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“But he was the one who made first contact,” her lady said, her ire obvious.
Francie got herself worked up easily and it never failed to tweak Ariane’s humor. A grin curled the corners of her mouth. “It’s going to be all right. Yes, I had hoped that my arrival would go smoothly, but I can surely handle a bumpy start.” She smiled a genial greeting to an elderly man who strolled by. “Maybe the prince has taken ill. Or he’s been detained with affairs of the state.”
“At eight o’clock on a Saturday evening? Nothing could be more important to the prince of Rhineland than to be here. ” Francie’s expression displayed her indignation as she firmly added, “Ten minutes ago.”
“Okay, you’ve made your point. So the prince is an arrogant lout.” Ariane sipped her champagne. “Speaking of affairs of the state…what do you say we find a likely candidate and talk politics? That is why I’m here.”
Francie’s nose wrinkled. “Political talk bores me. You know that.”
Yes, Ariane did. “Then you go find a handsome man to dance with.”
The woman started to go, but paused long enough to warn, “You be careful.”
“Careful is my middle name. Besides—” Ariane let her eyes go wide with feigned naïvetë “—as soon as I show them that I’m empty-headed and harmless, every official in the castle will be clamoring to impress me with all they know.”
Etienne slipped into the ballroom using a side door. His parents would have his head for being late. But the matter couldn’t be helped, he thought, his mouth firming into a grim line. He could only meet with the most trusted members of his Intelligence Service when everyone else was otherwise occupied.
Ruthless rumors were afloat. It had been reported to him that a person—or persons—within his father’s cabinet wanted to seize control of the neighboring country of St. Michel. Etienne was appalled that someone wanted to take advantage of the de Bergeron family when they were still in mourning over the loss of King Philippe. The idea was barbaric in this day and age.
Granted, the unexpected death of the king left the country with no male heir—and it was common knowledge that the law of St. Michel declared that females could not rule. It was an archaic edict, but legally enforceable, nonetheless. No war would be fought. Not a single Rhineland soldier would march across St. Michel’s border. This battle would be waged in the international courts. And all of this would take place in a civilized and peaceful manner. Yet it would be nonetheless barbaric in Etienne’s mind.
He paused when he caught sight of his parents who were waltzing out on the dance floor. His mother was just getting over a serious bout of pneumonia. She’d been ill for some time now and his father had been worried that she may not recover completely. It was good to see them enjoying themselves.
He let his gaze travel slowly over the guests in the ballroom. It didn’t take but an instant to find who he was looking for. She stood out in the crowd, his princess did. Ariane was that stunning. Heat spiraled like liquid smoke low in his gut.
Her honey-blond hair was twisted into an intricate coiffure, a few loose and softly curling strands falling to brush against her sexy bare shoulders whenever she moved her head. The line of her milky neck was long and graceful and delicate. She had the kind of throat that enticed a man to press his nose against warm skin, to inhale the distinct and subtle womanly aroma that would be hers and hers alone. Ariane, he silently surmised, would smell of sunny summer days and flowery meadows.
He had to admit, Princess Ariane’s visit had him more than a bit perplexed. He’d made his intentions known prior to her father’s passing. King Philippe had let Etienne know that he was quite in favor of a match between himself and Ariane. Etienne’s own father was in favor of such an alliance as well. However, Princess Ariane hadn’t seemed the least interested in Etienne as a suitor.
He’d returned home feeling rebuffed. He wasn’t a quitter, though, by any means, and he’d had every intention of having another go at the beautiful Princess Ariane. However, his mother had taken ill, and Etienne had stood in for his father so he could be with his mother. Then King Philippe had died. Contacting Ariane during her time of mourning simply hadn’t seemed appropriate.
No one had been more surprised than Etienne when the de Bergeron royal envoy had arrived announcing Princess Ariane’s intentions of visiting Rhineland.
He started across the floor. Surely, the princess would be feeling affronted by his tardiness. He had some groveling to do. He may as well get it over with.
When he approached, all conversation stopped.
“Your Highness.” He bowed deep, wanting to express his profound apology. He straightened, leveling his gaze on her beautiful deep blue eyes. “Please forgive me.” He pressed a light kiss, first to one cheek, then the other, taking full advantage of the old-style traditional greeting. Her skin was warm satin against his lips. “I hope you believe me when I say my late arrival couldn’t be avoided. I do apologize for my absence.”
He’d been wrong. Her scent didn’t bring to mind summer days and wildflowers. She smelled of starlit nights washed clean by fresh rain.
Her lovely gaze went round and she said, “You’ve been absent?”
The two men standing in the small group did their best to stifle the humor incited by the Princess’s cutting question.
Touché, Etienne thought. He deserved that. She had every right to put him in his place.
Her smile was dazzling enough to steal away a man’s thoughts.
“I’ve been having a wonderful conversation with the reverends here,” she told him.
What she’d said took him aback. Surely the lords had introduced themselves. Unable to quell his surprise, he queried, “Reverends?”
“Yes,” she said. “The pastors here were just telling me about your beautiful country.”
“Princess,” Etienne felt compelled to correct, “Lord Hecht is minister of the interior. One of his many duties includes suggesting policy for our park-lands.” The man named Hecht offered Ariane an indulgent smile. “And Lord Bartelow is deputy minister of trade. He advises the king on issues of commerce.” When Ariane’s gaze still didn’t seem to register understanding, he allowed himself to go a little further. “These men have been appointed by my father to help him run our government.”
Ariane’s chuckle sounded like tiny bells as she focused her attention on the two elderly men. “Oh…and here I thought I’d been talking to men of the cloth. I heard the word ‘minister’ and…well, I just naturally assumed…”
Again, she laughed. Daintily. Infectiously. And although the lords politely joined her, Etienne could tell from the quick, covert expressions that passed between them what they were thinking: if brain cells were dynamite, the lovely princess apparently wouldn’t have enough to blow her nose.
This exchange was Etienne’s first inkling that something about the de Bergeron princess seemed…well, shifted just a little bit left of center. Her behavior was somehow…off. And as he stood there listening to her talk, this deviation from what he thought should be the norm became more and more pronounced. He wasn’t too proud to admit that the situation had him highly perplexed.
At one point when Lord Hecht was explaining his plan to create more nature sanctuaries, Princess Ariane suddenly snagged a passing female guest by the arm and exclaimed, “I simply must know where you bought that dress. The fabric is heavenly.”
The three men stood speechless at the sudden shift in the conversation. However, the women seemed happy enough discussing clothing designers.
As the evening progressed, Etienne became downright amazed at how the princess would ask seemingly coherent questions regarding someone’s political position only to make a frivolous comment that left her looking, well, less than intelligent.
Etienne honestly didn’t know what to think. Maybe Ariane wasn’t the woman he’d believed her to be.
Being the crown prince of Rhineland, the one who would next succeed to the throne, Etienne had realized early in his life that he couldn’t chose a wife purely on whim. For several years now, the king himself as well as the king’s most trusted advisors had been discussing the subject of Etienne’s taking a wife. No man liked the idea of others offering input on who he took as a life mate, but, well, that was just the way things were done when you were of royal blood. Especially so when you were in line to become king.
From what he’d learned of Ariane de Bergeron, he’d had high hopes that she could very well be the perfect woman for him.
She was poised, there was no doubt about that. Having this woman gracing his arm would make any man proud. She was most certainly beautiful. The kind of woman who stirred the most primitive instincts in a man. He was experiencing that just being near her now, he realized, feeling the embers of desire smoldering even as he stood next to her. She was of the royal de Bergeron bloodline, a stately and well-respected family. And he’d been told she was an educated woman, having studied in Switzerland, acquiring a degree in political science.
Several women had gathered round them now, and he frowned as he listened to the conversation at hand. Had Ariane just compared the running of a monarchy to shopping for shoes? This evening was becoming more bizarre by the moment.
Sources had informed him that the princess had a head on her shoulders…a head supposedly filled with an impressive brain. However, if he were to believe what he was seeing—and hearing—this evening he’d have to say there was nothing more than a big air bubble between her ears.
“Oh, my,” Ariane exclaimed suddenly, “but it is warm in here, don’t you think?” She batted her innocent eyes at Etienne, clearly expecting him to make all things right for her.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment—” he let his gaze touch upon hers and then glanced at the group at large “I’ll have the doors opened and fetch a cool drink for the princess.”
The women standing within earshot hid their smiles and the men’s gazes slid awkwardly from his. Normally, it wasn’t Etienne’s place to do such menial tasks as seeing to the temperature of the room or arranging for guests’ refreshment. On any ordinary evening, he would have handed the chore over to one of the servants who hovered nearby. However, with complete and utter bewilderment spinning his thoughts into a dozen different directions, this was turning out to be no ordinary evening he’d ever experienced.
He gave quick orders to push open the doors leading to the garden to the first servant he saw, then he scanned the room in search of someone carrying a tray of drinks. He stopped short when he caught sight of his mother looking wan, and he immediately made his way through the crowd toward her.
“Are you feeling all right, Mother?” he asked. “You look done in.”
Her smile was tired. “I think I’ve just had too much fun this evening, is all.”
“Where’s Father? He should see you to your room.” Etienne glanced around him. “Would you like me to escort you?”
“No, no.” Laurette’s brow puckered. “You go back to Princess Ariane. Are you seeing to it that she’s having a good time? Have you asked her to dance?”
The queen’s tone held a mild inflection of accusation and censure. Etienne couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his mouth. “Yes, I’ve asked the princess to dance. So have half a dozen other men. However, so far she hasn’t been so inclined to accept.”
His mother looked utterly scandalized. “She has to dance. With you. What will everyone say? You see to it that you get that young woman out on the dance floor.”
Dutifully, he said, “Yes, Mother.” Then he gave her a small, teasing salute.
“Oh, now,” she said, “stop that. I’m not trying to mother hen you. I just want—”
“I know exactly what you want,” Etienne gently interrupted. “You want Princess Ariane’s visit to go well. And so do I.”
The elderly woman glanced toward the crowd that had gathered around Ariane at the far side of the ballroom. She murmured, “She’s probably upset. If only you had been on time….”
“Mother, trust that I’ll make everything right.”
“You always do, dear.”
Just then, Etienne’s father joined them, reaching up to clap his son on the back.
“That’s one beautiful woman who has come to Rhineland to see you, son,” he told Etienne. “Don’t let her get away.”
Etienne grinned. “I don’t plan to.”
Well, he hadn’t planned to. But after spending a couple of hours in her company, he wasn’t so sure anymore.
“All my top advisors say she’s self-assured, humorous and well-educated—”
From his father’s opinion, Etienne could tell the man hadn’t spent much time this evening in the princess’s company.
“—and that she’s just perfect for you.”
Etienne remained silent, his mind churning with troubling thoughts.
Giraud’s gray eyes softened as they leveled on his wife. “You’ll have to see to things for the remainder of tonight’s festivities, Etienne. I’m going to retire for the evening with my lovely wife. She might be feeling better, but I believe she’s not fully recovered just yet.”
This protective behavior warmed Etienne’s heart. He hoped to someday make a match as loving as the one his parents shared.
That thought had his gaze drifting across the room until it latched onto Princess Ariane. The deep blue silk of her dress hugged the curves and valleys of her luscious figure. The soft light turned her blond hair to glistening honey.
“She’s perfect,” he softly murmured his father’s opinion aloud.
Self-assured, humorous, well-educated. The description haunted Etienne’s mind.
Something wasn’t right here. All the information he’d been given pointed out the fact that things were not adding up. Ariane was all of those things, Etienne was sure. And if he was sure of that, then her behavior had to be some sort of put on.
He sighed. But that just made no sense to him. No sense at all.
However, for some odd reason, it seemed as though the princess wanted the people of his country to think she was naïve and…well, dim-witted. She was putting on a show. And quite a show it was, at that.
But the question was…for whom? And why?
Chapter Two
“As long as capitalism remains what it is,” Rhineland’s prime minister, Arvin Schmidt stated, “then surplus capital will never be utilized for the purpose of raising the standard of living of the masses in any country boasting free enterprise.”
Oh, how Ariane desperately wanted to comment. She’d have loved to tell the man that capitalism was commodity production at the highest stage of development, when labor power itself becomes a commodity, and if it raised the standard of living it could not be capitalism because uneven development and wretched conditions were fundamental states where free enterprise reigned.
Arguing politics was her passion, but she bit her tongue and remained silent. Some of the silliness that had spewed from her mouth tonight had utterly mortified her. It seemed to her that she’d talked to everyone, and every person in the room must think that her brain was made of marshmallow fluff. She didn’t like making herself look stupid, she was quickly learning. But it couldn’t be helped. She needed the government officials to feel safe in expressing their political views in her presence. How else was she to learn who among them were working toward the annexation of her beloved St. Michel?
Just then Prime Minister Schmidt remarked, “There are rules to be followed for every form of government.”
Something in the man’s tone drew her attention as sharply as if she were zeroing in on a bull’s-eye.
“No matter the type of leadership that rules,” he continued smoothly, “laws must be followed. No matter how difficult that might prove for some citizens.”
Was the man sending out a cryptic message? Ariane wondered. Or was he merely trying to impress her with his opinions. Keen interest buzzed through her veins like adrenaline and she allowed it to show on her face with the hope that Schmidt would elaborate a little more. However, before he could, she felt a light touch on her forearm.
“Pardon me, princess.”
She turned to see Etienne, and she stared into his handsome face, realizing for the very first time the startling color of his eyes—pewter-gray. Fringed with dark lashes, the effect was enough to steal her breath away.
Ariane had been so miffed at the man earlier in the evening that she hadn’t been able to control the urge to put him in his place. She had forced herself to ignore him when he’d first arrived, wanting to convey how insulting his tardiness had been to her. She’d focused the whole of her concentration on the two “ministers” she’d been talking to…she nearly grinned now as she thought of the complete genius of that sham. Surely after that silly assessment the prince and the lords thought her to be a total idiot.
But now her anger was gone as she really and truly saw Prince Etienne for the first time this evening.
She fumbled for words. Stumbled over her thoughts. And there wasn’t a single ounce of deception or pretense in her behavior. She simply couldn’t get her tongue and the notions in her head to properly jive. Something strange was taking place…it was as if she’d been a train barreling down a track and suddenly found herself completely derailed.
“May I have this dance?” he asked.
The wheels in her brain turned, but she couldn’t seem to get her larynx to utter a single sound. He cupped her elbow in his palm, obviously expecting her to accept his invitation.
Panic welled up within her. No, no! she wanted to shout. It was bad enough that she’d made herself look stupid to the upper echelon of Rhineland society. She certainly didn’t want everyone to discover that she also had two left feet!
It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried to learn to dance. She’d suffered through two full years of torturous dance classes. Although, the fact that the instructor had been a snooty little man who had made her feel nothing short of a lumbering elephant out on the dance floor when all her other siblings—full, step and half—had blossomed into elegant swans under the man’s tutelage. And her stepbrother Georges, a man who hated to fail at anything, had finally thrown up his hands in utter frustration when he’d attempted to teach her.
With her heart pounding so hard that blood whooshed dizzyingly through her head, she was finally able to sputter, “C-can’t you see I’m in the middle of a c-conversation with the prime minister?”
The question sounded abrupt even to her own ears, and Ariane was horrified that she hadn’t tempered her tone.
Having been born a princess, Ariane had attended many balls and parties in her twenty-three years, and she’d become skilled at turning down invitations to dance. Her grandmother, Dowager Queen Simone, wanting to help her granddaughter work around this little problem, had trained her extensively on just how to decline a request to dance without hurting the feelings of the party offering the invitation. In fact, Ariane had succeeded in doing just that at least seven or eight times this evening.
But the way Etienne’s dove-gray eyes sparkled had thrown her for a loop. Why hadn’t she noticed before this moment how amazing—how mesmerizing—his gaze was?
The prince’s grip on her elbow tightened gently but insistently, and he guided her away from the group. He murmured, “Our prime minister could talk the ears off a brass monkey. But I have orders from none other than the queen herself who threatened me if I didn’t get you out on the dance floor.”
The dread churning inside Ariane didn’t abate a bit, but the humor playing around the handsome prince’s mouth lulled her into querying, “And what did she threaten you with?”
Etienne chuckled, and Ariane could tell from the look on his face that this man was very fond of the woman who had given birth to him.
“Oh, she didn’t specify the hazards I’d face if I didn’t follow her instruction,” he told her. “She didn’t have to. She’s been my mother for twenty-nine years. I know better than to disobey her wishes.”
“Sounds like Queen Laurette is quite a tyrant,” she teasingly surmised.
