The Prince's Forbidden Love

“Wow,” she said, thoroughly impressed.

The small crowd lining the upper railing sighed in awe as well, and a couple of them even clapped.

He managed to cover up the gasp of pain his leg gave him upon landing and glared at her.

“So it is you.”

She nodded, still thunderstruck by his Tarzan stunt. Funny, but that pretty much fit in with the way she’d always seen him—a bit larger than life. And it did appeal to her feminine senses.

But then, he always had. She gazed at him almost hungrily, taking in all of him. It had been so long since she’d last seen him. She realized he considered her nothing but a hindrance, a ward who had been thrust upon him, a responsibility he didn’t need. But she’d always thought of him as her own personal hero. Only lately he hadn’t been living up to that part.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, looking fierce.

She frowned at him, lifting her chin defiantly. She wasn’t a child any longer and she wasn’t going to let him treat her like one. “Don’t swear at me. I’m your ward. You’re supposed to be a role model for me.”

“And you’re supposed to be at the convent, preparing for your wedding.”

She made a face and looked guilty, her gaze sliding to the side. “Yes, about that …”

He groaned. Trouble. Nothing but trouble. He could see it in her eyes.

A crowd was forming on the street level as well now. Before he knew it the paparazzi would get wind of this, and then there would be hell to pay. It was time to disappear from view.

“Come along,” he told her gruffly, taking her hand and beginning to lead her toward a shadowy space behind the stairs. “We need to talk.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” she said pluckily, though the sense of his forceful personality was wafting over her like a tidal wave and she knew she had to resist. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

That wasn’t quite what he had in mind, but he didn’t comment. Instead, he led her in through an unmarked door and then onto a private elevator that opened to his coded entry. Soon they were hurtling toward the penthouse of the ten-story building, and Prince Andre’s suite.

He looked her over, glancing sideways. She’d always been pretty, but she’d developed a luminous quality since he’d last seen her—a sort of inner glow that reminded him of angels.

Angels! He gritted his teeth. Just as he’d feared, she was more appealing than ever. He had to get her back to the convent as quickly as possible. Once she was married to his cousin, Prince Alphonso, he could wash his hands of her.

The elevator doors opened right into the Prince’s suite, making Julienne blink with surprise. As she stepped out she looked about, eyes wide with wonder. Everything was shiny chrome, gleaming dark cherry wood and smoky tinted glass, with sleek leather couches and huge abstract art pieces on the walls. One side of the room was a floor-to-ceiling picture window, overlooking the lake and showing off the snow-capped mountaintops in the distance.

When she’d been eight years old she’d gone on a trip to Paris with her parents and she’d stayed in places almost as elegant as this. But it had been a long time since then, and she’d become used to the simple, rough-hewn décor of the convent. This place took her breath away.

“Nice,” she said casually, trying hard not to come across as the wide-eyed-in-wonder country bumpkin she felt like.

“I like it,” he replied shortly. “Why don’t you sit down?” he added, nodding toward one of the softer-looking couches. “I’ll get you a drink.”

“A drink?” she said hopefully.

“Nothing fancy,” he warned her. “I think I’ve got some lemonade in the refrigerator.”

“Oh,” she said, somewhat deflated.

She’d been hoping he would serve an adult beverage, as though it were her due—a sort of sign that he understood she was of age now. No such luck. He still thought she merited lemonade. She was used to wine of a sort with meals at the convent, but it was hardly more than colored water as far as she’d ever been able to ascertain. His lemonade would probably provide more punch, even if it didn’t contain a bit of alcohol.

He watched the expressions change on her face and felt as though he could read every thought that was coursing through her mind. He had to turn away to hide his grin. Despite being fundamentally annoyed that she’d popped up into his world like this without warning, he couldn’t help but be charmed by her—as he always was.

What the heck—he supposed he could give her some vodka in her lemonade to make her feel as though she were doing something slightly sophisticated.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her a tall frosted glass. “I added a little something, but just barely enough for you to feel it. We can’t have you going back to the convent tipsy.”

She smiled at him, delighted, but at the same time vowing that the convent was the last place for her tonight.

He dropped smoothly onto the arm of the couch and looked down at her. He knew he should call Mother Superior to let her know Julienne was with him, but he didn’t want to. Surely they would try to contact him when they realized she was gone. And then he would have to make plans as to when he would take her back. Much as he wanted her back where she belonged, he began to realize that she wouldn’t have come if there wasn’t a serious problem. The goal was to get her to the church on time, with as little hassle as possible.

Still, he would have to take it easy and figure out the best way to accomplish that. Barking orders wouldn’t get her to do what he wanted. Cooperation was his goal. In order to achieve that he had to find out what had motivated her into coming to find him this way.

He grimaced. Being sensitive to the needs of others wasn’t usually uppermost in his mind. He was used to being catered to. Time for him to learn to stretch himself a little.

“Okay, Julienne,” he began slowly, feeling his way. “Explain to me just exactly what you’re doing here.”

His voice was low, but with enough command to let her know he expected a complete and coherent answer.

She took a sip, nodded approvingly, and smiled up at him again, waving one hand with a flourish.

“This is merely a courtesy call,” she told him cheekily. “I thought, as my guardian, you might like to know what I plan to do with my life.”

He frowned, wary, but still in control of his reactions. “As your guardian, I already know what you’re going to do with your life. In fact, I planned it myself. No need for you to bother.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’ve gone wrong.” She took another sip, just for bravery, and set the drink down on the glass coffee table. “You see, I’m no longer a minor, no longer in a position to be your ward.” She took a deep breath and faced him squarely, her gaze simple and direct. “In fact, I quit. I’m old enough to be on my own. And that is what I choose to do.”

He looked pained. “Julienne, you know very well your life was mapped out seven years ago as part of the Treaty of Salvais.”

She glanced down at the drink, began to reach for it, then drew her hand back and nodded quickly. “I know. I know. But, you see, that was done without my consent, and—”

“Your consent!” He shook his head, losing control of his patience a bit. “Julienne, your wedding is in less than a week. You can’t back out now. The invitations are out. The gifts are streaming in. It’s too late to stop the momentum. It’s going to happen, whether you like it or not.”

She didn’t look convinced. In fact, she looked downright resentful.

“And are you planning to show up this time?” she asked, challenging him with her dark, honest gaze. “Or do you have your usual ‘business to attend to’ instead?”

His head went back in reaction. She’d pushed exactly the button that was guaranteed to open the floodgates to the guilt he felt about his guardianship. Over the last few years he’d avoided seeing her, missing every Christmas, every birthday. He knew his actions had hurt her. But it couldn’t be helped. As her guardian, he had to protect her from predatory men. What he’d never expected when he took on that role was that he would be his own prime target.

“Julienne, all this is beside the point. You are required by treaty to marry Prince Alphonso next week, and marry him you will.”

She shook her head, lower lip thrust out rebelliously. “I never signed any treaty,” she insisted. “I never gave consent.”

He jerked to his feet and began to pace the floor, holding back his quick surge of exasperation. Was he going to be forced to go over the whole history with her once again? No, she was just being stubborn. She knew all about the fighting between the three royal houses that had ripped their country apart for generations.

Right now an uneasy truce prevailed, but it had only come about after a long, bloody war. Too many people had died. He thought, with a quick slice of pain, of his own mother, killed by an assassin’s bullet. The factions had fought each other to a standstill, and then it had taken a long, torturous struggle of negotiation to finally settle things, and that had only happened once Julienne’s parents, the King and Queen of the House of Emeraude, had agreed that she would marry Prince Alphonso when she reached twenty-one years. Their marriage would tie the houses of Emeraude and Diamante together for evermore, and help balance the struggle of power between the three houses.

It had to happen. If she didn’t follow through with the treaty’s promise, the country was very likely to go up in flames again. No one wanted that, and as one of the architects of the plan he couldn’t let it happen. In fact, it was up to him to make sure she followed through.

“Your parents gave all the consent that was needed,” he told her coolly. “The deal was sealed. There is no going back on our word.”