[Montacroix Royal Family Series 02] - The Prince & the Showgirl (14 page)

Reaching out, he ran his palm down the silken waves. "You should always wear your hair down."

The masculine possessiveness in his tone rankled. "Is that a royal command, Your Highness?"

"Not a royal command." Without bothering to seek her permission, he captured several gilt strands and sifted them like grains of gleaming sand through his fingers. "Merely a man's request."

His words, his gaze, his touch, pleased her and Sabrina didn't even try to hide it. "With lines like that, it's no wonder that you have every woman on the continent chasing after you."

It was, unfortunately, all too true. There had of course been women. Many of them. Perhaps even too many in his youth. As he'd grown older he'd realized that several women had wanted nothing more than the thrill of going to bed with royalty. When that realization struck home, he became a great deal more choosy.

And Burke didn't want every woman on the continent. He wanted Sabrina.

"The press exaggerates. As I am sure you know all too well."

Sabrina thought back on all the cruel, fictional stories that had been written about Sonny over the years. She certainly hadn't escaped, either. In fact, if she'd had a dollar for every time some supermarket tabloid had put her father or her on the cover, she'd be able to move into one of those exclusive Park Avenue apartments with a view of Central Park.

"Point taken," she murmured. "Well, I'd better be getting upstairs."

Knowing that if they stayed together any longer, all his good intentions would dissolve like a sand castle at high tide, Burke didn't argue.

"I really did have a wonderful evening," she said into the relaxed silence surrounding them as they lingered once again at the door to her suite.

"You sound surprised."

"I suppose I am."

Even as he would have preferred a polite little lie, Burke found himself admiring her truthfulness. "We didn't get off to a very auspicious start," he admitted. "And I suppose the blame for that lies with me."

"Not with you." She leaned her head back against the silk-covered wall. "It was just a…" Sabrina's voice trailed off. The long day, the excitement of the gambling, the heated kisses she'd shared with Burke in the back of the limousine, all conspired to make her suddenly exhausted. "Strange situation," she murmured, willing her weary brain to come up with a proper explanation.

"You know we're going to have to talk about it," Burke said quietly. There was something important happening between them. Undercurrents they would not be able to ignore for very long.

Sabrina didn't want to hear Burke list all the sane, practical reasons why he couldn't offer her a future. She suspected that as the gentleman she now knew him to be, he would feel obligated to tell her there was nothing permanent about their relationship. That if she chose to make love to him, it would only be an affair.

"Tomorrow," she murmured on a sultry Southern drawl. "At Tara." Linking her hands around his neck, Sabrina lifted her face for Burke's good-night kiss and allowed herself to risk.

7

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The following morning, Burke stood in the basement of the Montacroix Police Station, frowning down at the lifeless form that only last night had been a vibrant, attractive young woman.

"Yes, I recognize her," he said quietly. "She worked at the casino. She was a waitress in the
Salon Prive
."

"The casino manager claims never to have seen her," Caine informed him.

Burke shot him a quick, surprised look. "But that's impossible. Only last night this same woman brought Sabrina and me each a glass of champagne. She claimed it was from Dominique, to celebrate Sabrina's luck at the tables."

Caine's dark eyes narrowed. "What time would that have been?"

"After midnight," Burke answered promptly.

"That'd be a bit difficult," Drew said. He'd accompanied Burke to the old brick building. "Since Dominique went home early last night. She'd already left the casino by eleven-thirty."

Burke snapped to attention. "Impossible."

"Her story checks out," Caine said. "Apparently her mother was taken ill. The casino telephone operator logged the call at eleven-twenty."

"Her mother has a heart condition," Burke remembered. "That was the reason Dominique moved in with her last month. To ensure that she was being properly taken care of." His dark brow furrowed. "How is Madame Brasseur?"

"According to the doctors at the hospital, it was only a slight flutter. She was kept overnight for observation and released this morning."

"That, at least, is good news." Burke made a mental note to send the elderly woman flowers and have the casino manager instruct Dominique to take all the time she needed before returning to work. With pay, of course.

"And her daughter stayed by her side all night," Drew tacked on significantly.

"Then Dominique could not possibly have sent the champagne," Burke considered.

"Not unless she called the order in from the emergency room," Caine concurred. "And although the casino manager assured me that Dominique Brasseur is a model employee, she undoubtedly had something more important on her mind than ensuring her boss celebrated his guest's good fortune. Did you drink any of the champagne?"

As Burke remembered placing the untouched glasses on the passing tray, ice skimmed up his spine, reminding him of something Sabrina had said last night. A cat walking over her grave.

At this moment, looking down at the poor unfortunate woman laid out unceremoniously on the stainless steel table, he understood the American idiom perfectly.

"No. Sabrina was fatigued. She wished to return to the palace."

"Lucky for you," Drew murmured.

"Damn lucky," Caine concurred.

"I don't suppose you will be able to locate those glasses," Burke asked. What if one of the drinks—or both—had been doctored? The idea of Sabrina being harmed was unthinkable!

"We've already closed the casino, intending to go over the place with a fine-tooth comb," Caine said. "But I'm not holding out any hope."

Yet another unpalatable thought occurred to Burke. "I suppose my father will have to be notified."

"I can't see any way to keep him out of it," Caine agreed. "Not without endangering the rest of the family."

"Of course we cannot do that."

Although the sight chilled his blood, Burke looked down at the young woman once again, taking in the treacherous dark bruises on either side of her neck. Then, with remarkably steady hands, considering the circumstances, he pulled the black covering back over her unnaturally waxy face.

"I don't suppose she had any papers on her?"

"No."

He sighed heavily; his broad shoulders slumped. "When you learn her identity, I wish to be told immediately. It is my responsibility to extend my condolences to her family."

Understanding the Giraudeau's unwavering belief in family ties and royal obligations, Caine nodded. "I'll keep you informed of the investigation."

His expression was grave as he held out his hand toward the man who had become his brother-in-law two years ago and, more importantly, his friend. Burke shook hands with his sister's husband and felt a bond as strong as if Caine had been his own blood brother.

As he returned to the palace, Burke could not get the image of that poor dead waitress out of his mind.

The rented black sedan drove slowly by the police office as Burke emerged. The driver took careful notice of the guard walking beside the prince, just as he noted the men sitting in the two unmarked cars parked in front of the station.

His knuckles whitened as his hands tightened to a strangle grip on the steering wheel; the expression on his face suggested that he would love to put those strong fingers around the prince's neck.

He'd received a great deal of complaints concerning last night's failure. As well he should. It was, after all, what he deserved for relying on someone else—and a woman—to carry out such an important assignment. He was a professional. As such, he was well paid to perform. And he would. Soon.

The man's thin harsh lips curved in a cold smile as he anticipated the funds which would be waiting for him in the Geneva bank.

Sabrina couldn't figure Burke out. There was absolutely no sign of the debonair, sophisticated prince whose company she'd enjoyed at the casino, nary a glimpse of the sexy, desirable man she'd nearly made love to in the limousine. Instead, although his behavior remained studiously polite, over the next three days he grew oddly distant. And surprisingly short-tempered.

Not that he wasn't an excellent host. Every afternoon, after his time trials, he would take Sabrina's family on a tour of his country. So far she'd seen the royal vineyards, the royal yacht harbor, the royal game reserve, the royal ski resort, and even the royal dairy herd, which Dixie, never without her guidebook, correctly identified as Swiss Brown cows. But for not a single second had he managed to find time to be alone with her.

Obviously Sabrina came to the conclusion on the afternoon before the race, Burke had changed his mind about wanting to make love to her. And, gentleman that he was, he didn't want to tell her outright that he no longer found her appealing.

Sabrina had known all along that the prince would regret his dalliance with a commoner. But she hadn't expected his change of heart to occur so soon. Neither had she expected it to hurt so badly.

Although in the beginning she'd assured herself that she wanted nothing at all to do with the playboy prince, during this past week in Montacroix, she'd definitely changed her mind.

Now, all she had to do was change his mind.

Claiming fatigue and a headache, she begged off on yet another afternoon sight-seeing trip. As soon as the limousine glided away from the palace, carrying her mother and sisters, along with Chantal, Caine and Burke, Sabrina shed her robe, revealing the flowered dress she was wearing beneath it.

Next she checked her purse, to make certain she had her credit cards. When Sabrina left the suite, she was smiling with anticipation. Twenty minutes later, she was in one of the pricey boutiques in the heart of the Alpine village, turning this way and that in front of the three-way mirror.

"It's
tres chic, n'est-ce pas
?" The unsophisticated saleswoman stood behind Sabrina, beaming her approval.

"It's very black," Sabrina agreed.

As she stared at her reflection, she was wondering if she'd done the right thing, putting herself into this woman's immaculately manicured hands. Then she remembered that the boutique had come highly recommended. Chantal had professed to purchasing several gowns here.

"Black is a perfect foil for your blond hair," Francoise pointed out.

That much was true. Still, Sabrina couldn't help feeling as if she were dressing for a funeral. Indeed, at least the dress she'd bought for her father's funeral had boasted gleaming pearl buttons down the front. "Perhaps a scarf," Sabrina mused, eyeing a bold red-and-gold silk scarf on the nearby glass counter.

"
Oh non, mademoiselle
," the clerk said, clearly alarmed. Sabrina suspected that she would have been no less shocked if her American client had suggested torching her beloved boutique. "This dress is grand sculpture. Would one put a scarf on the Eiffel Tower? Or the Sphinx? Or even your own American Washington Monument?" She pursed her scarlet lips and shook her head. "I think not."

"Perhaps a chain?" Sabrina plucked a long pearl-and-gold chain from a display rack.

Francoise shook her blond head with obvious disapproval. "The magic of this gown is its starkness. It interests a man by making him imagine the woman underneath."

The flowing trapeze-style dress covered her from throat to wrists to ankles, providing nearly as effective camouflage as an Arab woman's voluminous cloak. Sabrina could only hope that Burke had a very vivid imagination.

"I don't know…" She hesitated, remembering the masculine approval that had shone in his eyes when he'd seen her in her brief gold slip dress.

"Mademoiselle asked for my opinion," the clerk said on a distinctly Gallic huff. "If you would prefer something else…"

"No." Reminding herself that she'd come here today to purchase a gown suitable for the upcoming coronation ball, something that would make her appear as sophisticated and cosmopolitan as Burke's usual women, Sabrina took a deep breath and said, "I'll take it."

As she handed over her American Express card, she could only hope that Burke's response would be worth the dress's outrageous price.

After arranging to have the dress sent to the palace, Sabrina went shopping for the appropriate shoes and bag. The shoes were black satin pumps, the bag was matching black satin with a simple gold clasp.

"Well," she muttered as she sat in a cafe and sipped an espresso and nibbled at a delicious chocolate-and-strawberry crème pastry, "at least I've got the wardrobe if I ever get cast as a grieving widow."