Affaire Royale

  “Brie, must you talk to me as if I were someone you had to be polite to?”

  She opened her mouth, then shut it again. He’d described it perfectly. She couldn’t deny it. “I’m sorry. It’s still so awkward.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t put on that well-rehearsed front with me.” He was young, tall and unquestionably annoyed. “You don’t seem to find it necessary with Reeve.”

  Brie’s voice chilled. “I apologized once. I’ve no intention of giving you another apology.”

  “I didn’t want the first one.” He crossed over to her with the quick measured steps of a man who had to know where he was going. One day he’d rule; the path was already worn. Though he was taller, they met now, as they always had, on level ground. “What I want is for you to give your family the same consideration you do a stranger.”

  She was tired of guilt, smothered by it. Her voice held no apology, only a challenge. “Is that advice or an order?”

  “No one’s ever been able to give you an order,” he snapped as the temper he’d been clinging to for weeks broke free. “No one’s ever been able to give you advice, for that matter. If you could be trusted to behave, it wouldn’t be necessary for us to call in outsiders.”

  “I don’t think it’s necessary to bring Reeve into this conversation.”

  “No?” He took her arm as he spoke, an old habit. “Just what’s between the two of you?”

  Her voice had chilled before. Now her eyes followed suit. “None of your business.”

  “Damn it, Brie, I’m your brother.”

  “So I’m told,” she said slowly, forgetting in temper any hurt she might cause. “And my younger brother by a few years. I don’t find it necessary to be accountable to you, or to anyone, for my personal life.”

  “I might be younger,” Alexander said between his teeth, “but I’m a man, and I know what’s in a man’s mind when he looks at a woman the way the American looks at you.”

  “Alexander, you should stop referring to him as ‘the American,’ as though he were an inferior breed. And,” she continued before he could respond, “if I didn’t like the way Reeve looked at me, I’d put a stop to it. I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

  “If you were, none of us would have gone through that agony a few weeks ago.” He saw her pale, but anger carried him further. “You were abducted, held, hospitalized. For days we waited, prayed, sat helpless. Doesn’t it occur to you that the rest of us went through hell? Maybe you don’t remember us, maybe we mean nothing to you right now. But that doesn’t change the way we feel.”

  “Do you think I like it?” Unexpectedly tears started. If she’d had any warning, she might have stopped them. “Don’t you know how hard I’m trying to get back? Now you push me into a corner, criticizing, demanding, insulting.”

  Temper faded, to be replaced by guilt. He’d forgotten just how lost she’d looked when she’d stood by the window. “It’s what I’ve always done,” he said gently. “You used to say that I’d practice ruling Cordina by trying to rule you and Bennett. I’m sorry, Brie. I love you. I can’t stop loving you until you’re ready for it.”

  “Oh, Alex.” She went to him, for the first time holding him against her. He was so tall, so straight, so driven. But this time she felt a certain pride in knowing this. It wasn’t easy for her to wait until things were clear, nor would it be easy for a man like her brother. “Did we always argue a great deal?”

  “Always.” He tightened his hold for a moment, then kissed the top of her head. “Father used to say it was because we both thought we knew everything.”

  “Well, at least I can’t claim that anymore.” With a quick, cleansing breath, she drew away. “Please don’t resent Reeve, Alex. I can’t say I didn’t in the beginning, but the point is he’s making quite a sacrifice staying here, going through all these maneuvers, when he’d rather be in his own country.”

  “It’s difficult.” Alex put his hands in his pockets and looked out the window. “I know he’s under no obligation and what he’s doing is done as a favor. I like him, actually.”

  Brie smiled, remembering that Bennett had used the same phrase. “I thought you did.”

  “It’s just that I don’t think things like this should go out of the family. Loubet’s bad enough, but unavoidable.”

  “Would you get angry if I said I’d rather have Reeve hovering around me than Loubet?”

  For the first time she saw Alexander grin. It was fast and endearing. “I’d think you’d lost your mind if you said otherwise.”

  “Your Highness.”

  Both Alexander and Brie turned. Janet Smithers gave them each a faultless curtsy. “I beg your pardon, Prince Alexander, Princess Gabriella.”

  She was, as usual, flawlessly groomed, with her dark hair tidy in a chignon and her rather thin face touched by only the most discreet of cosmetics. Her diction was perfect, unaccented, clear. Her suit was classically and cleanly cut. And, to Brie’s eyes, boring. Janet Smithers was efficient, intelligent, quick and quiet. If she were in a room with more than four people, no one would notice her. Perhaps for that reason alone, Brie was driven to be kind to her.

  “Did you need me for something, Janet?”

  “You’ve had a phone call, Your Highness, from Miss Christina Hamilton.”

  “Miss …” Brie trailed off a moment as she struggled to put details with the name.

  “You went to college with her,” Alexander supplied, dropping a hand on Brie’s shoulder. It struck him that he was explaining to her about her closest friend. His touch was gentle. “She’s an American, the daughter of a builder.”

  “Yes, I’ve visited her in—Houston. The press is sure she’ll be in my wedding party, if not the maid of honor.” Brie thought back on the newspaper clipping she’d been provided. A tall, stunning woman with a mane of dark hair and wicked smile. “You said she phoned, Janet. Did she leave a message?”

  “She requested that I locate you, Your Highness.” Not by the slightest expression did Janet reveal her thoughts on the request. “I’m to tell you that she’ll phone back at exactly eleven o’clock.”

  “I see.” Amused, Brie looked at her watch. That gave her fifteen minutes. “Well, then, I’d best go down to my rooms. Janet, if you don’t mind, could you check the ballroom for me and make notes on anything left undone? I’m afraid I won’t have time now.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.” She gave the same lifeless curtsy before she continued on down the corridor.

  “What an extraordinarily uninteresting woman,” Alexander commented when she was out of earshot.

  “Alex,” Brie murmured, reprimanding him automatically even while she agreed.

  “I know her credentials are impeccable and her efficiency’s unquestionable, but God, it must be a bore to have to deal with her every morning.”

  Brie made a little movement, half shrug. “It doesn’t start the day with any stimulation. Still, I must have had a reason for hiring her.”

  “You said you wanted a single woman you wouldn’t get so attached to. When Alice left—Janet’s predecessor—you moped around for days.”

  “I certainly chose wisely, then.” When Alex gave her another quick grin, she shrugged again. “I’d best go down before this phone call comes through.” She didn’t add that she wanted to take a quick look through the notes and refresh her memory on Christina Hamilton. But before she left, she held out her hand. “Friends?”

  Alexander took her hand, but gave a mock bow over it. “Friends, but I’m still keeping an eye on the American.”

  “As you please,” she said carelessly, and turned to walk down the corridor. Alex watched her until she turned the corner toward the staircase. Perhaps he’d have a little talk with Reeve MacGee, as well.

  Once in her sitting room, Brie sat down on the love seat with a stack of notes. She’d taken them in detail from instructions given by Reeve and her secretary. They were alphabetized, neat and thorough. They had to be thorough. The word
s on paper were her only reference to the people she’d once known so well. If her amnesia was to remain a closely guarded secret, she couldn’t make a foolish mistake.

  Christina Hamilton, she mused as she found the two pages that would comprise her knowledge of a woman who’d once been her friend. They’d spent four years together at the Sorbonne in Paris. When Brie closed her eyes, she thought she could almost see Paris—rain-washed streets, mad traffic and lovely old buildings, dusty little shops and gardens that could break your heart with color. But she couldn’t see Christina Hamilton.

  Chris, Brie corrected, noticing the nickname. Chris had studied art and now owned a gallery in Houston. There was a younger sister, Eve, whom Chris had alternately praised and despaired of. There had been romances. Brie’s brows lifted as she ticked off the names of men Chris had been involved with. But not involved enough to marry. At twenty-five, she remained single, a successful, independent artist and businesswoman. Brie felt a dull twinge of envy that came and went so quickly it nearly went unnoticed.

  Interesting, she reflected. Had there been rivalry between them? She could be given facts, data, information, but no one could list feelings to her.

  When her private line rang, Brie kept her notes in one hand while she reached for the phone with the other. “Hello.”

  “The least you can do when an old friend calls you from across the Atlantic is to be available.”

  She liked the voice instantly. It was warm, dry and somewhat lazy. This time the twinge Brie felt was one of regret for not being able to recognize her emotions. “Chris …” She hesitated, then went with instinct. “Don’t you know royalty keeps busy hours?”

  The laugh rewarded her, but Brie didn’t relax. “You know that whenever your crown gets too heavy you can take a break in Houston. God knows I can always use an extra pair of hands at the gallery. How are you, Brie, really?”

  “I …” Oddly she found herself wanting to pour out everything, anything. There was something so comforting in the faceless voice. Duty, she remembered. Obligation. “I’m fine.”

  “It’s Chris, remember? Oh, God, Brie, when I read about the kidnapping, I nearly—” She broke off, and Brie barely heard the quiet oath. “I spoke with your father, you know. I wanted to come. He didn’t think it would be the best thing for you.”

  “Probably not. I’ve needed time, but I’m glad you wanted to.”

  “I’m not going to ask you questions about it, love. I’m sure the best thing to do is forget it entirely.”

  Brie gave a quick, uncontrollable laugh. “That seems to be what I’m doing.”

  Chris waited a moment, not quite satisfied with Brie’s reaction. Ultimately she let it pass. “I will ask you what the hell’s going on over there in Camelot.”

  “Going on?”

  “This secret, whirlwind romance that’s now at the engagement point. Brie, I know you’ve always been discreet, but I can’t believe you didn’t say a word to me, not a word about Reeve MacGee.”

  “Well, I suppose I really didn’t know what to say.” That had the ring of truth, Brie thought bitterly. “Everything’s happened so fast. The engagement wasn’t set or even discussed until Reeve came out here last month.”

  “How does your father feel?”

  Brie gave a wry smile, grateful she didn’t have to guard her expression. “You could say he nearly arranged it himself.”

  “I can’t say I disapprove. An American ex-cop—you always said you’d never marry anyone too suitable.”

  Brie smiled a little. “Apparently I meant it.”

  “Actually, I was beginning to think you’d never take the plunge. You’ve always been too clever about men for your own good. Remember that model in Professor Debare’s class?”

  “The male model?” Brie hazarded, and was rewarded by another long laugh.

  “Of course. You took one look at that magnificent study in masculine perfection and dubbed him a shallow, vain opportunist. The rest of us were drooling over his pectoral muscles—then he took Sylvia for fifty thousand francs.”

  “Poor Sylvia,” Brie murmured, lost.

  “Ah, well, she could afford it. Anyway, Brie, I know you’re busy. I’ve called to invite myself, and Eve, for a few days.”

  “You know you’re always welcome,” Brie said automatically while her mind raced. “You’re coming for the ball. Can you stay over then?”

  “That’s the plan. I hope you don’t mind me dragging Eve along, but the girl’s driving Daddy mad. Brie, the child wants to be an actress.”

  “Oh?”

  “You know Daddy, all business. He just can’t see one of his darling girls wearing greasepaint and costumes. Now if she wanted to be an agent … Anyway, I thought it might do them both good to be a few thousand miles apart for a week or so. So if you can find an extra couple of beds in that palace of yours …”

  “We’ve always got the folding cots.”

  “I knew I could count on you. We’ll fly in the day before the ball, then. I can give you a hand—and meet your betrothed. By the way, Brie, how does it feel to be in love?”

  “It—” She looked down at the ring on her hand, remembered what could sweep through her at a touch, at a look. “It’s not very comfortable, actually.”

  Chris laughed again. “Did you think it was going to be? Take care of yourself, darling. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Goodbye, Chris.”

  After she’d hung up, Brie sat still for a moment. She’d pulled it off. Christina Hamilton hadn’t suspected anything. Brie had been bright, cheerful—deceitful. On a surge of temper, Brie tossed her notes so that they scattered, floated, then fell. She continued to frown at them after she’d heard the discreet knock at her door.

  No, she wouldn’t pick them up, Brie decided. She’d leave them just where they were, just where they belonged. “Yes, come in.”

  “Excuse me, Your Highness.” Janet entered the sitting room with her usual lack of fuss. “I thought you’d like to know that the ballroom is in order. The drapes are being rehung.” Though she glanced down to the papers lying on the floor, she made no comment. “Did your call come through?”

  “Yes. Yes, I spoke with Miss Hamilton. And you’re welcome to relay to my father that she suspects nothing.”

  Janet kept her hands folded neatly in front of her. “I beg your pardon, Your Highness?”

  “Are you actually going to try to tell me you don’t report to him?” Brie demanded. She rose, guilt and despair pushing at her. “I’m well aware of how closely you watch me, Janet.”

  “Your welfare is our only concern, Your Highness.” Janet’s voice remained colorless; her hands remained folded. “If I’ve offended you—”

  “The subterfuge offends me,” Brie tossed back. “All of it.”

  “I know Your Highness must feel—”

  “You don’t know how I feel,” Brie interrupted as she whirled around the room. “How can you? Do you remember your father, your brother, your closest friend?”

  “Your Highness …” After a moment, Janet took a step closer. That kind of temper, that kind of emotion had to be handled gently. “Perhaps none of us really understands, but that doesn’t mean we don’t care. If there were anything I could do to help….”

  “No.” Calmer, Brie turned back. “No, nothing. I’m sorry, Janet. I’ve no business shouting at you.”

  The smile was slight and did little to change her expression. “But you had to shout at someone. I’d hoped—that is, I’d thought that perhaps after you’d talked to an old friend you might begin to remember something.”

  “Nothing. Sometimes I wonder if I ever will.”

  “But the doctors are hopeful, Your Highness.”

  “Doctors. I’ve had my fill of them, I’m afraid. They tell me to be patient.” With a sigh, she began to rearrange a vase of gardenias. “How can I be patient when I have nothing more than flashes of who I am, of what happened to me?”

  “But you have flashes?” Again Janet st
epped closer, and after a brief hesitation laid a hand on Brie’s. “You do remember bits and pieces?”

  “No—impressions. Nothing as solid as pieces.” The image of the knife was solid, and too ugly to dwell on. She needed something her mind could accept, something that eased it. “Pieces could be put together, couldn’t they, Janet?”

  “I’m not a doctor, Your Highness, but perhaps you should accept what you have now.”

  “That my life began less than a month ago?” Brie shook her head. “No, I can’t. I won’t. I’ll find the first piece.”

  A floor above, Alexander sat in his cool-colored, spacious office and watched Reeve. He’d planned the interview carefully, and felt fully justified.

  “I appreciate your giving me some time, Reeve.”

  “I’m sure you feel it’s important, Alex.”

  “Gabriella’s important.”

  Reeve nodded slowly. “To all of us.”

  It wasn’t precisely the response he’d expected. Then again, he knew the value of having alternate moves. “While I appreciate what you’re doing, Reeve, I feel my father leaned too heavily on an old friendship. Your position becomes more delicate every day.”

  Reeve sat back. Though there were nearly ten years between them, he didn’t consider that he was facing a boy. Alexander had become a man earlier than most. Reeve debated his next move, and decided on an aggressive one. “Are you concerned about the possibility of my becoming your brother-in-law, Alex?”

  If there was anger, the prince concealed it. “We both know what games are being played. My concern is Gabriella. She’s very vulnerable now, too vulnerable. Since, through my father’s wishes, you remain closer to Gabriella than her family, you’re in a position to observe and advise.”

  “And you’re worried that I might observe what’s none of my business and advise what’s inappropriate.”

  Alexander spread his hands on his desk. “I can see why my father admires you, Reeve. And I think I can understand why Brie trusts you.”

  “But you don’t.”

  “No, actually, I think I do.” He wasn’t unsure of himself. A man in Alexander’s position couldn’t afford to be. But he took a moment, anyway. He wanted to be certain he used the right words, the right tone. “I’m confident that as far as Brie’s safety goes, she’s in good hands. Otherwise …” He brought his gaze to Reeve’s. They held level. “Otherwise, I’d see that you were either sent on your way or carefully watched.”

  “Fair enough.” Reeve took out a cigarette. Alex shook his head at the offer. “So you’re satisfied with my position as bodyguard, but you’re concerned about a more personal relationship.”

  “You’re aware that I objected—no, let’s be candid—that I fought the business of your becoming engaged to my sister.”

  “I’m aware that both you and Loubet expressed doubts.”

  “I don’t like my opinion coinciding with Loubet’s,” Alexander muttered, then gave Reeve a quick, completely open smile. “My father considers Loubet’s talents and experience as minister of state compensation for his outdated views on a great number of things.”

  “Then there’s the matter of the limp.” At Alexander’s expression, Reeve blew out a stream of smoke. “A great deal of our families’ histories are known to each other, Alex. My father happened to be in the car along with Loubet and the prince when they had the accident some thirty-five years ago. Your father broke his arm, mine suffered a mild concussion. Loubet, unfortunately, had more serious injuries.”

  “The accident has nothing to do with Loubet’s position now.”

  “No, I’m quite sure it doesn’t. Your father doesn’t handle things that way. But perhaps he’s more tolerant because of it. He was driving. A certain amount of remorse is only human. In any case”—Reeve brushed the subject aside—“it merely serves to show that our families are tied in certain ways. Old friendships, old bonds. My engagement to your sister was easily accepted because of that.”

  “Do you easily accept it?”

  This time it was Reeve who hesitated. “Alex, do you want a comfortable answer or the truth?”

  “The truth.”

  “It wasn’t a simple matter for me to agree to a mock engagement to Gabriella. It isn’t a simple matter for me to go through the motions of being her fiancé, or to see my ring on her finger. It isn’t simple,” Reeve said slowly, “because I’m in love with her.”

  Alexander didn’t speak, nor did he give any sign of surprise. After a moment, he reached out and ran a fingertip down a silver picture frame. His sister looked back out at him, smiling and lovely. “What do you intend to do about it?”

  Reeve lifted a brow. “Isn’t it your father’s place to ask, Alex?”

  “It isn’t my father you’ve told.”

  “No.” Reeve crushed out his cigarette slowly, deliberately. “I don’t intend to do anything about it. I’m well aware what my responsibilities and my limitations are as concerns your sister.”

  “I see.” Alexander picked up a pen and ran it absently through his fingers. It seemed he didn’t know Reeve MacGee as well as he’d thought. “And Brie’s feelings?”

  “Are Brie’s feelings. She doesn’t need any more complications at this point. Once she remembers, she’ll no longer need me.”

  “Just like that?”