The Princess's Proposal. Valerie Parv
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“Your Highness is well informed.”
Efficient, too, in studying the briefing notes Cindy had prepared for her ahead of time. Adrienne inclined her head. “It’s kind of you to say so. Please, go on.”
This started a fresh wave of information that she absorbed with only half her attention. The other half kept shifting to Hugh who had his head bent close to a middle-aged blond woman on his right. Had Cindy mentioned her? She was somebody’s wife, Adrienne recalled, although right now she wasn’t acting much like one.
The woman was all but batting her eyes at him. Hugh didn’t seem to mind, lapping up the attention like mother’s milk. She wasn’t jealous. The woman was welcome to him, Adrienne told herself. He annoyed her, and not only because he knew her secret. He refused to treat her with the deference due her position, challenging and insulting her in a way no one else dared to do.
In fairness she couldn’t blame him for securing the land she had wanted for herself. That fault lay with her brother. But she did resent Hugh’s ready acceptance of it as his right, and his attitude that, as a woman and a princess, she needed protecting from the big, bad world.
All the same he intrigued her, possibly because she didn’t intimidate him. America had no royal family, she recalled, having shed their ties with their monarch centuries before. Yet Hugh’s attitude didn’t seem to come from lack of experience with royalty as much as from the depths of his own character. He would bow before anyone who had earned his deference, but not otherwise, she sensed.
The thought of dancing with him was scary and exhilarating by turns.
At the end of the elaborate meal she stood up, signaling a return to the ballroom, where her heart started to flutter in anticipation. Surely she couldn’t want to dance with Hugh Jordan? If he passed on what he knew, he could cause trouble for her with her brothers. By right she should keep as far away from him as possible. Yet her eyes sought him out with the same recklessness that sent a moth darting to a fatal flame.
“May I have this dance, Your Highness?” he asked formally as the orchestra struck up a waltz.
“Yes.” Strange how hard it was to force the single word out.
With a smoothness she hadn’t expected, he took her hand in his and led her into the center of the room. Pressing against the small of her back, his other hand felt fiery, the almost-backless dress no shield against his touch. She was relieved when they completed the obligatory circle of the room and other dancers joined them on the floor. Alone with Hugh in the spotlight, she had felt exposed and vulnerable.
“You look surprised that I can dance,” he murmured, his lips close to her ear. “Did you doubt that the foreign cowboy had it in him?”
His breath ruffled her hair, distracting her. “You obviously know your way around a banquet hall and a dance floor, and you’re smart enough in business to impress Michel. So why pretend you’re a hick cowboy?”
“Because it’s what I am. A street kid, a foundling, call it what you like. I wasn’t born with your advantages.”
She tensed involuntarily. “You mean belonging to the royal family?”
“I mean belonging to any family. I didn’t have a family until I was fourteen years old, but you have since birth. Maybe that’s why you don’t appreciate it.”
His harsh tone made her wince almost more than the grip on her hand which had tightened as he spoke. “What makes you think I don’t?”
“Why else would you run away from everything you are for the sake of a cheap thrill or two?”
“You could never understand,” she said bitterly.
“I’m not sure I want to, princess.”
“Must you keep calling me that?”
The corners of his mouth lifted slightly. “Would you prefer Dee?”
“I’d prefer you let me go. We’ve done our duty now and…oh.”
She felt herself sway, held upright only by his arm around her. “Are you okay?”
“Just a little lightheaded. I’ll be fine if I can get some air.”
Still half supporting her, he led her through a set of French doors opening onto a wide terrace lit by flaming torches. By their flickering light he found a stone bench and pressed her onto it. “You didn’t eat much in there, did you?”
“A little.”
“And I’ll bet you didn’t see a doctor when you got back, either.” Her look gave him his answer. “Don’t you realize you could be in shock after what happened at the show?”
“But I’m not,” she insisted.
To her chagrin, his strong fingers pried her eyelids up one after the other and he inspected her pupils as he might have done a horse he intended buying at auction. “Your eyes are clear and your color is good. Next time eat a little more before hitting the dance floor.”
She was tempted to remind him whose fault it was she was there in the first place, but she was too distracted by the feel of his palm against the side of her face and had to fight a stupid inclination to lean into it. “I’m just tired,” she ventured.
“And willful and dangerously reckless,” he added. “At one time I’d have given my right arm for a brother who cared about me as much as yours do, and you don’t have the sense to appreciate them.”
No one had ever spoken to her so bluntly, not even her brothers. She drew herself up shakily. “Kindly remember to whom you are speaking.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” he said softly, touching a finger to her chin and tilting her face up a fraction more. “It’s the only thing stopping me from doing what I wanted to do this afternoon at the show.”
She could hardly speak. “What’s that?”
“Kiss you senseless.”
Her breath snagged in her throat as she felt her arousal build. It seemed inconceivable that Hugh could have such an effect on her with a few words and a touch, but he had. “You don’t even know me.”
He shrugged dismissively. “Call it chemistry, but it’s the way I feel. I spent most of the time between the show and coming here wondering how to find you again.”
“And now that you have?”
He glanced around but the others were still dancing. They had the terrace to themselves. “I find you’re so far above me that I can’t reach high enough to touch you.”
“Are you sure?” She stood up so their faces were as close to level as his extra inches in height would allow. Her stiletto-heeled shoes didn’t help nearly enough.
It was all the invitation he needed. With an indrawn breath he slid his arms around her and found her mouth. His lips were as commanding as she’d imagined, shaping hers to some hidden agenda of his own.
There was nothing hesitant in the way he gathered her against him and merged his mouth with hers. His hand slid to the back of her neck, pressing her closer, letting her feel his body heat as the rich masculine taste of him filled her mouth.
If she’d thought she was aroused before, it was nothing compared to the fire racing through her by the time he released her. She felt so shaken that it was an effort to slip her mask of royal reserve back into place. “Satisfied now?”
He seemed far less moved by the kiss than she was, and the discovery rankled for some reason.
“Let’s say it’s a start.”
“It can’t be any such thing,” she said haughtily. “This is insane. If I was feeling better…”
“You’d do exactly what we just did,” he supplied with infuriating coolness. “You wanted to kiss me as much as I wanted to kiss you.”
But