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She could have kicked herself. How would he know? Dealing with pregnancies was hardly going to be one of his princely duties.
“You’re very worried about her,” he said with grave understanding.
“Terrified for her,” she admitted, and then, even though it might not be allowed, according to the protocol book, she felt driven to expand on that. “While I’m sure your position requires you maintain a certain formality with your staff, it’s not like that here. We are a very small hotel, and Crystal Lake is quite an isolated community. In a way, we all become family.”
His eyes rested on her very intently for a moment.
“Do you know everyone in the village of Crystal Lake?” he asked.
“Residents, yes. Visitors, no.”
He contemplated that for a moment. She was sure he wanted to ask her something, but then he did not. Instead, he put his hands in his trouser pockets. She realized he was very probably getting cold. His tailored suit was obviously custom-made and absolutely gorgeous, but lightweight. The shirt underneath, which had looked white at first glance, was the palest shade of pink, and silk, which was hardly known for its insulating qualities.
“I’m sorry, Prince Luca,” she said. “I’m distracted. It’s very cold out. I’ll show you your room and you can get settled.”
Then she realized there was nothing for him to get settled with—his luggage had just gone away with the helicopter.
Still, she showed him the room, chatting about the history of the Lodge as they moved up the sweeping staircase and down the wide hallway to his suite. She was glad she had done this so many times it was second nature to her. She could not get her mind off Rachel, plus there was something about the Prince’s presence that could easily tie her tongue in knots.
Finally, she opened the door of the suite she had personally prepared for him. “I hope you’ll find the accommodations comfortable,” she said.
He barely looked around. He went to the window, and when he turned back to her, he was frowning.
“It’s snowing,” he said.
She could see the window beyond him, and even though she had been expecting snow, she was a little taken aback by how quickly it was thickening outside the window.
She didn’t want to let her alarm show; if this kept up, the helicopter might not be able to return. The chef might not arrive. And what about a replacement for Rachel? Imogen was not certain that she was up to handling a royal visit all on her own.
Where the heck was Gabi when she needed her?
Still, Imogen told herself it was much too soon for alarm. Sometimes these autumn squalls were over almost before they began.
With a calm she was far from feeling, she said, “The weather in these mountains can be very unpredictable. We have a saying here—if you don’t like the weather, wait a minute.”
“I am from the mountains, too,” he said. “Casavalle is in a sheltered valley, but there is quite a formidable range of mountains behind it that acts as a border to the neighboring kingdom, Aguilarez. This actually reminds me of my home. I understand this unpredictable weather.”
But if he was from a mountainous region, and if this reminded him of home, why come? Why not choose something less familiar for a getaway?
None of your business,she reminded herself firmly. Her business was to make sure he was comfortable and cared for, for the duration of his stay.
“I’ll have dinner ready in about an hour, Prince Luca. Would you prefer I bring it to you, or will you come down?”
“I’ll come down, thank you, Miss Albright.”
She noticed the Prince looked exhausted. Almost before she had the door closed, he had thrown himself on the bed, and his hand moved to his tie, wrenching it loose from his throat. He looked up at the ceiling, his expression deeply troubled.
She shut the door quickly and made her way down the stairs. She stopped at her office and used the landline to call Rachel’s husband, Tom. There was no answer, and so she left a message for him to contact her as soon as possible. And then she tried Gabriella’s number.
That same cheerful message she’d been getting for three days came on.
“You’ve reached Gabi. I must be hiking mountain trails. You know the drill. After the beep.”
The beep came, and Imogen said, “I certainly hope you are not hiking the mountain trails right now, Gabriella Ross! There’s a terrible storm hitting. Please let me know you are all right as soon as you can.”
But of course, Gabi would be all right. She had, just as Imogen had, grown up in these mountains. She knew what to do in every situation. Tourists might sometimes be caught unaware by the fickle nature of mountain weather, but locals rarely were. Imogen suspected her urgent request for Gabi to call her had an underlying motive that served her.
She was here alone with a prince, a blizzard was setting in and she needed Gabi’s help! Plus, she needed to know what the heck was going on with Gabi. What better circumstance than riding out a blizzard together to inspire confidences?
She sighed and went to the window. Night was falling, and between the growing darkness and the thick snow, she could no longer see the tree line at the edge of the lawns.
With worry for both Rachel and Gabi nipping at her mind like a small, yappy dog nipping at her heels, she went to the kitchen and once again investigated the contents of the fridge.
She sighed at all the unfamiliar items, then grabbed a package of mushrooms, some cheese and a few other ingredients. Despite her distress over Rachel’s departure and the brewing storm, she had a job to do, and she would do it.
CHAPTER THREE (#u21350336-b1f1-5f68-8caa-4fe642c15046)
PRINCE LUCA VALENTI woke to pitch-blackness. He almost wished for the disorientation that came with waking in a different time zone, in a strange bed, but no, he was not so lucky.
He knew exactly where he was and what day it was. He was at the Crystal Lake Lodge in the Rocky Mountains of Canada.
And it was the worst day of his life.
Oddly, since it was the worst day of his life, his thoughts did not go immediately to the sudden onslaught of difficulties he was experiencing.
Instead, for some reason he thought of her,Imogen Albright. It wasn’t that the wind had tangled her hair, or that she had looked adorable and completely unprofessional in her plaid shirt and faded jeans and those sneakers with the neon pink laces, that made him think of her. It wasn’t that she hadn’t addressed him correctly, or that she had offered her hand first. It wasn’t even the look of distress on her face when they had found the maid in such anguish on the bathroom floor.
No, it wasn’t those things that made her, Imogen Albright, his first waking thought.
And it was not really that the fragrance in this room was like her—fresh and light and deliciously clean—and that it had surrounded him while he slept and greeted him when he opened his eyes.
It wasn’t any of that.
No, it was the way her eyes had met his and held for that endless moment after he had told her the Lodge was a magnificent building.
When he had glanced back at her, she had been looking at him, those huge blue eyes, an astonishing shade of sapphire, with a look in them that had been deep and unsettling.
He had felt—illogically, he was sure—as if she knew, not just how troubled he was, but something of him.
It was as if Miss Albright had easily cast aside all his defenses and seen straight to his soul. For a moment, it had almost looked as if she might step toward him, touch him again—and not his hand this time, either.
Had he actually taken a step away from her? In his mind, he had, if not with his body. It had seemed to him, in that brief encounter, Imogen Albright had seen all too clearly the things he most needed to keep secret.
That this was the worst day of his life.
And there had been something in her eyes that had made him want to lean toward her instead of stepping away.
Something that had suggested she, too, knew of bad days and plans gone awry. That she, somehow, had the power to bring calm to the sea of life that was suddenly stormy. In the endless blue sky of her eyes, in that brief moment, he had glimpsed a resting place.
Still, wasn’t awry an understatement? His life—strategically planned from birth to death—was veering seriously off the path.
At this very moment, Luca was supposed to be a newly married man, not alone in a bed in some tiny mountain village in Canada, but in the sumptuous honeymoon suite that had been prepared within the Casavalle palace for him and his new bride, Princess Meribel.
Meribel was of the neighboring kingdom of Aguilarez, and years of tension between the two kingdoms were supposed to have been put to rest today with the exchange of nuptials between them. Instead, here they were in chaos. In an attempt to minimize the mess, he had issued a statement this morning.
Irreconcilable differences.
Not the truth, but the truth might have plunged both kingdoms into the thing Luca was most interested in avoiding: scandal.
Meribel’s tearful announcement to Luca the night before the wedding had come on the heels of other disturbing news.
His father’s first marriage—the one that had ended in the kind of scandal that the Kingdom of Casavalle now avoided at all costs—might have produced a child. A child who would now be an adult. An older sibling to Luca.
Which would mean the role Luca had prepared for his whole life was in jeopardy. The eldest child of the late King Vincenzo would head the monarchy of Casavalle. Was it possible that was not him? It made the ground, which had always felt so solid under his feet, feel as if it was rocking precariously, the shudders that warned of an impending earthquake.
Luca was a man accustomed to control, raised to shoulder the responsibility to his kingdom first, above any personal interests. And yet this whole cursed year had been a horrible series of events that were entirely—maddeningly—out of his control.
Maybe today was, in fact, not the worst day of his life. Wasn’t the worst day of his life that day four months ago when his father, King Vincenzo, had died? With so many things unspoken between them, with Luca needing the gift he would now never receive?
His father’s approval.
On the other hand, if one was inclined to look for blessings in terrible situations—which Luca admittedly was not—perhaps it was a good thing his father had died before everything in their carefully controlled world had begun to shift sideways.
The cancellation of his wedding to Princess Meribel meant the cementing of the relationship between Casavalle and Aguilarez was now, once again, in jeopardy.
There was a possibility that the throne—by law—would go to a person unprepared to take it. A person who had not spent their whole life knowing it was coming, every breath and every step leading to this one thing: taking the reins of his nation.
Luca’s thoughts drifted to Imogen again.
His brother, Antonio, was supposed to be here at Crystal Lake Lodge. But with the news this morning, Luca had felt a need to deal with these issues himself, as they would have more effect on his life than on anyone else’s. Besides, it had felt necessary to get away from Casavalle as the people discovered the wedding they had been joyously anticipating for months was now not to be.
The disappointment would be palpable. Every face he encountered would have a question on it. He would have to say it over and over again—irreconcilable differences—hiding the truth.
Luca had come here armed with a name. He had almost asked Imogen if it was familiar to her. She had said she knew everyone in this village. The village his father’s first wife, Sophia, had escaped to, hiding from the world after the disastrous end of her royal marriage. But in the end, Luca had not asked Imogen. He wanted to phrase any questions he asked very carefully. A kingdom relied on how these questions were answered. There would be time to get to the bottom of this.
And speaking of time, he looked at his watch and calculated.
He had obviously missed the dinner Imogen had said she would prepare. He glanced at his cell phone. It was 3:00 a.m. but he was wide-awake. Hello, jet lag. It would be breakfast time in Casavalle, and Luca was aware of hunger, and of the deep quiet around him.
Why hadn’t the sound of the helicopter returning woken him? It was unusual that Cristiano had not checked in with him on his return. Unless he had, and Luca, sleeping hard, had missed it?
Was there news of the woman? The baby?
Good baby news would be refreshing, Luca thought, not without a trace of bitterness. He was aware of feeling, as well as sour of mood, travel rumpled and gritty. He reached for the bedside light and snapped it on. Nothing happened. He let his eyes adjust to the murkiness and looked for the suitcase Cristiano would have dropped inside the door.
There was none.
He got up and searched the wall for the light switch. He found it and flipped it, but remained in darkness. Still, he made his way to the closet and the adjoining bathroom. No suitcase. And no lights, either. He went to the window, thinking, even in the darkness, he would be able to see the outline of the helicopter on the lawn.
Instead, what he saw was a world of white and black. Pitch-dark skies were overlaid with falling snowflakes so large they could have been feathers drifting to earth. Mounds of fresh snow were piled halfway up the windowpane, and beyond that, the landscape wore a downy, thick quilt of snow. No wonder the quiet had an unearthly quality to it, every sound muffled by the blanket that covered it.
Even though a mountain range separated Casavalle from Aguilarez, and even though he was, as he had told Imogen, accustomed to the unpredictable weather of such a landscape, he was not sure he had ever seen such a large amount of snowfall in such a short time. It seemed to him well over a foot of snow was piled against the panes of his window.
He had not heard the helicopter return because there had been no helicopter return.
He looked at his cell phone again. No messages. Not surprisingly, as it appeared there was no signal. Miss Albright had warned them the region did not lend itself to good cell phone service.
It was apparent there was no power, no doubt knocked out by the storm, but did that also mean there would be no phone landline, either? He recalled glancing at an old-fashioned phone when he’d entered this room. It was on the desk by the fireplace, and he fumbled his way through the darkness to it and lifted the receiver.
Nothing. He set the phone back down. Luca contemplated what he was feeling.
He was still single when he should have been married.
He was outside of the shadow of protection for perhaps the first time in his entire life.
His cell phone was not working, and his computer was not here.
The snow falling so thickly outside should intensify the feeling that he was a prisoner of the circumstances of the worst day of his life.
Instead, he felt something astonishingly different, so new to him that at first he did not know what it was.
But then he recognized it, and the irony of it. The snow trapping him, his marriage failing before it had begun, the lack of communication with the world, Cristiano being far away, a possible new contender for the throne, all felt as if they were conspiring to give him the one thing he had never known and never even dared to dream of.
Freedom.
He shook off the faintly heady feeling of elation. His father would not have approved of it. The current circumstances of his life required him to be more responsible, not less.
But still, for a little while, it seemed he had been granted this opportunity to experience freedom from his duties and his responsibilities whether he wanted that freedom or not.
He did not know how long the reprieve would last.
And he realized he had no idea what to do with this time he had been granted. Though the first order should be fairly simple. He needed to find something to eat.
He opened his bedroom door and was greeted with a wall of inky darkness. He became aware of a faint chill in the air. Obviously, the heating system was reliant on power. He fished his cell phone back out of his pocket and briefly turned on the flashlight, memorizing the features of the hallway before he turned it back off to conserve the battery. Feeling his way along the wall, and using his memory, he found the sweeping staircase and inched his way down it.
He didn’t use the flashlight on his phone again as his eyes began to adjust to the darkness. He saw an arched entry to a room just off the foyer at the base of the stairs. Dining hall?
He entered and paused, letting the room come into focus. Not a dining room, but some kind of office and sitting room combination. There was a large desk by the window, a couch and a fireplace, which it occurred to him they might need.
They.
He could well be stranded here with Miss Albright. He felt a purely masculine need to protect her and keep her safe against the storm, and he went over to investigate the fireplace. Of course, he was not usually the one lighting fires, but he would have to figure it out. Miss Albright protecting him and keeping him safe was embarrassingly out of the question.
He moved deeper into the room, and jostled up against the sofa. A small thump on the floor startled him.
A cell phone was on the floor, and the bump had made it click on, its light faintly illuminating the fact that Miss Albright was fast asleep on the sofa! The cell phone must have fallen from her relaxed hand.
He picked it up, and a photo filled the screen. The picture was of Miss Albright, laughing, her face radiant with joy, as she gazed up at the man she was pressed against. Her left hand was resting against his upper arm, and a ring twinkled on her engagement finger.
