Command Performance (15 page)

Alexander studied his brother again and saw that his feelings were no longer his alone. In youth they had shared a great deal, secrets, complaints, jokes. Alexander could only thank God they wouldn’t share the same woman.

“How could you not want her?”

Bennett leaned back again and looked at his brother. Someone had finally pierced the impenetrable, shaken the unshakable. “I did. The first time I saw her, I thought she was the most delectable creature I’d ever met.” At Alexander’s narrowed look, Bennett chuckled. “Don’t challenge me to a duel yet. Besides, if you challenge, I pick the weapons. I’m a better shot than you are.”

“Why is it you seem to find this so amusing?”

“Because I love you.” It was said with the simplicity of truth. “It isn’t often enough that those who love you see you act human, Alex. If I didn’t enjoy seeing Prince Perfect falter a bit, I wouldn’t be human. I’d say this round of jealousy’s been good for you.”

The childhood nickname didn’t irk him so much as the reference to jealousy. “I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in months.”

“Enormously good for you.” Bennett picked a rose from a vase at his elbow, thinking it would complement Doreen’s skin. “But to get you off this pin you’re stuck on, I was attracted to Eve, and I like to think it was mutual. Then before anything could be done about it, I was flat on my back in the hospital. She came in every
day.”

“I remember.”

“Fussing and nagging,” Bennett added. “Standing over me until I ate that pap they forced on me, lecturing me. By the time I was on my feet again, we were friends. We’ve never been anything else.” He passed the flower under his nose. “Now if you’re satisfied, I have a lady with incredibly long legs waiting for me.” He started down the hall, then stopped and turned. “You’ve never been one for advice, but I’ll give it, anyway. If you want Eve, don’t circle around it. She’s a woman for the direct approach, no pretty lies, no staged seductions. She’s gold, Alex, solid gold, with a mind as strong and sharp as a scalpel. A man would have to recognize that unless he wants small pieces sliced out of him.”

If any man he knew understood women, it was Bennett. Alexander felt the first smile form. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He watched his brother disappear into the parlor. Seconds later, there was a delighted feminine laugh.

Alexander stayed where he was a moment, trying to absorb what he knew, what he felt. Not his brother’s woman. Never his brother’s woman. But his. From this moment. Alexander strode toward the east wing quickly, needing to expend the energy racing through him.

* * *

She’d had a hell of a day. Tired and annoyed with the world at large, Eve let herself in the east entrance of the palace. Only friends and family used the small, secluded garden entrance. Normally she would have come straight in the front, but at the moment, she wanted to see and speak to no one.

Her director was edgy, and it showed. Her actors were picking up on it and had been sniping at one another as often as they blew their lines.

As producer, she could dump a lot of the heartache on her stage manager. But, damn it, it was her company. She’d conceived it, nurtured it, and she just wasn’t ready to cut the apron strings.

As a result she’d spent the past two hours in a full meeting, cast and crew, letting the gripes and
misconceptions be aired.

The members of her company were mollified. She was wired.

Face it, she told herself as she closed the pretty, carved door at her back. You’ve been wound tight for weeks and it hasn’t a thing to do with the company.

He was making her crazy—mind, body, soul. How was it he could go through the motions, day after day, night after night, as though nothing had happened between them? How was it he followed routine, apparently without a ripple, when she spent sleepless nights worrying about an anonymous phone call?

The time was up, she thought, and rubbed at her aching temples. Deboque was still in prison, would remain in prison. How long would it take before the threat she’d received became action?

She remembered vividly the picture of Bennett lying on the stone floor of the terrace, the blood seeping out of him and onto the dark rock. It took little imagination to see Alexander there.

She could lose him. Though she knew he wasn’t hers, had never been hers, the threat of losing him clenched the muscles of her stomach. Whether or not he loved her, whether or not he trusted or respected her, she wanted him alive and whole.

And the forty-eight hours were up.

Perhaps it had been only a threat. Giving in to fatigue and nerves, she leaned back against the cool wood of the door and shut her eyes. The Bissets weren’t taking it seriously. If they were, wouldn’t she have seen extra guards at the gate? Wouldn’t security have been tightened around the palace? Because she had checked personally, she knew Armand was in Cordina, meeting with the Council of the Crown. The rest of the royal family were keeping both official and social engagements as usual.

And the forty-eight hours were up.

Nothing was going to happen. Anything could happen. Why did it seem that she was the only one wrapped up in nerves?

Royalty! she thought, and pushed herself away from the door. Did they think that because their blood was blue it couldn’t be shed? Did they think that a title worked as an invisible shield against gunfire? Even Bennett
refused to listen to her. In fact, he wouldn’t even discuss it with her. Trust them to bind themselves together in this. But all she could see was the picture of wagons drawing into a circle as Indians attacked.

Enough, Eve warned herself. She was through losing sleep over them,
all
of them. She had a company to run and plays to produce. She’d leave the Bissets to run their own lives and their own country.

Then she heard footsteps, whispers. And froze.

Her first reaction was quick and primitive. Run. Almost as it formed came another. Protect.

Eve braced herself against the wall, breathing deeply. Her legs spread, knees bent, her body turned slightly, she lifted her arms to complete the fighting stance. Warriors had used it for centuries when facing an enemy with no more than body and wit.

As the footsteps came closer, she drew her right arm back, her shoulders set straight as a ruler. She took one step forward, leading with her stiffened open hand. Her breath came out in a whoosh. She stopped a scant half inch from Bennett’s straight, aristocratic nose.

“Damn, Eve, I didn’t think you’d be that upset about me dating one of your people.”

“Ben!” With muscles gone limp, Eve collapsed against the wall. She’d gone white as a sheet and he could do nothing but grin. “I might have hurt you.”

Healthy masculine pride came to the rescue. “I doubt it. But what are you doing lurking around the corridors?”

“I wasn’t lurking. I’ve just come in.” Her gaze shifted to the young redhead. She should have known Bennett would have ferreted this one out before long. “Hello, Doreen.”

“Hello, Ms. Hamilton.”

Eve straightened her shoulders, then worked away embarrassment by brushing a speck of lint from her jeans. “Ben, if I’d followed through, I’d have broken your jaw. Why are you sneaking around?”

“I wasn’t—” He caught himself on the edge of justifying his presence in his own home. Bennett shook his head, amazed that Alexander would mistake his relationship with Eve for anything like sexual attraction. “It seems I have to keep explaining that I live here. In any case, my jaw is safe. I’m showing Doreen the palace
before dinner.”

“That’s nice.” It was only a murmur as nerves flooded back. The hands that had been stiffened and ready to attack twisted together. “Is everyone else home?”

“Yes.” Recognizing her concern, Bennett tugged on her hair. “Everyone’s fine. Oh, Alexander is a bit out of sorts, but—”

“What happened?” Instantly her hands were clamped to his shirt. “Was he hurt?”

“He’s fine. For heaven’s sake, mind the material.” If he’d had any doubt about Eve’s feelings toward his brother, he had none now. “I saw him an hour ago,” he continued as he pried her fingers from the freshly laundered silk. “He was a bit annoyed at my, ah, flaunting one flower in front of the other. If you get my drift.”

She did, and her eyes narrowed. “Idiot.”

“Yes, well …” To keep himself from laughing at his brother in front of Doreen, Bennett coughed into his hand. “I straightened him out on all counts. So the problem’s solved.” He smiled charmingly, glad to do them both a favor.

“Straightened him out, did you?” Now her eyes were slits, dark, dangerous slits. “You feel you had the right to speak for me?”

“For myself.” Bennett held up a soothing, or protecting, hand, palm out. “I simply explained that …” He shot a look at a quiet, but raptly attentive Doreen. “Ah, that nothing had ever been—well, been.” Uncomfortable he shifted. “It seemed to satisfy him.”

“Oh, did it? Isn’t that lovely.” Eve jammed restless hands into her pockets. “I’ll do my own explaining in the future, thank you.” Her voice was honey with a dash of bitters. “Where is he?”

Grateful that the temper in her eyes was about to be pointed in another direction, Bennett smiled. His only regret was that he wouldn’t see the results. “Since he was dressed for fencing, I’d say he’s in the gym with his partner.”

“Thanks.” She took three strides down the hall before calling over her shoulder, “Rehearsal’s at nine sharp, Doreen. I want you rested.”

* * *

Eve had always liked the area in the east wing the Bissets had converted to a gym. She was a physical woman, and one who could appreciate the beauty and contrast of a room with lofted, carved ceilings and steel machines and weights. There was no scent of the sea here, no pretty cut flowers in crystal vases, but the stained glass windows were rich and ancient.

She passed through the exercise room. Normally she would have admired the first-rate equipment and setup. Now she did no more than glance around to assure herself the room was empty.

The tang of chlorinated and heated water hit her as she entered the solarium, where a red fiberglass spa dominated. Steam rose up; the sun poured in. Through the clear glass you could see the sky and touches of the sea with its deeper blue. Another time she might have been tempted to relieve her tensed muscles in the soothing water. Again she passed through with only a glance. And when she opened the next door, she heard the clash and scrape of swords.

The tall, windowless room had a floor of dull hardwood, spread now with the
piste
, the fencing mat, of linoleum. Along one wall ran a mirror and dance
barre
. Two men in white were reflected in the glass as they moved together, knees slightly bent, backs straight, left arms curled up and behind.

Both men were tall, both slim and dark headed. The mesh masks hid and protected their faces through the thrusts and parries. Eve had no trouble recognizing Alexander.

It was the way he moved. Regally, she thought with a sniff, and crossed her arms over her chest while fighting to ignore the quick surge of need. It would always be there when she saw him. She had to acknowledge, even accept it, and go on.

The room rang, metal on metal. The men were silent but for their breathing. And well matched, Eve decided as she watched and analyzed styles and movement. Alexander would never have chosen an inferior fencer as his partner. He’d want the challenge. Little thrills ran up her arms. And the triumph.

In another century, another life, he would have defended his country with the sword, wielding it in battle to
protect his people, his land, his birthright.

He could use it still, Eve realized as he moved steadily forward, offense rather than defense. More than once Eve saw him drop his guard to attack, parrying his opponent’s thrust just before the safety tip made contact.

Would he fight so recklessly, she wondered, if the points were honed sharp? Another thrill passed through her, this time to twist in her stomach as she answered her own question.

In this one-on-one he would indeed be reckless in the way he never allowed himself in matters of state. His outlet would be the physical, which she understood, and the sense of danger, which she did not.

Again and again he challenged his opponent. Swords crossed; metal slid whistling down metal. Then with two subtle movements of his wrist, Alexander was past the guard, pressing the safety button lightly to his partner’s heart.

“Well done, sir.” The defeated drew off his face mask. Eve saw immediately that the man was older than she had thought and vaguely familiar. He had a rakish face and an interesting one, lined at the eyes, shadowed with dark hair over the lip. His eyes were a pale, pale gray and met Eve’s over Alexander’s shoulder. “We have an audience, Your Highness.”

Alexander turned and through the wire mesh saw Eve standing rigidly inside the door. He saw the temper, glowing in her eyes, stiffening her shoulders. Curious, he lifted the mask. Now his eyes, dark, still lit with the excitement of victory, met hers without obstruction. He saw, mixed with the temper, heightened because of it, the passion. The need. The desire.

Slowly, his gaze still locked on hers, he tucked the mask under his arm. “Thank you for the match, Jermaine.”

“My pleasure, Your Highness.” Under the mustache, Jermaine’s lips curved. He was French by blood and had no trouble recognizing passion when he saw it. He would forgo his usual after-the-match wine with his friend and pupil. “Until next week.”

“Yes.” It was only a murmur. Alexander’s eyes had yet to leave Eve’s face.

Smothering a grin, Jermaine replaced his
épée
and mask on the rack before moving to the door. “
Bon soir,
mademoiselle.
”

“
Bon soir
.” Eve moistened her lips on the words and listened to the door click shut behind her. Folding her hands primly, she inclined her head. “You have excellent form, Your Highness.”

The softly spoken words didn’t fool him for a moment. She was mad as a hornet and already aroused despite herself. But the words snapped his own tension. With a cocky grin, he lifted his sword in salute. “I can return the compliment,
mademoiselle
.”