Kitabı oku: «The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection», sayfa 48
Four
Lexie stood staring absently out the window at the fog shrouded London skyline. The fog lent the city an ethereal beauty, but it had closed the airport, necessitating an overnight stay.
A door shutting in the adjoining room alerted her to Rafe’s return. The staff in his family’s London apartments closed doors soundlessly, so it had to be him. He’d disappeared while the jewelers were still with her, leaving no indication of where he’d gone or when he’d be back. One of the staff had enquired as to whether she had any preferences for dinner and she had asked him to wait awhile. She’d been going to give Rafe another five minutes and then see about dinner for just herself, because she was ravenous. And if he didn’t have the decency to tell her when, or even if, he was coming back, why should she wait?
She took a deep breath. Her emotions were all over the place—she knew that—fuelled by tiredness and anxiety. Her best course of action, she’d decided, was to remain aloof from him. Tomorrow they’d be in San Philippe and she would, she was certain, see very little of him. He, after all, had a life to live. A life she was currently interrupting.
And yet, for a few minutes as they’d sat together on the log yesterday morning, she’d imagined a connection with him. She realized now he’d just been doing what he deemed necessary to get her to come with him.
She turned as he entered the room, his long stride halting abruptly. The aura of tension that had shrouded him when he’d left had diminished, but not by much. He still radiated a barely contained, frustrated energy. It was there in the tightness of his jaw and shoulders, there in the depths of his eyes.
He didn’t want to be stuck here. “The fog isn’t my fault,” she said in her defense. And more specifically he didn’t want to be stuck here with her.
That much was clear from the way he tensed up around her. It would have been obvious even if she hadn’t heard his phone call with Adam. He was watching her now, his steady gaze unreadable and disconcerting. “I’ll be just as glad as you when we’re on our way again. But in the meantime it’d certainly be a lot nicer if we could find a way to get along. And I know you don’t owe me anything, but I’d appreciate it if you’d at least let me know whether or not to expect you back when you go out. So I know whether or not to eat without you.”
The tension around his eyes had eased as she spoke, changing into surprised amusement. “Are you done?”
Amusement hadn’t been the reaction she expected, and she sighed, realizing how petulant she’d sounded. Not in the least aloof. She had to fight not to respond to that warming humor in his eyes. “Yes,” she said feeling more than a little foolish.
“And are you hungry?” he asked, a half grin lifting one corner of his lips.
“Yes.” Her stomach grumbled audibly, confirming her answer. “And sometimes,” she admitted, “I get a little cranky when I’m hungry.”
“You don’t say?” He was still trying to quell his grin. “And do you like pizza?”
Just the mention of her favorite fast food had her imagining she could smell it. “I love it,” she said with possibly more enthusiasm than was appropriate, given the surprise that registered on Rafe’s face. “Did that dossier on me go into that much detail?”
“What? About you getting cranky when you’re hungry?” He was still grinning.
“No. About the pizza.”
“No. Just asking. Hoping, actually.”
At that moment, a liveried servant walked into the room carrying an incongruous-looking large, flat, card board box in his white-gloved hands. “The usual, sir?”
Rafe nodded.
Quickly, Rafe and the servant rearranged furniture so that two of the ornate and probably priceless dining chairs were placed in front of the wide window Lexie had recently been staring out of. An ottoman was set in front of the chairs and a side table between them.
The cardboard box, linen napkins, a bottle of pinot noir and two crystal goblets were placed on the side table.
As the servant left, Lexie glanced from the box to Rafe, and her stomach grumbled again. “Is that…?” The aroma of tomato and basil permeated the air.
Rafe smiled properly, looking inordinately proud of himself. “Sure is. The uncle of a friend of mine has a place not too far from here. He makes the best pizza outside of Italy.” Rafe crossed to the table and folded back the lid of the box. “It’s simple, but exquisite. And we don’t have time for much else.”
He gave a small bow and a theatrical sweep of his arm. “Take a seat, and help yourself.”
They sat, feet almost touching on the ottoman, snow-white linen napkins on their laps, and ate looking out at the glowing lights of the fog-shrouded city.
For the first time in days the tension seeped from Lexie’s shoulders and her breath slowed. She didn’t speak until she’d finished her second slice of pizza. “Thank you. That was divine, and just what I needed.”
“I figured it’s going to be banquets from here on in till the end of the anniversary celebrations and that this might be…nice.”
“It was better than nice. It was perfect.”
The chimes of Big Ben rang out, carrying on the night air. Lexie took a sip of the pinot noir. “What did you mean, we don’t have time for much else?”
Rafe glanced at his watch as he finished a mouthful of pizza. From an inside pocket of his blazer he pulled a slip of paper and held it out to Lexie.
“What is it?”
“Look at it and find out.”
She wiped her fingertips and took the paper, eyeing both Rafe and it suspiciously.
“Tickets,” she ascertained quickly, then read the print, and then read it again. “Shakespeare. At the Globe.” She stood, her napkin falling to the floor, and hugged the tickets to her chest. “I can’t believe it. I didn’t think there’d be any chance. I never even thought to ask.”
“Royalty, even foreign and relatively minor, carries a certain amount of weight.”
Lexie laughed with delight. “Thank you.”
“Don’t. I did it for both of us. It beats staying cooped up in these apartments all evening.”
There was nothing cooped up about the expansive suites. But maybe to a prince? “Thank you, anyway. You have no idea how thrilled I am. I studied Shakespeare.”
“At Vassar. I know.”
Wow. He really had read, and paid attention to, whatever background information he’d been given on her. “So you can guess what this means to me.”
“What it means is that I don’t have to worry about you donning a wig and climbing out the window to go clubbing.”
“I didn’t bring my wig.” She still clutched the tickets in her hand. “I’ve left my clubbing days behind.”
The look Rafe cast her told her clearly he didn’t believe her.
“I’m going to be a model of respectability.”
His gaze swept her from head to toe. And though she knew there was no fault he could find with what she wore—it was all designed for the image she needed to project, elegant and stylish—still she sensed something close to disapproval in his frowning assessment.
“So, you didn’t even bring the shimmery little dress from the other night?”
“I left it behind with instructions for it to be taken to a charity shop.”
“Pity.”
“Are you absolutely determined to bait me?” She knew he didn’t like the dress; he’d as good as told her. “If you want an argument, just say so. I’ll happily give you one.” She was still smiling, content and looking forward to the Shakespeare, but she meant what she said.
Something in the vehemence of her response actually seemed to please him. “Just get ready to go out, Precious. We’re leaving in fifteen minutes.”
As the actors took their final bow after a stunning performance of A Midsummer Night’s Dream, a tale of love most definitely not running smoothly, Lexie sat back and sighed with pure pleasure.
She glanced at Rafe beside her in their private box. He turned to her, affecting bored indifference. She wasn’t going to let him diminish her enjoyment. “That was wonderful. Amazing. Fantastic.”
“Rapturous?”
“Yes.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” he said.
“You enjoyed it, too, didn’t you?” She was fairly sure the distant superiority was an act.
“Of course.”
“You were laughing.” She’d heard him several times throughout the performance. He had a laugh so low and deep and rich it seemed at times to wrap itself around her.
“I said I enjoyed it.”
“Then what’s with the grumpy act? Did you see one of your girlfriends in the audience, out with another man?”
“No. Let’s just go.” He stood.
Lexie was loath to leave. “Wasn’t Puck fabulous? And this theater…” She looked round the wooden, open-roofed facility, a replica of the one used in Shakespeare’s time that had burned down when a prop cannon misfired.
“Save it for Adam,” he said, not unkindly. “He’s the Shakespeare buff.”
“I know. It’s just one of the things we have in common.”
He rolled his eyes in a most unprincely gesture. “Are you ready yet?” He held out his hand.
“It was really sweet of you to bring me here tonight, when you don’t love it.”
“Sweet?”
“Yes.” He clearly wasn’t used to being called sweet, and clearly didn’t like it. She took the hand he was still holding out for her, felt his strong fingers fold around hers and, still floating from the performance, stood. He’d averted his face, was in fact studying the audience as though there was something or someone of the utmost importance out there. He needed to loosen up. Not something she’d ever thought she’d think about Rafe. Whether he’d enjoyed the performance or not, she’d been enraptured, and she was more grateful than he could know that he’d brought her here. On impulse, Lexie leaned forward to kiss his cheek.
At that moment he turned.
For a second, maybe two or three, her lips touched his, warm and soft. And for that sublime second, or two, or three, that simplest of kisses consumed her. Stopped the world around her, stilled everything within her, and then threatened to buckle her knees as heat shot through her.
The rapture of the play was nothing compared to this.
Strong fingers wrapped around her upper arms and set her away from him.
Lifting her hands to her lips, she met his gaze, saw the mirror of her own shock in his darkened eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She stepped back. “That was not what I meant to happen. I was aiming for your cheek.” Lexie pointed at the cheek in question, as though to reinforce her statement. And still he said nothing, didn’t laugh or brush off the incident. Surely he realized it was unintentional. “You turned.” It hadn’t even been entirely her fault. Beneath his unflinching scrutiny she faltered. “It was an accident. I’ve said I’m sorry.” He didn’t so much as blink. “Say something. Please.”
He opened his mouth. It was several seconds before the words came out. “I guess we’re even. Let’s go.” He pushed aside the curtain behind them and held open the door.
Ten minutes later in the car, as their driver negotiated the London streets, Lexie stared through the window. She’d give anything for the kiss not to have happened. To not have the fact that it did happen hanging between them. Besides, it was a nothing kiss, chaste, and as she’d pointed out, accidental. He couldn’t know of the strange heat it had ignited. The heat that had flared further when he’d wrapped his fingers around her arms, when for an instant she had seen fire in his eyes. Fire that she realized now was anger.
Rafe had scarcely spoken since they’d left the theater. They were nearly back at the apartments, and she didn’t want the strained silence to go on any longer. He sat leaning back against the seat, as far from her as the confines of the Bentley allowed, head tipped back on the soft leather, eyes closed. But she knew he wasn’t sleeping.
Lexie pivoted in her seat to face him. “We’re not even.”
The eyes opened halfway, the head turned slowly toward her. From beneath his hooded lids, he studied her.
“When you said we were even, were you referring to the time you kissed me at the masquerade ball?”
His response was the barest nod.
“Then I have to disagree.”
The angle of his head changed. His eyes widened ever so slightly. It was enough of a reaction that she interpreted it as curiosity, or at least tacit permission to continue.
“There was no tongue in mine.” His kiss had been shockingly erotic, igniting her strange, forbidden desires. She sat back in her seat.
There was a moment of surprise, and then the deep rumble of his laughter rolled through the interior of the vehicle, pleasing her inordinately. “Only because I knew who I was kissing this time.”
Five
Despite telling herself to forget about it, Lexie was still troubled by that kiss as the royal jet cruised over Europe. Twice now she and Rafe had kissed. Both times accidentally. And both times, for no good reason, their kiss had left her tossing through the night, tormented by darkly erotic dreams. Dreams that took the kiss as a starting point.
Her only consolation was that if a kiss from Rafe, a man she mostly didn’t like, could have that effect on her, kissing Adam was going to be knee-weakeningly devastating.
Fortunately, once they got off this plane she’d have little more to do with Rafe and the provocation of his presence. But for now, he sat a short way away from her, stretched out on a sumptuous cream leather couch and seemingly engrossed in a book. One he’d opened immediately after seating himself. The book was, she suspected, his way of avoiding her. But it also gave her leave to study him. His sentiments showed clearly as he read, occasionally frowning, sometimes almost smiling. Though she wouldn’t allow herself to look properly at his lips.
He read fast, turning the pages rapidly, his deft fingers ready in anticipation of the next page moments after turning the last. He had nice hands. Was she allowed to think that about Adam’s brother?
He glanced up and caught her watching him.
“Good book?” she asked, trying to cover the fact that she’d been staring.
“Yes.” He tilted it up so she could see the cover of the political thriller before returning his attention back to it, clearly shutting her out.
That was a good thing. They didn’t need to be chatting. Still, Lexie had to make herself look away from him. Had to stop wondering what really went on inside his head.
She’d tried reading, too, first a book and then a glossy magazine, but she couldn’t even concentrate on that. She was too anxious, and it wasn’t, she told herself, just because of the inadvertent kiss, because soon that memory would fade. It had to. It was in the past.
And it wasn’t because of the irrelevant question prompted by his retort in the limo—that the kiss had gone no further because he’d known who he was kissing. Did that mean he didn’t find her attractive? Or that he did, but knew he shouldn’t?
Neither answer would be ideal.
Turning away from Rafe, she looked out her window. What ought to concern her now was the future. Her future. She should be thinking about Adam, whom she was about to meet again. Not as an eighteen-year-old, and not through the medium of e-mail, but as a woman, and in person. She was about to truly begin the next phase of her life.
A stunningly beautiful hostess removed the remnants of their lunch from the coffee table between them and informed them they were beginning their descent. Lexie only half heard her.
It remained to be seen whether she ended up staying, falling the rest of the way in love from the halfway state she’d been in for almost as long as she could remember. And convincing Adam to fall in love with her, and eventually, or maybe even soon, marry her, was another thing entirely.
But whatever happened, she’d left her old self and her old life behind.
“You’ll see San Philippe to the east in a few minutes.”
Rafe’s voice startled her. She’d been staring out the window, but she’d scarcely been taking anything in. Far below, the cities and mountains of Europe spread out. Features of the landscape became clearer.
“You can usually catch a glimpse of the palace, as well,” he said a few minutes later.
“I see it.” She felt excitement rising as the jet lowered and she glimpsed distant turrets.
She would be seeing Adam again soon. She could stop thinking about Rafe.
Miniature horses dotted a field below. “Will Adam be playing polo in the cup match next weekend? Or is his rotator cuff still bothering him?” She was eager to see Adam again, but had to admit she was a little apprehensive, too.
Rafe lifted an eyebrow in enquiry. “You know about his shoulder injury?”
She shrugged. “Ten years is a long while to have…an interest in someone.” She wasn’t going to say the word crush, because it sounded so immature, but that’s admittedly what her relationship—again, probably the wrong word—had started out as. “A girl can do a lot of research in that time. I can give you the whole history of it.”
“Ever heard of stalking?”
He said the word with a bored smile, but Lexie bristled. “It’s not like that.” At least not anymore. She’d long ago thrown out the embarrassing scrapbook she’d kept as a young teenager, filled with photos of Adam playing polo or attending functions. “I’ve looked at the odd Web site.” No need to give Rafe numbers. But because he was one of the world’s most eligible bachelors, plenty of sites followed Adam. “And I’ve studied the history of San Philippe because it’s part of my heritage.” And because it was potentially part of her future. “I like to think of it as being well-informed.”
“Uh-huh.” How did he make those two syllables sound so condescending?
“We have mutual acquaintances, as well.”
“Don’t feel you have to justify yourself to me.”
“I’m not justifying myself, I just think you should be clear on where I stand.”
“I think I’m clear.” He returned his attention to his book, trying to dismiss her.
She wasn’t that easy to dismiss. “And I don’t think you are.”
He sighed and flipped over a page.
“I’m not obsessive about Adam.” He should know that. “I’ve dated other men. I even imagined myself in love once.”
That snagged his attention. He looked back at her. “And?”
She shrugged. “It didn’t work out. And not because of anything to do with Adam,” she added quickly. Well, not directly, although it was possible that Paul had suffered in comparison. “I’ve grown and matured, and become my own woman.”
“I’m sure you have.”
Lexie could think of no witty or even sarcastic retort so she tried for a disdainful look before turning to her window to watch her destiny draw closer, savoring the sense of anticipation as the wheels lowered into position for landing. Rafe didn’t understand. She was her own woman and knew her own mind. She just hoped—and had, in fact, planned—that she was the type of woman who appealed to Adam. And his father. Because she’d have to have Prince Henri’s blessing. And probably also the approval of palace advisers. And even the public of San Philippe. Which was what was sending her heart into overdrive. Despite her mother’s assurances and training, she didn’t know if she was cut out for that much scrutiny, for the prospect of such a public failure. What if this was a colossal mistake?
No. Time to stop the negative self-talk. She could do this.
“Talking to yourself?” She looked across to see Rafe watching her, a smile tugging at his lips.
Had she been? “No, of course not.” Against her will that smile drew her own out, making it impossible to stay mad at him. “Maybe. I’ve just realized what a very public spectacle I could make of myself here.”
“The palace will be working to keep everything low-key. It won’t be too public.”
“But still a spectacle?”
“That part’s up to you.”
The plane touched down, decelerating rapidly. She looked out the window at a waving crowd standing behind a cordoned-off area. “So that crowd out there is normal?”
“There are always a few people with nothing better to do than hang out at the airport when the royal jet flies in.”
“That many?”
He followed her gaze and she saw a flash of surprise in his eyes, but he leaned back in his seat. “Give or take a few.”
“Wow.”
“Don’t overthink things.”
“What do you mean?” She thought she knew, but talking to him, listening to his deep, calm voice, his soft accent, helped distract her.
“Worrying ahead of time about what people will think or what might go wrong. You’ll step off this plane, see Adam and take it from there. One moment at a time.”
“Of course we’ll be taking things slowly, but controlling my thoughts and anxiety is easier said than done.”
“No. It’s exactly as easy to say as it is to do. In fact, your thoughts are one of the few things in life you do have control over. And thinking things over and over and round and round in your head, things you can’t possibly have any control over—that’s not easy. It’s also a hell of a waste of mental energy.”
“You could be right. But I don’t think you really understand.”
“I know I’m right.” He pulled a business card from his pocket, flipped it over and wrote on the back before handing it to her.
She looked at the cell phone number scrawled elegantly across the card.
“I may not see that much of you around the palace. That’s my private number,” he said on a sigh. “In case.”
“In case what?”
“In case you don’t know which fork to use. I don’t know. Just in case. Only a couple of people have it, so if you call, I’ll answer it.”
“Thank you.” It struck her then that with their time in Massachusetts, London and on the plane she’d now spent more consecutive time in Rafe’s company than she ever had in Adam’s.
“Abuse it and I’ll change the number.”
Lexie smiled and lapsed into silence. She looked away from the window and at the hands clasped in her lap. After agonizing over what to wear, she’d settled on a skirt and short, tailored jacket. But maybe she should have worn the shift dress. It was probably hot out there. She glanced at Rafe. He wore an open-necked white linen shirt and cream-colored pants. He looked fantastic, as if he’d just stepped off a yacht in the Mediterranean. She chewed her bottom lip.
He sighed. “What are you worried about now?”
She hadn’t thought he’d been aware of her. She swallowed. “Would calling you to ask a really stupid question be considered abusing the privilege?”
“A really stupid question like what?”
“Like, do I look okay?”
His gaze swept over her. “Fine.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“I said it was fine.”
“I know. So what’s wrong with it?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. Adam will love it. You look very…regal. Quite proper. The pearls are a great touch.”
“But you don’t like it?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I’m shallower than Adam. The regal look’s not my thing. Give me a short, shimmery black dress anyday.”
She smiled. “I hope someday you find a tramp who’ll make you very happy.”
He smiled back. Finally. His first real smile of the day. A smile a person could almost grow to depend upon, bringing with it a little jolt to her insides, stronger even than that first cup of coffee in the morning. “I intend to search the world over till I find her.”
Stairs were wheeled to the jet and the crew opened the door.
“Right, then, Alexia, let’s get this show on the road.”
Rafe stood, ready to walk with her to the exit and thank the pilot and crew who stood waiting by the door. Ready to hand her over to Adam and put her from his mind. She slipped his card into her purse and stood, too. Glancing at the door, then back at him, she placed a tentative hand on his arm. “Will you call me Lexie?”
He hesitated.
“I need one person here who does.”
He nodded. Reluctantly. “Lexie,” he sighed her name. Her grateful smile was pure innocence, and all he could think was sexy, sexy, Lexie. What he’d like to say to her and do with her were eons away from innocence. It had been torment enough just sitting so close beside her in the theater last night. Her rapturous sighs, her delighted laughter. And then that kiss. Damn that stupid kiss, that taste of temptation, that taste of the forbidden. He hadn’t been joking when he’d said the only reason there was no tongue in it was because he knew who she was. That was also the only reason he hadn’t kept her in that box and gone on kissing her. They wouldn’t have been disturbed. He could have slid his hands up her legs, pulled her against him. He could have—Stop. He had to stop this. He’d call the sophisticated and available divorcée he’d met last week as soon as he handed Lexie—Alexia, dammit—over.
There would be two cars at the airport. He and Adam seldom traveled together. It wouldn’t do to have both male heirs wiped out at once in the event of either an accident or an act of terrorism. He’d be on his own at last. Away from her smile, away from her scent. Away from her hopeful, idealistic naivety.
He’d hand her to Adam, he’d see the two of them together and cement it in his mind that she belonged with his brother, her knight in shining armor. The most she could ever be to him was his sister-in-law.
Security staff escorted them to the terminal. Alexia walked close to him. There was tension in the rigid set to her shoulders, in the stiffly held neck. He wanted to take her hand, in a brotherly fashion, he tried to tell himself. Reassuring. But far too open to misinterpretation. So instead he turned to Joseph, the family’s head of security. “This is quite a crowd.” Because despite what he’d said to Alexia, the crowd was considerably larger than he’d expected.
“The forthcoming anniversary celebrations. There’s been something of an upsurge of interest in all things royal. It’s been building for some time.”
Had it? He hadn’t noticed.
“And of course there’s the young lady herself.”
She didn’t turn her head, but Rafe knew she’d heard. She really would make a good royal. He asked on her behalf. “Alexia? Why?”
“The people know she’s a Wyndham. They know the families are close. There’s been some speculation.”
Speculation that because her family once had a claim to the throne that a union now between the two families would somehow complete a circle.
Lexie did glance at him then, her face a little paler than before. He winked. “Just smile and wave, babe. Smile and wave.”
She winked back, a twinkle in her moss-green eyes, then did exactly as he’d suggested. A cheer went up in the crowd along with hundreds of fluttering San Philippe flags.
Minutes later, Rafe leaned against a pillar and watched her from across the royal lounge in the terminal building. Prince Henri, looking far too pleased with himself, had formally welcomed her. Rafe had been surprised to see his father here, revealing just how much importance he was placing on this venture succeeding. Then his sister, Rebecca, had hugged her, and last but by no means least, she had turned to Adam.
And now Lexie—no, Alexia—stood talking to his older brother, pleasure shining in her face.
Adam smiled back at her, his charismatic best. Rafe could discern none of the resentment he would have felt if he was meeting a woman he’d been told he was going to marry.
Of course, Adam was better than that. He was both diplomatic and charming. It was easy to see why Alexia, Alexia, Alexia—he’d say it over to himself a hundred times if he had to—fancied herself half in love with him. He just hoped Adam valued what he was getting. Because though he could be diplomatic and charming—that was part of his job description—he could also be self-absorbed, distant and, well, boring. And though Rafe had originally thought Alexia boring, too, he’d realized the conservatism was a front. A charade, even if she believed it, for the role she wanted to play.
Rafe watched as Adam touched her arm and smiled. Alexia laughed. Demurely.
Mission accomplished. He was free to forget about her and get on with his own life. Rafe turned and slipped away.
