A Royal Proposition. Marion Lennox

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СКАЧАТЬ too cheeky. Was the aristocracy so sensitive? Heavens, why didn’t she learn to keep her mouth shut? Still, if damage had been done, it was she who’d have to undo it.

      ‘If I’m not back in a week, demand entry to the dungeons,’ she said, more lightly than she felt. She looked down at her grimy self and thought of what she was facing. ‘You really mean go right now?’

      ‘I mean go right now,’ Bert said heavily. ‘That’s what the aristocracy wants, so that’s what the aristocracy gets.’

      They were waiting.

      Penny-Rose walked up through the terraced gardens toward the main castle entrance and found the head gardener waiting. They walked into the courtyard where a butler was waiting in turn. He gave her a wintry smile, turned and led her into the house.

      And what a house!

      The castle had been built in the twelfth century and maintained by fastidious owners ever since. Castaliae was one of the few countries in the world where the royal family had never deviated from direct succession. It had led to a certain simplicity—the family were the de Castaliaes, the estate was Castaliae and so was the country.

      It was confusing maybe, but it certainly must make ordering letterheads easier, Penny-Rose had decided when she’d first learned about the place. And now, looking around the ancestral home of the country’s rulers, she saw other advantages of continuous succession. The halls were filled with exquisite furniture, gathered over a thousand years, the walls were hung with fabulous tapestries and the whole place was filled with light and colour from a building designed far in advance of its time.

      Every south face had been used to effect—no one here had worried about window taxes—and sunlight streamed in everywhere.

      The Castaliae family had been known to sit on the fence for all the castle’s history, Penny-Rose knew. The independence of this tiny principality was a tribute to the political savvy of its royal family.

      Penny-Rose glanced about her with awe as she was led from room to room. For a twenty-six-year-old Australian, this was new and wonderful indeed. She almost forgot to be nervous.

      Almost. She remembered again the moment she entered the great hall.

      They were waiting for her.

      She knew them by sight. Marguerite, of course. The new prince’s elderly mother. She was the woman who’d spoken to her in the garden, and her smile was warm and welcoming.

      Then there was Belle. Although it wasn’t official, rumour had it that she was engaged to be married to the prince. She was a cold fish, the boys had decided, but it didn’t stop them admiring her good points. She might be a cold fish, but she was a very beautiful cold fish. Belle didn’t move from her seat now, and she certainly didn’t smile.

      And, of course, there was Alastair. Alastair de Castaliae… His Serene Highness, they said, if he could figure out the inheritance hiccups.

      And why shouldn’t he be the prince? she thought. He certainly had the look of it. He might be dressed for farmwork now, in an ancient pair of moleskins and a shirt that was grubby and frayed at the cuffs, but he was still drop-dead gorgeous, with a smile to die for.

      Mmm! He was smiling now—sort of—as he rose to greet her. It was a smile that stilled her nerves and caught her attention as nothing else could. What a smile. And what a…

      Well, what a man!

      Penny-Rose had never had time to play round with the opposite sex but a lack of time had never stopped her appreciating what was in front of her. And this one was worth appreciating! He was tall, lean and hard-muscled, with long, long legs, and…

      And she wasn’t a schoolgirl, she reminded herself sharply. She was twenty-six years old, and she had too many responsibilities to be distracted by any man, much less royalty!

      So, with an effort, she pulled her attention away from thoughts which were totally out of place. What on earth did they want?

      The prince, gorgeous as he was, was looking at her like he wasn’t seeing her. Belle was watching her with a calculating expression Penny-Rose didn’t like. It was only Marguerite who was smiling as if she meant it.

      ‘Penny-Rose. How lovely. Will you sit down?’

      Sit? Good grief! She looked at the plush cream settee and fought a desire to giggle.

      ‘Um…I’m afraid I’d leave a signature,’ she said, and received a swift appraising look from Alastair for her pains. ‘If it’s all right with you, ma’am, I’m just as happy standing. If you’d just tell me what you want, I’ll be off before I spread dirt everywhere.’

      ‘But we need to get to know you,’ Alastair said, in a voice that sounded as if he didn’t believe what he was saying.

      Penny-Rose shook her head. She’d hauled off her cap before she’d come inside so her curls bounced around her shoulders and dust floated free. ‘You don’t need to get to know me, and I’m not dressed for socialising.’ OK, she was being blunt but she was at a disadvantage and she didn’t like it. Belle was looking at her like she was some sort of interesting insect, and kowtowing to those higher up the aristocratic ladder had never come naturally to Penny-Rose.

      ‘Just for a minute.’ Alastair’s voice was strained to breaking point, and she cast him an unsure glance. What was wrong with the man?

      ‘My boss can tell you about me,’ she said discouragingly. ‘Or are you intending to get to know the whole team better?’ That made an interesting plan, but it didn’t make her smile. She felt more and more like an insect brought in as part of a collection, and she didn’t like the feeling one bit.

      ‘No, but—’ Marguerite started.

      ‘Let’s just tell her what we want,’ Alastair said heavily. ‘Don’t confuse her any further.’ His eyes hadn’t left Penny-Rose’s face, and they didn’t leave it now.

      He seemed nice, Penny-Rose thought inconsequentially. He also seemed exhausted, strained to the limit, but still very, very nice. His voice was deep and grave and soft, and he sounded as if he was concerned for her.

      His English was excellent—well, it would be, as his mother was English. It was only his words that were troubled.

      ‘I’ll come to the point,’ he told her, speaking slowly as if measuring each word.

      ‘What my mother wishes to know—what we all wish to know—is whether or not you can be persuaded to marry me.’

      For a long, long moment nothing stirred. She stared at them in turn, taking in each of their faces. All of them looked…for heaven’s sake, they looked as if they were serious!

      ‘You have to be joking,’ she said at last, and it was as much as she could do to find her voice. Her words came out a sort of high-pitched squeak. She coughed and tried again. ‘I mean…you are joking, right?’

      ‘I’m not joking.’ The look of strain on his face intensified. ‘Would I joke about something so serious?’

      ‘Yeah, right.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Did you say marry?’

      ‘I said marry.’

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