Princess In Denim (18 page)

He shrugged. "Maybe not so damp."

* * *

Outside the atrium, Prince Louis intercepted Hilda, Anna, and the puppy. "What the devil is that dog doing in the castle?"

Hilda urged Anna to keep moving toward the kitchen, and she carefully kept herself between the child and Louis.

"Dogs have not been allowed in Ennsway for more than fifteen years, by His Majesty's orders." King Albert's law had not been strictly enforced for quite some time, especially on the smaller breeds. "Certainly not in the castle."

"Her Majesty, she ask to see it."

"Never!"

"Is true, Your Highness. You ask her."

"Stop right there."

Hilda stopped as ordered, but at a quiet word from her mother, Anna disappeared around the nearest corner and hugged her puppy tightly.

"Her Majesty asked to see that puppy?"

Hilda nodded vigorously. "Yes."

"She wasn't afraid of it?"

"No."

"Not even the teensiest bit frightened?"

Hilda shook her head and repeated Chloe's explanation. "Is only a puppy."

Louis smoothed his beard with his fingers. "Hmm, yes, so it was. Very interesting." And without dismissing Hilda, he walked away, deep in thought. "Very interesting, indeed."

* * *

At Baesland Castle, the limo crossed the moat bridge and drew to a stop at the inner gatehouse. William quickly motioned the driver away and held out his own hand to help Moira out of the car. For a moment, he thought she would refuse his assistance, but then she slipped her fingers into his palm, and he nearly forgot they were there to inspect the dungeon.

He had better places he would like to inspect with her. Like his bedroom. He had been a guest at her castle for a week. He had dined with her, ridden over the hills with her, pretended to read the newspaper in the same room with her. He had held her chair, inhaled hints of the exotic coconut perfume she favored and nearly gone out of his mind wanting her.

Out of respect for the recent loss of her father, he had been a perfect gentleman. Well, he was done with that; he would take a chance.

"You are sure you want to see the dungeon?"

She tilted her head up at him and, with a sly smile, asked, "Is there some reason you don't want me to?"

"You have never visited my apartment." He hoped his grin was not a leer.

"Do you keep prisoners there, too?"

"No, Moira, I do not."

"Women who have refused to marry you, perhaps?"

Momentarily beaten, he sighed and motioned for her to follow him through a low doorway and down the narrow, winding steps to the dungeon. He would have let her precede him, but it was not the best footing for a lady. Even if the lady wore running shoes and jeans.

The dimly lit area smelled musty, he noted with some dismay. Not that that was a bad thing in a dungeon, but she would undoubtedly hold it against him.

What he really wanted her to hold against him was herself. If he could get her in and out of the dungeon, then off somewhere alone, perhaps he could restore the camaraderie they had shared over breakfast in the atrium.

If he had known she liked lizards and such, he would have taken it upon himself to get her outdoors more often. He would have suggested a walk instead of a ride, and he would have been able to hold her hand.

She had spent two hours poring over books on native trees and plants. Perhaps she would like the view from the mountaintop that soared another mile above Baesland Castle. He would have the driver take them there. Her nose wrinkled. "It's filthy."

He glanced around at the rough-cut floors and walls, the low ceiling which made him stoop. "It is a dungeon." And she had only seen the outer chamber.

"Where is he?"

William turned to the man who had been unlucky enough to draw guard duty today. "Her Majesty would like to see the prisoner."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

William followed him through another short, narrow doorway to the torture chamber. The most prominent apparatus in the room was the Roman rack in the center. He dared not turn and see Moira's reaction. He did not want to see the loathing in her eyes.

It was only a few short steps to the row of cells. To himself, William swore that this dungeon used to be larger than it appeared now; he would never admit to Moira that it had been too long since he'd seen it. She lingered a moment by the rack, then followed him, and her critical presence made him aware that centuries of little use had done nothing to eliminate an underlying pervasion of body odors.

"It smells worse than a pig farm in July."

Idly he wondered when she had ever set foot within fifty miles of a pig farm. In any month.

Three poorly lit cells backed up against the outer wall. The prisoner slumped on the floor, his back against the side bars of the middle cell.

"It's wet."

"Most dungeons are damp."

"Damp? I can hear water trickling in."

"It is the moat."

The prisoner jumped to his feet, bumped his head on the ceiling with a solid thunk and ducked, his hand pressed to the top of his head

"Are they treating you well?" Moira asked him.

"Yes, ma'am."

She looked doubtful.

"I think Her Majesty wants to know if we have subjected you to any torture devices," William hinted.

The prisoner looked suitably shocked. "Oh, no, ma'am. Just the low ceiling."

"What is your name?" -

"Patrick, Your Majesty."

Moira pivoted in a slow circle, taking in her surroundings. While she did that, William blessed the low lighting that prevented her seeing all, and cursed the low lighting that equally prevented him enjoying her full circle. She had a delightful body, kept in athletic shape from the riding she did and the exercise routine he suspected she still practiced each day. Though he was beginning to doubt he would ever see her in that cropped sweatshirt again until after they were wed.

She turned up her nose and squared off with William. "When is his trial?"

"I am still looking into the matter of your accident."

"So you
do
think it was an accident!"

"I was being sarcastic."

Patrick still rubbed his head where he had bumped it. "I admit I left my post, Your Majesty," he said to Moira. "It was only for a minute to help your secretary, but I did it, and it was wrong. But I would never harm you, ma'am, you must believe me."

"Silence!" his guard hissed.

"I have family in Ennsway. Uncles and cousins and such. They want our countries united as much as we do here in Baesland."

The guard tore a club from the wall and rapped on the bars of the cell in warning.

"Stop that," Moira snapped at him.

William was caught in a quandary. Did he side with his man-at-arms and tell Patrick to shut the hell up or did he side with Moira, be compassionate, and earn points?

"William, make him stop."

Well, it would never do if he publicly gave in to that. Even if he wanted to.

Softly, Moira added, "Please."

A nod of his head, and the guard backed off.

"We all want the wedding soon, ma'am, so as to benefit everyone in both countries. New farm equipment, fresh food, new jobs, education—all of my family wants this, and so do I. We've been preparing for the event since we heard His Majesty asked for your hand."

William thought the man sounded like a walking advertisement, which, under other circumstances, would have been an admirable thing.

"Let him go," Moira ordered.

"You cannot believe he meant you no harm."

"He sounds sincere."

"Yes." William turned and addressed Patrick, "Remind me to recommend you to the theater guild when you are released."

In a hundred years.

"Well?" Moira tapped her toe on the stone floor. It made little noise, but William did not miss her meaning.

He faced her again and waited. If this was the only way he was going to get to see any of her passion, he was not about to miss a second of it.

"I could never marry a man who keeps another in such deplorable conditions."

He sighed. "Guard, release the prisoner."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The guard fumbled for the proper key. Moira headed for the exit.

William lingered behind, knowing he could not let this excuse for a man go free. Moira's life might mean nothing to her, but he could riot bear the thought of any harm coming to her.

As an aside, he whispered to the guard, "Lock him in the tower instead."

* * *

William paced his dressing room. "Damn it, Leonard, if I keep on at this rate, the three months are going to be up. I thought Her Majesty would at least like to pick her wedding date."

"Does she know she has a deadline?"

He raked his fingers through his hair, aware that it was becoming a most annoying habit. "You mean, has she read the contract? Probably backward and forward, looking for a loophole." He glanced in the full-length mirror. "Am I so repulsive?"

"If the constant marriage proposals that come in your mail are any indication, I think not."

He turned sideways and checked his reflection to see whether he had developed a gut overnight. "There, see, I keep in shape."

"Of course you do."

"I dress well."

"Most definitely."

"I am also kind to small children."

Speaking of small children brought the red-haired Anna to mind, the way she had tried to hold on to her puppy while she curtsied to them in the atrium, the musical lilt of her giggles as she'd stood at Moira's knee. Moira had been patient with her, entranced by her, generous in her offer to let her stay and play while her mother worked. A most unusual queen. She would make a wonderful mother to his children.

If he ever got that close.

He wanted children, not just because he needed an heir, but because he liked them and they were the future. He wanted half a dozen, but he could compromise one way or the other, depending on what Moira wanted.

"I do not wish to wait until the deadline, Leonard."

"They have been working day and night on Her Majesty's gown. Everyone in Baesland and Ennsway is ready to pull together at a moment's notice. I daresay you could have the wedding soon."

"Then I shall tell her today that we will wait no longer."

Leonard's face fell in dismay, but he quickly resumed his perpetual unruffled mask. "Might I make a suggestion, Your Majesty?"

His secretary was not a yes-man, and so William nodded for him to proceed, though he thought he was about to get a repeat of Leonard's earlier advice.

"Perhaps if you would...romance Her Majesty?"

William folded his arms across his chest and waited for him to continue.

"Women, sir, if I may say so, do not take kindly to being bulldozed into matters such as these."

"Bulldozed? I have been most patient with her."

"You are a king, used to getting your way, if I might say so, sir. She is a queen, used to getting her way. Women sometimes need a gentle hand. Soft music. Candlelight. Flowers."

William renewed his pacing. "I have never done this before." He had never had to. Women lined up outside his door, both marriageable ones and ones with marriage-minded daughters. Others proposed by mail. Last time he had danced at Buckingham Palace, he had had half a dozen propositions whispered in his ear before ten o'clock. "I would not know how."

"Welcome to the real world," Leonard mumbled.

"What?'
^?

"I said, women make it a confusing world, Your Majesty."

"I have learned how to please a woman, how to sidestep a woman, but...romance one? How do I do this?"

"Tell her she is beautiful."

"She is."

"But have you told her?''

"I am sure she knows it."

Leonard sighed. "You must tell her."

"I must? Then I shall."

"You must treat her special, like no one else does."

"Everyone treats her special.''

"Yes, I know. You have your work cut out for you there, I'm afraid. She's used to the very best. The An-delusion mare was a good start."'

William frowned. "She told me to take her back."

"Yes, but you didn't, and she still rides her, doesn't she?"

He nodded, deep in thought about what Moira liked. "She likes to study, to read books. She was absolutely delighted to watch a lizard the other morning."

"You shouldn't give her a lizard, Your Majesty."

He scowled at Leonard. "Do not mock me."

"Never, Your Majesty."

"I had thought about taking her up the mountain to see the view. She likes trees, and there are deer up there."

"Wow," Leonard mumbled.

"What?"

"I said, the road will need to be plowed if you intend to take her up to the snowcap."

"Yes." He felt renewed energy in his step. "Yes, I believe she will find that romantic. Leonard, have a hot meal planned at the summit. And a windscreen."

"I'll have everything in order. All you have to do is be charming and romantic."

"I can do that."

* * *

"You look quite beautiful today," William told Moira as he helped her into the limo.

She misstepped and bumped her head.

He scooted in beside her and patted her head soothingly, allowing the motion to change gradually into stroking her silky hair. He was glad she no longer knotted it into that skull-hugging braid. It was so much more delightful to touch this, to let his fingers slip through the waves.

She scooted across the seat, putting space between them, but he noticed that she still leaned her head toward his touch. "Mmm."

He did not have to ask what she purred about, and his hormones slipped into overdrive as he tried to figure out what his next romantic move should be. He knew what he wanted it to be, but pulling her into his arms and crushing her on the seat beneath him would only scare her.

It drove him wild when a woman tempted him, then withdrew. Perhaps it worked both ways. Using all of his willpower, he put his hands in his lap and resisted the urge to move closer to her.