The Viscount and The Virgin. Valerie Parv
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in a contest that was about to close. Her mother hadn’t wanted to go, Kirsten recalled. But as usual, her father got his way, and the two of them went. On the drive home, a tree uprooted by the storm fell on their car, leaving Kirsten and Natalie on their own with no relatives in the world.
After her parents died, the experience at the gallery had enabled her to enter university as a mature student and establish herself in the art world as a curator. She didn’t need another man like her father complicating her life.
The reminder didn’t stop her pulse from beating ridiculously fast when Rowe turned the full brunt of his dazzling smile on her. That he was smiling struck her as odd, considering how she had singled him out during the tour. “I owe you an apology,” he said.
Surprise brought her head up. “You do?”
“I shouldn’t have joined your group without warning. My arrival obviously threw you off.”
In ways you can’t imagine, she thought. “No harm done,” she said more calmly than she felt. “The visitors enjoyed meeting a real live royal.”
“As much as you enjoyed seeing me get my comeuppance?”
“It wasn’t personal, Your Lordship,” she insisted.
He lowered long lashes over glittering eyes. “Wasn’t it? When I arrived, you gave me the distinct feeling that you’d have been happier to see Jack the Ripper.”
Since she couldn’t argue the truth of this, she linked her hands in her lap and looked down at them. “This is the first time we’ve met. I really know very little about you.” All of which was true. Unable to resist, she lifted her head and met his gaze full on. “You could be Jack the Ripper for all I know.”
To her amazement, he threw back his head and laughed, the warm sound of it rolling over her like a caress. “You’re a breath of fresh air, Kirsten,” he said at last. “I know very little about you, too, but I already know I want you.”
Kirsten felt herself blush. She’d never been so blatantly propositioned in her life. Other women might fall into his arms because of his royal status, but she didn’t intend to be one of them. “Whatever you think you know about me, I assure you you’re wrong,” she snapped.
If she had expected him to be cowed by her response, she was disappointed. He looked infuriatingly amused as he raised a dark eyebrow. “Really? Then those come-hither looks you were giving me during the tour are part of your normal repertoire?”
“I was not giving you come-hither looks.” She hadn’t, had she? Then she saw the upward tilt of his mouth and realized he was teasing her.
“What you gave me was the gift of your passion, your enthusiasm for the castle and its treasures,” he said on a soft outpouring of breath. “That’s what I want from you, Kirsten.”
Confusion made her brain freeze. “I’m not sure…I don’t…”
“Relax,” he said. “We both seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. Me for thinking I should reacquaint myself with the castle through listening to your talk, and you for getting the wrong idea about my interest in you. Can we start over?”
She didn’t know why they needed to, but she nodded. “As you wish, Your Lordship.”
He frowned. “You can begin by dropping the title. My name is Rowe.”
Did he suspect her use of his title was a deliberate attempt to keep some distance between them? Since he wasn’t going to permit it, she said, “Very well, Rowe.”
He nodded in satisfaction. “From your reaction, I assume that Max hasn’t told you why I’m here?”
Rowe was referring to his cousin, Prince Maxim, who held the joint positions of keeper of the castle, and administrator of the Merrisand Trust, the castle’s charitable arm. “The prince probably intended to tell me at our weekly meeting, which isn’t until tomorrow,” she said. “I’m filling in for my boss, Lea Landon.”
“Who is in Europe touring with the collection,” Rowe said, evidently well informed. “No wonder you found my arrival so off-putting. You didn’t know I would be taking over her office until she returns.”
Kirsten felt the beginnings of a headache gather behind her eyes. “You’re to be the head curator in Lea’s absence?”
He gave a self-deprecating grin. “That will be the day. You could write what I know about the Merrisand collection on the head of a pin.”
She seriously doubted that was true, but she felt relieved that he wasn’t to be her boss even temporarily. Some aggravations she just didn’t need. “I’m still not sure where I fit in.”
He leaned forward and linked his hands on the leather blotter protecting the antique desk. “My company specializes in event management. Big events.”
“Like the Winter Olympics,” she said, wanting him to know she wasn’t entirely unaware of his background, either. He would be surprised at just how much she knew about him, she thought, none of it commendable.
He nodded. “Exactly. Max thinks the castle needs a big event to stimulate income for the Merrisand Trust.”
She let her astonishment show on her face. “I thought the trust was doing well.”
“It needs to do better. In today’s world the demand for help from organizations like Merrisand is growing all the time. The income from visitors to the castle and grounds, holding fund-raisers here and sending the collections on tour are not really adequate for the increasing demands being made on the funds. If a new source of income isn’t found soon, the trust may eventually have to cut back on distributions.”
The thought that Merrisand might one day have to turn away people in need was alarming. She had always assumed that the castle generated more than enough income to meet its charitable aims. Finding out that one day it might not came as a shock.
“I had no idea,” she said.
He gave her a sharp look. “Nobody does, so keep this information to yourself. However ironic it may be, people are more inclined to support an organization they perceive as doing well.”
“‘Nothing succeeds like success,”’ she quoted.
He inclined his head in agreement. “Precisely. Besides, the castle is hardly on its last legs. Max is merely being shrewd, anticipating future demands.”
“What does he have in mind for this event?” she asked. She couldn’t imagine what else they might do that they weren’t already doing to generate income.
“Max left the decision up to me. What I’m planning is an international cycling race, the Tour de Merrisand, around the castle grounds. The television rights alone will generate millions for the trust.”
The image of a horde of cyclists tearing around, and probably sometimes through, the beautiful, manicured gardens made her shudder. But not as much as another image that jumped into her mind, that of her vibrant young sister cheering on the sidelines of a Formula One race and being cut down by a runaway wheel. Kirsten wanted nothing to do with that part of his life. “You can’t be serious,” she said, her voice husky with emotion.
His direct gaze bored into her. “Never more so. Why? Do you have a problem with linking the castle to a sporting event?”
She had much more than a problem with it. The very thought made her feel ill. “I can’t believe Prince Maxim would sanction such desecration,” she said tautly.
“It isn’t as if I intend to bulldoze century-old buildings in order to lay out a cycling track,” he said, not sounding in the least fazed by her reaction. “The race will run between the buildings and through the forest areas. Afterward, everything will be restored to exactly as it was before the event. They hold these races through the center of Rome, past the Colosseum, and nobody considers it heresy.”
She got to her