Innocent Surrender: The Virgin's Proposition / The Virgin and His Majesty / Untouched Until Marriage. Robyn Donald
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they wanted. Royal prerogative or some such thing.
“No. I—I wanted to. But I didn’t want you to think—” She stopped.
“Think what?” he demanded.
She shrugged awkwardly. “That I was…chasing you. I meant what I said, one night. I told you the truth, Demetrios. I just…didn’t tell you all of it.” She had turned and was looking at him intently now, as if she were begging him to believe her.
Did he? Or was she as good an actress as Lissa?
It didn’t matter, he reminded himself. Princess or not, she wasn’t part of his life. Not after tonight.
But he couldn’t stop himself saying, “Look, Anny. You can’t do this if you’re not sure. Gerard might be a great guy. But marriage is—” He let out a harsh breath, knowing he was the last person on earth who should be offering advice on marriage. But then, who knew better the mistakes you could make even when you thought you were marrying for love?
“Marriage is what?” she asked when he didn’t go on.
“Marriage is too damned hard to risk on flimsy hopes!” He blurted the words angrily, not at her, but at Lissa.
Of course Anny didn’t know that. She stared at him, eyes wide at his outburst.
Demetrios stared back. It was none of his business. None of his business. The words echoed over and over in his head.
“Adriana!” Gerard’s voice behind them made them both start.
“I have to go,” Anny said quickly.
Demetrios straightened up at once, and gave her a polite distant nod. “Of course.”
But still she didn’t move away. She faced him and looked into his eyes for a long moment, a slight smile on her face. “Thank you.”
He raised a brow. “For the memories?” he said sardonically.
She nodded. Their gazes locked.
“Adriana!” Gerard’s voice came again, more insistent this time. Anny turned to go. Demetrios caught her hand and held her until she looked back at him. “Don’t regret your life, princess.”
Demetrios kept away from her the rest of the evening.
Of course he did. Why wouldn’t he? He thought she’d used him and lied by omission. It hadn’t felt like a lie. It had felt like being able—for once—to share herself, the woman, not the princess, that she really was.
But she didn’t suppose Demetrios saw it that way. He was probably avoiding her. Or maybe he had forgotten her already. She was the one who had vowed to remember. And dear God, she was. Every single second Anny knew exactly where he was. She saw who he talked to, who talked to him.
As Gerard’s unofficial hostess she was required to focus on other things, on all his guests. And no one could have faulted her attention to her role. She chatted with his guests, gave them what she hoped appeared to be her undivided attention—even when it was being shared with the tall, lean man with wind-blown hair talking to this producer or that actress.
Gerard kept her close, smiling at her and nodding his approval. “Your papa is right. You are marvelous,” he told her.
Yes, Papa would be proud. But Anny’s heart wasn’t in it. Her soul wasn’t in it. Only later that evening when, shortly before midnight, she saw Demetrios board the launch back to the harbor, did her heart and soul let her know where they were. A hollow desperate ache opened up inside her.
He wasn’t for her. She knew that.
She repeated it over and over in her head even as she continued smiling brightly at the couple telling her about their South Pacific cruise. She nodded, commented, laughed at a witty remark and didn’t miss a beat.
But she didn’t miss the sight of Demetrios standing alone on the deck of the launch looking back at the yacht, either.
As soon as she could, she made her excuses and slipped away to stand in the bow of the royal yacht to catch a last glimpse of the launch as it grew smaller and smaller and finally merged with the lights of the harbor, and he was gone.
They were ships that passed in the night, she told herself. One night.
“Adriana!” Gerard’s voice called to her once more.
She swallowed, then called, “Je viens. I’m coming.”
She heard Demetrios’s words echo in her mind. Don’t regret your life, princess.
She prayed desperately that she wouldn’t.
DEMETRIOS WAS up at dawn.
He wanted an early start. He hadn’t slept well. Not true. He hadn’t slept at all. He’d gone to bed determined not to spare a thought for Her Royal Highness Princess Adriana.
And he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
Of all the irritating demanding things that he’d anticipated having to cope with during these past two weeks in Cannes, dealing with a princess—or any woman at all, for that matter—had never made the list.
After Lissa, he couldn’t imagine one breaching his defenses.
He’d allowed himself the one night with Anny because it had been clearly one night. No strings. No obligations. No relationship.
It still wasn’t, he tried to tell himself. But until last night he’d managed to convince himself that she’d known what she was doing.
Now he didn’t believe it for a minute. And he couldn’t get her out of his head!
Fine, he’d get an early start. The sooner he set sail, the sooner he’d put Cannes—and Her Royal Highness—behind him.
He flung the last of his clothes into his bag and checked out of the small hotel where he’d spent the past two weeks. Then, hefting his duffel bag, he headed for the harbor. The morning was still and quiet, almost soundless so far. Few cars moved through the streets. A lone cyclist rode past him.
When he crossed La Croisette, there was a bit of traffic, a few pedestrians walked briskly on morning constitutionals, a couple of joggers ran by and he saw a man walking a dog. Cannes getting back to normal.
Demetrios wanted to get back to normal, too. He quickened his pace, eager to board the boat and be at sea at last.
Near the Palais du Festival, work crews were beginning to gather to take down the hospitality tents. He skirted them, heading for the dock where Theo had left his sailboat.
It was a magnificent boat—a bit over forty feet, sleek and trim, with two small cabin spaces fore and aft, and a main cabin that could sleep an extra kid or two if required. It was fast and fun and yet it could still accommodate Theo’s new lifestyle as a married man with kids. He and Martha had two now—Edward, who was five, and Caroline, not quite three.
Demetrios had always figured himself for the family man, while Theo would always be the family’s nautical equivalent of the Lone Ranger. That wasn’t the way it had turned out.
“Lucky you,” Demetrios had said, feeling a small stab of envy at Theo’s life.
“Yeah.” Theo hadn’t misunderstood. “I hate taking the time to sail to Santorini with Martha and the kids there already. From here by myself it’ll take me almost two weeks.”
“Tell them to come here. Make a holiday of it.”
Theo shook his head. “Caro’s getting over croup. Martha worries. She’s got commissions to work on. And Eddie gets seasick.”
“Your son gets seasick?” Demetrios’s mind boggled.
“He’ll