Etienne slipped into the ballroom using a side door. His parents would have his head for being late. But the matter couldn’t be helped, he thought, his mouth firming into a grim line. He could only meet with the most trusted members of his Intelligence Service when everyone else was otherwise occupied.
Ruthless rumors were afloat. It had been reported to him that a person—or persons—within his father’s cabinet wanted to seize control of the neighboring country of St. Michel. Etienne was appalled that someone wanted to take advantage of the de Bergeron family when they were still in mourning over the loss of King Philippe. The idea was barbaric in this day and age.
Granted, the unexpected death of the king left the country with no male heir—and it was common knowledge that the law of St. Michel declared that females could not rule. It was an archaic edict, but legally enforceable, nonetheless. No war would be fought. Not a single Rhineland soldier would march across St. Michel’s border. This battle would be waged in the international courts. And all of this would take place in a civilized and peaceful manner. Yet it would be nonetheless barbaric in Etienne’s mind.
He paused when he caught sight of his parents who were waltzing out on the dance floor. His mother was just getting over a serious bout of pneumonia. She’d been ill for some time now and his father had been worried that she may not recover completely. It was good to see them enjoying themselves.
He let his gaze travel slowly over the guests in the ballroom. It didn’t take but an instant to find who he was looking for. She stood out in the crowd, his princess did. Ariane was that stunning. Heat spiraled like liquid smoke low in his gut.
Her honey-blond hair was twisted into an intricate coiffure, a few loose and softly curling strands falling to brush against her sexy bare shoulders whenever she moved her head. The line of her milky neck was long and graceful and delicate. She had the kind of throat that enticed a man to press his nose against warm skin, to inhale the distinct and subtle womanly aroma that would be hers and hers alone. Ariane, he silently surmised, would smell of sunny summer days and flowery meadows.
He had to admit, Princess Ariane’s visit had him more than a bit perplexed. He’d made his intentions known prior to her father’s passing. King Philippe had let Etienne know that he was quite in favor of a match between himself and Ariane. Etienne’s own father was in favor of such an alliance as well. However, Princess Ariane hadn’t seemed the least interested in Etienne as a suitor.
He’d returned home feeling rebuffed. He wasn’t a quitter, though, by any means, and he’d had every intention of having another go at the beautiful Princess Ariane. However, his mother had taken ill, and Etienne had stood in for his father so he could be with his mother. Then King Philippe had died. Contacting Ariane during her time of mourning simply hadn’t seemed appropriate.
No one had been more surprised than Etienne when the de Bergeron royal envoy had arrived announcing Princess Ariane’s intentions of visiting Rhineland.
He started across the floor. Surely, the princess would be feeling affronted by his tardiness. He had some groveling to do. He may as well get it over with.
When he approached, all conversation stopped.
“Your Highness.” He bowed deep, wanting to express his profound apology. He straightened, leveling his gaze on her beautiful deep blue eyes. “Please forgive me.” He pressed a light kiss, first to one cheek, then the other, taking full advantage of the old-style traditional greeting. Her skin was warm satin against his lips. “I hope you believe me when I say my late arrival couldn’t be avoided. I do apologize for my absence.”
He’d been wrong. Her scent didn’t bring to mind summer days and wildflowers. She smelled of starlit nights washed clean by fresh rain.
Her lovely gaze went round and she said, “You’ve been absent?”
The two men standing in the small group did their best to stifle the humor incited by the Princess’s cutting question.
Touché, Etienne thought. He deserved that. She had every right to put him in his place.
Her smile was dazzling enough to steal away a man’s thoughts.
“I’ve been having a wonderful conversation with the reverends here,” she told him.
What she’d said took him aback. Surely the lords had introduced themselves. Unable to quell his surprise, he queried, “Reverends?”
“Yes,” she said. “The pastors here were just telling me about your beautiful country.”
“Princess,” Etienne felt compelled to correct, “Lord Hecht is minister of the interior. One of his many duties includes suggesting policy for our park-lands.” The man named Hecht offered Ariane an indulgent smile. “And Lord Bartelow is deputy minister of trade. He advises the king on issues of commerce.” When Ariane’s gaze still didn’t seem to register understanding, he allowed himself to go a little further. “These men have been appointed by my father to help him run our government.”
Ariane’s chuckle sounded like tiny bells as she focused her attention on the two elderly men. “Oh…and here I thought I’d been talking to men of the cloth. I heard the word ‘minister’ and…well, I just naturally assumed…”
Again, she laughed. Daintily. Infectiously. And although the lords politely joined her, Etienne could tell from the quick, covert expressions that passed between them what they were thinking: if brain cells were dynamite, the lovely princess apparently wouldn’t have enough to blow her nose.
This exchange was Etienne’s first inkling that something about the de Bergeron princess seemed…well, shifted just a little bit left of center. Her behavior was somehow…off. And as he stood there listening to her talk, this deviation from what he thought should be the norm became more and more pronounced. He wasn’t too proud to admit that the situation had him highly perplexed.
At one point when Lord Hecht was explaining his plan to create more nature sanctuaries, Princess Ariane suddenly snagged a passing female guest by the arm and exclaimed, “I simply must know where you bought that dress. The fabric is heavenly.”
The three men stood speechless at the sudden shift in the conversation. However, the women seemed happy enough discussing clothing designers.
As the evening progressed, Etienne became downright amazed at how the princess would ask seemingly coherent questions regarding someone’s political position only to make a frivolous comment that left her looking, well, less than intelligent.
Etienne honestly didn’t know what to think. Maybe Ariane wasn’t the woman he’d believed her to be.
Being the crown prince of Rhineland, the one who would next succeed to the throne, Etienne had realized early in his life that he couldn’t chose a wife purely on whim. For several years now, the king himself as well as the king’s most trusted advisors had been discussing the subject of Etienne’s taking a wife. No man liked the idea of others offering input on who he took as a life mate, but, well, that was just the way things were done when you were of royal blood. Especially so when you were in line to become king.
From what he’d learned of Ariane de Bergeron, he’d had high hopes that she could very well be the perfect woman for him.
She was poised, there was no doubt about that. Having this woman gracing his arm would make any man proud. She was most certainly beautiful. The kind of woman who stirred the most primitive instincts in a man. He was experiencing that just being near her now, he realized, feeling the embers of desire smoldering even as he stood next to her. She was of the royal de Bergeron bloodline, a stately and well-respected family. And he’d been told she was an educated woman, having studied in Switzerland, acquiring a degree in political science.
Several women had gathered round them now, and he frowned as he listened to the conversation at hand. Had Ariane just compared the running of a monarchy to shopping for shoes? This evening was becoming more bizarre by the moment.
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