HOW TO MARRY A PRINCESS (3 page)

There were more toasts. Alice paced herself, taking very small sips of champagne, practicing being low-key and composed for all she was worth. By the time the appetizer was served, she felt glad she hadn’t asked Dami about the broad-shouldered stranger with the dark gold hair and perfectly cut evening clothes.

It was nothing. It didn’t matter. She would have a fine evening celebrating her dearest sister’s hard-earned happiness. And no one else would know that she’d imagined she saw someone who wasn’t really there. She accepted a second glass of champagne from a passing servant and picked up a spear of prosciutto-wrapped asparagus—and then almost dropped the hors d’oeuvre in her lap when she glanced over and saw Noah.

He wore the same perfect evening attire she’d glimpsed earlier. And he sat between a stunning blonde and a gorgeous redhead several tables away, staring right at her.

Chapter Two

N
oah was watching Alice when she spotted him. Her mouth dropped open. Her face went dead white.

About then it occurred to him that maybe he’d carried his innocent deception a little too far.

She pressed her lips together and looked away, turning to her younger sister on her right side, forcing a smile. He waited for her to glance his way again.

Didn’t happen.

Jennifer, the redhead seated on his left, put her hand on his thigh and asked him how he was enjoying his visit to Montedoro. He gently eased her hand away and said he was having a great time.

She hit him with a melting, eager look and said, “I’m so pleased to have met you, Noah, and I hope we can spend some time together during your stay. I would just love to show you the
real
Montedoro.”

Andrea, the blonde on his other side, cut in, saving him the necessity of giving Jennifer an answer. “I love all of Prince Dami’s friends,” Andrea said. “Dami and I were once, well, very close. But then he met Vesuvia.” A model and sometime actress, Vesuvia was often called simply V. “Dami is exclusive with V now,” Andrea added. None of what she’d said was news to Noah. Or to anyone else, for that matter. “They’re all over the tabloids, Dami and V,” Andrea whispered breathlessly. She was mistress of the obvious in a big, big way.

“Or at least, the prince is
mostly
exclusive with V,” Jennifer put in with a wicked little giggle. She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I mean, they
are
always fighting and I notice that V’s not here tonight....”

The meal wore on. Jennifer and Andrea kept up a steady stream of teasing chatter. Noah sipped champagne and hoped that Alice might grant him a second look.

If she did, he failed to catch it.

Had he blown it with her, misjudged her completely? It was starting to look that way.

But no. It couldn’t be.

She’d assumed he was an itinerant stable hand and all he’d done was play along. He’d thought she would find the whole thing funny.

It hadn’t even occurred to him that she might be upset about it. How could he have gotten it so wrong? He’d done his research on her after all. She was bold and curious and ready for anything, the darling of the scandal sheets. He’d never imagined she would freak out when she finally saw him as he really was.

So what did he do now?

He wouldn’t give up, that was for damn sure. Not now that he’d met her, talked to her, seen her smile, looked in those eyes of hers that could be blue or gray or green, depending on the light and her shifting mood. Not now that he’d discovered she was
exactly
the woman he’d been looking for—and more.

Somehow he would have to make amends.

The meal finally ended. Princess Adrienne rose and congratulated the newlyweds again. She wished them a lifetime of married bliss. Then she invited the guests to enjoy the moonlit garden and to dance the night away in the palace ballroom upstairs.

Jennifer whispered an invitation in his ear. He turned to express his regrets.

When he glanced toward the dais again, Alice was gone.

* * *

Alice slipped out of the tent through the servants’ entrance behind the dais.

She’d recovered from her initial shock at the sight of Noah sitting between those two beautiful women, looking as though he belonged there. At least by the end of dinner, she’d become reasonably certain she wasn’t hallucinating. He was not a bizarre figment of her overactive imagination. The man who looked exactly like Noah the stable hand really did exist.

That meant she wasn’t losing her mind after all—a fact she found wonderfully reassuring.

But
was
he actually the same man she’d first met sweeping the stable floor before dawn on Wednesday morning? Was this some kind of bizarre practical joke he was playing on her? And if so, did that make him a palace groom posing as a guest at the palace? Or a jet-setter friend of her brother’s who enjoyed masquerading as the help?

She considered tracking down Dami and quizzing him about that friend of his who looked exactly like the poverty-stricken groom she’d met Wednesday.

But no. Not tonight. Damien might be able to enlighten her, but then he would have questions of his own. She just wasn’t up for answering Dami’s questions. And it didn’t matter anyway. She knew what to do: forget it. Forget
him.

It was all too weird. It made no sense and she wasn’t going to think about it.

She would enjoy the rest of the evening and move on.

A familiar voice behind her said, “Allie, I haven’t seen you in ages.”

She turned to smile at a longtime friend. “Robert. How have you been?”

“I can’t complain.” Robert Bentafaille was compact and muscular, with an open face and kind green eyes. The Bentafailles owned orange groves. Lots of them. He and Alice were the same age and had gone through primary and secondary school together. “You look beautiful, as always.”

“And you always say that.”

“I hear the orchestra.” He cast a glance back at the palace, at the lights blazing in the upstairs ballroom. Music drifted down to them. He offered his hand.

She took it and they turned together to go inside.

* * *

Alice danced two dances with Robert.

Then another longtime friend, Clark deRoncleff, tapped Robert on the shoulder. She turned into Clark’s open arms and danced some more.

After that she left the floor, accepted a glass of sparkling water from a passing servant and visited with Rhia and Marcus for a bit. Rhia was sharing her plans for the nursery when Alice spotted Dami across the dance floor. He was talking to the man who almost certainly was Noah. She stared for a moment too long.

The man who had to be Noah seemed to sense her gaze on him. He turned. Their eyes met. His were every bit as blue as she remembered.

She had no doubt now. It had to be him. Quickly, she turned away and gave her full attention to Rhia and her groom.

Noah didn’t matter to her. She hardly knew him. She refused to care what he was doing there at her sister’s wedding party or what he might be up to.

Marcus asked Rhia to dance. They went off together, holding hands, looking so happy it made Alice feel downright misty-eyed and more than a little bit envious.

Her eldest brother, Maximilian, came toward her. The heir to their mother’s throne, Max was handsome and magnetic—like all of her brothers. He used to be a happy man. But three years ago his wife, Sophia, had died in a waterskiing accident. Max had loved Sophia since they were children. Now he was like a ghost of himself. He went through all the motions of living. But some essential element was missing. Sophia had given him two children, providing him with the customary heir and a spare to the throne. He didn’t have to marry again—and he probably never would.

“We hardly see you lately,” Max chided. “You haven’t been to Sunday breakfast in weeks.” It was a family tradition: Sunday breakfast in the sovereign’s private apartments at the palace. She and her siblings were grown now, but they all tried to show up for the Sunday-morning meal whenever they were in Montedoro.

“I’ve been busy with my horses.”

“Of course you have.” Max leaned closer. “You did nothing wrong. Don’t ever let them crush your spirit.”

She knew whom he meant by
them:
the paparazzi and the tabloid journos. “Oh, Max...”

“You are confident and curious. You like to get out and mix it up. It’s who you are. We all love you as you are and we know it was only in fun.”

“I’m not so sure about Mother.”

“She’s on your side and she never judges. You know that.”

“What I know is that I’ve finally managed to embarrass her.” It wasn’t so much that she’d French-kissed a girl. It was the pictures. They came off so tacky, like something out of
Girls Gone Wild.

“I think you’re wrong. Mother is not embarrassed. And she loves you unconditionally.”

Alice didn’t have the heart to argue about it, to insist that their mother
was
embarrassed; she’d said so. Instead, she leaned close to him and whispered, “Thank you.”

He smiled his sad smile. “Dance?” Though Max would never marry again, women were constantly trying to snare him. They all wanted to console the widower prince who would someday rule Montedoro. So he tried to steer clear of them. At balls, he danced with his mother and his sisters and then retired early.

“I would love to dance with you.” She pulled him out onto the floor and they danced through the rest of that number and the next one.

Before they parted, he asked her directly to come to the family breakfast that Sunday. “Please. Say you’ll be here. We miss you.”

She gave in and promised she would come, and then she walked with him to where their youngest sister, Rory, chatted with Lani Vasquez. Small, dark-haired and curvy, Lani was an American, an aspiring author of historical novels set in Montedoro. She’d come from America with Sydney O’Shea when Sydney had married Rule, the second-born of Alice’s brothers.

Alice had assumed Max would dance next with Rory. But he took Lani’s hand instead. The music started up again and Max led the pretty American onto the floor.

Rory said, “Well, well.”

“My, my,” Alice murmured in agreement. For a moment the two sisters watched in amazement as their tragically widowed eldest brother danced with someone who wasn’t his sister.

Then a girlfriend of Rory’s appeared out of the crowd. She grabbed Rory’s hand and towed her toward the open doors to the balcony. Alice considered following them. It was a lovely night. She could lean on the stone railing and gaze out over the harbor, admire the lights of the casino and the luxury shops and hotels that surrounded it.

“Alice. Dance with me.”

The deep, thrilling voice came from directly behind her and affected her just as it had when they were alone in the stables. It seemed to slip beneath her skin, to shiver its way along the bumps of her spine, to create a warm pool of longing down in the deepest core of her.

She didn’t turn. Instead, she stared blindly toward the open doors to the balcony. She wasn’t even going to acknowledge him. She would start walking and she wouldn’t look back.

If he dared to come after her, she would cut him dead.

But really, what would that prove? That she was afraid to deal with him? That she didn’t have the stones to stand her ground and face him, to find out from his own mouth what kind of game he was playing with her? That Max had been right and the tacky tabloid reporters, the shameless paparazzi, really had done it? They’d broken her spirit, made her into someone unwilling to face a challenge head-on.

Oh, no. No way.

She whirled on him and glared into his too-blue eyes. “It
is
you.”

He nodded. He held out his hand. “Let me explain. Give me that chance.”

She kept her arm at her side. “I don’t trust you.”

“I know.” He didn’t lower his hand. The man had nerves of steel.

And she couldn’t bear it, to let him stand there with his hand offered and untaken. She laid her fingers into his palm. Heat radiated up her arm just from that first contact. Her breath caught and tangled in her chest.

How absurd. Breathe.

With slow care, she sucked in a breath and then let it out as he turned and led her onto the floor. She went into his arms. They danced.

He had the good sense to hold her lightly. For a few endless minutes, neither of them spoke, which was just as well as far as Alice was concerned. She longed to wave her arms about and shriek accusations at him. Unfortunately, shrieking and waving her arms would attract attention, and that would no doubt land her on the front pages of the tabloids again.

She caught a hint of his aftershave. Evergreen and citrus, the same as before. It was all too disorienting. She’d thought he was one person and now here he was, someone else altogether. She felt shy. Tongue-tied. Young.

And at a definite disadvantage. She needed to take back the upper hand here. She had questions for him. And he’d better have good answers.

The next song began, a fast one. Couples separated and danced facing each other, moving to the beat but not touching. Noah didn’t let her go, just picked up the rhythm a bit and danced them out of the way of the others.

“You’re angry,” he said at last.

“What happened to your two girlfriends?”

“What girlfriends?”

“That sexy redhead and the stunning blonde.”

“They’re not my girlfriends.” He kept his voice low, but he did pull her fractionally closer. She allowed that in order to hear him over the music. “They were seated on either side of me at dinner, that’s all.”

“They seemed very friendly.” She spoke quietly, too. She didn’t want anyone overhearing, broadcasting their conversation, starting new rumors about her.

He held her even closer and whispered much too tenderly, “Is that somehow my fault?”

She fumed in silence, refusing to answer. Finally, she demanded, “Who are you, really?”

“I’m who I said I was.”

“Noah.”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a last name?”

“Cordell.” He turned her swiftly and gracefully to the music, guiding her effortlessly, keeping them to the outer edges of the floor.

“
Are
you a stable hand?”

“No. And I didn’t say I was. You assumed that.”

“And you never bothered to enlighten me. Do you live in Los Angeles?”

“No. Not for years. I have an estate in Carpinteria, not far from Santa Barbara. I live there most of the time. I also have a flat I keep in London. And a Paris apartment.”

“So you should have no trouble affording that Akhal-Teke you said you want.”

“No trouble at all. But it’s a specific horse I’m after.”

She should have known. “Let me guess. One of mine?”

“Orion.”

She drew in a sharp breath. In that foolish dream of hers, he’d been riding Orion. “I’m not selling you Orion.” That was a bit petty, and she knew it. Not to mention a bad business move. Alice bred her horses for sale—to buyers who would love them and bond with them and treat them well, buyers who appreciated the beauty and rarity of the breed. Her pool of buyers was a small one, as she also demanded a high price for her Tekes. She might be angry with Noah, but he knew horses and loved them. She’d be smarter not to reject him out of hand—as a potential buyer, anyway. “I don’t wish to discuss my horses with you right now.”