The Duchess Diaries: The Diplomat's Pregnant Bride / Her Unforgettable Royal Lover / The Texan's Royal M.D.. Merline Lovelace
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at that point.”
“So what was he doing in Prague?” Gina asked.
“He’d evidently decided it was time to take a wife, and came to find out if I was scandalously modern as the rumors said.”
She took a sip of brandy and a faraway look came into her eyes.
“When he walked into the café where my friends and I were having dinner, I didn’t know who he was at first. All I saw was this tall, impossibly handsome man with jet-black hair and the swarthy skin of his Magyar ancestors. Even then, he had such a presence. Every head in the café turned when he walked over to my table,” she murmured. “Then he bowed, introduced himself, and I was lost.”
The duchess paused, drifting on her memories, and Gina’s gaze drifted to Dominic. His olive-toned skin and dark eyes indicted Magyar blood ran in his veins, too.
A nomadic, cattle-herding tribe that swept into Europe from the Steppes, the Magyars were often depicted in art and literature as the early Hungarian equivalent of America’s Wild West cowboys. Gina was back in the 8th or 9th century, picturing Dominic riding fast and low in the saddle, when the intercom sounded.
She returned to the present with a start. The buzz brought the duchess out of her reverie, as well. A small frown of annoyance creased her forehead.
“I’ll get it,” Gina said.
She crossed to the intercom’s wall unit and saw the flashing light signaling a call from the lobby. “Yes?”
“It’s Jerome, Lady Eugenia. There’s a gentleman to see you. Mr. John Mason.”
Jack! Surprise and pure, undiluted delight flooded her veins.
“Send him up! Excuse me,” she said to the three interested parties at the table. “I need to get the door.”
She rushed to the entryway and out into the hall, wishing she’d spiffed up a little more for this evening at home. Oh, well, at least she still fit into her skinny jeans. And her crab-apple-green stretchy T-shirt did accent her almost-nursing-mother boobs.
When Jack stepped out of the elevator, Gina forgot all about her appearance and devoured his. Ohmanohmanohman! Hungarian cowboys had nothing on tall, tanned Virginians.
The sight of him erased last weekend’s awkward moments. Her hurt and indignation over learning that his father had hired a P.I. evaporated. Ditto the poisonous little barbs planted by his obnoxious chief of staff. Double ditto the ache in her heart when she’d spotted the pictures of Catherine at his home. Like the duchess had so many years ago, all Gina needed to do was look at this man and know she was lost.
“What are you doing here?”
“Two reasons. One, I didn’t like the way our weekend ended. I’m still kicking myself for letting you leave with little more than a peck on the cheek.”
“Oh. Well. I suppose we can correct that.”
“You suppose right.”
When he hooked her waist, she went into his arms eagerly, joyfully. He buried a hand in her hair and more than made up for any deficiencies in their parting.
Gina could have stayed there forever. The feel and the taste and the scent of him wrapped around her like warm silk. She felt his heart beating under her spread palms, breathed in the heady mix of aftershave and male.
When he raised his head, her heart was in her smile. “You said there were two reasons. What’s the second?”
The pause was brief, hardly more than half a breath, but still noticeable.
“I missed you.”
“Was it that hard to say?” she teased.
“You try it.”
“I missed you.” It came so easily she added a little embellishment. “Bunches.”
The murmur of voices inside the apartment snagged Jack’s attention. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No, we finished dinner a while ago and are just sitting around the table talking. Come meet my cousins.”
She led him to the dining room and had time to note widely varied reactions before she made the introductions. Zia’s first glimpse of the newcomer brought her elbows off the table and a look of instant interest to her face. As her eyes raked Jack over, a slow, feline smile curved her lips.
Gina couldn’t help herself. She was bristling like a barnyard cat when she noticed Dominic’s expression. It was as shuttered as his sister’s was open. The duchess’s, on the other hand, was warm and welcoming.
“Good evening, Ambassador. It’s good to see you again.”
The title sent Zia’s brows soaring. Her gaze whipped from Jack to Gina and back again, while Dominic slowly pushed his chair back from the table and stood.
“It’s good to see you, too, Duchess.” Jack crossed the dining room to take her hand. “I’m sorry to barge in like this.”
“No need to apologize. Allow me to introduce my guests. They’re visiting from Hungary.”
“So Gina told me.”
“Anastazia, may I present Ambassador Jack Mason.”
He was at his most urbane with the sultry brunette. A smile, a lift of her hand, a light kiss on the fingers.
“You must call me Zia,” she purred. “And I will call you Jack, yes?”
“Igen.”
“How wonderful! You speak our language.”
“Only enough to order a drink in a bar.”
“In Hungary,” she laughed, “that is more than enough. This is my brother, Dominic.”
Jack rounded the table and extended his hand. It was a simple courtesy, a universal gesture recognized the world over. Yet there was something about the look accompanying it that made Gina pause. The message was subtle. Almost too subtle. She caught a hint of it, though, or thought she did.
So did Dominic. His smile took on a sardonic edge, his eyes a sudden glint as he shook Jack’s hand.
“We’ve met before, Ambassador, although I doubt you’ll remember.”
“I remember. I also remember you were using another name at the time.”
The two men ignored the surprise that produced among the women. Their gazes locked, they seemed to be engaged in a private and very personal duel.
“I was, indeed,” Dominic drawled. “And you, as I recall, had not yet acquired your so very impressive diplomatic credentials.”
The duchess’s notions of propriety didn’t include what was fast assuming the air of an Old West showdown in her dining room. With a touch of irritation, she thumped her hand on the table to get the combatant’s attention.
“Do sit down, both of you. Jack, would you care to try this very excellent cognac? Or there’s coffee if you prefer.”
“Cognac, please.”
“Gina, if you’ll get another snifter perhaps Jack or Dominic will condescend to tell us where or when they met before.”
The acidic comment found its mark. While Gina retrieved a cut crystal snifter from the graceful Louis XV china cabinet that took up almost an entire wall, the tension between the two men eased by imperceptible degrees. She brought the snifter to the table and splashed in the aromatic brandy as Dom yielded the floor to Jack with upturned palms.
“It’s more your story than mine, Ambassador.”
Jack accepted the snifter with a murmured thanks and addressed himself to the duchess. “Dominic and I met a number of years ago in Malta. I was on a UN fact-finding mission investigating the transshipment of young women kidnapped