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He had no business even wondering, he told himself as he flashed his pass at the entrance to the members’ pavilion and was ushered inside. Until that brief encounter, he’d come to the show only to check out the Nuee horses. Found nowhere else on earth, they were a spectacular hybrid of the Lipizzans that the Spaniards had brought to the island long ago and a hardy native breed. The combination had proved extraordinary, and the most extraordinary of them all was Carazzan Liberte, a stallion capable of siring the perfect riding horses Hugh dreamed of breeding.
Carazzan wasn’t on show here, but he hadn’t expected it any more than he would expect to run into the stallion’s royal owner in the crowd. Later would do for that, when he attended a gala charity affair at the palace. He wasn’t looking forward to overdosing on so much pomp and ceremony, a legacy of his misfit youth, he supposed. But attending was the only way he could get close enough to the princess to convince her that Carazzan belonged at the centerpiece of Hugh’s new ranch.
A cheer went up from the crowd, and Hugh focused his attention on the arena, seeing the roughriders surge in at full gallop, stirring up clouds of dust and filling the air with their bloodcurdling cries. This was what Hugh had come to see.
Adrienne’s heart picked up speed as the roughriders galloped past, crossing and recrossing one another’s paths in impossibly tight formation. She knew the routines were inspired by centuries-old scenes depicted on cave walls throughout Nuee. The Mayat, ancestors of the modern-day Carramer people, had been legendary riders, training their wild horses to perform feats such as leaping from a cliff into the seething surf with a rider aboard, then carrying them safely back to the shore.
What she wouldn’t give to have seen that, Adrienne admitted. The riders supposedly had no other obligations but to ride to the glory of the gods. According to legend, they had lived with their horses and sometimes died with them. Then some of the famous Lipizzans had been brought to Nuee by their Spanish owners, the native horses interbreeding with the Lipizzans over time to produce horses of spectacular beauty as well as high intelligence and ready trainability.
The proof was in the demonstration in front of her. Fast, furious and exacting, the mock battle routines demanded split-second timing and hair-trigger reflexes. But the rough-riders and their mounts lived up to their name, and although a couple of carefully executed near-misses brought the crowd to their feet, there were no mishaps. By the time the thrilling display ended, Adrienne felt wrung out, as if she had ridden the course instead of watching it.
From force of habit she turned left out of the arena, toward the stables, which she made a point of visiting whenever she attended an event at the showground in her official capacity. She realized her mistake when she rounded a corner and found herself in a side alley with a cowboy barring her path. He wore a roughrider costume, but she hadn’t seen him in the show. And he was drunk, she discovered as soon as he opened his mouth.
“This area’s off-limits to the gen’l public,” he mumbled, swaying slightly.
“My mistake,” she said, backing away.
He followed her. “I’d be glad to give you a private tour.”
“No, thank you, I’ll just go back the way I came.”
He closed the distance between them. “No hurry. Nobody here but us. You like cowboys, little lady?”
His beefy hand closed around her arm, and he yanked her roughly toward him. The smell of alcohol bloomed on his breath, making her gag. “Please let me go,” she said as calmly as she could, although her heart was pounding.
“Inna minute. The name’s Kye. What’s yours?”
“Dee,” she said, still hoping she could make him see reason. The last thing she wanted was to be involved in a scene and risk having her identity discovered. “I didn’t see you in the show, Kye.”
“I was on this morn’n. Come on, whadda ’bout that tour? My horse is back here.”
His grip on her arm was like iron as he began to tow her toward the stables. As the balloon tied to her wrist broke free and drifted away, she struggled not to panic. “I can’t go with you, Kye. Someone will be looking for me soon.” She lifted her voice. “I’m back here, near the stables.”
The man squinted the way she’d come. “Nobody comin’.”
“I’m over here,” she tried again, louder this time.
“Stop that.” The cowboy’s free hand clamped over her mouth, reducing her cries to muffled protests. Lack of oxygen made her head start to swim. Keep calm, she willed herself. There has to be a way out of this.
Her legs almost buckled with relief when another man walked around the corner into the alley. Even more amazingly, she recognized him as the man she’d spoken to before the show. Desperately she bit down on the cowboy’s hand. He yelped and loosened his grip long enough for her to say, “Over here,” before her air was cut off again.
Without appearing to hurry, the man closed the distance between them, and she saw him size up the situation at a glance. But he didn’t wrest her assailant off her. He simply said quietly, “What’s the problem?”
“Just a little dis’greement between me and my girl,” the cowboy mumbled. “Nothin’ to do with anybody else.”
“How about you let the lady go so she can speak for herself,” the American said in the same low, controlled tone. There was no hint of threat in it, but his stance altered marginally, his assured body language suggesting that he was more than ready to back up his words with action if required.
She saw the cowboy read the same message, but he drew himself up belligerently, keeping a firm grip on his prize. “It’s none of your business. She’s with me.” But he did remove the beefy hand covering her mouth.
Hugh glanced at her. Surely this wasn’t the man she had claimed to be meeting? They seemed as ill-matched as chalk and cheese. Then he thought of himself and Jemima. “Are you with him?”
The disgusted set of her mouth gave him his answer. “I never saw him before, and if I never see him again it will be too soon.”
Once again Hugh was stricken by her porcelain-doll looks. What he could see of her skin was a flawless honey-gold, and there was a hint of glossy black hair under the sun hat. It had stayed on throughout the struggle. He couldn’t see her eyes behind the dark glasses but he imagined they would be as striking as what he could see. What in blue blazes was a woman of her apparent breeding doing, wandering around the stables of a fairground? Didn’t she know it only took a few too many drinks before these cowboys fancied themselves as Don Juan?
Despite his vow not to concern himself with her, it wasn’t in his nature to abandon someone who needed his help. “I said let her go.” His tone suggested that he wouldn’t like to have to say it a third time.
The cowboy’s certainty wavered visibly. Hugh was as tall as he was, although more compactly built. Balancing lightly on the balls of his feet, he let his stance suggest—accurately—that he could take care of himself. He could almost read the cowboy’s dilemma: give up the female companionship he’d anticipated or take on a fight he wasn’t sure of winning. Given the woman’s seductive appeal, Hugh wasn’t sure which decision he would make if it were up to him. It came to him that the woman looked worth fighting for. He braced himself instinctively.
Before the cowboy could resolve his dilemma, the woman brought her knee up between his legs and connected with her target with a crunch that made Hugh wince inwardly in sympathy. With a befuddled screech, the man dropped into a spinning crouch, giving vent to a torrent of Carramer words that Hugh would bet shouldn’t be used in polite company, before hobbling away toward the stables.
“I’ll call security.”
She couldn’t let him call the authorities. It would mean too much explaining she didn’t want to do. Her hand on his arm stayed him. “There’s no need to call anyone, I’m all right.”
“But that drunken oaf attacked you.”
“Drunken is the right word. He didn’t know what he was doing.”
“And if he tries it with some other woman?”
Another woman might not have a white knight handy to help her, the princess admitted to herself. “I’ll…I’ll report it when I get home,” she conceded. “He isn’t going far in that condition.”
“You’re probably right.”
He sounded reluctant to leave it there, and she got the impression he was a man who liked to see justice done. It would be, but not right now. “Thanks for coming to my rescue,” she said. “How did you know I was here?”
“That silly balloon of yours. I saw it jerking around in the air from the other side of the wall.”
That silly balloon as he called it just might have saved her life, she thought, and shuddered. He noticed her shudder and asked again, “Are you sure you’re all right?”
She wasn’t, but she made herself nod.
Hugh noticed the way her lovely long-fingered hands were clenched together, the gesture not quite concealing how much she was trembling. He took her arm. “Come on, we’re going to get you a drink.”
It was a measure of her agitation that she didn’t argue this time, he thought as he led her out of the alleyway and through the crowd to the members’ pavilion. In the lounge, he found a quiet table in a corner and pulled out a chair for her. “What would you like to drink?”
She sank into it and rested her head on her hands. “Just coffee, thank you. I…I can’t stay long.”
He corralled a waiter to bring them steaming cups of the wonderfully aromatic local coffee. When it arrived, his companion seemed content to cup her hands around it, drawing comfort from the warmth.
“Feeling better now, Dee?” he asked her.
Her head came up. “What did you call me?”
“That is the name you gave the cowboy, isn’t it?”
She nodded. “He said his was Kye.”
“That should help you identify him for the authorities.”
“Yes, of course.” Making a complaint officially would involve too many awkward explanations, so she would have to find another way to make sure the cowboy was held accountable for his behavior. She was thankful when a commotion on the other side of the room saved her from further explanation. “What’s going on there?”
“They’re introducing Miss Show Princess to the press,” he explained. “It’s mentioned in the program.”
The sight of so many cameras and microphones made her distinctly uneasy and she half-rose. “I should leave.”
“Finish your coffee,” he urged. “We’re not in anyone’s way.”
All the same she kept her head bent toward her companion as if they were deep in conversation. Among the press she had spotted a couple of the paparazzi who made the royal family their special targets. At least their attention was on another kind of princess for the moment, she thought gratefully, wincing as flashbulbs exploded around a glamorous young woman wearing a satin sash across a traditional leuer gown.
“You’re on edge,” the American said when she jumped. “It’s hardly surprising. You should have your doctor check you over when you get home.”
She looked up at him, mesmerized by his brilliant gaze. He was really worried about her, she thought. Tears prickled the backs of her eyes and she put it down to her recent brush with the drunk, but knew there was more going on here. It was so rare to have someone concern themselves with her as an individual, rather than because of her position, that she was touched in spite of herself. “It’s good advice.”
“Then make sure you take it.”
Another flashbulb popped, close to them this time. Miss Show Princess and her entourage had moved across the room to take advantage of the panoramic view of the fairgrounds beyond the lounge windows. It brought them to within a few feet of Adrienne’s table. Shaken, she pushed her chair back. “I really must go.”
The American moved to her side to help her up but was jostled by one of the photographers, throwing him against Adrienne. Instinctively he reached for her, steadying her. Anyone might have done the same, but she was stunned by the eddies of awareness the contact set up in her. She put it down to her heightened vulnerability after her encounter with the cowboy, but that hardly accounted for the strength of her response. She looked up at the American in confusion.
At that moment another flashbulb popped, then a whole barrage of them as Miss Show Princess paraded for the cameras. Adrienne used the moment to slip away toward the door, aware that the American was close behind her. “There’s no need to leave on my account,” she insisted.
“I only came for the equestrian events,” he said. “I’ll see you home.”
“No.” The word came out more forcefully than she intended, and she saw his expression turn cold. After he had done so much for her, she hadn’t meant it to sound so much like a dismissal, but she could see he had taken it as one. “I mean, my car’s parked right outside.”
“Then I’ll see you to your car,” he said coolly.
Thankfully, she had borrowed an unpretentious sedan from her assistant, who knew about her little adventures. Her staff might not approve, but their loyalty to her ensured that they helped her and kept her secret. “Thank you for everything,” she said as she got in. He nodded.
He watched as she maneuvered the small car out of the tight space and drove off. About to turn away, he spotted a flash of crimson on the ground. Her scarf must have caught in the door and been pulled off when she closed it.
He picked it up, and a faint whiff of her scent teased his nostrils—richly floral, like a balmy tropical evening, he thought. He tucked it into his jacket pocket. Nuee was a small island. It wouldn’t hurt to hang on to the scarf in case they met again.
Chapter Two
In response to a direct tap on her dressing room door, Adrienne said, “Come in.”
It was her personal assistant, Cindy Cook. The leather-bound file she carried under her arm made an interesting contrast with her pale-blue ball gown. She bobbed a curtsy then stopped short. “You look wonderful, Your Highness.”
Cindy had worked for the princess since they graduated from university together, so she wasn’t given to flattery for its own sake. Adrienne felt pleased that her new gown had made such a strong impression.
It was a glorious emerald-green, the color being one reason Adrienne had fallen in love with it; the design was another. From the front it looked like a stylish sheath that outlined her slender curves before fanning into a miniature train at her feet.
The back was a different matter. Cut almost to the waist, the dress was supported by a web of shoestring straps crisscrossing her bare back. With her glossy black hair swirled into a mass of curls high on her head and set off by an emerald tiara, she looked every inch the royal princess, she knew. Her alter ego, Dee, was nowhere to be seen.
“You don’t think it’s too daring for a charity affair?” she asked Cindy.
“The photographers will love it.”
As an answer it was a clever evasion, Adrienne recognized. It probably was overly daring but it was too late for her to change now. In any case, she was in the mood to cause a stir tonight and wondered if it was an aftereffect of her bad experience at the show. She hadn’t told Cindy about the cowboy or the man who had come to her rescue, telling herself no lasting harm had been done. But had it? She felt so fragile that she couldn’t be sure. She couldn’t even report the incident to anyone without revealing that she had gone out incognito.
“The dress is by an Australian designer, Aloys Gada. Allie recommended him,” she told Cindy.
Allie, or more precisely Her Highness, Princess Alison, was Lorne’s Australian wife. With her egalitarian ideals, she was like a breath of fresh air in the royal family. So was Caroline, the American woman Michel had married, Adrienne thought, smiling to herself as she recalled how Michel had been betrothed to Caroline’s twin sister in an ancient ceremony when they were children. They hadn’t expected to be held to the contract when they grew up, and it was Caroline that Michel really loved. But it had worked out well in the end, when Caroline’s twin schemed to get them back together. Like Lorne and Allie, Caroline and Michel were blissfully happy, and Adrienne couldn’t wait to become an aunt to their child in a few months’ time.
“What are you thinking about? I’ll bet it isn’t tonight’s affair,” Cindy guessed, watching her royal employer.
Adrienne drew herself back to the present. For a moment she had let herself fantasize about being happily married like her brothers, with a husband to admire her appearance instead of a paid assistant. Cindy was supportive, but it wasn’t the same, somehow. “I was thinking of someone I met today,” she confessed.
The cowboy she dismissed as being of no consequence, a drunk who didn’t know any better. The American was another matter. He haunted her thoughts in a way that disturbed her for some reason.
Cindy’s face dimpled into a smile. “A man?”
“They do comprise half of the universe.”
“Not this universe.”
In spite of herself, Adrienne sighed, knowing Cindy was right. Before her assistant could ask about the man occupying her thoughts, Adrienne said, “We’d better get down to business. Who are the important names on the guest list tonight?”
Opening her file, Cindy reeled off a list of mostly elderly local nobles. Adrienne nodded. “No surprises there.” Since tonight’s gala was in recognition of donations to the children’s charity she chaired, the princess knew most of the major benefactors already. It promised to be a dull evening, but she could endure it for the sake of the orphans, she told herself. “Any new faces?”
“Anyone young, you mean?”
Cindy knew her too well. “It would make a pleasant change.”
Cindy scanned the list. “Hardly anyone our age. The youngest is a thirty-something foreigner, a Mr. Hugh Jordan, here to finalize an investment project with Prince Michel.”
Adrienne felt a jolt and wondered at its source. “Is that why he got an invitation?”
Cindy shook her head. “My note says he was the largest single donor to the appeal.”
“No doubt he thinks the donation makes him look like a big man in Michel’s eyes.” She had recognized the man’s name as soon as Cindy said it. Hugh Jordan planned to establish a vast ranch north of Nuee City, on land that Adrienne had wanted for the same reason.
It still rankled that her brother was more willing to trust a foreigner with the project and the boost it would give to Nuee’s economy than Adrienne herself. She knew as much about breeding horses as any man. But she was a princess and princesses didn’t do that sort of thing, she thought angrily, recalling Michel’s reasoned response.
He hadn’t used those exact words, preferring ones like inappropriate and taking up too much of your valuable time, but the end result was the same. Hugh Jordan got to do what an accident of birth prevented her from doing.
It seemed Michel had told the man about her interest in horse breeding, particularly the Nuee saddlebreds, and he had asked to meet her. But she told her brother she had no intention of sharing her hard-won expertise with the stranger so he could enjoy all the benefits.
Michel had thought her response petty. He was probably right but she didn’t care. Now Hugh Jordan had finagled his way into her charity dinner, anyway. His donation to the appeal was so substantial that there was no way she could avoid meeting him tonight.
“I’ll bet Hugh Jordan smokes cigars and only talks about price movements on the stock exchange. And he’s probably this big,” Cindy said.
As her assistant pantomimed a huge girth, Adrienne was forced to laugh. “And no matter how stuffy or boring he is, you’ll charm him into giving an even larger donation to your beloved children,” Cindy added more seriously.
Adrienne let her eyes flash acceptance of the challenge. “I’ll consider it a personal obligation.”
