The Prince's Ultimate Deception

The Prince’s Ultimate Deception

Emilie Rose

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Christine Hyatt for sharing your wisdom

and showing me the path.

You helped me make my dreams come true.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

One

“Please. You have to help me.”

A woman’s desperate plea caught Prince Dominic Andreas Rossi de Montagnarde’s attention as he and his bodyguard Ian waited for the elevator inside Monaco’s luxurious Hôtel Reynard. He observed the reflected exchange between a long-haired brunette and the concierge through the gilt-framed mirror hanging on the wall beside the polished brass elevator doors.

“Mr. Gustavo, if I don’t get away from all this prewedding euphoria I am going to lose my mind. Don’t get me wrong. I am happy for my friend, but I just can’t stomach this much romance without getting nauseous.”

Her statement piqued Dominic’s curiosity. What had soured her on the fairy-tale fantasy so many others harbored? He had never met a woman who didn’t wallow in wedding preparations. Each of his three sisters had dragged out the planning of their weddings for more than a year, as had his beloved Giselle.

“I need a tour guide who can work around my bridesmaid’s duties for the next month,” she continued. “One who knows the best places for day trips and impromptu getaways because I don’t know when I’ll need to escape from all this—” she shuddered dramatically “—happiness.”

American, he judged by her accent, and possibly from one of the Southern states given her slight drawl.

The concierge gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Mademoiselle Spencer, but it is nearly midnight. At this hour I cannot contact our guides to make those arrangements. If you will return in the morning I am sure we can find someone suitable.”

She shoved her fingers into the mass of her thick, shiny curls, tugged as if she were at her wit’s end and then shifted to reveal an exquisite face with a classical profile. Her bare arms were slender, but toned, and she had a body to match beneath the floor-length green gown subtly draping her curves. Nice curves deserving of a second glance which Dominic willingly took. Too bad he couldn’t see if her legs were as superb as the rest of her.

His gaze slowly backtracked to the reflection of her lovely face and slammed into mocking and amused emerald eyes the same shade as her dress. She’d caught his appraisal and repaid him in kind with a leisurely inspection of her own. Her gaze descended from his shoulders to his butt and legs. One arched eyebrow clearly stated she intended putting him in his place. He fought a smile over her boldness, but he couldn’t prevent a quickening of his pulse. When her eyes found his once more he saw appreciation but no sign of recognition.

Interesting.

She returned her attention to the concierge. “In the morning I have to ruin two years’ worth of dieting and exercise by stuffing myself with wedding cake samples. Please, I’m begging you, Mr. Gustavo, give me a guide’s name tonight so I’ll at least have the promise of escape tomorrow.”

Escape. The word echoed in Dominic’s head as he pondered the elevator’s unusual slowness. He needed time to come to terms with his future, to marrying and having children with a woman he didn’t love and might not even like, without the paparazzi shoving cameras in his face. In a word, he needed to escape—hence the lack of his usual entourage, dying his blond hair brown and shaving the mustache and beard he’d worn since he’d first sprouted whiskers.

This would in all likelihood be his last month of peace before all hell broke loose. Once the paparazzi caught wind of the proceedings at the palace they would descend on him like a plague of locusts, and his life would no longer be his own. He could see the headlines now. Widowed Prince Seeks Bride.

Apparently the American needed to escape, as well. Why not do so together? Looking at her would in no way be a hardship, and discovering how she’d willingly divorced herself from romance would be an added bonus.

He glanced at Ian. The bodyguard had been with him since Dominic’s college days and sometimes Dominic swore the older man could read his mind. Sure enough, warning flashed in Ian’s brown eyes and his burly body stiffened.

The elevator chimed and opened, but instead of stepping inside the cubicle Dominic pivoted toward the concierge stand. Ian hovered in the background, silently swearing, Dominic was sure. “Perhaps I could be of assistance, Gustavo.”

Gustavo’s eyebrows shot up, not surprising since the man often arranged Dominic’s entertainment.

“Pardon me for eavesdropping, mademoiselle. I could not help but overhear your request. I would be happy to act as your guide if that meets with your approval?” Dominic waited for recognition to dawn in her eyes. Instead a frown pleated the area above her slim nose. From her smooth porcelain skin he guessed her to be in her late twenties or early thirties—far too young to have forsaken love. As was he. But what choice did he have when duty called?

Her gaze traveled over his white silk shirt and black trousers and then returned to his face. “You work here?”

Surprise shot through him. Was his simple disguise so effective? He had hoped to throw off the paparazzi from a distance, but he hadn’t expected to fool anyone up close, and yet she apparently didn’t know who he was. Admittedly, he’d lived as low profile a life as any royal could in the past few years, and he avoided the press more often than not, but still…Was this possible?

Dominic made a split-second decision not to enlighten her. He’d had a lifetime of cloying, obsequious women due to his lineage. Why not enjoy being a normal man for as long as it lasted? “I don’t work for the hotel, but I am here as often as I can be. Hôtel Reynard is my favorite establishment.”

She looked at Gustavo. “Can I trust him?”

Gustavo seemed taken aback by the question. As he should be. Dominic, as next in line to the throne of Montagnarde, a small three-island country four hundred miles east of New Zealand, wasn’t accustomed to having his integrity questioned.

“Certainement, mademoiselle.”

Her thickly lashed emerald gaze narrowed on Dominic’s. “Are you familiar with Southern France and Northern Italy?”

His favorite playgrounds, and in recent years, prime examples of the types of tourist meccas he intended to develop in his homeland. “I am.”

“Do you speak any languages other than English, because I barely scraped by in my college Latin class, and I only know health-care Spanish.”

“I am fluent in English, French, Italian and Spanish. I can get by in Greek and German.”

Her perfectly arched eyebrows rose. Amusement twinkled in her eyes and curved her lips, rousing something which had lain dormant inside him for many years. “Now you’re just bragging, but it sounds like you’re just the man I need, Mr….?”

He hesitated. To continue the masquerade he’d have to lie openly not just by omission and he detested liars. But he wanted to spend time with this lovely woman as a man instead of a monarch before fulfilling his duty and marrying whichever woman the royal council deemed a suitable broodmare to his stud service. What could it hurt? He and the American were but ships passing in the night. Or in this case, one small corner of Europe.

“Rossi. Damon Rossi.” He ignored Gustavo’s shocked expression and Ian’s rigid disapproving presence behind him and extended his hand. Dominic hoped neither man would correct the hastily concocted variation of his name or his failure to mention his title.

“Madeline Spencer.” The brunette’s fingers curled around his. Her handshake was firm and strong and her gaze direct instead of deferential. When had a woman last looked him in the eye and treated him as an equal? Not since Giselle. Unexpected desire hit him hard and fast and with stunning potency.

A similar awareness flickered on Madeline’s face, expanding her pupils, flushing her cheeks and parting her lips. “I guess that only leaves one question. Can I afford you?”

Caught off guard by her breathless query and by his body’s impassioned response, Dominic glanced at Gustavo who rushed to respond for him. “I am sure Monsieur Reynard will cover your expenses, mademoiselle, since you are an honored guest of the family and a dear friend to his fiancée. Hi—Monsieur Rossi should not accept any money from you.”

Dominic didn’t miss the warning in Gustavo’s statement.

Madeline’s smile widened, trapping the air in Dominic’s chest. “When can we get together to set up a schedule?”

If he weren’t expecting a conference call from the palace with an update on the bridal selection process momentarily he would definitely prolong this encounter. “Perhaps tomorrow morning after your cake sampling?”

He realized he hadn’t released her hand, and he was reluctant to do so. Arousal pumped pleasantly through his veins—a nice distraction from the disagreeable dilemma which had driven him into temporary exile.

Madeline was apparently in no rush, either, as she didn’t pull away or break his gaze. “That’d be great, Damon. Where shall I meet you?”

Dominic searched his mental map for a meeting place not haunted by the paparazzi. The only option his testosterone-flooded brain presented was his suite, but the tour guide he’d implied himself to be could hardly afford penthouse accommodations. Already his lie complicated the situation.

Gustavo cleared his throat, jerking Dominic back to the present. “Perhaps le café located in the lower terrace gardens, Your—Monsieur Rossi?”

Dominic nodded his thanks—for the recommendation and for the conspiracy. He was used to being a leader and making decisions, but even a future king knew when to accept wise council. “A very good suggestion, Gustavo. What time will you finish, mademoiselle?”

Straight, white teeth bit into her plump bottom lip and Dominic struggled with a sudden urge to sample her soft pink flesh. “Elevenish?”

“I shall count the hours.” He bent over her hand and kissed her knuckles. Her fragrance, a light floral mingled with the tart tang of lemon, filled his lungs, and his libido roared to life like the mythical dragon island folklore decreed lived beneath Montagnarde’s hot springs.

Dominic had not come to Monaco with the intention of having a last dalliance before beginning what would in all likelihood be a passionless marriage. But he was tempted. Extremely tempted. However the lie, combined with his duty to his country meant he had nothing to offer this beautiful woman except his services as a guide. He would have to keep his newly awakened libido on a short leash.

It wouldn’t be easy.

Madeline Spencer’s fingers squeezed his one more time and then she released him with a slow drag of her fingertips across his palm. A sassy smile slanted her lips. “Until tomorrow then, Damon.”

With a flutter of her ringless fingers she entered the penthouse elevator—the one he’d just abandoned. The doors slid closed.

Dominic inhaled deeply. For the first time in months the sword of doom hanging over his head lifted. He had a short reprieve, but a reprieve nonetheless.

“Oh. My. God.” Madeline sagged against the inside of the penthouse suite door and pressed a hand over her racing heart. “I think I’m in lust.”

Candace and Amelia, two of Madeline’s three suite mates, straightened from their reclining positions on the sofas of the sitting room. They’d already changed from the evening gowns they’d worn to the casino earlier into sleepwear.

“With whom?” Amelia, wearing a ruffled nightgown, asked.

“I have just hired the most gorgeous man on the planet to be my tour guide.”

“Tell all,” Candace ordered. The bride-to-be was the reason Madeline, Amelia and Stacy, her bridesmaids, were sharing a luxurious suite in the five-star Hôtel Reynard. The quartet had been granted an all-expenses-paid month in Monaco compliments of Candace’s fiancé, Vincent Reynard, to plan the couple’s wedding, which would take place here in Monaco in four weeks.

“His name’s Damon and he has the most amazing blue eyes, thick tobacco-brown hair and a body that won’t quit. He’s tall—six-three, I’d guess. It was nice to have to look up at a guy even when I was wearing my heels.”

“Are you sure it’s not love at first sight?” Amelia asked with a dreamy look on her face.

Madeline sighed over her coworker’s die-hard romantic notions. “You know better. Love is not a fall I intend to take ever again.”

Thanks to her lying, cheating ex-fiancé.

“Not all men are like Mike,” Candace said as she stacked the tourist pamphlets she’d been perusing neatly on the table.

For Candace’s sake Madeline hoped not. Vincent seemed like a nice guy and he truly doted on Candace. But Mike had done the same for Madeline in the early days, and therefore Madeline no longer trusted anyone carrying the Y chromosome.

“No, thank goodness, but my jerk detector is apparently broken, and there are enough guys out there like Mike that I’ve decided to focus on my career and avoid anything except brief, shallow relationships from now on. Men do it. Why can’t I?”

Not that she’d had time for any kind of relationship lately, meaningless or otherwise, given the extra shifts she’d volunteered for at the hospital and the rigorous exercise program she’d adopted during the two years since Mike split.

“Sounds like you’re hoping for more than guided tours from this guy,” Candace guessed.

Was she? She couldn’t deny the electricity crackling between her and Damon when they’d shaken hands, and when he’d kissed her knuckles her knees had nearly buckled. The man might be a tour guide, but he had class and charisma out the wazoo. She’d bet he could turn a shallow affair into a momentous occasion.

“Maybe I am. Maybe I want to have a wildly passionate vacation fling with a sexy foreigner. If he’s not married, that is. He wasn’t wearing a ring, but—” Their pitying expressions raised her defenses. “What?”

Amelia frowned. “This is about Mike showing up at the hospital last month with his child and pregnant wife in tow, isn’t it?”

“It’s not.” Liar. But hey, a girl had her pride and Madeline planned to cling tightly to the ragged remnants of hers.

Mike had made a fool of her. He’d led her on with a six-year engagement, and then he’d dumped her on her thirtieth birthday when she’d jokingly suggested they set a wedding date or call it quits. As soon as he’d moved out of her town house and left his job as a radiologist at the hospital where they both worked, coworkers she’d barely known had rushed to inform her that while she’d been planning her dream wedding he’d been sharing his excellent bedside manner with other women. And judging by the family he’d brought by the E.R. last month, he’d married someone else and started pumping out babies as soon as he’d dumped her.

The lying, conniving rat.

Love? Uh-uh. Not for her. Never again. And she hoped reality didn’t slap Candace in the face. But if that happened Madeline would be there to help her friend pick up the pieces—the way Candace and Amelia had been there for her.

Candace rose and crossed the room to wrap Madeline in a hug. “Just be careful.”

Madeline snorted. “Please, I am a medical professional. You don’t have to lecture me about safe sex. Besides, I’m on the Pill.”

“I wasn’t referring only to pregnancy or communicable diseases. Don’t let that dickhead Mike make you do anything reckless you’ll regret.”

Candace and Amelia had never liked Mike. Maybe Madeline should have listened to her friends. But not this time. This time she wouldn’t be blinded by love. This time she was looking out for number one. “That’s the beauty of it. Assuming Damon is interested in a temporary relationship, he can’t lead me on, dump me or break my heart because I’ll be leaving right after the wedding. I mean, what can happen in four weeks?”

Amelia winced. “Don’t tempt fate like that.”

Candace sighed. “I know each of us has different things we want to see and do in Monaco, but don’t spend all of your time with him. We want to see some of you, too.”

Madeline bit her lip and studied her friend. How could she explain that being immersed in all the wedding hoopla brought back too many painful memories—memories of planning her own aborted wedding and wallowing in every intricate detail to make the day perfect? All for naught. She couldn’t, without hurting Candace’s feelings.

“I promise I won’t abandon my friends or my bridesmaid’s duties—no matter how good Damon is at guiding or anything else.”

She looped an arm around each woman’s waist. “Friends are forever and lovers—” she shrugged “—are not.”

Good grief, she was as nervous as a virgin on prom night, and at thirty-two Madeline hadn’t seen either virginity or prom night in a long time.

Her heart beat at double time and it had nothing to do with the sugar rush from sampling too many wedding cakes this morning.

Was her hair right? Her dress? And wasn’t that just plain ridiculous? Nonetheless vanity had caused her to pull on a dress with a deep V neckline in the front and back and to don the outrageously sexy shoes she’d bought at the designer outlet down the street. She’d even French braided her unruly hair and added her favorite silver clip.

She scanned the partially open-air café for Damon. He rose from a table in the shadowy back corner, looking absolutely delicious in dark glasses, a casual, short-sleeved white cotton shirt and jeans. Wide shoulders. Thick biceps. Flat abs and narrow hips. Yum.

The glasses were a tad affected given he wasn’t seated in the sunny section of the café, but so many people in Monaco sported the same look that he didn’t seem out of place. Still—she tipped back her head and looked up at his handsome face—she’d rather stare into his pale blue eyes than at her own reflection.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle Spencer.” He pulled out her chair.

She tried to place his accent and couldn’t, which was pretty odd since her job exposed her to an assortment of nationalities on a daily basis. And then there was the intriguing way he occasionally slipped into more formal speech….

“Good morning, Damon, and please call me Madeline.” His knuckles brushed the bare skin between her shoulder blades as he seated her. Awareness skipped down her spine, startling a flock of butterflies in her stomach. Ooh yeah. Definitely a prime candidate for her first string-free fling.

She tugged a pen and pad of paper from her straw purse. “I thought we’d discuss possible outings today. Perhaps you could give me a list of suggestions, and I’ll tell you which ones interest me.”

“You will not trust my judgment to choose for you?”

As she’d done with Mike?

“No. I’d prefer to be consulted. I’m not sure how much you overheard last night, but I’m here with a friend to help plan her wedding. I’ll have to be available for her morning meetings Monday through Friday and whenever else she or the other bridesmaids need me. So you and I will have to snatch hours here and there and not every day. Are you okay with that?”

“I am.” He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers beneath his square jaw. He really had wonderful bone structure. His blade-straight nose had probably never been broken, and his high zygomatic arches allowed for nice hollows in his lean, smooth-shaven cheeks. Straight, thick, dark hair flopped over his forehead, making him look boyish, but the fine lines beside his eyes and mouth said he had to be in his thirties.

“Last night you said romance made you nauseous. I have yet to meet a woman who did not revel in romance. What happen—”

“Now you have,” she interrupted.

His lips firmed and his eyebrows lowered as if her interruption annoyed him, but her sorry love life was not up for discussion.

The last thing she wanted to tell a prospective lover was that she’d been an idiot. She’d been so enthralled with the idea of love and being part of a couple that she’d given in to whatever Mike wanted, and in the process she’d surrendered part of her identity. What ticked her off the most was that even though she’d been trained to assess symptoms and make diagnoses, she’d missed the obvious signs that her relationship was in trouble. Not even the twenty pounds she’d gained over six years while “eating her stress” had clued her in to her subconscious’s warnings.

“What happened to make you so wary?” he asked in a firm voice that made it clear he wasn’t going to drop it.

She stared hard at him for several moments, trying to make him back down, but he held her gaze without wavering. “Let’s just say I learned from experience that planning a perfect wedding doesn’t always result in happily ever after.”

“You are divorced?”

“Never made it to the altar. Now, about our excursions…Despite what Mr. Gustavo said about Vincent Reynard picking up your tab, I don’t want to go overboard with expenses.”

“I will keep that in mind. Are you more of an outdoor person or the museum type?”

She said a silent thank-you that he accepted her change of subject. “I prefer to be outside since I spend most of my waking hours inside.”

“Doing…?”

Who was interviewing whom here? He didn’t act like any potential employee she’d ever questioned. He was a little too arrogant, a little too confident, a little too in charge. But that only made him more attractive. “I’m a physician’s assistant in a metropolitan hospital. What kinds of outings do you suggest?”

“There are numerous outdoor activities within a short distance that would cost little or nothing. Sunbathing, snorkeling, sailing, windsurfing, hiking, biking, fishing and rock climbing.”

He ticked off the items on long ringless fingers bearing neatly trimmed, clean nails. She had a thing about hands, and his were great, the kind she’d love to have gliding over her skin.

“If you have more than a few hours we can go river rafting or spelunking in the Alpes-Maritimes or drive across the border into Italy or France to explore some of the more interesting villages.”

“I’m not a sun lizard. Isn’t that what they call the people who lay on the rocks of the jetty? I prefer action to lazing about, and cold, dark places give me the creeps, so let’s skip the sunbathing and the spelunking and go with everything else. You’ll arrange the tours and any equipment rental and provide me with the details?”

“It will be my pleasure.”

She’d bet he knew a thing or two about pleasure, and if she was lucky, he’d share that knowledge. She slid a piece of paper across the table. “Here’s my tentative schedule for the next month. I’ve blacked out the times when I’m unavailable. That’s my suite number in the top corner. You’ll have to call me there or leave a message for me at the front desk since my cell phone doesn’t work in Europe.”

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone somewhere without a pager or cell phone, usually both, clipped to her clothing, and she couldn’t decide whether she felt free or naked without the familiar weight bumping her hip.

A breeze swept into the open-air café, catching and ruffling the paper. She flattened her hand over it to keep it from blowing away. Damon’s covered hers a split second later as he did the same. The heat of his palm warmed her skin. Electricity arced up her arm. Judging by the quick flare of his nostrils, she wasn’t the only one feeling the sparks, but she couldn’t see his eyes to be sure and that frustrated her.