Princess In Denim (11 page)

"Yes, I know. That is why she is packing your clothes."

"She is
my
maid." She gritted out the words. "Why the hell is she taking orders from you?"

He could not stop his grin, and he saw a fire light in her eyes in response. She was a very passionate woman. He did his best to contain his amusement, lest he anger her more. "Because she knows when we are married, I will be her king."

Very slowly and clearly, she said, "That. Will never. Happen." She returned to the closet, pulled folded jeans from one of the two trunks the maid was packing and tossed them back onto the shelf. Several more pairs followed.

"Stop that," he ordered.

Not only did she not stop, but she tossed sweaters and nightgowns and lingerie over her shoulders with no order as to where they landed.

"Stop that, or you will have nothing to wear."

That did not stop her, but it did give him pause as he visualized Moira in his castle without a stitch of clothing on.

She glanced up at him with a sly smile. "Cat got your tongue?"

Composing himself was not easy, until he remembered that her life was in danger. He took her by the hand. "Come, Moira. Your maid can send the trunks later."

She dug in her feet, but he tugged her along behind him as if she weighed no more than a pillow.

"Wait, Emma hasn't come yet."

"Perhaps she grew tired of your headstrong ways and quit."

She grabbed a door frame and hung on. "But she wouldn't do that."

He pried her fingers free, all the while knowing he should be aggravated with her, but feeling the excitement of sparring with a worthy opponent. "I would not be so sure."

"You don't understand. I
need
her. Now."

She grabbed the opposite frame with her other hand, and he made short work of that one, too.

"Your brother hired you a perfectly good new secretary."

"I need the old one."

As they traveled down the stone passageways, William was aware that this was not the picture he wanted to present to prying eyes—the king towing his future queen. He stopped and faced her head-on. "Moira—"

"William, please—"

He modulated his tone. "Moira, listen to me."

She opened her mouth to object; he wanted to kiss it quiet.

"Listen," he said, and his voice sounded ragged even to him. "I will find Emma for you, if—"

She quit struggling, and he realized that, with his hands grasping her wrists as they were, he had dragged her up against his chest. Unfortunately, their hands were between them. He promised himself he would do it properly later.

"If you will get in my car without a fuss and wait for me."

"But—"

"Without a fuss."

"I need—"

"/ need
you
to be safe. If Emma is here, I will fine her. I promise."

* * *

Chloe waited in William's Mercedes, though not patiently. She stewed.

What would a princess do in a situation like this? Well, this probably had never happened before in the twentieth century. So what would a princess of old have done? Given in or gotten tough?

She wished she could call Moira and ask her advice. Emma would advise Chloe what to do, of course, but Moira would tell her what a princess would
want
to do. And Chloe didn't think it would be so different from what she was thinking.

She'd get tough—in a princessy sort of way, of course. Moira had said not to be sassy, but that was her, not Chloe.

She briefly wondered how Moira's new life was going. She'd be looking for a job, a totally new concept for a woman who'd been born with a silver spoon in her mouth. Chloe peered out the window at the castle and amended that to a platinum spoon. Encrusted with diamonds, no doubt. What did Moira know about working?

What did Chloe know about princessing?

William was bigger than she. She'd wait in the car until he found Emma, then she'd go to Baesland Castle with him and make his life unbearable until he agreed to send her back home and court her properly. It occurred to her that she'd spent only one night in Castle Ennsway and already she thought of it as home. She was coming along with this princess thing just fine.

As for the marriage contract, William was a king, a monarch, for heaven's sake. The college courses she'd had over the past ten years were mainly in science. If it had offered a lab or field trips, she'd taken it. Not once had she enrolled in anything remotely connected to the study of law, but common sense about how a monarchy worked told her William could void the contract if she talked her father into doing the same.

It all would have been so much simpler if she weren't attracted to him. If he wasn't Prince Charming all grown up. If she didn't get so damned confused every time he touched her. She needed to remember to breathe whenever she got near him.

Trouble was, she had a poor memory.

She'd admired his plan to build a health care facility. Now it made sense why
he
was planning it in
her
country. Sort of. But she wasn't about to marry him because of a contract. She had good ol' American pride, after all.

William came out the door of the great hall, jogged down the stone steps and crossed around to the other side of the car. She didn't look at him as he got in and sat beside her. She knew how big and strong and exciting he looked, and she refused to be swayed.

"Home," he said to the driver, who started the engine.

"Wait!"

The driver did nothing of the kind.

"What about Emma?"

William reached over to her lap and took her hand in his. She snatched it back.

"I regret to tell you that Emma was dismissed late this morning."

"What?"

"She left the castle immediately."

"She's gone?"

He nodded.

No Emma? But Emma knew all the rules, the etiquette, the truth . . .

Chloe stared straight ahead. How would she cope with William now?

Chapter Six

William expected Moira to jump out of the Mercedes and storm back to Castle Ennsway. Such fire! Such spirit!

Instead, she huddled in the corner by the door, her eyes steadfastly turned away from him, her knuckles white where her hands, fingers laced together, lay in her lap.

"Emma is
my
secretary." Her voice was barely audible, and he had to tip his head toward her. What he managed to hear still carried strength of conviction, still rang of American ego, which was famous for always wanting to come out on top. "Who told her to leave?"

"Louis said your father dismissed her."

"He had no right."

"I am sorry, Moira. But he
is
the king."

"I think I would like to withdraw my permission for you to address me by my name."

"Very well. Until we are married.

"We're not getting married."

She did not even snap at him. He understood her animosity; he had wanted to break the wedding news to her more gently. After he met her, he had wished for her to desire him before she learned of the marriage contract, wished for her to care for him in such a way that it would be like an answer to a dream. He understood that she felt lost after so many years in another country.

But he could not understand her confusion over this matter. She was a royal princess, born into a monarchy. She knew she had to do what was expected of her, what her father ordered, what was best for her and their two countries.

All the same, he wanted to comfort her. He yearned for her to look at him again as if she would like to devour him, as she had this morning during their ride. If she would just look at him . . .

If she would not accept his physical comfort, he would give her what he could. "I requested every Ennsway man-at-arms be sent out to find Emma. Louis has seen to it. When we reach Baesland Castle, I will deploy my men-at-arms, also. If she is here, they will find her."

"Check the next flight to Texas."

"Texas?"

"Emma and . . . Chloe are quite close. She might go there."

Chloe stared out the window as they retraced the road they'd taken yesterday from Baesland Airport to Ennsway Castle. It was safer than looking at William. He sat too close to her as it was. She could feel warmth from his thigh near hers, and it distracted her. She couldn't scoot any closer to the door; she was practically glued to it already.

"Could I have a little more room?"

"Certainly." The temperature dropped as he moved away, until he reached over, grabbed her hand and tugged her toward him.

"What are you doing?"

"You requested more room, but you are not making use of it."

She pulled her hand free. "I just need it for space."

"Space?"

"Yes, don't you ever need your space?" Look whom she was asking—a man who lived in a castle and lorded over people. "Oh, I guess not. Never mind."

I'll just sit here and try to forget that I can still feel your hand on mine.

Outside the Mercedes, farmland merged into rolling foothills. Foothills gave way to tree-covered slopes. Slopes angled into the mountain itself. She hadn't noticed it the day before, but there were definite differences between the two countries other than topography.

The condition of the pavement, for one, improved when they crossed the border; it was newer, wider, smoother. Automobiles in Ennsway were fewer, older, darker, utilitarian; in Baesland they were newer, nicer, with a few bright Porsches and luxurious Bentleys sprinkled in.

Baesland City flanked the main road, rivaling San Francisco for the aerobic benefits of walking from shop to shop. The pedestrians were better dressed than most of the people who had come to see her at the airport.

Her father, confined to the castle due to his health, needed some fresh input on running his country. She wondered what the heck Louis had been doing about that, if anything. Why should Ennsway be run-down compared to Baesland?

If King Albert thought she was some timid little creature who would be married off to the nearest king, he had a rude awakening coming. And if he thought she was going to keep silent about his not treating the people as well as their neighbors' king treated his, he'd better be prepared for some hard truths..

They turned off the route to the airport and headed higher. The road snaked upward from one hairpin turn to another, lined by forest, allowing glimpses only from time to time of a stone fortress perched high above them. If Ennsway Castle had been bigger and grander than anything Moira had ever seen, then Baesland Castle, as they drove closer, was breathtaking..

Chloe couldn't help herself; she craned her head by the window for a better view.
This
was a castle straight out of a fairy tale.
This
was surely where Cinderella had ended up.

"Do you like it?" William asked softly, even with a bit of uncertainty, as if this were a very important question for him.

"What's not to like? Other than I'm being brought here against my will."

He smiled, not the result she'd been hoping for.

The final approach to the castle was a long, straight drive, giving Chloe a remarkable view. She suspected she'd seen this castle on calendars.

"You have a moat?" It circled the curtain wall, which had all the requisite battlements and towers, just more of them than seemed possible.

"It is the same moat that you tried to swim across as a child."

Mentally she slapped herself upside the head.
Careful!
"I don't remember it being so wide."

"How odd. Adults normally remember things as being larger than they actually were in their childhood."

"Uh, yeah, I usually do, too."

"Now that you are all grown up—"

She was pleased to hear a catch in his voice.

"—you will understand why our mothers were so upset. Imagine, a little girl who thought she could swim farther than a cannonball could fly."

Chloe had sudden insight into Moira as a child, and it didn't quite mesh with the reserved young woman she'd met at a charity horse show ten years ago. Cool, collected, soft-spoken Princess Moira had hooked a two-foot-long blue ribbon to the bridle on Chloe's borrowed horse, shaken her hand and congratulated her. At the time, Chloe had been pretty darned impressed that she'd shaken hands with a real princess.

When they ran into each other again on UCSB's campus, they'd struck up a conversation. The rest was history. Even though, as their friendship solidified, Moira had proposed that they trade places a couple of times for an occasional weekend, Chloe hadn't thought of her as adventurous.

That image was up for reassessment.

The chauffeur drove through a stone gatehouse, complete with portcullis and murder holes, across the one-lane bridge over the moat and through another gatehouse. If she'd been a princess of old, she would have worried that escape from here would be impossible. That didn't bother the modern her in the least, because she wouldn't have to escape; if she succeeded in annoying him enough, William would eventually send her away.

Though finding him in such a monstrosity might be difficult. So much for her idea of leaving clothes and dirty dishes strewn all around the place. Even if the servants didn't pick them up immediately, the chances of William coming across them in the next six months would be slim indeed. And she had no intention of being here that long.