The Prince's Texas Bride (9 page)

“You broke her heart,” she said.

“Hardly,” he said. “Two days after we broke it off, she was in the papers with a French billionaire. Soon after, she got pregnant with his daughter and they got married.”

“Were you heartbroken?” she asked.

“I came to my senses,” he said.

The same way he would come to his senses about me, she thought and deliberately pushed it aside. “Just curious. What was so wrong about her?”

“You're very curious this morning. Are you this way every morning?” he asked.

She smiled. “I rarely have such amazing company for breakfast. You didn't answer my question.”

He folded his hands together and met her gaze. “For a true marriage, I believe a man and woman must connect on several levels, physically, emotionally, intellectually. Maja and I didn't have that. My father was dying at the time. She provided a temporary diversion, but it wasn't enough to go the distance. I knew it at the start and told her exactly how I felt.”

Eve smiled slowly. “In that way, you're like a Texan. We're not big on pretending.”

He nodded. “What do you have planned today?” he asked, changing the subject.

“The farrier is coming. I'm working on some gait issues with one of the geldings. I'll put Black through his paces if you don't plan to ride tonight.”

“That would be a good idea. What do you have planned for the evening?” he asked.

“What part of the evening?” she asked. “Dinner? Bedtime?”

“Evening,” he repeated, his gaze causing all kinds of jittery sensations inside her.

She set down her fork and folded her hands in her lap. “Well, I'm a Texas lady,” she said. “And we don't believe in chasing men. We don't make booty calls. I made a breakfast call,” she said. “The ball is in your court.”

Stefan smiled. “Rascal woman.”

She met his gaze. “Who, me?”

“Okay, you've forced my hand. Meet me in my quarters at 10:00 p.m.”

“That's pretty late for this working girl,” she said.

“I have a working dinner with a visitor from Egypt. Would you like to join us?”

“Ten, it is,” she said and put her hat on her head and stood. “Please give my compliments to your chef. Marvelous breakfast.”

“I'll pass along your compliments. Maybe you can shake loose a few secrets from your aunt about her favorite recipes,” he said, standing.

“Good luck with that,” Eve said. “She can be a little ornery at times.”

“Just like her niece,” he said.

“If you're going to compare me to my aunt Hildie, you've given me a huge compliment,” Eve said.

He nodded and walked toward her, tilting her hat off her head. “Interesting version of a booty call.”

“It wasn't a booty call,” she protested. “It was a break fast call.”

“Close enough,” he said and then pressed his mouth against hers. “Best morning I've had in a long time. You can work on the booty part later.”

 

Eve kept herself busy until dusk, which in this case was 8:00 p.m. She'd eaten a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with lots of water. She took a shower and would have normally gotten into bed and read before she fell asleep. Tonight, she dressed in a sundress but still thought about her pj's. She thought more intensely as each moment passed. Her cell rang at nine-thirty. Stefan.

“Would you join me for a cocktail on my balcony?” he asked.

She took a deep breath. That sounded so much better than a booty call.

“A Texas Rose?” he asked, and her mind turned to the romantic night they'd shared.

“I'm good with water tonight,” she said.

He gave a low chuckle that rolled over her nerve endings like honey. “I have plenty of that. Max will arrive to escort you in a few moments.”

“That's not necessary,” she said.

“Yes, it is,” he said firmly.

Just as Stefan had said, Max arrived a few minutes later and walked her to the palace door. “Enjoy your evening, Ms. Jackson.”

“If I call you Max, then you can call me Eve. Thanks for the escort,” she said and made her way up the stairs to Stefan's quarters. Her heart hammering in her chest, she lightly knocked on the door.

He opened it immediately and ushered her inside.
“Good evening, beautiful,” he said and pulled her into his arms. “Is the dress for me?”

She felt herself flush with self-consciousness followed quickly by a prickle of irritation. “No. I was actually planning on clubbing tonight. You called right before I planned to leave,” she said, tongue in cheek.

“Clubbing,” he said with a frown then studied her face and laughed. “You're a bloody tease, Eve Jackson.”

“Not at all,” she said. “You're just too accustomed to everyone tripping over themselves to try to please you.”

“Funny you don't have to try, yet you still do,” he said thoughtfully, then pulled back and waved toward the balcony. “Come out. I have a little surprise for you.”

Curious, she followed him outside and saw a table set with bottled water, milk and a plate of cookies. She felt a twist of nostalgia. “Oh, my aunt used to fix this as a snack for me whenever I visited her. Are they chocolate chip?” she asked, sinking into the chair he offered.

He nodded and took the chair next to her. “Since you weren't interested in a Texas Rose, I thought you might like a different taste of home.”

“How did you know?” she asked and took a bite of the cookie.

“I have ways,” he said.

She studied him suspiciously. “You talked to Hildie again, didn't you?”

“You know how tight my schedule has been. When have I had time to call your aunt?” he asked.

“True,” she said. “But you could have gotten someone else to call her. Thank you,” she said.

“I never said I did it,” he said.

“Okay,” she conceded, but was secretly thrilled that he would have gone to such trouble to please her.
“What was your favorite bedtime snack when you were a kid?”

“My diet was zealously monitored by a strict nanny from the time I was eight until I went away to school at age twelve.”

Eve winced. “That doesn't sound like much fun.”

His lips twitched. “I had sources. It wasn't a bedtime snack, but I wanted peanut M&M's and Skittles as often as I could get them. One of my uncles slipped me some on occasion. I hoarded them.”

Eve laughed at the image. “Oh, my gosh, and I would have thought you'd been given everything you wanted.”

He met her gaze for a heartbeat that made her lose her breath. “You would have been wrong.” Glancing away, he took a drink of his water. “I can't deny I was given a life of enormous privilege, but for some reason, my family always felt fractured. We didn't feel like a family. Valentina and I were closer than the rest. I keep trying to make us more of a family, but sometimes I wonder if it's too late.”

Her heart twisted and she realized what her gut had told her. She and Stefan shared more than anyone would believe possible at first, or even second, glance. She knew the pain of a family that just couldn't seem to come together. She lifted her hand and covered his. “Some people would say it's never too late.”

“What about you?” he asked.

“I work at believing, but it's tough. My mother and father were a dysfunctional mess.”

“Mine were, too,” he said.

“But they had six children together,” she said.

“The duty of progeny,” he said.

“Six?” she said in disbelief. “There's duty and there's duty.”

He leaned back and sighed. “My father wanted to marry someone else, but the woman dumped him. My mother was supposedly second choice. I think the first five years they gave it their best. After that, my mother tried to keep his interest by having more children. Jacques was her last desperate attempt. My father took mistresses on a regular basis and their marriage became more of a business arrangement.”

“Did she love him?”

“She was a very young and innocent French countess when they married, twelve years younger than him. Nineteen years old on the day they married. I'm sure she was enamored by his position, excited to be the object of adulation from the people of Chantaine and at times, the rest of the world.”

“Nineteen. Wow, that was young.”

He nodded.

“How do you feel about the whole taking-a-mistress thing?” she asked.

“Why do you think I'm delaying marriage?” he returned. “I don't want the same kind of relationship when I take a wife. It may be damn hard, but I want a real family.”

“I understand that. You think the odds are against you?” she asked. “I figure with my background, they're against me.”

“Possibly,” he said. “I've heard that expression you Americans use. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. But I'm already a different man than my father was. A different leader with different goals. I'll do what it takes to be taken seriously so I can improve my country. I won't be marrying a
Playboy
model or beauty-contest
winner. I won't choose a wife purely on the basis of her title or her beauty.”

“Good for you,” she said. “You and I have that in common. I won't be marrying a
Playgirl
model or a boy toy. Well,” she added in a light, mocking tone, “unless he worships the ground I walk on and knows how to fix amazing baby back ribs.”

“Baby back ribs?” he echoed. “I think I remember Valentina talking about ribs when she attended college in Texas.”

“If she was referring to baby back ribs, she wasn't talking,” Eve said. “She was moaning, saying oooohhh, ahhhh…I want more.”

Stefan narrowed his eyes. “What the hell is the recipe for these ribs? Do they have some kind of aphrodisiac in their flavoring?”

She laughed. “No. They're just amazingly delicious and there are a gajillion recipes. People get into fistfights over what's the best way to fix ribs.”

“Sounds primitive,” he said.

“And redneck,” she added. “But once you've tried to fix them, you become a redneck.”

“This sounds like one of the exclusive fraternities at university that I refused to join,” he said.

She shrugged. “Bet they didn't know a thing about fixing ribs.”

He gave a slow smile and folded his hand around hers. “True. Learning how to cook ribs was not a priority for the students at Oxford.”

“Well, that shows you how education is deteriorating even in the U.K.,” she said, making a
tsk
-ing sound and shaking her head.

Stefan gave her a sharp tug and pulled her onto his
lap. “Thank God you're here to correct my deficient education,” he said.

His low chuckle against her ear sent a ripple of pleasure through her body. “I live to serve,” she managed, a little more breathlessly than she intended.

“Yeah, right,” he said, chuckling again. Then he cupped her chin and looked deep into her eyes. “Stay with me for a while.”

Eve felt herself sinking into him. She could have fought it. Well, she liked to believe that she could have fought it. But when she looked into his eyes, the word
no
was completely absent from her vocabulary.

“Y
ou're coming to dinner tonight at the palace,” Bridget said in a singsong voice with a wide smile as she made her way into Eve's office at the stable the next day mid-morning. It never ceased to amaze Eve how Bridget seemed to ignore the fact that her high heels weren't a good match for the dirt floor of the stable. Bridget was currently wearing a hot-pink shirtdress, a pink hat and pink shoes. Bless her heart, the princess looked like a cartoon.

“Just curious, where have you been? Where are you going?” Eve asked.

“A visit at a home for the elderly. Yes, I know I look ridiculous, but it's cheery,” she said. “Now, about dinner,” she said.

Eve shook her head. “Bridget, I really appreciate the invite, but—”

“No buts,” she said. “I'll be bored out of my mind
without you. Do you realize no one else within ten years of my age will be attending? Have a little pity, Eve.”

“What about Phillipa?”

“The sneak got out of it, said she was working on her dissertation. Convenient excuse.”

Eve groaned. “I don't have anything to wear,” she said.

Bridget shrugged and smiled. “That's what shopping is for.”

“I have work to do,” Eve said firmly.

“As do I,” Bridget said, lifting her chin. “You have the cute little black dress, but we should get you another option. Give me your measurements and I'll call one of my assistants.”

Eve just stared at the woman.

Bridget wrinkled her brow. “Come along. Don't be shy. I don't have all day. Your measurements?” Bridget sighed. “Okay, just send them to my assistant, Helga. This is her number,” she said, scratching the number on a piece of paper on Eve's desk. “Don't worry. She'll take your size to the grave. Our security could learn lessons from this woman. Tonight, 7:00 p.m. at the Serrisa Ballroom.”

“I didn't say—”

“Too late. You didn't say no, so that means yes. You won't regret it. I'll make sure you're entertained. If you haven't called Helga with your measurements by two, then I'll make an arbitrary selection for your dress. Ciao, darling,” she said and strutted away.

Eve stared after her thinking this Devereaux clan would try the patience of a saint, and heaven knew she was no saint.

 

Hours later, Eve dressed in a cream-colored gown and nude sandals. Helga had also sent a tiara, but that was just way over the top for Eve. She stared at herself in the mirror and felt like Cinderella going to the ball. Or like she was dressing up for Halloween. Either was uncomfortable. She picked up her cell to call Bridget. Her phone rang, surprising her so much she nearly dropped her phone.

“Hello,” she said before she looked at the return number.

“No reneging,” Bridget said firmly.

Eve sighed. “Bridget, this just isn't me.”

“Oh, get over yourself. Pretend you're at a costume party. There will be great food, booze and me for company. Think of this as breaking out of your shell. An escort will pick you up in thirty minutes.”

“I could easily walk in that time,” Eve said.

“I don't want you to sweat. Sit tight,” Bridget said and disconnected the call.

Exactly thirty minutes later, a different security agent appeared outside her building with a car. “Ms. Jackson, I'm Edward. I'll be driving you to the palace for the state dinner tonight.”

Eve seriously considered asking him to just take her for a ride along the beach, but she reined in her discomfort. “Thank you, Edward. I'm a first-timer. Any tips?”

“Let the royals go first with everything, and you'll be safe,” he said.

“Thanks,” she muttered, wishing for milk and cookies. Just a few moments later, however, she walked inside the front door of the palace as opposed to the other entrances she used for her meetings with Stefan. Stepping
inside the front hall, she was reminded of the first time she'd entered the palace. It was a stunningly beautiful foyer filled with sparkling crystal chandeliers, marble floors and sculptures. Tonight, the foyer was also filled with women dressed in couture gowns and men in dashing tuxedos.

Eve felt that itchy sensation of not belonging, of being a pretender.

“There you are,” Bridget said and moved toward her. The princess wore a spectacular gold dress and tiara. She hooked her arm through Eve's. “Thank goodness you're here. You look fabulous,” she said, then frowned. “Where's your tiara?”

“I didn't think it went with the dress,” Eve said.

“It was perfect with the dress,” Bridget argued.

“I'm not a princess and it made me feel like I
was
dressing for Halloween.”

Bridget cackled with laughter. “Okay, you're excused. Bet you think mine is ridiculous.”

“You look beautiful,” Eve said. “And you can do the crown thing because you're a princess.”

Eve gawked at the extravagant jewelry many of the women wore. “Do you think it's real?” she whispered to Bridget. “The diamonds that woman is wearing are the size of golf balls.”

Bridget glanced at the older woman and nodded. “That's Princess Margarita from Spain, so yes, they're real. Would you like to meet her?”

“That's okay. I'm happy in the background. You go ahead and do your hostess thing,” she said.

“In a moment. I want you to see the woman I'm matching with Stefan first. Come here,” she said and nodded toward a tall, stunning blonde. “She's a swimsuit model from Luxembourg. What do you think?”

Eve swallowed over a sudden lump in her throat. “She's beautiful. Can she ride?”

Bridget frowned. “Ride?”

Eve shrugged. “Horseback riding is one of Stefan's passions. I would think he would want his wife to share that passion.”

Bridget drew her eyebrows together. “I hadn't thought of that,” she mused. “Darn, I hope she doesn't get eliminated because she's afraid of horses.”

“Is she?” Eve asked, feeling a terrible, wicked relief.

“I don't know. Hmm. Now that I think of it, Stefan always rides alone. He probably wouldn't want his wife along with him anyway.”

If Eve corrected Bridget, then Stefan's sister would want details, which Eve couldn't reveal. Ever. Eve clamped her mouth firmly shut.

“I should go, but I've arranged for you to sit next to me. Get a drink. Mingle. Enjoy yourself,” she instructed.

Bridget left in a flourish of silk, and Eve eased her way to the side of the room to people watch. As Bridget said, most of the group appeared to be at least ten years older than she was. The foyer looked different filled with party people. She could almost imagine the same kind of party taking place a century or two ago with the people dressed in different clothes. They would have arrived by carriage instead of limo.

“You look like you're in a different world,” a male voice said to her. “Is it more interesting there?”

She blinked and glanced to her side to find a thirty-something dark-haired man looking at her with amusement in his dark eyes. “I was just imagining what a party here might have looked like a hundred years ago.”

“Jam-packed with mothers pushing their daughters toward the royal family,” he said and took a sip of a drink in a squat glass. “These days the crown prince throws most of these parties for visiting dignitaries, investors or charities.”

“And are you a frequent guest at these events?” she asked.

“I'm invited because I bring business to Chantaine. And you?”

“Oh, I'm not really supposed to be here,” she said, then corrected herself. “I was invited by Princess Bridget, but I'm really just staff.”

“You're an American,” he said. “What do you do for the palace?”

“Are you with the press?” she asked. She hadn't forgotten what had happened the last time she talked to a stranger.

He laughed again. “Hell, no. But if you're skittish, we don't have to discuss your occupation.”

“I'm not skittish,” she said. “I'm the royal stable master.”

The man lifted his eyebrows. “Impressive. Stefan prizes his horses.”

She studied him. “Do you know him well?”

“Some,” he said with a shrug. “My name is Nic Lafitte,” he announced, extending his hand. “And you are?”

“Eve Jackson,” she said cautiously, allowing him to take her hand. “That name is familiar,” she mused, trying to place it.

“Nic?” he asked with a playful grin.

She laughed despite herself and shook her head. “No. Lafitte.” She blinked. “That's the name of the famous pirate.”

“I thought that was Bluebeard,” he said.

“No,” she said, laughing again. “Lafitte was the famous pirate in New Orleans. Unusual name. Any relation?”

He extended his hands upward in complete innocence. “Do I look like a pirate?”

Eve studied him and it was easy to imagine him with a pirate's hat, eye patch and boots. “Now that you mention it—”

“Eve, where have you been? It's time for dinner,” Bridget said, then glanced at Nic and gave him a hard look. “Mr. Lafitte, what a surprise. I hope you're enjoying the event tonight.”

“More than I expected, Your Highness, especially after meeting Ms. Jackson. You're looking more beautiful than ever, Princess Bridget,” he said.

“Thank you,” Bridget said, but clearly didn't mean it. “Please excuse both of us. We're needed in the dining room.”

“I'll be happy to escort Ms. Jackson if you have other duties,” he offered.

“Not at all necessary,” Bridget said firmly, then grabbed Eve's wrist and rushed away.

“What was that about?” Eve asked as they headed down the hall to the ballroom. “Do you and Nic Lafitte have some sort of romantic history?”

“Absolutely not,” Bridget said, with a disdain Eve had never seen her exhibit before. “I would never get involved with a Lafitte. No one in the Devereaux family would. I don't have time to go into it right now, but just trust me. There's a lot of bad blood between the two families.”

“Then why in the world would you invite him to your party?”

Bridget sighed as they entered the ballroom. “Because he brings business to Chantaine. Plus he supports many of our local causes.”

“Wow, real monster,” Eve said, still not understanding.

Bridget lowered her voice. “His great-great-uncle killed a Devereaux, and his father seduced the woman who was originally supposed to marry my father.”

Eve digested the information. “Okay, I can see how that could keep them off the Devereaux's BFF list. But if you dislike the Lafittes that much, why would you invite them?”

“We're taking the civilized approach,” Bridget said. “Oh, look. Agnes and Stefan are talking. He's nodding. Now, smiling.” Bridget gave a mini-applause, then frowned. “What is Countess Laticia doing with Senior Adviser Tomas?”

Eve watched, feeling her stomach sink to her knees. Both women were incredibly beautiful.

“He's matchmaking,” Bridget said, indignant. “How is Agnes going to get any time with Stefan if Tomas is pushing a countess at him? Well, I'm fixing this,” she muttered, and then took off.

Moments later, it appeared that Agnes would be sitting on one side of Stefan and the young countess on the other. Bridget returned with a triumphant expression on her face. “Much better now,” she said. “Agnes deserves a fair fight, wouldn't you say? The games begin.”

Eve wished she could be more blasé about the fact that Stefan was surrounded by two women who would do just about anything for his attention, but she felt more miserable with each course of the dinner, and it had nothing to do with the food. She was pretty sure Stefan wasn't even aware of her presence. Why should
he be, when he was wedged between a model and a countess?

Bridget chatted with the rest of the table and murmured an observation about Agnes and Stefan every now and then. By the time the waiters were serving dessert, Eve thought she would scream. “I think I need a little air,” she said to Bridget. “Please excuse me.” She rose from the table and headed straight for the balcony doors. Stepping outside, she gulped in several breaths of fresh air. “Thank God,” she whispered.

“That bad?” a male voice said from the shadows. Nic Lafitte stepped forward.

She took another breath and stepped closer to the marble rail. “It's not exactly the backyard barbecue I'm used to,” she said.

“Texas,” he said triumphantly. “The drawl. I knew you were American and from the South, but I couldn't quite place it. I'm right, aren't I?”

“Yes,” she said, wishing she could be alone to collect herself before she thanked Bridget and left for the evening.

“Would you like me to get you a cocktail? You look upset,” he said.

“I'm not,” she lied. “Just out of my element. I think I'll call it a night.”

“Shame,” he said, then pulled out a card. “I'm in town every now and then. Give me a call.”

She put up her hand. “I don't think so,” she said.

“Ah, Bridget ratted on my family,” he said. “I'm not all that bad. I'm even part Texan. I own a ranch there.”

“So you can play cowboy when the mood strikes?” she asked. She'd heard about men like Nic, who flitted into their ranches from international destinations.

“Can't deny the appeal after spending too much time in meetings,” he said. “Bet you even miss it a little.”

She did, especially tonight. “I'm going to go now.”

“I'll walk you inside,” he said, walking with her.

“Thank you, but you don't need to do that,” she said.

“I don't have anything else to do,” he said, then opened the door.

It was only steps from the balcony into the ballroom. Eve stopped short when she saw Stefan standing a few yards directly in front of her.

“What timing. The prince is making his rounds. He always personally thanks everyone for attending,” Nic said.