The Prince and The Marriage Pact. Valerie Parv

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СКАЧАТЬ she was making an entrance at a ball, but as soon as he bowed his way out, Maxim came to her side, looking relaxed and, she was forced to admit, devastatingly attractive.

      In contrast to his appearance at the wedding that morning, he was casually dressed in charcoal pants and an olive-green, open-necked shirt. The faintest shadow darkened his chin, and light from the wall sconces shot his ebony hair with silver glints. He was going to age handsomely, she thought, gulping in air.

      Not that he didn’t look compelling enough now as he took her hand and inspected the dressing covering her palm. “How do you feel?”

      “Refreshed after my rest, thank you, Your Highness.” It had been the truth until he touched her. Now she felt a shiver grip her. When he released her, she realized she had been holding her breath.

      “Call me Maxim.” He led the way through the apartment to a brightly lit kitchen. “Hungry?”

      She looked around. “You’re cooking?”

      “Shouldn’t I?”

      “But I thought…”

      “That I’d have servants bring us food on silver salvers? I do that, too. But occasionally I enjoy preparing something for myself. My sister says it keeps me humble.”

      Annegret rested her forearms on a countertop, glad of the barrier between them. She had been introduced to his sister, Princess Giselle, at the wedding. Both Maxim and his sister seemed unexpectedly approachable, but Annegret thought humble was stretching things. “Now, that I definitely have trouble picturing,” she said.

      His eyes sparkled. “Giselle agrees with you. Will ordinary do?”

      He couldn’t be that, either. Confusing messages assailed her. As a prince he was far more down-to-earth than she had expected. But neither could she deny the luxuriousness of their surroundings. He might be tossing ingredients into a soufflé dish, but he was doing it in state-of-the-art conditions in a castle. And the servants were a bellpull away in case the novelty wore off.

      He left the cooking long enough to uncork a bottle of Pinot Noir. Her heightened senses made her acutely aware of the sound of the cork popping and the splash of the wine into crystal glasses. Aware of how deftly he handled the masculine chore. How strong his fingers looked wrapped around the delicate glass he handed to her.

      When their fingers brushed, fire shot along her veins. Blaming the aftereffects of the Janus lily didn’t quite work. Wine spattered onto the countertop as her hand shook.

      “Still feeling some pain?” he asked in concern.

      “A little,” she lied, not wanting to admit the source of her discomfort, even to herself.

      Maxim berated himself for keeping her standing in the kitchen while he indulged himself cooking for her. Showing off, he conceded. He had wanted to counter some of her prejudices with a demonstration of normality.

      Who was he kidding? It wasn’t hard to conjure up an impressive meal when the finest ingredients were provided and someone else did the cleaning up.

      He wanted to believe he was teaching her a lesson. Instead, he was learning one. That to a point, she was right. He couldn’t change who and what he was. So why not stop trying?

      “Come through to the morning room,” he said, taking her arm. He was reminded again of how slightly built she was for a woman who almost matched him in height.

      “What about the soufflé?”

      “It’s almost ready for the oven. I’ll ring for someone to take over here. You need to relax.”

      She didn’t argue, proving his point. The morning room was his favorite room in the apartment, with floor-to-ceiling windows that wrapped around a table in the center. Presently the table was set for two. With the drapes drawn back to reveal the night sky in all its splendor, she would feel as if she was dining among the stars.

      He heard her catch her breath, and shared a smile with her. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” He wasn’t sure he only meant the view.

      “It’s amazing. Do the stars always seem close enough to touch in Carramer?”

      “Always.” Pressing a hand to the small of her back, he moved her closer to the window. “The clarity of the air enables us to see far out into the universe.”

      Gesturing with his free hand, he said, “The reddish star blazing in the northeast is Arcturus. And that one is Regulus, the brightest star in the constellation Leo.”

      “It looks more like a sickle than a lion,” she said to distract herself from the warmth of his hand against her back. “Your Regulus looks like the handle, with the blade hanging below it.”

      “Very perceptive,” he agreed. “Our ancestors used to think the stars were holes in the night to let the light of heaven pass through.”

      She’d been told that the prince was a keen astronomer. She hadn’t expected him to be a poet, as well. “It’s a beautiful thought, however unscientific,” she observed.

      He pulled out a chair for her where she could continue to watch the stars, then left her long enough to issue orders. By the time she’d drunk a little of the excellent wine, a servant had brought their meal, served them efficiently, then left them alone. Also according to orders.

      Whether it was due to the stars, the meal or his efforts to help her relax, Maxim was gratified to see some color return to her cheeks. “Feeling better now?”

      “Much, thank you.” There was no reason to assume his nearness was the cause. She had eaten very little at the wedding, so her blood sugar had probably been in her boots. The soufflé had melted in her mouth. “It’s kind of you to be so concerned.”

      He lifted his wineglass. “Kindness has nothing to do with it.”

      “Then what?”

      “Perhaps a wish to show you a more flattering side of royalty you can share with your television viewers in the future.”

      “Why?”

      He’d been asking himself the same thing. He settled for honesty. “I may be a prince, but I’m also a man. I find you very attractive, Annegret.”

      This time he had no doubt that her heightened color was his doing. She was speechless, he saw, and suspected it wasn’t a condition she experienced often.

      She recovered quickly. “You must know the feeling is mutual.”

      Warmth surged through him. Was it to be so simple, then? The Champagne Pact might bind him to marry a woman of royal blood, but it didn’t stop him from enjoying the company of a commoner. That he might be playing with fire, he also recognized. Annegret struck him as an all-or-nothing sort of woman.

      He replenished their glasses, deciding to test his theory. “Then all that remains is to decide what we’re going to do about it.”

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