Beauty and the Reclusive Prince (9 page)

His mouth twitched, but he managed not to smile at the fierce picture she made.

“I do,” he responded. “Shall we go?”

He helped her carry her things outside and there was a slinky little BMW Roadster.

“Nice car,” she allowed, refusing to meet his gaze.

“It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” he agreed, stowing her things behind the seat and holding the door for her. “It seems like something of a waste. I almost never get to drive it.”

“Why not?”

He shrugged. “The only place I go is to my home on the coast, and I travel in a limousine for that.”

“With darkened windows. I know.” Susa had told her all about it. “All so others won’t see your face?” she asked, troubled by such a denial of life.

“There’s more to it than that,” he said, sliding behind the wheel.

“Of course. And it’s none of my business.” She stared out the side window.

He twitched and gave her a look, then started the car and eased it out onto the driveway.

“I don’t know why you think you should be let in on every little aspect of my interior life,” he said gruffly. “Believe me, the nuances are not all that interesting.”

She whipped her head around. “I didn’t ask just because I was snoopy,” she said indignantly. “I actually care—” she stopped dead, realizing what she was saying “—uh…about you,” she ended softly and lamely, looking away again as quickly as she could.

He didn’t answer. As they cruised down the two-lane road he wondered why her admitting that she cared sent warmth careening through his system. It wasn’t as though women hadn’t cared for him in the past. What made her so special?

“Is that your car?” he asked as they closed in on a silver-blue compact sitting by the side of the road.

“That’s it,” she admitted.

He pulled up behind it and frowned as he studied the wall of his own property. “This isn’t where you go in,” he noted.

She flashed him a triumphant smile.

“You’re right. This isn’t it.”

She began to gather her things for her great escape, slipping out of the Roadster and reaching for her bag before he had a chance to get out and help her.

“Bye,” she said, not meeting his gaze and turning for her car.

“Hey.” He got out on his side and followed her. “Wait a minute.”

Throwing her bags into the backseat of her car, she
turned to look at him, though she was poised to jump behind the wheel and race off.

“What is it?” she asked guardedly.

He stood facing her, his legs wide apart, his hands hooked on the belt of his jeans. For a moment, he seemed lost in the depths of her eyes. Then he shrugged and looked almost bored with it all.

“I think I’ve come up with a way for you to get your precious herb,” he said casually.

Her jaw dropped and her eyes opened wide. “What? How?”

“It’s simple really.”

“You mean you’ll trust me to go alone?”

Darkness flashed across his face.

“No, of course not. I’ve told you, I will not allow you to go there unattended.”

“Unattended?” Her frustration was plain on her face. She obviously felt they were just going around in circles. “But who would be available to go with me?”

He shrugged, his head cocked at a rather arrogant angle. “I’ll do it,” he said.

For just a moment, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “What?” she said. But she could tell he meant what he’d said by the look on his face. Joy swept through her. “You!” And then spontaneous happiness catapulted her right up against his chest.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing his cheek again and again. “Thank you so much!”

He laughed softly, holding her loosely, resisting the impulse to take advantage of her giddiness.

“Can we go right now?” she cried, looking as though she could fly all the way on her own.

“Today it’s too late,” he said sensibly. “Come tomorrow.”

“Yes.” She knew he was right. “Yes, I will.”

He stroked her temple with his forefinger, smoothing back the tiny curls that were forming at her hairline. “And when you come tomorrow, you can drive in the front gate.”

She stared at him, clutching his arm. “How am I going to do that?”

“I’ll give you the code.”

That took her breath away. “Why would you do a thing like that?”

His gaze was cool, yet intimate. “Why not? I trust you.” For now, it suited him that she have the code, and that was that. He gave her a quick, quirky smile.

“Besides, I can change the code any time I decide I don’t want you to have it any longer.”

There were tears in her eyes. She’d been so downhearted and now she was so happy. “Why are you being so good to me?” she asked emotionally.

His smile faded. He gazed deeply into her eyes and winced a bit from what he saw there. And then, he told her the truth.

“Because I care about you, too,” he said.

“Y
OU’VE
been to see the prince again.” Susa’s tone was quietly jubilant, as though she’d just won a bet.

Isabella turned and glanced at her sideways. “How did you know?”

Susa smiled and looked superior, mixing gelatin into the whipping cream as a stiffener, preparing for the fabulous desserts she would be concocting that evening. Very casually, she shrugged.

“I know many things.”

Susa was like a member of the family. After Isabella’s mother died, it was Susa she often turned to for those familiar motherly things that she needed. It was Susa who taught her how to act with the customers, how to say, “Please,” and, “Thank you,” and look as if you meant it. When Luca was putting her into jeans and plaid shirts as though she were a little boy, Susa taught her how to wear frilly dresses. She had a lot to thank the woman for. But Susa could be annoying, all the same.

Just like family.

Her silver hair was set in neat curls around her head, augmented by tortoiseshell combs. She looked ageless and infinitely efficient, which was just exactly what she was.
Looking at her, Isabella had a flash of appreciation for the woman. Without her, they couldn’t run this restaurant these days. If nothing else, she was completely loyal. And very good at making pastries.

Isabella stared at her for a long moment, then sighed. “Someone told you, didn’t they? Someone who saw me driving up there.”

“Perhaps. Or perhaps I saw it myself.” She threw out a significant look. “I’ve told you before, I have the gift.”

Isabella rolled her eyes, turning back to her garlic press.

“I just want to warn you to be careful,” Susa said after a long pause.”

Isabella nodded. “Everyone is warning me to be careful.”

“You need a warning.” Susa looked up sharply. “You’re reckless. You trust people too much and you get hurt.”

Isabella tried to keep her temper. “I also eat too many sweets and stay up too late watching old movies. We should put up a chart with all my vices on it, so everyone can see.”

It was Susa’s turn to roll her eyes and Isabella bit her lip, regretting that she’d spoken sharply.

But the woman wasn’t chastened. “Just a word to the wise,” she said crisply. “In the first place, stay away from the prince. But if you must go to see him, stay away from water.” She got up from her seat and headed for the washroom.

Isabella stared after her, then jumped up and followed her to the door.

“What are you talking about?” she demanded.

“Oh, nothing.” Susa disappeared into the washroom.

“Susa!”

Isabella began to pace impatiently, waiting for her to return. Whatever she was hinting at, she had to know her reasons. There was no doubt something was still bothering Max about his wife’s death. And there was no doubt
he was overly worried about that river. She would see how much Susa knew—or thought she knew—and then try to find out the truth on her own.

Susa came back out, smiling happily, knowing she had rocked Isabella’s world.

“Well?” Isabella demanded. “Tell me what you mean by that water crack.”

Susa shrugged. “That was how his young wife died. She drowned right in front of him.”

“What?” Isabella suddenly felt breathless. “Why don’t I know about this?”

“The family kept it quiet.” Susa touched her arm in something close to sympathy. “There were whispers, but no one knew for sure what had happened.” She shook her head. “But signs were not good.”

Isabella regained her equilibrium and frowned, beginning to get suspicious.

“Why would you know about this if nobody else does?”

“I told you.” She pointed to her own temple. “The gift,” she said, her eyes widening.

“Susa!”

She smiled like a cat with a secret. “And also, I know because my cousin was working there, up at the castle, at the time.”

That put a little more credence behind it, Isabella had to admit. Susa seemed to have relatives working everywhere. Isabella shook her head. She supposed that was all a part of having “the gift.”

“So tell me everything you heard,” she demanded.

Susa shrugged, starting toward the refrigerator. “I know she drowned in the river, right there on the estate. The two of them were there alone. There are those who think…” She raised her eyebrow significantly.

“No!” Isabella cried. She was furious, but she had a deep, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach all the same. “I don’t believe that for a minute.”

Susa shrugged. “You never know.”

But Isabella knew very well that Max could never have hurt anyone. Could he? Of course not. It was inconceivable.

Susa had no more information, but she’d said enough to send Isabella into orbit. This news was all she could think about. Her heart thumped as she went over this possibility and that probability. She wanted to run to Max, to see if he knew about these rumors. But how could she bring something like this up? Impossible. And she knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t want to hear a word about it.

Still, it made her crazy to think of people suspecting him. She ached with it, wanting to defend him even though…

Even though she didn’t even know if anything Susa said was real or just wild imaginings in the woman’s mind. Slowly, she calmed herself. There was really no point in letting herself get so worked up when she didn’t even know if any of this was true.

She looked at the clock. In just eighteen hours, she would see him again. Thinking about it, she felt a strange tingling spread from her chest down her arms to her fingertips, and that was when she knew she was letting herself make too much of this—and it was time to come back to earth.

The whole thing was a mistake and Max knew it. Sitting in his darkened library, he sipped from his third glass of aged port and pondered what he was going to do about it. A wood fire flickered in the stone fireplace. The huge old house creaked with its antiquity and echoed with its emptiness. He was alone—just the way he wanted it to be.

So what had he been thinking when he’d told Isabella
she could come back here? He knew very well her presence would begin to eat away at everything he thought he’d settled years ago. He needed to be alone. He didn’t deserve anything else. What he’d done when he’d allowed his wife and the baby she was carrying to die in the river was an unforgivable crime. He would never be able to pay off that debt. It would take the rest of his life just to begin paying.

Closing his eyes, he fought back the doubt that had begun to tease him lately. He’d been sure all along that his scarred face was a judgement of fate, that it was a part of his punishment, that it helped to keep him in the private prison where it was fitting and appropriate that he be. For years he’d been—not content, exactly, but resigned.

Now Isabella had fallen into his life and that was a temptation in itself. He wanted her. He wanted to be with her. He wanted to be happy.

Was it really so wrong to want that? Could he resist all that Isabella had to offer him and his life?

“Laura,” he murmured, shaking his head. “Oh, Laura.”

If only he could feel that she was still there with him, he knew he could be stronger. As it was, he was going to have to count on his own sense of honor.

“Honor,” he muttered darkly, and then an ugly, obscene word came out of his mouth and anger boiled up inside him. Filled with a surge of rage, he threw the glass against the fireplace. It smashed into a hundred pieces with a satisfying crunch. Watching the broken shards of glass fly through the air, he felt his anger dissipate just as quickly.

He could only do what he could do, but he would resist. That was the life he had made for himself. He was stuck with it.

Max was waiting for Isabella as she drove up to the front entry of the old castle. She assumed he’d been warned by a signal from the gate she’d had no trouble opening with the code he’d given her. His shoulders looked incredibly wide in a crisp, open-necked blue shirt. His smooth-fitting chinos accentuated his athletic form, giving her a tiny bubble of appreciative happiness for just a moment. But something about his stance and the way his arms were folded across his chest told her he was bound and determined to get the two of them back on a cool, polite trajectory and away from all the warmth they’d managed to generate between them the day before.

Uh oh
, she thought as she slid from behind the wheel, her heart beating a little faster.

Surely he wasn’t going to change his mind about the basil. She gave him a tentative glance, then reached into the backseat to get the basket of sandwiches she’d made for the trip to the hillside. Before she could turn with it, he was there, shaking his head.

“How did I know you would bring a picnic lunch?” he said wryly. “Better leave it here. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

She looked at him blankly, clutching her basket and not sure what the problem was.

“This isn’t an outing, Isabella,” he said coolly, his dark eyes shadowed. “It’s a job to be done. Let’s get on with it.”

“But, the sandwiches won’t keep out here in the sun and—”

“Give your basket to Renzo,” he said.

She turned, surprised to see that the older man was standing there with his hand outstretched. Gingerly, she handed him her basket and tried a small smile. The man gave her a small smile back, and that helped a bit.

Turning, Max began to stride toward a fence that ran along part of the long driveway where two horses were saddled and ready to go. She hurried to follow him.

“You do know how to ride, don’t you?” he asked over his shoulder.

Did she? She swallowed, looking at how big both beasts were.

“I’ve been riding a time or two,” she admitted reluctantly, remembering one successful trip around the lake and another painful excursion in the mountains when she was younger.

But she was pretty sure she could do it. Given a choice, she would rather have walked with him all the way. But he was obviously in a hurry today. That was disappointing. But at least the trip was still on. She ought to be grateful for that.

“Don’t worry, Mimi is gentle as a lamb,” he told her, reaching out to stroke the downy nose of a gray mare with a black, silky mane. “She’ll treat you right.” His face softened as the horse nuzzled into the palm of his hand with clear affection. “Won’t you, girl?”

Isabella watched, surprised to see him show such open emotion so effortlessly. That made her wonder what he’d been like before the accident that had scarred him. Had he been happy? Carefree? Had affection come naturally to him? Somehow she thought so. What a blessing it would be if somehow she could help him get that life back.

She bit her lip, knowing how ridiculous that thought was. She had no business thinking it. His life had nothing to do with her. Hadn’t he even told her so? But as she watched him gently stroke the beautiful horse, she found herself wondering if the touch of his hand was as gentle when he stroked a woman, and she flushed.

And then it came to her in a flash of intuition—this had
been his wife’s horse. Of course. And that made her even more nervous about riding.

But the mounting went fine and soon they were trotting slowly out of the yard and onto the fields of the estate, she on Mimi and Max on the stunning black stallion he had been riding the night they’d met. Very quickly, she began to feel at ease, as though she were an experienced rider herself. Mimi was the perfect mount for a greenhorn such as she was.

The day was gorgeous, bright and breezy and full of promise. They were riding over territory she’d never been through before, rolling hills and green meadows. And then they came over a rise and below them spread an ancient vineyard with grape stakes as far as she could see.

She pulled the horse to a stop and made an exclamation of surprise as she looked at the limitless plain of struggling grape plants.

“What is this?” she asked him.

He leaned forward in the saddle and gazed at the expanse of it with one hand shading his eyes.

“This was once the Rossi vineyard,” he said, his voice even and emotionless. “It supplied grapes for our small family winery, an enterprise that lasted for a couple of hundred years.” He paused, then added dispassionately, “It was abandoned almost ten years ago.”

“Abandoned? Why?”

He didn’t turn to meet her gaze, and for a long moment, he didn’t answer. Watching him, she suddenly realized his neck was strained, as though he were holding something back, something painful. Her breath caught in her throat. She wanted to reach out to him, to touch him, but she didn’t dare. So she waited, and finally he spoke.

“I’m sure you know that I was married when I was younger. And that my…my wife died.” His voice almost
choked, but he went on firmly. “At the time it happened, everything stopped. Life stopped.”

Turning, he stared into her eyes as though he was forcing himself to do it. “I mean that literally. All the workers were sent away, except a bare skeleton crew to keep the place from completely reverting to the wild.” His eyes seemed to burn. “And I’ve never seen a good reason to bring any of them back.” He stared at her a moment longer, then looked away. “It’s better this way.”

She shook her head.
Better for whom?
she wanted to say. But who was she to tell him how to live his life?

“It seems so lonely,” was all she dared put out. “And such a waste.”

He shrugged again. “There are plenty of vineyards in Italy,” he said, giving his horse a snicker that started him moving again. “One more or less won’t make a difference.”

She sighed. So he thought she was talking about his grape plants? Well, maybe she was. But she’d meant a lot more than that. A waste, indeed.

They crested another hill and found a small forest barely protecting a group of small stone buildings.

“What’s that?” she called to him, pointing at it.

He turned and looked, then grinned at her. “The family crypt,” he said. “Want to see it?”

“Oh! Yes.”

He helped her dismount and they tied the horses to a gate, then walked slowly into the little glen that held his ancestors’ graves. The garden was overgrown, but not completely shabby. His caretaker had kept it decent, if not pristine. There was a small pond with tiny flashing fishes darting back and forth, a rose garden and a marble chapel. And behind them all was a larger, brooding stone building
that had served as a mausoleum to the Rossi family through the Middle Ages and beyond.