The Princess and the Duke (6 page)

“Ask your father.”

“I will. If I feel the need. But I’d just as soon not trouble him with questions while he’s so consumed
with the alliances. And I don’t necessarily want to ask my mother. I don’t want to bring back bad memories for her. I’d just like to understand better what occurred. I feel as if I should know more. Does that make sense?”

He made a noncommittal sound.

Well, no matter. She would do what she wanted whether it made sense to anyone else or not. She propped her elbow on the desk and looked at him. “You know, Colonel, this is the most I—we’ve seen of you, well, ever. Two days in a row.” Her fingertips tapped her chin. “It’s almost enough to make a person suspicious.”

He leaned his hip against the corner of her desk, looking utterly masculine and entirely at ease. “Because I had a meeting here this morning?” A faint smile flirted with his mobile lips. “I think lack of sleep is affecting your levels of paranoia, Your Royal Highness.”

Paranoia? Hardly. She only wished that seeing him twice in as many days had something to do with her personally. But she knew better.

Her gaze drifted from his long legs, over the way his uniform hugged his strong thighs and narrow hips. She was
not
prone to visualizing men without their clothes, but she realized with a mortifying flush that she was doing just that with the colonel.

And wouldn’t her mother have a field day with that knowledge if she ever learned of it?

It must be a hangover from the champagne, she thought rather desperately. Champagne always had given her an aching head. And last night she’d consumed more than her share.

Meredith had no time for the frivolities of her set. She loathed the propensity for idle hands of some of the rich. She’d never gone in for the excesses of drink, the stupidity of drugs, or the mindless pursuit of as many bedmates as humanly possible.

Yet last night, she’d nearly drunk herself into oblivion. All because she’d been vilely envious of sweet Juliet Oxford’s ability to get the colonel out on the dance floor.

Pierce hadn’t danced with Juliet on the terrace.
The thought snuck in, but Meredith resolutely ignored it. The colonel’s behavior the previous evening was as much a departure from the norm as was hers.

She deliberately gathered her scattered thoughts. “You were around ten years ago,” she said. “What do
you
remember about my uncle’s death?”

Pierce studied Meredith’s lovely face. The morning sun shining through the windows of her office ought to have illuminated any imperfections.

There were none. Only the clear deep green of her eyes as she watched him. There was nothing casual in her gaze, though her relaxed position behind her desk would have said there should be. He wasn’t sure if he preferred that close look of hers or the other look. The one where she sort of focused somewhere around his ear or his chin. Looking at him without really looking at him.

If she looked too close, he was afraid she’d see straight through him.

Pierce was a strong man. With strong values, strong beliefs. But he wasn’t sure he was strong enough for Meredith to see the truth inside him. At least when he held her at bay, he could be assured that she’d
never know the worst. Never know him for exactly what he was.

“Colonel?”

The last time she’d used his given name, she’d been seventeen. Eleven years of wanting to see her soft lips form his name. Eleven years of wanting to hear it.

God. If this was what he got like after a sleepless night, maybe he
was
getting old.

He straightened from the desk. “There was an incident on Majorco. Edwin got caught in the crossfire.”

“The wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Basically.”

She rubbed her fingertip against the bridge of her nose. “And the perpetrators? The people who killed my uncle. They were never found.”

Pierce looked out the window, staring at the thick trees surrounding the building without really seeing them. The Royal Intelligence Institute was a jewel in the crown of Penwyck. It was world-renowned for its leading-edge research in fields from medicine to economics to music.

All of which had nothing to do with Meredith’s comment.

“No.” He turned to face her. “Edwin’s killer was never found.”

M
eredith sat back in her chair, folding her hands.
He has that look again,
she thought.
What is it that bothers you about my uncle?
She wanted to ask him. Would have asked him, if they’d had some semblance of comfort between them.

Instead, she dropped her hand on the computer printout for the children’s center event. “It looks as if we’ll be bursting at the seams at the opening of Horizons next weekend.” She flipped the printout around so he could see the lengthy list. “Would you like to see it?”

He picked it up, glancing over it. “Valdosta’s name is on here.”

“He’s a benefactor of the hospital, and the hospital is partnering with us to establish the center. Of course he’ll be there.”

“He’ll be there because you’re there,” Pierce said flatly, and slid the report to her over the slick surface of the desk. “Watch out for him.”

“George?” Meredith’s eyebrows shot up. “Please. He’s thoroughly harmless.”

“Yes, if he isn’t liquored like he was last night. Or perhaps I should say this morning. What would you have done if I hadn’t come by when I did?”

“Kicked him in the shin as I was considering doing when you appeared. I haven’t reached the age of twenty-eight without learning how to take care of myself, Colonel.”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness,” he said blandly. “I could see that last night.”

Irritation tickled at her spine. “Last night, I was
darling.
”

“Excuse me?”

She had a headache. A mountain of work awaited her attention. The smart thing would be to end the conversation immediately and get to her duties. So why was she rising? Circling her desk and going to stand by him?

“Darling,” she said softly. “You called me darling last night when you got rid of George. As if you were staking your claim.”

“Purely for George’s benefit.”

She knew it. And it pained her immensely. “Do you have any sort of personal life, Pierce?”

She’d surprised him. More by using his given name than the intrusive question, she suspected.

“Enough.”

“Enough of a personal life, or enough with my questions?”

“Either.”

She folded her arms, studying him. “Did it bother you? That I called you Pierce just now?”

“Of course not.”

She was almost enjoying this. The unflappable colonel was generally a stickler for protocol. He had been ten years ago, and he’d been growing more so ever since. “Well, then?”

“What do you want to know, Your Royal Highness?” His expression was shuttered, belying his easy tone. “My life is an open book for you.”

“Hardly.” Amazed at her audacity, she reached over and smoothed her finger along the surface of the bars pinned on his shirt. “Actually, I know very little about you.”

“Would you like to review my vitae? I’ll have my secretary fax you one.”

On anyone else, she would have taken the response for sarcasm. But with Pierce it was simply too difficult to tell.

“Personally,” she clarified. She went around her desk to her briefcase and plucked out the newspaper Lillian had handed her. She flipped it open and tapped the photo that had captured them together on the terrace. “It says right there in the paper, Colonel.
Elusive.
”

He barely glanced at the photo, making his disinterest clear. “Elusive implies there is something to elude.”

“Or someone.”

His lips twisted slightly. “Would it make you happier if I were to tell you that there is a woman I’m eluding? Or who is eluding me?”

She slowly folded the paper and set it on her desk. “I don’t know what would make me happy,” she said. The honesty was more than a little painful. “Is there someone?” The words came without volition, and she wished she could draw them back.

His eyes were more silver than green today, she thought fancifully as his gaze seemed to pin her in place. There was no possible way he would answer such a question from her. It was beyond rude.

“Yes, there is someone.” His lips twisted a little. “Though neither one of us is particularly successful at eluding the other, lately.”

It felt like a blow to her midsection. Though there was no logical reason for his words to hurt. He was a successful, powerful, extremely charismatic man. He probably had a litter of women of whom she knew nothing. Yet he’d said
someone.
“Who is she?”

His thick, spiky lashes were very dark around his striking eyes. “I don’t believe this is an—” his jaw cocked a little “—appropriate conversation, Your Royal Highness.”

“Ah, yes.” She forced a smile. “The age-old necessity of always being
appropriate.
Dressing appropriately. Behaving appropriately. Never, ever forgetting the most appropriate deportment under any and all circumstances.” She was staring at his mouth again. Now
that
was hardly appropriate.

“Your behavior has never been less than exemplary.”

“Coming from nearly anyone else, that would sound like fawning.” She was accustomed to dealing with men of power. And there was no question the colonel was very much a man of power. Yet he al
ways maintained that edge of respect for her position. And, interestingly, managed to do so without relinquishing one iota of his sense of self. His own confidence. His position. He was neither overbearing nor subservient. And he fascinated her as much as ever.

More than ever.

“And,” she added wryly, “it is not entirely accurate.” She tapped the newspaper.

“It’s just a photo. Doesn’t have to mean a thing.”

“Megan and Jean-Paul thought all the speculation splashed about them in the papers meant nothing, as well. Until everyone in the land seemed to consider their relationship their business. You’ll have to assure your lady friend that these photos really
were
nothing.” Meredith was proud of her breezy tone. Though, frankly, she wanted to retch.

It appalled her that she could be jealous of a faceless woman, someone who’d been allowed entry into Pierce’s personal life. She was too sensible, too intelligent to indulge in jealousy. Wasn’t she?

“Were they nothing?”

“You just said so yourself.”

He looked amused, suddenly. “I believe what I said was that the photos didn’t have to mean anything.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I don’t know, Your Royal Highness. You kissed me.”

Her cheeks went hot. “And you kissed me back,” she said crisply. “Explain
that
to your Ms. Elusive.”

“Are you certain?”

She blinked. “About what? That you kissed me back? I know when a man has kissed me, Colonel
Prescott.” But she
wasn’t
sure. Not at all. For all she knew, she might have imagined that returned pressure of his lips. That sense that he was kissing her back, feeling some semblance of the madness that had stricken her. Imagination? Wishful thinking? It was entirely possible, whether she liked admitting it or not. Maybe it was even imagination that made it seem as if he were standing closer to her, broader and taller than ever.

His head lowered an inch, and she barely kept herself from taking an unthinkable step away from him. “When I do kiss you, Your Royal Highness, I assure you that you’ll know it.”

She locked her knees to keep them from wobbling.
“When?”

“If.”

“It’s not like you to retreat, Colonel. Or misspeak.”

He was looking just the slightest tinge harried. It made her feel immeasurably better. “Your Royal Highness, it—”

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” His tone was that of a man seeking patience.

“Your Royal Highness,
Pierce.
You always stand on ceremony. But you are a noble, after all. The Duke of Aronleigh is no small title.”

“Your point?”

“Meredith. Can’t you bring yourself to say it?” There was more pleading than challenge in the question, and Meredith wanted to cringe. “Forget my position, for once. Is that so difficult?”

His gaze was shuttered. “
Meredith,
you are the
daughter of my King. You will always be the daughter of my King. And that is the end of it.”

She’d forced him into addressing her by name, and there was absolutely no pleasure in it whatsoever. She didn’t even know what had been spurring her on. After all, he’d admitted there was a Ms. Elusive. She was not one to step on someone else’s toes when it came to relationships.

Not that she had all that much experience when it came to relationships. Despite what she’d said to Pierce about being able to take care of herself—which she
did
believe—she’d never once lost her heart to any man.

Because no man was Colonel Pierceson Prescott, the Duke of Aronleigh.

She forced herself to remain relaxed, leaning against her desk. “Well, as pleasurable as this is—” her voice was dry as dust “—I do have work to do.”

“Feeling anxious?”

“Pressed for time.”

He smiled slightly. Then drew his thumb down her cheek—confusing her even more than she already was—before striding to the door. “When you see your father, tell him I’m sorry he missed our meeting this morning.”

“He was having breakfast with my mother,” she said faintly. Her cheek still felt the tingling heat from that barely there caress.

“With your mother.”

Behind her back, she pressed her palms against the edge of her desk. Hard. “It’s not unheard of, Colonel Prescott. We are a family, after all. One that shares meals on occasion.” Though she had to admit it
wasn’t often that the King was in the residence at that hour. He was usually in his office by then.

“Of course.” His expression was once again frustratingly inscrutable. “Good morning, then, Your Royal Highness.”

Meredith watched him leave. When she could no longer hear his footfalls in the corridor outside her office, she sank into the nearest chair, letting out a long, shuddering breath.

When he kissed her?

If only.

Pierce could hear the laughter and high-pitched squeals of children at play all the way from Horizons, the new child-care center, to his office. He was used to working with any number of distractions, but he wasn’t used to working while knowing that Meredith Penwyck was just out the door, across the tarmac, in the playground area surrounding the building the base had dedicated to the center.

Though he hadn’t gone to the opening festivity and had not laid eyes on her, Pierce still knew that Meredith was there. She and Anastasia had been up to their pretty aristocratic noses in the planning for Horizons. It was his base, he’d approved the final site selection and other staffing matters for the base’s contribution to the joint project, and he’d seen Meredith’s and Anastasia’s names on numerous memos, numerous agendas. But he had staff to handle those details, and he’d never personally involved himself in the matter beyond barely glancing at and approving the final decisions.

He trusted the decisions of his staff, for one thing.
And he trusted the judgments of Penwyck Memorial Hospital and Anastasia’s contribution there for their part. As for the RII and Meredith’s involvement, Pierce knew nobody could do a better job than she could. He knew that keeping his distance from her was always the wisest course.

Until lately.

Stifling an oath, he pushed aside the reports he was well over a day behind on attending to. As the files slid to one side of his metal desk, they knocked something off the edge.

He leaned over and slowly picked it up.

A microfilm cartridge.

He still couldn’t believe he’d stooped to palming the small cartridge and taking it from Meredith’s office when he’d been there last week. He half expected to have her hounding his heels demanding to know what was wrong with him for taking something so innocuous as microfilmed copies of decade-old newspapers. It was information she could get from any number of sources. It just might take her a little more time to accomplish.

But she hadn’t even noticed. Not while he was there, at least.

His fingers tightened around the cartridge, squeezing it hard enough to crack the brittle black plastic. The sound felt like another nail being driven into his soul.

From across the way, he heard a cheer go up, and whether punishing himself or easing his grim thoughts, he stood and went to the window.

Balloons bobbed in the afternoon sunlight, tugging and jerking at the strings that attached them to nearly
every immovable object. Little colored flags stretched from the building to the corner posts of the fence surrounding the play yard. And in that yard were crowds of children racing around parents, volunteers and staff. There were games, music and food.

Meredith was down there somewhere. Though he couldn’t see her from his vantage point.

“Why don’t you go on down there instead of standing at the window drooling like a kid outside a candy store?”

At the first word, he’d turned on his heel. “Estabon. What are you doing here? What’s happened?”

The other man lifted a long hand in a calming motion. “Nothing’s happened. I was accompanying the King to a meeting with the shipbuilders’ federation on the North Shore.”

The North Shore was less than an hour over the Aronleigh Mountains from the base’s location in the north central portion of the country. It was across the island from Marlestone, a solid hundred miles.

And the King had no business conducting meetings with anyone over anything that wasn’t strictly approved by the RET. He left the window and went to his office door, pushing it closed. “And you left him there?”

Sir Selwyn Estabon was the King’s royal secretary. He was also a highly placed member of royal intelligence and one of Pierce’s associates with the RET, a fact that was known to only the other members of the RET. And the King. The true King.

“Relax.” Selwyn sat in one of the chairs facing Pierce’s desk and absently brushed a speck of lint from his immaculate trousers. “Logan is with him.
When the King dismissed my services for the afternoon, I couldn’t very well hang around, now could I? His security detail is with him, naturally. I’ll rejoin them in a few hours.”

Duke Carson Logan served as the King’s personal bodyguard. These days, Pierce likened Logan to Broderick’s personal guard dog. Since Logan was the fourth member of the RET, he realized he needn’t worry that Broderick would get up to too much mischief. “Any new word on our patient?”