‘Ma’am?’
‘Yes.’
He opened his mouth as if to speak and then gave a small shake of his head. ‘No matter. You’re right. We should get back.’
They rode back in a silence broken only by the soft thud of the horses’ hooves on the turf. But she couldn’t help but study her companion, marvel at the tug of attraction she felt. He was not her type of man at all. The few men she’d dated in the past had all been average, pleasant...safe. This man was none of those. Though he’d been courteous, she sensed he would wield ruthlessness wherever necessary. As for safe—she could still feel the touch of his fingers in her hair as he’d brushed away the straw. Perhaps it was for the best that tonight he would return to his royal duties in Aguilarez; if she saw him again it would be a flash of a familiar face in a retinue.
They arrived at the stables; he dismounted with a lithe grace and headed towards her to help her alight. Hurriedly Gabi removed her foot from the stirrup and swung her leg over the horse’s back. Too hurriedly as it turned out. The horse shook her head and pranced. Caught in the length of the borrowed coat, Gabi lost her usual balance and with a muttered curse slid in an ungainly fashion from the horse.
Was caught in a firm hold that steadied her whilst also sending her pulse rate into overdrive. She could smell his aftershave and the woodsy smell made her dizzy. She could feel the hard muscle of his body against her back, his arms around her waist.
For a heartbeat they remained standing there and then he released her, stepped back and she turned. Their eyes caught and he cleared his throat; dark brown eyes seemed to sear into her own. ‘I should have remembered...to warn you... Arya always gets a bit spooked when you dismount.’
‘It’s OK. I should’ve known to take more care with a horse that doesn’t know me.’ Her voice too breathless as awareness swirled around them. He was so close she could reach out and touch him, so close that if she took a step forward and stood on tiptoe she could kiss him...
As if his mind travelled the same path his eyes darkened and desire sparked and ignited. ‘Your coat,’ she managed, through lips that seemed parched. Quickly she shrugged out of it, handed it over.
‘Thank you.’ Another stretch of silence and then, ‘You had better get back in. I will tend to the horses.’
‘Thank you for the escort and the midnight ride.’ She wanted to say more, knew she couldn’t. After all, she could hardly ask for a repeat date.
‘You’re very welcome, ma’am. And, truly, you have no need to worry about the ball tomorrow. You will dazzle everyone, including Prince Cesar. I know it.’
‘Th...thank you.’ Her brain seemed to be on auto repeat, because in truth their bodies were talking a whole different language. As if propelled by her hormones alone Gabi stepped forward, saw the man’s eyes glance to her lips then back up to her face. For a second she thought he was going to kiss her, felt her lips part and her eyes close in sheer toe-tingling anticipation. Tried to grab onto common sense—princesses did not kiss strangers in the palace stables.
As if he recalled the same, he held out his hand, took hers and, lifting it to his lips, he kissed it. The old-fashioned gesture sent a shiver down her spine, and she wanted, yearned to take the initiative, step forward and cup his face, brush her lips against his.
But she couldn’t. She mustn’t. Because she was the Crown Princess on the morning of her presentation ball. So she did nothing.
‘Goodbye, ma’am.’
‘Goodbye...’ As he headed to the stables she watched him walk away, realised she didn’t even know his name, wondered if she would ever see her mystery man again. Not, of course, that he was hers... That would be ridiculous.
CESAR ENTERED THE glittering ballroom, which was resplendent with Christmas glory. Two enormous, magnificently decorated trees shone and twinkled and filled the air with the scent of pine and festivity. Lit chandeliers hung in illuminated splendour from the vaulted ceilings. Wreaths adorned the walls, and the arches and pillars were festooned with trails of greenery. Cesar walked behind his parents, flanked by his older brothers and their wives and his younger sister Flavia. The united front of the Asturias family had scrubbed up well: his mother’s ash-blonde hair sported the famous Asturian diamond tiara, her ice-blue gown was elegant and an echo of her eyes; his father and brothers looked supremely regal in their tuxes, their wives suitably designer-gowned and all gracious smiles. Flavia nudged him in the ribs. ‘I feel sorry for poor Princess Gabriella. We look like an invading force for all our smiles.’
Now guilt pulsed as he remembered Gabriella’s expressed fears, the dread she felt at the prospect of meeting the Aguilarez royals. Dammit—he should have told her who he was last night, offered reassurance. But once he’d realised she had no clue as to his identity, he had been unable to resist the opportunity to discover more about the real Gabriella Ross. He had little doubt she would have presented a very different side if she’d known the truth. Now at least he knew there was a spark of attraction, a base to build from. He’d sensed that from the moment he’d seen her sprawled in the straw; known with satisfaction, by the end of the moonlit ride, that the spark was mutual.
Anyway, there was no need for guilt; he had sent a letter of explanation so she wouldn’t be taken by surprise. He suspected she’d be hopping mad but as a queen-to-be she would have to school herself to mask the emotion in public. Cesar did realise that a furious woman was not the best start to Campaign Marriage but his plan was to use the ball to advance a charm offensive.
‘Cesar.’ His sister’s hiss pulled him back to the ballroom. Dignitaries and officials lined the walls, awaiting the all-important presentation that would indicate to the world that Meribel’s actions and the arrival of a new ruler had not affected the alliance between Casavalle and Aguilarez.
His parents advanced slowly down the deep gold and blue carpet laid on the marbled floor towards where the House of Valenti awaited. Now Cesar’s gaze was drawn unerringly to Gabriella and his breath hitched in his chest. The beauty that had poleaxed him the previous night was now on full display.
Her dress was an incredible concoction of elegance. Black and white, wide skirted, with an intricacy of lace and embroidered flowers over a white tulle. The straps were made of delicately shaped flowers that skimmed the creamy skin of her shoulders and Cesar’s throat parched. Her chestnut hair fell in loose waves around a face of classic beauty, though he could see a shadow in her brown eyes, a tension in her smooth jawline. As she greeted his parents, he heard the murmur of her Canadian-twanged voice, the words a little breathless, a little rehearsed, the smile slightly strained, but overall she held up well and he found himself applauding inwardly. Next his brothers and now it was his turn.
Deep brown eyes raised to look at his face, the automatic greeting started, ‘Welcome your...’ then her voice trailed off, those brown eyes widened in shock and he realised in that instant that the letter had not reached her, decided that his hapless aide was toast. ‘What are you doing h...?’ Now her eyes narrowed as she put two and two together and he could see the anger dawn, heard the buzz of interest begin to hum round the room.
Cesar bowed. ‘It is an honour to meet you, Your Royal Highness,’ he said. It might be against protocol to interrupt but he knew it was better than allowing her to continue.
Gabriella looked down and then back up again and he could see the effort it took her to speak through no doubt gritted teeth. ‘And you...it is a pleasure to see you here. I know your ambassadorial duties are heavy and I’m very happy that you were able to make it in honour of our countries’ continued friendship.’
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