Crown Prince's Chosen Bride Page 4

His life had been very different before the accident that had killed his brother. Before the spare had suddenly become the heir. His carefree and some might even say hedonistic life as the second son had been abruptly curtailed.

  There had been unsuitable girlfriends—forbidden to him now. He had taken risks on the racing-car circuit and on horseback, had scaled the mountains that towered over Montovia. Now everything he did came under scrutiny. The Crown took priority over everything. Duty had always governed part of his life. Now it was to be his all.

  But he had demanded to be allowed to take this vacation—insisted on this last freedom before he had to buckle under to duty. To responsibility. For the love of his country.

  His fascination with Gemma Harper was nowhere on the approved official agenda...

  ‘I’m trying to imagine what other feats of magic you can perform,’ he said, attempting to come to terms with the potent spell she had cast on him. The allure of her lush mouth. The warmth of her eyes. The inexplicable longing for her that had led him to planning this day.

  He should not be thinking this way about a commoner.

  She bit her lip, took a step back from him. ‘My magic trick is to make sure your lunch date goes smoothly. But I don’t need a fairy’s wand for that.’ Her dimples disappeared. ‘I want everything to be to your satisfaction. Are you happy with the Argus?’

  Her voice was suddenly stilted, as if she had extracted the laughter and levity from it. Back to business was the message. And she was right. A business arrangement. That was all there should be between them.

  ‘It’s a very handsome boat,’ he said. He was used to millionaire’s toys. Took this level of luxury for granted. But that didn’t stop him appreciating it. And he couldn’t put a price on the spectacular view. ‘I’m very happy with it for this purpose.’

  ‘Good. The Argus is my favourite of any of the boats we’ve worked on,’ she said. ‘I love its wonderful Art Deco style. It’s from another era of graciousness.’

  ‘Would you like me to show you around?’ he said.

  If she said yes, he would make only a cursory inspection of the luxury bedrooms, the grand stateroom. He did not want her to get the wrong idea. Or to torture himself with thoughts of what could never be.

  She shook her head. ‘No need. I’m familiar with the layout,’ she said. ‘We held a corporate party here earlier in the spring. I’d like to catch up with my staff now.’

  ‘Your waiter has already set up for lunch on the deck.’

  ‘I’d like to see how it looks,’ she said.

  She had a large tan leather bag slung over her shoulder. ‘Let me take your bag for you,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you, but I’m fine,’ she said, clutching on to the strap.

  ‘I insist,’ he said. The habits of courtliness and chivalry towards women had been bred into him.

  She shrugged. ‘Okay.’ Reluctantly, she handed it to him.

  The weight of her bag surprised him, and he pretended to stagger on the deck. ‘What have you got in here? An arsenal of wooden spoons?’

  Her eyes widened, and she laughed. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘So I don’t need to seek out my armour?’

  It was tempting to tell her about the suits of medieval armour in the castle he called home. As a boy he’d thought everyone had genuine armour to play with—it hadn’t been until he was older that he’d become aware of his uniquely privileged existence. Privileged and restricted.

  But he couldn’t reveal his identity to her yet. He wanted another day of just being plain Tristan. Just a guy getting to know a girl.

  ‘Of course you don’t need armour. Besides, I wasn’t actually going to hit you with that wooden spoon, you know.’

  ‘You had me worried back in that kitchen,’ he teased. He was getting used to speaking English again, relaxing into the flow of words.

  ‘I don’t believe that for a second,’ she said. ‘You’re so much bigger than me, and—’

  ‘And what?’

  ‘I...I trusted that you wouldn’t hurt me.’

  He had to clear his throat. ‘I would never hurt you,’ he said. And yet he wasn’t being honest with her. Inadvertently, he could hurt her. But it would not be by intent. This was just one day.

  ‘So what’s really in the bag?’ he asked.

  ‘It’s only bits and pieces of my favourite kitchen equipment—just in case I might need them.’

  ‘Just in case the chef can’t do his job?’ he asked.

  ‘You did want me here to supervise,’ she said, her laughter gone as he reminded her of why she thought she was on board. ‘And supervise I need to. Please. I have to see where we will be serving lunch.’

  There was a formal dining area inside the cabin, but Tristan was glad Party Queens had chosen to serve lunch at an informal area with the best view at the fore of the boat. Under shelter from the sun and protected from the breeze. The very professional waiter had already set an elegant table with linen mats, large white plates and gleaming silver.

  Gemma nodded in approval when she saw it. Then straightened a piece of cutlery into perfect alignment with another without seeming to be aware she was doing it.

  ‘Our staff have done their usual good job,’ she said. ‘We’ll drop anchor at Store Beach at lunchtime. That will be very romantic.’

  She stressed the final word with a tight twist of her lips that surprised him.

  ‘I don’t know where Store Beach is, but I’m looking forward to seeing it,’ he said.

  ‘It’s near Manly, which is a beachside suburb—the start of our wonderful northern beaches. Store Beach is a secluded beach accessible only from the water. I’m sure you and your...uh...date will like it.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘In the meantime, it’s only ten o’clock. We can set up for morning tea or coffee now, if you’d like?’

  ‘Coffee would be good,’ he said. Sydney had surprised him in many ways—not least of which was with its excellent European-style coffee.

  Gemma gave the table setting another tweak and then stepped away from it. ‘All that’s now lacking is your guest. Are we picking her up from another wharf, or is she already on board?’

  ‘She’s already on board,’ he said.

  ‘Oh...’ she said. ‘Is she—?’ She turned to look towards the passageway that led to the living area and bedrooms.

  ‘She’s not down there,’ he said.

  ‘Then where—?’

  He sought the correct words. ‘She...she’s right here,’ he said.

  ‘I don’t see anyone.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t get it.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘You are my guest for lunch, Gemma.’

  She stilled. For a long moment she didn’t say anything. Tristan shifted from foot to foot. He couldn’t tell if she was pleased or annoyed.

  ‘Me?’ she said finally, in a voice laced with disbelief.

  ‘You said there was a rule about you not spending time outside of work with clients. So I arranged to have time with you while you were officially at work.’

  Her shoulders were held hunched and high. ‘You...you tricked me. I don’t like being tricked.’

  ‘You could call it that—and I apologise for the deception. But there didn’t seem to be another way. I had to see you again, Gemma.’

  She took a deep intake of breath. ‘Why didn’t you just ask me?’

  ‘Would you have said “yes”?’

  She bowed her head. ‘Perhaps not.’

  ‘I will ask you now. Will you be my guest for lunch on board the Argus?’

  She looked down at the deck.

  He reached out his hand and tilted her chin upwards so she faced him. ‘Please?’

  He could see the emotions dancing across her face. Astonishment. A hint of anger. And could that be r
elief?

  Her shoulders relaxed, and her dimples made a brief appearance in the smoothness of her cheeks. ‘I guess as you have me trapped on board I have no choice but to say “yes”.’

  ‘Trapped? I don’t wish you to feel trapped...’ He didn’t want to seem arrogant and domineering—job descriptions that came with the role of crown prince. His brother had fulfilled them impeccably. They sat uncomfortably with Tristan. ‘Gemma, if this is unacceptable to you, I’ll ask the captain to turn back to Lavender Bay. You can get off. Is that what you want?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. That’s not what I want. I...I want to be here with you. In fact, I can’t tell you how happy I am there’s no other woman. I might have been tempted to throw her overboard.’

  Her peal of laughter that followed was delightful, and it made him smile in response.

  ‘Surely you wouldn’t do that?’

  She looked up at him, her eyes dancing with new confidence. ‘You might be surprised at what I’m capable of,’ she murmured. ‘You don’t know me at all, Tristan.’

  ‘I hope to remedy that today,’ he said.

  Already he knew that this single day he’d permitted himself to share with her would not be enough. He had to anchor his feet to the deck so he didn’t swing her into his arms. He must truly be bewitched. Because he couldn’t remember when he’d last felt such anticipation at the thought of spending time with a woman.

  ‘Welcome aboard, Gemma,’ he said—and had to stop himself from sweeping into a courtly bow.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  GEMMA COULDN’T STOP SMILING—in relief, anticipation and a slowly bubbling excitement. After all that angst, she was Tristan’s chosen date for the romantic lunch. She was the one he’d gone to so much effort and expense to impress. The thought made her heart skitter with wonder and more than a touch of awe.

  She’d joked about casting spells, but something had happened back there in her kitchen—some kind of connection between her and Tristan that was quite out of the ordinary. It seemed he had felt it, too. She ignored the warning of the insistent twitching of her antennae. This magical feeling was not just warm and fuzzy lust born from Tristan’s incredible physical appeal and the fact that she was coming out of a six-month man drought.

  Oh, on a sensual level she wanted him, all right—her knees were still shaky just from the touch of his hand gripping hers as he’d helped her across the gangplank. But she didn’t want Tristan just as a gorgeous male body to satisfy physical hunger. It was something so much deeper than that. Which was all kinds of crazy when he was only going to be around for a short time. And was still as much of a mystery to her as he had been the day they’d met.

  For her, this was something more than just physical attraction. But what about him? Was this just a prelude to seduction? Was he a handsome guy with all the right words—spoken in the most charming of accents—looking for a no-strings holiday fling?

  She tried to think of all those ‘right’ reasons for staying away from Tristan but couldn’t remember one of them. By tricking her into this lunch with him, he had taken the decision out of her hands. But there was no need to get carried away. This was no big deal. It was only lunch. It would be up to her to say no if this was a net cast to snare her into a one-night stand.

  She reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek in an effort to make it casual. ‘Thank you.’

  She was rewarded by the relief in his smile. ‘It is absolutely my pleasure,’ he said.

  ‘Does Eliza know?’ she asked. Had her friend been in on this deception?

  Tristan shook his head. ‘I didn’t tell her why I wanted you on board. I sense she’s quite protective of you. I didn’t want anything to prevent you from coming today.’

  Of course Eliza was protective of her. Andie, too. Her friends had been there to pick up the pieces after the Alistair fallout. Eliza had seemed impressed with Tristan, though—impressed with him as a client...maybe not so impressed with him as a candidate for Gemma’s first foray back into the dating world. He was still in many ways their Mr Mystery. But she could find out more about him today.

  ‘I did protest that I wasn’t really needed,’ she said, still secretly delighted at the way things had turned out. ‘Not when there are a chef and a waiter and a crew on the boat.’

  ‘I’m sure the bonus I added to the Party Queens fee guaranteed your presence on board. She’s a shrewd businesswoman, your partner.’

  ‘Yes, she is,’ Gemma agreed. No wonder Eliza hadn’t objected to Gemma’s time being so wastefully spent. How glad she was now that Eliza had insisted she go. But she felt as though the tables had been turned on her, and she wasn’t quite sure where she stood.

  She looked up at Tristan. Her heart flipped over at how handsome he was, with the sea breeze ruffling his hair, his eyes such a vivid blue against his tan. He looked totally at home on this multi-million-dollar boat, seemingly not impressed by the luxury that surrounded them. She wondered what kind of world he came from. One where money was not in short supply, she guessed.

  ‘I...I’m so pleased about this...this turn of events,’ she said. ‘Thrilled, in fact. But how do we manage it? I...I feel a bit like Cinderella. One minute I’m in the kitchen, the next minute I’m at the ball.’

  He seemed amused by her flight of fancy, and he smiled. What was it about his smile that appealed so much? His perfect teeth? The warmth in his eyes? The way his face creased into lines of good humour?

  ‘I guess you could see it like that...’ he said.

  ‘And if I’m Cinderella...I guess you’re the prince.’

  His smile froze, and tension suddenly edged his voice. ‘What...what do you mean?’

  Gemma felt a sudden chill that was not a sea breeze. It perplexed her. ‘Cinderella... The ball... The prince... The pumpkin transformed into a carriage... You know...’ she said, gesturing with her hands. ‘Don’t you have the story of Cinderella in your country?’

  ‘Uh...of course,’ he said with an obvious relief that puzzled her. ‘Those old fairytales originally came from Europe.’

  So she’d unwittingly said the wrong thing? Maybe he thought she had expectations of something more than a day on the harbour. Of getting her claws into him. She really was out of practice. At dating. At flirting. Simply talking with a man who attracted her.

  ‘I meant... Well, I meant that Cinderella meets the prince and you...well, you’re as handsome as any fairytale prince and... Never mind.’

  She glanced down at her white sneakers, tied with jaunty blue laces. Maybe this wasn’t the time to be making a joke about a glass slipper.

  Tristan nodded thoughtfully. ‘Of course. And I found Cinderella in her kitchen...’

  She felt uncomfortable about carrying this any further. He seemed to be making too much effort to join in the story. His English was excellent, but maybe he’d missed the nuances of the analogy. Maybe he had trouble with her Australian accent.

  ‘Yes. And talking of kitchens, I need to talk to the chef and—’ She made to turn back towards the door that led inside the cabin.

  Tristan reached out and put his hand on her arm to stop her.

  ‘You don’t need to do anything but enjoy yourself,’ he said, his tone now anything but uncertain. ‘I’ve spoken to your staff. They know that you are my honoured guest.’

  He dropped his hand from her arm so she could turn back to face him. ‘You said that? You called me your “honoured guest”?’ There was something about his formal way of speaking that really appealed to her. His words made her want to preen with pleasure.

  ‘I did—and they seemed pleased,’ he said.

  Party Queens had a policy of only hiring staff they personally liked. The freelance chef on board today was a guy she’d worked with in her restaurant days. But it was the Australian way to be irreverent... She suspected s
he might be teased about this sudden switch from staff to guest. Especially having lunch in the company of such an exceptionally good-looking man.

  ‘They were pleased I’m out of their hair?’ she asked.

  ‘Pleased for you. They obviously hold their boss in high regard.’

  ‘That’s nice,’ she said, nodding.

  Hospitality could be a tense business at times, what with deadlines and temperamental clients and badly behaving guests. It was good to have it affirmed that the staff respected her.

  ‘What about lunch?’ she said, indicating the direction of the kitchen. ‘The—?’

  Tristan waved her objections away. ‘Relax, Gemma.’ A smile hovered at the corners of his mouth. As if he were only too aware of how difficult she found it to give up control of her job. ‘I’m the host. You are my guest. Forget about what’s going on in the kitchen. Just enjoy being the guest—not the party planner.’

  ‘This might take some getting used to,’ she said with a rueful smile. ‘But thank you, yes.’

  ‘Good,’ he said.

  ‘I’m not sure of one thing,’ she said. ‘Do you still want me as your tour guide? If that’s the case, I need to be pointing out some sights to you.’

  She turned from him, took a few steps to the railing and looked out, the breeze lifting her hair from her face.

  ‘On the right—oh, hang on...don’t we say “starboard” on a boat? To starboard are the Finger Wharves at Walsh Bay. The configuration is like a hand—you know, with each wharf a finger. The wharves are home to the Sydney Theatre Company. It’s a real experience to go to the theatre there and—’

  ‘Stop!’

  She turned, to see Tristan with his hand held up in a halt sign. His hands were attractive, large with long elegant fingers. Yes, nice hands were an asset on a man, too. She wondered how they would feel—

  She could not go there.

  Gemma knew she’d been chattering on too much about the wharves. Gabbling, in fact. But she suddenly felt...nervous in Tristan’s presence. And chatter had always been her way of distancing herself from an awkward situation.