Crown Prince's Chosen Bride (14 page)

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

G
EMMA
HAD
ONLY
ever seen the inside of a private jet in movies. Was this a taste of the luxury in which Tristan lived? If so, she guessed it was her first look at his life in Montovia. The armchair-like reclining seats, the sofas, the bathrooms... All slick and sleek, in leather, crystal and finest wool upholstery. The royal Montovian coat of arms—an eagle holding a sword in its beak—was embroidered on the fabrics and etched into crystal glasses. No wonder Tristan had not been overly impressed with the
Argus
—it must have seemed everyday to him
.

Once they were in the air the attendant, in a uniform that also bore the royal coat of arms, served a light lunch, but Gemma was too tightly wound to eat. Tristan didn't eat much either. She wanted to tell him her news but didn't know how to introduce the topic. They sat in adjoining seats—close, but not intimate. She wasn't yet ready for intimate.

She was grateful when he asked outright. ‘So, tell me about your meeting with your new grandparents.'

‘They're not new—I mean they've been there all the time, but they didn't know I existed, of course.'

‘They honestly had never checked up on your mother over the years?'

The words spilled out of her. ‘Their shock at meeting me appeared genuine. The dimples did it, I think; my grandmother has them too. Eliza had joked that the Cliffords would probably want a DNA test, but they scarcely looked at my birth certificate. They loved their son very much. I think they see me as some kind of unexpected gift. And I... Well, I like them a lot.'

‘It must have been exciting for you to finally find out about your father,' he said. ‘Did it fill a gap for you?'

‘A gap I didn't really know was there,' she said. ‘You know I had only ever seen one photo of my father? The Cliffordses' house is full of them. He was very handsome. Apparently, he was somewhat of an endearing bad boy, who dropped out of Oxford and was living as a ski bum when he met my mother. His parents were hoping he'd get it out of his system and come back to the fold, but then he...he died. The revelation that he was married came as a huge shock to them.'

‘What about the way they treated your mother?'

‘I'm not making any excuses for them. I still think it was despicable. But apparently there's some serious money in the family, and there had been gold-diggers after him before. I told them my mother had no idea about any of that. She was clueless about English class distinctions.'

‘For your sake, I am glad it's worked out for you...'

Gemma could sense the unspoken question at the end of his sentence. ‘But you want to know why I decided to share my adventure with you.'

‘Yes,' he said. ‘I know you turned on the smartphone I left you because you decided to get in touch with me. I can only suppose it was because of your meeting with your new family.'

‘You're right. But before I tell you I want to ask you something.' She felt her cheeks flush warm. ‘It's your birthday in two weeks' time. I...I saw in a magazine that you have a big party planned. Are you...are you engaged to be married? To the girl your parents chose for you? Or anyone else?'

‘No,' he said, without hesitation.

She could not help her audible sigh of relief.

Tristan met her gaze. ‘What about you? Is there another man in your life?'

‘There has been no one since...since you.'

‘Good,' he said fiercely, his relief also apparent.

Seeing Tristan again told her why she had felt no interest in dating other men. Their attraction was as strong, as compelling, as overwhelming as it had ever been.

‘Before I tell you what happened at my grandparents' house, let me say I come to you with no expectations,' she said. ‘I realise when it comes down to it we...well, we've only known each other a week, but—'

Tristan made a sound of impatience that definitely involved Montovian cursing. ‘A
week
? I feel I have known you a lifetime, Gemma. I know all I need to know about you.'

He planted a swift kiss on her mouth—enough to thrill her and leave her wanting more. She would have liked to turn to him, pull his head back to hers—but not before she'd had her say.

‘You might want to know this, as well,' she said. ‘You're speaking to a person who is, in the words of her newly discovered grandmother, “very well bred”.'

Tristan frowned. ‘I'm not sure what you mean.'

It had taken her a while to get her head around what she'd learned. Now she felt confident of reciting the story, but still her words came out in a rush. As if she still didn't quite believe it.

‘It seems that on my grandmother's side I am eighth cousin to Prince William, the Duke of Cambridge, through a common distant ancestor, King George II, and also connected by blood to the Danish royal family. One of the connections was “on the wrong side of the blanket”, but apparently that doesn't matter as far as genealogy is concerned.'

‘But...but this is astonishing.'

She couldn't blame Tristan for his shocked expression; she was sure her grandparents had seen the same look on her face.

‘I thought so, too,' she said. ‘In fact I couldn't believe it could possibly be true. But they showed me the family tree—to which I am now going to be added, on the short little branch that used to end with my father.'

Tristan shook his head in disbelief. ‘After all I have done—'

‘What do you mean? What have you done?'

‘It is not important,' he said with a slight shake of his head. ‘Not now.'

The way he'd said that had made it sound as though it
was
important. She would have to ask him about it at another time. Right now she was more concerned at the impact of her own news.

‘I...I wanted to ask you if that connection is strong enough for... Well, strong enough to make things between us not so impossible as when I was just a commoner. Not that I'm not a commoner still, really. But as far as bloodlines are concerned—that's what my grandmother calls them—I...I have more of a pedigree than I could ever have imagined.'

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Forgive me, Gemma. This is a lot to take in.'

A chill ran up her spine. Was she too late? ‘I'd hoped it might make a difference to...to us. That is if there
is
an “us”.'

His dark brows rose, as if she had said something ridiculous. ‘As far as I am concerned there was an “us” from the moment you tried to attack me with that wooden spoon.'

She smiled at the reminder. ‘You are never, ever going to let me forget that, are you?'

‘Not for the rest of our lives,' he said.

She could see it took an effort for him to keep his voice steady.

‘Gemma, I've been utterly miserable without you.'

It was still there between them—she could see it in his eyes, hoped he saw it in hers. The attraction that was so much more than physical. If it no longer had to be denied because of the discovery of her heritage, where might it go from here?

Like champagne bubbles bubbling to the top of a glass, excitement fizzed through her.

‘Me...me too. Though I've tried very hard to deny it. Kept congratulating myself on how well I'd got over you. I had no hope, you see. I didn't know—none of us did—that the requisite noble blood was flowing in my veins.'

‘Stay with me in Montovia, Gemma. Be my guest of honour at the party. Let me woo you as a prince
can
woo the eighth cousin of a prince of this country.'

Again that word
surreal
flashed through her mind. Perhaps this was all meant to be. Maybe she and Tristan were part of some greater plan. Who knew? And Party Queens could manage without her. She hadn't taken a break since the business had started.

‘Yes, Tristan,' she said. ‘Show me Montovia. I couldn't think of anything better than spending the next few weeks with you.'

She hugged his intention to ‘woo' her—what a delightfully old-fashioned word—to herself like something very precious. Then she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him.

* * *

By the time the jet started its descent into Montovia, and the private airfield that served the castle, she and Tristan were more than ready to go further than kisses. She felt they were right back where they'd left off in her grandmother's cottage. He might be a prince, but more than that he was the man she wanted—wanted more than ever.

And they had two weeks together.

She couldn't remember when she'd felt happier.

Gemma caught her breath in admiration as, on Tristan's command to the pilot, the jet swooped low over the town of old Montovia. In the soft light of late afternoon it looked almost too beautiful to be real.

The medieval castle, with its elaborate towers and turrets, clung to the side of a forest-covered mountain with the ancient town nestled below. The town itself was set on the shore of a lake that stretched as far as she could see, to end in the reflections of another snow-capped mountain range. A medieval cathedral dominated the town with its height and grandeur.

‘You can see from here how strategically they built the castle, with the mountains behind, the lake in front, the steep winding road, the town walls,' said Tristan, from where he sat beside her. ‘The mountains form a natural barricade and fortification—it would be an exceptional army that could scale them. Especially considering there's snow and ice on the passes most months of the year.'

He kept his hand on her shoulder as he showed her what to look for out of the window. Gemma loved the way he seemed to want to reassure himself she was there, with a touch, a quick kiss, a smile. It was like some kind of wonderful dream that she was here with him after those months of misery. And all because she'd followed up on her curiosity about her father.

‘It's good to see you taking your turn as tour guide,' she said. ‘There's so much I want to know.'

‘Happy to oblige,' he said with his charming smile. ‘I love Montovia, and I want you to love it, too.'

For just two weeks? She didn't dare let herself think there could be more...

She reached out to smooth his cowlick back into place—that unruly piece of hair that refused to stay put. It was a small imperfection. He was still beautiful in the way of a virile man.

That inner excitement continued to bubble. Not because of castles and lakes and mountains. But because of Tristan.
She loved him.
No longer did she need to deny it—to herself or anyone else. She loved him—and there was no longer any roadblock on a possible future together.

‘The castle was originally a fortress, built in the eleventh century on the ruins of a Roman
castellum
,' he said. ‘It was added to over the centuries to become what it is now. The south extension was built not as a fortress but to showcase the wealth and power of the royal family.'

Gemma laughed. ‘You know, I didn't see all that strategy stuff at all. I only saw how beautiful the setting is, how picturesque the town, with those charming old houses built around the square. Even from here I can see all the flower boxes and hanging baskets. Do you realise how enchanting cobbled streets are to Australian eyes? And it looks like there's a market being held in the town square today.'

‘The farmers from the surrounding cantons bring in their goods, and there's other household stuff for sale, too—wooden carvings, metalwork, pottery. We have a beautiful Christmas market in December.'

‘I can't wait to see more of the countryside. And to walk around the town. Am I allowed to? Are you? What about your bodyguards?'

‘We are as safe as we will ever be in our own town. We come and go freely. Here the royal family are loved, and strangers are rare except for tourists.'

‘Do you mean strangers are not welcome?' A tiny pinprick was threatening to leak the happiness from her bubble.

‘Are you asking will you be welcome?'

‘I might be wondering about it,' she said, quaking a little. ‘What will you tell your family about me?'

‘They know all about the beautiful girl I met in Sydney. They know I flew to England to get her today. You will be their guest.'

That surprised her. Why would he have told anyone about his interlude with an unsuitable commoner? And wouldn't she be staying with
him
, not his family?

‘Will I be seen as an interloper?'

‘You are with me—that automatically makes you not a stranger.'

She noticed a new arrogance to Tristan. He was crown prince of this country. Was he really still the Tristan she had fallen for in Sydney? Or someone else altogether?

‘I'm glad to hear that,' she said. She paused. ‘There's another thing. A girly thing. I'm worried about my clothes. When I left Sydney I didn't pack for a castle. I've only got two day dresses with me. And nothing in the slightest bit formal. I wasn't expecting to travel.' She looked down at what she was wearing. ‘Already this white jacket is looking less than its best. What will your parents think of me?'

Being taken home to meet a boyfriend's parents was traumatic at best. When they were a king and queen, the expectation level went off the scale.

‘You are beautiful, Gemma. My mother and father are looking forward to meeting you. They will not even notice your clothes. You look fine in what you are wearing.'

Hmm.
They lived in a castle.
She very much doubted casual clothes would be the order of the day. In Dorset she'd felt totally underdressed even in her newly found grandparents' elegant house. At least she'd managed to pop into Dorchester and buy a dress, simply cut in navy linen.

‘I have so many questions. When will I meet your parents? Will...will we be allowed to stay together? Do I—?'