The Princess Finds Her Match (15 page)

“Rojita,”
he implored. “You have got to believe me. I never meant to hurt you.” He sounded like a broken record, but if that was the only way to get through to her, then he would say them as many times as needed.

“You were right all along, Nic,” she whispered, and tears were rolling down her cheeks. “You said it would not end well. I just refused to listen. I can’t be with someone who won’t fight for me, fight for the things that matter.”

“
No llores
,” he hushed her, cupping her face with his trembling hands. “Sshh. Don’t cry.
No aguanto verti asi…triste,
llorando
.” He leaned down and rained kisses on her tears as if he could magically wipe them away. “
Te quiero mucho, rojita. Te quiero.
”

A deep, cultured baritone intruded from the doorway. “It’s time we left, Lexie.”

Nic saw Walkden looming by the entrance, Blair off to his side. The Duke dealt him a cold, level stare, looking as if he wanted to flatten him and was only reining in his impulses because of the presence of the women in the room. It killed him to have to hand over Lexie to the arrogant aristocrat, but he had no choice. Walkden would keep her safe. He had matters to deal with first. He pulled her resistant body close one last time, pressing her against his chest as he dropped a kiss on top of her head.

“
Esperame Lexie
,” he said as he reluctantly let her go. “This is not goodbye.”

Lexie walked into the arms of the Duke without looking back.

I
t was goodbye
. It had to be. Even faced with his betrayal, her stupid heart wanted badly to believe in his innocence. She had been his that night in Las Vegas. Could he have known already even then who she was? But his surprised reaction at the Gallagher Cup had appeared genuine. At the back of her mind was the niggling puzzle that when Nic found out she was a princess, he had wanted nothing to do with her until Stefan had bribed him with the horse. He had rejected her pathetic declaration of love repeatedly, but why had he suddenly changed his tune, spouting his innocence and newfound love for her this morning? Maybe he was afraid of the backlash from her family in his involvement with the photos?

Lexie wiped the tears off her face with the back of her hand as they pulled out of the driveway. Thinking about Nic was giving her a headache. And that was the problem. Rather than worrying about the bigger ramifications of those photos to her reputation and Stefan’s reaction, she was trying to convince herself he was not guilty.
And he did say he was going to make it right
, a little voice reminded her. And that he loved her. Rejected and betrayed, she was still trying to justify his actions. What a pathetic fool she was, taken in by a gorgeous face and hard body.

Stop crying or I will tell your nonna,
she heard the voice of her long-ago governess say as she picked her up from school, so miserable because the other girls didn’t want to play with her. She had been afraid to get her uniform dirty. A princess never played rough like the common rabble. Her common mother had insisted she go to the local school like the other children, but her grandmother was opposed to the idea. If her
nonna
saw her crying, she would insist that she be sent off to boarding school like Stefan had been. The memory caused several more tears to roll.
Stop it.
She fumbled desperately for a tissue in her tote bag. A snowy white handkerchief attached to a masculine hand appeared before her eyes. She snatched the handkerchief gratefully.

“Thank you, Julian,” she sniffed, “for this,” she held up the monogrammed and probable thousand-plus thread count handkerchief she just had soiled with her royal snot, “and for this,” she said tremulously, waving and indicating vaguely at the interior of the luxury car. In her distress, she could not even remember the vehicle’s make or color. “You don’t have to bring me all the way to Seirenada. I do fly commercial, you know.” She attempted levity but failed.

The Duke smiled comfortingly. “I have been intending to visit Seirenada for quite some time now. Stefan is quite eager to show the developments he has made since my last visit. And besides, we have some business to discuss. We will make better time if we use my jet.” His tone had turned grim and his jaw hardened.

“I won’t let Stefan give in to Butler,” Lexie blurted out fiercely. “I know Stefan has misgivings about the man and wants nothing to do with him. I have heard rumors about his questionable business ethics. They are rumors, but I trust my brother’s judgment, Julian. Please convince him that I don’t need protection. If the photos are leaked, I can live with it, but I can’t have it on my conscience if Stefan is forced to associate with that man just to protect me.“

The Duke stared at her with something close to admiration in his green eyes. “When did you become so grown-up, Lexie?”

She shrugged, a very typical Seirenadan gesture she hadn’t been permitted to do since she was seven. “You have to discuss that with Stefan. I think he believes my mental age was arrested at twelve.”

Julian glanced at her askance with a wry smile on his lips. “That’s pretty forward thinking of Stefan. I think Maggie’s stopped at eight.”

Lexie smiled, as she knew Julian had intended. “You big brothers are all the same!”

The smile never left his lips, but his eyes hardened. “Yes, I think we are. We keep our sisters safe and never let anyone hurt them.”

Lexie folded her arms tightly across her chest as she felt the bite of the cold air inside the vehicle. All the way to the private airstrip they remained quiet, each lost in their thoughts.

“
I
had
nothin’ to do with it, Nic,” a terrified Tansy quailed when he stormed into the Butler’s mansion, his aggression emanating from him like a living thing. He caught a glimpse of himself in an ornate mirror hanging above the huge spindly-legged console table and felt primitive satisfaction at how his disheveled, unkempt appearance was making the right impact on Tansy. “I swear, it wasn’t my idea to go through your phone.”

Tansy herself looked like she had just rolled out of bed. Her long hair was scrunched up in a messy ponytail, and her dressing gown was haphazardly tied. She was so far removed from the heavily made-up society butterfly she tried so hard to be that Nic almost didn’t recognize her. She wrung her hands in agitation. “Lucia,” she barked to a maid who was hovering by the side of a swinging door to the extreme right wing of the foyer. “Where are my cigarettes?”

The maid scampered to do her bidding. Nic believed her. Tansy might be petty, but she didn’t have the brain power to think of something this devious.

“Where’s your husband?” When she didn’t reply, Nic took a menacing step forward.

“He’s at the Polo Club,” she squeaked, clutching her throat.

“If I don’t find him there,” he threatened darkly, “I’ll be back for you.”

Tansy made an indiscernible sound of fright and distress as he tore out of the foyer. His mind was so preoccupied with finding his former patron that he failed to notice an unobtrusive sedan peeling off the curb as he shot out of the gates of the mansion.

Nic had played in the Los Angeles Polo Club several times even under his old team and was waved through security without trouble. Apparently, word had not yet gotten out that he and Butler had gone their separate ways, for some members, lounging desultorily in the clubhouse, correctly guessing he wanted to see the capitalist but not guessing the reason why, had pointed him in the direction of the tack room in the stables. If they found his less-than-polished sartorial appearance odd, they didn’t say anything. He was a foreigner after all and entitled to some fashion quirks. Some of the younger twenty-something female set of the club giggled when he passed by. He studiously avoided eye contact. He was not in the mood for small talk, autographs, or snapshots.

There was no flicker of surprise on Butler’s face when Nic entered the tack room. The patron was geared up to go riding, a whip in one hand and a mobile phone pressed to his ear on the other. He immediately concluded his phone conversation, tracking Nic as he drew closer. After a few seconds, he broke into an affable smile that showed too much teeth and did nothing to hide the malicious gleam in his eyes.

Nic scanned the room. Multitudes of saddles, bridles, and other polo equipment were hung on mounted racks on one side of the wall in neat rows. On the floor were handmade leather polo boots waiting for their owners to don them. He and the patron were alone.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Nic?” Butler said as if this was a social call. He gave a soft rap of the whip on his thigh.

Nic decided to play it cool even though he wanted to smash his fist into the bastard’s smarmy face. There would be time enough for that later. “Can’t I say hello to my former patron?” He made a show of digging a hand into his trouser pocket, and Butler followed the action predictably.

“What have you got there, Nic?” The nonchalance was gone from the older man’s face. He stilled, like a prey faced by a hungry predator, still deciding if he should flee or fight.

Nic smiled in a harmless manner, bringing his hand out of his pocket and holding the mobile aloft. “Relax, Rupert. Just checking if I still have my phone with me. I remember the last time I almost forgot it,” his tone hardened. He discreetly checked if the record button was on and returned it to his pocket. “I applaud your creativity, Rupert. A bit melodramatic though, but still creative.”

Butler was enough of a megalomaniac to preen at his words. “So you saw my handiwork?” He was standing near a saddle rack, casually inspecting the leather. “You gave me nothing, Nic.” Did he just fucking pout? The action was repulsive on a grown man. “I had very little to work with,” Butler said in a pseudo-woeful tone.

The hairs on Nic’s arms rose. It was imperative not to let his guard down. Butler was wily, but he was also a loose cannon. He folded his arms across his chest and opened his legs a bit wider, feet firmly planted on the floor while he leveled Butler a hard, menacing glare. “So you took what were private and personal photos of the Princess and used it to try to coerce the Prince into giving you the alledramite contract.”

Butler shrugged and Nic felt his blood simmering, the heat rising to his face. “I saw an opportunity at the party and I took it.” The patron chuckled, “Even my hare-brained wife has her uses, sometimes.”

When Nic just stared at him, he continued, “I’m a man of action, Nic, on and off the field. That’s why I like polo. The rules are simple enough. If I see the ball, I don’t lose sight of my target. I go after it until I score the goal. Anybody who stands in my way gets ridden off.” He sneered, “There is a reason it’s called the game of kings. If you’re lily-livered, you don’t get to play with the big boys.”

“You get to play with the big boys because you pay your way, Butler. You’re an amateur. Don’t delude yourself into thinking it matters whether or not you’re on the team. The only reason you are there is because you paid your way into it.” Butler’s face grew florid and Nic knew he hit a nerve. A self-made man, Butler accessorized himself with all the trappings of the rich − mansions on prime real estate, luxury cars, a yacht, a jet, several trophy ex-wives, all designed to make everyone forget his dirt-poor origins, something he tried very hard to conceal. Nic wanted to goad him into losing it. He used his final weapon. Knowing Butler was insanely jealous of the man, he lied, “Oh, and by the way, I’m playing for Walkden’s team on the Argentine Open.”

“You ungrateful son of a bitch! You filthy
gaucho!
” Butler lost it as he screamed, spittle flying off his mouth. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be back in your farm cleaning horse dung!”

Before Nic could react, the whip flew through the air and struck him across the cheek. The stinging, unexpected blow threw him backwards and momentarily knocked the breath out of him.

Butler had raised the whip again, his rage transforming him into a madman, ready to deliver the second strike, when Nic blocked him with his left arm and punched him directly in the face. The patron reeled from the force of Nic’s counterattack and toppled onto a bridle rack, unhinging it.

The door of the tack room flew open and two of Butler’s massive bodyguards came in, advancing on Nic.

“It’s about time!” Butler bellowed, clutching his cheekbone. “Hold him, you stupid fools!”

Nic managed to land a blow to the solar plexus of one of the bodyguards, but the other one came from behind and managed to trap his arms behind him. He lifted his right knee, angled his foot, and with all his force brought it down to bear on the leg of the other bodyguard. The man grunted in pain but didn’t loosen his grip as he struggled to break free. An uppercut snapped his head back and his vision dimmed. The last thing he heard before he blacked out was Butler’s voice, filled with cruel anticipation: “No one plays me for a fool, Fernandez, and gets away with it. After I’m done with you, you can be sure you will be of no use to Walkden or any other team.”

L
exie bolted upright from bed
, her heart pounding so hard she had to lay a hand over it to keep it from jumping out of her chest. She had a vague recollection of her dream, only impressions of the sound of thundering hooves, horses with their shrill cries, and a thick, heavy cloud of dust rising from the ground and enveloping her in a suffocating embrace.

A shaft of dying sunlight penetrated a slit in the heavy brocade curtains that adorned one wall of her room in the royal apartments. Lexie was quite the expert on approximating the time of day it was by the angle and quality of the Seirenadan sun. As an amateur photographer in the past, it was all about the light. And sometimes, not too often though, it was also about the shadows. She had come to infer it was late afternoon, and if she had a choice, she would have gone back and burrowed with her heartache under the covers.

The sliver of remaining sunlight was not enough to illuminate the whole room for her to be able to make out the time on her clock. Her nerves had been strung so tight she had not been able to sleep in the almost 14-hour flight from LAX to the small principality that had been ruled by the House of Ligueria for six hundred years. Julian had no difficulty in that area and had only resurfaced when they were landing to inquire if she had been able to rest. She lied. He cocked a golden eyebrow and knew he didn’t believe her. Stefan took one look at her when she had arrived at the Palace and merely said in his imperious manner, “Rest. We will talk later.”

So this was later. Lexie turned on the bedside lamp and automatically reached for her mobile phone. There were two missed calls from Blair and a text message. She read it and her chest tightened with alarm. She quickly pushed her way out of bed and felt lightheaded by the sudden change in blood pressure as she stood up. Rummaging frantically through her wardrobe, she hastily pulled on a shift dress and cardigan and dialed her personal assistant’s number.

“Where is Prince Stefan right now?” she demanded, her voice sounding tremulous.

There was a pause before Theia replied, “He is in his study. In a meeting.”

Was she just overwrought, or did she detect a hint of hesitation in Theia’s answer?

“Your Highness, I don’t think it’s a good time to see him. He is very busy−“

Lexie cut the connection off. The staff made themselves scarce when a royal was about. They were trained not to show any emotion except polite deference. Nonetheless, they exchanged bewildered glances when the normally sedate and graceful Princess almost ran through the corridor of the royal apartments, bounded down the grand staircase to reach the ground floor and then turn with haste towards the south wing to the prince’s study.