The Prince’s Outback Bride

CHAPTER SIX

MAX spent two hours with Levout, which were two hours more than he wanted to spend with the man, but there were practicalities to work out. If he was stuck here then he might as well sort them out now. He emerged from the castle offices feeling vaguely tainted. He hated being related to this family. So many wrongs…

But at least now they could be sorted. He’d watched Levout trying to hide dismay as he’d gone through the initial changes he wanted instigated, and he thought, You don’t know the half of it. These were just palace changes. Tomorrow he’d start looking wider.

But now he was starting to be nervous about Pippa’s whereabouts. She’d threatened she’d leave if he didn’t stick around and he knew her well enough to realise she’d carry through with a threat. If she thought he was no longer in the castle…

He’d check. She’d probably be resting, he decided, and he headed for the nursery, climbing the vast staircase three stairs at a time.

The nursery was empty.

He rang the bell and an elderly housemaid appeared, looking apprehensive.

‘Where are the children?’ he asked.

‘They’re with Pippa. I mean…Miss Phillippa.’

‘Did she ask you to call her Pippa?’

‘Oh, yes,’ the woman said, and her nervousness disappeared in a smile. ‘I said to call me Beatrice but she said I was old enough to be her mother and she’d only call me Beatrice if I called her Pippa. She said that goes for all the staff, but we talked about it and thought maybe we wouldn’t call her that in front of Mr Levout.’

‘Very wise.’ What was the gossip below stairs? he wondered. They probably knew more than he did. ‘Is she in her room?’ he asked.

‘She says she’s sleeping here in the nursery.’

He stared at the enormous nursery. It was more like a gallery than a nursery, he thought. If he’d been stuck in here as a kid, alone, he’d have had nightmares. Maybe Pippa was right. But…

‘Are there enough beds?’

‘There are five bedrooms. But Pippa says they only need one.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘Yes, sir.’

He looked at Beatrice, who looked back at him, expressionless.

‘You don’t agree?’

‘I have grandchildren,’ she said gently. ‘If one of them was the new Crown Prince, maybe I’d be sleeping with him, too. And maybe the dog as well.’

She met his gaze, without a hint of a smile.

‘You’re saying it’s unsafe.’

‘No, sir. At least…‘ She hesitated. ‘Sir, I’m only a maid. But if it was my child who was Crown Prince, I’d hold him close.’

‘Because…’

‘I couldn’t say, sir,’ she said softly, turning back to her unpacking, leaving him vaguely worried. What was she telling him?

He’d promised Pippa they’d be safe. Was he sure? He thought back to Levout’s concerns. A lot of petty officialdom stood to lose substantial income if what Max planned came to pass.

Yeah, but they’d had a prince on the throne for four hundred years. Surely they couldn’t object-or do anything about it if they did object?

All the same, suddenly he thought that Pippa and Dolores sleeping with Marc wasn’t such a bad idea.

That worried him as well.

Dammit, these weren’t Pippa’s children. Here he was, asking her to be responsible again.

Where was she?

‘They were on the south lawn a little time ago,’ Beatrice offered. ‘They were playing in the fountain.’

The fountain? The huge marble monstrosity with dragons and warriors fighting it out on the front lawn?

He crossed to the French windows and stared down at the fountain-cum-sculpture in the middle of the immaculately manicured lawn.

There was no Pippa and no children but beside the fountain was a muddle of discarded clothes, and a patch of pristine lawn had been muddied.

Beatrice walked over to the window and peered where he was peering.

‘Our head gardener treats every blade of grass as a treasure. To let the children muddy it…’

‘You think he’ll be angry?’ Max stared at the mud in bemusement. ‘Whipping at dawn? You’ve met Pippa.’

‘I’ve met Pippa,’ the woman said and she ventured a cautious smile. ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe he won’t be angry. It’s so wonderful to have children in the palace again. Maybe she has enough joy in her to charm even the gardening staff.’

She did. By the time Max reached the offending puddle the head gardener, a man in his seventies, was on his knees, carefully washing mud from the lawn. Before Max could reach him, another man appeared with half a dozen planks.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked, expecting complaints, but none was forthcoming.

‘Miss Pippa and the children enjoyed the fountain,’ the gardener said mildly. ‘So we thought we’d build a small deck so they could get in and out without muddying the lawn.’

A deck. For a fountain where there were swimming pool alternatives.

‘Did you tell them about the swimming pools?’

‘Oh, yes,’ the gardener said and he chuckled. ‘The lady asked would I prefer to paddle in a normal pool or duck in and out of dragons. I’d never thought of it like that. But, yes, I could see her point.’

This was amazing. After only two hours in the castle Pippa was already instigating changes. And making friends. Max glanced cautiously around, thinking of Carver Levout. Chief of this whole administration. ‘Has Mr Levout given the okay?’ he asked.

‘No, sir, he hasn’t,’ the man told him, hauling his cap from his head in a gesture of deference. ‘But Miss Pippa said we could refer this to you. She said as Prince Regent you’re in charge now. Miss Pippa says she’s sure you’ll agree. Do you not, sir? Do you want us to stop?’

He didn’t want anything. He surely didn’t want to be so enmeshed in the workings of this place that he had to think about things like decking.

He had no intention of being hands-on in this place. There might be issues with how Carver ran the palace but he was competent, and Max intended to save his energy for the big battles.

‘Where is she now?’ he asked, and if his voice was a bit grim he couldn’t help it.

‘Miss Pippa saw the cows coming in to be milked,’ the gardener said. ‘I believe they’ve gone to the dairy to help. Sir, do you wish us to stop building the decking?’

What the heck? ‘You’ve started now. You might as well continue.’

The man smiled. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said.

Pippa and the children were indeed in the dairy, perched on a top rail overlooking the cows going into the bails. The twins and Marc were dressed in knickers and nothing else. Pippa was in jeans and a T-shirt. Her jeans were rolled up to the knees and her T-shirt was knotted under her breasts, leaving her midriff bare. They were all dripping wet.

They saw him and they waved him to come closer. No sound, though. They knew their cows.

‘Hi,’ Pippa whispered. ‘I thought this’d be really foreign but it’s just like home. Without Peculiar.’

Peculiar. He thought back to the cow who’d be even now causing trouble in Bert’s yard. ‘I bet there’s another Peculiar here,’ he said darkly. ‘There always is.’

‘There isn’t,’ she said. ‘I’ve been talking to the guys here and they’re saying these girls are really placid. I’m thinking we might take a few test-tubes home.’

‘Test-tubes?’

‘For cross-cultural fertilization,’ she said patiently. ‘Don’t you think that’d be ace?’

‘We might get some calves just like these,’ Marc said. The kids were glowing, high on warmth and good food and fun and excitement. They’d been good-looking kids back in Australia, Max thought, but now he looked at their beaming faces and he felt a twinge of…pride? They hadn’t complained once, he thought. He’d seen them tired and hungry and right out of their comfort zone but still they giggled and looked out on life as an adventure. Marc would make a great prince.

Pippa had done a wonderful job of raising them.

Would she agree that they stay?

‘Nothing’s decided,’ Pippa said before he could open his mouth.

‘How the hell do you know what I’m thinking?’

‘I can see it. I look in your eyes and I see this plus this plus this equals…ooh, let’s see…sixty-seven? And then you open your mouth and out it comes. Sixty-seven. Easy.’

He didn’t like that it was easy. He was feeling more and more confused.

‘Well, how do you understand what these guys are saying?’ he asked. ‘And the gardener. How did you talk him into building decking?’

‘He’s building decking?’

‘To protect his grass.’

‘What a sweetie.’

‘You talk French? I didn’t know you spoke French?’

‘I talk a type of French,’ she said. ‘I’ve always been told it’s a hybrid, some sort of rural dialect. Now I’ve discovered where it comes from.’ She beamed. ‘Here. Well, of course it makes sense, but how lucky’s that?’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Alice,’ she said simply. Then, as he looked even more confused, she explained. ‘Alice left her family when she was little more than a kid. She got into trouble, she ended up having Gina and being stuck with me, and she made the best of our life together. But there must have been a part of her that was homesick, for every night she’d read to the two of us in her own language. It became fun-it was Gina’s and my secret language when we were at school. After Gina got married we had to stop-Donald kept thinking we were talking about him-but it’s still a part of me. Finding there’s a whole country that speaks it is a joy.’

‘It’s fun,’ Marc said in the same language, and Max stared.

‘The kids too?’

‘Gina started it with Marc, maybe to make Alice happy. I kept it up. It’s always seemed comforting. Some sort of a link. And now we know who we’re linked to.’

Wow. He’d brought back family who spoke the language. The enormity of this almost took his breath away.

His task was suddenly a thousand per cent easier.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘You didn’t speak it to us. I honestly didn’t know what it was until I heard it here.’

‘I do speak it,’ he said, switching effortlessly. ‘My mother…well, there was an insistence that Thiérry learned it and it was easier for us to practise together.’

She frowned and tugged the two little bodies on either side of her closer so they couldn’t topple off the rail. ‘So we speak the language-sort of. Why does that make you relieved? I can understand pleased, but not relieved.’

‘I was just pleasantly surprised.’

‘And relieved.’

‘You can’t read my feelings.’

‘Yes, I can.’

‘Then don’t,’ he snapped, and the cow nearest him swerved his head and gave him a reproachful look.

‘Shh,’ Sophie whispered. ‘We have to be quiet until the cows get to know us.’

‘I wonder if I can help milk,’ Pippa said.

‘You surely don’t want to.’

‘No.’ She peeped a smile. ‘But it might make Mr Levout happier. He obviously thinks I’m one of the workers.’

‘He’s got another think coming. Speaking of which…he’s having dinner with us tonight.’

‘Really?’

‘Really.’

‘Eggs and toast in the nursery?’

‘Don’t push your luck. Do you have anything to wear to a formal dinner?’

She stared. She looked down at her dripping jeans and her bare feet.

She giggled.

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘As formal as you like. I’ll wear my dry jeans.’

‘Pippa…’

‘Don’t fret,’ she said. The rail they were perched on was four feet high. He was standing right beside her, so she was just above his head height. She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair, an affectionate ruffle such as one she might have given Marc. Or Sophie or Claire. So there was no need for him to react…as he did. ‘I won’t disgrace you,’ she said.

‘I know that,’ he said stiffly and moved away.

‘I won’t do anything else either,’ she told him, quite kindly. ‘There’s no need to back off like a frightened horse.’

‘I did not!’

‘Yes, you did,’ Marc said. ‘Don’t you like it when Pippa rubs your head?’

‘No. Yes. I…’

‘He doesn’t like getting his feathers ruffled, kids,’ she told them, turning her attention back to the cows. ‘Leave him be to settle. What time’s dinner, Mr de Gautier?’

‘Seven. The kids will be fed at six. And before you say you and the kids are sticking together, Beatrice, the older of the two maids in the children’s wing, will sit with the children. If they give the slightest sign of needing you she’ll fetch you. But by the amount of excitement they’ve had today I suspect they’ll be well asleep.’

‘So might I be.’

‘You slept for fifteen hours on the plane. I’ve got a crink on my shoulder to prove it.’

‘On your shoulder?’

‘Where your head landed. You fell sideways.’

‘I did not.’

‘No, you didn’t,’ he agreed cordially and she glowered.

‘How can I fall sideways in a first class seat?’ she demanded.

‘You wriggle in your sleep.’

‘Well, you snore.’

‘I don’t!’

‘Oh, yes, you do. We need an independent arbitrator. Failing that I refuse to accept responsibility for your crink.’

‘I accept your lack of responsibility,’ he said and grinned. ‘But about dinner. You think you might stay awake until seven?’

‘I’m pretty hungry,’ she told him. ‘But I guess I can always pinch a toast finger from the kids to keep me going.’

She was gorgeous.

Max left them and walked slowly back to the castle entrance, past the gardeners busily erecting their decking, past the pile of kids’ clothing…

The castle had subtly changed already.

She was gorgeous.

They were all great, he told himself hastily. The kids and Pippa would breathe new life into this place. He just had to persuade them to stay and things would be fine. The kids could have a glorious time. The load of responsibility would be lifted from Pippa’s shoulders and he could leave and get on with his life.

For the first time since he’d been approached after Bernard’s death, the awful feeling of being trapped was lessening.

Okay, he still needed to be Regent. He’d accepted that. But back in Paris his construction company was waiting, and in four short weeks he could be back there. He could keep on with the work he loved. He could cope with the legalities of the regency from a distance. He could stay low-key. Okay, he’d accept a bit of publicity now as he persuaded Pippa to keep the children here, but after that he could disappear into the background.

His mother need never be brought into it. It was a solution that suited them all. It felt great.

Or it should feel great. There was one little niggle.

The children’s safety?

That was crazy. The maid hadn’t said outright she was worried. He was reading too much into it.

Pippa would keep things safe.

And there was another niggle.

Pippa was gorgeous.

So what?

So he wanted to kiss her. He’d already kissed her and it had felt excellent. He wanted, quite desperately, to kiss her again.

Which was dumb. Even one kiss was dumb. Even though for him it had been a light-hearted bit of fun-it must have been-she might not have thought of it as that.

Of course she had. She’d giggled. She’d ruffled his hair then as she’d ruffle one of the kids’ hair. She was beginning to hold him in some sort of affection, he thought. She was starting to think of him as family.

Which was good.

Except…did he want her to see him as family? Even that was too close. She’d bulldozed him into staying here for a month and that was a month too long.

He should telephone his mother and let her know what was happening.

Not yet, he thought. He needed to get things sorted first.

What sorted?

It was his thoughts that needed sorting, he decided. His normally razor-sharp intellect was fogged with one sprite of a red-headed woman in soggy jeans and with a bare midriff.

A red-headed woman…

‘Excuse me, sir.’ He’d been walking up the vast steps to the castle entrance, but as soon as he walked through the doors he found a deputation waiting. Two footmen, carrying boxes. One ancient retainer in topcoat and tails. ‘Can you spare a moment?’

He stopped and frowned. ‘You are?’

‘I’m Blake, sir,’ the man said, in the country’s mix of French and Italian but with a heavy English accent. ‘I was valet to the last prince, and to his father before him.’

‘The devil you are.’ Max’s eyebrows rose. ‘They really had valets?’

‘Yes, Your Highness. I knew your mother,’ he added gently. ‘And your father.’

‘Right.’ Max had his measure now and he’d recalled information he’d read just that afternoon. The castle was full of people like Blake. Blake had been on the castle payroll for sixty years, but the death of the last prince had left no provision for retirement. Long-serving staff had been paid peanuts for years. Unless they stayed working here they’d be destitute.

He’d get reparation under way tomorrow, he thought, watching the old man take one of the parcels from the footman. His hands were shaking as if he had early Parkinson’s.

‘This is your dress regalia,’ the old man said, handling the box with reverence. ‘When you flew in before going to Australia you left some clothes behind and we took the liberty of taking measurements and having this made. It would mean a lot to the staff if you were to wear it tonight, the first night of the new order in this Court. Your Highness.’

He lifted the lid with reverence and held it out.

Max stared at Blake. Then he stared down at the box as if he’d just been handed a box of scorpions.

‘Dress regalia.’

‘As befits the Prince…Regent. You know, we were concerned that the monarchy would disintegrate,’ Blake explained. ‘But today there’s been children’s laughter on the lawn and it’s not just the staff who are deeply thankful. It’s all of the country. But this little prince is only eight years old. We’re not so foolish that we think he can possibly rule. You’ve agreed to be Prince Regent and that means for the next thirteen years you’re the country’s ruler.’ He hesitated. ‘As you should be,’ he added softly. ‘Starting tonight.’

‘No, I-’

‘Levout says you’ll be a puppet ruler,’ the old man said, more softly this time, so softly that the two footmen behind him couldn’t hear. ‘We desperately don’t want that to happen.’

‘I’ll stay in control from a distance.’

‘From France?’

‘Yes.’

The man’s rheumy old eyes misted. ‘Sir, that won’t work.’

‘Of course it will work.’

‘This country needs you. For measures to be put in place…well, the people in charge here have been in charge for a very long time.’

‘I’ll be in close contact.’

‘Your Highness…’ The man fell silent. There was laughter from outside. Max looked out to where Pippa and the kids were collecting their clothes in readiness to come inside. The children were playing some sort of keepings-off game, and clothes were going everywhere. Pippa was dodging about on the grass, barefooted, laughing, grabbing Marc and hauling him up to whiz him round and round until he shrieked with delight, then setting him down and chasing a chortling twin.

They’d been here for less than a day. They’d changed the castle.

Could he walk away?

‘She’ll love it,’ he said softly and the old man followed his gaze.

‘She has enough responsibility in looking after the children.’ It was almost reproof.

‘There are people here who’ll help her.’

‘Are you saying you want her to take over the administration?’

‘There’s not that much administration.’

‘If you please, Your Highness-’

‘Don’t call me Your Highness. And he’ll gain a crown.’ Max was watching Marc duck away from Pippa with a shriek of laughter. ‘It’s not as if he’s getting nothing.’

‘No, sir. Marc will gain a crown. The little girls will be princesses. What will your position be?And what will Miss Pippa get?’

Max’s gaze swivelled to stare at him. He’d never met this man until tonight. ‘You know nothing of this,’ he snapped.

‘No, sir,’ the man agreed. ‘I’m only…your valet. And an old friend to your mother. But you do need to make a statement tonight to the castle and to the press. We’re suggesting a photo opportunity in the great hall after dinner.’

‘A photo opportunity?’

‘Mr Levout said we need no such thing,’ he said. ‘But we need…the country needs a statement that things are changing.’ He motioned to the magnificent clothes. ‘We need an official prince.’

‘You really want me to dress up?’

‘Do you have a choice, sir?’

‘Of course I-’

‘Do you want the press agreeing with Levout that nothing will change?’

‘Dammit…We can’t have a photo session without warning Pippa.’

‘Shall we make it tomorrow?’

‘Three or four days,’ he snapped. ‘Maybe Thursday.’

‘Very well, Your Highness,’ the old man said, smiling. ‘I’ll let the appropriate people know that there’ll be an official photograph session on Thursday. But meanwhile I hope you’ll wear this uniform tonight, to give Levout the appropriate message.’

‘I-’

‘He’ll be in ceremonial dress,’ Blake said smoothly. ‘I imagine he’ll want to put you on the back step.’

‘Dammit…’

‘I’ll be in your room in an hour to help you dress,’ Blake said gently. ‘It will be an honour. Your Highness.’

This wasn’t right.

She stared at the vast dressing room mirror. Her reflection came back at her from six directions.

Freckles. Coppery curls but short. Snub nose and freckles. Black skirt to her knees. Pink twin-set that had seen better days. Sensible shoes.

Yuk.

She dusted her freckles until they disappeared, stared at herself some more, wiped off too much face powder and saw her freckles emerge again. She grimaced and went into the bedroom.

Beatrice was there. The oldest housemaid. House-matron, Pippa thought. Calling her a housemaid was ridiculous.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed. The kids were curled up under sumptuous covers, waiting to be told a story.

‘I should stay,’ she said. ‘The kids are still awake.’

‘We’re good,’ Sophie said cheerfully. ‘Dolores is asleep under the bed and Beattie’s going to tell us a story.’

‘Just like our grandma did,’ Marc added shyly.

‘I know a lot of stories,’ Beatrice said and smiled at her. ‘Go on with you. We know where you are if we need you.’

‘In the dining room.’

‘The state dining room,’ Beatrice corrected her. ‘There are six dining rooms.’

‘And the state dining room…’

‘Is the biggest?’

Pippa took a deep breath. ‘Why the biggest? Why tonight?’

‘We’re all wanting to make a statement to Mr Levout,’ she said simply. ‘That there’s a new royal family in this palace.’ She checked Pippa’s dress out and her nose wrinkled. ‘My dear, have you nothing more…formal?’

‘No,’ Pippa said bluntly. ‘But I’m not actually family. It doesn’t matter.’

‘No,’ Beatrice said doubtfully. ‘But the Prince Maxsim-’

‘Won’t be dressed up,’ Pippa said. ‘He knows the limitations of my wardrobe. He wouldn’t dare.’

She was just a little bit…wrong?

Pippa came down the vast stone staircase, her exploration with the kids holding her in good stead. An ancient butler-the average age of these retainers must be about ninety!-was waiting for her. He swept open the huge double doors into the state dining room. She trod over the threshold and she stopped dead.

Tassles. Sword. Medallions.

Max.

She forgot to breathe.

She’d never seen anything more gorgeous. His Royal Highness, Maxsim de Gautier, Prince Regent of Alp d’Estella.

His suit was jet-black, and it fitted him like a glove. There was a touch of white at his throat and at his wrists, accentuating his tan, the darkness of his eyes and his deep black hair. A vast array of medals and insignia was arranged across his breast. A purple sash slashed across his chest. There were gold tassels on his shoulder-epaulets? There was a braided gold cord on the opposite shoulder to his sash, and another tassel at his hip.

He was wearing a sword.

She had to breathe. She told herself that. Okay, breathe. You can do this.

He took a step towards her and smiled and she forgot to breathe all over again.

‘Phillippa…’

It was a couple of moments before she figured out how her voice worked. He was waiting for her to respond. He’d called her Phillippa.

He’d set this up. This formal situation, this amazing dress…

For a girl in a pink twin-set.

‘You rat,’ she managed at last. ‘You bottom-feeding pond scum.’

He blinked. ‘Pardon?’

‘I’m wearing my church clothes,’ she wailed. ‘My Sunday best for Tanbarook. What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Phillippa, here’s Mr Levout.’

They weren’t alone. For the first time she realised there was another man present-Carver Levout. Like Max, Levout was also in ceremonial regalia. He looked a lot less impressive than Max, but a million times more impressive than Pippa.

One of the buttons had fallen off her cardigan during transit. Pippa had decided since she couldn’t find it she’d leave her cardigan open and hope no one would notice. Levout noticed. He stared pointedly at the gap where the button should be, and it was all Pippa could do not to run.

‘She’s a real provincial,’ the man said in his own language to Max, crossing the room to take her hand in his. ‘What a drab mouse. Shouldn’t we be feeding her in the servants’ quarters? She’d be much more comfortable.’ He smiled and raised her hand to his lips. ‘Charming,’ he said in English and then reverted to his own language to add, ‘How the hell are we going to cope with her in the public eye? She’ll have to be seen as the nanny.’

There was a deathly hush. Levout looked suddenly uncomfortable. Maybe he guessed…Forget guessing. It was time he knew. ‘Then we’re four provincials together,’ she said, sweetly in his language. ‘Marc and Sophie and Claire and me. Plus our dog. Provincials all.’

Levout stared. Then he flushed. It was no wonder he’d assumed she wouldn’t speak this language. How many people did? ‘Mademoiselle, I’m devastated,’ he started.

‘You’re also excessively rude. Both of you.’

Max said nothing. He stood in front of the mantel, quietly watchful.

She ignored him. Or she pretended to ignore him. She’d never seen a man in a dress sword…

Concentrate on something else, she told herself fiercely. Like the table. The mahogany table was twelve feet long and it was so highly polished she could see her face in the wood. There was a place laid at the head. There were two places set on either side, halfway down. The cutlery was ornate silverware, each piece a work of art in its own right. There were, she counted, six crystal glasses by each plate. An epergne was set in the middle of the table, silver and gold, all crouching tigers and jungle foliage.

‘Goodness,’ Pippa said faintly. ‘This is amazing. I’m amazed.’ But then she shrugged. She still carefully didn’t look at Max but addressed herself instead to his companion. ‘I’m not welcome here,’ she said. ‘You’ve made that clear. You guys can play fancy dress by yourselves. I’m going to the kitchen to see if I can find myself a vegemite sandwich.’

‘Pippa…’ Max said.

‘Yeah, I’m Pippa,’ she said. ‘If you wanted Phillippa you should have given me warning, but what you see is what you get. See you later.’ She turned and swept out of the room with as much dignity as a girl in a twin-set with a missing button could muster.

Max caught her before she’d taken half a dozen steps across the hall. He seized her by her shoulders and turned her to face him.

She was furious. It didn’t take a clairvoyant to see that. Her eyes were bright and wide, and there was a spot of burning crimson on each cheek.

She turned but she didn’t react. She had her arms tightly folded across her breasts.

‘Let me go,’ she muttered and she took a step backwards, tugging away.

He released her. ‘Pip, I’m sorry.’

‘What the hell were you thinking?’

‘I don’t-’

‘There’s no need to try and show me up,’ she snapped. ‘I’ve never denied I’m a provincial.’ She took a deep breath and tilted her chin. ‘I’m even proud of it.’

‘You’re not a provincial.’

‘Oh, sure. Max, I’m a child of a single mother. I’ve scraped a living as best I could. For the last four years I’ve worked as a navvy on a farm.’ She held out her hands, showing work-worn fingers with nails that were cracked and stained. ‘I’m illegitimate poor trash and I bet he knows it. I bet you’ve told him.’

‘I haven’t. And there’s no need to be melodramatic.’

‘Says the prince with a dress sword,’ she said scornfully. ‘I’ve never seen such a melodramatic outfit in my life.’

‘It is, rather,’ he said ruefully and stared down at his costume. ‘Do you know these pants have fifteen buttons?’

‘Fifteen…’ Momentarily distracted, she stared at the line of buttons leading from groin to hip. ‘Wow.’

‘It took me three minutes to do them up,’ he said. ‘Honest to God.’

She shook her head, dragging her gaze away with difficulty. He was all too good at distracting her. The man was too distracting altogether. ‘So you’ve achieved what?’ she demanded, a trifle breathlessly. ‘By doing up fifteen buttons?’

‘Believe it or not, I’ve made an old man happy.’

‘Levout?’

‘There’s no way I’ll make him happy. He’s nervous as hell. What he’s just heard has made him even more nervous and what I set in motion in the next few days will give him a palsy stroke. But my valet-’

‘Your valet!’

‘Ridiculous or not, I have a valet. He’s eighty-four. He and the rest of the servants organised this outfit specially and they’d have been desperately hurt if I hadn’t worn it tonight. As would the team of people who worked their butts off to get it ready for me. It’s amazing.’

‘Amazing,’ she agreed and tried to turn away again.

He caught her and twisted her back to face him. ‘Pippa, you must see how desperate these people are for reassurance. All these people. The royal household and the outside community. This place is a microcosm of the country. We’re important.’

‘You’re important,’ she snapped. ‘Not me. I’m a provincial.’

‘Will you leave it?’

‘Not the least bit of warning?’ she demanded, still fixated on her missing button. ‘No, Pippa, you might want to think about what you’re wearing tonight ’ cos I’m coming in fancy dress?’

‘I thought if I told you what I was wearing you wouldn’t come at all. And I didn’t know what I was wearing last time I saw you. I’d have had to send a message to the nursery.’

‘Or come yourself. It wouldn’t be so impossible.’

‘I won’t come to the nursery.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t intend to spend any more time with you than I must.’

Um…maybe that wasn’t the wisest thing to say, he thought. He reran the words in his head. Nope, that hadn’t sounded good. It had been a really dumb thing to say.

Just because it was true…

The color had drained from Pippa’s face. ‘What do you mean?’ she said at last and he spread his hands.

Okay, maybe it had to be faced. ‘Hell, Pippa, you know what I mean. This thing between us…’

‘What thing?’

‘I shouldn’t have kissed you on the plane.’

‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘At least we agree on that.’

‘I don’t want to give you any ideas.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘Of…of all the conceit,’ she stammered. ‘And so unnecessary. Provincials don’t have any ideas. You of all people should know that. After all, you’ve been mixing with me for days. Of all the arrogant, mean-minded, conceited, over-dressed popinjays-’

‘Popinjays?’

‘I read it somewhere,’ she snapped. ‘It’s what you are.’

‘Levout will be listening to every word.’

‘Really?’ She raised her voice.

‘Look, it was your idea that I stay here. Not mine.’

‘Don’t you dare do this to me.’

‘Dare do what?’

‘Take my concern for the children as some sort of interest in you. I don’t want you here. Your presence, however, guarantees security for Marc and Sophie and Claire. You go, then we go. But you’re right. We needn’t spend any more time together than we must. Not because I just might jump you, Maxsim de Gautier, but because I might slap your handsome, arrogant face.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ he said.

And once again he knew he’d said the wrong thing.

She’d never hit anyone in her life. She’d never dreamed of doing it. But now, as they stood in this gilded hallway full of ancient, over-the-top artwork, chandeliers, servants in the doorways, Levout standing open-mouthed behind them, the emotions of the last few days found irresistible expression.

As a slap it was a beauty. It was straight across his cheek. The sound of the slap was louder than the voice she was using.

She backed off and stared at him. What little vestige of color she’d had before was completely gone now.

‘Pippa…’ he said, uncertainly, and she raised her hands to her face as if her head needed support. As if it were she who’d been slapped.

‘I-I’m so sorry,’ she stammered, aghast.

‘You don’t-’

‘I’d never slap. I never would. It’s just…’

‘We’ve hauled you right out of your comfort zone.’

‘I don’t have a comfort zone,’ she whispered. ‘The farm? Taking care of the kids by myself? That’s not comfort. What I use as a comfort zone is independence. I don’t need anyone. I don’t need you. And for you to assume that just because you kissed me I’d see you as some kind of love interest…’

‘I never assumed that.’

‘Yes, you did,’ she said steadying a little. ‘And maybe you’re right. Maybe I have been a bit too attracted to you. But now…’ She shrugged. ‘Well, I’ve been told and I’m not stupid, regardless of what you think. We’re here for a month while I figure out whether the kids could have a future here. You’re my…bond, if you like. My surety. I’m demanding that you stay here too. But only until I figure out whether we’re safe. If that’s tomorrow then you can take yourself back to Paris.’

He hesitated. He should finish this. But there were imperatives. ‘Pippa, the press…’

‘What about the press?’

‘They want to see you again.’

‘Not me.’

‘They want to see the children. They need a photo opportunity.’

‘Then we’ll set one up. Let Beatrice know and I’ll make sure they have clean faces.’

‘They want to meet you. Tonight if possible.’

‘No deal.’ She backed again so she was at the foot of the stairs. ‘Now is there anything else?’

‘Then Thursday. For an official portrait? We have to let the press see us.’

‘Thursday,’ she snapped. ‘Fine. I’ll sew on my button for the occasion. Make sure it’s at night ’ cos twin-set and skirt looks dumb in this heat.’

‘Dinner is served,’ the butler intoned from behind them and Max winced.

‘Can we delay it for a little?’

‘No,’ Pippa said and squared her shoulders. ‘We’re all hungry but we’re not eating together.’ She walked over to the tray the butler was carrying-three bowls of soup. She lifted one and smelled. ‘Yum. Asparagus. My favourite. I’ll take mine out on the terrace.’

‘You can’t,’ Max said blankly.

‘Watch me. Or don’t watch me. In fact I forbid you to watch me. You and Mr Levout go back to your dress-ups. This provincial’s going to eat her meal outside. That way I can burp and slurp just the way I like.’

‘That’s ridiculous.’

‘I’m not ridiculous,’ she snapped. ‘You’re the one with the sword.’