In Pursuit Of A Princess. Donna Clayton
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her. No, no! she wanted to shout. It was bad enough that she’d made herself look stupid to the upper echelon of Rhineland society. She certainly didn’t want everyone to discover that she also had two left feet!
It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried to learn to dance. She’d suffered through two full years of torturous dance classes. Although, the fact that the instructor had been a snooty little man who had made her feel nothing short of a lumbering elephant out on the dance floor when all her other siblings—full, step and half—had blossomed into elegant swans under the man’s tutelage. And her stepbrother Georges, a man who hated to fail at anything, had finally thrown up his hands in utter frustration when he’d attempted to teach her.
With her heart pounding so hard that blood whooshed dizzyingly through her head, she was finally able to sputter, “C-can’t you see I’m in the middle of a c-conversation with the prime minister?”
The question sounded abrupt even to her own ears, and Ariane was horrified that she hadn’t tempered her tone.
Having been born a princess, Ariane had attended many balls and parties in her twenty-three years, and she’d become skilled at turning down invitations to dance. Her grandmother, Dowager Queen Simone, wanting to help her granddaughter work around this little problem, had trained her extensively on just how to decline a request to dance without hurting the feelings of the party offering the invitation. In fact, Ariane had succeeded in doing just that at least seven or eight times this evening.
But the way Etienne’s dove-gray eyes sparkled had thrown her for a loop. Why hadn’t she noticed before this moment how amazing—how mesmerizing—his gaze was?
The prince’s grip on her elbow tightened gently but insistently, and he guided her away from the group. He murmured, “Our prime minister could talk the ears off a brass monkey. But I have orders from none other than the queen herself who threatened me if I didn’t get you out on the dance floor.”
The dread churning inside Ariane didn’t abate a bit, but the humor playing around the handsome prince’s mouth lulled her into querying, “And what did she threaten you with?”
Etienne chuckled, and Ariane could tell from the look on his face that this man was very fond of the woman who had given birth to him.
“Oh, she didn’t specify the hazards I’d face if I didn’t follow her instruction,” he told her. “She didn’t have to. She’s been my mother for twenty-nine years. I know better than to disobey her wishes.”
“Sounds like Queen Laurette is quite a tyrant,” she teasingly surmised.
The prince grinned, and she felt as if the summer sun were shining full on her face.
He whispered conspiratorially, “Don’t let this get about…but I’ve got my mother wrapped round my pinkie. However, I do like to keep her happy. So help me out here, would you? Just one little dance is all I need from you, and Mother’s mind will be put to ease.”
Maybe it was the fact that her own mom had died when she was seventeen, or maybe it was because she had such a terrible relationship with her current stepmother, the jealous and oh-so-insecure Queen Celeste, but Ariane found it very endearing, indeed, to discover that the prince had formed such an open and loving bond with his mother. And the fact that he didn’t mind Ariane knowing how he felt about the queen, well, that was just icing on the cake.
The heels of her shoes clicked on the smooth marble floor that was fairly swarming with couples who had already begun swaying to the breezy orchestral melody.
She hesitated, then decided she’d better do what she could to warn him what he was in for. “Etienne, please…”
He stopped and looked down at her, apparent curiosity puckering his high, intelligent brow.
Oh. She’d made herself out to be foolish enough tonight, she hated the notion of divulging further faults. Finally, sheer desperation had her softly admitting, “I’m afraid I’m about to embarrass you.”
Again, he chuckled and Ariane was bombarded with the sudden outrageous urge to place her palm against his chest to feel what she instinctively knew would be the sexy tremor of his laughter. Her eyes widened at the astonishing thought.
“You could never embarrass me,” Etienne told her. “In fact, I’m sure I am already the envy of every man in the kingdom.”
She knew he meant to flatter her with the compliment, but she was too anxiety-ridden to even smile at him. “You don’t understand…”
Before she had time to explain, he whirled her around to face him, deftly snuggling one palm at the base of her spine, enveloping her hand in his free one.
The closeness of him, the heat of him, made her feel as if she were suddenly thrust into a vacuum from which she couldn’t draw breath. Yet as soon as they began to move, she automatically craned her neck in an attempt to watch where she was going. She panicked at the thought of bumping into another couple, of stepping on his feet, of slipping on the smooth, polished marble. She imagined what a sight the two of them would make if they were to go tumbling to the floor. Her apprehension hitched up another notch.
Funny thing about the waltz, the leader was the one who moved forward. As long as she was stepping away from Etienne, she didn’t think she’d mash his toes with hers. She could place her foot first and he was responsible for not trampling on her. However, the dance also involved a great deal of turning, and the very first time the prince guided her toward him every muscle in her body tensed up—and she planted her foot directly on top of his.
His handsome face registered more surprise than pain. Ariane chucked him a quick look of apology before dipping her chin to once more stare at her feet.
Etienne had been graced with the princess’s regretful expression for only a moment, but the vulnerability he’d read in her eyes, on her furrowed brow, affected him in the most amazing manner. He felt this immense urge to soothe her turmoil, to protect her from the eyes and opinions that she feared, to sweep her away from the crowd…to ravage that perfect pink mouth of hers with fierce kisses.
Without another thought, he waltzed her right out the huge double doors and onto the flagstone veranda that overlooked the formal gardens. The music spilled out into the night right along with them, but they stopped dancing and walked in silence to the stone half wall that edged the area.
Moonlight washed across the trees and shrubs, dusting them in a soft, pallid radiance. The unusually warm spring had caused the flower bulbs to burst from the ground and send forth their heady scents. It seemed as though a million stars glittered against the velvety night sky.
“Thank you.”
The gratitude in her sweet voice tugged at his heartstrings.
He couldn’t keep the smile from curling the corners of his mouth. “How was it you missed Dancing 101?”
Etienne knew dance instruction was common practice for all children of royal lineage, so he was certain she’d understand his question.
Her sigh was as soft as the night air. “Oh, I took the class,” she admitted despondently. “And I flunked it. Twice.” She gazed up into his face. “I thought the second time round I just might get a passing mark…but then I fell right on my behind during the last session of learning the foxtrot. After that, the instructor—a mean and unforgiving little man, I might add—refused to have me in his classroom.”
His grin widened, but Etienne turned his head away until he succeeded in snuffing out the chuckle that rose up in his throat. It was obvious that she felt bad enough about her plight without him laughing at her.
Keeping his expression just as straight as he could, he said, “When is the last time you saw anyone dance the foxtrot?”
“That’s the same thing I said to—”
She paused, seeming to realize the humor he found in her story.
“Okay,” she told him. “Go ahead and laugh. It is pretty funny.”