Stolen Kiss From a Prince (5 page)

Julian shrugged. “I expect he’ll ask the unwelcome guests to disembark.”

“But these trains get up to a speed of two hundred kilometers an hour.” Her heart raced at the notion of debarking at such a speed.

“Occupational hazard. Something they should have considered before attempting to catch a ride.”

“Your Highness!” At her shocked exclamation he gave her a tight smile.

“Do you imagine Beale throwing them from the train? No. If they refuse to leave while it is still safe, they will be restrained on the stoop and suffer a long, cold ride to the next station, where they will be charged for trespassing. We are not the monsters they are, Katrina.”

“Of course not.” She flushed because she had envisioned the exact scenario he outlined. To hide her reaction she strode over to the seating area and tried for a bit of grace as she sat.

Being around the palace since childhood, she well knew the press was anything but harmless. Rodrigo certainly proved just how far a paparazzo would go.

There was big profit in getting that money shot, a million euros or more, depending on how much skin or how scandalous the photo. That was the very reason she limited her assignments outside the palace. She more than most knew just how far a paparazzo would go for that money shot.

And this was not just any story. A missing Prince, an orphaned heir to the throne, these were stories of a lifetime.

Her nails dug grooves into the soft leather of her chair. Oh God, she should never have left the palace.

“Make no mistake.” Julian warned her. “I have no pity for the paparazzi. They are a relentless plague on society. Those men seek to prey on Samson’s vulnerability, his moment of tragedy. I will protect him at all costs.”

“I can see that.” He’d already demonstrated the truth of his claim by putting Sammy’s comfort and safety before his own on more than one occasion. Quite heroic of him actually.

Right. Her admiration for him was so not helping in her effort to fight her surprising attraction for the man.

“A single picture of Samson during this trip would set a photographer up for life. I will not allow him to be used in such a manner. Do not disappoint me in this matter, Katrina.”

She glanced at Sammy, who’d fallen asleep on the big bed. So innocent, so dependent, so important. “You can trust him with me.”

“I do.” For a moment his brown gaze softened. “Or you would not be here. Goddaughter of Jean Claude or not.” He gestured toward the bed. “Rest while you can.”

*

Julian returned to the domed lounge, chose a large club chair. He leaned back and discovered the chair reclined.
Thank you, Jean Claude.
After a while Julian dozed but came awake when the train slowed. Neil appeared to advise him they were pulling into their first stop and they would be delayed while their car was transferred to a different line.

“St. James is posted outside Master Samson’s room. I’ll be escorting the trespassers inside, turning them over to the proper authorities.” With Samson tucked safely away and their equipment confiscated, the men would be led through the car and delivered into the care of the French Transport Police.

Julian nodded his agreement. Once alone, he tried to make a few calls but was hindered by the limited mobile service. The third time his call was dropped he gave up and switched to text. He let his father know they were en route and gave his assistant instructions on several issues, including making arrangements for Katrina to have a room near Samson and the nursery. Once that was done, he used a digital remote to put a rugby game on. Unfortunately a bad glare on the screen sent him hunting up the control for the blinds.

“My lord.” A middle-aged porter appeared. “May I be of assistance?”

Julian indicated the glare on the television. “I wish to close some of the blinds. Where are the controls?”

“They are here, sir.” He opened a hidden panel on the half wall between the lounge and dining room. “Or you may use the controls on the remote.” The porter approached and bowed slightly. “If I may, sir?”

He proceeded to show Julian what the digital remote controlled, which was everything from the telly and blinds, to the climate and fireplace. He could even activate the gate at the top of the stairs and summon staff, all without leaving his seat.

“Would you care for something to eat?” the porter asked.

“Not at this time.” Julian thanked and dismissed the man.

With the shades at half-mast, the light in the room dimmed considerably, and before long Julian dozed again. Worry for his brother, for the kingdom, for Samson kept Julian from slipping into a full sleep. He prayed with all his heart for his brother’s safe return.

To contemplate what must be done if the Prince and Princess perished felt like a betrayal of hope. But it must be done. Julian needed to be ready to make decisions and act as soon as his brother was found, dead or alive. Because the possibility existed that Donal would be found alive but grievously injured.

Plans whirled through Julian’s head as he tried to anticipate every contingency. So much to think about, but as he slipped closer to sleep, his control over his mind slipped and thoughts of Ms. Vicente took over.

The look on her face when he intimated Beale would toss the pesky men of the press from the train had been priceless. How could she spend every day at the palace and remain so delightfully unaffected? In the middle of this hell he found her patience and generosity of spirit calming.

He had no business thinking about her, yet he never lost track of where she was.

Holding her in his arms last night had been a mistake. And not because she was a dear friend and royal Prince’s goddaughter. No, it was because the feel of her had been burned into his memory. Her soft curves aligned perfectly with the hard contours of his body.

And the taste of her, all sweetness and honey, had seduced the sense right out of his head as he sank into the embrace. Who would have predicted she’d wake up and kiss him?

Though he was half-asleep, a frown formed as he remembered she’d thought him someone else. A former boyfriend.

Anger roused him as he awoke with one word roaring through his head.
Mine.

CHAPTER FIVE

G
IGGLES
FLOATED
DOWN
the stairs. Katrina smiled at the sound. Sammy so deserved a break from the depression that had swallowed him these past few days.

She slipped through the gate, relatched it and followed the joyful noise to the domed lounge, where she found Sammy and his dignified Uncle Julian playing ball. Realizing the two hadn’t heard her approach, she paused to watch.

Man and child sat on the floor, their legs spread wide, rolling a ball between them. Make that two balls. As she watched, Julian bent to the side and snagged a ball that had gotten away from him.

“‘ou missed.” Sammy laughed.

“Because you cheated,” Julian informed him.

He’d discarded his jacket, rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and ditched his shoes. At first glance he looked as relaxed and carefree as the giggling boy. Only a closer examination revealed the worry and fatigue weighing on him.

He held up the ball. “Let’s try this again. This is your ball.” He rolled it down to the boy. “And this is mine.” He picked one up from between his long, silk-clad thighs. “You send yours to me while I send mine to you. You don’t send them at the same time.”

“More balls.” Sammy hopped up and ran to the couch. He pulled out a drawer and found a ball twice the size of the baseball-sized balls they were currently using. He pushed the drawer nearly closed and plopped down in front of Julian.

Ball in hand, Sammy reared back as if preparing to throw the ball. She tensed, ready to intervene, but Julian pointed a finger at Sammy.

“What happens if you throw that ball?”

Sammy deflated a bit. “No play.”

“That’s right.” Sammy subsided, and Julian didn’t dwell on the near infraction. “You think you can beat me with three balls but I’m pretty fast. Prepare to lose.”

“Go!” Sammy sent both balls rolling toward his uncle while Julian sent one his way. The balls went back and forth to the sound of Sammy’s chatter until Julian pretended to fumble the two shot his way and they jumped the barricade of his long legs.

“I win!” Sammy shook his fists in the air.

Katrina grinned, enjoying the interaction. Then she bit her bottom lip, wondering if she should leave them to their play. When Sammy woke up forty-five minutes ago, he’d promptly made sure she was awake, too. After freshening them both up, she’d wandered out to the lounge, where she found Julian working on his computer. Not wanting to disturb the Prince, she turned Sammy around and headed for the stairs.

Julian had stopped her and offered to take the boy for a while to give her a break. She’d told him about the storage drawers full of toys and gratefully escaped. She used the time to do something totally for herself. She dug out a book, curled up in a chair and read for thirty minutes.

It looked like Sammy had enjoyed his time, too. To the extent that she really hesitated to interrupt his time with his uncle.

“Care to join us, Ms. Vicente?”

Julian’s question ended her dilemma. She moved into the lounge, closing the toy drawer as she took a seat. “It is good to see you two getting along.”

“Yes, it surprises me, as well.” He sent her an arch glance.

Sammy popped to his feet and ran to her. He jabbered excitedly about his uncle and playing ball. She understood every two words or so. “What a good lad you are. I brought you some juice.” She tucked him in the crook of the couch and handed him a drink pouch.

“That is your influence, not mine,” she advised Julian. Heart racing, she dared to address an issue of great concern to her. “Forgive me, my lord. It is obvious you are not at ease with children, yet you have worked to put Sammy at ease. I just wonder if there is any affection or if it is merely duty.”

Julian slowly climbed to his feet. “You overstep yourself, Ms. Vicente.”

The ice in his gaze nearly deterred her. But for Sammy she must persevere.

“Perhaps, but we spoke of Sammy having special needs in his care because he is a Prince, and this is true. But I feel it is also important to point out he is a child like any other and in need of love and affection.”

“And you doubt the Cold Prince’s ability to provide for him.”

Oh dear, she’d hit a nerve.

“I have observed in high-profile families that structure, discipline and decorum often take precedent over emotional support when it comes to educating the children.” She checked on Sammy, who sipped his juice. “I would not want that for Sammy.”

“Samson,” he corrected. “I survived such a childhood, Ms. Vicente,” the Prince stated with cool reserve, turning to stare out the window at the passing scenery. “I can assure you my lessons in decorum and protocol have served me well through my entire life.”

“Of course. I do understand the importance of such lessons.” Oh yeah, she’d offended him. But Sammy deserved to have someone fight for him. Her time with him might be short, but she’d do what she could while she was here. “I just believe hugs and laughter offer balance to all the demands of his station.”

“With any luck he won’t have to suffer my clumsy attempts at affection much longer.” The stiffness in his posture belied the levity of his words.

Her heart sank as his meaning struck her. She talked as if Sammy’s parents were already gone. Shame on her for the appalling lack of tact. She’d allowed her concern for the boy to get the better of her.

“I am the clumsy one.” She approached him slowly. “I have become fond of Sammy and I worry for him. But my timing is not so good. Have you heard any news of your brother and sister-in-law?”

“Nothing.” She imagined the emotionless word held a world of pain.

“Oh, Julian, I am sorry. I have not given up hope for your brother and Helene. Truly. This is a bit of a soapbox for me. How duty takes precedence over affection. It is just so sad when I know it does not have to be so.” Flustered over her faux pas, she let her mouth run ahead of her head. Yet as soon as she stopped, everything she’d just said reran in her head. “Now I am babbling when you are sad. What a puppy-head I am. And to make it worse I just called you Julian. I—”

He held up a hand. “Stop apologizing. A loss of hope is understandable. The crash, the cold, the distance—everything works against them.”

He ran a finger over one dark eyebrow, the weary gesture a minute glimpse into his worry and despair. In the reflection of the glass she saw the anguish he kept so ruthlessly hidden. “Do not equate lack of affection with lack of emotion. I pray for Donal’s safety while I prepare to take his place. Every directive, every word is the worst kind of betrayal.”

Yet he was not allowed to let anyone see. His admission broke her heart.

Katrina checked on Sammy, found him lying on the floor playing with a dump truck and a racer. Satisfied he was occupied, she did the unpardonable. She touched a royal Prince without his consent.

“We shall pray together.”

*

Warm fingers slid around Julian’s hand. Shocked by the touch, by the comfort, he tightened his hold until he heard a gasp. Still, she made no attempt to pull away. Instead she squeezed back, answering his silent cry of need.

His gaze went first to her reflection, but it was not enough. Driven by a compulsion deeper than his will, he looked into violet eyes drowned in tears. He quickly turned back to the unseen view, undone by her unstinting compassion. He swallowed past a constriction in his throat.

Protocol dictated he rebuff and reprimand her.

He could do neither. The connection soothed him as little else could. Suddenly he understood what drew Sammy to her, and nothing would do but he stand silent and hold her hand as the train raced toward the answers he sought.

The helplessness and lack of news frayed his nerves. Rather he knew. Then he could do as he’d been trained and put emotion aside while he acted in the best interest of his country. Katrina might not approve, but there were times when duty served one better than affection.

“K’tina, I hungy.” Too soon, Sammy wiggled his way between them.

Julian immediately and reluctantly released her. He felt her continued compassion in the weight of her gaze and the softness of her touch on his arm before she knelt down to meet Sammy eye to eye.

“I am hungry, too.” She tapped the little boy on the nose. “Shall we see what cook has for lunch?”

His eyes lit up at the question. “I wanna cheese sanwiss.”

Listening to their byplay, Julian pushed the button for the porter. A growl of his stomach made him aware of his own hunger.

The porter appeared. “How may I serve, my lord?”

“We should like lunch please.” Julian ordered. “Has the chef anything prepared?”

“Grilled cheese sandwiches,” the man announced without a blink. “Or a nice salmon steak with rice and steamed vegetables with a tomato bisque as a starter.”

“Lovely.” Katrina stood and looked down at Sammy. “Would you like soup with your sandwich?”

Sammy considered this, his nose wrinkling up as he contemplated the major decision. Finally he nodded. “I ’ike tomato soup.”

“We’ll start with the soup.” Julian directed the porter, who bowed and went to advise the chef.

Katrina towed Sammy off to clean up for the meal, leaving Julian alone to pull himself together. He watched her disappear out of sight.

But unfortunately she did not leave his mind.

Young, smart, beautiful and impossibly idealistic, she was a very dangerous woman with her weapons of comfort and compassion. How easily she slid beneath his guard. She made him act against his nature at a time when he needed to be strong, be resolute. Another moment and he’d have kissed her.

Again.

Inexcusable. Yesterday it had at least been an accident.

He closed his eyes as he remembered the news that followed the incredible, unfortunate embrace. Katrina was Jean Claude’s goddaughter. Taking advantage of her would not only be a betrayal of a friend, the insult might incite an international incident. Neither he nor Kardana could afford such at this time.

There would be no more intimate moments with Ms. Vicente.

Sammy came clambering up the stairs. Julian helped to seat him while studiously avoiding the nanny’s regard. It was the way it must be.

*

Katrina absently pushed the salmon around her plate. He’d been remarkably kind after her earlier blunder. She’d felt so close to him for those few minutes they spent holding on to each other.

But in the time it took her and Sammy to wash up, Julian had distanced himself again. It shouldn’t, but his coolness hurt. She knew better, of course. Any closeness between them was entirely in her imagination. He was a Prince. She had a shameful secret.

End of story.

Though she owed him one, she wouldn’t embarrass him with another apology. No. She’d learned her lesson. It was best if she kept her distance. Reaching for her napkin, she wiped Sammy’s face. From this point forward, her undivided attention went to the boy.

Twenty minutes into the tense meal, Neil appeared at the table with a satellite phone. “My lord, it is the French President.”

For the space of a second Julian’s gaze met hers. Then, stoic as a blank wall, he took the phone and moved into the lounge area. “
Bonjour, Monsieur le Président
.”

Katrina bit her lip, her attention switched from Julian’s tense shoulders to little Sammy innocently eating his sandwich. If the president was calling, he must have news of Prince Donal. Sadly, Julian’s posture did not hint at good news.

Heart going out to her charge, she gently ran her fingers through his soft hair. He grinned up at her then dropped the last of his sandwich on his plate.

“I done.”

“Good boy.” She wiped his mouth and handed him his lidded cup. “Now finish your milk.”

He shook his head, his blond hair wisping about his face.

So not the time to press the issue. She stood and helped him from his seat. With a last look at Julian’s broad back, she carried Sammy down to his room.

Katrina paced the master suite while her small charge lay on the bed and watched a movie on DVD. His eyes were already blinking and she knew he’d be asleep soon. Since his uncle’s arrival, he’d really settled down and behaved rather marvelously.

Unfortunately, that was likely to end soon, as it did not appear as if the news Julian received was very encouraging. She wrung her hands, distraught on behalf of both child and man. What a devastating loss this would be for both of them.

She twisted the ring on her finger, feeling helpless as she waited to hear the exact nature of the news Julian received from the president. Yet the very fact it was the president calling seemed significant. She’d longed to stay, to be there for Julian, but the return of his reserve made such a move impossible. So she’d given him his privacy.

Equally as important was not letting Sammy overhear anything he shouldn’t. They’d all learned that lesson. Too bad she wasn’t as good at handling her own lessons, like the slight problem of remaining impartial.

Her mother showed concern when Katrina first told her she wanted to be a nanny at the palace. Of course she’d only been eight years old. Still, she remembered her mother’s words at the time. “You have such a soft heart...I’m afraid you will get hurt. A nanny must care but not become attached. You, my dear one, care too much.”

To this day that was her biggest problem. Sammy had already wormed his way into her heart and, by extension, his uncle. But her mother was right; it wasn’t her place to become emotionally attached. If she hadn’t exactly learned that particular lesson, she more than learned the one where she refused to allow herself to be used.

She nearly pulled the ring off, twisted it back into place. The problem with her and Julian was they kept forgetting she was the nanny. Her by getting too attached, and him because he saw her as Jean Claude’s goddaughter. The reappearance of his stoic manner indicated he’d come to his senses. Now it was her turn.

A knock sounded on the door. She rushed forward to find Neil standing in the narrow corridor. She shook off a stab of disappointment.

“His Highness would like to speak with you in the lounge,” he announced.