The Prince and The Marriage Pact. Valerie Parv
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wasn’t your father’s choice,” he suggested.
She nodded. “I considered that, but the revolution didn’t take place until a month after I was born—plenty of time for him to at least get in touch. Give my mother his regrets. He didn’t bother.”
Maxim couldn’t explain that himself, unless her father was as amoral as Annegret believed. The prince didn’t care to be compared with such a man. “It doesn’t mean everyone connected with royalty is the same.”
She pushed her half-finished dessert aside and reached for some ice water. “The headlines, and my own research for the program, suggest differently.”
“Affairs make better headlines than happy marriages.”
Unable to refute that, she stared into the glass. “True. My viewers enjoy scandal as much as anyone.”
“Are you hoping to unearth some scandal about the royal house of Carramer?”
Her head lifted and her gaze blazed a challenge at him. “I don’t go looking for it, if that’s what you’re suggesting. I also report good news when I find it.” Her tone suggested she rarely did.
“Then perhaps I can help you find some.”
“You’ve already promised me an interview.” He hadn’t in so many words, but Annegret couldn’t see any benefit in pointing that out. If he really wanted her to report objectively on his family, it was in his own best interests to cooperate.
He took a sip of wine. “I’m thinking of more than an interview. You’re familiar with the work of the Merrisand Trust?”
“It’s the charity you administer that raises funds to help underprivileged children and their families,” she said, fighting a sense of disappointment. If he was going to suggest she do a puff piece on his charity, she wasn’t interested. Not because she didn’t want to report good news, but because the trust had already been the subject of several documentaries. Her series was successful because she delved beneath the surface of her subjects.
“Next week, I’m launching a new ship that will provide cruises for the trust’s clients,” he said.
“Good for you.”
Although she spoke under her breath, he frowned as if he’d heard. “The vessel was built and placed at the disposal of the trust by the Soral Shipping Line.”
This time her flicker of interest was genuine. “Owned by the family who stand to inherit your crown under the terms of the Champagne Pact?”
The prince nodded. “Chad Soral is the head of the shipping line and the current claimant, if it should come to that. He’ll be presenting the vessel to the trust.”
Suspicion slid up her spine. “Why would you allow me to meet your rival?”
“Balance,” he reminded her imperturbably, and picked up his dessert fork.
Taking her cue from him, she did the same. The cumulative effect of the acidic dessert was dizzying to her senses. Nothing to do with the way Maxim was regarding her as his lips closed around a mouthful of his own dessert.
Her heart kicked in irritating contradiction. She wished he didn’t keep this room so warm, although she had only begun to notice the fact in the last few seconds. It had to be because she was excited at the prospect of securing interviews with the prince and his rival, she assured herself.
“Do you think Chad will agree to appear on my show?” she asked.
Watching her across the table, Maxim thought if she fluttered those impossibly long lashes at Chad the way she was doing now, he would probably agree to anything she asked of him. Max himself was tempted, and he wasn’t half the ladies’ man that Chad was. Of course, he wasn’t hampered by the limitations that ruled Max. Chad could marry anyone he wished without consequences.
Max knew he had resented this aspect of his rival’s life since they were at university together. In those days Max had fallen heavily for one woman in particular, the daughter of one of the lecturers, but Max had forced himself to grit his teeth and keep silent while Chad charmed her into dating him.
Seeing the way Max had looked at her, Chad had magnanimously offered to get out of their way. He could afford to, Max remembered thinking. If anything came of the relationship, the crown would become Chad’s. The man couldn’t lose. The prince had salvaged his self-respect by pretending to have no interest in the young woman. Curiously enough, Chad had also lost interest in her soon afterward.
Max wondered if Chad knew how tempted he had been to abdicate his responsibilities then and there and follow his heart. He hadn’t, of course. No matter what the personal cost, Maxim refused to go down in history as the last de Marigny to wear the crown of Taures.
Was history about to repeat itself now? Why had he tempted fate by suggesting that Annegret meet Chad? Getting in first before he could be hurt a second time? That made her far more important to Maxim than he wanted her to be.
“You’ll have to ask Chad about an interview,” the prince said, adding caustically, “He isn’t known for his shyness.”
She nodded in acknowledgment. “So I’ve heard.” Because she knew there had to be more, she said, “What do you get out of taking me along? Besides balanced reporting, of course.”
“Isn’t your company sufficient reason?”
Instant denial caught her by surprise. Not because she didn’t know her own worth, but because she suspected he didn’t. Not yet. In her experience, men like him operated according to their own agenda. Seduction was no more than a side dish accompanying the main banquet, and though her toes curled inside her shoes at the thought, she made herself ask what else he wanted from her.
As she voiced the question, the prince’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Very well, I hope to employ your skills as a filmmaker to benefit the Merrisand Trust.”
She refused to acknowledge the stabbing sensation as disappointment. It was no more than she had suspected. “I don’t do corporate work,” she stated.
“Not even in exchange for an exclusive story on the Champagne Pact?”
The feeling of being cheated deepened. “Blackmail, Your Highness?”
“Call it a quid pro quo, an even exchange of favors.”
“The trust has been documented on film several times already.”
“Not for many years, and not by you.”
She crumpled her linen napkin on the table. “How do you know I’d do a good job?”
“I’ve studied your work. I find it original and insightful.”
The thought of him demanding a private screening of her shows provoked a warm glow she resisted. “Even though I lack balance?”
“You’ve admitted you’re biased on the subject of royalty. You may change your opinion once you’ve seen something of royal life from the inside.”
Her opinion wouldn’t change, as he would soon find out. The certainty didn’t stop her from asking, “What do you have in mind?”
The question betrayed more interest than she intended, and she saw his eyes take on a speculative gleam. “Considering my proposition, Annegret?”
“I don’t have much choice, if I want a story on the Champagne Pact.”
“We always have choices,” he reminded her smoothly. “In spite of how it might sound, this isn’t blackmail. Under duress, you’re unlikely to give me the result I want.”
“Which is?”
His brow furrowed with thought. “There are some who feel that charitable trusts such as Merrisand are an anachronism in the modern world.”
Like royalty, she heard, although he didn’t say it. Unwillingly, she acknowledged