The Princess's Proposal

“Inna minute. The name’s Kye. What’s yours?”

“Dee,” she said, still hoping she could make him see reason. The last thing she wanted was to be involved in a scene and risk having her identity discovered. “I didn’t see you in the show, Kye.”

“I was on this morn’n. Come on, whadda ’bout that tour? My horse is back here.”

His grip on her arm was like iron as he began to tow her toward the stables. As the balloon tied to her wrist broke free and drifted away, she struggled not to panic. “I can’t go with you, Kye. Someone will be looking for me soon.” She lifted her voice. “I’m back here, near the stables.”

The man squinted the way she’d come. “Nobody comin’.”

“I’m over here,” she tried again, louder this time.

“Stop that.” The cowboy’s free hand clamped over her mouth, reducing her cries to muffled protests. Lack of oxygen made her head start to swim. Keep calm, she willed herself. There has to be a way out of this.

Her legs almost buckled with relief when another man walked around the corner into the alley. Even more amazingly, she recognized him as the man she’d spoken to before the show. Desperately she bit down on the cowboy’s hand. He yelped and loosened his grip long enough for her to say, “Over here,” before her air was cut off again.

Without appearing to hurry, the man closed the distance between them, and she saw him size up the situation at a glance. But he didn’t wrest her assailant off her. He simply said quietly, “What’s the problem?”

“Just a little dis’greement between me and my girl,” the cowboy mumbled. “Nothin’ to do with anybody else.”

“How about you let the lady go so she can speak for herself,” the American said in the same low, controlled tone. There was no hint of threat in it, but his stance altered marginally, his assured body language suggesting that he was more than ready to back up his words with action if required.

She saw the cowboy read the same message, but he drew himself up belligerently, keeping a firm grip on his prize. “It’s none of your business. She’s with me.” But he did remove the beefy hand covering her mouth.

Hugh glanced at her. Surely this wasn’t the man she had claimed to be meeting? They seemed as ill-matched as chalk and cheese. Then he thought of himself and Jemima. “Are you with him?”

The disgusted set of her mouth gave him his answer. “I never saw him before, and if I never see him again it will be too soon.”

Once again Hugh was stricken by her porcelain-doll looks. What he could see of her skin was a flawless honey-gold, and there was a hint of glossy black hair under the sun hat. It had stayed on throughout the struggle. He couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark glasses but he imagined they would be as striking as what he could see. What in blue blazes was a woman of her apparent breeding doing, wandering around the stables of a fairground? Didn’t she know it only took a few too many drinks before these cowboys fancied themselves as Don Juan?

Despite his vow not to concern himself with her, it wasn’t in his nature to abandon someone who needed his help. “I said let her go.” His tone suggested that he wouldn’t like to have to say it a third time.

The cowboy’s certainty wavered visibly. Hugh was as tall as he was, although more compactly built. Balancing lightly on the balls of his feet, he let his stance suggest—accurately—that he could take care of himself. He could almost read the cowboy’s dilemma: give up the female companionship he’d anticipated or take on a fight he wasn’t sure of winning. Given the woman’s seductive appeal, Hugh wasn’t sure which decision he would make if it were up to him. It came to him that the woman looked worth fighting for. He braced himself instinctively.

Before the cowboy could resolve his dilemma, the woman brought her knee up between his legs and connected with her target with a crunch that made Hugh wince inwardly in sympathy. With a befuddled screech, the man dropped into a spinning crouch, giving vent to a torrent of Carramer words that Hugh would bet shouldn’t be used in polite company, before hobbling away toward the stables.

“I’ll call security.”

She couldn’t let him call the authorities. It would mean too much explaining she didn’t want to do. Her hand on his arm stayed him. “There’s no need to call anyone, I’m all right.”

“But that drunken oaf attacked you.”

“Drunken is the right word. He didn’t know what he was doing.”

“And if he tries it with some other woman?”

Another woman might not have a white knight handy to help her, the princess admitted to herself. “I’ll…I’ll report it when I get home,” she conceded. “He isn’t going far in that condition.”

“You’re probably right.”

He sounded reluctant to leave it there, and she got the impression he was a man who liked to see justice done. It would be, but not right now. “Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said. “How did you know I was here?”

“That silly balloon of yours. I saw it jerking around in the air from the other side of the wall.”

That silly balloon as he called it just might have saved her life, she thought, and shuddered. He noticed her shudder and asked again, “Are you sure you’re all right?”

She wasn’t, but she made herself nod.

Hugh noticed the way her lovely long-fingered hands were clenched together, the gesture not quite concealing how much she was trembling. He took her arm. “Come on, we’re going to get you a drink.”

It was a measure of her agitation that she didn’t argue this time, he thought as he led her out of the alleyway and through the crowd to the members’ pavilion. In the lounge, he found a quiet table in a corner and pulled out a chair for her. “What would you like to drink?”

She sank into it and rested her head on her hands. “Just coffee, thank you. I…I can’t stay long.”

He corralled a waiter to bring them steaming cups of the wonderfully aromatic local coffee. When it arrived, his companion seemed content to cup her hands around it, drawing comfort from the warmth.

“Feeling better now, Dee?” he asked her.

Her head came up. “What did you call me?”

“That is the name you gave the cowboy, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “He said his was Kye.”

“That should help you identify him for the authorities.”

“Yes, of course.” Making a complaint officially would involve too many awkward explanations, so she would have to find another way to make sure the cowboy was held accountable for his behavior. She was thankful when a commotion on the other side of the room saved her from further explanation. “What’s going on there?”

“They’re introducing Miss Show Princess to the press,” he explained. “It’s mentioned in the program.”

The sight of so many cameras and microphones made her distinctly uneasy and she half-rose. “I should leave.”

“Finish your coffee,” he urged. “We’re not in anyone’s way.”

All the same she kept her head bent toward her companion as if they were deep in conversation. Among the press she had spotted a couple of the paparazzi who made the royal family their special targets. At least their attention was on another kind of princess for the moment, she thought gratefully, wincing as flashbulbs exploded around a glamorous young woman wearing a satin sash across a traditional leuer gown.

“You’re on edge,” the American said when she jumped. “It’s hardly surprising. You should have your doctor check you over when you get home.”

She looked up at him, mesmerized by his brilliant gaze. He was really worried about her, she thought. Tears prickled the backs of her eyes and she put it down to her recent brush with the drunk, but knew there was more going on here. It was so rare to have someone concern themselves with her as an individual, rather than because of her position, that she was touched in spite of herself. “It’s good advice.”

“Then make sure you take it.”

Another flashbulb popped, close to them this time. Miss Show Princess and her entourage had moved across the room to take advantage of the panoramic view of the fairgrounds beyond the lounge windows. It brought them to within a few feet of Adrienne’s table. Shaken, she pushed her chair back. “I really must go.”

The American moved to her side to help her up but was jostled by one of the photographers, throwing him against Adrienne. Instinctively he reached for her, steadying her. Anyone might have done the same, but she was stunned by the eddies of awareness the contact set up in her. She put it down to her heightened vulnerability after her encounter with the cowboy, but that hardly accounted for the strength of her response. She looked up at the American in confusion.

At that moment another flashbulb popped, then a whole barrage of them as Miss Show Princess paraded for the cameras. Adrienne used the moment to slip away toward the door, aware that the American was close behind her. “There’s no need to leave on my account,” she insisted.

“I only came for the equestrian events,” he said. “I’ll see you home.”

“No.” The word came out more forcefully than she intended, and she saw his expression turn cold. After he had done so much for her, she hadn’t meant it to sound so much like a dismissal, but she could see he had taken it as one. “I mean, my car’s parked right outside.”

“Then I’ll see you to your car,” he said coolly.

Thankfully, she had borrowed an unpretentious sedan from her assistant, who knew about her little adventures. Her staff might not approve, but their loyalty to her ensured that they helped her and kept her secret. “Thank you for everything,” she said as she got in. He nodded.

He watched as she maneuvered the small car out of the tight space and drove off. About to turn away, he spotted a flash of crimson on the ground. Her scarf must have caught in the door and been pulled off when she closed it.

He picked it up, and a faint whiff of her scent teased his nostrils—richly floral, like a balmy tropical evening, he thought. He tucked it into his jacket pocket. Nuee was a small island. It wouldn’t hurt to hang on to the scarf in case they met again.

Chapter Two

In response to a direct tap on her dressing room door, Adrienne said, “Come in.”

It was her personal assistant, Cindy Cook. The leather-bound file she carried under her arm made an interesting contrast with her pale-blue ball gown. She bobbed a curtsy then stopped short. “You look wonderful, Your Highness.”

Cindy had worked for the princess since they graduated from university together, so she wasn’t given to flattery for its own sake. Adrienne felt pleased that her new gown had made such a strong impression.

It was a glorious emerald-green, the color being one reason Adrienne had fallen in love with it; the design was another. From the front it looked like a stylish sheath that outlined her slender curves before fanning into a miniature train at her feet.

The back was a different matter. Cut almost to the waist, the dress was supported by a web of shoestring straps crisscrossing her bare back. With her glossy black hair swirled into a mass of curls high on her head and set off by an emerald tiara, she looked every inch the royal princess, she knew. Her alter ego, Dee, was nowhere to be seen.

“You don’t think it’s too daring for a charity affair?” she asked Cindy.

“The photographers will love it.”

As an answer it was a clever evasion, Adrienne recognized. It probably was overly daring but it was too late for her to change now. In any case, she was in the mood to cause a stir tonight and wondered if it was an aftereffect of her bad experience at the show. She hadn’t told Cindy about the cowboy or the man who had come to her rescue, telling herself no lasting harm had been done. But had it? She felt so fragile that she couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t even report the incident to anyone without revealing that she had gone out incognito.

“The dress is by an Australian designer, Aloys Gada. Allie recommended him,” she told Cindy.

Allie, or more precisely Her Highness, Princess Alison, was Lorne’s Australian wife. With her egalitarian ideals, she was like a breath of fresh air in the royal family. So was Caroline, the American woman Michel had married, Adrienne thought, smiling to herself as she recalled how Michel had been betrothed to Caroline’s twin sister in an ancient ceremony when they were children. They hadn’t expected to be held to the contract when they grew up, and it was Caroline that Michel really loved. But it had worked out well in the end, when Caroline’s twin schemed to get them back together. Like Lorne and Allie, Caroline and Michel were blissfully happy, and Adrienne couldn’t wait to become an aunt to their child in a few months’ time.

“What are you thinking about? I’ll bet it isn’t tonight’s affair,” Cindy guessed, watching her royal employer.

Adrienne drew herself back to the present. For a moment she had let herself fantasize about being happily married like her brothers, with a husband to admire her appearance instead of a paid assistant. Cindy was supportive, but it wasn’t the same, somehow. “I was thinking of someone I met today,” she confessed.

The cowboy she dismissed as being of no consequence, a drunk who didn’t know any better. The American was another matter. He haunted her thoughts in a way that disturbed her for some reason.

Cindy’s face dimpled into a smile. “A man?”

“They do comprise half of the universe.”

“Not this universe.”

In spite of herself, Adrienne sighed, knowing Cindy was right. Before her assistant could ask about the man occupying her thoughts, Adrienne said, “We’d better get down to business. Who are the important names on the guest list tonight?”

Opening her file, Cindy reeled off a list of mostly elderly local nobles. Adrienne nodded. “No surprises there.” Since tonight’s gala was in recognition of donations to the children’s charity she chaired, the princess knew most of the major benefactors already. It promised to be a dull evening, but she could endure it for the sake of the orphans, she told herself. “Any new faces?”

“Anyone young, you mean?”

Cindy knew her too well. “It would make a pleasant change.”

Cindy scanned the list. “Hardly anyone our age. The youngest is a thirty-something foreigner, a Mr. Hugh Jordan, here to finalize an investment project with Prince Michel.”

Adrienne felt a jolt and wondered at its source. “Is that why he got an invitation?”

Cindy shook her head. “My note says he was the largest single donor to the appeal.”

“No doubt he thinks the donation makes him look like a big man in Michel’s eyes.” She had recognized the man’s name as soon as Cindy said it. Hugh Jordan planned to establish a vast ranch north of Nuee City, on land that Adrienne had wanted for the same reason.

It still rankled that her brother was more willing to trust a foreigner with the project and the boost it would give to Nuee’s economy than Adrienne herself. She knew as much about breeding horses as any man. But she was a princess and princesses didn’t do that sort of thing, she thought angrily, recalling Michel’s reasoned response.

He hadn’t used those exact words, preferring ones like inappropriate and taking up too much of your valuable time, but the end result was the same. Hugh Jordan got to do what an accident of birth prevented her from doing.

It seemed Michel had told the man about her interest in horse breeding, particularly the Nuee saddlebreds, and he had asked to meet her. But she told her brother she had no intention of sharing her hard-won expertise with the stranger so he could enjoy all the benefits.

Michel had thought her response petty. He was probably right but she didn’t care. Now Hugh Jordan had finagled his way into her charity dinner, anyway. His donation to the appeal was so substantial that there was no way she could avoid meeting him tonight.

“I’ll bet Hugh Jordan smokes cigars and only talks about price movements on the stock exchange. And he’s probably this big,” Cindy said.

As her assistant pantomimed a huge girth, Adrienne was forced to laugh. “And no matter how stuffy or boring he is, you’ll charm him into giving an even larger donation to your beloved children,” Cindy added more seriously.

Adrienne let her eyes flash acceptance of the challenge. “I’ll consider it a personal obligation.”

Cindy dealt with the rest of the details in her usual efficient way, then closed the file. “That’s everything you need to know for now.” Adrienne stood up and felt herself sway slightly. Cindy looked concerned. “Are you all right? Perhaps you overdid things by going out this afternoon.”

Adrienne heard the disapproval in Cindy’s voice. Her assistant made no secret of disliking her employer’s habit of going out incognito, even though she had lent the princess her own car for the purpose.

“I’m fine. I probably just need to eat something before I go down.”

“I’ll have a tray sent up right away.”

She was as good as her word, but Adrienne couldn’t bring herself to eat much before she made her entrance into the ballroom. She took her place at the head of the room as the orchestra played the Carramer national anthem, “From Sea to Stars.” No matter how many times she heard it the music still stirred her blood.

As her experienced staff organized a receiving line, Cindy moved to Adrienne’s side ready to discreetly prompt the princess with any names and personal details she might need. She wasn’t needed a great deal. Adrienne considered herself lucky in having a good memory, and now she greeted each person by name, asking after their partners, children and any other concerns that came to mind.

Then she felt herself go cold from head to foot.

“Mr. Hugh Jordan, rancher from San Francisco,” Cindy murmured, thinking Adrienne’s hesitation meant she needed help identifying the next guest.

“Your Highness, this is indeed a surprise,” the man said, his rich, deep voice laced with irony. From the glitter in his remarkable blue eyes, Adrienne gathered that the surprise wasn’t any more pleasant for him than it was for her.

Far from being the paunchy, stuffy businessman she and Cindy had envisioned, Hugh Jordan was tall, muscular and undeniably good-looking. Even in the relative anonymity of a tuxedo, she recognized him instantly. Mr. Hugh Jordan, rancher from San Francisco, was the man who had come to her rescue at the fair.

Like the other guests he touched her hand in a token handshake, but instead of releasing her immediately as protocol required, his strong fingers curled into her palm and a shiver ran through her. “Small world, isn’t it,” he said softly.

Only years of royal training enabled her to keep a bright smile on her face, although her features felt as if they might crack at any moment. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jordan.” Her heart was beating so rapidly that she felt lightheaded, but not by so much as a flicker of an eyelash did she let herself acknowledge their previous meeting.

For a fleeting moment a shadow of a doubt crossed his face, and she saw him mentally comparing the princess in front of him with the woman he’d encountered earlier. In her designer gown with her hair expertly dressed and a fortune in diamonds and emeralds adorning her head, neck and earlobes, she knew she looked very different from the woman he’d met earlier. Could she convince him it was a case of mistaken identity?

Then he returned his gaze to her face and his eyes hardened. She felt her heart sink. Convincing a man like Hugh Jordan that he was wrong wasn’t an option, she saw.

“The pleasure is mine, Your Highness,” he said in a tone so smooth and hard it reminded her of volcanic glass. “I look forward to spending some time later this evening discussing our…mutual interests.”

Before she could summon her voice to reply, he released her hand and moved on, forcing her to deal with the next guest and giving her no time to collect herself. Only part of her mind was on her duty, she found. What did he mean—discuss their mutual interests? He had come to Carramer to negotiate setting up a ranch on Nuee, the ranch she herself had wanted to establish. If the American thought he could take advantage of their earlier encounter to involve her in his project against her will, he was in for a disappointment.

The idea was so distasteful that she rejected it instinctively. She recognized an element of wishful thinking in the hope that he wasn’t the type to do such a thing. Just because he had come to her rescue didn’t necessarily mean he wouldn’t use it to get something he wanted. Her position made her an ideal target, she knew.

Hugh Jordan had stumbled on a secret known only to her immediate staff. How would he use the information? The question nagged at her all through the ritual of predinner drinks. Usually she enjoyed circulating among her guests, showing her appreciation for their generous support of the children’s charity. Tonight she was so agitated that Cindy put a hand on her arm and steered her aside.

“Are you feeling all right, Your Highness?”

“What makes you ask?”

“You’re on your second glass of champagne already. That isn’t like you at all, especially when you’ve eaten so little.”

Adrienne looked at the goblet in her hand, surprised to find it almost drained. She had drunk it without being conscious of it. Cindy was right. Usually she restricted herself to mineral water before meals and a single glass of wine at dinner. “Thanks for noticing. I guess I’m a little distracted tonight.” Shaken, she handed the glass to Cindy.

Her assistant set it aside. “You looked a bit shell-shocked when I introduced Hugh Jordan. Do you know him?”

“Tonight was the first time we’ve been introduced.”

Cindy accepted the literal truth without question. “Just as well, because as the appeal’s largest donor, he’s seated on your right at dinner. He’ll be coming to escort you in at any minute.”

Adrienne’s gaze was drawn irresistibly to the man who captured her attention even across the considerable expanse of the ballroom. Again her heart started its uncomfortably fast beating at the sight of him. Wearing hand-tailored evening clothes, he managed to look more like one of the cold-eyed lawmen she’d seen in films about the American West. He was a head taller than most of the other male guests, and she saw him methodically scan the crowd until he located his quarry—her.

He started toward her like an aimed bullet, the crowd making way for him as if Hugh and not Adrienne had been royalty. She sensed his disapproval from a dozen feet away, and it cut through her like a knife. “Is there time to change the seating arrangements?” she asked Cindy in a low voice.

Cindy checked her watch. “We’re due to sit down in four minutes. I’d have to ask the kitchen staff to delay serving dinner while I reshuffle the seating.” She sounded frayed and Adrienne knew if anyone else had suggested it, her assistant would have told them what she thought in no uncertain terms.

“Don’t bother, then, everything will be fine,” she assured her assistant. It wasn’t fair to burden her with a problem Adrienne had to admit was of her own making. She lifted her head and fixed her best princess-smile to her face as the source of her tension reached her side. “Mr. Jordan, I’m told we’re to be dinner partners.”

He offered her his bent arm, and she was proud of hesitating only fractionally as she tucked her hand into it. “All things considered, you should call me Hugh,” he growled. “I already know the name you prefer to answer to.”

She knew he was referring to Dee, the name he had heard her use at the fair. “My name is Adrienne,” she said firmly, wishing she wasn’t bound by the rules of etiquette to keep her hand in his arm when every instinct urged her to tear herself free and run as fast as she could away from him.

The banquet table was large enough to land a small plane on, but with Hugh at her side she felt as if it was barely roomy enough for the two of them. “What brings you to Nuee, Hugh?” she made herself ask in a conversational tone, as the first course was served with the precision of a military operation.