Chapter 11

Since Chateau d’Argent was a favorite haunt of mine, and probably incidentally, because I was the Heir Apparent, we were met at the door by Rose Nichols, the owner, not French as the restaurant’s name suggested but an Englishwoman with a passion for all things French, including her younger husband. She showed us to a table in a cozy alcove a little removed from the main dining. On the snowy lace tablecloth was a crystal vase with a single red rose. The large window reflected a bottle of champagne chilling in a silver wine cooler and framed a dynamic mountain view. When we were seated, the sommelier poured champagne.

“To you, Ginny. And your life’s passions.” I lifted my champagne flute.

We touched glasses, and with a beautiful smile, she said, “To your passions. This place is exquisite. I love all the wood—the Jacobean paneling, the floor, and the big plate glass windows overlooking that view.” She scanned our surroundings as she spoke. “Apparently, you succeeded in losing the paparazzi.”

“But not my security men.” I nodded at a couple of men at the nearest table. “They’re as close as they can get without sitting in our laps.”

She grinned, waving to the gents in black. Jean and Maurice looked taken aback, then returned the greeting. Jean smiled broadly. The younger man and I were sometimes cohorts in crime, and if I had to be followed, I preferred Jean. However, he was also familiar with my escape mechanisms and a practiced racecar driver. Usually, I found it difficult to shake Jean.

The chef approached to take our orders. When he’d described the selections, he smiled, waiting for our orders. He recommended tonight’s specialty, and we both ordered duck d’argent.

“Lex, I know you play polo.” Her cheeks flushed. “I’m giving myself away. I’d love it if you’d explain the game to me. What I know about polo, like angels, could dance on the head of a pin. Except that it is known as the Sport of Kings.”

“Polo is the oldest of equestrian sports. In the game, two teams of four players each drive a wooden ball down the field with wooden mallets. Many people don’t know the mallets have flexible handles. Are you bored yet, or shall I continue?” Her admiring, intense study made me want to be reckless and rebellions, in a word free. If I’d suffered from an ego problem, the warm look in her eyes would have cured all.

The sommelier arrived to pour the champagne. “May I, Your Highness?”

“Yes, please, Thomas.”

“How long have you been playing polo?” she asked when he’d withdrawn.

“For as long as I can remember I’ve had a passion for the horse.” I paused as our server delivered his recommendations for a perfect wine for duck d’argent. “I began playing polo at five.”

“That seems young.” She sipped her champagne. “I’m not sure I’d want my son on a horse at five. And they are horses, right? The children don’t ride ponies.”

I shook my head. “I was always tall for my age, but most players begin when they are close to five.”

“After riding at the retreat, I can imagine the thrill of chasing full throttle down the field.” Ginny toyed with the single red candle keeping company with the rose. Was my lovely date nervous? “I’ve always wanted to learn about the game. There are polo matches near Charleston, but I’ve never been. From what I understand, spectating is a very elegant affair. Cars with silver wine coolers chilling champagne and a spread of food on the hood. All of a lace tablecloth.”

Her beauty, her vibrancy fed my hedonistic soul. I loved simply looking at her. “In this light, your hair looks auburn.”

“It’s still a little damp. Yours looks even darker. It must be damp, too.” Her gaze grew distant as if for a moment I’d lost her, then she said, “You resemble your father more than your mother. Eugenie looks like your mother. Does the Queen have blue eyes?”

“She does but blue eyes are a Leandres trait.” My grandfather King Georges had blue eyes, as did his father before him. Eugenie has blue eyes, but they are pale like my mother’s.”

“Do you see much of your sister?’

“On the front pages of the tabloids.” I smoothed a strand of hair behind my ear. “She avoids notoriety like the plague, but it seeks her out. The press love her because she hates them, I suppose.” I laughed softly. “Since she escaped to Paris, Eugenie only does command performances. She doesn’t visit unless the King issues a royal edict.”

“This may be overstepping my boundaries, but I’m just crass enough to ask.” Her smile was a soft caress. There was nothing crass about this young lady. To be a queen, she only lacked a crown. “You sound as if you’d like to escape.”

“Sometimes, I daydream of freedom.” I stared out the window at the mountains, then met her gaze again. “But at the end of the day, that’s all it is. Daydreams. I’d never abandon the throne. Leave my country. Disappoint my father. I’m just not made that way.”

Gazing deep into my eyes, she sounded sincere. “Desjardins is lucky.”

“Actually, I’m lucky.”

She gave an elegant wave of her hand. “You are. I haven’t had the opportunity to get out much, but I’m thoroughly enjoying the time I’ve spent here. Desjardins is magical. I feel I’ve stepped into another world. Everyone is so happy and carefree I feel like a crusty, old curmudgeon.”

That surprised a laugh from me. “Trust me. You’re not. You look lovely tonight, Ginny.”

She lay a finger along her cheek. “I guess that was a roundabout way of fishing for a compliment. “Now that my ego is fed, back to polo, please.”

“By all means. Anytime a ball crosses the line between the goal posts, it is considered a goal regardless of whether a horse or a mallet caused the ball to go through. In order to equalize turf and wind conditions, the teams change ends after every goal scored.” I shouldered back in my chair and smiled. I knew I must look like a cat with cream on his whiskers but didn’t care. I was supremely content in the false sense of freedom I’d found with Ginny. “All registered players are rated on a scale of minus two to ten, the higher the better.”

“What’s your handicap?”

“Nine.” I flung an offhand gesture, unconsciously leaning toward her. “Tell me about Ginny. I know you want to study medicine. What specialty? You’ve told me so little about yourself.”

“Fertility, I think. Maybe OB/GYN. Other than that, there’s not much to tell.” She suddenly seemed very reticent as if I’d asked her an intimate question. Odd.

“I’m sure that’s not true. Give me the lowdown on Ginny MacDonald. The tabloids will want all the dirt.” I lifted my glass in a salute. “To our first date.” I paused, decided, and said, “And to many more.”

She laughed, tapped her glass to mine. “I’ll drink to that.” Returning her drink to the table, she spun it slowly. “Well, you see, I was a pole dancer.”

I guess I must have shown some reaction because she laughed again. “Not really, but I’m sure the tabloids will say I was. Or that we’ve been having long distance sex calls for years.”

“Or that you were a downstairs maid and was present when Ingrid was in the palace.” I sipped my wine, for the first time in a very long time enjoying just being.

For the remainder of our enchanted evening, she laughed and talked easily and freely. So, we enjoyed the duck and the wine, the ambiance and the soft backdrop of classical music. I liked none of it quite as much as I did her company.

She was spontaneous and happy. She made me smile. Trouble was already brewing on the horizon, but neither of us knew it then.

Mere mortals never do.

***

At ten o’clock, we waited in the atrium-like foyer for the valet to deliver Red Devil. When the car arrived, I took Ginny’s hand and, without the white-uniformed man’s help, handed her into the car, again being treated to a glimpse high on her thigh. When settled, she looked up at me and smiled, mesmerizing a valet and a prince.

Another vehicle stopped behind me, waiting for the valet. A gust of wind sprinkled me with the first raindrops of a storm, thunder rumbling in the distance. To get to the driver’s side, I had to go out in the rain. I hurried around the front of Diable Rouge, sat, and swung my legs in behind me as lightning flashed.

Tonight was magic, protected by a fairy aegis. Nothing could go wrong on such a night. I leaned across the console, and with the rain drumming on the canvas top, slid my arm around her neck and did what I’d wanted to do all night. This wasn’t a platonic brush of lips, but a deep, passionate kiss. The thundering deluge prevented the attendants and the reporters from seeing inside the convertible, though the latter were probably already hidden in a restaurant alcove emailing tomorrow’s headlines to their editors. During the meal, we’d been left in peace, more or less, but my fish-bowl existence came with a No Privacy sign. Except in my bedroom, exactly where I wanted to take Ginny.

I sank my fingers into that glorious hair and covered her mouth in another hungry kiss. She struggled closer, giving into me entirely. My body was taking control of my brain, and thoughts of a sports car seduction flitted through my mind. I remembered the feel of her in my arms, wanted to tuck her beneath me. The car behind beeped his horn. Didn’t the joker know who drove a red Maserati? There weren’t many of them in Saint Delacorte. Irritation flashed over me. I broke the kiss and sat back, but Ginny hung for an instant in the same position as if suspended from invisible strings.

“How rude! Interrupting our kiss.” She melted back into her seat, glancing out the fogged rear window.

Chuckling, I released the handbrake and engaged first gear, gazing into her eyes as the car inched forward. “I agree. We can continue at the palace.”

Her parted lips drifted into a smile that lit her eyes a vibrant green. “Isabel and John are expecting me home.”

“I’ll drive you home…later.” I looked at her a second longer, then focused my eyes, if not my attention, on the winding village road.

She caressed my cheek, a winsome touch with one fingertip. “I have to be at work early in the morning. John has a speech.”

I glanced at her. “Probably tomorrow, you’ll be on the front page of the newspapers. You might as well deserve that dubious honor.”

She rested her head on the back of the seat, closed her eyes, and breathed an alluring laugh. “You’re very persuasive. I don’t care about the tabloids. You are Prince Charming. But unfortunately, I have to go home.”

“You’re destroying my self-image.” I whipped the car around a tight curve, concentrating on driving—with the head on my shoulders.

“It’s not your self-image or your reputation.” She tilted her head, looking at me through her lashes.

I arched a brow, daring her to continue that line of thought. “My libido? You’re right. How’s yours?”

“In fine working order last time I checked.” She picked up the dare, responding with a sassy wink. “If we put our libidos together…”

“We’d start a fire.” The road straightened as far as the headlights’ reach, and I glanced at her, tasting her wicked grin.

“Do you have an extinguisher in the car?” She pretended to look beneath the seat. “The storm is only mist now.”

What was I doing? I couldn’t shag the Ambassador’s assistant. Not in Red Devil. Not in the palace. Not in the woods lining the sides of the road! Not tonight.

But in a secret place abroad. Like my sister’s condo.

“Ginny, I’m going to Paris this weekend.” Would my sister welcome an uninvited guest? Eugenie wanted to talk over her romantic woes. Ginny might be better at giving that kind of advice. She was kind and gentle. But dare I ask to bring her along? Eugene wanted to talk to me.

“That sounds like fun.” She turned, her face tinted by dash light, “Or is it business?”

I shook my head. “Not business, no. I’m visiting Eugenie.”

“From the few times we’ve met, your sister seems very nice.” She tucked her beaded handbag beside her. “I definitely admire her rebellious spirit.”

I chuckled, picturing Eugenie in her scarves, wigs, and dark glasses, all vain attempts to go incognito. “Rebel without a cause.”

“I think she’s brave.”

“I agree. But let’s talk about you. You’re the mystery woman. What’s your hobby?”

“My hobby is…knitting.”

“Knitting? Really? You don’t look the type.”

“Knitting can be very exciting.”

“So can watching cement set.”

“Actually, I’ve taken up a new hobby.” She raised a hand in a vow. “The truth this time. I’m learning the bow. I hit a bullseye the first time I tried.”

“Excellent, Desjardins now has an army. I’m a swordsman. You’re an archer.”

As we wound gently down the mountain, laughing and teasing, Ginny introduced me to the girl looking out from behind those beautiful eyes. She was a very special woman, and I found a myriad of conflicting emotions stirring. How could I feel this close to someone I’d only met a couple of times?

“I checked with the Desjardins medical school and have an interview on Monday. If accepted, I’ll sit for the next entrance exam.” She clasped her hands in front of her and gave a darling shrug. “All very exciting, isn’t it?”

“Very.” I reached across the console to tuck a wayward strand of her hair behind her ear. “I’m delighted you decided to stay.”

“The position at the embassy had a lot to do with it. John said that I can work for him and pursue my studies.”

“Who knows? You might become the next American ambassador to Desjardins.”

“I don’t think it’s as simple as all that.” She laughed, then turned slightly in her seat to lay her head on my shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind. I’ve wanted to do this since long before we met.”

I stroked her soft hair, relishing the silky texture. “You’re welcome to stay there all night.”

The damp road ahead swished beneath the tires, twisting and turning, reminding me that my fairytale night of Ginny-based freedom was speeding to a close. I wanted to hold back time, to hold onto her.

She sighed. “If only I could, but, at least tonight, we know that’s impossible.”

“I do not see impossibilities. When I look at you, Ginny, I see a world of possibilities. Tonight, I am free, and I am happy.” I brushed my lips to the top of her head. “That rare state of affairs is because of you.”

“Thank you.” She covered my hand with hers. “I’m glad I could make you happy. That makes me feel good. I imagine, for you, freedom is relative and very precious.” As the mist thickened into fog, she hugged herself and sighed again. “The swirling fog, the storm, in a Maserati, this evening has a magical touch. My fairy godmother will be jealous.” She sat up abruptly, her hand to her mouth in mock alarm. “Oh, dear, Red Devil is now officially on the endangered species list.”

“If my car turns into a pumpkin at midnight, it’s all your fault.” I joked, enjoying the sparkle in her eyes.

She gave my earlobe a sharp tug and offered me a delighted laugh. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, my friend.”

I’d almost sorted my feelings into neat compartments. My friend tossed them like confetti into the air, drifting down around me again in chaos. Of one thing, I was sure. I didn’t want to be Ginny’s friend. What did I want from this lovely lady? She was off limits for so many reasons, but as I whipped Diable Rouge around a sharp bend in the road, I dismissed them one at the time.

After I’d navigated the switchback curve, I glanced at her. “Friend?”

“Do you want to be more than my friend?” In the dash light, she appeared otherworldly Didn’t they say that redheads were fey? This copper-haired lass had definitely cast her spell on me.

“I don’t know where this can possibly go.” My expression grew serious. “All I know is I don’t want this night to end.”

“That makes me feel really good, Lex.” She kissed my name. “I don’t want the night to end either. Thank you for a lovely evening.”

We fell into a companionable silence, perhaps thinking of a way to do the impossible or dreaming of actually doing the impossible. We arrived at the Parsonage at five minutes until midnight. I leaned across the console to kiss her, and the lights came on downstairs. Someone had waited up for Ginny.

“I bet I know,” she said.

Hand-in-hand, we walked to the door. Lights blazed in the parlor, the hall light coming on. As he reached for the doorknob, the door swung open, robbing us of any chance for a goodnight kiss and confirming Ginny’s suspicions.

“Well, hello, you two. I’ve kept the home fires burning.” Chrissy was all smiles. “Did you have a nice time? I’m sure you did.”

“Speaking solely for myself, I did,” I said.

“I had a beautiful night.” Ginny gave my hand a soft squeeze. “A candlelight dinner overlooking the mountains and a ride in Diable Rouge.”

A strange expression flitted across Chrissy’s face. Properly attired for the occasion—if the occasion were a seduction—she was sexy in a thin cotton nightgown. But the look in her eyes was anything but beautiful. For a fraction of a second, she looked positively evil.

***

On a brilliant blue Friday morning, I boarded the plane to Paris to visit my sister. As the clouds scrolled beneath the wings, I leafed through pleasant memories of Wednesday night and Ginny. A book I’d been reading lay open but forgotten on my lap. The limo scooped me up from Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport and whisked me to a modern glass and marble tower rubbing shoulders with its more traditional neighbors. While the driver rolled my luggage into the lobby, I rang Eugenie.

She answered on the third ring. “Bon Jour.”

“You’ve been invaded.” I turned to tip the driver and said aside, “Thank you.”

“How many watchdogs do you have?” she asked, and I heard dread in her voice.

“I managed to narrow the field to none, though you know how difficult that was.” I found an artistically shaped chair in a blush shade. There was one word for my sister’s new world. Pink. Rose-colored sunlight streamed through the glass wall, tinting everything and everyone.

Five minutes later, Eugenie dashed across the marble-floored lobby. “Brother-mine, it’s good to see you.”

I stood, and she slid an arm around my waist. “Grab your luggage. I have something I want to show you.” She glanced at her watch. “In about ten minutes.”

“I have to roll my own luggage?” I feigned a shocked expression. “Just not done, is it? Lead away, sister-dearest.”

We boarded the elevator, whisking us to the fifteenth floor. As we disembarked, two young women boarded. I turned to grab my luggage. The brunette said, “ Pardon,” stood on her tiptoes, and planted a big kiss on my cheek.

Eugenie caught the elevator doors as they started to close. “Hurry, Romeo.”

“For centuries, poor Romeo has been maligned.” I clamped a hand over my heart. “He wasn’t a player. He was all about Juliette.”

The woman who’d kissed me laughed. “You’re no Romeo. You stayed with Ingrid for two years, but who’s this new redhead?” A folded square of paper floated to the floor, and I ducked quickly to pick it up. When I handed it to her, she looked dumbstruck. “Thank you. An autograph, please, Prince Alexander.”

“Autographs aren’t allowed.” My sister came to my rescue, seized my cuff, and tugged. “If you’ll excuse us, please…”

The brunette called after us, “Who’s the lucky new woman?”

Both Eugenie and I had spotted two men and a woman getting off another elevator. Assuming they were reporters, we ran for her front door. Behind, we heard running footsteps and the call of, “Wait, Prince Alexander, who is the mysterious redhead?”

Two seconds after Eugenie closed the door and the auto-lock clicked, she faced me with the answer to the brunette’s question. “I know the redhead. She’s the ambassador’s secretary.”

I turned, “Eugenie, I think I’m falling in love.”

“That clever red-haired vixen.” She rested a hand on each of my shoulders and shook her head. “Poor you. Poor her.”

“What do you mean?” I frowned, my gaze following her as she strode to the window.

“We’re hard to love, Lex. Harder to understand. Poor her, she won’t have a prayer. And poor you?” She opened floor-to-ceiling blinds, fiddling with the adjustment. “Poor you because you won’t be allowed to fall in love with her.’

“Will you please stop with the blinds and explain?”

“No.” She glanced at a massive clock hanging on a wall that vaulted two stories to the ceiling. “In sixty seconds, it will be time for what I wanted to show you. This conversation can wait one minute. Look at that wall of glass.”

“Left or right of the fireplace?”

“Either. This is the reason I chose this condo.”

In the window-wall, the sun burst in rose-colored splendor, washing the living room and open kitchen in glory. The spectacle was a manmade wonder. “Breathtaking,” I whispered.

“It is, isn’t it?” She came to join me by the door where I still stood with my luggage. “Like most beautiful things, it doesn’t last long. Take your things through that door into the guest room. I’ll make drinks. First, we can talk about your romantic disaster. Then we’ll sort through the wreckage of mine.”

I shrugged. “I don’t understand.”

“She’s not queen material, Lex.” When I started to disagree, she waved her hand at the guest room. “Don’t get up in arms. Neither am I.”