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Emmeline glanced down, crossed her legs, running a hand over her thigh as she did so. “They’re Hannah’s. And Hannah’s top. I found them buried in the back of her closet.” She suddenly looked at him. “I’m going to return them to her. I promise. I’ll have them dry-cleaned and—”
“That’s between you and Hannah. I imagine she’s had to wear your clothes in Raguva. I can’t picture her playing princess in her wardrobe of brown, beige and gray.”
Emmeline smiled crookedly. “She doesn’t really have a couture wardrobe.”
“No. She’s too practical for that.”
Emmeline ran a hand over the worn denim again. “I’ve never owned a pair of jeans like these. They aren’t the designer ones. They’re real. Broken in, so soft.”
“Hannah was raised on her father’s ranch in Texas, just outside of San Antonio. Has she told you some of her stories about her life on the ranch?”
Emmeline shook her head.
“I think she found it lonely on the ranch. Her father raised her. She didn’t have a mother. She grew up riding and roping and helping with roundups.”
“Such a different life than mine.”
“I can’t see you on a ranch.”
“Neither can I, but I do ride. Not Western-style, of course. I used to compete.”
“Dressage?”
She grinned. “No, jumping. I was quite good.” She must have seen the disbelief in his eyes because she laughed and added, “I really was. Even made the Brabant Olympic Equestrian team at twenty.”
“You participated in the Olympics?”
“Well, I made it there, but ended up getting thrown in my first event. It was a nasty fall, and for almost twenty-four hours I had no feeling below my chest. Thank goodness full sensation eventually returned, but that was the end of my riding. I’m not allowed to compete again.”
“I had no idea.”
“I can’t imagine you reading tabloid magazines, so it’s unlikely you’d know I was mad about jumping. It’s not exactly mainstream news.”
“Your accident would have made headlines.”
“It was mentioned that I was thrown, but there was a massive earthquake the next day, and the focus turned to real news.”
“How many years ago was that?”
“Five.” She glanced down at her middle and pressed a hand to the peasant blouse, flattening the cotton fabric over her still-flat stomach. “That’s how I met Alejandro. He was at the course when I was thrown and he came to the hospital to check on me. The nurses wouldn’t let him in. Alejandro being Alejandro—” She broke off, swallowed. “—he told them he was my fiancé, and they let him in.”
Makin thought he’d known Princess Emmeline all of these years. He thought he’d known everything important about her—beautiful, fashionable, chic, as well as soft, pampered and lazy. He’d imagined that her only ambition was being seen and photographed. Instead she’d spent years training in a highly competitive, dangerous sport. She’d been thrown from a horse. She was far stronger than he’d ever imagined.
“That’s how the rumors and talk started,” she added. “About Alejandro and me. But we weren’t involved. There was nothing between us, not until March.”
“But over the years you were seen with him, time and again.”
“Because he would search me out. Never the other way around. I was never interested in him. He wasn’t my type. I know you don’t believe me, but I worked very hard to rebuff him. Only, I think that backfired. The more I pushed him away, the more determined he was to win.”
Looking at her stunning features—the high cheekbones, the angled jaw, the full mouth—he could believe it. She was beyond beautiful. She had a rare, luminous quality, as though there was a light inside of her making her shimmer and glow. “Men like the chase,” he said.
“So I’ve learned.” She tried to smile but it didn’t reach her eyes. “He didn’t love me. He didn’t even want me. He just wanted to. oh, what’s that English expression? Score. He just wanted to score.” She met his gaze, smiled mockingly. “And he did. Now he’s gone. I’m pregnant. And nothing will ever be the same, will it?”
He felt such a sharp tug of emotion that it almost took his breath away. She’d been through a difficult time and things weren’t going to be getting any easier. He suddenly knew she needed a friend, someone in her corner. Someone who would be there for her. “You’re right. It won’t be.”
“I’m scared.”
He felt another inexplicable tug on his emotions. Gone was the glossy, glamorous princess who had sailed through life untouched by the problems of ordinary mortals. She looked young and real and heartbreakingly vulnerable. “You could end the pregnancy. No one would be the wiser.”
“I would.”
“It’d be the best thing for you.”
“But not for the baby!” she flashed hotly, color suffusing her cheeks. “And I know you don’t like Alejandro—”
“This has nothing to do with him,” he interrupted sternly. “And I’m not a proponent of abortion. But I think you have to be very practical right now, think hard on your choices. You are Princess Emmeline d’Arcy and the world holds you to a different standard.”
“Perhaps. But I could no more abort the pregnancy than amputate an arm or leg. I love this baby, and I want this baby and am prepared to make the necessary sacrifices to ensure that he or she has the best possible life.”
Makin regarded her steadily, torn between admiration and concern, aware that the road ahead of her would not be easy. But life wasn’t about making the easy decision, it was about making the right decision, and if keeping the baby was the right thing for her, then he supported her one hundred percent. Life was fragile and precious and full of unknowns.
Makin was all too familiar with the fragility of life. He’d known since he was a teenager that he’d never be able to have children due to the gene he’d inherited from his father. And so at twenty, six months after his father’s death, Makin had elected to have a vasectomy to ensure that he couldn’t carelessly or accidentally impregnate his partner. He simply could not take the risk of passing on such a fatal, painful disease to his children. It had been bad enough watching his father suffer. He couldn’t imagine his own children suffering the same fate.
“Then you need to be strong,” he said to Emmeline at length. “You need to hold tightly to your convictions and do not let anyone sway you from what you believe is right and true.”
They traveled in silence for nearly forty minutes and then the captain announced that they would be starting their descent momentarily.
Emmeline looked out the window and then at Makin. “We’re still flying over desert.”
“We’re stopping in Nadir to refuel. We’ll only be on the ground fifteen or twenty minutes.” He paused, studied her brown hair, aware that it wasn’t her true color. “Do you have a personal hair stylist?”
“Yes. She’s in Raguva with Hannah.”
“Which means she could be anywhere.” He saw Emmeline’s expression and clarified, “Hannah’s no longer in Raguva. She left the palace early this morning and should be on her way back to Dallas now.”
“So King Patek knows?”
“He discovered the truth last night.”
“My parents must know then, too.”
“I did send word we were on the way and had to stop and refuel. They aren’t expecting us until midafternoon.”
“It’s going to be pretty ugly when we get to Brabant,” she said slowly.
“You have to face your family sooner or later.”
“Then later seems preferable.”
“Right now, maybe. But it’s always better to confront problems head-on. I act as soon as I can. It saves heartache down the road.”
“That’s why we’re on the plane now. Better to get me home quickly than delay and risk more trouble.”
“Exactly,” he agreed, and then realized how it must sound to her. He tried to soften the blow. “My father taught me not to sweep things under the carpet or play ostrich by burying your head in the sand. People will think you’re ashamed or have something to hide.”
“But I do feel shame. I’m not proud to be a single, unwed mother. I’ve made so many appearances trying to educate young girls, wanting them to be smart and careful, and yet I’ve failed to do the very thing I preach.”
“As you said, you made a mistake.”
“A terribly stupid one.”
Makin’s insides tightened, his chest knotting with sensation, and he realized now it wasn’t Hannah he’d wanted to send away yesterday. It was this person, this woman. Emmeline. Not because he disliked her, or because she’d failed him in some way, but because she was making him care. Not about grand or important things like politics and economics, but about something very small and personal. Her.
He did care for her. He was glad he was accompanying her home, if only to lend his moral support. “What’s done is done,” he said. “You can’t go back. All you can do is go forward.”
“Yes.”
“But I don’t think you should go home like this.” He indicated her hair. “Not as a brunette. Since your stylist isn’t available, I know someone who could help. She can meet us at the airport and board the plane when we refuel.”
Emmeline touched her hair. “You’re sure she’ll come?”
“She’s on my payroll.”
“She’s your stylist then?”
“No. She’s Madeline’s.”
“Madeline?”
“My … mistress.”
Emmeline frowned. “That’s right. You mentioned her last night.” She hesitated. “Does Madeline mind that her stylist will help with my hair?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable and impatient. He wished he hadn’t mentioned Madeline. There was no need to bring her up, and he certainly had no desire to discuss her with the princess. “Risa is an expert at doing hair on this jet and she’ll have you back to your natural color by the time we arrive in Brabant.”
Just a little over an hour later, they were back in the air after refueling in Nadir.
Risa, the hairstylist, had brought everything she might need in a large trunk. She had various boxes of color, foil squares, cotton strips, shampoo and conditioner, as well as a hair dryer, curling tongs, styling creams and finishing sprays.
On board, Risa immediately mixed color and applied it to Emmeline’s hair, taking little strips here and there and wrapping them in foil.
Now Emmeline sat on the bed flipping through one of the magazines Risa had brought with her while she waited for the color to finish processing, but her mind kept wandering from the magazine to Makin. Why did he have a mistress? What was the point of a mistress? Why not a girlfriend … or a wife?
A knock sounded on the door. It was Makin. He opened the door a crack. “Are you decent?”
“I’m dressed. But not sure how decent I look,” she answered, setting the magazine aside.
He opened the door wider. “You look like an alien,” he said, taking in the pieces of foil and purple cream.
Emmeline smiled wryly. “You’re not supposed to see this part.”
“Where’s Risa?”
“In the galley kitchen rinsing the bowls and brushes.” Emmeline closed the magazine and slid her legs off the bed. “Risa’s good, by the way. She knows what she’s doing.”
“She worked in Paris for ten years for a top salon before Madeline hired her away.”
“Risa told me Madeline’s blonde.” Emmeline didn’t know why she said it.
“She is,” he agreed.
Emmeline waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t. “Have you always had a mistress?”
Makin blinked. “What kind of question is that?”
“I’m curious. And you’ve asked me very personal things. I don’t know why I’m not allowed to know anything about you.”
“I never said you weren’t.”
“Good. So, why a mistress instead of a girlfriend? What’s the point of having a mistress?”
He hesitated a moment than shrugged. “Convenience.”
Her brows knit together. “For you?”
“Yes.”
“And what’s in it for her?”
“Comfort. Security.”
“Financial security, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Because it doesn’t sound as if there is emotional security.”
“I wouldn’t say that—”
“Because you have all the control. It’s a relationship on your terms. You see her when you want, and she must be available whenever you call. Which, by the way, is horrible.”
“Madeline’s not unhappy.”
“How do you know she’s not unhappy?”
“Because she’s never said she was.”
“Maybe she’s afraid to complain—”
