The Park's Empire: Handsome Strangers...: The Prince's Bride. GINA WILKINS
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sweet scent of the garden’s floribunda roses. The breath turned into a yawn and she reluctantly turned away from the spellbinding view of sea and garden to reenter the bedroom. She showered, pulled on a nightgown, and climbed into bed.
She fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.
When she woke, the midafternoon sun was slanting through the half-open drapes. Disoriented, she stared at the ceiling for a long moment, wondering why it was a pale rose instead of the eggshell-white she normally saw when waking in her bed in San Francisco.
Because I’m not home in San Francisco. She sat up, pushed her hair out of her eyes, and stared around her. The airy, shaded room was exotic and opulent, a mix of architecture that reflected the countries and cultures that bordered Daniz. The Spanish archway leading to the sitting room was edged with Greek tiles in green and gold and the French influence was apparent in the delicate Louis XIV chair placed in one corner near her bed. An exquisite Italian vase of handblown glass stood on the dresser, its shade of deep green a perfect foil for the white roses and trailing greenery it held. And the high ceilings and airy hangings tied back on the bed, that matched the sheer white draperies at the windows, reminded Emily that Morocco was just across the Mediterranean Sea.
It was so lovely and so exotically different from her apartment in San Francisco that she felt transported into another world.
It is another world, she reminded herself. The royal palace in a foreign country is definitely light years away from my apartment in San Francisco.
She tossed back the silky sheet and light coverlet and rose, wondering what time it was and how long she’d slept. She picked up her watch from the nightstand.
“Two o’clock? How could I have slept so long?” she murmured, dismayed that the day was half gone. She hurried into the bathroom where she found herself pausing once again to stare with pleasure at the effect of green and cream tiles, thick cream-colored turkish towels, and pale jade marble tub and sink. It wasn’t that she was unaccustomed to the beauty and comfort that money could provide. She’d grown up in her father’s opulent mansion; her playmates and friends all lived in similar wealthy homes. But there was something subtly different about Lazhar’s home. The deep jewel tones of the carpets were softly muted as if they had covered the teak and marble floors for years. The paintings of ladies and gentleman that hung on the walls bore a resemblance to one another and Emily suspected that they were Lazhar’s ancestors. The furnishings spoke of centuries of wealth and history yet conveyed a welcoming warmth that she’d never felt in her father’s oddly sterile mansion.
Emily shook herself out of her reverie and turned on the shower faucets, stripping quickly and stepping into the tiled surround.
A half hour later, showered, hair blown dry, makeup applied, wearing only a towel she walked back into the bedroom and halted abruptly. A maid dressed in a soft royal-blue uniform edged in gold, was just setting a tray with teapot and scones atop the small table near the window.
“Good afternoon.” Her soft voice was friendly and polite, the English words faintly accented with a musical lilt.
“Hello.” Emily glanced at the very English teapot with its pink tea rose pattern. Yet another country heard from, she thought.
The maid opened a door to a walk-in closet. “I unpacked your bag this morning and hung your dresses in here.” She pulled open a drawer. “And I folded your lingerie into the drawers.” She looked expectantly at Emily. “Would you like me to help you dress, ma’am?”
“I think I can manage but thank you for unpacking my things.”
“You’re very welcome,” the young woman murmured. “When you’re dressed, I’ll show you to the breakfast room.”
“Thank you.”
The maid smiled and left the room.
Emily waited until the door closed behind her before walking into the closet. She recognized only three of the many dresses and suits that hung on the long rod suspended along one wall. The closet was filled with gowns and casual wear, shoes on racks against the end wall, lingerie tucked into the drawers fitted against the opposite wall from the dress rack. She flipped through a row of dresses, noting the designer labels, before pulling open the drawers to glance at the filmy lingerie, all in her size. The clothing and underpinnings were gorgeous but Emily was torn between appreciation for the beautiful clothing and sheer annoyance that Lazhar obviously knew her measurements, right down to her bra and panties.
Was it possible that he’d ordered an entire wardrobe just for her? No, she thought, discounting the idea. That was a grand gesture that a very rich man might make for a potential lover, not for a business associate.
Still, he’d clearly noticed some things about her since he’d guessed her measurements perfectly.
Unless Jane told him, she thought. Emily resolved to have another serious talk with Jane about her role in aiding Lazhar’s high-handed methods when she returned to San Francisco.
Chapter Three
Emily followed the maid through unfamiliar halls until the young woman halted, pulled open a door and bowed.
“Prince Lazhar is here, madam.”
“Thank you,” Emily murmured, and was rewarded with a warm smile from the maid before she stepped across the threshold and the door closed silently behind her.
Lazhar sat at a round table, documents spread across the snowy cloth next to his coffee cup. He looked up as she entered the small dining room, a swift smile curving his mouth, his gaze heating as it flicked over her from head to toe and back again. “Good afternoon, Emily, did you sleep well?”
“Yes, very well, thank you.” Emily sat down in the chair held by a white-coated male servant and murmured a thank you when he poured coffee from a carafe into her cup.
“And your room is satisfactory?”
“More than satisfactory.” She smiled at him. “The view of the harbor is amazing, as is the garden off the bedroom. Do all the rooms have walled gardens?”
“Many of them, yes.” Lazhar dropped the document he was holding and lounged in his chair, nodding at the servant who immediately filled his coffee cup. “The palace gardens are my mother’s pride and joy. She’ll be pleased you’re enjoying her babies.”
“Her babies?” Emily looked up from the rubyred marmalade she was spreading on her toast.
“That’s what my mother calls the gardens. She told my sister and me that since we haven’t given her grandchildren, she’s making do with plants as a substitute for babies.” His smile flashed, white against tanned skin, his eyes warming with quick affection. “She’s as anxious as my father to see us happily married and starting our own families.”
“And do you and your sister agree with her?” Emily asked, curious.
He shrugged. “I can understand our parents’ wish to see us happily settled—especially since my father’s health is uncertain. Jenna, however…” He shook his head, amused. “My sister is adamant that she won’t be nudged into marrying before she’s ready.”
“So there’s no fiance waiting in the wings for your sister?”
“No. But it’s not for lack of trying by my father.”
Emily couldn’t help but smile with sympathy. “It hadn’t occurred to me before, but I suppose I should be grateful that while my father tries to control my life in other ways, he’s never nagged me about getting married—” She broke off, leaning back to let the silent servant place a plate with salmon quiche on the table before her and didn’t see the fleeting expression of regret on Lazhar’s face. The quiche was every bit as delicious as the sweet cantaloupe and honeydew melon cubes in a small bowl next to her plate. She wondered idly if the family chef would be preparing the wedding food before she