Claire Delacroix (5 page)

“Yes,” Bard declared in a tone that brooked no argument. “Dunhelm is all mine.” He was once again a grim warrior and Aurelia had no doubt that Bard would be a formidable adversary.

And he was the new king. Dunhelm had been lost, her father’s fate was unknown. Aurelia refused to be daunted by the minute prospect of her being able to change any of that.

She was the only hope her father had.

Aurelia stood tall and slipped her hand into the broad strength of the warrior’s palm. His skin was warm, his grip over her own small hand both strong and gentle.

But Aurelia would not be fooled. She summoned every vestige of regal training she had and turned a polite, if vacant, smile on her companion. “I thank you for your hospitality, King Bard.”

The priest snorted. “King? More like your knight in shining armor! He’s awakened you with a kiss, just like some goddamned fairy tale, and now you want us to believe your father’s a king.” The priest folded his arms across his chest and glowered at Bard. “Just let me know when reality can intrude again.”

The words made Aurelia’s cheeks burn. Did Bard know the ridiculous prophecy of her birth? Had he arranged this awakening to trick her into believing that he was her destined lover?

That would explain his kiss. He was using an old bit of whimsy to his advantage. Aurelia’s heart went still.

And then her anger erupted. Oh, his ploy was lower than low. Any fool could see that the curse placed upon Aurelia was meaningless! Who ever heard of someone sleeping for eons, let alone until their one true love awakened them? It was beyond reason!

These two must think her stupid indeed!

But, all the same, this was a perfect opportunity to bolster their expectation of her intellect. She could play the witless woman as well as anyone, if it meant saving her sire and her home.

Without another thought, Aurelia spun and clutched at Bard’s hand. “Truly?” she demanded with a cloying sweetness alien to her. “You have come for me, just as it was foretold?”

Bard opened his mouth, but Aurelia was not going to give him any chance to make his lies yet worse.

Instead, she flung herself into his arms. “I was so hoping you would come soon, warrior of mine!” she cooed.

And Aurelia stretched up to kiss the deceitful murderer full on the lips.

* * *

Chapter Three

Her soft lips were on his and the breasts he had glimpsed were pressed against his chest before Baird guessed what the woman was going to do.

And then nothing else mattered but her kiss.

Baird’s fingers of their own accord fitted to the neat indent of her. She was so tiny that his hands nearly encircled her completely, her curves fit against him as though they were made for each other.

And Baird, a man not given to impulse, only cradled her closer and deepened his kiss. She trembled, as though she was also surprised by the heat of their kiss and just as powerless to end it as Baird. A protective tide swept through him and he lifted her to her toes, slanting his mouth across hers.

There was a rightness about kissing her, a sense of homecoming, a rush of victory that made absolutely no sense. In this moment, Baird didn’t care about what made sense. Her lips were as soft and warm as the rain, her kiss as sweet as honey.

Baird knew with sudden clarity that he had come to Dunhelm precisely and purely to find this woman. It was no coincidence she was here, he was oddly certain of it. This woman was the lure that had drawn him not only to Dunhelm, but to this chamber.

He had been looking for her.

What? How could he look for someone he didn’t even know? That kind of thinking had no place in Baird Beauforte’s supremely rational mind!

Baird tore his lips away from hers, but his odd certainty didn’t fade. He stared at the woman as he backed warily away, and his hand rose to wipe away the nectar of her kiss. She was possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, as perfectly made as a china doll, but must be a few bricks short of a full load. She had just kissed him as though she couldn’t get enough of him, and for no reason at all!

And Baird had - very uncharacteristically - kissed her back.

In fact, he had kissed her first.

The whole situation was enough to make Baird uneasy. He had a very definite sense that this woman knew more about him than he did about her.

Baird was no stranger to manipulation by the fair sex, but he had decided a long time ago that he wasn’t going to be tricked again.

Okay. This woman had lost her father - in one way or another - and was obviously upset, maybe upset enough to be confused. And she was on Beauforte Resort property, which must be the reason Baird felt so responsible for her. He had offered to help her find her father and he would keep his word.

But that was it.

Baird swiftly turned his back on the woman before she could mess with his thinking any more than she already had. “Julian, find her a room in the renovation until we get this resolved,” he commanded crisply. The weight of her gaze bored into his shoulders, but Baird refused to turn and look at her. “It doesn’t matter where.”

Julian’s brow furrowed with concern. “But - “

“Just do it!” Baird snapped in a rare show of frustration. “Just do it and do it now!” He stalked toward the stairs, fighting the urge to take one last survey of the woman.

Baird forced himself to think of the appointment with the interior designer. They would talk prices and availability of materials, they would plan, they would be reasoned and unemotional.

He could hardly wait, Baird told himself grimly.

“King Bard,” the woman called softly from behind him.

Baird froze with one foot on the first step and hesitated for just a moment, bracing himself for another view of her feminine vulnerability.

But the sight still made his gut clench.

It seemed impossible that she could appear softer than she had after their kiss, but she did. It was easy to imagine long sunny mornings spent in bed...

Baird pulled himself up short. Julian was right - the woman must be a crazy vagrant. Wherever she had come from, obviously she had been out in the elements too long.

But Baird’s lips burned. As much as he knew he should just march right out of there and put the woman out of his mind, he just couldn’t do it.

And she seemed to know it. She tucked a strand of blond hair behind one ear, the move accentuating the soft sweep of her jaw line. She stepped closer, her fair hair swaying behind her like a satiny curtain, and her blue, blue gaze locked with his.

Baird could feel that uncanny allure working its magic on him again. He forced himself to look away, to look anywhere other than her eyes, and his gaze had the misfortune to fall on her feet.

Baird had always had a weakness for the feminine foot. So different from his own, women’s feet spoke of delicacy and grace, of suppleness and strength. These - unfortunately for his determination to leave and ignore the woman - were among the finest pair he had ever seen.

Baird swallowed and stared.

Just to make matters worse, those tiny feet were bare against the accumulated moss on the stone floor, the contrast highlighting their dainty femininity. Baird gritted his teeth and struggled to not wonder how soft the pearly skin on her instep would be.

He failed utterly.

“I thought we were going to look for my father.” There was a thread of steel in her tone that had not been there before, but Baird seized on her words themselves.

Could her father - whoever he was - really have some claim on Dunhelm? Could Baird lose Dunhelm, after all he had been through to acquire it?

No way! An irrational panic swept through him and Baird knew he couldn’t let that happen at any cost. He shoved one hand through his hair. “I’ll get to it after my meeting with the designer.”

“Oh, yes, we can’t keep our precious Morticia waiting,” Julian muttered.

Baird fired a dark glance at his friend, his patience with dissenting opinions completely gone. “Our designer’s very good at what she does, whether you like her or not.”

Julian grimaced. “I wouldn’t know how good she is - what I do know is that she’s very - how should I put it? - ambitious.”

Baird stifled a growl, wishing for the umpteenth time that Julian and Marissa could put their differences aside. There were days when he felt more like a mediator than an employer.

And that was the last thing he needed today.

“Just leave it, Julian.” Baird turned back to the stairs, his gaze unwillingly drawn one last time to those enticing feet. It was too easy to picture one cradled in his hand, cleaning the dirt away, sliding his palm over that graceful ankle...

He was losing it!

“Take care of her,” Baird commanded, then swung around and started up the stairs. “After the meeting, I’ll start looking for Hekod.”

“King Bard?”

What now? Baird reluctantly glanced back to find the woman standing ramrod straight, her chin high, his sweater hanging nearly to her knees. Her blue eyes shone with a clarity that made Baird wonder whether she was really as dumb as she seemed to want him to believe.

He refused to look below the hem of his sweater.

“I am the Princess Aurelia, a Pictish priestess and daughter of the King,” she said with the same pride that she had declared her father’s title. “If I am to be your guest, I can only ask that you address me properly.”

Princess? Baird blinked but her gaze did not waver.

“No one calls me ‘her’ in my own presence,” she clarified, obviously mistaking the reason for his silence. “I do not take offense, for a barbarian such as yourself cannot be expected to know better, but in future, you could try to be decently mannered.”

Baird gritted his teeth and bit back a defense of America with an effort. Aurelia certainly wasn’t the first he had met in Britain who thought everyone from beyond their own borders was an illiterate colonial redneck.

Especially Americans.

But considering herself royalty was another thing entirely.

“Princess Aurelia?” he echoed skeptically.

Aurelia’s smile was dazzlingly bright. “Of course, I’m a princess!” She giggled like a teenager that he would question something she found self-evident. “King Hekod the Fifth is my sire, as you well know.”

Baird didn’t know any such thing.

What he did know now was that Aurelia was crazy. There was no doubt about it. She thought she was a princess, that her father was a king and that this was her home.

Such as it was.

Aurelia’s smile slowly faded when Baird said nothing. A wariness dawned in her expression again, as though the silliness was a mask that had slipped away.

Baird found himself intrigued by the hint that there was more to her than met the eye. Which was the real Aurelia?

Baird told himself that he shouldn’t care.

He certainly shouldn’t be replaying Aurelia’s luscious kiss over and over again in his mind.

“Well, I’m late, princess.” Baird bowed ever so slightly in her direction, and caught a wayward glimpse of her pale toes. The sight did hard and thick things to him that had no place in this situation. “Julian will find you a room.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of everything.” Julian waved him off and Baird didn’t need any more encouragement to take the stairs two at a time.

* * *

Baird’s heart was still pounding when he reached the graciously wide entry to the hotel. Though he told himself that it was because of the run across the lot, Baird wasn’t as sure of that as he would have liked to be.

It certainly wasn’t because he was anxious to pore over marble samples with Marissa Witlowe.

In fact, he couldn’t remember exactly why he had agreed to let Marissa come early to Dunhelm. Keeping her and Julian from each other’s throats was not going to be a treat.

Marissa pivoted at the sound of Baird’s arrival, her slender curves perfectly accentuated by her slim black suit. A pretty woman, she was impeccably groomed, as always, and right on time. Morticia was not such an unlikely moniker for her, with her preference for black clothes, her fair skin and love of dark lipstick.

Marissa raised one hand to pat the elegant coil of her glossy black hair and smiled at the sight of him. “Baird!” She waved with her fingertips, her high heels clicking as she crossed the new granite floor. Baird wondered whether he imagined the accentuated sway of her hips.

Marissa Witlowe had been hired by a human resources expert who hadn’t lasted long at Beauforte Resorts. All the same, Marissa had remained, and shown rare determination in working her way to the top. She was a competent designer, though not brilliant, but even Baird was quick to admit that hotels seldom require decorating brilliance.

Marissa not only understood the Beauforte look, but she was good at digging out new suppliers and good prices for the materials that the resorts needed. Baird gave her credit for that - and no more.

There certainly was nothing else between herself and Baird - never had been - they simply weren’t each other’s types. Marissa was simply Too Much Trouble. She took hours to get ready for the smallest occasion, she invariably broke nails or lost eyelashes or found minute snags in her stockings that required long sojourns in the women’s room to repair. Marissa was allergic to a change of plans and was almost as fussy an eater as Julian.

And apparently, somewhere and sometime, Marissa had adopted a flowery, extravagant way of expressing herself - not to mention a glaringly phony British accent - that she obviously thought suited a creative personality like her own.

Having Marissa on the Beauforte team for the even most mundane business function was such a huge pain that it cured Baird of any desire for female company for a good month afterwards.

The sight of her, here in Dunhelm but dressed as though she were popping out for a goat-cheese-and-endive salad at one of Julian’s chichi bistros, was a tangible reminder of the real world that should have been more welcome than it was.

But Baird had to force his smile. He found himself half wishing that the real world had stayed safely ensconced in head office, where it belonged.