Cordinas Crown Jewel (15 page)

Later, he decided, he’d think about if he were amused or uneasy that the woman read him so well. “Why not? I’m good at being annoyed.”

“Yes, you should get an award. But you’re going to want me again as soon as you’ve recovered, so you won’t be able to be annoyed about it. Defeats the purpose.”

“Awfully damn sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

“About some things.” She leaned down and kissed him. “About this.”

“Well, it so happens, you’re wrong, smart mouth.” Because she was frowning at him, she didn’t see the direction of his hand until it closed, possessively, over her breast. “I already want you again, and I might never recover from round one.”

“I think you will. But I’m sorry you’re hurting. I think I’ll go down and make you an ice pack.”

“I think you should settle down and be quiet for five minutes.” To help her out, he pushed her elbow out from under her so her head bounced on his good shoulder.

“You have a body like a rock,” she muttered.

“Don’t try to get me going again, sister. I’m going to sleep for a half hour.”

“Just let me—”

“Shh!” This time he solved the problem by wrapping an arm around her, and clamping a hand over her mouth.

She narrowed her eyes, considered biting. Before she could decide, his fingers went lax, his breathing evened out. She saw, to her astonishment, that he was as good as his word. He was, in ten seconds flat, sound asleep.

*  *  *

Thirty minutes later, shortly after she’d drifted from consternation into sleep herself, he woke her with a mind-numbing kiss. She shot to the surface, floundered there, then was dragged under again.

Later, when she lay sprawled on the bed, feeling dazed and used and gloriously ravished, he rolled over onto his good side, muttered something about blowing out the damn candles, and went instantly back to sleep.

For a long time after, Camilla stared up at the ceiling, grinning foolishly. She’d found another passion, she realized, and his name was Delaney Caine. The man she was going to marry, whether he liked it or not.

She was, as always, up before him in the morning. Routinely she brewed coffee, then decided to take the first cup with her on a walk to the pond. She felt Del deserved to sleep in.

They would, of course, have to juggle their time between Vermont, digs, Virginia and Cordina. It was going to make for a full, busy and, she thought, very rich life.

He’d like her family, and they him. After they got to know each other, she thought, nibbling on her lip.

She didn’t suppose he’d care for the protocol and formality demanded by her duties to Cordina as a princess and niece to the king. But surely he could adjust there. Marriage was, after all, give and take.

Naturally she was going to have to convince him he wanted to marry her first. And before that she’d have to convince him he was in love with her.

He
had
to be in love with her. She couldn’t have all this feeling inside her for someone who didn’t return at least a part of it.

She wandered through the woods, watching the early sun slant quivering rays through the boughs. For now, she reminded herself, she would simply appreciate the moment. This time with him, and with herself, without a past or future. Time to enjoy the discoveries, the courtship and romance.

Just because she’d fallen in love quickly didn’t obligate him to rush. And it didn’t mean she couldn’t drift a bit and savor the sensation of being a woman in love.

When she reached the pond, she sat on a stump. She’d have to see that they found a nice, weathered old bench to put here, she thought. And maybe she’d sink some containers of water lilies along the edge of the water.

Small changes, subtle ones, she mused. Nothing major. Just as she didn’t intend to try to change anything vital and elemental where Del was concerned.

She’d put her mark on the cabin, hadn’t she, while respecting its basic personality and charm. She would hardly afford the man less respect than she did his home.

No, she liked him the way he was. Her lips curved as she lifted the coffee cup. Just exactly as he was.

When they were both more accustomed to this new stage of their relationship, she’d find a way to tell him about her birthright. In another week, she decided. Surely she was entitled to one more week.

She’d have to find the right way to present things. She could start with her father, she mused. Casually mentioning that he’d once been a cop, and had gone into private security, buying the land in Virginia because he’d wanted to farm. How her paternal and maternal grandfathers had been friends. That was why, when her mother was in trouble, her grandfather had reached out to the son of his old friend for help.

A bit confusing, Camilla supposed, but it was a good start. Then she could say something like—oh, did I mention my mother’s from Cordina?

That should, hopefully, open the door a bit wider. With any luck Del would comment, or have some minor question, so she could slide into a casual mention that her uncle, her mother’s brother, was His Royal Highness Alexander de Cordina.

He’d probably laugh at that, say something like:
Sure, sister, and you’re the queen of the May.

She could laugh back, treating it all very lightly.
No, no, just a mere princess on a short, stolen holiday.

And that, she decided, would never work.

She cursed in frustration, and in French, and propped her chin on her fist.

“You come all the way out here to swear at the ducks.”

She yelped, spilling coffee onto the back of her hand. She sprang up and whirled to face Del. “I like it better when you clumped around like an elephant.”

And he’d liked it better when he hadn’t kept thinking how very beautiful she was.

He’d woken reaching for her. It seemed to him if the woman was going to slip into his bed, the least she could do was stay there. Then he’d panicked because she hadn’t been in the house. The thought of her gone had sent him out in a rib-jarring run until he’d calmed himself down.

Now it was worse, a hundred times worse, because she wasn’t gone. She was standing there, the sun and water at her back, looking like something out of a storybook.

The light played over that sleek cap of hair like jewels in a crown. Her eyes were more gold than brown, and seemed impossibly rich against the cool, clear skin. She had a half smile on her mouth—that long, lovely mouth.

He wanted, as he’d wanted the night before, to wrap his arms around her. To hold her exactly as she was.

And that was crazy.

“I didn’t smell any breakfast.”

“Because I haven’t started it yet. I thought you’d sleep awhile longer.”

“We said we’d start early today.”

“So we did.” Now she smiled fully. “I wasn’t sure that still held, after last night.” Since he wasn’t coming to her, she stepped to him. Lifted a hand to brush at his hair. “How do you feel?”

“I’m okay. Listen, about last night …”

“Yes?” She rose on her toes, touched her lips lightly to his. And wound his stomach muscles into knots.

“We didn’t lay out any of the … Look, there are no strings here.”

A little bubble of temper rose to her throat, but she swallowed it. “Did I try to tie any on you while you slept?”

“I’m not saying—” He hated being made to feel defensive. “I just want us to be clear, since we didn’t get into any of it last night. We enjoy each other, we’ll keep it simple, and when it’s over it’s done.”

“That’s very clear.” It would be undignified to strike him, and she didn’t believe in resorting to physical violence. Particularly against the mentally deficient. Instead she smiled easily. “Then there’s nothing to worry about, is there?”

With her expression pleasant, even patient, she ran her hands up his chest, lightly over his shoulders and into his hair. And fixed her mouth on his in a long, smoldering kiss.

She waited for his hand to fist in the back of her shirt, then nimbly stepped away and left him vibrating.
“I’ll fix omelets, then we’ll get to work.”

Her eyes sparked with temper and challenge as she started up the path. And smiled in the friendliest of manners as she turned, held out her hand.

Baboon, she thought—with some affection—as he took her hand to walk back to the cabin. You’re in for one hell of a fight.

They had a week of relative peace. Camilla decided peace would always be relative when Delaney was involved. His grumpiness was just one of the things about him she’d come to count on. In fact, it was part of his charm.

She raided his books on archaeology. Though he muttered about her messing with his things, she knew he was pleased she had a sincere interest in the field.

When she asked questions, he answered them—and in more and more detail. It became routine for them to discuss what she had read. Even for him to suggest, offhandedly, another book or section she might want to study.

When he gave her a small Acheulean hand ax from his collection, she treasured the crude, ancient tool more than diamonds.

It was more than a gift, she thought. Much more than a token. It was, to her mind, a symbol.

He hardly complained at all about driving her back into town to pick up her car. And he took it for granted that whatever her plans had been before, mobile or not, she was staying awhile.

They were, Camilla thought, making progress.

She’d managed to peel a layer or two away as well. She learned his father was English, also Oxford educated, and had met his mother, an American, on a dig the senior Dr. Caine had headed in Montana.

So he’d spent some of his childhood in England, some in Vermont, and the bulk of it in trailers and tents on various sites all over the world.

The hand ax he’d given her was from Kent, and one he’d unearthed when he’d been a boy. It made the gift doubly precious to her.

He could read Sanskrit and Greek, and had once been bitten by a coral snake.

The scar just beneath his left shoulder blade was from a knife wielded by a drunk in a bar in Cairo.

However foolish it was, Camilla found all of this fabulously romantic.

She drove into town to mail off the first of his reports and correspondence.
Their
reports, she corrected, smugly. She’d contributed more than typing skills and he’d managed to indicate just that with a few approving grunts when she’d suggested a change or another angle of approach.

They made a good team.

When they made love, it seemed there was nothing and no one in the world but the two of them. Past, future were distant and irrelevant in that intense and eager present. She knew by the way he looked at her when they joined, the way his eyes would stay so vivid on hers, that it was the same for him.

None of the men who had touched her life had brought this kind of impact. To her heart, her body, her mind. She hoped—needed to know—that she brought the same to him.

No strings, she thought with a quick snort. Typical. If he wanted no strings why had he begun to take walks with her in the woods? Why did he answer patiently—well, patiently for him—when she asked questions?

Why did she sometimes catch him looking at her the way he did? So intense and direct, as if she were a puzzle he was trying to figure out?

And why did he, at the oddest moments, simply lean over and capture her mouth in a kiss that sizzled her brain?

The man was in love with her, and that was that. He was just too boneheaded to realize it. Or at least to admit it.

She’d give him a little more time, then she’d tell him she was in love with him. When he got used to the idea, she’d explain about the other part of her life.

It all seemed so reasonable as she ran her errands. Her mood was mellow when she strolled into the antique shop. She would try Sarah first regarding the watch, she decided. It was mortifying to be so low on cash, and have Del hand her money every time something was needed for the cabin.

Besides, if she could pay her way a bit more, she could fairly demand that he pull more weight on domestic
chores. It was time he washed a few dishes.

“Good morning.” She beamed a smile at Sarah as she wound her way through the antiques.

Sarah turned over the magazine she’d been paging through. “Good morning, ah … Miss Breen.”

“I noticed you have a selection of secondhand jewelry and watches.”

“Yes.” Sarah answered cautiously as she studied Camilla’s face.

“I wonder if you’d be interested in this.” Camilla took off her watch, held it out.

“It’s lovely. Um …” Hesitantly Sarah turned the watch over. She ran her fingers over the smooth gold, watched the tiny diamonds wink. “It’s not the sort of thing we usually …”

She trailed off, then simply stared at Camilla.

“It’s all right. I thought I’d see if you might be interested in buying it. I’ll try the jeweler.”

“You are her.” Sarah barely breathed it, her eyes wide and dazzled.

There was a hard clutching in Camilla’s throat, but her face remained perfectly calm. “I beg your pardon?”

“I thought … when you were in the other day … I knew you looked like somebody.”

“Everyone looks like someone.” With a steady hand, Camilla reached for her watch. “Thank you anyway.”

“Princess Camilla.” Sarah pressed her fingertips to her lips. “I can’t believe it. Princess Camilla, in my shop. You’re right here. And, and here!” Triumphantly now, she flipped the magazine over.

And there, Camilla saw with a sinking heart, was her own face being touted as one of the most beautiful in the world.

“You cut your hair. All that fabulous hair.”

“Yes, well.” Resigned, Camilla sighed. “It was time for a change.”

“You look wonderful. Even better than—” Catching herself, Sarah paled. “Oh. Excuse me. Um. Your Highness.” She dipped in a quick curtsy that had her blond tail of hair bouncing.

“Don’t. Please.” Struggling to smile, Camilla glanced toward the door and prayed no other customers would come in. “I’m traveling very quietly at the moment. I’d really prefer keeping it that way.”

“I taped that documentary on the royal family. After you were in last week, I kept thinking and thinking,
and then it hit me. I watched it again. But I thought I had to be wrong. Cordina’s Crown Jewel doesn’t just drop in to my store for old bottles. But here you are.”