The Princess and the Duke (9 page)

“Making love is a hell of a lot more important than an exchange,” he said.

“Right. Whatever you say.”

“Meredith, don’t sit there and act as if you blithely sleep around in exchange for anything. You’re too—”

“Cold? Removed? Uppity? I believe all the terms have been applied to me at one point or another.”

“Too honorable.”

She swallowed, wondering if she’d ever be rid of the lump in her throat. “Honor doesn’t keep you warm at night,” she whispered. “And as it happens, the issue’s never been put to the test.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Think about it.” She deliberately put the car into gear. Glanced at him once more, because she couldn’t prevent it. He was the man who’d filled her heart for so long, the man who’d eclipsed any other who might have had the slightest chance for her to feel something for, and she didn’t even really know who Pierce was. She did know, however, that future contact between them would be as scarce as it had always been. Considering everything, it was probably a good thing, even if it did send a weird sort of grief throbbing through her. Her hands tightened even more on the
steering wheel until her knuckles stood out, white. This really was it, then. “Goodbye, Colonel.”

He slowly removed his hands from the door and stepped away from the car, a tall, stern-looking man with a military bearing and shadows in his eyes. “Goodbye, Your Royal Highness.”

T
he crowd being held back by several police officers was the first indication Pierce had that something unusual was happening at the main library in Sterling.

The sight of the long, gleaming silver limousine, parked in front of the steps of the hundred-year-old brick building as he drove past, was the second.

It was Friday evening, and as far as Pierce knew, the library closed early and stayed closed through the weekend during the summer months. He also knew there were only a few of those distinctive silver limos on the island, and as he drove his car into his reserved parking space at his apartment building, he wondered which member of the royal family was conducting business after hours at the Sterling Library.

Broderick had been more or less under control for the past week, according to Pierce’s conversations
with Estabon and Logan and Monteque. Despite increasing tensions as the day drew near, everything was progressing toward the signing of the alliances, making it seem as if the RET’s decision to engage in the masquerade had been the right one.

The Queen might possibly have an engagement at the library, he thought. She was a strong supporter of literacy efforts. The knot in his gut, though, warned Pierce most effectively that it could well be Meredith just down the block and past the park next to his apartment building.

He hadn’t seen her since she’d driven away from the base nearly a week ago.

He hadn’t needed to see her to be tormented by her, however. Visions of her in his sleeping and waking dreams were more than enough to accomplish that.

He stopped at the mailbox and retrieved a mammoth amount of mail—most of it junk—and carried it to his upstairs flat. He hadn’t been there all week, and he went around the place, throwing open the windows to get rid of the closed-in smell. He had a service that came in regularly, so every surface gleamed and the refrigerator was stocked. Something he silently blessed when he pulled open the door and grabbed a tall, cold beer. It might not be all that fashionable in Penwyck, but he wanted his beer cold. Damn near icy.

He yanked loose the tie that had been strangling him throughout a day of endless meetings, all pertaining to the pending alliances, and stepped onto the narrow balcony overlooking the front of the building. Tilting the beer to his lips, he leaned over the
wrought-iron railing and stared down the block at the cluster of people and the silver limousine.

He watched until his beer was down halfway. Then he went in and grabbed the telephone. In minutes, he knew that there were no official reasons for anyone to be at the Sterling Library. He also knew that his gut instinct had been right on the money. Meredith had been in Sterling because she’d had to make a quick trip across to Drogheda that afternoon.

He went to the terrace and slowly toyed with the beer bottle as he watched some more. What was Meredith doing at a closed library? He knew, even before he set down the unfinished beer, that he’d have to go over there and find out. Curiosity, wariness and a plain unvarnished need to see her again.

Sterling was the major port between Penwyck and the neighboring islands of Drogheda to the east and Majorco to the south, and the majority of the island’s population lived in either Sterling or Marlestone. If Pierce had to describe the differences between the two cities, he’d say that Sterling was a bit more cosmopolitan, a bit more modern and freewheeling. Undoubtedly because the palace of the ruling family didn’t overlook the city as it did in Marlestone.

In any case, though it was the dinner hour on a Friday evening, traffic was more than brisk, so he left his car and walked down the block toward the library. He’d been surprised at how much he’d come to like the flat once he’d taken it. It was far larger than one man needed on his own, of course. But it had been a good investment, and it had proven to be an escape for him when he went there just as much as it was
an escape for those who lived and worked on the base to be rid of him now and again.

He neared the limousine and went around to say hello to the driver before making his way to the police officers who were holding the people at bay. Pierce was fairly well known, and he easily worked his way around the officials and headed up the steps and inside.

He paused in the marbled foyer, glancing to his left. Fiction. To his right. Non-fiction. Or upstairs. Periodicals.

Sighing, he headed for the stairs. When he saw her, sitting at the end of a long, narrow table, her head bent over a newspaper, he sighed again. Dammit. The woman was too curious by far.

He slowly walked across the floor, thinking that the library was much too quiet. Which was a ludicrous thought, all things considered. He spoke before he reached the table, as he had no particular desire to scare her out of her wits. “Checking out the job listings?”

She wasn’t startled in the least, however. She slid her hand down the length of her hair, which pooled onto the table near her shoulder, and looked at him. She wore a sexy little pair of spectacles that perched on her even sexier patrician nose. “Since ice-cream-parlor work is probably not going to work well for me,” she said, “I thought it wise.”

God, she was lovely.

“So, you thought being driven here to Sterling in a limo bearing the royal colors, you’d be able to peruse the ads in private.”

“You’re so quick. I was in Drogheda, which I’m sure you know very well.”

She looked at the newspaper. Folded it neatly along the creases and set it in a stack to one side before reaching for a paper from a second stack to the other side. “Funny, isn’t it, that the RII, known for its research departments, only had one microfilm of newspapers issued a decade ago, and somehow I managed to lose it before getting a chance to even read it.”

His nerves knotted a little. He picked up one of the papers she’d clearly finished with and unfolded it so he could see the masthead. It was, indeed, dated ten years ago. But it wasn’t a newspaper from Marlestone, or Sterling, or anywhere on Penwyck, for that matter. It was from Majorco. “Planning on getting a job across the way?”

“Very funny.” She flipped closed the newspaper she’d just opened. “I’ve already been through these papers. Twice. Do you know how often my uncle’s name was mentioned? Once.” She leaned over and leafed through the stack to her right. Pulled out one, and flipped it open to one of the last pages. She stabbed at a small, very brief obituary. “That’s it.”

“Edwin wasn’t well known on Majorco. On Penwyck, the citizens were aware that he was the brother of their Queen. You know as well as I do that back then the two countries had little to do with one another.”

“Yet he was killed in some sort of subversive incident while on a business trip in Majorco.” She made a face and rapidly folded the paper. “Penwyck’s papers said hardly anything else. And what business was he conducting on Majorco, anyway?
Mother said that Edwin dabbled in all sorts of things, but as far as I can tell, he didn’t have a particular career per se.”

“Dabbling can be done anywhere. I understood he spent most of his time in London. Your mother may have transplanted to Penwyck from her London home when she married the King, but that didn’t mean her brother did, as well.” He salved his conscience with the fact that his words were the truth. Just not the entire truth.

A lie by omission is still a lie,
Pierce could hear his father, the minister, saying from long ago.

He ignored it and concentrated on Meredith.

“I know.” She’d propped her chin on her hand and was drawing off her glasses. “I
know.
”

She had dark circles beneath her eyes. “You look tired.”

“How good you are for my ego.”

“Meredith—”

She suddenly shoved her chair back and rose, snatching up the newspapers. “If you’re going to start in about last Saturday, don’t. I couldn’t be less interested.” She disappeared between two narrow shelves.

Pierce picked up her eyeglasses. Held them up.

“They’re real enough,” she said as she walked into sight, sans newspapers.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses.”

“You don’t know many things about me.”

“I know that whenever you or one of your siblings so much as changes your hairstyle or favored clothing designer, it makes all the newspapers and television reports.”

“So it’s my little secret,” she drawled, and took
them from him. She folded them up and slid them into an invisible pocket on the side of her pale green suit jacket. Then she leaned over and picked up her briefcase, and the deep V of her jacket gaped a little, giving Pierce a killing glimpse of ivory lace and taut ivory skin. If he were the honorable man she seemed to think he was, he’d look away.

She straightened, and her jacket fell right back into its perfectly cut lines. “Well, if we count the wedding day events all as one, we’ve now seen each other a total of four times, including now. That ought to be enough to spread out for the next full year, don’t you think? Given the frequency of our contact over the past…well, enough years that it’ll make
me
sound ancient if I admit to it.” She didn’t look at him as she headed for the staircase.

“Have dinner with me.”

She stopped walking but didn’t look at him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

She turned on one slender, spiky heel. “Perhaps I have commitments this evening.”

“You don’t.”

“And how do you know?”

“I checked.”

“Oh, of course.” Her lips stretched into a false smile. “You are the king of intelligence, after all. You probably only needed to make one phone call and my entire public schedule was transmitted to your wristwatch or some such equally spylike device.”

“You’re confusing me with James Bond.”

“He, at least, was a man a woman could understand.”

“And you still haven’t answered.”

She tilted her head, considering. “You’re right. I haven’t.” She turned and started down the steps. In moments, he heard the squeak of the heavy front door.

Well, what had he expected? That she’d forget about the way he’d pushed her away the last time they’d been together? That she’d fall into his arms like some besotted little flower?

Meredith was intelligent and very much her own woman. If the country had different laws when it came to succession to the throne, she could well have been the next ruler when King Morgan died, instead of one of her younger brothers.

Shoving his hands through his hair, Pierce headed for the steps. He definitely did not need to be thinking even remotely about the death of King Morgan. Right now, the King needed every positive thought of those close to him.

When Pierce left the library, it was to the sight of Meredith, standing among the crowd, patiently shaking hands, smiling and speaking with everyone as if she hadn’t just spent the day doing similar tasks at two different functions in Drogheda on behalf of the RII.

She made no indication whatsoever that she noticed when he rounded the crowd and headed down the street, past the park and toward his building.

Once in his apartment, he headed onto the balcony and looked down the street. The crowd was dispersing, and the limousine was nowhere in sight.

Restless, he went inside. The idea of an uneventful, nonworking evening that had held some vague appeal
only a few hours ago no longer appealed. At least on duty, he could bury his head in work. Here, in this spacious apartment, there seemed little to do. Except think about Meredith.

“You’re getting damned sad,” he muttered, and went into his bedroom, shucking his uniform as he went. He’d get dressed and go down to the pub. Or to an early show. He’d eat rare steak and drink fine wine, and drag out his phone book and look up old friends. Female friends.

Nothing like the company of a willing woman to make a man forget another.

Meredith had been more than willing until you blew it.

He balled up his shirt and pitched it into the hamper, annoyed with himself, with his thoughts, with the fact that no matter how dangerous he knew it would be to become involved with Meredith, he
still
wanted her.

What he needed was his head examined.

Giving up any pretense that he’d spend the evening pursuing an uncomplicated few hours of entertainment—with or without female companionship—he pulled on a pair of sweats and a T-shirt from which he’d long ago ripped the sleeves and neck, and laced up his battered running shoes. If he couldn’t will thoughts of Meredith out of his brain, maybe he could exhaust them out.

He ran for hours. Until his muscles were screaming and his heart felt like it would explode. His T-shirt stuck to his torso, and sweat ran freely down his temples by the time he turned and headed back to his spacious, very empty apartment.

He rounded the side of the building and stopped short. There, parked beneath the porte cochere, was the silver limo. Meredith’s driver must have been on the lookout for Pierce, because he stood beside her door and immediately opened it.

Her foot appeared, the high, thin heel of her shoe seeming to echo the fragility of her slender ankles. Then her calf, and a perfect knee, and her hand as the driver took it and assisted her from the vehicle.

She’d exited cars hundreds of times in just such a manner. There was nothing the least bit overt about her movements. And still, Pierce’s blood was surging, his mouth dry, by the time she stood by the car.

The driver stepped away, discreet as ever but always on the watch for the princess’s safety. Meredith slowly stepped toward Pierce, her expression uncertain.

He’d done that to her. Made her uncertain. Made her more guarded than she’d ordinarily have reason to be.

He hated it. Even though he knew he’d do the same things over again if he had to, he hated those very things he’d done in his life that separated them.

But he wanted her. He’d always wanted her, and the older they grew, the more often he saw her, the worse it became.

She moistened her lips, and the small, nervous action went straight to his gut. Then she lifted her chin a little. “Is the dinner invitation still open?”

He was a bad case. The invitation in the first place had been inappropriate. The smart course would be to recant. “Yes.”