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It didn’t matter. She was gorgeous.
‘What about Julianna?’ he asked, looking for catches. ‘You can’t convince her to do the right thing?’
‘Julianna won’t speak to me,’ Erhard said.
‘But you?’ he asked Rose. ‘You’re her sister.’
‘She doesn’t speak to me either,’ Rose said sadly. ‘I know it’s dumb, but there it is.’
‘So this really is a serious proposition.’
‘It seems like it.’ She smiled ruefully into her empty wine-glass. ‘You know, I swore I’d never marry again.’
‘That’d be a waste.’
‘Says you, who’s never married at all,’ she retorted, suddenly sounding angry.
‘I’m sorry.’ But his thoughts were elsewhere. ‘I wouldn’t need to stay in Alp de Montez,’ he said slowly.
‘You would for a few weeks,’ Erhard said. ‘Could you use a holiday?’
A holiday. Strange concept. With Rose?
She really was the most extraordinary woman. Stunning.
‘Maybe I could,’ he said. ‘And you?’ he queried Rose. ‘How long would you have to be away from your vet practice?’
‘A year,’ Erhard said, answering for her. ‘At least. Maybe longer. I’m sorry, Rose, but it’d be more your commitment than Nick’s. You’d rule jointly, but it’s you who’s first in line. Unless anything happened to Julianna…’
‘Which isn’t going to happen,’ Rose said, and shivered. And then braced herself. ‘No matter. I’d have to close my doors anyway, and there are…reasons why that’s not such a terrible idea.’
‘I guess the idea of playing princess for a year would be fun,’ Nick ventured, and she frowned.
‘Now you’re being insulting,’ she retorted, and he paused.
Maybe he was.
There’s not so many times in your life that you’re presented with an option that just might be for the greater good.
She met his look with calm indifference, almost scorn. His gaze fell to her hands. Here was another difference—a huge difference—from the women he dated. This woman’s hands wouldn’t have looked out of place on a woman twenty years older. Work-worn hands, not something he saw a lot of.
But she was looking down at his hands, and he suddenly realised she knew exactly what he was thinking. His hands were those of an international lawyer. There was not a lot of work wear there.
If she was to have fun for a year, maybe there were reasons she deserved it, he thought. She’d lost a husband…
On the far side of the restaurant, a band struck up. It was a simple quartet, playing softly enough to not disturb the diners on this side of the restaurant. There was a small dance-floor, and a couple of diners rose and started dancing.
To Nick’s surprise Erhard rose. But not to dance.
‘No,’ he said as Nick rose as well. ‘I’m sorry.’ He sighed. ‘I’m not…completely well. If you’ll excuse me for a moment…’He looked across at the dance floor, almost wistfully. ‘Maybe you could dance while I’m away.’
‘I don’t—’ Nick started, but Erhard shook his head.
‘You do. My informants say you do. And so does Rose.’ He gave an uncertain smile at them both, but there was discomfort behind his eyes. ‘Excuse me. You go on.’ And he pressed his napkin to his lips and headed towards the rear of the restaurant.
Rose watched him go in concern. ‘He seems a nice man,’ she said. ‘He’s ill. I wonder what—’
‘He’s probably doing this to manipulate us,’ Nick retorted, and she smiled, but absently, still looking concerned.
‘I don’t think so. Even if he is, he’s doing it for the right reasons, and there is something wrong. I think.’
The silence stretched on. Behind them the band launched into a lively Latin-swing number.
Nick was already standing. He went to sit down again but then thought it seemed surly.
The woman before him was beautiful.
‘You don’t look like a country vet,’ he said, and he must have sounded accusing because she smiled again.
‘I’m not manipulating,’ she said gently. ‘I promise.’
But any woman who looked like she did tonight was making a statement, he thought, whether it was manipulative or not. And maybe his thoughts were transparent, because her smile gave way to a flash of anger.
‘Stop looking like that. I have the right to wear what I like.’
‘Of course you do.’
‘My husband bought this for me on our honeymoon,’ she said, still angry, and he stilled.
‘So it is a sort of statement.’
‘I guess it is.’
‘A statement that you’re available?’
The flash of anger stilled and her eyes were suddenly ice. ‘I don’t think I want to be married to you,’ she snapped. ‘Of all the boorish comments…If you wear a nice suit, is that an advertisement of availability as well?’
‘No,’ he said, horrified. He was suddenly way out of his depth. How could he have asked her such a question? As well as being insulting, he’d also hurt her. He could see it in the way she’d withdrawn.
‘Rose, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I have no idea why I said that, but it was way out of line. Hell, marriage or not, we seem to have crossed some sort of barrier that’s launched me somewhere where I’m not sure of the rules any more. I know that’s no excuse. But please—I’m sorry.’
Her face softened—just a little. ‘It does seem crazy,’ she admitted. She glanced down at her dress ruefully. ‘But maybe this is some sort of a statement. Maybe that’s why you’ve made me angry. You know, this dress has sat in a camphor chest in my parents-in-law’s house for the last five years. It’s been like…well, I was locked up with it. Tonight I did wear it as a kind of declaration—not that I’m available, but that I’m free. If that makes sense.’ She shook her head. ‘No. It barely makes sense to me. But the last thing I want is more attachments. I’ve done family for life. I am free.’
‘Diving into the royal goldfish bowl of Alp de Montez is scarcely freeing yourself,’ he said cautiously.
‘It all depends on what your prison has been,’ she said. ‘Are you going to ask me to dance?’
‘I…’ What the hell? ‘Yes.’
‘Excellent,’ she said, and she smiled, rose and took his arm, altogether proprietary. It seemed as if he was forgiven. ‘If I’m going to get the camphor smell out of this dress then I need to swirl it round a bit.’
She didn’t smell of camphor.
Rose was an intuitive dancer, light and lovely on her feet. Nick had been taught the rudiments of dance by his determined little foster mother, and he’d always enjoyed it. With great music and a good partner one could almost lose oneself in dance.
But not tonight. He didn’t want to lose himself when he was dancing with Rose.
The Latin music gave way to a gentle waltz. Erhard had still not returned to their table so suddenly Nick was holding her close, steering her around the dance floor, feeling her body mould to his in perfect time with his steps, in perfect time with him.
And she didn’t smell of camphor. She smelled of Rose.
What was she doing? She’d brought this dress with her on a whim, walking out of the house feeling as if she’d betrayed everyone. She hadn’t been worried about what she was wearing. But as her mother-in-law’s weeping had increased, as her father-in-law had wrung his hands and said, ‘Rose, you can’t leave. We love you. You’re our daughter. What would Max think?’ she’d abandoned her distress as too hard and she’d let anger hold sway.
She’d lifted the lid of her camphor chest and had retrieved the dress and shoes that had lain there for what seemed almost a lifetime.
And then, before she’d closed the chest again, she’d taken Max’s photograph from her bedside table and put it where her dress had been.
And had closed the lid.
Then she’d walked out of the house. Free.
No, not free. Still guilt-ridden. Seemingly obligated in some weird way to a country she’d left with the royal family’s scorn following her.
But she wasn’t going back to Yorkshire except to finalise things. No family. No ties. Nick’s question as to her availability couldn’t have been more wrong. If ever anyone else told her they loved her then she’d run a mile.
But she was in this man’s arms.
Yes, and that was great, she told herself as she let him swirl her round the dance floor with an expertise that made her feel wonderful. Erhard’s long letter had filled her in on who Nick was. A loner who’d pulled himself up the hard way. A man whose intelligence was extraordinary. A man with an Aussie accent overlaying his smooth French-Italian native tongue, and a laid-back charm that could knock a girl sideways. Nick was a sophisticated international lawyer who’d come from a background even more dysfunctional than her own.
He was a man who knew where his boundaries were.
So it was fine. Yes, she could marry him to keep Alp de Montez safe, and she could keep her independence. It would finally make her free.
Please.
Five minutes later Erhard returned to the table. The musicians took a break. There was no reason to stay on the dance floor, but as Nick led her back to the table he was aware of a sharp stab of regret.
Only because he loved dancing, he thought. Only that.
Erhard was smiling, watching them weave their way through the tables to join him. The strain had eased from his face a little.
‘Two wonderful dancers,’ he said softly as they sat down again. ‘You see, this thing becomes possible.’ He settled back into his chair and took a long sip of water. ‘Well?’
Nick looked at Rose and found she was watching him. Intently.
It seemed a decision needed to be made. Now. Did that mean Rose had already decided?
‘You need to trust me,’ Erhard told him softly. ‘This is a big ask. We need to trust each other.’
‘It’s fine,’ Rose said, suddenly sounding impatient to move on. Sounding as if she was annoyed. ‘I’m willing to take a chance, so it’s up to you, Nick. If you don’t choose to take part, then say so now. Let Erhard go into damage control and see if there’s another solution.’
‘There’s no other solution,’ Erhard said flatly, and they both went back to watching him.
She’d flung her hat in the ring, just like that. She’d agreed to marry him after knowing him only a matter of hours.
His foundations were shaken, he thought, and it wasn’t just this crazy proposition that was shaking them. It was the way he’d felt, dancing with Rose. The way she’d felt…
He needed a cold shower, and then some good legal advice.
‘You’re holding a gun to my head,’ he snapped, and the old man shook his head.
‘That’s what we’re hoping to avoid. Guns.’
‘You’re serious?’
‘I’m serious,’ Erhard whispered, and the grey look flooded back. How ill was he?
‘So tell us,’ Rose said to Nick directly, with a sideways glance of concern towards Erhard. ‘Are you in or are you out?’
‘I need to do a little more research…’
‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Research away. I spent a week on the internet myself. But if you come up with the conclusion I came up with—as you will—are you ready to have a go at fixing things?’
‘You’re seriously asking me to marry you?’
‘I thought you were asking me to marry you.’
‘I guess it’s mutual.’
‘Only I’ve said yes, and you haven’t,’ she said. ‘Go on. It might even be fun.’
‘I don’t do fun.’
‘Neither do I,’ she snapped. ‘Not for years. So we’re perfectly compatible. I’m willing to take a risk on the rest. What about you? Yes or no?’
And there it was. Not a gun pointing at his head, but just possibly a chance to make a difference.
Rose was waiting for him to come to a decision, her grey eyes calmly watchful.
Erhard was waiting too. Two people he instinctively trusted who were trying to do good.
So what was a man to say?
‘Yes,’ he said, and there was a moment’s stunned silence, and then they both beamed.
‘There it is, then,’ Rose said. ‘Proposal accepted. Congratulations to us all, and here comes pudding. Do you think I might have some more champagne?’
CHAPTER THREE
