Invitation to the Prince's Palace (4 page)

For a blink of time as he spoke those words Mel saw pure royalty. Privileged, powerful. He would not only fix this problem, he would also have his answers. He’d said he didn’t blame her, that it wasn’t her fault. But Mel couldn’t be as self-forgiving. She should have realised something was amiss. There’d been signs. An unmarked car; a driver not in uniform; even the fact that he’d tucked her in the front of the cab beside him rather than expecting her to get in the back. Of course he would demand his answers. Had she really thought she would get off without having to face that side of it?

Would she in turn learn more of why he’d chosen her cousin for this interaction? ‘Yes, of course you’ll need to set wheels in motion, to contact Nicolette and sort out how to get her here as quickly as possible. I’m more than willing to simply be sent to Sydney. You can put me on any flight, I don’t mind. I don’t need to see my cousin again.’ She didn’t
want
to see Nicolette again and be brought to account for all of this, and for choosing to leave the family without a moment’s notice, because Mel
wouldn’t
go back.

What did Prince Rikardo see in Nicolette?

He didn’t have to see anything.

Or maybe he liked what little he knew of Mel’s cousin and they could conduct this transaction between them and perhaps even become firm friends afterwards. Nicolette could be charming when it suited her. There’d been times over the years when she’d charmed Mel. Not lately, though.

Mel searched Rikardo’s gaze once more. Though his mind must be racing, he didn’t appear at all unnerved. How could he portray such an aura of strength? Did it come as part of his training in the royal family? An odd little shiver went down her spine and her breath caught. What would it be like, to be a prince such as Rikardo Ettonbierre? Or to be…truly in Nicolette’s shoes, about to marry him, even if briefly?

Are you sure that his strength is simply a result of his position, his royal status, Melanie?

No. There was something in Rikardo Ettonbierre’s make-up that would have demanded those answers regardless, and got them whether he’d ever been trained to his heritage, or not. That would have shown strength, not uncertainty, no matter what.

‘We will make all the necessary arrangements. If we do it quickly—’ Rikardo strode towards a phone handset on an ornate side table. He lifted the phone and spoke into it. ‘Please ask my aide to attend me in my suite as soon as possible. I have some work for him to do. Thank you.’ He had just replaced the receiver when a knock sounded on the door.

‘That’s too soon to be my aide,’ he murmured. ‘It will be our dinner. You must be hungry.’

The door opened. Members of staff entered bearing covered dishes. Aromas filled the room and made Mel realise just how long it had been since she’d eaten.

‘The food smells delicious.’ She’d always
cooked
the meals, not had them brought to her on silver salvers. ‘I have to confess I
am
quite hungry.’

‘That is good to hear.’

Rather than from Rikardo, the words came in a more mature yet equally commanding voice. The owner of that voice stepped into the room, a man in his early sixties with black hair greying at the temples, deep blue eyes and the power, by his presence alone, to strike dumb every staff member in the room.

Mel hadn’t even needed that impact to identify him, nor the similarities to the prince. All she’d needed was one look at Rikardo’s face, at the way it closed up into a careful mask that covered and protected every thought.

The king had just walked in.

This was the worst thing that could have happened right now. They’d needed to keep her, Melanie, out of sight of this man. Mel’s breath froze in her throat and her gaze flew to Rik’s. What did they do now? She caught a flash of a trapped look on Rikardo’s face before he smoothed it away.

Somehow that glimpse of humanness opened up a wealth of fellow feeling in Mel. She had to help Rik out of this dilemma. She didn’t even realise that she’d thought of him as Rik, not Rikardo.

The king’s gaze fixed on her, examining, studying. He’d spoken to her. Sort of. Mel didn’t know whether or not to respond.

‘Indeed, Father, and it is fortuitous that you are here.’ Rik stepped forward. He didn’t block his father’s view of Mel, but he drew the king’s attention away from her. ‘I would like a word with you regarding the truffle harvest, if you please.’

The older man’s eyes narrowed. He frowned in his son’s direction and said: ‘It
pleases me
to know my future daughter-in-law will eat a meal rather than pretend a lack of appetite to try to maintain a waif-thin figure.’

Waif-thin figure?

Mel worked in a kitchen. She might have been underpaid, but she’d never been hungry. Was it usual for kings to speak their minds like this?

There was another problem, though. Even Mel, with her lack of understanding of royal protocols, could guess that it wasn’t appropriate for Rikardo not to introduce her to his father, even if the king had surprised them in Rik’s suite.

Should she introduce herself? Why hadn’t Rikardo done that?

Because you’re not who you should be, Melanie. How is he supposed to introduce you without either telling the truth or lying? Neither option will work just at the moment.

And anyway, why don’t you interview all the kings you’re on a first-name basis with, and collate the responses to discover a mean average and then you’ll know whether they all speak bluntly?

She wasn’t thinking hysterically exactly, Mel told herself.

Just don’t say anything. Well, not anything bad. Be really, really careful about what you say, or, better still, stay completely silent and hope that Rikardo takes care of this. Didn’t he say earlier if you came across his father to let Rik do all the talking?

Yes, but that was before he realised Mel wasn’t Nicolette. His father didn’t know that, though, and now the king had spotted Melanie. Not only spotted her but spoken to her and had a really good look at her. And if she didn’t respond soon, the king might think—

‘Your Highness.’ Mel sank into what she hoped was an acceptable style of curtsy. She tried not to catch the older man’s gaze, and hoped that her voice might pass for Nicolette’s next time.

Rikardo had mistaken Melanie for Nicolette. But she’d been puffed up with allergies then. Rikardo strode towards the door of his suite.

At the door, he turned to face Mel. ‘If you will excuse us? Please go ahead and eat dinner.’ He asked one of the kitchen staff to let his aide know they would speak after Rikardo finished with the king. From outside, Rikardo called in another member of staff. ‘Please also show my guest her rooms.’

In about another minute, the king would be out of here. Mel could stop holding her breath and worrying about what she might reveal to the king that could cause problems for when Nicolette arrived.

Mel glanced into Rikardo’s eyes and nodded, acknowledging that he intended to leave.

Rikardo swept out of the room and swept his father along with him, even if he was the king.

Melanie thanked the staff for the delivery of the meal. She felt their curious gazes on her, too, and she would have liked to strike up a conversation, to ask what it was like to work in the kitchens of a palace. Instead, she kept her gaze downcast and kept the interaction as brief as she could.

The rooms she would use were lavish. Mel could barely take it all in.

And then finally she was alone.

So she could sit at the royal dining table in Prince Rikardo’s suite that had its own guest suite within it, and eat royal food while she waited for the prince to have his discussion with his father about truffle harvesting. She hadn’t known the country grew truffles.

But that wouldn’t be all of the conversation and it would no doubt be difficult for the prince, but then Rikardo would come back here and tell Melanie his plans, and somehow or other it would all be all right.

Mel turned to the dining table, looked at the array of dishes. She would eat so at least she had some energy inside her to deal with whatever came next.

It
would
be all right. Rikardo was a prince. He would be able to make anything right.

CHAPTER THREE

R
IK
stood by the window in the sitting area of his suite. Early sunlight filtered across the snowy landscape of mountains and valleys, and over Ettonbierre village below. Soon people would begin to move around, to go about their work—those who
had
enough work.

He had once liked this time best of all, the solitude before the day’s commitments took over. Today, his thoughts were already embroiled and his aide already on his way to Rik’s suite to discuss yet another matter of urgency. The past two years had been problem after problem. Rik’s marriage plans had been part of the solution, or so he had believed. Now…

He had spoken to his father last night. It hadn’t been the greatest conversation he’d ever had; it had taken too long, and at the end of it he had known the impossibility of trying to bring Nicolette out here now to pass her off as his fiancée.

Really he’d known that from the moment Melanie had told him he’d collected the wrong girl. Too many people had seen her. Then Rik’s
father
had seen her. She had tried not to be too noticeable, too recognisable. But the king
had
noticed. Right down to the three freckles dotted across the bridge of her nose.

Rik had whisked his father out of his suite. He’d bought a little time to come up with a solution before his father formally met his fiancée. But in the end there
was
only one solution.

A soft knock sounded on the outer door of his suite. Rik strode towards it. He didn’t believe in the edict that a prince should not do such menial things as open doors to his staff. He and his brothers all worked on behalf of the people of Braston one way or another, so why wouldn’t they open a door?

And now you all have a challenge to fulfil. The prize is that your father will come out of his two-year disconnection from the world around him, caused by the queen moving out and refusing to return, and co-operate to enable the economy here to be healed.

‘Good morning, Prince Rikardo.’ His aide stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. ‘My apologies for disturbing you at this hour.’

‘And mine for disturbing you late last night.’ Rik gave a wry twist of his lips. ‘To examine an emailed photograph, no less.’

And the passport of Nicole Melanie, which had been handled by one of his retinue of attendants when they arrived at the airport with his guest deeply asleep.

Nicole, not Nicolette. Only Rik could have spotted that mistake and he’d been otherwise occupied at the time.

‘But with a purpose, Your Highness. It is unfortunate that the two women do not look enough alike to ensure we could safely swap them.’ Dominico Rhueldt drew a breath. ‘I have carried out your wishes and transferred the funds from your personal holdings to the bank account of Nicolette Watson, and ordered the set from the hand-crafted collection of the diamond jeweller, Luchino Montichelli. It will be delivered to Nicolette within two days.’

The man hesitated. ‘Your Highness, I am concerned about the amount of money going out of your holdings towards relief to the people. I know they are in need—’

‘And while I have the ability I will go on meeting needs, but that doesn’t fix the underlying problems.’ Rik sighed. It was an old conversation. ‘Nicolette. She is happy with this…buy-off?’

A gift of baubles and a cash injection in exchange for her acceptance of the changed circumstances, and her silence.

Though Rik’s question referred to the woman he’d organised to briefly marry, he struggled to shift his thoughts from the one he’d carried onto a plane recently.

He glanced at the closed door of his guest suite. Last night when he’d got back, he’d tucked the covers over Melanie. She’d been curled up on the bed in a ball as though not quite sure she had a right to be there. Sleeping Beauty waiting to be woken by a kiss.

The nonsense thoughts had come to him last night. A result of tiredness and the suppression of stress, Rik had concluded. Yet the vision of her curled up there was still with him. The desire to taste softly parted lips, still there. He’d been absorbed in Braston’s problems lately. Perhaps it had been too long since he took care of those other needs.

His aide rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. When he spoke again, his words were in French, not English. ‘Nicolette acknowledged the payment and the order of the diamond jewellery as her due as a result of the changed circumstances. She accepts the situation but it is good, I think, that she will be unaware of any other plans you may intend to implement until such time—’

‘Yes.’ If ‘such time’ was something Rik could bring about.

‘The other matter of urgency,’ his aide went on, ‘is unfortunately, the truffle crop.’

Rik swung about from where he’d been half gazing out of the windows. One search of Dominico’s face and Rik stepped forward. ‘Tell me.’

‘Winnow is concerned about the soil in one of the grove areas. He feels it looks as it did last year before the blight struck again.’

‘He’s tested it? What is the result? We were certain we’d prevented any possibility of this happening this year. The crop is almost ready for harvest!’ Rik rapped the words out as he strode to his suite. He stepped into the walk-in closet and selected work wear. Khaki trousers, thick shirt and sweater, and well-worn work boots. A very un-princely outfit that his mother would have criticised had she been here to do so. Rik started to shuck clothes so he could don the new ones.

His aide spoke from a few feet away. ‘Winnow is doing the testing now.’

‘I will examine the soil myself and speak with Winnow.’ Rik laced his boots and strode into the sitting room.

‘Your guest?’ Dominico also glanced towards the closed door of the guest suite. ‘Shall I wake her? Inform her of your immediate plans?’

‘Allow her to sleep on while she has the chance. She had a long and difficult day before we arrived here. Please ask, though, that Rufusina be prepared to go with me to the groves.’