Royal Catch, page 9
“No, ma’am.”
I turn to face her and give her a weak smile. “Thank you, Anna.”
She bobs her head, curtsies, and walks swiftly out the door.
I cross to the bed and flop backward on it. I shouldn’t be this upset. Except what if I never see him again? I never got to say goodbye or thank him for his generosity in giving me a spectacular orgasm and asking for nothing in return. Oh shit. What if that’s the reason he left? He was trying to restrain himself from taking Polly’s innocence. Is he hooking up with another woman to deal with his unsatisfied lust? My gut does a slow roll. I have no right to be jealous, no right to Gabriel at all, yet everything in me rebels at the thought of him with another woman.
And then it hits me. The terrible incredibly stupid truth—I’m falling for him.
I place the blame entirely on his magnificent shoulders. With his smoldering looks and gruff tenderness, any woman would fall hard. And the worst part is, I know it’s impossible. Even if he forgave me for lying about who I am, which is not at all a sure thing, he needs to marry nobility. Otherwise, why would we be having this competition among princesses? I’m the furthest thing from nobility—an American orphan—and I could never fit the traditional royal mold. My distant relation to Polly—sixth cousins tied by a common ancestor eight generations back—doesn’t count as royal anything. She was clear on that. I’m still a commoner.
I sit up and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Enough wallowing. I came here with a specific goal. That’s where I need to focus. I’ll stick around until I win something of value, and then I’ll take the money and run. I have to rescue Polly. That’s all that matters.
Only what if the competition is over while Gabriel is gone?
~ ~ ~
I slept terribly and drag myself down to the parlor for breakfast. I should be happy because Anna told me this morning that the queen will join us at breakfast to give us further instructions, which means the competition will continue. Or it could mean the queen is going to choose a bride in Gabriel’s absence and send the rest of us packing. I’m not sure what it means. I’m irritated, fatigued, and want to punch someone.
I get myself a cup of coffee, slather butter on toast, and slump into a seat. There are only six of us left on day three. The two princesses with backbones, Marguerite and Francesca, who I suggested as ideal matches for Gabriel, are still here. I’m insanely jealous of them both. If the competition keeps going, I just know one of them will win the ultimate prize. One of them will have what I can never have.
Today’s competition, if there is one, will be my last. I tried my best, I really did, but I can’t stay here when everything about this place reminds me of him.
I force down my toast and slurp my coffee, head down, stewing in silence while the princesses murmur to each other in polite conversation. After I finish, I lift my head, and one look at the pretty princesses sitting around the table sipping tea makes me think guiltily of Polly.
I exhale sharply. This is all Gabriel’s fault. If he weren’t such an irresistible temptation, I never would be in this horrible predicament. Damn you, Gabriel Rourke! I swear if I ever see you again, I will tear you—
“Gabriel!” I leap from my seat in my surprise.
He’s walking behind the queen, but I can only focus on him. His piercing blue-green eyes lock on mine for an intense moment before he continues on to the head of the table.
The queen has her sour-lemon face on. The princesses are standing and shooting me sideways looks like I did the wrong thing again. Was it calling Gabriel by his given name instead of Your Highness? Or was it something with the queen? Crap. I forgot to bow my head and curtsy to the queen.
I do a belated head bow and curtsy to her. “Good morning, Your Majesty.”
She says nothing, merely takes her seat at the head of the table. We all follow suit, except Gabriel, who remains standing.
The queen lifts a hand. “To make things interesting and to remind you of the real prize, today one of you will win a diamond necklace worthy of a queen.”
I suck in air. Yes! I catch Gabriel’s eye. One side of his mouth curls up in a small smile that warms me to my toes. Maybe he wasn’t hooking up with another woman last night. Maybe he had some charity event or royal duty to attend to. Maybe he was trying to keep the temptation of virgin Polly at bay all while arranging today’s prize specifically to help me. Maybe he’ll help me win it too. The tension drains from me, leaving me almost woozy. Maybe I’m halfway in love with him, which is stupid and wrong, but when he does amazing things like this, I can’t help myself.
The queen goes on. “To win, you must each solve a puzzle. Each puzzle is different. The first one to solve their puzzle correctly will be given the location of the prize.”
“A jigsaw puzzle, Your Majesty?” I ask.
Her lips form a disapproving slash. “All will be answered in due time.” She gestures to the servants waiting nearby. The table is quickly cleared.
We all watch as another servant steps forward with a large open basket and neatly sets a piece of paper, pencil, and notepad in front of each princess. My heart sinks. It’s not a jigsaw puzzle. I suck at brain teasers. My brain doesn’t like to be teased; it likes to be satisfied with real-world questions and answers.
“I’ll leave you to it,” the queen says and stands. Everyone immediately stands, bowing and curtsying to her. She leaves and Gabriel follows, shooting me a sympathetic look before heading out. That can’t be good.
I take my seat again. My paper says “home bias in trade puzzle” in bold at the top. My stomach drops as I read the instructions. It’s a puzzle involving the clash of economic theory and practice. Uh, hello? They didn’t cover advanced economics in beauty school. I glance over at Elizabeth’s puzzle to my right. Hers says the Backus-Smith puzzle. This was definitely the twisted queen’s idea. Gabriel would keep it easy, I think, something where he could give me an advantage and help me win. Plus he looked like he felt sorry for me having to do an economics puzzle.
I am so screwed. I casually flip through the notepad in case Gabriel left me a secret clue. Nothing. I glance around at the furrowed brows of the other princesses, hoping economics wasn’t involved in their education either.
We’re left alone to solve our puzzles with only one servant monitoring us, Albert, the old guy who unsuccessfully tried to teach the princesses how to ride bikes. The women are quiet, the only sound pencils scratching on paper. My pencil remains on the table because I don’t even know where to start.
A long time passes. I’m not sure how long, but my ass is sore from sitting on the hard wooden chair for so long, and I’m getting PTSD flashbacks to high school, my hands clammy, my nerves on edge, knowing I’m going to get a big fat red F scrawled across my empty page. The worst part is it’s not just me who failed today. I’ve failed Polly too. This was the kind of prize that would’ve made her freedom possible.
Suddenly Francesca leaps up and presents her puzzle to Albert. He gives her a small slip of paper, which she reads and then immediately runs from the room.
I leap up to follow her, and everyone else does too. Surely the queen saw this coming. There’s one prize and Francesca is leading us right to it.
Francesca glances over her shoulder at the pack of princesses at her back and picks up speed, barreling through a long hallway that leads to the courtyard. We’re at a full run now. She dashes past manicured gardens and keeps going all the way to a small children’s play area with a sandbox. She drops to her knees and starts digging with her hands. That’s how badly she wants a diamond necklace. Dignified, composed Princess Francesca is digging in the sand. Well, guess what? I want it more.
I join her, digging all around, feeling for a box. Suddenly the six of us are crammed into the sandbox in a frenzy of digging. Sand is flying everywhere, elbows jabbing for space. We’re savages, feral competitors desperate for the prize. Someone knocks into my shoulder hard, but I just keep going.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Elizabeth lift a wooden box. We turn like a well-oiled predatory machine, all of us with our eyes on that box. I dive for it in near unison with the other women, caught in a tangle of arms and legs as we battle for possession. Elizabeth is losing her grip, only one hand on the box now. Before I can grab it, Francesca pulls Elizabeth’s arm so hard she drops the box and lets out an unearthly scream like she’s being murdered.
We freeze for a moment. Elizabeth’s arm looks weird, hanging there at an odd angle. Suddenly she collapses in a dead faint from the pain.
“Help!” I holler, leaping out of the sandbox. “We need a doctor!” I’m not sure if her arm is broken or dislocated. It’s probably better she’s unconscious with that kind of pain.
Albert appears from behind the shrubbery. “I’ve got it.” He pulls a phone from his pocket, urgently requests help, and then goes to Elizabeth’s side.
Francesca has left the sandbox, the box in her possession now, but Marguerite is on her back, wildly clawing for the box from behind. The other princesses stand next to Elizabeth, staring down at her and whispering.
Elizabeth has the help she needs, so I waste no time and rush to the front of Francesca to snag the box. She’s strong and puts up a good fight, but Marguerite is holding her back, and the box is mine. Yes!
I sprint back through the gardens, through the hallways of the palace, and straight upstairs to the safety of my room. I lock the door and barricade it with a chair jammed under the doorknob.
Finally, still breathing hard, my heart pounding, I open the box. Oh my God. It’s beautiful—a chain of glittering diamonds with a huge diamond pendant hanging from the center. This should be in a museum. The pendant alone would be enough to do right by Polly. With shaking hands, I lift the necklace from the box and put it on. I gaze down at the beauty of it and go to the vanity mirror to admire it more, imagining just for a moment that I really am a princess and I’m about to attend a royal ball.
The doorknob rattles harshly, startling me. Someone raps hard on the door. “Security,” a man’s voice barks. “Open the door.”
My heart leaps to my throat. Security is going to accuse me of stealing this necklace. It was all a setup to toss me in jail and throw away the key. The queen’s revenge for all my impertinence.
“Be right there!” I quickly take off the necklace and put it back in its box. Then I stuff it in the back of the vanity drawer, hiding the evidence.
“We’re breaking the door down!” the security man barks.
“I’ll open it!” I race to the door, drag the chair away, and unlock it. I jump back just in time as the door flies open and four security guards swarm into the room followed by the queen and Gabriel.
Security scours the room, tossing about my meager wardrobe as they empty dresser drawers and go through the closet. One of the guards finds the box in the vanity drawer. “Got it,” he says, and the team stands down.
Everyone watches as he opens the box and slams it shut. “It’s all here, Your Majesty.”
“Very well,” the queen says. “See that it gets to Francesca. You may go.” The security team leaves and she turns to me. “You didn’t solve the puzzle. This was a test of the mind not of the body.”
I hold my breath, waiting for the hammer to fall. What does the queen have against me? This prize wouldn’t have meant I was the one chosen for Gabriel. There are still six of us here, still more competing to do. And, dammit, I needed this.
The queen stares at me for a long moment. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
I silently seethe at the accusation in her tone. I didn’t do anything different than the other princesses. We were all grappling for the prize. I glance at Gabriel. He’s quiet, but he doesn’t look judgmental.
I address the queen in a civil tone. “Your Majesty, I haven’t been taught economic theory. Ask me anything practical and I could tell you a solution.”
“She used her wits to best the others,” Gabriel puts in, coming to my defense. It’s not true. I used my fighting instincts honed on years of defending myself from foster home bullies. He wants me to win. Does he actually want me for his wife now? The thought simultaneously elates me and terrifies me. He doesn’t know the real me. He doesn’t know it’s impossible.
The queen harrumphs. “She yanked the prize from the true winner like a playground bully.”
Gabriel fires back, “What about Francesca? She pulled Elizabeth’s shoulder right out of its socket. And Polly was the only one who stopped grappling for the prize to call for a doctor.”
The queen grimaces. “That was unfortunate. Marguerite lost a tooth too.” She slowly shakes her head before saying, “This didn’t go the way I envisioned. We will correct and carry on.” She leaves.
Gabriel mouths sorry to me and follows her out the door.
He’s on my side now. Somehow that means so much more than a diamond necklace. Tonight I’ll go to his room, and together we’ll make a plan to end this crazy competition to both of our benefits. If not, I’ll have to say goodbye.
My gut churns, my chest tight. Maybe goodbye is the only option. A future with Gabriel is a royal fantasy, and haven’t all of those been shattered?
Chapter Nine
Gabriel
I stare at the ceiling in my empty bed, wide-awake, stupidly hoping Polly will join me here. I’m torturing myself because I know I shouldn’t go after a virgin. If she comes to me on her own, then it would mean she wants this as much as I do, and I’d have nothing to feel guilty about. I want her badly, even knowing it cannot go any further. I can’t ask her to be my wife and destroy her spirit with the traditional kind of life she’s turned her back on in her own kingdom. Not to mention the fact that my mother has taken an intense dislike to her. She called frigging security on her!
I scrub a hand over my face. I had to leave Villroy entirely last night to avoid the temptation of Polly. I met up with one of my usual lovers in Paris for dinner, and that was where it ended. I couldn’t go through with it. Suddenly, beautiful sophisticated Katrina seemed too quiet, too coy, her blond hair too thin and lacking in curls. I wanted her to be Polly.
I headed straight home, formulating a plan. I thought if I set up today’s competition so that Polly could easily win a prize of some value, she’d be so overcome with gratitude for my help that we’d share a night together before she left. Yup. Thinking with my dick with predictably poor results.
It was my idea to offer the necklace. The economic puzzles were not. I can’t figure out what my mother was thinking with that one. Of course it would come down to a brawl with the puzzle winner leading the way to the prize. Was that always the goal? Maybe she thought a catfight would be entertaining. She probably didn’t anticipate it would get out of hand with real injuries. In fact, the two wounded princesses, Elizabeth and Marguerite, left on their own, fed up with the whole barbaric game, and who could blame them? I watched the brawl on the closed-circuit TV, rooting for Polly the whole time. And my girl won.
Not my girl. The fact that the prize was taken from her can only mean this game is rigged against her. Not surprising since my mother has been clear that Polly is not suited to be queen.
I roll to my side and stare at the bedroom door, willing her to appear. Long moments pass and my hope fades. I close my eyes, my mind flashing back to my time with Polly. When she first walked into the palace in her loud sexy dress and mistook me for the butler. Outrageous.
Polly in a bikini, unknowingly giving me a sexy show. Tempting.
Polly hugging me as we shared our pain. Deeply touching.
Polly sneaking into my room to barter a deal with me. Kissing her, touching her, tasting her. I veer away from that memory, already aching with need.
The dark of the cave when I startled her, and she hugged me tight like I was a comfort. I’ve never been anyone’s comfort.
My eyes fly open at the creak of the bedroom door. The outline of wild curls and a short robe have me reaching out in the dark. She closes the door and pads slowly in. I realize she can’t see me, and I turn on the light on the nightstand.
She smiles. My chest expands with a surge of affection. Somehow it’s like she really sees me and not all the royal trappings that keep others at a distance. I’m absurdly happy she’s here.
She slips out of her sandals and stands next to the bed, looking down at me. “You’re awake.”
“What took you so long?” I pull her into bed with me and turn off the light.
“You were expecting me?” she whispers, cuddling right up against me. I’m in my boxer briefs, and the feel of warm sexy woman against my bare skin is exquisite sensual torture.
I cup her jaw and lift her face for my kiss. “Yes.” I slide my leg between hers, and we lie there, sideways hugging as close as two people can be while keeping one a virgin.
“This competition has gotten out of hand,” she whispers.
I keep my voice low. “Agreed. And you should’ve won today.” I don’t know why, but lying in the dark whispering feels more intimate than anything physical.
Her fingers slide through the hair at the nape of my neck. “The queen doesn’t like me.”
I rub her back, trying to soothe. “It’s not personal. She wants the best candidate for the job of queen. She knows what it takes.”
“And she thinks I don’t have what it takes.”
I smooth her hair back from her face, enjoying the soft curls. “I have a feeling my mother has her ideal candidate in mind already.”
“Francesca.”
“Maybe, I’m not sure. I just know it’s not you.”
Silence. Maybe I hurt her feelings.
I give her a small squeeze. “This competition is the last thing I wanted, but it brings my father comfort.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “I haven’t seen him. Are there hidden cameras so he can watch?”
I wince because that sounds creepy, but there are extenuating circumstances—his poor health, the need for a smooth succession, the future of the kingdom. “Yes. He’s very ill, bedridden for the better part of a year. He watches on closed-circuit TV.”
