Command Performance (3 page)

His temper had never been easily harnessed. Through years of dedication and determination he’d learned how to channel it. He did so now without taking his eyes from hers. “Because performing at the Fine Arts Center
in Cordina at the request of the royal family would be a career advantage you would be foolish to ignore.” He leaned forward. “I don’t believe you’re a foolish woman, Eve.”

“No, I’m not.” She rose again, but slowly, then waited until he stood on the other side of his desk. “I’ll see the theater first, and I’ll think about it before I ask the members of my troupe.”

“You run the company, don’t you?”

She tilted her head and a lock of hair fell over one eye. With her fingertips she drew it back. “You forget, America’s a democracy, Your Highness. I don’t hand down decrees to my people. If I find the facilities adequate and my troupe agrees, we’ll talk contracts. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to unpack and change before dinner.”

“I’ll have someone show you to your rooms.”

“I know where they are.” She stopped at the door, turned and dropped an arrogant curtsy. “Your Highness.”

“Eve.” He watched her chin jut out. One day, he thought, someone was going to take her up on it. “Welcome to Cordina.”

* * *

She wasn’t a rude person. Eve assured herself of it as she chose a dress for dinner. In fact, she was considered amiable by just about everyone. True, she could get hard-nosed in business dealings, but she’d always considered that in the blood. She wasn’t rude. Except with Alexander.

He asked for it, she told herself as she zipped into a snug, strapless dress in vivid blue silk. He was so aloof and condescending. She didn’t have to tolerate that, heir to the throne or not. They were hardly playing prince and the pauper here. Her pedigree might not be royal, but it was unimpeachable.

She’d gone to the best schools. Maybe she’d hated them, but she’d gone. She’d entertained and been entertained by the rich, powerful and influential all her life. And she’d made something of herself. Not through her family, but through her own skills.

True, she’d discovered early on that her ambition to be an actress was never going to bear very ripe fruit, but her love of the theater hadn’t ebbed. Added to that had been her innate business and organizational skills. The Hamilton Company of Players had been born and had flourished. She didn’t appreciate Alexander the Great coming along and acting as though he were doing her a favor letting her troupe perform in his center.

They’d performed at Lincoln Center, the Kennedy Center, the Mark Taper Forum, and to solid reviews.

She’d worked hard to find the best, to develop talent, to stretch her own boundaries, and he came along and nodded graciously. Scowling, she hooked a thick gold collar around her neck. The Hamilton Company of Players didn’t need his approval, gracious or otherwise.

She
didn’t need his approval or his damn royal seal. And she would be unbearably stupid to refuse to perform in Cordina.

Eve picked up a brush and dragged it through her hair. It was then that she noticed she had only one earring on. He was making her crazy, she decided, and found the teardrop sapphire on her dresser.

Why wasn’t Ben president of the center? Why wasn’t Brie still handling it? With either she could have been easy and relaxed. The job, if she chose to do it, could be done professionally, but without the added headache. What was it about Alexander that set her teeth on edge?

Eve fastened the second earring in place and frowned at her reflection. She could still remember the first time she’d seen him. She’d been twenty, and though he’d been only a few years older, he’d seemed so adult, so dashing. Bennett had led her out for the first dance at the ball, but it had been Alexander she’d watched. She’d been fanciful then, Eve admitted, imagining him as just the sort of prince who rescued damsels in distress and killed dragons. He’d had a sword at his side, for decoration only, but she had seen in her mind how he would wield it.

The crush had come quickly and, thank God, had been gone just as fast. She might have been fanciful, but as Alexander himself had said, she wasn’t foolish. No woman pinned her dreams on the unyielding and disapproving. It had been easy to turn her attention to Bennett.

A pity they hadn’t fallen in love, she thought now. Princess Eve. Laughing at herself, she dropped the
brush. No, that just didn’t fit. Luckily for everyone, she and Bennett had become friends before they had become anything else.

And she had the troupe. It was more than an ambition—it was a purpose. She’d watched friends marry and divorce and marry again, or simply drift from one affair to the next. Too often the reason was simple boredom. She’d never had to worry about that. Running the company would take up twenty-four hours a day if she allowed it. At times it came close, whether she wanted it to or not. If she was attracted to a man, her business and her own caution kept things from getting too serious. So she hadn’t made a mistake. Yet. She didn’t intend to.

Eve picked up her perfume and sprayed it over her bare shoulders before she left the room.

With luck Bennett would be back and lounging in the parlor. Dinner wouldn’t be dull with him around, nor would it be strained for very long. He added spark and enjoyment simply by being. She wasn’t in love with him, but she loved him for that.

As she walked downstairs she trailed her fingers along the smooth banister. So many fingers had trailed there before. When she was inside the palace, she thought of it only as a place, a sturdy, eternal place. If she understood little about Alexander, she understood his pride.

But when she stepped into the parlor and found him there alone, she tensed. Stopping in the doorway, she scanned the room for Bennett.

Good God, she was beautiful. When Alexander turned, it hit him like a blow. It had nothing to do with the silk, with the jewels. She could have dressed in burlap and still stunned the senses. Dark, sultry, just edging over to hot, there was something primitive, something uncomfortably natural about her sexuality that made a man ache just looking. It had been part of her since she had been hardly more than a child. Alexander decided she’d been born with it and cursed her for it.

His body tightened, his face settled into cool lines, as he saw her gaze sweep the room. He knew she was looking for, hoping for, Bennett.

“My brother’s been detained.” He stood with his back to a scrubbed hearth. The dark dinner jacket both
suited and restrained him. “We dine alone this evening.”

Eve stood where she was, as though stepping forward were a commitment she was far from ready to make. “There’s no need to trouble for me, Your Highness. I can easily have dinner in my room if you’d like to make other plans.”

“You’re my guest. My plans are to dine with you.” He turned away to pour drinks. “Come in, Eve. I promise you, I won’t wrestle with you on the floor.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” she said just as politely. Crossing to him, she held her hand out for the drink. “And we weren’t wrestling. I threw him.”

Deliberately he swept his gaze down. She was willow slender and barely higher than his shoulder. He wouldn’t believe she’d thrown his tall, athletic brother physically. But emotionally was another matter. “Admirable. Then I’ll promise I won’t give you the opportunity to throw me. Your rooms are agreeable?”

“Perfect, as always. As I recall, you rarely have free evenings at home. No state dinners or official functions tonight?”

He glanced at her again. The lights were dim, so that they gave her skin the sheen of satin. Perhaps it would feel the same. “We could consider dining with you an official function, if you like.”

“Perhaps I do.” She watched him over the rim as she sipped. “So, Your Highness, do we make polite conversation or discuss world politics?”

“Politics at dinner make for an uneasy appetite. Especially when they’re at odds.”

“That’s true. We never have agreed on many things. Polite conversation, then.” She’d been schooled in it, as he had. Strolling to the bowl of roses, she stroked the petals. “I read that you were in Switzerland a few weeks during the winter. How was the skiing?”

“Excellent.” He didn’t add his real reason for being there, or mention the hours of meetings and discussions. He tried not to look at her long, slender fingers against the deep red roses. “Do you ski?”

“I get to Colorado now and again.” The movement of her shoulders was negligent and noncommittal. How could she expect him to understand that she didn’t have the time for idle games and casual trips? “I haven’t been
to Switzerland since I got out of school there. Being from Houston, I prefer summer sports.”

“Such as?”

“Swimming.”

“Then I should tell you the pool is at your disposal during your stay.”

“Thank you.” Silence. Eve felt her body tensing as it dragged on. “We seem to be out of polite conversation, and we haven’t even had dinner.”

“Then perhaps we should.” He offered his arm, and though she hesitated, Eve slipped hers through it. “The cook recalled that you were particularly fond of his
poisson bonne femme.
”

“Really? How nice.” She unbent enough to smile up at him. “As I recall, I was more particularly fond of his
pôts de crème au chocolat
. I drove my father’s cook mad until she could come up with a reasonable facsimile.”

“Then you should be pleased with tonight’s dessert.”

“I’ll be fat,” she corrected, then stopped at the entrance to the dining room. “I’ve always admired this room,” Eve murmured. “It’s so ageless, so permanent.” She studied it again, the two glistening chandeliers that spilled light onto a massive table and lovingly polished floors. The size didn’t intimidate her, though more than a hundred could fit at the table.

As a rule, she might prefer the cozy, the more intimate, but the room had such power. Because she had grown up with it, power was something she expected as well as respected. But it was more the very age of the room that fascinated her. If she were very still, very quiet, she thought she could almost hear the conversations that had gone on there through the centuries.

“The first time I had dinner here, I was shaking like a leaf.”

“Were you?” Interested, he didn’t usher her in, but stayed at the entrance beside her. “I remember you being remarkably composed.”

“Oh, I’ve always been good at false fronts, but inside I was terrified. Here I was, fresh out of school and having dinner in a palace.”

“And this time?”

She wasn’t sure why it was necessary, but she slipped her arm from his. “I’ve been out of school quite a while.”

Two places were set at the table with candelabras and fresh flowers. Eve took her place at the side and left the head for Alexander. As they sat, a servant poured wine.

“It seems odd,” she said after a moment. “Whenever I’ve been here before, the palace has been full of people.”

“Gabriella and Reeve rarely stay here now that they’re settled at the farm. Or farms,” he corrected. “They split their time between their countries.”

“Are they happy?”

His brow rose as he picked up his glass. “Happy?”

“Yes, you know, happy. It comes somewhere down the list after duty and obligation.”

He waited silently as plates of chilled lobster were served. She had been too close to the mark with her talk of lists. He could never put his happiness before his duty, his feelings before his obligations. “My sister doesn’t complain. She loves her husband, her children and her country.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“The family has done their best to lessen some of her duties.”

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it, that after that terrible time she went through, she has everything.” She saw his knuckles whiten on his fork, and reached automatically for his hand. “I’m sorry. Even after all this time it must be difficult to think of.”

He said nothing for a moment, just looked down at her hand, white, slender, covering his. It soothed. He’d never expected that. If it had been possible for him, he would have turned his over to grip hers. “It will always be difficult to think of, and impossible to forget that you were a part of saving both my sister and my brother.”

“I only ran for help.”

“You kept your head. If you hadn’t, we would have lost both of them.”

“I’ll never forget it, either.” Realizing her hand was still on his, Eve drew it away and made a business out
of picking up her wine. “I can still see that woman’s face.”

“Deboque’s lover.”

He said it with such restrained violence, she shuddered. “Yes. The way she looked when she was holding that gun on Brie. That’s when I realized palaces weren’t just fairy tales. I’m sure you’re all glad she and Loubet and Deboque are in prison.”

“And will remain there. But Deboque has pulled strings from behind bars before.”

“Has there been more? Bennett and I have spoken of it, but—”

“Bennett needs lessons in discretion.”

She flared, swallowing a retort as one course was cleared and another served. “He didn’t reveal any state secrets. We were simply remembering once—just as you and I are now—that Deboque had been in prison but had arranged for Brie’s kidnapping through her secretary and your father’s minister of state. He said he’d be uneasy as long as Deboque was alive. I told him it was nonsense, but maybe I was wrong.”

“To be a public figure is to be uneasy.” It was simpler to accept that than to remember his own feeling of helplessness, of watching his sister struggle through her trauma and pain. “The Bissets have ruled Cordina for generations. As long as we do, we make enemies. All of them are not, cannot be, in prison.”

There was more. She sensed it but knew better than to try to make Alexander open up to her. If she wanted to know, when she wanted to know, she would go to Bennett. “It sounds like commoners have the advantage, Your Highness.”

“Yes.” With a smile she didn’t understand, he picked up his fork.

* * *

They dined companionably enough, more companionably than Eve would have imagined. He didn’t relax. She wondered about that as they eased through courses toward dessert and coffee. He was pleasant, polite—and on edge. She wanted to help, to ease away the tension so obvious in the set of his shoulders. But he wasn’t a man to
accept help from an outsider.