Stepping into the Prince's World (17 page)

‘I...yes. Of course I will. Though maybe you should wait a little. For the next couple of weeks you'll be the target of media.'

‘Then media might be able to help me. If an accusation is made, I'll defend myself.' She took a deep breath. ‘If you're by my side.'

‘You know I will be.'

‘As the proprietor of Attack Dog Security?'

He smiled at that. ‘We need to get Rocky out of quarantine first.'

It was harder to get Rocky back into Australia than it had been to get him to Marétal. He was currently one day into a hefty quarantine period.

‘That's another thing,' she said diffidently. ‘I don't want my dog locked up any more.'

‘Australian quarantine is stringent,' he said, cautious now, not sure where she was going.

‘But if we decided to get back on a plane tomorrow, to return to Marétal, then he'd spend only two more days in a cage.'

What followed was a moment's silence. No, make that more than a moment. It was long and it was filled with questions and it stretched on forever.

‘We?'
Raoul asked, and his voice sounded strange. ‘If
we
decided?'

‘I'm not sending Rocky back without me.' She hesitated, and then she placed the computer carefully out of the way, so there was nothing between them. Nothing at all. She took his hands in hers and held them tight. ‘And I won't go back without you. But I will go back.'

‘Why?' His voice was laced with strain.

‘Because it's right,' she whispered. ‘Because I know it's right. Because your place is there and my place is at your side.'

‘Claire, there'll be...'

‘Media. Intrusion. Lack of privacy. But, hey...' She suddenly cheered up. ‘There'll also be an awesome hairstylist. She's lovely, and I bet as a princess I can have her do my hair every time we have a state occasion.'

‘She can do it every day,' he said grandly. ‘But, love...'

‘Mmm?' She'd moved on. She was starting to think about personal hairstylists. And the palace gardens, which surely beat the rocks of Orcas Island. And a library. And chandeliers...

‘What are you thinking?' he asked uneasily, and she grinned.

‘If the Queen can have a chandelier in her bedroom I don't see why I can't have one.'

‘You can have ten.' And then he reconsidered. ‘But not as big as the one in the ballroom?'

‘No?' She sounded gutted, and he laughed, and then he drew her to him and his face grew serious.

‘Claire, what are you saying? You know I love you, but this is huge. You're a private person. You'll be in a goldfish bowl.'

‘We can buy curtains.'

‘Claire...'

‘I just figured it out,' she said, cupping his face in her hands, holding him, loving him. ‘It's taken me a while, but I have it. This courage thing... Do you remember in the water? I saved you and you saved me right back? As a team, imagine how much more we could save. Imagine how we could save each other.'

‘We could do it here,' he said urgently. ‘With our Killer Attack—'

‘Don't tempt me.' She put a finger on his mouth, shushing him. ‘I've been an idiot. If I have you beside me why do I need privacy? Why do I need anything but you? And you... Raoul, you're needed in Marétal. You know you are. I'll never forget that you've given me this choice, but if you stay here you'll worry about your country. You'll worry about your grandparents. You'll worry about security and whether your people can get legal assistance and proper education and healthcare. And, as much as I know that the Attack Dog Security team could do some vital work, keeping the citizens of Australia safe, I suspect that we could do more in Marétal. If we work together.'

There was another pause—a pause so long she didn't know how to break it.

Raoul's hands gripped hers so tightly they hurt.

‘You'd do that?' he asked her in a voice choked with emotion. ‘For me?'

‘No.' She shook her head. ‘I've been stupid. I've been a coward. And I didn't see I'd be doing it for
us
. I'm even thinking Cinders had a point, accepting her Prince's hand on the basis of one glass slipper—though I have to think that she was a wuss, staying in the kitchen waiting for him. I won't wait for you, Raoul. I want you
now
. I want you forever.'

How had things changed so fast? She didn't know. She would never afterwards be able to tell. But all she knew was that they had.

She wasn't a coward. She wasn't the illegitimate kid—the one dressed in secondhand clothes, trying to claw her way up through poverty. She wasn't anyone the Felicitys of this world could stomp over.

She was Claire, and she was loved by Raoul, she thought. She was loved by her man.

And then she forgot to think, because she was being kissed—kissed as she needed to be kissed, as she deserved to be kissed—and she kissed him back. And there was nothing else to be said for a very long time.

And afterwards—when the kiss was finally done, when there was room again for words between them—Raoul pushed her back and his dark eyes gleamed.

‘Diamonds,' he told her, with all the authority of the Royal House of Marétal behind him. ‘This very afternoon. Do you still want the back way and tinted limousines?'

‘Not on your life,' she told him. ‘I want a chariot or six. Where do you think we can find a pumpkin, a few mice and a fairy godmother?'

CHAPTER TWELVE

T
HEY
WERE
MARRIED
six months later, with all the pomp and ceremony Queen Alicia could manage. She had decreed that a royal wedding must be a showcase of splendour, and so it was. Every dignitary in the land was there, plus as many of Europe's aristocracy as she'd been able to summon.

But no one had needed much summoning. This was a day of joy, and the world was waiting and willing to share.

The bride arrived at the cathedral in a magnificent, horse-drawn coach, with the Horseguards of Marétal parading before her. By Claire's side was King Marcus.

‘A girl has to have someone to give her away,' Marcus had said, emerging from his library to give a decree of his own. ‘You've almost single-handedly saved the royal family of Marétal. Unless there's someone else at hand to do it, it would be my very great honour to assist.'

And Claire had joyfully agreed.

Marcus was her future father-in-law.

Marcus was the King of Marétal.

Marcus was her ally and her friend.

She seemed to have lots of friends now, she thought, though she was still dubious about many. There'd even been a fawning letter from one of the associates at her old law firm...

You always seemed such a loner, but I was thinking...we did enjoy shopping together. And I've always been on your side, even though I couldn't say. I needed my job too much. If you need a bridesmaid...

Claire most definitely didn't. That appalling time was best forgotten.

Thanks to Raoul's intervention, Felicity and her partner were now facing a hefty jail sentence, and there'd been an ‘undisclosed' amount of compensation paid into Claire's bank account. There'd been media coverage of the entire case.

So now it could be forgotten—and today of all days who would think of it?

There were crowds lining the streets, smiling and cheering.

‘Wave,' Marcus told her, and she thought of how anonymous she'd always wanted to be.

But she managed to wave, and Marcus waved, too, and she thought,
We're two of a kind. Two introverts in the royal spotlight
.

And then she stopped thinking, for they'd reached the cathedral. Henri was handing her down from the coach. Henri, too, had become a true friend, as had her gorgeous hairstylist, who was currently fussing over her train.

And then it was time.

The doors to the cathedral were flung wide. The sound of trumpets rose triumphantly to the skies.

‘Ready?' Marcus asked.

She took a deep breath and nodded. They trod regally—as she'd practised—up the great steps, in through the nave.

The cathedral opened up before them, magnificent in its age and beauty. It was filled with every dignitary in the land, plus so many people who were Raoul's friends and who were becoming her friends.

Raoul stood at the altar. Beside him was Tom, owner of
Rosebud
—because Raoul had thought, Who else could be his best man? The soldier who'd lent him his unseaworthy boat, which had led to him being saved by Claire, was the obvious choice.

But Raoul had saved her back, Claire thought mistily as the sound of trumpets filled the cathedral, as the congregation rose to its feet, and as Raoul turned and smiled at her.

Raoul's smile...

That was what had got her into this mess, she thought. That was the whole trouble.

That was the whole joy.

He smiled, and the over-the-top setting was forgotten. She'd practised walking in this amazing dress, with its vast train, with its priceless adornments. She'd practised keeping step with Marcus. She'd even practised her vows.

But who could think of any of those things when Raoul was standing at the end of the aisle waiting for her?

Raoul. Her heart. Her destiny.

He was in full royal regalia. He looked magnificent, but she wasn't seeing the uniform. She was only seeing Raoul.

Theirs wouldn't be a marriage like that of Marcus and Alicia, she thought mistily. Raoul wanted—needed—her to share his kingdom and of course she would.

For she wasn't unequal. She was loved. She and Raoul were meant to be forever and ever, she thought, and she managed a tremulous smile back at the man she loved with all her heart.

‘You can do this,' Marcus whispered at her side, and she managed to smile at the old man, the King of Marétal.

‘Of course I can,' she whispered back, and then there was nothing left to be said.

She made her way down the aisle to be married.

* * *

Surely there'd never been a more beautiful royal bride, Raoul thought as he watched Claire and his grandfather walk steadily along the aisle towards him. Even the Queen's eyes were misting with tears.

His beautiful Claire was coming to wed him.

By Raoul's feet sat Rocky. Claire had tried to train him to be the ring-bearer, but in rehearsals he'd proved unreliable to say the least.

‘But he needs to be there,' Claire had said.

So they'd organised a velvet cushion to be placed front and centre. Claire had trained and trained him, and this morning a footman had taken him on a run that should exhaust the most exuberant dog. So he now lay by Raoul's side, looking as if butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.

But he was also watching Claire approach, and he wasn't totally to be trusted.

‘Stay,' Raoul murmured as he stirred, and he looked up at Raoul and thankfully subsided. He wouldn't jump up on the royal bride.

‘She's exquisite,' Tom breathed as Claire grew nearer. ‘You lucky man.'

And that reminded Raoul of the final thing he had to do.

In his pocket was the tiny figure made of plastic building blocks. Herbert. Tom's good luck charm.

He hadn't admitted to Tom that he'd found him, but now it was time.

‘This is yours,' he told Tom. He handed him over but his gaze didn't leave Claire.

‘You found Herbert?' Tom stared down at the tiny figure in astonishment. ‘My good luck Herbert?'

‘I've had him and I've used him,' he told him. ‘But as of today he's all yours. Use him wisely, my friend.'

Tom looked at him in bemusement, and then pocketed Herbert safely beside the royal wedding rings. There were things he wanted to ask, but now wasn't the time.

For Claire had reached her Raoul, and Claire was smiling and smiling, and even a tough Special Forces soldier like Tom was finding it hard not to choke up.

‘My Claire,' Raoul whispered, taking her hands and drawing her forward. ‘My love. Are you ready to be married?'

And Claire's smile softened to a tenderness that must melt the hardest of hearts.

‘How can you doubt it, my love?' she whispered. ‘Indeed I am.'

* * *

Marétal's first legal assistance office was opened six months later. A small, nondescript building, set in the part of the capital where it was most needed, it seemed a bizarre setting for the fanfare that went with the opening. For not only were the King and Queen present, but so were His Royal Highness Crown Prince Raoul and his beautiful wife the Princess Claire.

Claire wore a turquoise and white dress from one of Australia's leading designers. For this she was criticised in the media the following day—
Support Our Industries!

The article beside it also wondered why the royal family was always accompanied by a nondescript fox terrier, when everyone knew the royal dog of Marétal should be the Marétal Spaniel.

Claire read those articles early. For once she'd woken before Raoul and had fetched the papers to read in bed. She smiled when she read them. She then hugged the dog she'd graciously admitted to the royal bedroom—because a woman needed some company before her husband woke.

She thought briefly about the articles and decided that she liked her turquoise and white designer frock very much, regardless of who had designed it. And she loved her dog.

And then she forgot all about them.

For her days were too busy for her to be bothered with criticism. She had better things to be doing than worrying about the day's press.

Things like lying in the arms of her husband. Things like living happily-ever-after.

Finally he was waking.

‘What are you doing, woman?'

Raoul's voice was a sleepy murmur as he tugged her down against him. Passion was never far away. Love was for always.

‘I'm thinking I might get my toenails painted,' she told him, kissing him with all the tenderness he deserved. ‘Louise knows someone who can paint intricate designs on individual toes. Does that seem a good idea?'

There was a moment's pause, and then a fast rearrangement of the bedding while the toes in question were examined.

‘They seem good to me now,' he told her at last. ‘I like them as they are.'

‘They seem like a bare canvas.'

‘What would you like on them?'

‘Storks,' she said complacently. ‘I'm wearing open-toed sandals to my next three functions. I'm wondering if the media will pick it up.'

There was another pause. A longer one.

‘Storks?' he said at last, and she chuckled.

‘Yep. Mind you, if I do it today I'll need to fit the appointment in well before my meeting with the Chief Justice. It wouldn't do to appear before His Lordship with not-yet-dried toes.'

‘I guess it wouldn't.'

But Raoul had ceased his toe inspection. He sat up and gazed at her in bemusement.

Claire smiled at him and thought she'd never seen him look sexier. Mind, it could be the early-morning sun reflected from the crystal chandelier above her head.

No, she thought dreamily. He'd looked just as wonderful back on Orcas Island. Her soldier. Her sailor. Her love.

‘Are we by any chance going to have a baby?' Raoul demanded at last, in a voice that was just a tiny bit strangled.

‘We might be.'

If she sounded like the cat that had got the cream, who could blame her?

‘You're pregnant!'

‘Only a bit.'

Ten weeks. It was time she told him—probably more than time—but life was busy, and he'd fuss, and they were so gloriously happy how could anything make them
more
happy?

But she was wrong. What crossed Raoul's face was a flash of joy so profound she felt her eyes welling with emotion. With love.

‘Claire...'

‘Papa,' she said, and then she could say no more.

She was gathered into his arms and held.

So in the end she had to delay having her toes painted with little storks, and she was sadly late for her meeting with the Chief Justice.

‘There's no use being royal if I can't issue a royal decree,' Raoul declared. ‘And this morning I decree that my wife will lie in my arms until she's listened to every reason why she's cherished. Are there any objections?'

‘No, Your Highness,' she whispered as he folded her into him. ‘I can't think of a single one.'

* * * * *

Keep reading for an excerpt from
UNVEILING THE BRIDESMAID
by Jessica Gilmore.

Get rewarded every time you buy a Harlequin ebook!
Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards
http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003