The Princess and the Bodyguard (17 page)

He hadn’t believed them when they told him she had not been hurt.

“It’s all right now. We’re both all right.”

Rachel pressed her face harder against his chest. “I was so frightened. I’ve never been so frightened.”

“I’m sorry, Rachel. I let you down.” A nightmare had been playing continuously through his mind since he’d opened his eyes. What if the shooter had decided to break cover and come after Rachel? He’d been useless, unable to protect her. She could have been killed.

She stepped out of his arms and rubbed at the tears on her face.

“Yes, you let me down by getting shot. Jerk.”

Her voice held such a petulant tone, he couldn’t help but laugh.

“Well, I see you’ve frightened your mother and me needlessly.”

The sight of Alex and his mother together gave Peter a jolt. He could see worry etched on both their faces, though Alex hid it better. While his mother came forward and gave him a gentle hug, he addressed his boss.

“Are you going to call me a jerk too, sir?”

“Not I, although I wouldn’t want to wager on your mother.”

“Are you all right? I was so worried when Michael told us what happened.”

“
We
were worried,” Alex corrected, and Peter wondered at the strange look of defiance he saw pass between them.

“I’m fine, really.” He wasn’t used to being in a position where people worried over him. He felt like shit, but no way in hell he would admit it.

“Not really.” Philip stepped into the room and shot a penetrating look at his sister. “You frightened Dr.
Robitaille away
. He felt certain you would have him thrown into the dungeon. That, or attack him with your claws. So, I have been drafted by the ER staff to report on Peter’s condition, and to protect them all from you, little sister. The bullet went through the shoulder, and there is a slight chance of some muscle damage. We will have to wait for the swelling to go down to be sure. The wound is clean and has been stitched. The arm should be kept as immobile as possible for the next twenty-four hours, at least. He has a concussion from being thrown from the horse. He did lose consciousness, so he needs to be watched for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours to ensure there is no greater damage.”

“I am standing right here, you know. Stop talking about me as if I’m not.”

Ignoring Peter’s grumble, Rachel poked one finger—gently—against his sternum. “So it is
my
turn to hover over
you
for a change. When you get home, you will go straight to bed.”

“Shit, Red, you’re bossy.”

“And your point would be?”

“I’ll rest, but later. I need to talk to my people, find out what they’ve learned—”

“No, Peter. You can talk to them in the morning. Bossy or not, my daughter is right. You’ll rest tonight. You’ve trained a competent staff. Now let them do their jobs. Tomorrow will be soon enough to get back to work. And then, we’ll all hear what your people have learned and decide what is to be done next.”

Peter had worked for Alex long enough to recognize that tone. There would be no changing his mind. It always surprised Peter when Alex acted like the king he was.

Hannah patted his arm and didn’t sound at all sorry when she said,
“Looks like you’re out-voted honey. Alex brought the limo so we could all go home together.”

“And since you have been transferred to my care, I will be checking on you as well when I get home,” Philip said. “If you do not behave, you will receive no candy for a reward.”

Peter took in the four determined people who had joined forces against him. He knew when he was beaten, but didn’t see any reason to be graceful about it.

“Fine. Great. I’ll go to bed and you can all take turns wiping my fevered brow and spooning broth into my trembling, invalid mouth.”

“Even when you were a child, you never were a good patient.”

“There is a difference?” Rachel asked.

Peter bit his tongue, scowled, then turned to leave the waiting room, almost tripping over a wheelchair. The formidable-looking nurse holding the handles stared at him.

“Oh, come on!” No way he would allow himself to be wheeled down one hundred feet of corridor, then outside to the curb.

“I believe that chariot is for you, mister.”

His reaction to that remembered tone in his mother’s voice found him wanting to kick the chair before he sat in it. Cursing under his breath, he sat down and scowled. He would have folded his arms across his chest in defiance if his left didn’t hurt so damn badly.

* * * *

Difficult not to fuss over him
. Hannah sighed when she left Peter’s room. Her instincts had been to mother him. But he was past the point in his life where he needed her for that. Besides, she thought Rachel could do a pretty good job of it on her own, and she chuckled, he’d likely prefer that young woman’s hovering over her own, in any event.

For a long moment, she simply stood outside the door of his suite. She didn’t know where she wanted to go, but she needed some time alone. She knew she could go to her own suite and would be left alone there. But inside felt too confining, too opulent, too everything.

After a few minutes, she finally managed to remember her way through the palace well enough to get outside. She knew exactly where she wanted to be. Ever since she’d been a teen, she’d found she did her best thinking by the water. She’d been shown where the steps were, but hadn’t yet taken them. Now she made her way to the back of the grounds and to the stairs that led down to the beach.

The sand felt warm from the day’s sun, and the constant beat of the waves soothing, until she could sit, breathe and think.

The scene with Alex, just before Michael had told them about Peter, haunted her. She’d hurt him, and that wasn’t something she’d wanted to do. Truly, her vehemence had shocked her. In her mind, she’d only considered that she and Alex to be having an affair, even though she loved him more—she inhaled deeply as she realized she loved him more than she’d ever believed herself capable of loving.

I want you to stay here with m as my wife
.

She’d thought him fond of her, but had no idea that he loved her. Not the getting married kind of love.

Part of the reason for that, she knew, lay in the fact he
was
a king. Most of the time, even while staying here in the palace, she could keep that little fact in the background of her thoughts. She supposed it would have been different if she’d met him first as a monarch. But he’d been just a man, and then her lover—her one and only lover. And that’s what he remained in her mind. But he
was
a king and suddenly that loomed so large in her mind.

They’d had fun together, and she couldn’t regret the time they’d spent together. They seemed to communicate very well, in bed and out. But they were from two completely different worlds. It was all well and good for Alex. He wouldn’t have to change his life or his lifestyle. Easy for him to ask her to marry him, when he wouldn’t even have to do so much as to clean out a dresser drawer for her himself. He could have his staff do that. If she married him, she wouldn’t be simply becoming a wife. She’d be taking on a career, one that would conceivably last the rest of her life.

The younger generation of women—women like Catharine, and even like Rachel and Sophie—grew up determined to be their own women, to have it all, to stand tall in the face of what they saw as male chauvinism and to be captains of their own ships, masters of their own fate.

But she was older, and she didn’t know if she had it in her to go through taking on an entire new existence as well as a husband.

Worse, she’d opened the door to her heart and fallen in love, something she’d never thought she would do again in her lifetime.

She didn’t know if she could ever close that door again, which meant going the rest of her life knowing exactly what she would be missing. And it wasn’t like she could just go home and forget about the damn man. He’d be her daughter’s father-in-law.

“I knew I’d find you here.”

Hannah stiffened, then looked over her shoulder. Alex stood at the foot of the staircase. He’d changed into blue jeans and a T-shirt. She’d never seen him dressed quite so casually—well, except when he wore his bathing suit. Or nothing at all.

“How could you know I’d be here?”

“Because the water draws you, especially, I think, when you’re troubled.”

Any other time she’d be touched that he knew her so well. Now, it just pissed her off.

“It wasn’t only the prospect of being near the water that finds me here, you know.”

His quiet laughter poured kerosene on her already smoldering temper. “You can have a sharp tongue when you want to.”

“Deal with it.” Oh, she really
hated
herself when she got this snippy, bitchy tone in her voice. But damned if she could do anything about it.

“I think it’s wonderful. As my eldest son once observed, my title doesn’t intimidate you.”

“Of course it doesn’t.”
His title intimidate her? What an absurd notion.

“But my loving you so much that I want to marry you does.”

Bull’s-eye
.

Hannah shook inside as she got to her feet. Her heart pounded, and her stomach soured. She turned to face him. How could he stand there, looking so smug, and so pitying at the same time? Her temper snapped, and she knew she’d hate herself later, but the words came out and she couldn’t stop them.

“Maybe I simply don’t want to get married again. Maybe I wanted to have a midlife-crisis kind of fling. Maybe I’ve been considering living the rest of my life as a floozy. Did you ever think of that? Just because we screwed doesn’t mean we have to get married. We’ve had a few weeks and a few romps. Didn’t you ever think that’s all it was ever meant to be?” The panic rose up to swallow her, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her throat burned, and she knew if she didn’t get out of there soon, she would shed all dignity along with her tears.

Alex seemed unmoved by her tirade.
“I don’t know why you’re afraid, Hannah. But I can see that you are. There’s nothing wrong with being afraid. We can work through whatever it is that’s bothering you. But being a coward is something else again. I never would have thought of you as a coward.”

A part of her knew the hard words were a man’s defense against a wounded heart. But a part of her, the tiny part of her inner self she’d long ago labeled “The Bitch,” rallied in response to the insult. She couldn’t keep the venom from her voice.

“And I never thought you would resort to insults because you weren’t getting your way.”

His look turned hard, and she nearly flinched.

“So, neither of us is perfect. Good thing. Our affair, my Hannah, is over. Unless, or until, you agree to marry me.”

“You think I’m so addicted to your cock that being deprived of it will change my mind?” The problem was he might not be too far off the mark. But damned if she would admit that.

“Well, you seem unable to keep your hands off it, and a man uses what he can to win the woman he loves. Be it his cock or his authority. It occurs to me that there are benefits, my dear, to being ruler of all I survey. With no effort at all, I can do all manner of things, including detaining uncooperative tourists.”

The shock Hannah felt went straight to her toes. For one brief moment, she thought she saw regret on Alex’s face, but that emotion was brief and was quickly replaced by an expression so bland, she knew she never wanted to play poker with him. The temper that she’d been reining in flared, and she took one step closer to him. With eyes narrowed, she said the only thing that came to mind, knowing it was entirely the wrong thing to say, but really not giving a damn.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“Watch me.”

The floor felt cold and filthy, but she didn’t care. She had to get smaller, smaller. So small they couldn’t see her. She had to escape. It had turned wrong, all wrong somehow. She could barely move, and she convulsed with the cold. The voices whispered, and she thought they whispered only in her head, but no. They scurried around her. The rats! Their words jumbled, made no sense. And then they made the most horrible sense in the world, and she knew she was going to die.

“Rachel? Sweetheart, come back to me now. Wake up, baby.”

The sob trembled on her lips as she opened her eyes. Her cheeks glistened with her tears, and she felt cold all over. Shivers wracked her, and when Peter eased her against his chest, she clung.

“Bad one, huh? The same nightmare you told me about?”

“
Oui
.” Rachel snuggled into his warmth while the cobwebs of sleep and night terrors slowly cleared. It had been the same dream, but different. And as the fog cleared, she knew why. It hadn’t been a dream, but a memory. It wasn’t clear yet. But soon, she hoped, it would be.

She had the strongest feeling that whatever kept trying to fight its way to the forefront of her mind was something very, very important.

Peter must have misread her frown. He gave her a little squeeze and said, “You know I won’t let anyone or anything hurt you. Right?”

“At the expense of your own life? This does not give me any comfort at all.”

“I’m not going to die, Rachel.”

“I will not take your word for this. You came perilously close to doing that yesterday.”

She felt his sigh against her hair. “I didn’t really. Just got a nicked wing and a crack on the head. More to the point, though, is the fact that I left you vulnerable. If that shooter had decided to come out of hiding—”

“I would have shot the bastard with your gun.”

“You terrify me.”