certainly can’t call Caine slick-talking or pretty.”
“No, indeed.”
“And since you already know he’s a jerk, you’re in good shape,” he added, making her laugh. “I want you happy, Cam. Even more than I want to keep my little girl all to myself.”
“You’re going to make me cry.”
“No, you won’t cry.” He drew her close again. “You’re made of sterner stuff than that.”
“I love him, Daddy.”
“I know.” Reeve’s eyes met Del’s across the cr
owds of dancers. “Poor son of a bitch doesn’t have a prayer. You go get him, honey. And if he doesn’t come around quick enough, let me know. I’d still like a reason to kick his ass.”
* * *
“Make up your mind, Delaney.”
“About what?”
Alice took the wine she’d asked him to fetch. “Whether you’re just going to scowl at Camilla half the night, or ask her to dance.”
“She hasn’t stopped dancing for two minutes all night, has she?”
“It’s part of her job. Or do you think she likes dancing with that pizza-faced young man with the buck teeth who’s stepping all over her feet? Go. Dance with her.”
“If you think I’m lining up with half the men in this place—”
“I’d say you’d lost your wits,” Alice finished. “Go, cut in. Another minute with that clumsy boy and she’ll have a permanent limp.”
“All right, all right.” Put that way, it was like doing her a favor. Sort of like riding to the rescue, he decided as he saw—quite clearly—the wince flicker over her face as her feet were stomped on again.
Feeling more heroic with each step, Del threaded through the dancers. He tapped Camilla’s partner on the shoulder, and moved in so smoothly he surprised himself.
“Cutting in.” He whirled Camilla away before the boy could do more than gawk and stammer.
“That was rude.”
“Did the trick. How’re your feet?”
Her lips twitched. “Other than a few broken toes, holding up, thank you. You dance quite well, My Lord.”
“Been a while, but it comes back to you, Madam. Either way, I couldn’t be worse than your last partner. Figured you needed a break.”
“Rescuing the damsel in distress?” She arched her eyebrows. “Really, twice in one lifetime. Be careful or you’ll make it a habit. You said you needed five minutes with me—and that was nearly two hours ago. Did you change your mind?”
“No.” But he was no longer clear on what to do with five minutes. Not now that he was holding her again. “I wanted to … About the project. The funding.”
“Ah.” Disappointment sank into her belly. “If it’s business, I’ll see that Marian schedules an appointment for you tomorrow.”
“Camilla. I wanted to thank you.”
She softened, just a little. “You’re welcome. The project’s important to me, too, you know.”
“I guess I get that. Now.” He had only to angle his head, dip it a little, and his mouth could be on hers. He wanted, more than anything, to have one long taste of her again. Even if it was the last time. “Camilla—”
“The dance is finished.” But her gaze stayed locked with his, and her voice was thick. “You have to let me go.”
He knew that. He knew exactly that. But not quite yet. “I need to talk to you.”
“Not here. For heaven’s sake, if you don’t let me go you’ll have your name splashed all over the papers tomorrow.” She smiled, gaily.
“I don’t give a damn.”
“You haven’t lived with it all your life, as I have. Please, step back. If you want to talk, we’ll go out on the terrace.”
When he relaxed his grip, she eased away, then spoke clearly and in the friendliest of tones for all the pricked ears nearby. “It’s warm. I wonder, Lord Delaney, if you’d join me for some fresh air? And I’d love a glass of champagne.”
“No problem.”
She slid an arm through his as they walked off the dance floor. “My brothers tell me you ride very well. I hope you’ll continue to enjoy the stables while you’re here.” She kept up the casual chatter as he lifted a flute of champagne from a silver tray and offered it.
“Do you ride, Madam?”
“Certainly.” She sipped, strolled toward the open terrace doors. “My father breeds horses on his farm. I’ve ridden all my life.”
A number of other guests had spilled out onto the terrace. Before Camilla could walk to the rail, Del simply tugged her arm, the wine sloshing to the rim of her glass as he steered her briskly toward the wide stone steps.
“Slow down.” She paused at the top. “I can’t jog down stairs in this dress. I’ll break my neck.”
He took her glass from her, then stood restlessly by as she gracefully lifted her billowing skirts with her free hand. At the base of the steps, he set the champagne—barely touched—on the closest table, then continued to pull her down one of the garden paths.
“Stop dragging me along,” she hissed. “People will—”
“Oh, lighten up,” he snapped.
She grit her teeth as she struggled to maintain her dignity. “See how light you are when gossipmongers in ten countries are tossing your name around tomorrow. In any case, I’m wearing three-inch heels and five miles of skirt. Just slow down.”
“I don’t listen to gossip, so I won’t hear them tossing my name around. And if I slow down too long, somebody’s going to jump out of some corner with something for you to do. Or to fawn and scrape. Or just say something so they can say they’ve spoken to you. I want five damn minutes alone with you.”
The retort that rose to her lips faded away.
Sparkling silver luminaries lighted a path that was already streamed with moonlight. She could smell the romance of night jasmine and roses, hear it in the pulse and pound of the sea. And her own heart.
Her lover wanted to be alone with her.
He didn’t stop until the music was barely more than a murmur in the distance. “Camilla.”
She held her breath. “Delaney.”
“I wanted to—” She wore moonlight like pearls, he thought, too dazzled to be astonished by the poetic turn of mind. Her skin was sheened with it. Her eyes glowed. The diamonds in her hair sparked, reminding him there was heat inside the elegance.
He tried again. “I wanted to apologize for … To tell you—”
She didn’t know who moved first. It didn’t seem to matter. All that mattered was they were in each other’s arms. Their mouths met, once, twice. Frantically. Then a third time, long and deep.
“I missed you.” He pulled her closer, rocking when she was locked against him. “God, I missed you.”
The words seemed to pour into her. “Don’t let go. Don’t let me go.”
“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” He turned his head to race kisses over her face. “I didn’t mean to ever see you again.”
“I wasn’t ever going to see you again first,” she said with a laugh. “Oh, I was so angry when I got that letter. That stiff, formal, nasty letter: ‘We of the Bardville Research Project wish to express our sincere appreciation.’ I could’ve murdered you.”
“You should’ve seen the first draft.” He eased back enough to grin at her. “It was a lot … pithier.”
“I’d probably have preferred it.” She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, I’m so happy. I’ve been trying to figure out how to live without you. Now I won’t have to. After we’re married, you can teach me how to read one of those lab reports with all those symbols. I never could …”
She trailed off because he’d gone so completely still. Her soaring heart fell back to earth with a rude and painful thud. “You don’t love me.” Her voice was quiet, scrupulously calm as she eased out of his arms. “You don’t want to marry me.”
“Let’s just slow down, okay? Marriage—” His throat closed up on the word. “Let’s be sensible, Camilla.”
“Of course. All right, let’s.” Now her tone was terrifyingly pleasant. “Why don’t you go first?”
“There are … There are issues here,” he began, frantically trying to clear his jumbled brain long enough to think.
“Very well.” She folded her hands. “Issue number one?”
“Cut that out. You just cut that out.” He paced down the path, back again. “I have a very demanding, time-consuming profession.”
“Yes.”
“When I’m in the field, I usually live in a trailer that makes the cabin look like a
five-star hotel.”
“Yes?”
He bared his teeth, but snagged his temper back at the last minute. “You can’t stand there, with that palace at your back while you’re wearing a damn crown and tell me you don’t see there’s a problem.”
“So, issue one is our different lifestyles and separate responsibilities.”
“In a nutshell. And neatly glossing over the tiaras and glass slippers. Yeah.”
“Glass slippers?” That snapped it. “Is that how you see me, and my life—as one ball after the next, one magic pumpkin ride? I have just as vital a role in the world in my glass slippers as you do in your work boots.”
“I’m not saying you don’t. That’s the whole point.” He tugged his formal tie loose and dragged it off. “This isn’t what I do. I can’t strap myself up like a penguin every time I turn around because you have a social obligation. But you should have someone who would. And I’m not asking you to chuck your diamonds to live in camp in the middle of nowhere. It’s ridiculous. It would never work.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. My father was a cop who wanted to farm. Who wanted, more than anything, peace and quiet and to work on the land. My mother was—is—a princess. When they met she was the chatelaine of this place. She had taken up the responsibility as hostess, as ambassador, as symbolic female head of this country when her mother died. But you see, they loved each other so they found a way to give to each other what they needed, to accept the responsibilities and obligations each brought with them, and to make a life together.”
Her chin was up now, her eyes glittering. “They make me proud. And I’m determined to be every bit the woman my mother is. But you, you with your excuses and your pitiful issues, you’re not half the man my father is. He had courage and spine and romance. He isn’t intimidated by a crown because he respects and understands the woman who wears it.”
She swept up her skirts again. “I would have lived in your trailer and still have been a princess. My duty to my name—and yours—would never be shirked. It’s you who doubt you could live in this palace and still be a man.”
Chapter 12
He hated one single fact the most. She was right. Under all the issues and trappings and complications, he’d been … well, he didn’t like the term intimidated. Leery, he decided as he stalked around the gardens as he was wont to stalk around his forest in Vermont. He was leery of linking himself with the princess.
He’d been paying attention in the weeks they’d been apart. He’d seen her face and name splashed over the media. He’d read the stories about her personal life, the speculations about her romantic liaisons.
He knew damn well she wasn’t and hadn’t been having some hot affair with a French actor as all the articles had trumpeted. She’d been too busy having one with a half-American archaeologist.
Besides, anyone who knew her could see the actor wasn’t her type. Too smooth for Camilla.
And that was part of it. The stories, the innuendoes, the outright fabrications were, for the most part, written by people who didn’t know her. Who didn’t understand how hard she was willing to work, or her devotion to her mother’s country. Her great love of her family, and theirs for her.
They saw an image. The same one he’d let himself be blinded by.
But damn it all to hell and back, the woman had leaped from possible, tentative relationship into marriage so quickly it had been like a sucker punch to the jaw. She didn’t give a guy a chance to test his footing.
