She’d charmed him right from the beginning. She was such a sweet, lively girl, but with a spark of humor and a quick understanding that seemed to belie her young age. He’d liked her immediately.
Only weeks later her parents had been killed when their light plane went down in the mountains. Andre became her guardian from the first, with the consent of all concerned. He’d been the architect of the treaty and it was up to him to make sure its elements were complied with.
He’d brought her to Diamante Castle and treated her like one of the family from the first. King Harold, his father, was busy with affairs of state, his life’s work, which he’d thrown himself into with a vengeance once Nadine, his wife, queen and Andre’s mother, had been killed by a sniper years before. They rarely conferred. Harold was the sort of man who seemed weighed down by his work. To the casual observer, he was an old grouch. But not to Andre. Andre knew the tragic sorrow he carried with him at all times and he loved him for it.
Still, his father never showed much interest in the young, lively and engagingly coltish girl who’d come to live with them, and it was up to Andre, despite the fact that they were less than ten years apart in age, to act the part of elder authority along with everything else. And the two of them had got on well together. He looked back on those days as some of the happiest of his life.
As she’d grown older, he’d known it couldn’t last. And then came her eighteenth birthday and the dance—and the kiss.
That was when he knew he had to call upon some inner well of strength to get through the next few years until she married. And here they were, with six days left. Was he going to make it?
CHAPTER TWO
“ALL right, Julienne,” Prince Andre said, sitting down on the couch again. “Come clean. How did you manage to escape from the convent?”
She bit her lip and gazed at him levelly. “You see, just the concept of my having to ‘escape’ is offensive. I’m a grown woman.”
He hardly knew how to counter that, because she was right. But that didn’t matter, so he ignored it.
“You must have had help.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “There’s a person who’s always available to help me. He drove me down.”
He felt a flash of anger, but he stifled it. He looked at her, his gaze veiled. “I see. Is he waiting for you outside?”
She hesitated. “I’m afraid he is. Should I …?”
Andre felt every muscle tense. “Does he have a mobile?”
She shook her head. “We don’t have cell phones at the convent.”
A twenty-one year old woman without a phone. How was that possible?
“Where is he?” he asked crisply. “I’ll have someone tell him to go back. I’ll handle your travels from here on out.”
She hesitated, feeling a bit deflated. “But …”
He turned and pinned her with a penetrating look. Her reluctance to do as he asked made him suspicious. “Is he your boyfriend?”
“Oh!” She laughed at the concept. He was old enough to be her grandfather. “No, not at all. He’s an old man.”
Andre frowned. “Older than I am?”
“You?” She looked shocked at the concept. “You’re not old.”
He grinned. He couldn’t help it. “Oh, Julienne, you have no idea.” His gaze met hers and held for a beat too long, and then they both looked quickly away.
“And anyway,” she said, reaching for her lemonade, “where in the world would I get a boyfriend?”
Yes, that had been the whole justification for sending her to be educated in the convent. Hopefully she was telling the truth, and things had worked out just as he’d planned. Lots of study, lots of peace and spirituality, and a complete lack of male companionship. Perfect. The only trouble was, she seemed to have picked up some bad ideas anyway.
Julienne looked around the room nervously, wondering how she was going to cope with this questioning. So far so good—but she was used to the convent, used to quiet. She prayed and read and recited poetry and bible verses. And she dreamed.
For the last few years she’d helped the sisters with the younger girls. She’d been old enough to go away to university, but when she wrote to her guardian about applying he didn’t respond.
So she stayed at the convent and lived a simple, quiet life. Mother Superior had allowed her to enroll in some online college courses and helped her study—and in fact she was well on her way to earning a degree in European history. But lately her interest had flagged. History wasn’t really where her heart lay. It lay in a very secret place where she’d been forbidden to go—many times. What she lived for was not allowed to someone of her stature. The fact was, the Princess of Emeraude loved … to cook.
Pastries, mostly. Fortunately the woman who was the convent cook—and Popov’s wife—thought her ambitions were wonderful and indulged her whenever she could get away with it.
But that was then. Now she was in the real world, dealing with a real man, and she knew she had to be on her toes. And she definitely did not want him to know about the pastry business. That was her special secret.
“Okay,” he said, still not clear on what her day had been like before she’d walked into the casino. “So you found someone to drive you down here to the city. But you didn’t tell them at the convent that you were leaving?”
“Oh, no. They would never have let me go.”
He nodded, feeling slightly reassured.
“In fact,” she went on, feeling chatty now, “I put a ‘do not disturb’ sign on my door, saying that I was studying for an exam. Then I rigged up a dummy in my bed and tiptoed out.”
He groaned and looked pained. “That is the oldest trick in the book.”
She nodded. “It’s old because it works. I’ve done it before.”
“What?” He was back to visions of dangerous boyfriends and hot cars, despite what she’d said, and it was shocking how much he hated that scene as he imagined it. “Julienne …”
She shook her head at him. “Don’t worry, it was just so that I could take walks in the hills without people hunting me down and telling me to be careful every step I took. The convent is a nice, quiet place, but everyone knows what you’re doing at every minute of the day and it can get suffocating.”
“Oh.” It was embarrassing how relieved he felt.
“I see.” “So when I decided I had to come find you, I used it again. It was easy.”
He grimaced. “Why did you feel you had to come all this way? Why not write a letter or send an email? Or even pick up the phone and give me a call?”
She looked outraged by his suggestions. “Are you kidding? I wrote letter after letter detailing all the indignities I was forced to live under at the convent.”
He was glad he’d missed those. “Itemizing your complaints, you mean?” he noted cynically.
“Of course. And I’ve got a few.”
He grimaced. “Spare me.”
“Why should I? You haven’t exactly been