In Pursuit Of A Princess. Donna Clayton
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pecking.
It felt so nice to be away from the tension that had built up in her home back in St. Michel. Her stepmother, Celeste, had never been the easiest person to live with, and luckily the palace was big enough that avoiding the woman was quite easy. However, since King Philippe’s death, the queen—as Celeste preferred to be called these days—had become downright cantankerous.
Granted, the woman was nearly seven months pregnant. And the stress over worrying about the gender of the child she carried was probably contributing to her ill humor.
Ariane turned over onto her side and adjusted the pillow under her head.
The only way for her stepmother to retain even a modicum of her power was if she gave birth to a boy. A male child who would be in line for the throne. Of course, Celeste had professed to have taken a test that proved the gender of her baby, but Ariane wasn’t the only one in the palace who thought it strange that the queen had yet to produce the medical documents to confirm that fact.
Smoothing her hand over the soft Egyptian cotton spread, Ariane sighed.
Even if her stepmother bore a baby boy, that child might not be first in line to be the next king. That honor would go to the child conceived during the marriage of Philippe, then crown prince of St. Michel, and an American woman named Katie Graham.
The young couple had fallen madly in love when Philippe had been eighteen. They had married without their parents’ consent, and because Katie had been under the legal age to do such a thing, Philippe’s parents had tricked them into believing that their union was null and void, that their marriage certificate wasn’t worth the paper it was written on.
Philippe’s mother, Ariane’s grandmother, Simone, had expressed a deep regret over her deceitful actions of all those years ago when she’d recently relayed the story. She’d told Ariane and her two full-blooded sisters, Lise and Marie-Claire, that she and her husband had only been acting in what they truly believed to be their son’s best interest.
So all those years ago the young couple parted. Philippe resumed his education and the training he’d need to act as king, and young Katie had left St. Michel brokenhearted—and pregnant.
If the child Katie had delivered was male…and if he was still alive…then he would be the next de Bergeron king of St. Michel.
However, Simone had told them all that as far as she knew Philippe had never heard from Katie again. And no one had any idea if the child the woman gave birth to was male or female.
What worried Ariane more than anything was the future of St. Michel. Hundreds of years ago, those wonderful, loving people had fought long and hard to form their own realm, for the right to pledge themselves to the de Bergeron family. Yet it seemed that keeping their country intact was hinging on the discovery of the whereabouts of one little baby, hopefully now a grown man.
The de Bergeron missing heir.
Ariane placed her fingertips to her mouth to stifle a yawn.
Of course this turn of events—this fantastic story brought to them by Simone—affected Ariane and her sisters. But the fact that her own parents’ marriage had been invalidated and that Ariane and her sisters had been deemed illegitimate should have upset Ariane more than it did. She should be terribly distressed by the idea of having her title stripped from her, of losing her position in society. Ariane couldn’t quite put her finger on why the notion didn’t ruffle her more.
It could be that the calm she felt over her situation was possible because she knew no one but her sisters, her country’s prime minister, close family members and Luc Dumont, the head of St. Michel’s security force—trusted family members and friends, one and all—were privy to her and her siblings’ predicament. Once the rest of the world learned of the fact that she was misbegotten, then it could be that she’d fall completely to pieces.
What would Prince Etienne think when he learned the news? The question flitted unbidden through her head like a leaf tossed on the wind.
Ariane threw back the blanket and sat up on the edge of the mattress. She shoved the silly query from her mind. What did she care what he thought? What did she care what anyone thought?
A nice hot cup of tea was what she needed to clear away all these unpleasant doubts and questions.
The guest suite in the Kroninberg Palace was spacious and sunny. It consisted of two en suite bedrooms, one for her and one for her lady-in-waiting, connected by a delightful high-ceilinged sitting room. That’s where she found Francie munching on a piece of buttered toast.
“What time is it?” Ariane asked, surprised to see that breakfast had been served on a large tray. “Shouldn’t we be taking the meal with our hosts?”
“Everyone’s sleeping in this morning.” Francie wiped her fingers on the crisp, white linen napkin in her lap. “The maid told me when she delivered the tray, so I decided not to wake you.”
Ariane poured a steaming cup of tea from the porcelain pot. “So how did you sleep?” she asked. After dropping in one sugar cube, she stirred and then eased herself down in the velvet armchair flanking Francie’s.
“Just fine.”
Her lady looked as if she were the proverbial cat that had swallowed a canary.
“Okay,” Ariane said, “out with it. What’s on your mind?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Francie’s voice had a sing-song quality to it that relayed that the opposite was the real truth of the matter.
“It’s just that I watched you go outside with the prince…and not too much later you came rushing back through the doors and right out of the room. Your face was flushed and you looked…well, you looked as if something had happened.” She swept a few nonexistent crumbs from her lap. “When I followed you up here, you’d already shut yourself up in your bedroom. Which was a clear sign to me that you didn’t want to talk about what happened. Which tells me that something did actually happen.”
“You’re deluding yourself, my friend.” Ariane took a sip of her tea, but she was cognizant of the slight tremble of her fingers. The last thing she wanted to talk about was her time out on the terrace with Etienne. “Nothing happened. Nothing at all.” When Francie’s eyes rolled expressively, she reasserted, “Nothing.”
Her friend chuckled. “What is that old saying? The one about the princess protesting too much? I think that just might fit you to a T. ”
Ariane let her gaze settle on the ornate teacup and said nothing.
Evidently not getting the message that Ariane didn’t want to discuss the matter, Francie boldly asked, “What did you talk about when you were with Etienne? And how come you rushed away from him and left the party?”
“You don’t take a hint very well, do you?” Ariane quipped.
Just remembering those pewter eyes, and how she’d seemed to fall headfirst into them…Ariane’s heart tripped an unsteady beat and she felt all shaky inside.
She had no idea what had happened to her during those moments. Etienne’s arms had enveloped her securely. She’d become almost entranced by his steady gaze. The heat of him had swathed her like a warm and protective cloak. Somewhere in the back of her brain she’s been aware that the spicy scent of his cologne held a hint of citrus. The combination had been utterly enticing.
Trust me.
Even now, the mere memory of his rich, resonant voice sent shivers coursing down her spine like a shower of cool spring rain.
She’d been enraptured. By his gaze. His scent. His touch. By him.
Never before had she been so stirred by another human being.
When Ariane failed to rise to Francie’s bait, the woman remarked, “Etienne is awfully handsome.”
She waited, and Ariane remained stubbornly silent.
“He