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“It is what it is.”
She faced the groom fully again. “It must have been horrible for you.”
“I learned to depend on myself.”
“Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“A younger sister. Lucy is twenty-three.”
She wanted to ask his age—but somehow that seemed such an intimate question. There were fine lines at the corners of his eyes. He had to be at least thirty. “What brings you to Montedoro?”
He seemed faintly amused. “You’re full of questions, Your Highness.”
She answered honestly. “It’s true. I’m being very nosy.” And it’s time for me to go. But she didn’t go. She kept right on being as nosy as before. “How long have you been here, in my country?”
“Not long at all.”
“Do you plan to stay on?”
“That depends....”
“On?”
He didn’t answer, only held her gaze.
She felt the loveliest, most effervescent sensation. Like champagne sliding, cool and fizzy, down her throat. “You love horses.”
“Yes, I do. And you’re wondering how a guy from East L.A. learned to handle horses....”
Tell him that you really do have to go. “I have been wondering exactly that.”
“When I was eighteen, I went to work for a man who owned a horse ranch in the Santa Monica Mountains. He taught me a lot. And I learned fast. He kept warm bloods. Hanoverians and Morgans, mostly.”
“Excellent breeds.” She nodded in approval. “Strong, steady and handsome. Not nearly so testy and sensitive as an Akhal-Teke.” All her horses were Tekes. Akhal-Tekes were called the “heavenly horses,” the oldest breed on earth. Originating in the rugged deserts of Turkmenistan and northern Iran, the Teke was swift and temperamental and very tough. Both Genghis Khan and Alexander the Great chose Akhal-Tekes to carry them into battle.
“There is nothing like an Akhal-Teke,” he said. “I hope to own one someday.”
“An admirable goal.”
He chuckled and the sound seemed to slide like a sweet caress across her skin. “Aren’t you going to tell me that I’ll never be able to afford one?”
“That would be rude. And besides, you seem a very determined sort of person. I would imagine that if you want something strongly enough, you’ll find a way to have it.” He said nothing, only regarded her steadily through those beautiful eyes. She was struck with the sense that there was much more going on here than she understood. “What is it?” she asked finally, when the silence had stretched thin.
“I am determined.”
She found herself staring at his mouth. The shape of it—the slight bow of his top lip, the fullness below—was so intriguing. She wondered what it might feel like, that mouth of his touching hers. It would be so very easy to step in close, go on tiptoe and claim a kiss....
Stop. No. Wrong. Exactly the sort of foolish, bold, unprincess-like behavior she was supposed to be avoiding at all costs.
“I...” She was still staring at his lips.
“Yeah?” He moved an inch closer.
She clutched the reins tighter. “...really must be on my way.”
He instantly stepped back and she wished that he hadn’t—which was not only contrary but completely unacceptable. “Ride safe, ma’am.”
She nodded, pressing her lips together to keep them from trembling. Then she clucked her tongue at Kajar and turned for the wide-open stable door.
* * *
Once again he was gone when she returned from her ride. That day, she worked with a couple of the yearlings and put one of the show jumpers through his paces. Later she went home to shower and change.
In the afternoon, she met with the planning committee for next year’s Grand Champions Tour. Montedoro would host the sixth leg of the tour down at the harbor show grounds in June. Through the endless meeting, she tried very hard not to think of blue eyes, not to remember the deep, stirring sound of a certain voice.
That night, alone in her bed, she dreamed she went riding with Noah. She was on Yasmine and he rode the bay stallion Orion. They stopped in a meadow of wildflowers and talked, though when she woke she couldn’t remember a thing they had said.
It was a very tame dream. Not once did they touch, and there was none of the heated tension she had felt when she’d actually been near him. In the dream they laughed together. They were like longtime companions who knew each other well.
She woke Friday morning as usual, long before dawn, feeling edgy and dissatisfied, her mind on the American.
Why? She hardly knew this man. She didn’t know him. She’d seen him twice and shared one brief conversation with him. He should not have affected her so profoundly.
Then again, there was probably nothing profound about it. He was hot and mysterious, untamed and somehow slightly dangerous. He called to her wild side. She found him madly attractive.
Plus, well, maybe she’d been keeping too much to herself. She wanted to avoid getting wild in the streets, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have a life. She’d been sticking too close to home. This obsession with Noah was clear proof that she needed to get out more.
And she would get out, starting that very evening with a gala party at the palace, a celebration of her sister Rhiannon’s recent marriage to Commandant Marcus Desmarais. It would be lovely. She would enjoy herself. She would dance all night.
She rose and dressed and went to the stables, expecting to see Noah again, unsure whether she wanted to see him—or wished that he wouldn’t be there.
He wasn’t there.
And her uncertainty vanished. She did want to see him, to hear his voice again, to find out if her response to him was as strong as it had seemed yesterday. As she tacked up the black mare Prizma, she was alert every moment for the telltale sound of someone entering the stables behind her. But no one came.
She went for her ride, returning to find that he still wasn’t there. She almost asked Gilbert about him.
But she felt too foolish and confused—which wasn’t like her at all. She was a confident person, always had been. She spoke her mind and had few fears. Yes, she was making a definite effort not to get into situations that might attract the attention of the tabloids and embarrass her family. But that didn’t mean she was all tied up in emotional knots. She liked to live expansively, to take chances, to have fun.
She was no shy little virgin afraid to ask a few questions about a man who interested her.
The problem was...
Wait a minute. There was no problem. She’d met a man and found him attractive. She might or might not see him again. If she ever did get something going with him, well, it could be a bit awkward. She was a princess of Montedoro and he was a penniless American from a place called East Los Angeles.
They didn’t exactly have a whole lot in common.
Except that they did. She was half American after all. And they both loved horses. And she had so enjoyed talking with him. Plus, he was very easy on the eyes....
She’d made way too much of this and she was stopping that right now. He was only a man she found intriguing. She might see him again.
And she might not. The world would go on turning however things worked out.
At six o’clock, Alice returned to her villa on a steep street in the ward of Monagalla, not far from the palace. Her housekeeper, Michelle Thierry, met her at the front door.
“I thought you’d never get back,” the housekeeper chided. “Have you forgotten your sister’s party?”
“Of course not. Relax. There’s plenty of time.”
“You’re to be there at eight, you said,” Michelle accused.
“Oh, come on. It’s definitely doable.”
Michelle wrinkled her nose. “What have you stepped in?”
“I work all day with horses. Take a guess.”
The housekeeper waved her hands. “Don’t just stand there. Get out of those boots and come inside. We’ll have to hurry. There’s so much to do....”
“You are way too bossy.”
Michelle granted her a smug smile. “But you couldn’t get along without me.”
It was only the truth.
In her late forties, Michelle was a wonder. She not only took excellent care of the villa but also cooked beautiful meals and played lady’s maid with skill and flair. Michelle loved her work and had impeccable taste. Alice knew she was lucky to have her.
Laughing, she perched on the step and took off her boots, which the housekeeper instantly whisked from her hands.
“The bath,” Michelle commanded, waving a soiled boot. “Immediately.”
Alice had her bath, did her hair and makeup, put on the red silk-taffeta Oscar de la Renta that Michelle had chosen for her and then sat impatiently, fully dressed except for her shoes, while Michelle repaired her manicure and pedicure and clucked over her for not taking proper care of her hands.
The car was waiting outside when she left the villa at ten of eight. The drive up to Cap Royale, the bluff overlooking the Mediterranean on which the Prince’s Palace sprawled in all its white stone glory, should have taken only a few minutes. But the streets were packed with limousines on their way to the party. Alice could have walked it faster—and at one time, she would have simply told the driver to pull over and let her out. But no. The goal was to be more dignified, less of a wild child. She stayed in her limo like everyone else. The car finally reached the palace at 8:28 p.m. Hardly late at all, the way Alice saw it. But her mother would think otherwise. Her Sovereign Highness Adrienne expected the members of her family to arrive promptly at important events.
The guests in their gala finery were still streaming in the red-carpeted main entrance. Alice had the driver take her around to a side door where two stern-faced palace guards waited to let in intimate friends and members of the princely family. She gave her light wrap and bag to a servant.
Then she took a series of marble hallways to another exit—the one that led out to the colonnade above the palace gardens. Alice paused at the top of the white stone stairs leading down to the garden.
Below, a giant white silk tent had been erected. Golden light glowed from within the tent, where dinner for three hundred would be served. The palace, the tent, the gardens, the whole of Montedoro—everything seemed ablaze with golden light.
“There you are.” Her sister Rhiannon, five months pregnant and glowing with happiness, clutched the frothy tiered skirts of her strapless ivory gown and sailed up the stairs to Alice’s side, her growing baby bump leading the way.
Alice adored all four of her sisters, but she and Rhia shared a special bond. They were best friends. “Sorry I’m a little late. The streets are awash in limousines.”
The sisters shared a quick hug and kissed the air by each other’s cheeks. Rhia whispered, “I’m just glad you’re here. I’ve missed you....” Flashes went off. There were always photographers lurking around, way too many of them at an event like this.
Alice hooked her arm through Rhia’s. They turned as one to face the cameras. “Smile,” Alice advised softly, trying not to move her lips. “Show no weakness.”
Rhia braced her free hand proudly on the bulge of her tummy and smiled for the cameras. She had a lot to be happy about. For almost a decade she’d struggled to deny her love for Marcus Desmarais. Now, at last, she and her lifetime love were together in the most complete way. Rhia and Marcus had married in a small private ceremony three weeks ago. They’d flown off for a honeymoon in the Caribbean on the same day Alice had made that fateful trip to Scotland.
The party tonight was in lieu of the usual big wedding. The world needed to see how the Bravo-Calabretti family welcomed the new husband of one of their own.
Rhia’s groom had been orphaned soon after his birth. He’d started with nothing—and become a fine man, one who’d gone far in spite of his humble beginnings. The party wasn’t just for show. The Bravo-Calabrettis did welcome him.
Alice loved that about her family. They judged a man—or a woman—by his or her behavior and accomplishments. Not by an accident of birth or a string of inherited titles. If Alice were to choose a man with nothing, her family would support her in her choice.
Not that she was anywhere close to choosing anyone. Certainly not a bold blue-eyed American she’d only just met and would likely not see again.
She banished the stable hand from her mind—yet again—as Rhia grabbed her hand and pulled her down the curving staircase. They wove their way through the crowd toward the wide-open entrance to the big white tent. Alice spotted her brother Damien, the youngest of the four Bravo-Calabretti princes, entering the tent, his dark head thrown back as he laughed at something the tall golden-haired man beside him had said....
“Allie?” Rhia turned back to her with a puzzled frown.
Alice realized she’d stopped in midstep at the base of the stairs and was staring with her mouth hanging open. Her brother and the other man disappeared inside the tent. She’d only caught the briefest glimpse of the other man from the back. And then from the side, for that split second when he’d turned his head. “It can’t be...”
“Allie?” her sister asked again.
“I could have sworn...”
“Are you all right?” A worried frown creased the space between Rhia’s smooth brows.
Alice blinked and shook her head. Lovely. Not only was she obsessing over a near stranger, she was also hallucinating that she saw the same man, perfectly turned out in white tie and tails, chatting up her brother. “Did you see that tall blond man with Dami? They just went inside the tent.”
“Dami? I didn’t notice.”
“You didn’t notice Dami, or the man with him?”
“Either. Allie, really. Are you all right?”
“I’m beginning to wonder about that,” she muttered.
“You’re mumbling. Say again?”
Alice would have loved to drag her favorite sister off somewhere private, where she could tell her all about the scruffy, sexy, unforgettable stable hand—whom she could have sworn she’d just seen wearing a perfectly cut designer tailcoat and evening trousers and sharing a joke with their brother. She wanted a comforting hug and some solid, down-to-earth advice. But now was not the time. She tugged on Rhia’s hand. “It doesn’t matter. Come on. Let’s go in. Marcus will be wondering where you’ve gone.”
* * *
The family table was a long one, set up on a dais at the far end of the tent. All their brothers and sisters were there. The married ones had come with their spouses. Even dear Belle, who lived in America now with her horse-rancher husband, Preston McCade, had come all the way from Montana to celebrate with Rhia and Marcus. Only the little nieces and nephews were missing tonight. This was a grown-up party after all.
Rhia whispered, “We never have time to talk anymore.”
“I know. I miss you, too.”
“Come to our villa at seven Sunday night. We’ll have dinner, catch up. Just the two of us.”
“What about Marcus?”
“He’s dining at the palace with Alex. Something about the CCU.” Alexander, Damien’s twin, was third-born of their brothers. Alex had created the elite fighting force the Covert Command Unit, in which Marcus served.
