The Princess And The Duke. Allison LeighЧитать онлайн книгу.
a good number of the older guests. Those who remained seemed fit to party until dawn, including the King, who was standing in conversation with a small group of people near the dais. As Meredith watched, her father tossed back his head and laughed uproariously.
Well, at least he was having a good time. Taking a small breather from the stress of the last several weeks while negotiating the alliances.
Only Meredith wasn’t interested in watching her father. After that one brief glance, her eyes had immediately trained on Pierceson Prescott. Who was, sure enough, on the dance floor, holding Juliet Oxford in his arms. “What did I tell you?” Meredith murmured to her sister. The smile on her face felt unusually forced.
Anastasia gave her a sympathetic look before being swept off by friends. Meredith headed for one of the liveried staff circulating the room and took a crystal flute from his tray.
In seconds, George was at her side, but she begged off dancing, holding up her champagne. “I think I’d like just a quiet spot for a bit, George, if you don’t mind?”
Far too good-natured to be offended, he offered his company. She could hardly decline, but she was utterly grateful when some of his friends soon came by and pulled him away. Then, while she was rather stealthily working her way toward the terrace and the peace and quiet out there, Owen looped his arm around her waist.
She barely had time to put down her glass before he swung her onto the dance floor. “You can’t rebuff your brother,” he said, grinning.
“Well, I could,” Meredith corrected, grinning back. “But I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of all your fans.”
He made a face. “There’re a lot of guests,” he said after a moment.
“It’s a wedding. Of course there are a lot of guests.”
“I overheard Gwen talking with Mrs. Ferth. There were a lot of guests added at the last minute.”
Lady Gwendolyn Corbin was their mother’s lady-in-waiting, and Mrs. Ferth the Queen’s personal secretary. Naturally, the two women had been involved in the guest list. “Owen, it’s a wedding. A royal wedding, planned in an excruciatingly brief amount of time. Who knows what details went into the guest list.” Something in her brother’s eyes made hers narrow humorously. “Imagining conspiracies?”
His lips twitched, as she knew they would. “Only of Mrs. Ferth trying to stack the room with suitable prospective missus Owens.”
Meredith laughed softly. Owen would never be manipulated that way. Even at twenty-three, he was too much a man of his own. “Well, prospective brides aside, there are a number of pretty young things in the room who would be more than happy for ten minutes of your company. So what are you doing dancing with your old sister?”
“Because he wants to dance with his sister who isn’t so old,” Anastasia said behind her, and Meredith looked over her shoulder to see her little sister dancing with Colonel Prescott.
Meredith barely had time to suck in a surprised breath before Owen and Anastasia neatly maneuvered into switching partners. Which left Meredith—right there in the center of the ballroom, surrounded by other swaying couples—facing Pierce.
“Seems we’ve been here before,” he said evenly, and held out his arms.
She needed no reminder of that long-ago spring ball when he’d not only refused a dance with her, but had told her to try her fledgling girlish wiles on someone who was interested.
Just tired enough, with just enough champagne in her system, Meredith completely ignored the dictates of good behavior. “No. I don’t think so. I wouldn’t want you to put yourself out.” Her voice was cool. And when she turned on her high heel and slipped away through the crowd, she felt satisfaction. This time she’d turned him down flat.
At least that was what she told herself.
Only her satisfaction felt rather more painfully like disappointment.
Chapter Three
The last thing in the world Pierce expected was for Meredith to turn and run. The amusement that drifted through him wasn’t at all appropriate.
Well, Meredith had always been full of surprises. Though she’d been a model daughter, she hadn’t married in her early twenties when most thought she should have done so. She’d obtained advanced degrees at universities abroad and she’d taken the type of job that was ordinarily handled by a well-heeled staff member. She had her causes, certainly. But Meredith was, first and foremost, a professional woman. And Pierce didn’t admit to many that he’d followed her career, as much with pride as with the intent of insuring her safety.
If he were smart, he’d take his leave. There really was no reason for Pierce to remain at the gala reception. There were other members of the RET around to keep a close eye on the matters that absolutely required their attention.
But Pierce was obviously not smart. Not tonight. Because he smoothly snagged a flute of champagne as a tray passed and he headed slowly, deliberately for the terrace. The two guards on either side of the door, already at attention, snapped even more so as he passed them, and he automatically returned the salute.
Young, he thought. Baby-faced soldiers who would, pray heaven, never be called upon to do things such as he’d done. Nor to see things such as he’d seen.
He held the grim thoughts close as he stepped onto the terrace, his eyes adjusting to the dark. There were strands of tiny white lights everywhere, making it look almost like a fairy tale. But the lights provided far less illumination than atmosphere.
Still, he saw her. Meredith. Standing alone, adrift in a swath of dull gold silk, her hands resting on the low stone wall at the perimeter of the terrace. Nothing glaring or flashy for Meredith. She was far too classic for that. The only time she glittered was when she wore a jeweled tiara or a collar of diamonds.
How many times had he heard his men talking about the three princesses fair? Meredith, Megan and Anastasia. There wasn’t a man living in the country who hadn’t fantasized about one of them at one time or another. Who hadn’t dreamed of sharing a word or a dance or a kiss with any one of their Royal Highnesses.
Pierce rolled the crystal flute between his fingers and wondered what she was thinking as she stood looking at the sea, her profile as pure as the cool moonlight that outlined it.
Was she thinking of Megan and Jean-Paul? Pierce knew the couple would be spending their honeymoon at sail. Or was there something else on Meredith’s mind? Someone else?
Whatever thoughts circled in Meredith’s head were none of his business, of course. None at all. Which didn’t explain in the least why Pierce was allowing himself to dwell on it. He wasn’t a masochist. And thinking about Meredith, knowing there wasn’t one bloody thing he could do about the reasons he must remain uninvolved with her, did nothing but cause him pain.
Pierce’s business was intelligence. Professionally, he’d kept more than his share of secrets. Some he’d created or caused, some he’d protected. Keeping his feelings for Meredith under control, under wraps, never to let them see the light of day, was about the most difficult secret he faced. When he was at the base, at the small home he’d inherited from his parents in the Aronleigh Mountains or even at his flat in Sterling, it wasn’t such a daily struggle.
When in Marlestone, however, the capital city, with this very impressive palace looking over it, Pierce felt constantly battered with the desire to get closer to her and the need to remain away. Far away.
And everyone said women were contrary creatures, he thought ironically as he headed not safely toward the nearest exit and home but straight toward Meredith.
She didn’t betray so much as a start when he joined her at the low stone wall. A breeze had kicked up. Moonlight caught, trapped and gently released in the swelling ripples of water so far below.
“I love the scent,” Meredith murmured.
“Sea.”