His Bride for the Taking (7 page)

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.

L
exie tried to concentrate. Her dinner companion, a senior San Philippe politician, his chest weighted down with medals, whose name she had already forgotten, was explaining the evolution of the country’s political system. Sadly, the throbbing in her head and the complexities of the system combined to leave her floundering. The enthusiastic playing of the band wasn’t helping her efforts. She could only hope that her smiles and nods at least convinced her companion that she was both following and interested in his discourse, and not secretly wondering whether it was too soon to leave. He paused to reach across the table for a profiterole.

At first the state dinner had been exciting, the long tables set with so much silver cutlery and crystal that beneath the light of the chandeliers they gleamed with
the brilliance of diamonds. Then there were the guests, the elite and powerful of San Philippe, the beautiful of San Philippe. But after a while it had become just another dinner spent having to make conversation with people she didn’t know.

Which wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been for her steadily worsening headache. A maid had styled her hair. Lexie loved the elegant twist—it was perfect for a formal dinner, but she hadn’t realized quite how tightly her hair had been pulled until the aching in her head began.

She found herself yearning for pizza eaten in silence while she looked out over city lights at nighttime, her feet resting on an ottoman.

Massaging her temple, Lexie looked at the head table, where Adam sat deep in conversation with an elder statesman. He had explained that it would be best for them not to be seated together tonight. No point in adding fire to the already circulating rumors just yet. She completely understood and agreed. Already she felt as if she were under a microscope.

Looking around she caught sight of Rafe, farther up her table and on the opposite side, watching her. She couldn’t fathom the expression in his dark eyes and couldn’t quite explain the effect it had on her, causing a strange discomfort. He raised his wineglass in a mock salute, then turned to the voluptuous, sophisticated blonde at his side.

Lexie’s companion finished his profiterole, wiped cream from his fingers onto his linen napkin and invited her to dance. As far as she could see, she had
no choice but to accept. Taking her arm, he escorted her to the dance floor and pulled her into a formal and rigid clasp for the waltz. Lexie looked over his shoulder to avoid staring at the droplet of cream caught in his moustache.

As they danced, he continued talking politics. Specifically, his rise through parliament, and the problems with the younger politicians who thought they knew everything. Who knew one song could last so long?

Finally, the music slowed and quieted, but then segued immediately into another melody. “By the time I was elected for my third term,” he said, giving her no opportunity to decline another dance.

Rafe appeared behind his shoulder and tapped it. “Mind if I cut in, Humphrey?”

Humphrey, that was his name.

Humphrey released her, took a step back, bowed slightly, then bowed again to Rafe. “Of course not, sir.” He moved aside.

Rafe stepped in front of her. His gaze swept the length of her beaded, ice-blue gown; his undisguised masculine approval warmed her. Gentle yet sure, he took her hand in his, placed his other hand at the curve of her waist. “Thank you,” she said, when what she really wanted to do was hug him in sheer gratitude.

“Dancing with Humphrey after being seated next to him for the last two hours seemed a little too much to have to put up with. Even for a woman who wants to marry Adam.”

“That almost sounds chivalrous. And definitely thoughtful.”

“Hmm. I suppose it was,” he said, sounding surprised. They danced a few steps. “Ironic, really, isn’t it?”

“What is?” She rested her left hand on the broad strength of his shoulder, felt the power beneath her touch.

“That tonight you really do have a headache,” he said as they began to waltz, “but don’t feel you can leave.”

She hadn’t thought she’d given it away, or that Rafe had been watching her closely enough to notice. “My penance, I guess. Though I have to admit I was wondering about the protocol for leaving.”

He grinned and said nothing further. They danced in silence, his movements altogether more fluid and easy than Humphrey’s as he led her around the room. When the band next stopped, he dropped his hand from her waist and shifted to stand beside her, keeping her right hand held in his. “This way,” he said. They were on the far side of the dance floor and he began leading her, not back to her seat, but in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?”

“You want to leave, don’t you?”

She hesitated. “I shouldn’t.”

He led her onward. “Why not? You’ve had a long day, and you’re jet-lagged.”

“Same as you.”

“Which is why I’m leaving.”

“Really?”

He stopped and turned to face her. “There are some
things I don’t joke about. Besides, you have a headache. A real one this time.”

Leave her first official dinner early? Wouldn’t that be bad form? “You said yourself that I’d have to sit through these things till the bitter end.”

“You will have to stay. Once you become princess.”

“If.”

“If. Whatever. But now? Now you have a valid excuse. Now you’re under the radar, just. Now might be your only chance.”

She glanced at the head table.

“Adam won’t mind.” He read her thoughts, and mercifully didn’t add that Adam likely wouldn’t notice. They’d had a lovely but brief meeting this afternoon. He had shown her round some of the palace’s enormous manicured gardens, including the renowned labyrinth.

As they’d walked arm in arm in the sunshine, he had explained the gardeners’ efforts at conservation of his country’s native flora. He was knowledgeable and gentlemanly, and alert to her fatigue. It had been a relief to be in the company of someone easy to be with, not like Rafe, who always seemed to be watching her and whose presence filled Lexie with a strange tension.

She and Adam had parted to prepare for this evening. But throughout the meal, he had only once looked her way and had nodded—almost paternally—at her before returning to his conversation.

Rafe, on the other hand, had caught her out more than once looking at him.

“He asked me to keep an eye on you.”

She smiled. “What did you say?” She couldn’t imagine he would have been pleased to have his babysitting duties extended.

“I said yes.”

“Just yes?”

He smiled back, real warmth in his eyes. “Of course, just yes.”

“Liar.”

His smile widened. “Come on, Lexie.”

Escaping with Rafe held infinitely more appeal than staying. But it was his use of her name that swayed her. Reminded her that he was her friend. Because only her friends called her Lexie.

None of the staff seemed surprised to see them as they slipped through a kitchen the size of a house. She couldn’t suppress a gurgle of laughter as Rafe grasped her hand to lead her around counters and past the souschefs and kitchen hands, most of whom seemed to be shouting at each other.

“Rupert.” Rafe acknowledged the man who stood, arms folded, surveying the entire kitchen.

Rupert, impressive gray sideburns showing from beneath his chef’s hat, glanced at his watch. “You lasted well tonight, sir.”

“By the time I’m your age, I expect I’ll be able to last a whole evening.”

“I’m sure everyone looks forward to that day.”

“Everyone except me,” Rafe said on a smile, not breaking his stride.

“I take it you do this often?” Lexie asked.

“Since the very first state dinner I attended. Rupert
was on dishes back then. He helped me find my way out of this maze.”

“Couldn’t we just have gone out the doors we came in?”

“Far less attention drawn to us this way. Too many people watch the doors.”

“It’s only because of my headache that I’m leaving. I have a valid reason. I don’t need to be sneaking about.” Although, oddly, from the moment she’d decided to leave, the headache had begun to diminish.

“So if I told you about a nightclub not too far away, where they play the most amazing music?”

“I wouldn’t be even remotely tempted.” Though she couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to dance with Rafe. Truly dance. And to watch the way he moved. Not like their earlier formal waltz, which she now recognized as merely a part of his escape plan.

They passed through another door and stepped into an empty, dimly lit corridor. As the door swung shut behind them, the chaos and noise of the kitchen ceased. Silence swamped them. He stopped and turned to face her, blocking her way. “Liar,” he said in a whisper. “You’d be tempted.”

And suddenly she wasn’t sure what temptation he was referring to. The temptation of dancing or the temptation of him? The memory of the kiss that shouldn’t have happened came back to her, flooding her with warmth. And she remembered, too, the even earlier kiss. One that back then had hinted at things she’d only guessed at.

Lexie couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

Abruptly Rafe stepped back and turned to keep walking. Lexie clenched her fists at her side. She just needed to get away from here, away from him. She needed to spend time with Adam.

They continued in silence, along corridors, past opulent room after opulent room, climbed broad, sweeping staircases, till finally he stopped in front of a door she recognized as her own.

Lexie pushed open the door and turned back to face Rafe, keeping one hand on the handle. “Thank you.”

He was looking over her shoulder and she followed his gaze, saw her nightgown, green and flimsy, laid out on her turned-back bed. Then she looked in the region of Rafe’s too-broad chest. “Good night.”

Gentle fingers under her chin tipped her head up so that short of closing her eyes she had to meet his gaze. She couldn’t interpret what she saw in his dark eyes. It was close to anger, and yet not. “Good night, Lexie.” He stood close, radiating heat.

For a second neither of them moved. She felt as powerless as she had outside the kitchen, as though he somehow sapped her strength, diverted her will. In a way that was all wrong and exhilaratingly right.

All wrong. She focused on that thought. She was here to get to know Adam, not the Frog Prince. She wanted Adam to look at her with something of what was in Rafe’s gaze. She wanted to feel with Adam that same yearning she felt now to lean into Rafe, to slide her arms around him.

She was lonely. That’s all it was. She was away from her home, her country, and despite her years of contact
with Adam, the last few days with Rafe meant it was him she knew best. It was only natural that she wanted to turn to him. Once she’d spent more time with Adam, that would change.

Her breath caught as Rafe lifted his hand to her hair. She felt quick deft movements and then her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. “Better,” he murmured, and she wasn’t sure whether it was a statement or a question. He ran his fingers down a lock, then lifted her hand, turned it over, uncurled her fist and dropped her clips into her palm.

“Go to bed, Lexie.”

Rafe tried to concentrate on his father’s words as the prince made his speech for the official opening of the anniversary-week celebrations. The proximity of the woman seated on his left between him and his brother made the task almost impossible. The woman who’d been nothing but trouble since that first day in Boston. Big trouble—no matter how placid and regal she looked in her rose-colored dress with her beautiful hair pulled up into a twist at the back of her head.

When he’d convinced her that coming here was the right thing to do, he’d thought that that would be his reprieve. Showed how wrong he was.

At least now she wasn’t his problem. Her relationship with Adam was progressing. They’d spent most of the two days she’d been here together. The fact that she was seated at Adam’s right was significant. Did she know that little tidbit, and what it signaled, would have the
royal-watchers all aflutter and would be all over the newspapers by tomorrow morning?

She was getting her wish, her dream come true.

He’d been observing—watching and listening to Adam. His brother was solicitous toward Lexie, charming. Smiling and handsome. They looked good together. They made the perfect couple. That fact should please Rafe.

But it didn’t.

He didn’t know why he was so fascinated with Lexie. Possibly it was only because he couldn’t have her. Couldn’t
ever
have her. Maybe he needed to date even more. Find someone like her. No. Not like her. Because he didn’t want serious. The problem with Lexie was that she confused him, somehow tied him up in knots, made him forget the principles that let him comfortably live his life.

Suddenly she laughed, along with the crowd, at one of his father’s jokes, the sound a delight.

As soon as the speeches were done—there would be several more after this one—he was getting out of here. He needed to be somewhere, anywhere else. Maybe even a different country, if he could arrange it.

Lexie glanced at him, her face alight with her recent laughter, her eyes sparkling.

She leaned closer and started to speak.

“Lexie, listen to my father.” He cut off whatever she’d been about to say.

Lush, rose-colored lips shut together.

He hadn’t done it to stop her talking, although that was probably a good thing, but he’d realized his father
had started telling a story about Marie, Rafe’s mother, something he’d seldom done in the years since her death, preferring to keep his memories private. And he was discussing his hopes and dreams, something he never did, either, because he didn’t believe in them, believing in facts and work and duty.

Henri turned to the side of the dais and Lexie’s mother, Antonia, walked in, looking both serene and smug as she made her way to stand beside Rafe’s father.

They both looked at Adam and Lexie. It meant only one thing. Rafe followed their gazes, saw Lexie’s surprise and confusion. Adam wasn’t confused, Adam knew precisely what was happening, though Rafe was guessing Adam hadn’t sanctioned it because he saw the infinitesimal shake of Adam’s head, the subtle glare at their father.