The Christmas Princess (18 page)

Even with her preventing it from being a true home, it was a great house. Unlike Gerard Littrell’s, which had been cluttered, messy, and dirty when she’d gotten there. But in the end it shined. She was glad Gerard had been able to enjoy it the last years of his life the way she’d known it could be the first time she went there.

Oh.

The click in her head was almost physical. Had she been drawn to those two very different men because they had homes that had been in their families for generations? A reaction to her years wandering with Melly? Some instinct to recreate the Craig family home in Charlottesville?

She’d have to think about that. If she was developing a pattern … Although Hunter certainly didn’t match — not that there was anything between her and Hunter or … well, anything.

She looked down at the table in front of her.

Enough of this.

These Christmas cards weren’t going to get done on their own.

He knew where she’d be. Where she was most of the time now, in the library with the Christmas tree.

He held his laptop in one hand as he slowly turned the knob with the other. Might as well keep an eye on her while he did his other work.

The door eased open silently — Madame would not tolerate any squeaks.

April sat at the table, her head bent, concentrating on what she wrote.

Sunlight dipped strands of her hair in gold and red. It was nice, but he’d liked the more subtle sheen of her pre-Etienne hair, too.

As he watched her, a glow stole up her throat and into her cheeks. Not the bright color when she’d been angry at Madame, not the color when she was embarrassed… He veered off from defining what she emotion she might have been experiencing when that color had brightened her cheeks, and made the color of her eyes deepen and soften, making a man feel as if he could fall into them and …

No. His disciplined mind closed the door on that thought, too, though it took some effort. He wasn’t accustomed to meeting so much resistance from the other side of these closed doors.

Her head came up. She looked straight ahead an instant, as if steeling herself, then whipped her head around.

“Oh.” It wasn’t a sound so much as the shape of her mouth. “I knew it was you.”

She couldn’t have known anybody was there. He hadn’t made a sound, or let his reflection be caught, or made a move that could have disturbed the airflow around her.

Her eyes, those honest eyes, though, said she believed what she’d said. That could explain the rising color. She’d been aware of someone nearby.

His heart jammed against his ribs, as if he’d been running. Not someone. Him.
I knew it was you
.

No. It wasn’t logical. She couldn’t have sensed it was him.

You were following me … From the Willard.

Not when Derek was on surveillance, only when he came on.

“Are you all right, Hunter?”

His mind shoved those thoughts, too, into the room behind that closed door —
getting crowded in there
— and dealt with the issue in front of him.

April Gareaux.

He called up a reassuring smile. “I’m fine.”

“Did you need me for something or does the king—”

He dropped a hand to her shoulder to stop her from rising. It stopped her all right. Froze her solid in that half motion, then her muscles seemed to give out, because she dropped back to the chair. He refused to let his hand follow her shoulder down.

“Everything’s fine. I wondered what you’re doing. Didn’t mean to interrupt you.”

“You’re
wondering
? What I’m doing?

It was the sort of thing he’d ignored for years coming from Sharon — although April’s seemed genuine astonishment rather than sarcasm. Maybe that’s why it jabbed under his skin like a splinter that stung. Stung a lot.

He picked up a stack of hand-addressed envelopes. There were addresses in California, Ohio, Louisiana, Arizona, Florida, Minnesota, Georgia.

“What are these?”

“Christmas cards.”

“I know that.” He did receive a few cards every year. The dry cleaner, office of the Secretary of State, his landlord, a few co-workers like Sharon not deterred by the fact he didn’t reciprocate. “Who are all these people?”

She picked up an envelope addressed to Cincinnati, Ohio. “The Mastersons were terrific to me. When I was about ten and they were newly married, I thought they were the most sophisticated, romantic people I’d ever seen.” She chuckled. “They, bless them, were beyond patient. Now they have four kids, with the oldest at Ohio State.”

“These were all neighbors?”

“No. This is to a former teacher.”

“So most of these people were closer to your parents’ age than yours?”

“Their age doesn’t matter. It’s important to remember the people we think of fondly. They were all kind to me.”

Did she realize what she gave away in the wistful spaces between her words? Her mother had been so wrapped up in herself that she’d uprooted her daughter time after time with little opportunity to do more than gather addresses for sending Christmas cards a couple decades later.

He would have liked to take Melly Gareaux by the back of the collar and shake her … if that weren’t such a ludicrous thought. Hunter Pierce didn’t get involved with other people’s lives — especially not when one of them was dead.

“I like to let them know I’m doing fine now. And, no, I’m not telling anyone about
this
.” Her sweeping hand took in the room as well as both of them.

What would she write if she were to write about him?

Of all the stupid questions….

“I’m not,” April insisted.

It took him a moment to realize he’d shaken his head — at himself — and she’d interpreted it to mean he hadn’t believed her. “You want to keep in touch, I understand.”

Her eyes widened. “You do?”

He shrugged. “Bother you if I work in here a while?”

“Not at all,” she said politely, then added, “But I’m not changing the music.”

For the first time he realized Christmas carols were playing softly. “As long as Saint Nick’s not on any rooftops.”

She chuckled, and turned back to her task.

He picked up one of the cards. It had a wreath with a red velvet bow, dusted with snow. A perfect rendition of what she wanted Christmas to be.

He put it down and got to work.

“Would you care to join us, Madame?” April asked

The king looked up from the calendar he was consulting after breakfast, surprise quickly smoothing over to neutrality. So quickly that she couldn’t gauge if he was pleased or not.

Madame left no such doubt
.
She drew herself up and her mouth was so firm that the words came from her like steam from a pipe. “Most certainly not. That would be entirely inappropriate.”

She turned on her heel and marched out — no, not marched, that would be too graceless. She glided out, head high and back straight, as always.

They planned to go to a candlelight tour of Mount Vernon tonight, another of April’s picks.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said when the door closed behind Madame. “I shouldn’t have acted on impulse.”

“Do not concern yourself, child. You sought to include her from the best of intentions.”

She sighed. “Adding another layer of pavement to you-know-where.”

“No, I do not know where.”

“It’s an expression: the road to hell is paved with good intentions,” said Hunter to the king, adding a phrase in Bariavakian. Then he said, “Excuse me,” got up from the table, going to the far side of the room as he took out his phone.

“I beg your pardon, sir. Sometimes I forget — you’re so easy to talk to — and I fall into colloquial English.”

“Not at all, my child. But I would speak to you of this encounter with Madame. It would have resolved itself as you wish if you had ordered, rather than asked.”

“But how could an order make her
want
to join us?”

“You have a very kind heart, my child.” His smile faded, and his gaze shifted to Hunter, standing with his back to them. “Nevertheless, I maintain that, at times, an order is required.”

April and Rufus both appeared content and happy as they entered the embassy grounds after their walk.

Hunter, who’d been with them, wasn’t.

He’d long ago perfected the ability to filter out the personal conversation of his charges, all but what might pertain to their safety — where they were going, who they expected to meet, how long they planned to stay. Yet when he should have been tuning out April, responding only if absolutely necessary, he’d instead discussed Rufus’ amazing progress in his training.

And now that they’d returned to the embassy grounds, where Rupert was tending two cars with rubbing cloths, he was fully aware of each syllable she exchanged with the man, including that she was now on a first-name basis with him.

“Are you enjoying your stay, Miss?”

“It’s an amazing place, Rupert. I’ve never stayed anywhere quite like it before. Am I correct that Madame holds the reins here?”

“You are correct.” A thread of amusement filtered through the bland voice. “Ambassadors and their wives might come and go, but Madame endures. Though I believe she would tell you the current situation does not meet her standards.”

“Really? Everything’s so perfect.”

“She is not pleased that His Highness instructed that only a skeleton staff be kept over the holidays. Most of the household staff, as well as embassy personnel returned to Bariavak with the ambassador and his wife on a chartered flight. Madame has expressed herself quite forcefully in the belief that details are being overlooked as a result.”

“What a wonderful thing for the king to do.”

“He is a generous ruler.” He smiled slightly. “He has overruled Madame, allowing me to attend an event tomorrow when everyone sings the Hallelujah Chorus from the Messiah. I have never done that before.”

“Oh, you’ll love it, Rupert. I did one of those a couple years ago. It’s amazing how wonderful all the voices sound together. And to be part of it … But why didn’t you go to Bariavak?”

“I have no family left in Bariavak. My only living sister lives now in Baltimore.”

“You’re not married?”

“My wife died some years ago.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you, Miss.”

“Rupert, I have a friend named Zoe I think you should meet. She’s ver—”

“No,” Hunter said, tugging her away. Which proved what he’d been thinking — he listened too damned closely to her.

“But—”

When they were nearly to the door, he said, “You are not going to play matchmaker with the staff of the Bariavakian embassy. Is that understood?”

She looked mutinous for a moment, then relented. “Okay. I see your point.”

He opened the door. “Besides, Rupert and Zoe Holland would be awful together.”

She spurted a surprised chuckle at that.

The king, saying he was tired, begged off going to Mount Vernon for the candlelight tour, but insisted April go, accompanied by Hunter.

Hunter clearly took it as a work assignment. They did not talk on the drive across the Potomac River into Virginia, and then south along the river.

Tour guides played the role of Martha and other members of the household, pointing out historic details of the house as well as authentic decorations. There was singing and dancing. Hunter lurked at her side as if the ghost of George and Martha Washington might jump out and tackle her.

By the time they reached the kitchen she was genuinely smiling despite the dark cloud at her shoulder. She listened to the description of cooking methods and menus from the times. Including that Martha Washington’s recipe for “Great Cake” called for 40 eggs.

Hunter did apparently like the cake and cider.

Outside, she headed toward a candlelit garden path that stretched down to the river. The sound of caroling came to them from a distance.

An uneven surface caught her foot. His hand gripped her arm before she got even halfway through the stumble.

“Thank you.” It was the first thing she’d said to him since they left the embassy.

They walked a minute or two in further silence.

“Looks like one of your Christmas cards,” he said.

She suspected he meant that it wasn’t real. But she responded with, “It
is
beautiful.”

The wind’s bite had turned her cheeks red during their brief walk. She seemed to relax as the warmth of the car surrounded them for the return trip to the embassy.

He wished he could relax.

There’d been something in Jozef’s expression when he announced that he wasn’t joining this outing, “but you two have an enjoyable evening.” Then he’d repeated the phrase roughly translated into Bariavakian. Very roughly, because there were connotations of a couple in his translation for “two” and “an enjoyable evening” edged toward the English “date.”

Then Rupert had grinned and promptly raised the smoked partition when they got in the car at the embassy.

That should have given Hunter plenty to think over as they moved through the rooms of George Washington’s home. He’d been here enough with various dignitaries to know it well by now so it hadn’t occupied a lot of his attention.

But the rooms weren’t usually softly lit by flickering light that gleamed in a woman’s eyes. Plus, the Christmas crowds and April’s tendency to want to be in the middle, had packed him up against her, where her hair kept brushing against his chin and her scent kept spilling into his brain.

He’d done no thinking at all.

So, this was the time to recall the nuances of King Jozef’s words and behavior, to assess if he’d imagined—

“You didn’t even try,” April said suddenly.

“Try what?”

He
had
tried — his damnedest — not to let her know the effect she had on him, not to touch her the way he’d wanted to.

“Worse.” She swung around in the seat and faced him. “You actively resist any chance that you might enjoy Christmas. Or is it me?”

That startled him into addressing the less alarming part of her speech, “The cake was good.”