“You’re refusing my suggestion because I’m a prince?” he said more than asked, and he didn’t sound particularly pleased.
She shrugged. “Well, yes. It’s not as if a relationship between you and me could go anywhere. Obviously, you agree it’s a dead-end adventure. And if you fell in love with me, it would be terribly messy.”
He stared at her in amazement. “If I fell in love with you?”
She nodded. “It has happened before.”
“I suppose it didn’t occur to you that you could fall in love with me,” he said in a lethally sexy voice.
She swallowed over a knot of denial. “It’s not likely,” she said.
He tilted his head to one side. “Why is that, chérie?”
Her nerve endings were still leap-frogging over themselves, but she refused to give in to the situation. “Because I’ve never fallen in love before. Why on earth would I start with you?”
He blinked as if he hadn’t heard her correctly.
“Well, other than the fact that you’re sexy, intelligent and probably loaded,” she said and felt as if she were digging herself deeper into a hole. She didn’t like the quicksand sensation at all. Eve preferred staying in control and that was what she would do right now. “I think we should just forget this ever happened.”
He laughed, which infuriated her. “Do you think you can do that? Do you think it will be that easy?”
“We’re both adults,” she said, pushing aside her doubts. “I’ve had to exercise mind over matter many times during my life. I’m sure you have, too. There,” she said, extending her hand. “Let’s shake on it.”
He took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he shook his head. Then he lifted her hand and turned it so her wrist was open and vulnerable. He pressed his mouth against her skin, and she felt her pulse jump. “Sorry, Eve, I don’t make promises I don’t intend to keep.”
Eve successfully avoided Stefan for the next three days. She told herself that if she created some distance between herself and the kiss that had somehow turned into an event, then she would gain the proper perspective, which was that it had been just a kiss and the reason she’d experienced all those feelings was because she’d been tired. Most important, she felt more in control when she wasn’t around Stefan.
The day before the parade, she was checking off the items on her countdown list. She couldn’t deny a bit of nerves in anticipation of the event, but was satisfied she’d done as much preparation as possible during the time she’d been in Chantaine. She’d touched base with all the riders except for Count Christo. The man had completely ignored her calls. He was the one who liked to wield a whip, and she was determined to find a way to extract it from him before he mounted one of her darlings.
She picked up the phone to call the groomer, when she heard a knock on her door. Glancing up, she found Phillipa in the doorway. “Well, hello, Your Highness. What brings you here?”
Plastering a smile on her face, Phillipa laced her fingers together, then unlaced them. “Please call me Phillipa. This is just a little visit. I know the big day is tomorrow and I wanted to see how you’re doing.”
Eve noticed that the bookish princess shifted from one foot to the other. “Is something wrong?”
“Oh, what could be wrong?” Phillipa asked, walking into the small office. “Have you been here all day? Did you go out for lunch?”
Confused, Eve wondered what was behind Phillipa’s discomfort. “We’ve been grooming today, so I’ve been here since 6:00 a.m. I ate a sandwich at my desk for lunch. Are you sure there’s nothing bothering you? Are you concerned about the parade tomorrow?”
Phillipa waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, no. People don’t focus on me. I know how to keep a low profile.”
“Okay,” Eve said, still confused by the visit. “Is there something I can do for you?”
Phillipa shrugged and smiled again a bit too brightly. “Not a thing. Stefan and Bridget both have events today, so they asked me to stop in and visit you.”
“That was nice,” Eve said, torn between the royals’ compassion and her desire for them to have complete confidence in her. “I’ve hammered out all the details.”
Phillipa clasped her hands together. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”
“Double check my to-do list for tomorrow, give the beauties a little extra attention, then hit the sack,” she said. “Why?”
“Just curious. I can have chef deliver a light dinner to your quarters,” she said.
“Not necessary. I won’t be eating much anyway.”
“Oh, I insist,” Phillipa said. “All of us are very pleased with the job you’re doing. We’re very happy that you’re here in Chantaine.”
“Thank you,” she said, wishing she could feel more pleased, but something just didn’t ring right about this situation. Although Phillipa had been warm and friendly to Eve, she’d never visited her in the stables. Eve had been told the youngest princess was working a grueling schedule to complete her advanced degree as quickly as possible.
“You’re welcome. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow,” Phillipa said and turned away.
Eve frowned for a moment. Something was going on, but she wasn’t sure what it was. She groaned in frustration. Maybe she was just being paranoid.
After a restless night, Eve arose when it was dark and dressed in a formal riding outfit. She much preferred to stay in the background but had been told that the press might ask her a few questions. After eating a protein bar and drinking a cup of coffee, she went to the stables and supervised the rest of the grooming. The parade was scheduled for two o’clock and would depart from the Palace Square.
One of her missions was to separate Count Christo from his famed whip. The elderly man strutted around his assigned horse. Eve had assigned the man Pilar, a lovely older mare. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” Eve said to the count. “Pardon me, I’m Eve Jackson, the royal stable master. I’ve heard of you. Aren’t you the famous Count Christo?”
The count lifted his shoulders and chin in a show of pride. “Yes, I am, and yes, this is a lovely mare. Are you sure she’ll be able to keep up with me? I’m quite the horseman, you know,” he said, pulling out his whip and tapping it against his hand.
Eve’s stomach dipped at the sight of the whip. “Pilar has one of the best pedigrees in the prince’s stable. She has spirit and she responds well to a gentle lead. I’m sure you’ve encountered that kind of mount before.”
“Of course,” he said, still tapping his hand with the whip.
“Would you mind if I looked at your whip? I’ve never seen one quite like that before,” she said.
“It’s been passed down through generations of my family. Napoleon gave it to one of my great-uncles,” he said as he handed it to her.
“It looks as if it’s barely been used at all,” she said, sliding her fingers over the leather.
“Oh, of course not,” the count said. “It’s mostly for show. A true horseman only uses a whip in the direst circumstance.”
A sliver of relief slid through her and she smiled. “You’re a wise man.”
“You were worried I would whip the horse,” he mused, surprising her with his perception.
“It’s my job to be protective of them and anyone who rides them,” she said.
His lips lifted in a half smile. “Don’t worry. The whip shall remain sheathed.”