A Royal Proposal

They were almost back at the castle, passing a market stall that sold arts and crafts and local honey, when Charlie heard the ping of a text message.

Her heart took off like an arrow fired from a bow. She came to a dead stop in a pool of yellow lamplight, felt sick, burning, and was almost too scared to look at her phone.

Rafe stood watching her, his eyes brimming with gentle sympathy. He smiled, a small encouragement.

Terrified, Charlie drew the phone out from the depths of her overcoat pocket. She was so scared she could hardly focus on the words.

Isla out of surgery and Dr Yu is happy. She’ll be in Intensive Care for about four days, but so far all good. Love, Dad xxx

‘Oh!’ She wanted to laugh and cry at once.

Unable to speak, she held up her phone for Rafe to read the message, but she was shaking so badly, he had to clasp her hand tightly to steady it before he had any chance of reading it.

‘She made it!’ His cry was as joyous as Charlie’s and he looked so relieved for her that she couldn’t help herself. Launching towards him, she threw her arms around his neck, and hugged him hard, and then, impulsively, she kissed him. On the mouth.

No doubt it was an unwise move for an Australian commoner to kiss a European crown prince in such a public place. Fortunately the Crown Prince didn’t seem to mind. In fact he gathered the commoner into his arms, almost crushing her as he held her tightly against him, and he returned her kiss with breath-robbing, fiery passion.

* * *

It seemed fitting to go into a café to celebrate the good news. Rafe took Charlie’s hand and showed her a place tucked away in a back street that seemed to be carved out of stone like a cave. As they went inside, another welcoming fire burned in a grate, rows of bottles and glasses reflected back the cheerful light, and although there were one or two excited glances and elbow nudges from curious customers, they didn’t hassle the newcomers as they perched on tall wooden stools at the bar.

Charlie’s head was spinning.

Calm down, girl, it was just a kiss.

But it wasn’t just any old kiss. She knew she’d never been kissed with such intensity, such excitement, had never experienced such a soul-searing thrill.

But he’s a prince, a jet-setter, a playboy. He’s had masses of practice. A kiss like that means nothing to him.

Could she be sure? It had felt very genuine.

Yes, that’s the problem.

She had to stop thinking about it. Had to concentrate on Isla.

None of this would have happened if Isla had been well.

Rafe ordered vin chaud, which proved to be a delicious mulled wine laced with cinnamon, cloves and juniper berries.

‘Here’s to Isla,’ he said, clinking his glass against Charlie’s.

‘Yes. To Isla.’ Charlie lifted her glass. ‘Hang in there for another four days, kiddo.’ She took a sip. ‘Wow, this is amazing.’

‘It’s a favourite drink with the skiers,’ Rafe told her.

‘I can certainly understand why.’ Charlie drank a little more. ‘I’ve never been skiing.’

He pretended to be shocked. ‘That’s something we’ll have to remedy.’

The thought of skiing with Rafe was thrilling, but Charlie doubted they would have time. Apart from the hospital visit this morning, today had been unusually free of engagements. The private time alone with Rafe had been an unexpected bonus, but she knew he had commitments that were bound to keep him very busy. And tomorrow evening, there was to be the grand ball.

Charlie had never been to a ball and the very thought of it made her nervous. She would have to wear that beautiful, and incredibly expensive, pale green gown, and her schedule tomorrow included appointments with a hairdresser and a beautician.

It was best not to think about that tonight while they lingered over their vin chaud.

Eventually, they continued on their way, stopping to buy hot roasted chestnuts from a stall on a street corner and eating them from a paper cone. When they reached the castle, Rafe ordered a light supper to be brought to Mademoiselle Olivia’s room.

In the lift, Charlie gave herself a stern lecture.

Forget about that kiss. You started it, remember?

Yes, and Rafe was just being kind.

Kind? Really?

That’s probably how a playboy expresses kindness.

It won’t happen again.

* * *

Delicious mini-pizzas arrived, topped with caramelised onions, black olives and Gruyère cheese. And there were cherries for dessert along with a pot of the most divine hot chocolate.

As they enjoyed their supper, Rafe filled Charlie in about the important dignitaries who would attend the ball tomorrow evening.

‘You won’t be expected to know everyone,’ he assured her. ‘But I’ll ask Mathilde to give you a list with photos, so you can at least learn some of the names.’

‘That would be helpful, thank you.’ Charlie remembered something else that was bothering her. ‘What about the dancing?’

‘Ah, yes.’ Rafe frowned. ‘I should have thought about that earlier. Can you waltz?’

‘No, not really. I mean—we learnt a little ballroom dancing at school and I’ve watched people waltzing on TV. I know it’s basically one-two-three, one-two-three, but—’ Charlie grimaced awkwardly. ‘I don’t suppose there’ll be any disco dancing?’

Rafe smiled. ‘There’ll be some, I should imagine. But you’ll be expected to know how to waltz.’

‘Could Olivia waltz?’

‘Yes. She’s quite a good dancer, I must admit.’

Damn. ‘Any chance we could have a bit of practice before tomorrow night?’

‘Of course,’ Rafe said without hesitation.

It was silly to feel so self-conscious, almost blushing at the thought of dancing in his arms, their bodies lightly brushing.

‘You don’t want to start worrying about that now, though,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow evening, say an hour early, before the ball, and we can have a little practice. Your room’s carpeted, so it won’t be the same as dancing on a proper dance floor, but at least we can run through the basics. I’m sure you’ll pick it up very quickly.’

‘OK. Thank you.’

The charming meal was a lovely end to a perfect day. All too quickly, it seemed to Charlie, it was time for Rafe to leave. He rose from the sofa, taking both her hands in his and drawing her to her feet.

Her heart began a silly kind of drumming.

Stop it.

‘Thanks for giving up so much time to be with me today,’ she said. ‘It’s been—’ She was about to tell him it had been wonderful, a stand-out, red-letter day that she would never forget. But perhaps over-the-top enthusiasm wasn’t wise at this point. It was time to remind herself that this was only a role that she was being paid to fulfil.

Instead of gushing, she said carefully, ‘I appreciated your company. It was—very nice.’

‘Very nice?’ Rafe repeated in a tone that implied she had somehow insulted him.

‘Well...yes.’

Leave it at that, Charlie. Too bad if he’s disappointed. It’s important to keep your head.

Perhaps Rafe understood. He responded with a courteous nod. ‘I enjoyed the day, too. You’re great company, Charlie, and I was very pleased to share the good news about your little sister.’

It felt strained to be so formal after the closeness they’d shared today, but Charlie told herself that this new, careful politeness was desirable. This was how matters must be between herself and the Prince. Even though Rafe was still holding her hands, it was time to retreat from being overly familiar.

It was time to remember the reality of their situation. She was only a temporary fill-in until Olivia was found—or until Olivia returned of her own accord.

Charlie was pleased to have her thoughts sorted on this matter, but then Rafe spoiled everything by clasping her hands more tightly and holding them against his chest.

Big mistake. She could feel his heart beating beneath her palm.

In response, her own heart was hammering. She tried to ignore it.

‘You’re a very special girl,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘Note I said special, not just very nice.’

‘Special is open to interpretation,’ Charlie said more curtly than she meant to.

‘So it is.’ Rafe lifted her hands to his lips. ‘Perhaps you’d prefer nice?’ Keeping his grey gaze locked with hers, he kissed her hand, and his lips traced a seductive path over her knuckles.

Of course, Charlie’s skin burned and tingled wherever his lips touched, and she knew what would come next. At any moment, Rafe would take her into his arms again and he would kiss her. Already, she could imagine the exquisite devastation of his lips meeting hers.

She had never wanted a kiss more, but she had to remember why this shouldn’t happen.

‘D-don’t play with me, Rafe.’

He frowned as he stared at her, trying to read her.

Time seemed to stand still.

And poor Charlie was already regretting her plea, as the wicked vamp inside her longed for Rafe to go on kissing her hands, kissing her mouth, kissing any part of her that took his fancy.

But he was letting her hands go. ‘Forgive me, Charlie. I did not intend to take liberties.’

It was ridiculous to feel so disappointed. Charlie knew she should be relieved that her message had got through to the playboy Prince.

‘I’ll see you at breakfast in the morning,’ he said politely. ‘Sleep well.’

With another formal bow, he backed out of the room, but the blazing signal in his eyes was anything but formal, and there was no way Charlie could miss its message. She only had to say the word and Rafe would drop the formalities. In a heartbeat, she would be in his arms, in his bed, discovering what it was like to make love to a prince. All night long.

Somehow, she stood super still until the door closed behind him.

Oh, help. Now she would have the devil’s own job getting to sleep.

CHAPTER NINE

NEXT MORNING, WHEN Charlie went down to the breakfast room, she half expected to find that Rafe had left already, but he was still at the table, polishing off a croissant stuffed with smoked salmon and scrambled eggs. After a restless night, she felt a little uncertain about his mood, but he greeted her with a smile.

‘Bonjour, Olivia.’

‘Bonjour,’ she responded carefully, knowing there were servants within hearing range.

Rafe immediately shot a pointed glance towards the newspaper on the table beside him.

The headline jumped out at Charlie.

OLIVIA LOOKS FORWARD TO MOTHERHOOD!

She gasped, caught Rafe’s eye. He gave a helpless shrug.

The headline was accompanied by a photo of Charlie standing in the hospital’s nursery in her new black and white polka-dot dress, holding the snugly wrapped baby and gazing at it wistfully, while Rafe watched with a smile that might easily be interpreted as fond.

The accompanying story began: Olivia Belaire’s motherly instincts were on clear display yesterday when she and Prince Rafael visited Montaigne’s Royal Children’s Hospital...

Charlie skipped the rest of the story to check out another smaller headline.

ROYAL-IN-WAITING BRINGS CURTSIES AND SMILES.

The photograph beneath this caption showed Charlie and Rafe in the children’s ward, standing close together, grinning with delight and applauding as the little girl in the crocheted cap performed her curtsy.

Charlie wondered what Olivia would make of these stories, if she saw them.

‘Are you happy with this?’ she asked Rafe, holding up the paper.

‘My press officer’s happy, so that’s the main thing.’ Over his coffee cup, he smiled at her again. ‘You did well. I told you that yesterday. Everyone loved you.’

Charlie supposed she should be pleased, but she didn’t really know how to feel about this. It was all too weird, and now that she wasn’t quite so stressed about Isla she found herself wondering about her other sister. Olivia.

What was the real reason for Olivia’s decision to take off? Would these photos of her double bring her out of hiding? If so, when would she show up? How would that scene play out?

Charlie couldn’t help wondering if Rafe had thought this charade through properly, considering all possible consequences.

Then again, Charlie knew that for herself there was only one possible outcome. As soon as Olivia returned, Charlie’s role at Montaigne would be over, which meant she could be gone from here within a matter of days.

Hours?

In no time she would find herself back in Sydney, back in her little flat that she’d decorated so carefully. She would be reunited with Dolly, her cat, and she’d see all her friends again and resume her role at the gallery. Once again she would be living in hope that she might sell her father’s paintings for an enormous sum.

Taking her seat at the breakfast table, Charlie wished she felt happier about the prospect of going home. It didn’t make sense to feel miserable about going back to her own world and her old life, the life that had been perfectly satisfactory until she’d been so suddenly plucked from it.

Her low mood was annoying. Puzzling, too. She knew she couldn’t have fallen in love with Rafe in such a short space of time. And anyway, even if she had, foolishly, lost her head, it couldn’t be an emotion of the lasting kind.

She was simply dazzled...starstruck. This man and his castle and his beautiful principality were all part of a fairy tale, after all. This world wasn’t real—not for an everyday average Aussie girl.

‘Is everything all right?’ Rafe asked her in French.

Charlie blinked and it took her a moment to compute his simple question. ‘Of course,’ she said at last. ‘I was just wondering when a certain person might be found.’

‘Oh, yes, I know.’ He frowned. ‘It’s very frustrating.’

Charlie suspected that Rafe might have said more, but a young man with carefully slicked-back hair, dressed in a pristine white shirt and black trousers, appeared to pour her coffee and to politely offer her warmed platters of food awaiting her selection. She copied Rafe and took a croissant with scrambled eggs and a little smoked salmon.

‘I’m going to be busy for most of today,’ Rafe told her as the young man hovered to pour his second cup of coffee and to make sure Charlie had everything she needed. ‘But I’ve arranged for Mathilde to give you that VIP guest list with the photos.’

‘Thank you.’

‘And I won’t forget our arrangement to meet prior to the ball. I think seven o’clock should give us enough time.’

‘Yes, I’ll make sure I’m ready.’ Charlie was rather looking forward to their dancing lesson.

Rafe nodded. ‘There’s nothing else you need today?’ And then almost immediately, he answered his own question. ‘Of course, you’ll need jewellery for tonight.’

‘Well, yes, I suppose I shall.’

‘What colour is your gown?’

Charlie thought about the beautiful gown hanging in her wardrobe. She remembered the slinky sensation of the fully lined satin and the way it had clung and rippled about her body as she moved. Now that the ball was drawing close, she was a bit self-conscious about wearing it in public.

‘It’s a sort of pale green.’ she said. ‘Not an apple green, a pale—I don’t know, a smoky green, perhaps?’ The colour was hard enough to describe in English, but trying to do so in French was almost impossible. Charlie knew she was making a hash of it. ‘I think Monique may have called it sea foam, or something like that.’

‘Sea-foam green?’ Rafe’s grey eyes widened. He didn’t look impressed.

Charlie lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. ‘Don’t worry, Rafe, it works. That colour shouldn’t suit me with my blue eyes, but it seems to.’

‘I’m sure it’s very beautiful, Char—Olivia.’ It was the first time Rafe had ever slipped up with her name. Was it a sign that he was nervous about her performance tonight? This would be her first real test in front of all the most important people in Montaigne. She was beginning to wish that she’d chosen a nice safe white or blue dress.

But then, to her surprise, Rafe said, ‘I can’t wait to see you wearing it.’ And he sent her a smile so smouldering it should have been illegal. Charlie was too busy catching her breath to reply.

‘I imagine,’ he said next, ‘that pearls and diamonds might be best suited to your sea foam.’

‘Yes,’ Charlie agreed, very deliberately calming down, despite the exciting prospect of wearing royal pearls and diamonds. ‘I think they’d be perfect.’

‘Good. I’ll arrange to have them sent to your room before seven.’

‘Thank you.’

* * *

It was yet another day of new experiences. Charlie had been to hair salons before, of course, and had once indulged in a spray tan at a beauty salon in Sydney. But she’d never been to a suite of salons as grand and luxurious as the place Rafe’s chauffeur delivered her to for today’s appointments.

She’d certainly never been so pampered. By the end of the day she’d been given a warm oil body massage and a winter hydrating facial, as well as a manicure, pedicure and eyebrow wax—and of course, there had been a beautiful healthy lunch that included a ghastly looking green smoothie that was surprisingly delicious.

Charlie’s hair had been given a special conditioning treatment, too, and her scalp had been massaged, her curls trimmed.

‘Oh, my God, Olivia! Your hair has grown so much since your last cut!’

Charlie merely nodded at this. ‘It grows fast,’ she agreed, crossing her fingers under her cape.

After a short but intense discussion among the hairdressers about the Prince’s expectations for the ball, Charlie’s hair was styled into a glamorous updo. And then her make-up was applied. She’d been rather nervous about this. She was worried that the make-up would be too heavy, that it would involve false eyelashes and she’d end up looking like a drag queen. She wanted to be able to recognise herself when she saw her reflection.

There was no problem with recognition, however. In fact, the results were amazing. The girl in the mirror was the same old Charlie, but her skin now had a special glow, a feat she had never managed before without making her nose shiny. Her eyes seemed to have acquired an extra sparkle and glamour. Her hair was glossy, her curls artistically tamed. The result was faultless.

Charlie was a little overawed by this newly refined and sophisticated version of herself. She almost felt like a princess. She quickly stomped on that thought before it took root.

* * *

By seven o’clock the names and faces on the supplied list had all been memorised—Charlie had tested herself several times—and she was dressed and ready. The sea-foam dress still looked good, she was relieved to see.

It was sleeveless with a scooped neckline and an elegant, low cowl back, but it was the slinky way the dress flowed, responding to every subtle movement of her body, that made it so special.

She had never gone out of her way to draw attention to herself, but she knew this was the sort of dress that would let everyone, male and female, know she was in the room. The addition of Rafe’s heirloom pearls and diamonds—delivered by his valet, Jacques—completed her transformation. She had expected a necklace and earrings, but there was a tiara as well, which Jacques kindly helped her to secure.

When the valet left she was rather stunned when she saw herself in the mirror. The dress was a dream, the make-up dewy-perfect. The elegant up-sweep of her hair and the gleaming pearls and sparkling diamonds of the tiara had combined to create the perfect image of a princess.

Charlie Morisset was in for a big night.

For Rafe’s sake, she only hoped she could get through it without making too many blunders.

* * *

Rafe was due at any moment and, rather than waiting for him to knock, Charlie opened her door, ready for his arrival. As she did so she heard strange noises—blasts and ripples of music floating up the staircase from the grand ballroom on the lower floor. Trumpets, clarinets, saxophones and flutes. The band was warming up.

Excitement and anticipation pinged inside her and she drew a quick, steadying breath. Not that it did her any good, for a moment later Rafe stepped out from a doorway across the hall and she completely forgot how to breathe.

He was dressed in a formal black military uniform with gold braid on his shoulders, a colourful row of medals and a diagonal red and gold sash across his broad chest. His dark hair, as black as a raven’s wing, gleamed in the light of overhead chandeliers and he looked so handsome and so splendidly royal that Charlie’s knees began to tremble.

Drop-dead gorgeous had just been redefined.

It didn’t help that Rafe had come to a complete standstill when he saw her, or that his smile was replaced by a look of total surprise.

The trembling in Charlie’s knees spread to the rest of her body and she might have stumbled if she hadn’t kept a death grip on the door handle. She wished that Rafe would say something—anything—but he simply stood there, staring at her with a bewildered smile.

After an ice age or two, she managed to speak. ‘Are you coming in?’

Rafe nodded and she stepped back to allow him to enter her room. ‘That’s an amazing uniform,’ she said, hoping to ease the obvious tension. ‘You look very—regal.’

‘And you look, literally, breathtaking, Charlie.’ He turned to her and gave a shaky smile as he let his burning gaze ride over her from head to toe and back again. ‘You’re going to steal the show tonight.’

She managed to smile. ‘You had your doubts about the sea foam.’

Rafe shook his head. ‘I knew you would choose well.’

‘I’m glad it’s OK, then.’

‘OK? C’est superbe. Magnifique!’

As Charlie closed the door Rafe stepped towards her, reaching for her hands. His grey eyes were shining so brightly they’d turned to silver. A knot in his throat moved as he swallowed. ‘My dear Charlie,’ he whispered, taking her hands in his and drawing her nearer. ‘I think I’ve made the most terrible mistake in bringing you here.’

Charlie’s throat was suddenly so painfully tight she could barely squeeze out a response.

‘Why is that?’ she managed at last.

Rafe’s mouth twisted, as if he was trying for a smile, but couldn’t quite manage it. ‘I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to let you go.’

Oh, Rafe.

She wanted to weep, to melt in his arms, to acknowledge the unmistakable emotions that eddied between them, to give in to the sizzling chemistry. But a warning voice in her head reminded her that she had to be sensible.

In less than an hour they were expected to host a royal ball that would be attended by all the local VIPs, including Rafe’s enemies. Being seen at such an occasion was the very reason she’d been brought to Montaigne. Decorum was required. Dignity, not passion.

She shook her head at him. ‘Don’t pay me compliments, sir. Not now. You’ll make me cry, and that will spoil my make-up, and I’m sure it cost you a small fortune.’

A rueful chuckle broke from him. ‘I’ve never met a girl so worried about money. But, OK, no more compliments.’

‘Good.’ Although Charlie feared that a dancing lesson with Rafe would be even more dangerous than his compliments.

‘I’ll have to kiss you instead,’ Rafe said next. ‘Perhaps there is no make-up here?’

Before she quite realised what was happening Rafe touched his fingers to her bare shoulder and, before she could gather her wits to stop him, he pressed his warm, sexy lips to the same patch of skin.

Charlie gasped as his lips brushed her in the gentlest of caresses. Her skin tingled and flamed. The blood in her veins rushed and zapped.

‘Or perhaps here?’ Rafe murmured as he pressed another kiss to Charlie’s neck and caused a starburst of heat, just above the pearls and diamonds.

‘What about here?’ he whispered, and Charlie had no choice but to cling to him, grabbing at the stiff cloth of his jacket, closing her eyes, as he kissed the sensitive skin just beneath her ear. And then gently nibbled at her earlobe.