The Princess Affair (11 page)

Her heavy sigh was all the confirmation Harris needed. “I didn’t think so.”

“She’s smarter than everyone gives her credit for.” When Kerry glanced over again, she found him nodding. His rhythm had never faltered. “Now, can we consider this conversation closed and get back to our workout, please?”

He grinned. “You asked for it. Power-ten, on my mark. And remember—push with your legs first. Otherwise you’ll end up throwing your back out and you’ll be no good whatsoever to your princess.”

Kerry grit her teeth but refused to rise to the bait. Instead, she concentrated on rowing harder.

Sasha rested her palms on the stone parapet and inhaled deeply, enjoying the light breeze drifting down off the mountains. High above her head, the wind whisked cirrus clouds across the deep blue sky, and she tracked their progress in the chiaroscuro patterns flickering across the pine-covered peaks that encircled the Balmoral estate. Below, at the bottom of a long, grassy slope, the late afternoon sunlight glinted redly off the surface of the River Dee.

Nostalgia rose in her like a flood, and for one exquisitely painful moment, she could have sworn her mother was standing behind her. She wanted to turn and see that gentle, benevolent smile—to run into her embrace and breathe in her distinctive, warm milk scent.

Sasha dug her fingertips into the stone, anchoring herself—refusing to turn, forcing her body, if not her mind, to remain in the present. Perhaps it had been a mistake to choose Balmoral for this event. She hadn’t realized just how much being here would remind her of the many summers their family had spent in the Highlands before her mother’s illness. She didn’t have idyllic memories from her childhood, but those came close.

Suddenly ill at ease, she adjusted the fit of her cardigan and smoothed one hand down the front of her silk dress. This was no time for indulging in sentimentality. Any minute now, the charter bus conveying her guests from the airport would arrive. To distract herself while she waited, she went over the schedule again in her head.

Upon their arrival, the group would be shown to the dining room, where they would eat a light supper. After the meal, they would retire to the games room for cocktails, cards, and billiards. In the morning, brunch would be followed by a tour of the castle and a wide range of outdoor activities. In the evening, a full dinner would be served, and on Sunday morning, the scholars would return to Oxford.

Such was the official agenda. Unofficially, however, Sasha was on a mission to seduce Kerry Donovan. How that one kiss had managed to get under her skin, she had no idea. The only thing she knew for certain was that her desire to feel the fierce chemistry between them again had shown no signs of abating. She hadn’t once sought out other company in the intervening weeks. Every need had been sublimated into the work of preparing for this event.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of silver beneath the trees. Moments later, a low rumble reached her ears. The bus. She hurried inside, double-checking her reflection in one of the mirrored windows on the way, pleased at how the colorful fabric of her dress draped across her thighs. As she descended the stone staircase, Sasha heard the spitting sound of gravel beneath tires and knew the bus had reached the roundabout. She nodded to Ian and joined the stewardess of the castle just inside the door. Celia Royston had been responsible for overseeing the building and grounds of Balmoral for as long as she could remember, and Sasha was grateful that Celia hadn’t raised any stumbling blocks to her plan for this weekend.

“Thank you for all your help,” she murmured as a member of her staff pushed open the double doors.

“My pleasure, Your Royal Highness.”

Sunlight flooded the atrium, bringing with it the enthusiastic chatter of her guests as they disembarked from the bus. She didn’t hear Kerry’s voice, and dread washed over her at the thought that perhaps she hadn’t made the trip after all. But she had RSVP’d, and she didn’t seem like the sort of person who would break promises. Sasha had to believe she would be here.

Exhaling quickly, she stepped out onto the landing. The group was unloading their baggage from beneath the bus, but a hush fell over them as soon as she was visible. Relief soothed her nerves when she caught a glimpse of Kerry’s red hair, and she had to force her gaze not to linger.

“Trustees and scholars, welcome to Balmoral Castle. I’m happy you could join me this weekend.” She gestured to her left. “This is Celia Royston, the castle stewardess. Her staff will direct you to your rooms and describe the available amenities. In half an hour’s time, we’ll convene in the dining room for supper.”

She paused to survey the crowd, and almost immediately her gaze was drawn back to Kerry. Dressed in fitted gray slacks, a white Oxford shirt, and a black jacket that clung to her broad shoulders, she looked at once sophisticated and sexy. Her color was high already, but her cheeks darkened perceptibly when their eyes met. The sudden rush of confidence made Sasha smile in triumph. She still had the power to affect Kerry Donovan, and she was going to use it.

“Do you have any questions?” After waiting a few beats, she nodded briskly. “Very well, then. I shall see you shortly.”

She turned away, leaving Celia to explain the layout of the castle and the wing to which they’d been assigned. Sasha had been sorely tempted to house Kerry in the room directly across from her own, but singling her out in that way would doubtless have made her uncomfortable. The most she’d allowed herself to do was to ensure Kerry didn’t have a roommate.

Just in case.

*

Kerry reclined in the cushioned window seat across from her bed, barely resisting the urge to pinch herself. She was a guest of the British royal family, and tonight, she would sleep in a castle. She hadn’t told anyone back home about this trip—not even her brothers—because a part of her hadn’t been able believe it wasn’t some kind of hoax. She’d spent the entire journey here in a state of disbelief, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But it hadn’t.

Below, a flower garden, its paths lined with immaculately trimmed hedgerows, gave way to patio paved with gray-blue stone. Some kind of granite, most likely, but she would need to get closer to be certain. Beyond the patio stretched a broad lawn, ending in another, taller line of hedgerows. Mountains—some bald, some forested—dominated the horizon. For one romantic moment, she felt cradled in the protective embrace of the valley as the hills looked on, ever vigilant.

But even that momentary sense of security couldn’t calm the butterflies churning in her gut. For the past three weeks, she had worked hard to maintain her focus. Except in her weakest moments—and when the occasional glimpse of a tabloid photo caught her unawares—she had resisted all thoughts of Princess Alexandra. She’d thought herself prepared to see Sasha again, but nothing could have been further from the truth.

She closed her eyes and the image was there, burned into her retinas: Sasha’s dark, lustrous hair curling around her shoulders; the hint of challenge in her inviting smile; the way her dress—a riotous explosion of swirling shades of magenta—clung to her breasts and hips. Kerry had been instantly overwhelmed by the memory of that lithe body pressed intimately against hers. She felt like Odysseus in the presence of a Siren, caught unawares without rope or beeswax.

“She could shipwreck me.”

If Sasha had in fact designed the weekend with her in mind, then what did that mean? The hubris of the thought still floored her, but she couldn’t ignore the evidence. This event seemed like an awful lot of effort to put in for another chance at a one-night stand, especially from someone who had no trouble finding willing partners. Did Sasha want more than an assignation? How could she, when they barely knew each other? Was she simply bored? Was this sort of cat-and-mouse game how members of the royal family got their kicks?

At the sound of a knock, she reluctantly vacated her perch. When she opened the door, Harris barged in without even asking permission, talking a mile a minute. “How are your digs? Can you even believe this place? Oh, a window seat! How quaint!”

Before she could protest, he had taken her spot. Lacing his hands behind his head, he gave her an expectant look.

“What?”

He checked his watch. “We have ten minutes until we need to be in the dining room. What’s your plan?”

“My plan?”

“Sassy Sasha has you where she wants you. You’re squarely in her crosshairs and you, who schedule virtually every minute of every day, don’t have a plan?”

Kerry sat on the bed. “What good would one do me? To hear you talk, I don’t have much chance of escaping.”

“Is that what you want? To escape?”

Kerry let her gaze drift back to the mountains outside. Out here, free of the paparazzi, she didn’t have to worry about becoming a headline. If Sasha pursued her again, she could surrender to her own desire without guilt. But instead of relief, the thought inspired a fresh wave of unease. Did she really want to be a conquest? Before arriving in England, she had been fine on her own, at peace in her decision to put the needs of her heart—and her body—on hold in favor of her career. Her solitary coping mechanisms had worked, until Sasha overrode her careful control. Did she really want to pursue what could only be the most transient of flings? Then again, perhaps that was a good reason to allow herself to indulge. She had to get back on the metaphorical horse sometime, didn’t she?

But even as the thought crossed her mind, she mentally shied away from its callousness. “I don’t know what I want.”

Harris stood and held out his hand. Dressed in khaki slacks and a navy plaid sport coat, he looked positively dapper. “I’m relieved to hear you say that. Guess you’ll just have to trust your instincts.”

Kerry let him lead her out of the room. As they walked down the corridor, they were joined by several other members of their cohort. Together, they made their way down the wide stone staircase that opened into the main atrium, where one of the liveried staff directed them to the dining room. The long, rectangular chamber had fireplaces set into each short wall. Large bay windows with southern exposure looked out onto an immaculate lawn now shrouded in the shadows of approaching dusk. Kerry tried to concentrate on appreciating the Scots Baronial architecture instead of searching the room for Sasha.

“Looks like we have assigned seating,” Harris said. “Let’s find our placards.”

He located his at a table in the middle of the room. Kerry had to hunt a while longer, but she finally found her place at the table nearest the windows. Harris stopped at the seat opposite hers and whistled.

“Well, well, well. It’s your lucky day, Ker.” Dry humor saturated his every word.

Kerry’s pulse jumped at the thought of spending the duration of the meal facing Sasha. She was just debating whether sitting across from her was better or worse than sitting next to her, when a member of the staff paused to proffer them a tray full of champagne flutes.

“Supper will begin shortly,” he said. “Do you need any assistance in finding your seats?”

“No, thank you.” Kerry sipped at the bubbling liquor, hoping it would steady her nerves. Sliding into her chair, she waved to Harris as he moved away.

Her table filled quickly with several of her peers along with Mary Spencer and two of the trustees who had accompanied them. As she listened to their excited chatter, she had to concentrate on not turning around to look for Sasha. When asked by one trustee how her studies were proceeding, she forced herself to focus exclusively on him and respond in appropriate detail.

And then Spencer who, had line-of-sight over her shoulder, rose to her feet. “Good evening, Your Royal Highness.”

Kerry stood, steeling herself. When Sasha came into view, her heart clattered against her ribs. Up close, the princess was even more beautiful than she had been at a distance earlier in the day. Her glossy lips parted on a smile as she took the hand of each trustee in turn, and Kerry couldn’t stop herself from flashing back to their incendiary kiss. Sasha sank gracefully into her chair, and Kerry followed suit, relieved to be off her feet.

“Good evening, all. It’s wonderful to have you here. Are the rooms satisfactory, I hope?”

“More than satisfactory, Your Highness,” Spencer hurried to reassure her.

“Please do let Celia know if there’s anything you require. Now, would you be so kind as to introduce yourselves? And if you are one of the scholars, perhaps share what you are studying?”

Kerry barely heard a word of her friends’ descriptions of their academic endeavors. She couldn’t stop watching Sasha play the role of consummate hostess. She was clearly in her element as she listened attentively to each person, even taking the time to ask a question or two. When those emerald eyes finally locked on to hers, Kerry caught the humor that sparkled in their depths.

“My name is Kerry Donovan, Your Royal Highness, and I’m studying sustainable architecture.”

“Oh?” Sasha feigned surprise very well. “How fortuitous that our guest of honor this weekend—aside from all of you, of course—is Raymond Fletcher, the President of the Royal Institute of British Architects.”

“I’m very much looking forward to speaking with him.”

Sasha smiled warmly. “He’ll arrive later this evening and will be giving the tour tomorrow. I believe his nephew, Byron, will be joining him. Are you familiar with his work?”

Kerry didn’t bother trying to hide her surprise. An architect in his own right, Byron Fletcher’s meteoric rise to success had compelled him to branch out into other media. He was now a renowned designer with his own set of London-based boutiques. And Sasha had enticed him here?

“I am. It will be an honor to meet them both.”

When Sasha switched her attention to Anna, Kerry immediately felt bereft. Sasha was far better than she at maintaining her composure, and for a moment, Kerry wondered whether she’d been deluded into believing Sasha still carried some kind of torch for her. But then Sasha’s gaze returned to hers for the briefest of instants—a split second of unanticipated connection—and with a rush of adrenaline, she realized the torch burned brightly still.