Of Royal Blood
The wind whistled in his ears as he hunched low and followed the boy over the rolling hills of St. Michel to the edge of a great forest that was rumored still to harbor a fire-breathing dragon and a band of magical fairies. Well, Sebastian didn’t know about that, but when he caught up with this kid, be might just breathe a little fire himself.
Upon reaching the forest, he had to slow dramatically to pick his way through the trees to avoid being clothes-lined by a low-lying branch. He could hear the horse and rider just ahead, crashing through the underbrush, and then the roar of falling water as a rushing river cascaded over a precipice at one end of the king’s well-stocked fishing pond.
A poacher, no doubt. There to catch a few illegal fish for his undoubtedly lazy, thieving family. Jaw grim with determination, Sebastian stayed just far enough behind to keep this unsavory character in view, while at the same time taking care to avoid being detected. Slowly now, he wove amongst the dense foliage. It was darker deep in the woods, growing more so as the sun’s rays began to fade.
Overhead, the sky rumbled an ominous growl, and Sebastian felt the first of several warm drops splat on his head and hands. Urging his mount forward, he peered through the branches and was instantly rewarded with a view that stole his breath away.
This was no boy, standing on an outcropping of rock, hastily shedding his clothes.
No.
This was a young woman!
Casually grazing, her horse was tethered to a tree near the water’s edge, about a dozen or so feet beneath the spot where she stood silhouetted against a fiery backdrop of fir trees. Lit from behind as she was by the sun, dusty rays fanned out in a long star pattern as she moved, giving her an almost wraithlike appearance.
Unable to tear his eyes away, he watched as she snatched open her buttons and pulled her blouse free of her jeans. Next, she yanked down the zipper of her pants and eased them over her slender hips. An impatient kick sent them into a haphazard pile with her blouse to the shore below.
Clad in only a pair of lacy wisps that left little to the imagination, she stood and surveyed the way the setting sun shimmered like gold coins bobbing on the surface of the gently lapping waves.
Sebastian’s breathing grew shallow. Who was this woman? She was no stable hand, this he knew, as females were never hired in such a capacity in this particular kingdom.
Her body was long and lithesome, yet curvy in all the right spots. Her thighs and calves were shapely, well muscled obviously from years spent riding, and her shoulder-length hair was wild, glowing gold with the slanting light of the setting sun.
Sebastian’s mouth went dry. He knew he probably had no business standing there, staring at her this way, when she thought she was by herself, but on the other hand, she had no business being out here alone. It wasn’t safe. Anything could happen to a young woman out swimming after dark.
Deciding to stay put, just in case she needed him for whatever reason, he watched as she moved to the edge of the outcropping of rock and surveyed the black water below. As if in slow motion, she balanced on her toes, crouched low, and then using the rock as a springboard, arched out over the water and executed a perfect, nearly splashless, dive.
Sebastian felt as if he’d swallowed a golf ball whole as he watched her disappear from view. When the water’s ripples had calmed, his guts began to churn. Where the devil was she? She should have been up already.
He stood in his stirrups and craned in her direction, mentally preparing to go in after her. He waited another three or four seconds.
That did it.
She was in trouble. Likely hit a rock, or maybe she was caught by the hair on some branch beneath the surface of the water.
Throwing a leg over his saddle, he dismounted and hit the ground running in one fluid move. Just as he reached the edge of the pond, she burst forth from the water’s surface, like a phoenix rising, her giddy laughter ringing out as she whipped her bra and panties in a circle over her head and flung them onto the beach.
Sebastian could only stand there and stare. His heart was beating ninety miles an hour and the battle he waged was whether to paddle this brat for scaring him so, or to kiss her because she was alive.
And beautiful.
In his life, the plastic, well-bred beauties that vied for his attention had jaded Sebastian. Aristocratic women could be so dull. Vain. In search of a trophy to call husband.
But this woman was different, he could tell. Her complete lack of affectation captivated him, and he found himself wanting to know more. Was she a commoner? If so, who was her father? What did he do?
Then reality struck.
Could she be taken? She certainly did not act the staid, married matron. Her body and her carefree personality betrayed her youth and he judged her to be no more than twenty. Twenty-two at the most.
A perfect complement to his twenty-seven.
Watching her, he felt his world-weary cares begin to seep away. There was something mysterious about this mermaid. She inspired ridiculous thoughts. Flights of fancy he’d given up entertaining long ago. Thoughts of the magic of finding one’s true love.
His heart began to pound and his blood rushed powerfully through his body. He flexed his hands, and watched her move to stand waist-deep at the opposite shore, her back toward him, wet hair tickling her shoulder blades. Hands cupped, she used them as a scoop to douse stray tendrils away from her face.
Then, as if she suddenly sensed that she wasn’t alone, the woman slowly turned to face him, her arms snaking across her bare breasts just before she sank to her shoulders in the water.
“Who is there?” she demanded.
Sebastian stepped forward and their eyes locked for an infinite, supercharged moment before he spoke.
“Perhaps I should be asking you the same question, woman. This is the private property of His Royal Highness, King Philippe. You are breaking the law by stealing one of his horses and swimming in his pond after dark.”
The woman did not seem daunted, and instead smiled. “I’m not afraid of him.”
“Then perhaps you’d consider being afraid of me.”
“And who, pray tell, are you?”
“I am Sebastian LeMarc, a friend of the royal family and, when I have to be, the nude-beach police. Who are you?”
She tossed back her head and sent throaty laughter into the twilight. “You know, Sebastian LeMarc, you should probably join me. To cool that hot head of yours.”
Sebastian stared at this cheeky sprite. Who the devil did she think she was? “If I have to, I’ll come in there after you.”
“Suit yourself. Or not. This is a suit-optional pool.” She giggled, tickled with herself, and Sebastian couldn’t help but smile as she dove beneath the water’s surface, sending a spray of drops into the air.
What was he going to do with this woman? Dragging a slippery porpoise, one that had no intention of being caught no less, out of the water would be a challenge indeed.
She surfaced, this time nearer the waterfall and beckoned to him. “Come on in. The water’s fine.”
“Didn’t your parents ever tell you not to play naked with strangers?”
She laughed. “Yes. But you are not a stranger.”
“You know my name only.”
“I know that my father trusts you.”
“And who would your father be?”
“You really don’t know?”
“If I did, would I have to ask?”
“I am the third daughter of Philippe de Bergeron, King of St. Michel, and owner of this pond.”
Sebastian stared, mouth agape. That was impossible. Marie-Claire de Bergeron was a child! He wracked his brain, attempting to recall her age, but she was certainly no more than twelve or thirteen. He’d never given the king’s young daughters a second thought, as over the years they seemed more occupied with the affairs of dolls and roller skates than with affairs of state. On the odd social occasion that he’d come in contact with the king’s children, he’d been preoccupied. Concerned with the well-being of his date du jour, or the hour’s political topic.
Languidly, she swam toward the beach where he stood and finding purchase on a submerged rock with her toes, allowed her shoulders to protrude from the water.
His eyes dipped to the cleavage she cradled in her arms. Seems he’d lost track of her birthdays. Suddenly guilty at the lascivious direction his thoughts had taken, he took a giant step back.
“Does your father know you are here?”
“Papa is too busy to keep track of me.”
“Every father wants to know that his children are safe. Especially after dark.”
“I am no longer a child,” she argued hotly. “As of yesterday, I am sixteen years old. A royal debutante, of an age to begin dating.”
Sebastian snorted, even as a keen disappointment settled in his gut. Sixteen? She was a child. “You are a royal pain, of an age to be spanked and I’m tempted to be the one to do it. Get out of the water now.”
“Make me.”
Sebastian arched a brow. “You are a brat.”
“And you are a killjoy.”
She aroused myriad emotions within him, and his jaw flexed as he pondered his next move. It was rare that anyone, let alone a teenaged girl, challenged his authority. And strangely, it exhilarated him.
For the longest moment, neither of them spoke. The only sounds were those of the rushing waterfall and the soulful cadence of the cricket’s song. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. The sun disappeared altogether, leaving the storm clouds on the horizon, silver-plated. The steady plipplop of raindrops turned into an all-out shower, but still neither of them moved. Nor spoke.
At least, not with words.
Even so, they knew that what was passing between them was life-changing, for them both. He waged a battle in his mind, but was far too ethical to take advantage of her foolishness.
You’re too young.
But I won’t always be.
I’ll wait.
Do.
With a nod, Sebastian turned and easily mounted his horse and set off through the trees.
“Get dressed,” he ordered over his shoulder. “I’ll wait for you at the edge of the woods and escort you safely home.”
This time, she did not argue.
Chapter Two
She’d turned twenty-one just yesterday. This Sebastian knew, as he’d etched the date on his brain five long years ago. And now, as the beautiful Marie-Claire de Bergeron descended the stair alone, all eyes in the steadily growing crowd turned to greet this vision with approval and, he noted with a swift glance about, some lechery.
A fierce wave of protectiveness washed over him and he excused himself from a conversation he was having with Lise’s new husband, Wilhelm Rodin, and moved to stand at the bottom of the stairs.
As it had so often in the past, his gaze drew hers and they were locked in a world of their own making. Only now, they both knew she was a full-fledged adult, legal in every way and responsible for her own decisions in this life.
Seeming to sense the moment was perfect, the royal orchestra struck up a rousing waltz and Sebastian held his hand out to Marie-Claire.
“Dance?”
“Oui.”
Bashfully, she extended her hand and he suppressed the grin he felt surging up from his belly. She was such a conundrum. One minute, she was wildly cheering him to victory on the golf course and the next, a blushing innocent, struggling to exude sophistication. Though soft and small, her hand was strong, and she clung to him as he led her through the throng to the dance floor.
When they arrived, a number of couples were already sweeping about the gleaming marble. King Philippe danced with his wife, Queen Celeste; Philippe’s mother, the Dowager Queen Simone danced with the prime minister, Rene Davoine; and a number of court consorts, celebrities and political acquaintances from different countries also whirled across the Russian imported flooring.
Sebastian drew Marie-Claire’s lithe body against his own and it was like a homecoming. He breathed in the scent of her perfumed hair and rested his hand at the small dip in her lower back. Holding her this way was far more exhilarating than any dream he’d ever had. As he’d known they would, they fitted as if they were born to be together.
Shyly, she glanced up at him, and it was the first time ever he’d seen her at such close range. Her skin was the flawless stuff of youth, peachy smooth and the color of cream with a hint of cinnamon. Tonight, her sun-streaked hair was upswept, revealing the graceful length of her neck, and her almond-shaped eyes reflected the emerald sheen of the satin confection she wore. Shadowed by the ghost of a smile, her lips were slightly parted and Sebastian longed to press his mouth to them, to see if their kiss would be as explosive as he’d imagined over the years.
However, this was not the time or place for such a first. He wanted it to be perfect. And he wanted them to be alone. For now, he would settle for the joy of simply holding her in his arms. That, and the knowledge that he was the luckiest man in the room.
“Your twenty-first birthday was yesterday, no?”
Marie-Claire’s gaze shot to his. “How did you know?”
“Math.”
“Math?” Her smile was quizzical.
“On this day, five years ago, you had been sixteen for a whole day.”
A charming flush crawled up her slender neck and settled in her cheeks. “You remember that day?”
“Vaguely.” Someday, when they’d been long married, he’d confess how the memory had plagued him, ruining subsequent relationships and making sport of his sleep. “Happy Birthday.”
“Thank you.”
“What did you do to celebrate this time?”
“For one thing, I stayed out of the pond.”
“Too bad.”
Again, the endearing blush. “Papa took me to Paris for the day. I went shopping for this gown.”
“Excellent choice.”
“You think so?”
“Mmm. I think you are easily the most beautiful cheerleader in the room.”
Marie-Claire heaved a heavy sigh and stared down at the floor. “So you heard that?”
Unable to restrain the grin that tugged at his lips, Sebastian ducked his head so that he could peer into her face. “Marie-Claire, thanks to the wonders of cable television, the entire world heard that.”
“How singularly mortifying.”
“I thought it was charming. Cute.”
“Cute?” She made a face. “Now everyone thinks I have a schoolgirl crush on you.”
He tipped her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. “And do you?”
Suddenly seeming to forget her mission to prove herself the sedate lady, her candid laughter had his pulse surging.
“Well, since the entire world knows, I suppose there is no point in lying to you. I guess you could say I have an…infatuation, where you’re concerned. But…” she held up a finger, smiled brightly and blathered on, “I’m struggling to overcome that. I’m thinking of joining a twelve-step program. Not that I’m a stalker or anything—”
“Don’t do that on my account.”
“What?”
“Don’t abandon your…addiction.”
She stumbled over his foot. “No?”
“No.”
“Oh.” She stared up at him and smiled.
He smiled back, and her heart took wing. This moment was perfect. The musical medley picked up pace and segued into a driving rumba. Marie-Claire loved to rumba.
“May I cut in?”
Marie-Claire froze.
Eduardo, his teeth pointing at Marie-Claire from behind his eager smile, tapped Sebastian on the shoulder. His wild, rusty head of hair had been tamed with what looked like an entire bottle of styling gel and his tuxedo was inches too short in the sleeve and cuff. Fingers itching, he fairly pried Marie-Claire from Sebastian’s grasp.
She wanted to scream as Sebastian stepped aside and with obvious reluctance handed her over to the young Eduardo Van Groober’s arms. Darn! Just as things were getting interesting. Eduardo clutched her close and her back already ached from the pressure he exerted.
“Save another dance for me?” Sebastian called as Eduardo jerked her away, rattling her teeth in the process.
Marie-Claire nodded dumbly and watched with longing as Sebastian backed across the room and straight into the voluptuous—and morally emancipated—Baroness Veronike Schroeder of Germany.
Before Sebastian had time to react, Veronike cast out her web, snared him, and then dragged him out to the dance floor for the kill.
Eduardo made an awkward attempt at conversation and Marie-Claire listened with half an ear. And, when he wasn’t trying to impress her with his prowess on the high-school golf team, his nose was buried in her hair. Marie-Claire batted at him in a distracted fashion, straining to keep her sights on Sebastian.
And Veronike.
Euro-trash with pretensions to the Hapsburg dynasty, Veronike was a formidable personality and when she wanted something, she usually got it. And Veronike did enjoy the occasional dalliance with a handsome playboy.
Jealousy seared like a hot knife through Marie-Claire’s heart. Compared to Veronike, Marie-Claire felt quite the underdeveloped adolescent. Insecurity assailed her as she watched Veronike swivel seductively to the pounding beat. Veronike draped over Sebastian like a skimpy chiffon window dressing, all fluttering lashes and fat, blood-red lips.
The dress the German siren wore tonight seemed less a gown and more a figment of the imagination. Smashed against Sebastian’s firm chest, Veronike’s ample bosom strained to be set free of its wispy confines and her hips ground against Sebastian’s in a way that would have Marie-Claire’s molars reduced to dust before the end of the evening if she didn’t make a concerted effort to change her train of thought.
Ooo.
Wilhelm tapped Eduardo on the shoulder and cut in, no doubt feeling it was time to put in the appearance of caring, Marie-Claire thought churlishly. Eduardo obviously hated to let her go and there was an awkward scuffle as Wilhelm dismissed the hormone-ravaged boy. Where Eduardo was chatty, Wilhelm was stony, allowing Marie-Claire to drift.
She winced as she retraced the inane conversation she’d made just now with Sebastian, and wondered if she wasn’t better off eating her heart out over Veronike’s physical charms.
I’m joining a twelve-step program for stalkers.
Her sisters were right. She was certifiable. During her next dance with Sebastian, she hoped—if there was a next dance with Sebastian—she’d be able to control her idiotic tongue before she blurted out that she wanted to snatch Veronike bald.
Oh.
Marie-Claire’s eyes slid closed as she reflected on how unbelievably right it had felt to have Sebastian’s arms around her. She knew he’d felt it, too. She moaned, and an involuntary shiver wracked her body. Head back, she clutched Wilhelm a little tighter at the memory of Sebastian’s powerful body steering her around the dance floor. She immediately regretted the impulse as the rigid Wilhelm looked down at her with a curious frown.
“Stiff knee,” she fibbed.
After a frightfully dull turn on the dreary Wilhelm’s arm, her father at last rescued her, just before Eduardo could reach her again. The boy’s disappointment was plain.
“You are looking well tonight, daughter. This gown suits you.”
Coming from her father, this was high praise. Though King Philippe was not effusive in speech, Marie-Claire knew she was loved. Cherished. And, because she was the youngest of three daughters by his first—and now deceased—wife a tad favored.
“Thank you, sir. You’re looking rather dapper tonight, yourself.” She gave his satin cummerbund a playful tug.
“Oh, I know you’re simply trying to put a bit of a bounce in an old man’s step.”
“Fifty-one is hardly old.”
“I’m sure it must seem that way when you are just twenty-one. You know, I was Sebastian’s age or thereabouts when you were born.”
“Oh?”
His smile was gentle. “I see the way you look at him.”
“I don’t suppose my ladylike caterwauling on the golf course has anything to do with your assumption that I’m smitten.”
A chuckle rumbled from deep within Philippe’s robust chest, and Marie-Claire couldn’t help but notice how handsome her father still was. The little cleft in his chin and the twinkle in his eye put her in mind of another of her favorite American actors, although Michael Douglas was perhaps not quite as tall. But the physical resemblance was something folks had remarked upon before. That and the fact that they both preferred young, beautiful wives.
Marie-Claire spared a glance in Celeste’s direction, and noted the raucous laughter and phony social-climbing demeanor her stepmother had assumed with the prime minister. Her father was blind when it came to Celeste’s rather lengthy list of foibles.
“I suppose you could do worse than Sebastian.” Though Philippe’s remark was offhand, as he looked at his daughter, his gaze roved her suddenly burning cheeks.
“Papa!”
He ignored her weak protestations. “You are a beautiful woman, Marie-Claire. Unfortunately for me, the time has come to let go of you. To let you loose upon the world….” King Philippe pulled Marie-Claire close, the gesture at odds with his words.
“Heaven forbid!”
“You will do great things in this life, my dear. Always know that I love you, and am so very proud.”
Marie-Claire felt her throat tighten at his sweet words, and impulsively stood on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. This pleased the king and he blinked back the tears.
As the evening wore on, Marie-Claire and Sebastian were obliged to dance with other people. Thankfully, Veronike was a popular partner and had not been available for a second go at Sebastian. And, though they were not always in proximity, Marie-Claire could feel Sebastian’s proprietary gaze and her confidence soared. Unable to tear her eyes away from him for more than a moment, she found keeping up with the task at hand nearly impossible.
“So,” Charles Rodin, Wilhelm’s twin brother commented, “I understand you are a fan of old movies. Have you seen Adam’s Rib?”
“I have never eaten there, though I do enjoy American barbecue…”
“Oh?” Charles frowned.
Prince Etienne Kroninberg of Rhineland told her, “It is my understanding that your sister, Ariane, is planning to come to my country for a visit.”
“No, Ariane is around here somewhere, I think. I just saw her…”
Etienne opened his mouth as if to speak, then thought better and shut it.
The prime minister said, “Your grandmother is looking well tonight. The king’s victory seems to have put roses in her cheeks.”
“Yes, she has ten green thumbs, at least.”
More than once, she trod upon her partner’s toe and had to beg pardon. And more than once, she caught Sebastian’s smile of amusement.
After what seemed to be an eternity, Sebastian finally made his way back to her and solicited her hand from a stodgy third cousin and whisked her off.
“Is it hot in here, or is it just me?” Sebastian angled his head and cocked a playful brow.
“I think there is no chaste way to answer that question.” Marie-Claire returned his grin.
Admiration for her wit flashed in his eyes. “Shall we set the tongues to wagging and head out to the verandah for a breath of fresh air?”
“Why not? The tongues have been wagging all day.”
“Come on then. Let’s give them some more grist for the rumor mill.”
Marie-Claire’s heart bounced about in her rib cage at the intimate quality in his voice.
The verandah outside the ballroom was nearly as large as the ballroom itself. Made of concrete, it sported a low railing with balustrades as broad as small wine kegs. Light poured from the palace windows and the music—a lilting Vivaldi piece—danced upon the gentle night breezes. In the air, there was a hint of burning leaves and the last fragrances of summer’s flowers.
Never had Marie-Claire felt more vibrant. Alive. Pulsing with vitality. Sebastian’s touch on her hand was warm and this warmth spread up her arm and burned and swirled in her chest, making it hard to catch her breath.