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Plain-Jane Princess
Karen Templeton
Incompetent! She couldn't cook, clean or operate the dishwasher. But Steven Koleski had to admit the mysterious woman did have a way with his newfound family…and his lonely heart.It was the opportunity of a lifetime for Princess Sophie of Carpathia: two weeks of living like a regular person. On top of that, caring for children was her passion. But with five of them tugging on her heartstrings and their sexy guardian bestowing fiery kisses on her, how could she ever return to life as a princess when her fairy-tale ending was right here…right now?
He had no idea who this woman was, where she was from, why she was here or when she was leaving.
For all he knew she was married. Or had a boyfriend. Or was on the lam.
Besides, if his heart were a neon sign, it would be flashing No Vacancy. He had kids to raise. Crises to avert.
Lisa was holding out her hand, and, not wanting to be rude, Steve took it, grateful that electricity didn’t shoot up his arm from her touch. That happened only in those books his sister used to hide in her sweater drawer, anyway. But it had been a long time since he’d held a woman’s hand in his, and he had to admit, it felt pretty damn good.
And boy, did he like that smile.
And boy, did he have to get the hell out of there.
Dear Reader,
As always, Intimate Moments offers you six terrific books to fill your reading time, starting with Terese Ramin’s Her Guardian Agent. For FBI agent Hazel Youvella, the case that took her back to revisit her Native American roots was a very personal one. For not only did she find the hero of her heart in Native American tracker Guy Levoie, she discovered the truth about the missing child she was seeking. This wasn’t just any child—this was her child.
If you enjoyed last month’s introduction to our FIRSTBORN SONS in-line continuity, you won’t want to miss the second installment. Carla Cassidy’s Born of Passion will grip you from the first page and leave you longing for the rest of these wonderful linked books. Valerie Parv takes a side trip from Silhouette Romance to debut in Intimate Moments with a stunner of a reunion romance called Interrupted Lullaby. Karen Templeton begins a new miniseries called HOW TO MARRY A MONARCH with Plain-Jane Princess, and Linda Winstead Jones returns with Hot on His Trail, a book you should be hot on the trail of yourself. Finally, welcome Sharon Mignerey back and take a look at her newest, Too Close for Comfort.
And don’t forget to look in the back of this book to see how Silhouette can make you a star.
Enjoy them all, and come back next month for more of the best and most exciting romance reading around.
Yours,
Leslie J. Wainger
Executive Senior Editor
Plain-Jane Princess
Karen Templeton
KAREN TEMPLETON’s
background in the theater and the arts, and a lifelong affinity for love stories, led inevitably to her writing romances. Growing up, she studied art, ballet and drama, and wanted to someday strut her stuff on Broadway. She was accepted into North Carolina School of the Arts as a drama major, but switched to costume design.
Twelve years in New York City provided a variety of work experiences, including assisting costume designers at a large costume house, employment in the bridal department buyer’s offices of several department stores, grunt work for a sportswear designer and answering phones for a sports uniform manufacturer. New York also provided her with her husband, Jack, and the first two of her five sons.
The family then moved to New Mexico, where Karen established an in-home mail-order crafts business that she gave up the instant the family bought their first computer. Now writing romances full-time, she says she’s finally found an outlet for all that theatrical training—she gets to write, produce, design, cast and play all the parts!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Chapter 1
“Please, Princess Sophie—just one more?”
“Oh, yes! Please…please…please…?” went up a chorus of soft voices from a sea of wide, eager, predominantly dark eyes.
“Oh, darlings, I’m so sorry…” Princess Sophie hugged the tiny chestnut-haired girl who’d sat on her lap while she’d read to the children, then set her gently on the playroom’s carpeted floor, laughing when the mite knocked her glasses askew. Since it was early evening, some of the younger ones were already in their pajamas, ready for bed. “I’d love to stay, I truly would. But my Baba would scold if I got home late tonight.”
She stood, only to immediately bend down, arms held wide, her heart both swelling and breaking as most of the children swarmed into her embrace.
“I have to use the toilet,” a tiny blond girl announced, holding out her hand expectantly, and Sophie laughed.
“Well, come on, then, Tiana—”
“Oh, no, Your Highness,” one of the staff intervened, snatching the child’s hand from Sophie’s. “You needn’t bother yourself with that.”
“It’s no bother, really….”
But off child and caregiver went, the little girl waving shyly to Sophie over her shoulder.
Ah, well…her grandmother would scold, indeed. Sophie said her goodbyes to a staff she’d more or less handpicked ever since the palace had set up the Children’s Home ten years ago. No one country—and certainly not one as tiny as Carpathia—could possibly see to the needs of the hundreds of children in the area orphaned each year due to the seemingly impossible-to-heal friction between various ethnic groups that regularly tangled just beyond Carpathia’s borders, but one did what one could. And she was proud, she thought as she mounted her bicycle for the ten-minute ride through the village’s narrow winding streets, then up the hill to the palace, of how many adoptions, both local and abroad, she’d been able to arrange as a result of her work on the children’s behalf.
And for those children not fortunate enough to find temporary refuge here, she spearheaded a half-dozen worldwide campaigns, through an equal number of charities, to secure their safety and happiness.
A never-ending and often thankless task, to be sure. And one, she now feared, that was finally taking its toll on her personal life.
Such as it was.
Dusk had a firm grip on the countryside when Sophie let the bicycle drop by the gate to the kitchen garden, then ran around to the side entrance, bounding up the granite steps two at a time, much as she’d done as a child. Servants curtsied or bowed as she raced through a succession of sparkling, lavishly appointed rooms, until, panting, her chignon disintegrating into a tangled, thumping loop against her back, she tore into her ivory-and-gold bedroom. Ripping off her jacket and blouse, she dived into her room-size closet.
“Sophie!”
“I know, I know,” she called out to her grandmother, Princess Ivana, Carpathia’s ruling monarch for the last forty-odd years. “I’m sorry!” Ignoring the array of glittering gowns in their plastic shrouds behind her, Sophie chose instead a simple, long-sleeved, dove-gray silk. Now overheated, she dashed across the Aubusson carpet, tossing the dress onto the bed’s ivory satin comforter. Out of the corner of her eye, Sophie took in her petite grandmother’s heavily beaded gown, the understated diamond tiara sparkling in a cloud of pearlescent white hair.
The exasperated set to the elder princess’s mouth.
“The only good thing about being eighty years old is that I can no longer say my grandchildren are driving me to an early grave. The guests have been here for nearly a half hour!”
Sophie avoided the pair of astute black eyes trained on her. “I’m sorry, Baba,” she repeated, carefully, dutifully, her loose hair hindering her movements as she wriggled into a pair of sheer tights, then a floor-length silk half slip. “The children all had something to show or tell me, it seemed. I just didn’t have the heart to disappoint them. Especially as I won’t be there again for some time.”
She slipped the dress over her head, reaching around to do up the short zipper on her own as she slipped on a pair of matching silk pumps. A moment later she plunked down at her dressing table, where she glowered at her reflection.
“All your mother’s beautiful gowns at your disposal,” Princess Ivana said softly behind her, “and still you dress like a little mouse.”
Concern, more than censure, colored her grandmother’s words, but Sophie still bristled. After all, the elder princess was still a beauty. As had been Sophie’s mother, Princess Ekaterina. And big brother Alek was no slouch, either. On him, the square jaw, the clefted chin, made sense. On her…well, it was hard not to wonder why, considering the genetic odds of her turning out at least reasonably attractive, she should now be facing great-uncle Heinrick’s reflection.
Sophie took a brush to her dust-colored hair, her overlarge mouth pulled into a grimace underneath a pair of unremarkable gray eyes—not even silver, like Alek’s—half-hidden behind a pair of round, tortoiseshell-framed glasses.
At least the children didn’t care what she looked like.
The silver-backed brush clattered to the table as Sophie gathered up her hair, deftly twisted it into a coil at the nape of her neck. “My wearing one of my mother’s gowns,” she said, “would be like putting weeds in a crystal vase.”
“Oh, honestly, child!” Her grandmother’s vexation crackled more than the flames in the marble fireplace across the room. Though the calendar said late May, evenings tended to be chilly in the mountains of Central Europe. “I do not understand why you put yourself down so! If only you’d wear a little makeup, your contact lenses…”
There was little point in commenting, so Sophie didn’t. A brittle moment or two passed before Ivana said, “Jason Broadhurst called for you this afternoon, so I invited him to join us, as well.”
“Jason? What on earth is he doing here?” Sophie inserted a pair of natural pearl studs in her earlobes. “I thought he was in Atlanta, seeing to the new store’s opening.”
“That was last month.”
Two princesses watched each other in the mirror for a long moment.
“He seems very fond of you, my dear.”
“We’re friends,” Sophie said, slicking a clear gloss—her only concession to makeup—over her lips. “Nothing more.”
“Since he’s asked you to marry him, one would assume his feelings have…changed.”
“He only wants a mother for Andy, Baba.”
“And many a marriage of convenience has led to a love affair.”
Sophie stared at her reflection, her mouth set, ignoring the burning sensation at the backs of her eyes as she yanked open her jewelry case, grabbed a string of pearls. “And beggars can’t be choosers?”
“Oh, don’t be perverse! That’s not what I meant!”
Sophie struggled with the necklace’s clasp for a moment, finally ramming it home. “In any case, marrying Jason would put a severe crimp in my work.”
“And working for the benefit of everyone else’s children is more important than having children of your own?”
Every muscle in Sophie’s back clenched. “No,” she said softly after a moment. “Not more important. But you know as well as I do how many of those children have no one else to champion them.”
And her charity work was the only aspect of her life over which she had at least some control, some choice, where she was respected for her drive, her efficiency, her brain, more than her position. Where her appearance didn’t matter. Once she married, however, she would be expected to not only continue fulfilling her royal obligations, which were onerous enough, but take on the social duties of a wife as well. And for what? A loveless marriage? Jason’s family business interests, including a chain of internationally renowned department stores, would naturally require a wife who was both viable and visible. For heaven’s sake—she barely had any life of her own as it was. Yes, marriage to the handsome widower would give her a child to love and help raise—though the prospect of giving Andy any siblings was apparently a slim one, since Jason had made it quite clear he did not wish a bedmate—but as much as she yearned for motherhood, this was one sacrifice she was loathe to make.
Sophie suddenly realized her grandmother had come up behind her to lay her almost weightless hands on her shoulders. She very nearly jumped: while she’d never doubted her grandmother’s affection for her or her brother, Alek, the elder princess was not known for her demonstrativeness. “You are very precious to me. You know that, yes?”
Startled, Sophie could only gawk at their reflections in the mirror. “Of course, Baba—”
“So it pains me, when you are unhappy.”
“I’m not—”
“You are. You and Alek both. You think I do not recognize the signs, that I cannot tell? First Alek, with his gallivanting hither and yon and his women and his race cars…” She sucked in a sharp, worried breath, shook her head. “And you.” Another head shake. “Yes, you do the monarchy proud, with your work. But I am also worried that you are perhaps…hiding behind your speaking engagements and conference calls and committee meetings?”
Knowing a con job when she heard one, Sophie eyed her grandmother again in the mirror. “And you think my marrying Jason would be a solution?”
“I think…sometimes you see only problems, instead of opportunities. Love can grow, child. If you give it a chance.”
“Grandmother—”
But the princess patted her shoulders, twice, an enormous pear-shaped diamond ring flashing in the light from the small Baccarat lamp on Sophie’s dressing table, then moved away. “We must go down.”
Despite a heavy weariness that seemed to rob her of even an interest in breathing, Sophie managed to rise from the bench, glared at her mirrored twin one last time, then followed her grandmother down the stairs, to once again do her duty, be where she was supposed to be, make sure she did nothing to upset the apple cart.
Perhaps her brother’s rebelliousness had been partially to blame for propelling her into her role as the “good” one. Or perhaps wanting to please, to do what was expected of her, was simply part and parcel of her nature, she couldn’t tell. The problem was, the older she got, the more those expectations seemed to be increasing. And whereas at one time she lived for the approval her obedience garnered, now she felt suffocated by it.
In other words, she didn’t want to play anymore.
“The World Relief Fund conference in the States,” Princess Ivana said. “That’s next week, isn’t it?”
They approached the drawing room where the guests were no doubt waiting. A pair of servants opened the carved double doors; one announced their presence:
“Their Highnesses, Princess Ivana and Princess Sophie.”
Dread coiled in the pit of Sophie’s stomach like a nasty, filthy beastie as she waited out the wave of helpless irony that washed over her, through her. That other little girls would wish to be princesses had always seemed so alien to the plain little princess who, even at the height of her approval-seeking mode, only ever wanted to be as ordinary as she looked, to have at least some say over her life. Her heart. How many times throughout her life had she been compelled to sacrifice her own desires for her position?
“Yes, Grandmother. Next week. And did I tell you—I’m on the short list for Director when Manuela de Santiago retires next month?”
And how many times would she be compelled to in the future?
