Princess In Denim (7 page)

Emma's long-suffering sigh spoke volumes. "Yes, Your Highness?"

Chloe was momentarily speechless as she discovered impressive artwork also lined every passageway through which she walked. Mycenaean vases and Greek busts adorned nooks along walls which were sometimes stone, other times plaster. A jackal-headed Canopic jar, which Chloe fervently hoped did not contain the traditional remains of the dead, occupied its own cranny.

"Do you think it'd be possible for me to stop in a bathroom first?"

Emma grinned—a welcome sight to Chloe in such foreign surroundings. "Of course, Your Highness."

"Good," she said with her own smile of relief. "I wasn't sure what was appropriate when the king might be waiting."

"You're a royal princess, Your Highness. You may do whatever you wish."

Chloe noted that William and Leonard were far enough behind them not to overhear. They appeared lost in their own conversation.

"I'm sure you'd like to think so, Emma, but I distinctly remember reaching for the door handle in the limo and having you swat my hand away."

"I didn't swat, I brushed."

"Swatted."

Emma didn't retort, but instead said, "Perhaps Your Highness would like a signal from time to time? Up these stairs."

The stone stairs were worn uneven from generations of feet. Chloe resisted the impulse to get down on her knees and run her hand over them, as if she could absorb centuries of history by doing so.

"I think that'd be a dandy idea."

Emma groaned. "Really, Your Highness, the colloquialism you picked up in the States is most unattractive."

"The signal, Emma."

"I don't know. I've never needed one." When Chloe reached the top of the stairs, Emma directed, "Around to your left now."

"Don't let me leave alone. After all these turns, I'll never be able to find my way back."

"I shan't leave your side. Third door on the left is a powder room."

The "powder room" was big enough to party in; so large, in fact, that Chloe felt downright exposed. Toilets were supposed to have walls near them, at least within reaching distance. She was so uncomfortable that she made quick use of the facilities and rushed back out into the hall.

Emma waited alone. "His Majesty has gone ahead to see if your father is awake."

"Good, then we can get our signals down pat." She headed in the direction Emma indicated with a nod. "It should be something natural, so no one will suspect."

"Yes, of course. Should I cough?"

"No, you'll draw attention to yourself."

"Very right, Your Highness. I could wink."

"They'll think you've got a tic. How about if you pat your hair?"

"They'll think I'm vain."

"Hopefully I'll catch on before that happens."

Emma patted her hair. "Is that yes or no?"

"Yes."

"And what about no?"

"Hmm." Chloe got distracted by a particularly elegant gold wall sconce. "Play with your necklace."

"I don't wear jewelry, Your Highness. Up these stairs."

"It's a good thing I'm in great shape from hiking around the campus."

"Instead of the necklace?" Emma reminded her to stay on track.

Chloe really wanted to enjoy her new surroundings, not make up games. She decided to give her royal privileges a test run. "Start wearing one."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Boy, that was easy.

"In the meantime, I'll touch the neck of my blouse if I think you're about to blunder." In a matter of minutes, Emma indicated an open doorway, through which voices floated out into the hall. "Do you remember what to do? What to say?"

Chloe took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yes."

I hope.

Emma patted her hair and said, "Yes," then fingered her neckline and said, "No."

"Gotcha."

Emma sighed audibly.

"Don't worry. It's just the two of us."

"It's most imperative, Your Highness, not to ever think it's just the two of us."

Chloe stepped into the king's bedchamber and struggled to keep her mouth from gaping open at the pure luxury of it. It was so large—larger than her entire apartment in Santa Barbara—and so rich with hunter green silk draping the windows, covering the walls and swathing the bedposts, that it made the king—her
father
—appear quite small and pale. White-haired and gaunt, he reclined in his bed, his back and shoulders propped up by a mound of velvet pillows, royal purple with golden tassels at each corner.

"Father," she said. She crossed the room quickly to his bedside and held out her hands.

He wheezed and coughed for a moment, then took her hands in his cold grasp. "Moira...you have grown into a lovely woman. You—" Another cough and wheeze. "You look like your mother when she was your age." His pale face lit up in a smile.

"Father, I had no idea you were so ill."

King Albert waved away her distress.

"You could have come sooner," sniped a voice from the comer.

Chloe turned and saw a lean, bearded man. He looked so much like Moira, she had no doubt this was her brother, Prince Louis. The one who was supposed to spend so much time out of the country and cause her no trouble.

"Then you would have seen for yourself how much you were needed here," Louis said.

"Hello, Louis." How old had he been when Moira had left? Ten? "You've grown quite tall."

He stepped forward, looking at her closely as he advanced. "I had given up on requesting your presence for Father."

Chloe didn't know what to say. Neither Moira nor Emma had mentioned more than the recent request that had prompted their switch. Had Moira lied by omission? Or had someone not told Moira that she was needed here?

"I must nap now, Moira," King Albert said. "But first, I waited because I have good news." He wheezed, caught his breath and glanced at William. "Perhaps I shall wait until later. You must be tired from your journey."

"His Majesty took good care of me."

"Yes, I knew he would." He coughed again. "Let me rest now."

"Yes, Father."

"We will talk soon."

Chloe patted the old man's hand. His skin was thin and dry as paper. His eyes drifted closed, and he looked at peace.

Her brother, however, tossed her a hostile glare that made her want to crawl under the bed.

Chapter Four

"Emma," Chloe said softly as they adjourned to the passageway outside her father's bedroom, "I need a tour of the castle ASAP. The room I had as a child, my favorite places, that sort of thing."

"Yes, Your Highness, I was thinking the very same thing."

She tried to wiggle her toes to uncramp them and remembered why she preferred her old boots. "Right after I get out of these heels. How did she wear them for hours at a time?"

"She
did not walk alongside limousines." Even with Emma's dry tone, it sounded like a compliment. "Now, bid King William goodbye, and we will begin."

Chloe turned toward the three men exiting her father's suite. She pointedly ignored her brother's glare and concentrated instead on a very relieved-looking William. "Your Majesty—"

"Your father looks better today," he said positively. "I think he is quite pleased to have you home again."

She'd thought King Albert looked like death warmed over.

William's smile was warm and genuine, his gaze smoldering. "But not as pleased as I am," he added.

No man had ever looked at Chloe quite that way before, and it took her a moment to compose her speech. "Thank you, Your Majesty. And thank you, also, for the use of your plane. It made the trip home quite pleasant.'"

There, that wasn't so bad. I'll just pretend I'm in a play, and before long, it'll be second nature to talk so darned tactfully all the time. So prissy and highfalutin.

"Your Highness, would you like to go riding?"

She looked at William closely to see whether he was extending the invitation out of duty, but he actually looked eager.

"I was fixin' to." She took a deep breath and tried again. "I thought I'd go to my room for a while."

"But, Your Highness, you have too much energy to be tired. Surely you do not intend to spend your first day home closed up inside."

Out of the corner of her eye, Chloe caught Emma patting her hair. Chloe was free to go, except for one thing. She didn't even know how to get out of the castle to get to the stables, a fact that served to emphasize that one-on-one time with Emma was an absolute necessity.

"It's very kind of you, Your Majesty. Perhaps I could have a rain check?"

"Rain check?" William's brows puckered ever so slightly, an amusing sight above his lopsided grin. "Ah, that must be one of your American expressions."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I mean, would it be all right if I took you up on your offer at a later date?"

"Tomorrow, perhaps."

She was glad to see that she hadn't hurt his feelings. Who could say what a king thought when he got turned down? A king probably never got put off. Especially not William, not with those gold flecks in his eyes tinkling the way they were now. If she didn't have groundwork to cover...

"Maybe I'll see you then. And thanks— Thank you again." Chloe turned, toward Emma, caught a barely perceptible nod indicating which direction to go, and headed that way.

She hadn't gone more than a step when William said, "Your Highness."

She pivoted back toward him before she remembered she was wearing high heels, not sturdy cowboy boots, on a marble floor. She bobbled. He shot out a hand in reflex, but she regained her balance just as he grasped her elbow.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yeah, just these darned—"

His eyebrows shot up.

"Uh, yes, I'm fine. Thank you for being so quick."

"My pleasure," he said, with just the slightest little bow of his head, which only served to draw her attention to the warmth in his eyes.

"Um, you can let go of my elbow now."

He released her slowly, letting his fingers slide off her sleeve. "Your American accent is quite enchanting, Your Highness."

All the same, Chloe didn't want to give up the game just yet. "It is? Oh, well, thank you. All those years in America, I was bound to pick one up."

"Would you join me for dinner this evening?"

Persistent devil.

Again Emma, who had her back to them and was pretending to be deeply engrossed in a painting on the wall and not paying them any attention, patted her hair.

"That's very nice of you. I'd like that, of course, but it's my first day home, and I should dine with my father."

"Well, I shall have to settle for riding tomorrow, then. Say ten o'clock?"

Chloe loved morning rides, and she should know her way around the castle well enough by then. She smiled in anticipation, both of riding and of seeing him again. They could venture out together across the countryside, just the two of them. The breeze in her face, dew on the grass, a good horse beneath her, a handsome king beside her —what more could a former Texas cowgirl ask for?

William gently grasped her arms as he had when they met on the plane, dipped his head and closed the gap between them. Mesmerized by his lapis eyes, straight nose and firm chin coming closer and closer, Chloe found herself staring until she was cross-eyed. His cheek was warm on hers, and his lips were firm as he graced both cheeks with the same silken treatment.

And if she was not mistaken, he lingered while he was at it, too. Although she might have felt that way simply because, when his head dipped, her heart lurched into her throat and remained there.

"Until tomorrow," he whispered in her ear.

He turned and left. She couldn't move. She was grateful that Leonard accompanied him and Louis disappeared, leaving her alone with Emma.

"Your Highness."

Chloe sighed, letting her breath out slowly, melting a little as she watched him walk down the hall with a long, purposeful stride and start down the steps. The last thing she saw was the top of his head, his dark hair thick and luscious and begging her to dream about him tonight.

* * *

As he walked out of the great hall and down the stone steps, William had a sudden, inexplicable craving for chocolate. It took him a moment to realize he was also quietly humming a catchy tune about the same. The very same tune he had heard Moira singing on his jet. He glanced at Leonard to see whether he had overheard, but one could seldom read the secretary's expression.

Unlike Princess Moira, whose bright eyes and open smile hid nothing. Noting her pleasure at being home again and seeing her castle after such a long absence was like watching a child's face light up at Christmas. Her concern for her father's health was admirable. And her warm anticipation of his kiss—that was not to be forgotten. She had tensed up when he had kissed her on the plane, as if she had not expected it. She had been more relaxed this time, more supple in his grasp, less resistant.

As a man, he thought she rather liked his kisses. Maybe even read more into them than a traditional greeting. But he wanted to be her friend, and soon—before she learned of the marriage contract. All he could do was hope her father did not break the news over dinner tonight. If not, he could start on his friendship campaign at ten o'clock tomorrow morning.