The Bachelor Prince Read online

  Hope started inside the room, when Hazel stopped her. “Tell Doris she can have the Hide-A-Bed if she wants.”

  “I will,” Hope promised.

  Hope found her mother sprawled across a davenport, the back of one hand pressed against her forehead. The other hand was being held by the most incredibly good-looking man she’d ever seen. If this was Prince Stefano, then no wonder her mother had fainted.

  He was dressed in some kind of deep blue uniform with gold epaulets at the shoulders. A bright red banner crossed his chest, which was adorned with three rows of medals.

  All at once Hope wished she’d heeded Lindy’s suggestion about combing her hair. She looked a fright. Well, that couldn’t be helped. It was too late to worry about it now.

  Her mother moaned softly, and noticing Hope for the first time, Prince Stefano stood.

  “Is that you, Hope?” Her mother’s voice sounded as if it were coming from the bottom of a dry well. The question was followed by another low, breathy sigh-moan.

  “Mom,” Hope said, falling to her knees beside the sofa. “What happened?”

  “I…I think I must have fainted.”

  “I’m wondering if you could answer a few questions?” a paramedic with a clipboard asked her.

  “Of course.” Hope reluctantly left her mother’s side.

  “There are just a couple things we need to know,” he said matter-of-factly.

  Hope responded to a series of predictable inquiries, such as her mother’s address, phone number, age and medications.

  “As far as we can determine,” the medic said when she’d finished supplying the information, “the fainting spell was caused by a sudden drop in blood pressure. Your mother seems to be doing fine for now, but she should check in with the family physician within the next week or two.”

  “I’ll make sure that she does,” Hope said.

  The medic had her sign at the bottom of his report. “Do you have any questions?”

  For one crazy moment, Hope toyed with the idea of asking if this fainting spell could be linked to a lack of carrot juice and irregularity. Fortunately, she stopped herself in the nick of time.

  “Nothing, thank you,” she said.

  The medic tore the sheet from the top of the clipboard and handed it to her. Hope folded it in half and stuck it in the pocket of her acid-washed jeans. “Thank you for your trouble,” she said, as the two paramedics gathered their equipment.

  “Mom, let me take you home,” Hope suggested gently, kneeling down at her mother’s side.

  Doris ignored the suggestion. Instead she tilted her head back so that she could get a better look at Prince Stefano. “Hope, this is Prince Stefano,” Doris said, gazing at the prince as if he were a Roman god. Actually that assessment wasn’t far off.

  “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance,” Prince Stefano said politely.

  “Me, too.” She held out her hand, and then thinking this might be considered unladylike, quickly withdrew it.

  The prince offered her his own hand just as she dropped hers. He dropped his, and she raised hers. Their eyes met and Hope saw a flash of amusement dance in his deep brown eyes.

  “Prince…” Doris whispered, “please excuse how my daughter’s dressed. She doesn’t normally look…this bad.”

  Hope’s face filled with color hot enough to fry eggs.

  “Your daughter is as beautiful as her mother.”

  Doris released a languished sigh.

  “I understand you and I will be dining together tomorrow evening,” Prince Stefano said, smiling toward Hope. He was the picture of propriety and as stiff as cardboard.

  “Do you like Chinese food?” Hope asked.

  “Chinese food?” Her mother propelled herself off the davenport as if she were bounding off a trampoline. “You’re dining with Prince Stefano Giorgio Paolo, not Larry the Cable Guy. You’ll start off with cocktails at Matchabelles, followed by dinner at the SpaceNeedle No,” Doris corrected. “You won’t have a moment’s privacy there. The tourists will gawk at you every moment.”

  Hope and Prince Stefano were left speechless by her mother’s miraculous recovery.

  “We must plan every detail,” Doris said, her voice high and enthusiastic as she started pacing. “I’ll need Hazel and the others to help me with this. You two leave everything to us, understand?”

  “Ah…” Hope had yet to find her tongue.

  “As you wish,” Prince Stefano said, ever gracious. “I’m sure you and your friends will plan a lovely evening for your daughter and me.”

  Doris blushed with pleasure. “I promise you Hope won’t look a thing like she does now.”

  “Mother!”

  Prince Stefano’s gaze briefly skirted past Hope’s, and she caught a glimmer of amusement. He reached for her mother’s hand, pressed his lips to it and said, “I’m pleased to see you’re feeling better, Mrs. Jordan. If you need anything further, please don’t hesitate to call either me or my assistant.” He reached inside his pocket and handed her a small card.

  “It was a pleasure to meet you,” Hope mumbled, after finding her voice.

  The prince smiled warmly. “The pleasure was all mine. I’ll look forward to our evening together, Miss Jordan.”

  “I…I will, too.”

  It wasn’t until after he’d left the room that Hope realized it was true.

  Priscilla Rutherford stood, hiding out on the balcony, sipping from a champagne glass, and feeling mildly sorry for herself. She’d counted on winning the date with Prince Stefano. It would have been a dream come true to meet His Royal Highness. Priscilla was half in love with the handsome prince already. The opportunity to meet him was the reason she’d signed up for the Romance Lovers’ Convention. Now that didn’t seem likely, although she wasn’t sure what she’d say if they did meet. She’d probably embarrass them both by staring at him, too tongue-tied to speak.

  The night was lovely with stars scattered like diamond dust across a black velvet sky. The honey-colored moon was full and seemed to be smiling down on her, or so she’d like to think.

  Most people assumed Priscilla lived the perfect life. She was well educated, had traveled extensively and was heir to a vast fortune. But what she sought most seemed out of reach. She longed to be a wife and mother to a man who loved her for herself and not for her father’s money.

  She hungered for a simple life with a husband who hurried home at night to the meals she’d cooked herself. Mostly, Priscilla longed to be a mother. How different she was from her own ambitious one. It puzzled her that she, who was so homey, could have been born to two highly motivated, sophisticated people.

  The cocktail party was winding down, but Priscilla lingered, grateful for these few moments apart from the crowd. She enjoyed people, but often felt awkward and gauche when she was in a group of strangers.

  Drinking the last of the champagne, she gazed out over the midņight-dark waters of Puget Sound. A foghorn from one of the ferries sounded in the distance.

  “May I join you?”

  Priscilla turned around to find a tall, dignified-looking man silhouetted against the bright light spilling from the doorway. She thought he might be part of the group traveling with the prince, but she wasn’t sure. During the course of the evening, she’d seen him several times. Almost always he was in close proximity to her.

  He was formidable in stature, muscular and nearly as good-looking as the prince himself.

  “I…I was just leaving,” Priscilla said shyly.

  “Please don’t,” he said, joining her at the railing. Resting his forearms against the wrought iron, he gazed out over the city. “It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?”

  Priscilla detected a hint of an accent; otherwise his English was flawless.

  “Very,” she whispered. It would have been far more lovely if her name had been the one drawn by Prince Stefano.

  “Are you terribly disappointed?” he turned and asked her unexpectedly.

  She thought for
a moment to pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about, then decided against it. Her disappointment was obvious. “A little.”

  He straightened. “Perhaps I should introduce myself. My name is Pietro. I’m the personal secretary to Prince Stefano.”

  “Pietro,” she said, testing the name on her tongue. “You have just one name?”

  He hesitated before answering. “Yes. The prince has six, and I’ve decided one is less confusing.”

  Priscilla smiled into the balmy night. “It certainly hasn’t hurt Usher any.”

  “No,” he agreed amiably, “it hasn’t.”

  Their silence was a companionable one. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions about Prince Stefano?” She hoped she wasn’t being impertinent.

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  Self-conscious, Priscilla dropped her gaze. “Is the prince as charming as you are?”

  “Much more so, I believe.”

  Priscilla turned and braced her back against the railing in an effort to better see this handsome, mysterious man. The moonlight beamed over his shoulder, illuminating his strong facial features. Prince Stefano was world-class handsome, but Pietro was no slouch in the looks department. “What’s it like working with royalty? I mean, is it continual pomp and ceremony?”

  “Not at all,” Pietro assured her. “Naturally, there are a number of customary obligations the prince is required to attend, but I make sure his schedule is balanced with plenty of free time. The prince loves to ride. He’s an excellent swordsman, and…”

  “Swordsman? But who would dare to challenge the prince?”

  Once again Pietro hesitated, and Priscilla could sense his amusement. “No one challenges the prince, Ms. Rutherford. Most often he’s the one who offers the challenges.”

  “But whom does he fight?”

  Pietro chuckled. “I’m afraid I’m his favorite opponent.”

  “Have you ever bested him?” Priscilla wasn’t sure why she was so curious about Pietro’s relationship with the prince, but the man fascinated her.

  “We’re evenly matched,” Pietro explained.

  “Then you’ve won?”

  “On occasion.”

  Although everything she knew about Prince Stefano had come from gossip publications, Priscilla didn’t think he’d take kindly to losing at anything. She’d only just met Pietro, but she had the unshakable impression that he wasn’t a man who enjoyed losing, either.

  “Have you ever let him win?”

  “Never.” His quick response assured her he was telling the truth.

  “What’s the prince like as a person?”

  Pietro mulled over his response. “He’s a gentleman. Generous to a fault. Sympathetic and sincere. He cares deeply for his country and his people.”

  “You make him sound like a saint.”

  Pietro cocked one eyebrow. “I hadn’t finished yet.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “He’s not quick-tempered, but when he does become angry, it’s best to find someplace to hide until he’s worked out whatever is troubling him.”

  “My father’s like that,” Priscilla added thoughtfully, “but he’s never angry for very long.”

  “Neither is Stefano.”

  “You’re his friend, aren’t you?” And just about everything else, Priscilla speculated.

  Pietro didn’t answer. Instead he surprised her with a question of his own. “Would you care to meet him?”

  Her hands flew to her chest. “Is that possible? I mean, I understand he’s only going to be in the area a few days and I wouldn’t want to take up his time.”

  “Prince Stefano would deeply enjoy making your acquaintance.” Pietro’s voice was almost a monotone, crisp and businesslike, as if he were performing a necessary duty.

  “I’d love to meet the prince. Every woman here would give their right arm for the opportunity.” That she would actually have the chance was more than she could believe.

  “He’d enjoy meeting you, as well.”

  “Me?”

  “Why do you sound so surprised?” Pietro asked. “You’re a lovely young woman.”

  It did her ego a world of good to hear Prince Stefano’s personal secretary say such things to her. If only she weren’t so clumsy and awkward.

  “Tomorrow around ten for tea,” Pietro suggested.

  “So soon? I…I mean sure, anytime would be great.”

  Pietro removed a small card from inside his suit jacket along with a pen and scribbled the information down on the back. “I’ll have the footman meet you in the lobby at ten. If you’ll be kind enough to give him this card, he’ll escort you to the prince’s suites.”

  “Will you be there?”

  It took Pietro a long time to answer. “I don’t believe I will be.”

  “Oh,” she whispered, unable to hold back her disappointment. He was about to leave when she stopped him.

  “Pietro, after I show the footman the card, would it be all right if I asked for it back? I’d like to keep it as a souvenir.”

  “That would be fine.”

  “Good night, and thank you.”

  He squared his shoulders and bowed slightly before turning and walking back into the ballroom.

  “You met her?” Stefano asked when Pietro joined him in the suite.

  “Yes. Priscilla Rutherford’s agreed to meet you tomorrow morning at ten for tea.”

  Stefano waited, and when his friend wasn’t immediately forthcoming, he raised his hands imploringly. “Well, are you going to tell me about her, or keep me in suspense?”

  “Her picture doesn’t do her justice. She’s beautiful.”

  Briefly Stefano wondered if they were discussing the same woman. The Priscüla Rutherford he’d seen from the stage was short and self-conscious. She looked like a timid soul who would run for cover the moment someone raised their voice at her. Not that it mattered. It wasn’t her he was forced to marry, but her father’s money. A bad taste filled his mouth at the thought.

  “I could use a drink,” he murmured.

  “So could I.” Pietro walked over to the wet bar, brought down two glasses, filled them with ice and poured them each a strong drink.

  “How’s the woman who fainted? What was her name…Charity, or something along those lines?” Pietro inquired.

  Stefano had the impression his friend didn’t want to talk about the heiress, but then he was just as reluctant to mention Hope.

  Stefano lowered his gaze to his drink, watching the ice cubes melt. “Her name’s Hope. Hope Jordan. Actually the woman who screamed and then fainted is the mother of the young lady I’ll be having dinner with tomorrow evening.”

  “You met her?”

  “Yes. Briefly.”

  “And the mother?”

  “She’s fine…a little excited, but otherwise I’d say she made a complete recovery.”

  “And the daughter?”

  “The daughter,” Stefano repeated, mentally reviewing his encounter with Hope. A smile tempted him. She had blue eyes that snapped like fire, and a look that could shuck oysters. Besides being completely incapable of disguising her feelings, the woman was downright impudent. Suggesting Chinese food…then again he wished that was exactly what they could do. He’d like nothing better than to order out, then sit on the floor and use chopsticks while he learned about her life. Hope Jordan, despite her original hairstyle, interested him. Of course getting to know her beyond this one evening was impossible.

  Even deep in thought Stefano could feel his secretary’s scrutiny. “I’m sorry, Pietro. What was your question?” he asked.

  “I asked about Hope Jordan.”

  “Ah, yes. We met.”

  “So I understand. What time’s your dinner date?”

  “I’m not sure,” Stefano said. “Hope’s mother and her friends are making the arrangements. By the way, be sure and send flowers to Doris Jordan, Hope’s mother. I believe she’s staying at the hotel.” He paused and thought about what
he wanted to say on the card. “Tell her it isn’t often a beautiful woman faints at my feet.”

  Pietro laughed, but grew serious once more. “Could you set a time that you’ll return from your dinner date?”

  “Why?”

  “I was just thinking you might want to make arrangements to meet Priscilla for a drink afterward.”

  “No,” he said adamantly, surprised by his own vehemence. “Ms. Jordan won a dinner date with me, and I don’t want to cheat her by abruptly ending the evening in order to meet another woman.”

  “You’re being unnecessarily generous with your time, aren’t you?”

  “Perhaps,” Stefano agreed, but he didn’t think so. He had the feeling he was going to enjoy Hope Jordan. It might be selfish of him to want to spend time with her, but frankly, he didn’t care. A lifetime of getting to know Priscilla Rutherford stretched before him like a giant vacuum. “Tell me more about the Rutherford woman.”

  Pietro’s hesitation captured Stefano’s attention. It wasn’t often his friend was at a loss for words. “You don’t like her?”

  “Quite the contrary. She’s delightful.”

  “But will she make me a good wife?”

  “Yes,” he answered stiffly. “She’ll make you an excellent bride, an asset to the royal family. The people of San Lorenzo will be crazy about her.”

  “Excellent.”

  Pietro took a long, stiff taste of his drink, and then stood. “Is that all for this evening, or do you need me for anything more?”

  Stefano was disappointed. He would have preferred it if Pietro had stayed. Stefano was in the mood to talk, but he was unwilling to ask it of his friend.

  “Go on to bed,” Stefano advised.

  “Will you be up much longer?”

  “No,” Stefano said, but he wondered exactly how long it would take him to fall asleep.

  “Don’t quit on me now, ladies,” Doris pleaded, sitting Indian-style at the foot of the mattress. Her hair was confined to a cap and she wore a thick cotton bathrobe. “I told Hope and the prince that the four of us would make all the arrangements for their dinner date.”

  “Can’t we do this in the morning?” Hazel asked, sounding like a whiny first grader.

  That was understandable, seeing that Hazel had taught first grade for nearly thirty years.