The Prince's Cinderella Bride

High, green hedges surrounded them, and they walked on thick grass. The grass gave way to a rose garden. Now, in February, the buds were only just forming on the thorny stems. Beyond the budding roses, he took a curving stone path beneath a series of trellises. Still she followed, saying nothing, occasionally dragging her feet a little to let him know she was far from willing.

They came to a gate in a stone wall. He pushed through the gate and held it for her, with his free hand, going through after her and then closing it behind them.

Across another swath of lawn, between a pair of silk floss trees, the stone cottage waited. He led her on, across the grass, along the stepping-stones that stopped at the rough wood trellis twined with bare, twisted grapevines. The trellis shaded the rough wood door.

He pushed the door open, let go of her hand and ushered her in first. With a quick, suspicious glance at him, she went.

Two windows let in enough light to see by. Sheets covered the plain furniture. It took him only a moment to whip off the coverings and drop them to the rough wooden floor, revealing a scarred table with four chairs, a sofa, a couple of side tables and two floral-patterned wing chairs. The rudimentary kitchen took up one wall. Stairs climbed another wall to the sleeping area above.

“Have a seat,” he offered.

She pressed her lips together, shook her head and remained standing by the door, clutching her book tightly between her two hands. “What is this place?”

“It’s just a gardener’s cottage. No one’s using it now. Sit down.”

She still refused to budge. “What are you doing, Your High—?”

“Certainly we’re past that.”

For a moment, she said nothing, only stared at him, her dark eyes huge in the soft oval of her face. He wanted to reach out and gather her close and soothe all her troubles away. But everything about her warned, Don’t touch me.

She let out a breath and her slim shoulders drooped. “Max. Really. Can’t you just admit it? We both know it was a mistake.”

“Wrong.” He moved a step closer. She stiffened a little, but she didn’t back away. He whispered, “It was beautiful. Perfect. At the time, you thought so, too—or so you said.”

“Oh, Max. Why can’t I get through to you?” She turned from him and went to one of the windows.

He stared at her back, at her hair curling, black as a crow’s wing, on her shoulders. And he remembered...

It was New Year’s Eve. At the Sovereign’s New Year’s Ball.

He asked her to dance and as soon as he had her in his arms, he only wanted to keep her there. So he did. When the first dance ended, he held her lightly until the music started up again. He kept her with him through five dances. Each dance went by in the blink of an eye. He would have gone on dancing with her, every dance, until the band stopped playing. But people noticed and she didn’t like it.

By the fifth dance she was gazing up at him much too solemnly. And when that dance ended, she said, “I think it’s time for me to say good-night.”

He’d watched her leave the ballroom and couldn’t bear to see her go. So he followed her. They’d shared their first kiss in the shadows of the long gallery outside the ballroom, beneath the frescoes depicting martyred saints and muscular angels. She’d pulled away sharply, dark fire in her eyes.

So he kissed her again.

And a third time, as well. By some heady miracle, with those kisses, he’d secured her surrender. Lani led him up to her small room in the deserted apartment of his brother Rule’s family. When he left her hours later, she was smiling and tender and she’d kissed him good-night.

But ever since then, for five endless weeks, she’d barely spoken to him.

“Lani. Look at me....”

She whirled and faced him again. Her mouth had softened and so had her eyes. Had she been remembering that night, too? For a moment, he almost dared to hope she would melt into his arms.

But then she drew herself up again. “It was a mistake,” she insisted for the fourth time. “And this is impossible. I have to go.” She headed for the door.

He accused, “Coward.”

The single word seemed to hit her between the shoulder blades. She let go of the doorknob, dropped her book to the rough entry table and turned once more to meet his waiting eyes. “Please. It was just one of those things that happen even though it shouldn’t have. We got carried away....”

Carried away? Maybe. “I have no regrets. Not a one.” He was glad it had happened, and on New Year’s Eve, too. To him it had seemed the ideal way to ring in a whole new year—and right then, a dangerous thought occurred to him. God. Was there a baby? If so, he needed to know. “We should have been more careful, though. You’re right. Is that why you keep running away from me? Are you—?”

“No,” she cut in before he could even get the question out. “We were lucky. You can stop worrying.”

“I miss you,” he said, before she could start in again about how she had to go. “I miss our discussions, our talks in the library. Lani, we have so much in common. We’ve been good friends.”

“Oh, please,” she scoffed. But there was real pain in her eyes, in the tightness of her mouth. “You and I were never friends.” All at once, her eyes were too bright. She blinked away tears.

He wanted only to comfort her. “Lani...” He took a step toward her.

But she put up a hand and he stopped in midstride. “We’ve been friendly,” she corrected. “But to be more is beyond inappropriate. I work for your brother and sister-in-law. I’m the nanny. I’m supposed to set an example and show good judgment.” She swallowed. Hard. “I never should have let it happen.”

“Will you stop saying that it shouldn’t have happened?”

“But it shouldn’t have.”

“Excuse me. We are two single adults and we have every right to—”

“Stop.” She backed a step toward the door. “I want you to listen, Max. It can’t happen again. I won’t let it.” Her eyes were dry now. And way too determined.

He opened his mouth to insist that it most certainly would happen again. But where would such insistence get him? Except to send her whirling, flinging the door wide, racing off down the walk and out the gate.

He didn’t want that. And arguing with her over whether that unforgettable night should or should not have happened was getting him nowhere, anyway. They didn’t need arguing. They needed to reestablish their earlier ease with each other.

So in the end he answered mildly, “Of course you’re right. It won’t happen again.”

She blinked in surprise. “I don’t... What are you saying?”

“I’ll make an agreement with you.”

She narrowed her eyes and peered at him sideways. “I don’t want to bargain about this.”

“How can you know that? You haven’t heard my offer yet.”

“Offer?” She sneered the word. He held his silence as she nibbled her lower lip in indecision. Finally, she threw up both hands. “Oh, all right. What, then? What is your offer?”

“I’ll promise not to try to seduce you,” he suggested with what he hoped was just the right touch of wry humor, “and you’ll stop avoiding me. We can be...” He hesitated, remembering how she’d scoffed when he’d called them friends. “...what we used to be.”

She aimed a put-upon look at the single beam in the rough-textured ceiling. “Oh, come on. Seriously? That never works.”

“I disagree.” Light. Reasonable. Yes, just the right tone. “And it’s unfair to generalize. I think it can work. We can make it work.” Until she admitted that being what they used to be wasn’t nearly enough. Then they could make it work in much more satisfying ways.

She hovered there in front of the door, staring at him, unblinking. He stared right back, trying to look calm and reasonable and completely relaxed when in reality his gut was clenched tight and he’d begun to lose hope he would ever get through to her.

But then, at last, she dropped her gaze. She went to the rustic dinner table, where she ran her finger along the back of one of the plain straight chairs. He watched her, remembering the cool, thrilling wonder of her fingers on his naked skin.