The Bachelor Prince Read online

  “Yes,” Pietro said with what sounded like regret. “I was the one who believed Priscilla would make you an excellent princess.”

  Try as he might, Stefano couldn’t picture Priscilla Rutherford as his wife. It seemed a hundred years had passed in the past twenty-four hours since he’d first met the heiress. Stefano vaguely recalled the gist of his conversation with her, although as he remembered it, he’d done the majority of the talking. Every word she’d spoken, he’d been forced to coax out of her.

  Stefano found Priscilla to be a gentle and likable soul. She’d been as nervous as a rabbit, fidgeting and discreetly glancing at her watch when she didn’t think he’d notice. Once they knew each other better, and she learned to relax around him, Stefano was confident they’d make a compatible couple.

  “I assume you plan to ask Priscilla to accompany you to the banquet this evening,” Pietro said crisply.

  “Ah, yes, the banquet.” The Romance Lovers’ Convention was ending the festivities with a lavish dinner affair—or so the brochures promised. Stefano was scheduled to speak briefly, but he hadn’t given a thought to bringing a date.

  “It would be a nice touch to invite Priscilla,” Pietro suggested, “don’t you think?”

  Stefano nodded, making a mental note to remember to ask the heiress when he was with her later. He’d ask, because it was part and parcel of what needed to be done in order to save his country from financial ruin, but it was Hope he wanted at his side. He forced his thoughts away from Hope and made himself concentrate on Priscilla.

  “Miss Rutherford’s quite lovely, isn’t she?” Stefano murmured more to himself than his friend.

  Although a response wasn’t required of his secretary, Stefano was surprised when Pietro didn’t give one. He studied his companion, wondering at his friend’s strange behavior of late. He might have said something, but his own conduct had been questionable.

  Pietro crisply stepped across the carpet and held open the door for him. “As I explained earlier, the car’s waiting.”

  “I want you to come with me,” Stefano said, deciding all at once.

  “Come with you?” Pietro repeated, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

  “Yes.” Having said it, Stefano realized this was what he’d wanted from the first. “You can answer any questions Priscilla’s parents might have while I talk with the young lady. I’ll do as you suggest and invite her to the banquet. It might be awkward doing so in front of her family.”

  “I’d prefer not to go.”

  Stefano dismissed his companion’s reluctance. “I want you with me, and be quick about it. We’re going to be late.”

  Priscilla deeply loved her parents. She’d never understood how it happened that her gregarious parents had spawned a timid soul such as her. Personally, Priscilla would rather leap off a skyscraper than speak in public, yet both her parents thrived on being the center of attention.

  Priscilla also knew her parents deeply loved her, but she was realistic enough to know she was a painful disappointment to them.

  As a young girl, she’d strived to gain their approval, but as she matured, she realized she couldn’t be anyone but herself. In theory it sounded quite simple, but often she felt like a salmon, fighting to swim upstream, battling the desire for their approval, while struggling to be herself.

  “Let me look at you, sweetheart, “ Elizabeth Rutherford insisted for the third time in fifteen minutes. “Now remember to square your shoulders. You don’t want the prince to see you slouch.”

  “I’ll remember.” After three semesters in an exclusive charm school, Priscilla was intimately acquainted with all the ins and outs of etiquette.

  “And please, Priscilla, you must smile. This is a joyous occasion.” Her mother poked a finger in each of her cheeks, cocked her head to one side and grinned grotesquely. “The prince of San Lorenzo is coming to call on you.”

  “Mother, please. Prince Stefano is accepting your invitation. His visit has little or nothing to do with me.” Priscilla didn’t know why she argued. Just as she’d feared, her parents had her all but married to the prince. Little did that dear man realize what he’d done by agreeing to meet her family.

  She’d tried to warn Pietro, but he hadn’t listened. He didn’t understand that her family viewed her meeting with the prince as something of a social coup. Nothing she said could make them believe that her time with Prince Stefano had come as a result of her meeting his secretary. Pietro had been the one who made all the arrangements.

  Her parents had discounted that information from the very beginning. The prince, they told her, had sent Pietro to issue the invitation. A secretary did not make appointments without first conferring with his employer.

  Their assertion seemed all but confirmed when Prince Stefano promptly accepted her family’s invitation. The entire house had been in a flurry of activity ever since. The housekeeper had polished every piece of silver on the huge estate. Mrs. Daily, the cook, had been concocting delicacies for two days.

  The staff had been with the family for years and this meeting with the prince gave them the opportunity to shine. And if their efforts prompted the prince to fall in love with Priscilla, then all the better. Everyone in the household glowed with pride that Priscilla had captured the attention of Prince Stefano.

  At last everything was ready for the prince’s arrival. Fresh flowers from the huge garden, Priscilla’s first love, were beautifully arranged and graced nearly every room of the house.

  Priscilla and her parents gathered in the formal living room, which was tastefully decorated in mauve and gray, and impatiently awaited the prince’s arrival.

  Priscilla couldn’t remember ever seeing her mother this nervous. Even her unflappable father had seemed unusually tense. Every now and again, he’d smile at Priscilla and tell her how beautiful she was. In all her life, Priscilla couldn’t remember her father saying such things. It seemed she’d waited all her life for a compliment from him and now that he’d given her one, she felt sick to her stomach with trepidation.

  The doorbell chimed and Priscilla’s parents exchanged looks as if they’d both been taken by complete surprise, and hadn’t a clue as to who the visitor might be.

  “I’m sure that’s the prince,” Priscilla said unnecessarily.

  Her father cleared his throat and stood, his shoulders and back ramrod straight.

  Silently Priscilla prayed that she wouldn’t do anything to embarrass herself or her family. More than anything, she pleaded with the powers on high that once her parents met and talked to the prince, they’d understand that he wasn’t romantically interested in her.

  When she looked up, the first person she saw wasn’t Prince Stefano as she suspected, but Pietro. His gaze briefly locked with hers and she knew within the space of a single breath that he didn’t want to be there. She didn’t share his sentiments. The moment she saw him, the room lit up with sunshine and her heart gladdened.

  It would do her no good to explain to her parents that the prince’s personal companion sent her pulse racing ten times faster than Prince Stefano.

  Pietro diverted his attention away from her long enough for her to introduce him and the prince to her parents. After the pleasantries were exchanged, the five sat in the living room and sipped coffee and sampled a variety of delicate pastries.

  Priscilla noticed that Prince Stefano and her father seemed to find a number of topics to discuss. They were deeply involved in conversation while her mother engaged Pietro in small talk. Although respectful, Pietro was clearly displeased to be thrust into this setting.

  After a while, as she’d been instructed, Priscilla asked her guest if he’d enjoy seeing her garden. This was her mother’s blatant effort to have the prince spend time alone with her.

  To Priscilla’s surprise and delight, Prince Stefano motioned toward his secretary. “Pietro’s the one who appreciates gardens. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to see yours.”

  Priscilla cast her m
other a plaintive look, when in reality it was all she could do not to leap to her feet and shout for joy.

  She stood and watched as Pietro fiercely glared at the prince. Nevertheless he obediently followed her through the French doors. Once outside they walked down the winding brick walkway that curved its way through the lush, blooming flower beds.

  Knowing he wasn’t the least bit interested in viewing the garden, Priscilla led Pietro to the huge white gazebo that overlooked Lake Washington. A light, cool breeze came off the waters, ruffling her hair. Rainbow-colored spinnakers glided their way across the water, cutting a swatch of bright paint across the blue skyline.

  “You can sit here and wait, if you prefer,” she said politely.

  “Wait?” he asked.

  “I know you aren’t interested in the garden. Why the prince insisted you come out with me, when it’s so plain you had no desire to do so, I can only guess.” It hurt to say it, but she braced herself and added, “I know you’d rather not spend time with me.”

  He was silent for a moment as though carefully weighing his words. “That’s not true, Priscilla.”

  She loved the way he said her name, as if it were as pleasing to the tongue as the pastries they’d tasted earlier. She closed her eyes wanting to savor the feeling.

  “If you prefer, I can leave.”

  “Don’t go,” he said.

  Priscilla swore those were the two most beautiful words she’d ever heard. Sitting inside the sun-dappled gazebo with Pietro at her side was a simple pleasure she hadn’t anticipated in the events of this afternoon.

  “I don’t understand you,” she said, studying Pietro. “Either you find me completely objectionable and deplore every minute you’re forced to spend in my company, or…”

  Pietro burst out laughing.

  “Or,” she said, smiling up at him, “you like me far more than you care to admit.”

  His laughter died as abruptly as it had erupted.

  “Would you mind kissing me?” she asked him.

  Pietro leapt off the bench and backed away from her as if she’d asked him to commit a heinous crime.

  She laughed softly and shook her head. “Maybe kissing me would help you decide how you feel.”

  He paced the area in front of her like a panther waiting to escape his confines. His hands were buried deep inside his pockets, and he refused to look at her. “That won’t be necessary.”

  Slowly Priscilla stood and planted herself directly in front of him. He was much taller than she was, at least six inches and she was forced to stand on the tips of her toes in order to meet his gaze. In an effort to maintain her balance, she braced her hands against his chest.

  “Your pulse’s pounding as hard as a freight train.”

  Pietro didn’t comment, nor did he move away from her. His heart thudded hard and evenly beneath her palm. She watched a play of emotions work their way across his face as if he were involved in some great battle of will.

  Encouraged by his lack of resistance, she closed her eyes and slid her arms upward until they were linked behind his neck. Then, with great care, she moved her lips over his.

  The kiss was gentle, more of a meeting of the lips than anything deeply passionate.

  When she’d finished, Priscilla blinked, lowered her arms and flattened her feet on the floor. It was then that Pietro eased her back into his arms. Holding herself perfectly still, the same way he had, she allowed him to kiss her. Only it didn’t stop with a mere brushing of their lips as it had when she’d instigated the contact. Pietro’s kiss intensified until a slow heat began to build in the pit of her stomach and her legs felt as if they would no longer support her.

  “Does that answer your question?” Pietro whispered against her temple.

  She nodded, because speaking just then was beyond her. What he didn’t seem to understand was that she wasn’t the one with the questions. The answers had been clear to her from that first night on the balcony.

  Pietro braced his forehead against hers. Several moments passed before he spoke. “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

  “But why? Oh, Pietro, don’t you realize it’s what I’ve wanted from the moment we met?”

  He laughed softly, but he wasn’t being sarcastic.

  “I like it when you kiss me.” She wrapped her arms about his torso and burrowed as deep into his embrace as possible, seeking a haven for the complex emotions brewing inside her.

  “Priscilla, this is all very sweet, but unfortunately, you don’t seem to understand. I don’t mean to hurt you, but I don’t share your feelings.” The change in him came on as fast as an August squall. His hands gripped her upper arms.

  Hurt and stunned, Priscilla voluntarily backed away. Her cheeks flared with color so hot, it felt as if her face were on fire. She’d misread him and the situation, and embarrassed them both by throwing herself at him.

  The constriction in her throat moved up and down several times before she managed to speak. “I’m…terribly sorry.” Pressing her hands to her fevered face, she added in a thin, pain-filled voice, “Please…accept my apology.” With that she turned and ran to the house.

  By the time she arrived at the patio just outside the garden, Priscilla’s heart was pounding hard and fast and she was breathless. Taking a moment to compose herself, she was standing on the other side of the French doors when her mother unexpectedly appeared.

  “I was about to come and search for you. Where’s Pietro?”

  For the life of her, Priscilla couldn’t answer. Gratefully, she wasn’t required to speak because the prince’s secretary rounded the corner of the garden, his steps filled with purpose. He paused when he found Priscilla with her mother.

  “I hope you enjoyed your tour of our garden,” Elizabeth Rutherford said.

  “It’s delightful,” Priscilla heard him answer.

  She trained her eyes away from him and called upon a reserve of composure stored deep within her. Pride wouldn’t allow her to reveal how his words had crushed her. In all her life, Priscilla had never been so brazen with a man. What he must think of her didn’t bear considering.

  With her pulse thundering in her ears, Priscilla walked back into the living room to find her father and the prince chatting as if they were longtime friends.

  Priscilla sat back down and neatly folded her hands on her lap. Her father looked approvingly at her and smiled.

  It was her mother who noticed something was wrong. “Are you feeling all right, Priscilla?” Elizabeth asked. “You look flushed.”

  “I’m fine.” It amazed her she could lie so smoothly.

  “I think it must be the excitement of having the prince visit,” her father supplied eagerly.

  For the first time since his arrival, Prince Stefano turned his attention to Priscilla. “Did Pietro enjoy the garden?” he asked.

  She opened her mouth to answer and discovered her throat had frozen shut. For an awkward moment there was silence.

  “I found the gardens to be most pleasant,” Pietro supplied for her. “Miss Rutherford is an engaging tour guide.”

  The heat in her face intensified tenfold.

  “I realize this is short notice, Priscilla,” the prince said, “but I’d consider it a great honor if you’d consent to accompany me to the Romance Lovers’ banquet this evening.”

  Once again, Priscilla found herself struck dumb. The invitation couldn’t have surprised her more.

  “She’d be delighted,” her mother supplied, glaring at her.

  “I’d be…delighted,” she echoed, her heart sinking all the way to her ankles. This was exactly the thing her parents had been hoping to happen.

  Priscilla found herself contemplating the prince. From the moment he’d arrived, he hadn’t paid her as much as a whit of attention, and yet he sought her company. She could have sworn he was no more interested in her than the man in the moon.

  Her gaze drifted involuntarily toward Pietro, and her heart clenched with an unexpected stab of regret. From
the first she’d experienced an awkward fascination with the prince’s companion. She’d believed he’d shared her feelings. Now she knew that not to be true.

  Pietro wanted nothing to do with her.

  “I can’t stand this,” Lindy cried after the last runner had left the coffee shop for his appointed rounds. She slumped into a chair and reached for a sugar-coated doughnut.

  “Can’t stand what?” Hope pried, although she was fairly certain she knew the answer.

  “You’ve hardly said a word about your date with Prince Stefano. I asked you how it went, and you said was ‘great’. Do you have a clue of how much that leaves to the imagination?”

  “‘Great’ is a perfectly adequate description of our time together,” Hope argued.

  “See what I mean,” Lindy cried. “You somehow manage to cleverly sidestep every question. It just isn’t fair.”

  “I had a fairy-tale date with a fairy-tale prince.”

  “Did he kiss you?”

  “Lindy!” Hope flared, making busywork at the counter.

  Lindy grinned from ear to ear, and wiggled her eyebrows several times. “He must have, otherwise you wouldn’t look so outraged.”

  “It isn’t any of your business.”

  “Did you get to talk to any of those national nighttime entertainment hosts?”

  “Yes, briefly.” This interest the media gave her had been a nuisance.

  “I bet you told them more than you did me.”

  Hope hadn’t, but she doubted Lindy would believe her.

  “Are you going to see the prince again?” That appeared to be the key question on everyone’s mind.

  A sadness melted over Hope’s heart, and she shook her head. “No.”

  “Why not?” Lindy was indignant. “Aren’t you good enough for him? It makes me downright angry to think that after all the trouble your mother and her friends went through to make you beautiful…”

  Hope couldn’t help it; she laughed outright.

  Her friend frowned, not understanding what Hope had found so amusing. True, getting beautiful had indeed been a chore, but Hope would have willingly gone through ten times the effort if it meant she could be with Stefano again.