The Princess and the Duke (3 page)

Annoyed with herself more than ever, the moment the speeches were completed and the orchestra began playing again, Meredith drained her champagne and practically leaped from her chair to drag poor George through the tables to the dance floor.

The bride and groom danced first, of course, but were soon joined by the King and Queen. The guests stood on ceremony only long enough to receive an invitation to the gleaming dance floor from King Mor
gan before they crowded on. It didn’t matter whether it was a stately waltz, a smooshy love song or the latest rock hit from America, Meredith thought, as she swung in George’s arms to the quick tempo. These people were ready to dance.

Not even the departure of Megan and Jean-Paul dimmed the celebration, Meredith noticed later, as she hovered in the private courtyard. The limousine that would carry the couple to the private port where Jean-Paul’s sailing ketch, the
West Wind,
was docked had long departed. But Meredith had little desire to go back to the reception, though she knew she should.

“Quit mooning.” Anastasia slid her arm through Meredith’s and leaned close as they finally turned and headed toward the ballroom through the formal gardens. “They’re honeymooning at sea. It’s very romantic.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re going to miss Meggie.”

“Yes.”

Anastasia sighed a little. “I will, too.” But she brightened almost immediately. “So, any smoldering looks from our lovely Duke of Aronleigh across the dinner table this evening?”

“Anastasia, please.”

“What? The man looks at you as if he is mentally salivating.”

Meredith’s cheeks heated, and she was glad the only light in the gardens came from the plethora of tiny white bulbs twinkling in the trees. But, as she and her sister were utterly alone, she couldn’t keep her thoughts in any longer. “If Colonel Prescott had ever been the least bit interested in me, he would have
said or done something long before now. He’s a man of action, Anastasia.”

“Mmm. Brings delicious things to mind, doesn’t it?” Her sister giggled softly, reminding Meredith of the teenager she’d once been. “Yet he usually doesn’t make appearances at our humble abode. And he’s here tonight. Sitting right across from you.”

“Coincidence,” Meredith assured her. “Mark my words. When we go back into the ballroom, I’ll bet you my favorite bottle of perfume he’ll be dancing with Juliet Oxford.”

“With her surgically enhanced chest, you mean.”

“Anastasia!”

Her sister shrugged, uncaring. “It’s true, isn’t it? Though Juliet certainly didn’t begin there. She started with that nose. And the chin, and then her buggy eyes—”

“You’re awful.” Meredith couldn’t help but laugh at her sister’s outrageous statements. Juliet Oxford may have had some help in the cleavage department, but she’d been born beautiful, and Anastasia knew it.

Her sister grinned, then pulled Meredith toward the steps leading to the terrace. “Seriously, darling, why would the duke possibly want her when he could have you? He is probably here because of the action you took at the church with that kiss.”

Meredith appreciated her sister’s loyalty, but not necessarily the reminder of her behavior. The doors to the ballroom were open to take advantage of the lovely night, and music streamed from inside. They paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of the guests. The Queen had retired to her chambers after bidding goodbye to Megan and Jean-Paul. Jean-Paul’s
parents had also departed, along with a good number of the older guests. Those who remained seemed fit to party until dawn, including the King, who was standing in conversation with a small group of people near the dais. As Meredith watched, her father tossed back his head and laughed uproariously.

Well, at least he was having a good time. Taking a small breather from the stress of the last several weeks while negotiating the alliances.

Only Meredith wasn’t interested in watching her father. After that one brief glance, her eyes had immediately trained on Pierceson Prescott. Who was, sure enough, on the dance floor, holding Juliet Oxford in his arms. “What did I tell you?” Meredith murmured to her sister. The smile on her face felt unusually forced.

Anastasia gave her a sympathetic look before being swept off by friends. Meredith headed for one of the liveried staff circulating the room and took a crystal flute from his tray.

In seconds, George was at her side, but she begged off dancing, holding up her champagne. “I think I’d like just a quiet spot for a bit, George, if you don’t mind?”

Far too good-natured to be offended, he offered his company. She could hardly decline, but she was utterly grateful when some of his friends soon came by and pulled him away. Then, while she was rather stealthily working her way toward the terrace and the peace and quiet out there, Owen looped his arm around her waist.

She barely had time to put down her glass before
he swung her onto the dance floor. “You can’t rebuff your brother,” he said, grinning.

“Well, I
could,
” Meredith corrected, grinning back. “But I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of all your fans.”

He made a face. “There’re a lot of guests,” he said after a moment.

“It’s a wedding. Of course there are a lot of guests.”

“I overheard Gwen talking with Mrs. Ferth. There were a lot of guests added at the last minute.”

Lady Gwendolyn Corbin was their mother’s lady-in-waiting, and Mrs. Ferth the Queen’s personal secretary. Naturally, the two women had been involved in the guest list. “Owen, it’s a wedding. A royal wedding, planned in an excruciatingly brief amount of time. Who knows what details went into the guest list.” Something in her brother’s eyes made hers narrow humorously. “Imagining conspiracies?”

His lips twitched, as she knew they would. “Only of Mrs. Ferth trying to stack the room with suitable prospective missus Owens.”

Meredith laughed softly. Owen would never be manipulated that way. Even at twenty-three, he was too much a man of his own. “Well, prospective brides aside, there are a number of pretty young things in the room who would be more than happy for ten minutes of your company. So what are you doing dancing with your old sister?”

“Because he wants to dance with his sister who isn’t so old,” Anastasia said behind her, and Meredith looked over her shoulder to see her little sister dancing with Colonel Prescott.

Meredith barely had time to suck in a surprised breath before Owen and Anastasia neatly maneuvered into switching partners. Which left Meredith—right there in the center of the ballroom, surrounded by other swaying couples—facing Pierce.

“Seems we’ve been here before,” he said evenly, and held out his arms.

She needed no reminder of that long-ago spring ball when he’d not only refused a dance with her, but had told her to try her fledgling girlish wiles on someone who was interested.

Just tired enough, with just enough champagne in her system, Meredith completely ignored the dictates of good behavior. “No. I don’t think so. I wouldn’t want you to put yourself out.” Her voice was cool. And when she turned on her high heel and slipped away through the crowd, she felt satisfaction. This time she’d turned him down flat.

At least that was what she told herself.

Only her satisfaction felt rather more painfully like disappointment.

T
he last thing in the world Pierce expected was for Meredith to turn and run. The amusement that drifted through him wasn’t at all appropriate.

Well, Meredith had always been full of surprises. Though she’d been a model daughter, she hadn’t married in her early twenties when most thought she should have done so. She’d obtained advanced degrees at universities abroad and she’d taken the type of job that was ordinarily handled by a well-heeled staff member. She had her causes, certainly. But Meredith was, first and foremost, a professional woman. And Pierce didn’t admit to many that he’d followed her career, as much with pride as with the intent of insuring her safety.

If he were smart, he’d take his leave. There really was no reason for Pierce to remain at the gala recep
tion. There were other members of the RET around to keep a close eye on the matters that absolutely required their attention.

But Pierce was obviously not smart. Not tonight. Because he smoothly snagged a flute of champagne as a tray passed and he headed slowly, deliberately for the terrace. The two guards on either side of the door, already at attention, snapped even more so as he passed them, and he automatically returned the salute.

Young, he thought. Baby-faced soldiers who would, pray heaven, never be called upon to do things such as he’d done. Nor to see things such as he’d seen.

He held the grim thoughts close as he stepped onto the terrace, his eyes adjusting to the dark. There were strands of tiny white lights everywhere, making it look almost like a fairy tale. But the lights provided far less illumination than atmosphere.

Still, he saw her. Meredith. Standing alone, adrift in a swath of dull gold silk, her hands resting on the low stone wall at the perimeter of the terrace. Nothing glaring or flashy for Meredith. She was far too classic for that. The only time she glittered was when she wore a jeweled tiara or a collar of diamonds.

How many times had he heard his men talking about the three princesses fair? Meredith, Megan and Anastasia. There wasn’t a man living in the country who hadn’t fantasized about one of them at one time or another. Who hadn’t dreamed of sharing a word or a dance or a kiss with any one of their Royal Highnesses.

Pierce rolled the crystal flute between his fingers
and wondered what she was thinking as she stood looking at the sea, her profile as pure as the cool moonlight that outlined it.

Was she thinking of Megan and Jean-Paul? Pierce knew the couple would be spending their honeymoon at sail. Or was there something else on Meredith’s mind?
Someone
else?

Whatever thoughts circled in Meredith’s head were none of his business, of course. None at all. Which didn’t explain in the least why Pierce was allowing himself to dwell on it. He wasn’t a masochist. And thinking about Meredith, knowing there wasn’t one bloody thing he could do about the reasons he must remain uninvolved with her, did nothing but cause him pain.

Pierce’s business was intelligence. Professionally, he’d kept more than his share of secrets. Some he’d created or caused, some he’d protected. Keeping his feelings for Meredith under control, under wraps, never to let them see the light of day, was about the most difficult secret he faced. When he was at the base, at the small home he’d inherited from his parents in the Aronleigh Mountains or even at his flat in Sterling, it wasn’t such a daily struggle.

When in Marlestone, however, the capital city, with this very impressive palace looking over it, Pierce felt constantly battered with the desire to get closer to her and the need to remain away. Far away.

And everyone said women were contrary creatures, he thought ironically as he headed not safely toward the nearest exit and home but straight toward Meredith.

She didn’t betray so much as a start when he joined
her at the low stone wall. A breeze had kicked up. Moonlight caught, trapped and gently released in the swelling ripples of water so far below.

“I love the scent,” Meredith murmured.

“Sea.”

“Yes.”

“Your sister will have a good life with Jean-Paul. He’s a good man.”

Her chin tilted slightly, and he caught the gleam of the sideways glance she gave him. “Don’t read my mind, Colonel. It isn’t polite.”

“I’m not often accused of being polite.”

“Please. You are beyond polite, and we both know it.”

The thoughts circling in his head weren’t in the same universe as polite. “Why did you blow off George earlier? He looked a broken man when you came out here.”

“Why did you tear yourself away from Juliet’s charms?”

“Obvious as they are,” he added smoothly.

She let out a short, breathy laugh that sent a charge straight down his spine. In defense, he lifted his champagne glass and drank. Given a choice, he’d far prefer beer. “Are you avoiding the answer?” Holding onto the glass, he balanced it on the wall.

“George is a very nice man,” she said smoothly. “Why are you here, Colonel?”

“The music inside was giving me a headache, and I wanted a smoke.”

“You don’t smoke.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I remember when you quit.”

“Oh, yes. During the memorable summer of your tenth year when you were busy surrounding yourself with your royal attitude.”

“The memorable summer of
your
seventeenth,” she countered. “When you were busy surrounding yourself with teenage girls endowed with charms easily as obvious as dear Juliet’s.”

Did he detect pique in her tone? He drank a little more champagne, figuring it was wishful thinking on his part.

“So, I don’t smoke,” he admitted. He had, briefly, but his poor mother had been so scandalized, he hadn’t had the heart to keep up the habit.

Again, he caught that sidelong look from her. He wondered if she knew the effect that kind of look had on a man. Probably. She was smooth, intelligent and well past the age of consent. Which did not mean that standing there in the moonlight with her was not one of the most foolish indulgences ever.

She finished her champagne and turned a little. Facing him. “Truthfully, I was standing here thinking about something Owen said. About all the unfamiliar faces here.”

Pierce had noticed that, as well. And done his share of wondering. Speculating. Though it was a royal wedding, it was not a state occasion, and the guest list had not gone through some of the channels it otherwise would have. He hadn’t seen the list himself until last week when it was submitted to Royal Intelligence. At that point, his men and women had kicked their diligence into high gear to insure the safety of everyone who came to the wedding.

It was what they did. Protecting Penwyck, its citizens, its interests, its ruling house.

It’s what Pierce did, as well. And had been doing for more of his life than not. More than that, it was what he
was.

“Your new brother-in-law contributed to the guest list,” he said. “As did his parents and uncle, undoubtedly. The King and Queen had their lists, as well. Guests they wanted to include for whatever reason. Not every face would be recognizable under those circumstances.”

“And you’re one of them. Well—” she lifted a slender, long-fingered hand “—you’re not unfamiliar, but you’re certainly not a face we often see at the palace.”

“It’s an important event.”

“The other events in which we are involved are not?”

“We?”

She gestured gracefully. “We. The family. You
do
tend to avoid us, you know. Why is that, I wonder?”

He was, first and foremost, a military man. Yet he’d walked blindly into that mine field. Diversion, he thought. “Dance with me.”

Her lips parted softly. “I believe we covered that.”

“Not exactly.” He left his glass on the wide ledge next to hers and took her hand. It was undoubtedly only surprise that let her step so easily away from the stone wall and into his arms. The music was softer out here. Still audible. But it was barely a background to the sound of the breeze through the leaves of the trees surrounding the estate, the distant lap of the sea against Castle Cove. And the music was fairly inau
dible when his senses were suddenly, achingly aware of the cadence of Meredith’s breath, the soft scrape of shoe against stone and brick as they swayed.

“You’re trembling.”

“It’s chilly out here with the breeze.”

She lied, he thought. It was a balmy, breezy night. And he was burning up, holding her. Though there was more space between them than decorum demanded. His fingers barely grazed the fabric covering the small of her back, and her fingertips barely touched his shoulder. Where their other hands linked, however, a flame burned between their palms. Hot. Enticing.

Impossible.

“You ought to go inside,” he said. “If you’re chilly.”

“Yes.”

Yet she made no move to do so. In fact, as one song melded into the next, the distance between them lessened. Until Pierce eventually realized that his arms were definitely full of warm, sweet-smelling woman. That they’d shuffled and swayed themselves into the rear corner of the terrace. Where light barely reached, where the salty scent of sea was nearly a tang on their lips.

Her hair smelled of orange blossoms, he thought, and he felt like a drowning man. His palm flattened against her spine, and he felt her long, slow intake of breath that pressed her breasts against his chest. Her hand glided, measuring, over his shoulder to his collar. Her fingertips grazed his neck below his ear. His nape. Her forehead found the perfect resting place below his jaw. Heart to heart. Curve to angle.

She was royal by birth. She was the daughter of his King.

He had no business holding her the way he was. No business wanting to imprint his body on hers and hers on his. Not with the secrets he was keeping from her.

“Mer—Your Royal Highness.” His jaw was aching again. Hell. Every part of him ached.

“Would you mind?” She leaned back, swaying a little. Making him wonder, all of a sudden, just how much champagne she’d consumed. “My shoes. They’re so tight.”

A moment later, she was several inches shorter. Obviously, she’d stepped out of her high heels. And she’d kicked them with her foot until they tumbled against each other, stopped only by the wall.

It wasn’t his shoes that were tight, he thought with grim humor as she linked her hands behind his neck and nestled against him. “That’s better,” she sighed, sounding tired. “You dance well, Colonel.”

He was doing little other than holding her against him. “You should go to bed.”

Her lashes lifted, and she looked at him. He wished there were more illumination so he could tell if her eyes were glazed with champagne or drowsy with desire. Either was inappropriate to take advantage of, and he knew it.

“I don’t think I’m the spoiled brat I was at ten. Or seventeen,” she said, lucidly enough, “who needs to be sent to bed.”

At seventeen, she’d been a burgeoning young woman, just beginning to grasp the feminine power
she could wield over others. A power that was now in full bloom.

Apparently, though he was nearly at a standstill, she, without her too-tight shoes, felt rather more like dancing. Swaying hypnotically. He clamped his hands on her waist. Her hips. She was tormenting him, and she probably didn’t even know it. Despite his torment, he knew there were guests inside the ballroom who were dancing far more closely, far more uninhibitedly.

“You weren’t a brat,” he said.

“But I was spoiled.”

“You’re the beloved first child of our ruler.”

“Spoken very properly.” She tossed back her head and watched him from beneath her lashes. “Do you ever lose your composure, Colonel Prescott?”

Only with you.
Her lips looked impossibly soft. Inviting. “Rarely,” he said. “Do you ever fail to get what you want?”

“Rarely. So, if I’m not the spoiled brat, then why do you feel compelled to send me off to bed as if I were?”

Holding Meredith against him while speaking about bed hadn’t been particularly wise of him. His imagination was running riot. “Simple concern for your welfare, Your Royal Highness. You’ve had a long day. And plenty of champagne, I think.”

She smiled beautifully, telling him more surely than ever that she had imbibed more than was usual. As far as Pierce knew, Meredith never drank to excess. She never did a single thing to cause her family worry.

“Haven’t you had a long day, as well? Weren’t
you up before dawn for your run in the hills around the base? Or in your old age have you given up your three morning miles?”

Old age? There were times when thirty-five felt old. There were times, like now, with a beautiful woman against him that were something else entirely. “Five miles. At the park near my place in Sterling.”

“That’s right.” She nodded thoughtfully. “I’d heard you’d taken a flat there. A few years ago.” She shot him another one of those veiled looks. “What brought that about, anyway? No, wait. A woman, I’ll wager.”

“Yes.”

Her eyebrows rose a little. “And that’s all you have to say about it, I suppose.”

“Yes.”

“Closemouthed as always, Colonel Prescott. Intelligence really is right up your alley.”

“I took the flat because I was driving my men and women crazy being on base twenty-four seven.” He’d be hanged if he’d admit to Meredith that
she
was the reason he’d chosen Sterling. It was a large city. Larger than Marlestone. And it was far enough away from Marlestone that he’d be unlikely to run into Meredith.

“Thinking only of others, as usual,” Meredith murmured, then quickly hid a yawn behind her hand. “Heavens. Please excuse me.”

“I’m surprised you even heard about my place in Sterling.” Or that she remembered his penchant for running in the morning—a hangover from the days he’d run track in school. “It’s hardly the stuff for the gossips.”

“You’re eligible, attractive and the Duke of Aronleigh. Surely you don’t expect to be immune from the paparazzi?”

“I’m a colonel in the Penwyck army,” he said flatly.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Did I hit a nerve?”

He consciously relaxed his grip on her slender waist. “You should get back inside.”