His Convenient Royal Bride. Cara Colter

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      She cocked her head at him. His intelligence and genuine interest was pulling at her. He was definitely a man she would love to sit down and have a conversation with.

      And of course she was not going to give in to that temptation!

      “I’d love to talk to you,” she said, and unfortunately, she meant it. “Maybe we’ll get together sometime.”

      That part she did not mean at all!

      “Can I get you something else?” she said quickly, a reminder to all involved what kind of relationship this was.

      “Tea would be wonderful.”

      She brought tea and more scones to their table, but thankfully it was opening time, so she could not linger. There was a surprising number of people coming into the café. The town appeared to be benefiting already from people arriving for tomorrow’s concert.

      Was it possible this was going to work?

      She didn’t have time to contemplate it for long. Her life became a whirlwind as Sophie remained in the kitchen. Kettle delivered the two men breakfast, but Maddie did not interact with them again until it was time to take their money at the till.

      “You know how to make tea, too,” Ward said. “That’s a rare gift in this country!”

      A small thing, not worthy of a blush, and yet there she was, blushing over tea! Or maybe it was the fact that his hand had brushed hers, and she had felt the jolt of his pure presence, the same way she had when his finger had rested, ever so briefly, on the pendant at her neck.

      “That English granny again,” she said.

      “Somehow the last thing I think of when I look at you is an English granny,” he said, his voice a sexy rasp. Then he looked faintly taken aback, as if he had said something wildly inappropriate. He recovered quickly, though.

      “I hope we do have a chance to talk about your town’s transition,” Ward said. He said it as if he was talking to someone whose opinion he would respect. She glanced at him. Small talk.

      “Me, too,” she said with bright insincerity. “Enjoy your stay here.”

      Then she snapped the cash register shut and whirled away from them, feeling somehow as if she had escaped some unknowable danger.

      Why would such a feeling, the feeling of a near miss on a road named Catastrophe, be tinged with regret?

      * * *

      “That was a good breakfast,” Lancaster said, as they exited the coffee shop. “You’ve got to give it to Yanks. They know how to eat. The scones were a surprise of the best possible sort.”

      “Are you saying barracks food doesn’t appeal?”

      “No, Your Highness.”

      Both men looked around, but no one was within hearing.

      “Sorry, sir, lifetime habits are hard to break.”

      They came to the car and Ward regarded it appreciatively. “Do you want to drive, Major Lancaster?” He glanced around. “You’re right about lifetime habits.”

      “I was hoping for an opportunity. Where to?”

      “I feel, after California and New York, I just need to stretch my legs and have some space. What about those hot pools we heard about?”

      “The hotel clerk told us they were in the middle of the wilderness,” Lancaster said, appalled.

      “That part of America interests me.”

      “I think this is bear country,” Lancaster said doubtfully, the quandary written on his face. How to keep the Prince safest?

      “I’m prepared to live dangerously.”

      “I was afraid of that.” Lancaster looked less than pleased, for he was a man born into the station of guarding the royal family of the Isle of Havenhurst, and he sniffed out—and avoided—situations that might place the Prince in danger, but he also knew an order when he heard it.

      “The cover story went well,” Ward said as they left Mountain Bend and took a rough road that began to twist up the mountain through thick forest.

      Lancaster was silent.

      “Didn’t you think so?”

      “The old guy didn’t buy it.”

      “What old guy?”

      “He came out of the kitchen for a minute and gave us a good look over. Limping. Ex-military.”

      “How can you tell that?”

      Lancaster shrugged. “There are ways to tell. But it works both ways. I think he could tell a bit about us, too.”

      Ward contemplated the fact he had not registered the man coming out of the kitchen. Of course, it was Lancaster’s job to notice who was around them, and Ward was confident Lancaster was probably better at his job than just about anybody in the world. But still, Ward suspected the woman, Maddie, had something to do with the fact he had not noticed the man come out of the kitchen.

      There was something about her that engaged him, especially after coming from California, where the women he met all seemed very outgoing, very tall, very tanned, wrinkle-free and white-blond.

      In contrast he had found Maddie’s beauty was understated and natural, as refreshing as a cool breeze on a warm day. She was lovely, with those kissed-by-the-sun curls springing around her head, her delicate features, the perfect bow of puffy lips, hazel eyes that looked green one moment and doe brown the next. Despite the faintest hint of freckles, unlike her California counterparts, her skin had been porcelain pale, as if, despite being surrounded by the outdoors, she did not get outside much. And there had been faint shadows of what—weariness? worry?—under those remarkable eyes.

      In their short encounter Ward had found her both delightfully interesting and intriguingly attractive, and at the same time a painful reminder of the kind of woman and kind of life he would never have.

      “I’m not concerned. Yet,” Lancaster said. “But I wouldn’t be telling anyone else your name is Edward.”

      “Havenhurst is probably the least known kingdom in the entire North Atlantic, a little speck in the ocean, two hundred kilometers from the North Channel. Even the Scots, who are the most culturally linked to us, barely know who we are. So, few people know who I am.”

      Ward’s publicity-averse family employed a small army to fend off the pursuit of royalty-crazed tabloids, and though the odd picture or story about him emerged, he was mostly an unknown.

      Lancaster looked unconvinced.

      “I’m off the radar,” Ward assured him.

      “Best to keep it that way. I think your California friend, Miss O’Brian, would have loved to have milked your status for a bit of publicity.”

      Ward СКАЧАТЬ