November Harlequin Presents 1(30)

Glancing up, Carrie thought she saw a flicker of amusement on Nico’s face, too. Was he laughing at her?

As he sat down Nico reflected that he had just shared the warmest look with his mother he could remember for years. It seemed Carrie’s pluck had impressed both of them; she had certainly taken the stuffiness out of the occasion. How long since he’d relaxed like this at a state banquet? How long since someone had broken all the rules only to endear herself to the king? Who couldn’t take his eyes off her, he noticed now. Driven to move closer to Carrie, he moved his seat to sit next to her.

Carrie tensed as Nico came to sit beside her. She was aware of nothing now but his mocking gaze on her face.

‘My mother tells me there’s been some mix-up over your gown,’ he said, leaning closer. ‘I’m sure there must have been. Do something about that, will you?’

He was staring straight down her cleavage.

‘And what do you suggest?’ Carrie demanded, though she could feel her face turning red when she checked. Her breasts had almost escaped the confines of the uncomfortable bodice and she had to make some speedy adjustments in order to avoid a very public disaster.

‘Charming,’ Nico murmured, bringing his face even closer. ‘Such style and grace…As a royal guest you make a very good sideshow, Carrie Evans.’

‘If you had listened to me in the first place, I wouldn’t be here,’ Carrie pointed out tensely.

‘But then I would have missed this…’

‘Perhaps you think this is funny, because you’re used to events like this, and can relax. But I can assure you that being laughed at by everyone isn’t remotely funny for me—’

‘Carrie, no…’He tried to stop her as she left the table, but she was too quick for him. She even managed to fit in a curtsy to the king and to his mother before picking up her skirts and fleeing the dais.

And now she left him no alternative but to go after her.



He caught up with her outside where she had stopped to slip off her shoes. ‘What on earth do you think you’re doing, running off like that?’

She ignored him and started tugging up the awful dress around her thighs. ‘Stop that!’ he insisted, glancing round to see if anyone else could see.

‘I have to walk somehow,’ she said, sniffing loudly.

She was crying, he realised, but her legs were the most shapely legs he’d ever seen and he didn’t feel like sharing the sight of them with any of the other guests. ‘If you take my arm you won’t need to do that,’ he offered gruffly.

Take his arm? To wrap it round his throat, perhaps! ‘Thank you…’ Carrie could see the sense in Nico’s suggestion, even if she didn’t like to admit it. She was having enough trouble coping with the dress when she was walking on a level surface, let alone trying to keep her balance on the steps. Loath though she was to accept Nico’s assistance, she knew she couldn’t risk a fall.

But once she took his arm Carrie realised she had made a tactical error, because all she was aware of now was Nico’s warmth and his strength and the intoxicating tang of his cologne.

‘Where would you like me to take you, Carrie?’ he murmured, no doubt expecting her to say, straight to bed.

‘To my room, if you please…’ She was quite proud of herself. She sounded like a heroine in a period novel. But anything less and the game was over.

‘Very well,’ Nico said, playing along.

Her mind was full of the touch of his mouth and the warm possession of his tongue, she could feel his hands moulding her limbs, directing her pleasure, increasing and prolonging it…And then as he plundered her mouth she would open for him like a flower, and—

Here they were. What a relief. ‘Thank you,’ she said politely, disentangling her arm from his at the door. ‘I’m going to see the evening through,’ she informed him. ‘I gave my promise to your mother, and I won’t let her down. I’m going to shower now and see if I can find something more suitable to wear. I’d like you to apologise to the king for me and to your mother, of course, and say that if they will allow me to I should like to join them for coffee.’

‘And do you expect me to escort you back to the banqueting hall, too?’ His voice was mocking, but he admired her spirit, even if he knew he shouldn’t fall for it.

‘Thank you. That’s very kind of you,’ she told him politely.

He turned his back without giving her chance to respond. His feelings were colliding: mistrust with admiration. She had suffered terribly from the frosty reception she had received in the banqueting hall and most people would have had enough. He could have told her that the royal family had appreciated the interlude, and that he had, too, but did she need any more encouragement? He doubted it. She was determined to face them all again. He had to admit he would have done the same thing, and could only applaud her decision to return.