Cordinas Crown Jewel (22 page)

Del took the car and skipped the driver.

And came as close to falling in love with a place not his own as he’d ever in his life.

There was something stunning about it—the tiny country on the sea. It made him think of jewels—old and precious ones passed down from generation to generation.

The land rose in tiers of hills from the lap of the sea. Houses, pink and white and dull gold tumbled up and down those rises, jutted out on the promontory, as if they’d been carved there. Flowers—he’d been paying more attention to them since Camilla—grew in abundance and with such a free and casual air they added immense charm to the drama of rock and cliff. The fronds of regal palms fluttered in a constant balmy breeze.

The sense of age appealed to him. Generation by generation, century by century, this small gem had survived and gleamed, and clung to its heart without giving way to the frenzied rush of urbanity, without exploiting its vast and staggering views with skyscrapers.

He imagined it had changed here and there over time. No place remained the same, and that was the beauty of man. And when man had wisdom along with invention, he managed to find a way to preserve the heart while feeding the mind.

The Bissets, who had ruled here for four centuries, had obviously been wise.

He stopped on the drive back, along the winding, rising road, to study the place of princes. It was only just, he supposed, that the palace stood on the highest point. It faced the sea, its white stories rising from the cliff. It spread, even rambled with its battlements, its parapets and towers harking proudly back to another age. Another time.

Wars, he thought, and royalty. Historic bedfellows.

Even in modern times a small, ugly little war had been fought here. When he’d been a boy, a self-styled terrorist had attempted to assassinate members of the royal family. Camilla’s mother had been kidnapped. Her
aunt, then simply Eve Hamilton, had been shot.

He realized now that he hadn’t considered that, or how such a history so close to the heart could and did affect Camilla.

Still, she hadn’t let it stop her from striking out on her own, alone, he thought now. It didn’t stop her from coming back here, to the castle on the hill, and taking up her family duties.

The country, the family, was at peace now. But peace was a fragile thing.

He imagined those who lived inside understood the palace had been built for defense. And his archaeologist’s eye could see how cagey the design. There could be no attack from the sea, no force that could breech the sheer rock walls of the cliffs. And the height, the hills made it all but impregnable.

Its port made it rich.

It had also been built for beauty. He considered the quest for beauty a very human need.

Standing where he was, he wouldn’t have thought of it as a home, but only as a symbol. But he had been inside, beyond those iron gates. However powerful, or symbolic, or aesthetically potent, it was a home.

Perhaps she lived a part of her life on a farm in Virginia, but this place, this palace, this country, was very much her home.

It had to be obvious to both of them that it couldn’t be his.

When he drove back through the gates, passed the bold red uniforms of the palace guards, a cloud of depression came with him.

*  *  *

“He’s in a horrible mood,” Alice confided to Gabriella when they stole five minutes in the music room. They huddled close, as conspirators should. “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 crowds 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.”