“It doesn’t have to be that way, Hannah. You can stay here. I want you to stay here with me, as my wife.”
* * * *
Peter left the surveillance van and headed toward the storefront. His tactic these last few days, making it appear as if Rachel was left alone and unprotected, had been worth a shot. But so far, this particular fishing expedition had failed to catch anything.
And if he had to listen to the chatter of those two twits Rachel had hired for one minute more, he’d shoot himself.
He’d been there when she’d interviewed the two of them, and a half dozen other candidates. On personality alone, Peter thought, he’d have made different choices. The fact that he understood why Rachel had picked the two she had didn’t make them any less annoying. Simone
Balieur
was an always cheerful, somewhat rotund little elf-like woman in her early twenties. She’d worked as a seamstress for Rosemarie for three years, being the sole support of her mother and younger sister. Rachel attested to the excellence of her sewing, which constituted, she teased him, the
only
thing that really mattered.
Dagmar Ortega appeared as emaciated as Simone was plump. White, white skin with short black spiky hair, the girl gave Peter the willies. A cousin to Maria
Verdue
, a member of the Royal household staff for more than ten years, she’d studied and become an accomplished seamstress. Both women had, of course, passed Peter’s security check. He frowned when he wondered if he had gone so far downhill that he’d become jealous of anyone else taking up Rachel’s time, even women who likely had no social lives.
Opening the door to the shop, he nodded to Sophie and Catharine, clustered around Rachel’s desk with Rachel and her two assistants, merrily chatting away. Knowing they would be leaving shortly had spurred him to vacate the van and come to Rachel. He needed a break and knew just what he wanted.
“These gowns are the most excellent designs I’ve ever encountered, Your Highness.”
Rachel flushed a bit at the praise. “Thank you, Dagmar. And thanks for your help with fitting mine.”
“Oh, it was an extraordinary honor, I can assure you. I would be extremely happy to put in extra time working on them, if you’d like.”
“If you’d like to come in a half hour earlier tomorrow, that would be wonderful. You too, of course, Simone.”
Peter had to school himself not to wince when Simone giggled, her standard response to almost any situation. Still, her hands worked, quick and efficient as she helped Dagmar gently collect the gowns and carry them through the swinging door into the workroom at the back of the shop.
“Hey, brother mine, have you come to have a gown designed?”
Peter stuck his tongue out at his sister, eliciting even more giggles from Simone. “No, I’ve come to capture the designer and carry her away for a few hours.”
The playful glint didn’t disguise the heat in Rachel’s eyes as she met his gaze.
“Oh, that sounds interesting.”
“Well, I must now return to my desk,” Sophie said, giving her sister, and then Catharine, a hug. “And since I have already had a break, I think it is a very good idea that my sister has one, also.”
“I’m out of here, too,” Catharine said. “See you guys at dinner tonight. Or not.”
Peter walked over to the door and watched as two members of his team stepped away from their waiting cars. He didn’t return to Rachel until both the princess and soon-to-be princess had been escorted, seated safely in the vehicles, and driven away.
After closing the door, he turned to Rachel and shot her a sheepish grin. “I guess I should have asked you first,” Peter said, checking his watch, “as it’s just after noon hour.”
“It is. But I’ve been working since six this morning with not much of a break. I’m a bit tired to finish the work on the dresses now. It would be better for me to start fresh tomorrow. What did you have in mind?”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve gone horseback riding,” he said, lowering his voice slightly. “I thought perhaps we’d head out to the farm. I checked. No one else is using it today.”
“That sounds good. Just let me talk to the girls. They each have a key and can lock up. They’ve both been putting in a lot of time on some of the new designs I want to showcase for my spring collection.”
“It’s only August.”
“Yes, and the spring fashion shows start very soon.”
Peter shook his head. He supposed he didn’t need to understand the ins and outs of the fashion industry.
Within a few minutes, the city was behind them.
“Did I hear you give your staff the rest of the day off?”
“Well, it seemed only fair. Since the boss is taking the rest of the day off.”
“Boy, do you have a
lot
to learn about corporate behavior.” He couldn’t resist teasing her. He was sinking fast, and he knew it. He hated being away from her and sometimes found himself manufacturing excuses to be alone with her.
He’d called ahead. Not only did the gate open promptly upon their approach, but also two horses had been saddled and awaited them in the paddock by the house.
“You were very sure of yourself,” Rachel said tartly when she spotted the beasts.
“No, I had great hope. Let’s ride.”
* * * *
His constant presence, and that one night last week when he’d made love to her without protection, gave her hope. While the latter had not been repeated, and he hadn’t said the words, Rachel sensed Peter loved her—and that he was as unsure of their relationship as she was.
She’d really not meant to let her darkest fears slip. But he’d awakened her when she’d been dreaming about him, about his rejecting her. The moment had been one she’d never forget, and she’d hoped he’d say something the next day about what had passed between them in the night.
But he’d said nothing, and she had no idea where they would go from here. She had her fingers crossed that she
was
pregnant. Then, at least, she would feel justified in confronting him. There seemed a hesitation in him, and if it wasn’t because of her past—his impassioned actions had pretty much assured her of that—then she didn’t know what it could be about.
In the meantime, she would take every moment with him she could.
Mounting Lady Fair, the gray mare she most often rode, Rachel looked over at Peter.
“Thank you for suggesting this. I haven’t ridden in too long myself.”
“Well, not a horse, anyway.”
His cheeky comment, accompanied by a mock leer, made her laugh. “True. I used to be as horse-mad as our Jamie. Hard to imagine now that I let weeks go past without riding.”
“I learned to ride in England, and I loved it from that first time. When I came here, I considered this ranch and access to it to be one of my biggest perks.”
Content to let Peter lead the way, Rachel followed and they made their way along one of the many trails that wound through the forest. The parcel of land, which had been in her family for generations, extended for acres. It was a pastoral combination of forest, meadows, and streams. After a half hour, they emerged into the sunlight and a large, grassy meadow. An old maple tree at the far side of the open expanse had always been a favorite stopping place. Beyond its trunk, a clear mountain stream meandered. The land on the other side of the river had been turned into a public park a decade before. Rachel never passed up an opportunity to stop and take a drink here. The water was cold enough to make her teeth tingle, but she had never tasted anything better.
“Race you,” she taunted and kicked her horse into a gallop toward the sparkling ribbon of water.
“I’ll leave you in the dust!”
She laughed at his macho claim, not at all surprised that he’d anticipated her challenge. Although she sat low and forward and thought she might win, in the blink of an eye, Peter’s black gelding edged ahead of her.
Then the peace of the afternoon shattered with the explosion of gunfire.
* * * *
“I can’t marry you.” Hannah regretted the tone, but not the words. The look of hurt that flashed across Alex’s face felt like a stab to her own heart.
“Of course you can. Hannah, I love you.”
“I love you, too. But I can’t marry you.”
“If you love me, I do not see the problem.”
“You wouldn’t.” Unable to sit still a moment longer, she surged to her feet. How could she make him see? How could she make him understand?
“You’re a king, Alex. The demands on you, on your time, are huge. You need and deserve a wife who can match you in energy and dedication, someone schooled in all the protocol and the politics, the perfect corporate wife. That’s not me.”
“Hannah, I don’t care about protocol or politics. I don’t care if you take on any official duties as my queen, or not. I only care about having you here, with me, always. You can be any kind of wife you want to be, as long as you are mine.”
Hannah had trouble breathing. “I’m a simple woman, and I’ve led a simple life. My God, I never even went to college! The other night when I stood before that mirror and looked at myself, all dressed up for the ball, I knew I was looking at a woman who was playing make-believe. That wasn’t me. Hell, if I hadn’t won that vacation, we’d never have met, because coming to a place like this was so far off the radar for me.
“I’m hot dogs and hamburgers on a summer night. I’m dollar-store bargains and off-the-rack dresses at the department store. I’m Saturday morning ball games with the grandkids and Sunday morning newspapers in bed.
“But I’m not queen material, Alex. I’m just not.”
More than the hurt, the pity Hannah saw reflected in his eyes nearly undid her. She began to shake and couldn’t stop. Tears tracked down her face, and she couldn’t stop them either.
Why hadn’t she seen this coming? But more, why couldn’t she simply grasp the happiness that he was offering her? Why couldn’t she just say the hell with it, accept his proposal, and not worry about assuming the role of queen?
“Oh, Hannah.” He put his hands on her shoulders and then rubbed her arms gently. His kindness was destroying her.
“You don’t have to be afraid. All you have to do is trust me.”
Before she could answer him, the sudden tension on his face as he looked over her shoulder made her turn around slowly. The cold, controlled expression on Michael’s face scared her. Even before he spoke, she knew something terrible had happened.
“Father, Hannah. There’s been an incident at the farm.”
The blast had stopped time.
Rachel could have sworn it did, that even the breeze hung suspended, the leaves of the giant maple frozen in mid-flutter. And then everything happened at once. She watched, horrified as Peter fell from his horse, and her own mare spooked and reeled around on its hind legs, spilling her to the ground at the same time a second shot rang out and her horse screamed. All she could think about was scrabbling across the grass toward Peter’s fallen form, reaching out to touch him, pull him close—and the glistening, warm blood that drenched her fingers.
Pacing the emergency room waiting area, she tried to reconstruct the frantic half hour that followed in her head. She remembered the terror of turning an unconscious Peter over, the horror of blood oozing from high on his left shoulder. Somehow, she’d collected herself enough to whip off her shirt, bunch it into a ball, and press it hard over his wound. She’d fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone, praying the fall hadn’t broken it. A cold calm descended over her then, and one handed, she’d carefully punched in the numbers that would summon help.
When Michael answered, he immediately soothed her with his steady confidence. He stayed on the phone, speaking to her gently even as he barked orders to whoever was in his office with him. He feared for her safety. She told him not to. Peter groaned but didn’t wake as she carefully dragged him to huddle with her against the dubious shelter of the tree. Taking his gun from its holster, she flipped off the safety.
She’d never considered the matter before, but in those moments while she waited for help to arrive, she knew she would kill if she had to.
Andre, the stable-master, reached her first. Disregarding the danger to himself, he’d galloped his horse toward them. Kneeling beside her, he helped her into his own T-shirt, so she wouldn’t meet the emergency medical people in just her bra. He told her that Lady Fair was standing and shivering and that he thought the bullet had only grazed her.
She’d forgotten about her horse.
And he told her that Peter’s pulse beat strong and that he likely fell unconscious as a result of being thrown from the horse and not from being shot.
That bastard had shot Peter, instead of me
.
“Rachel.”
His voice startled her. She spun on her heels, her eyes overflowing, her heart pounding as she
stared at him standing in the doorway of the waiting room. In the next instant, she was beside him, taking his uninjured arm as if to hold him up.
“Mon
dieu
, what are you doing out of bed? Where is that idiot doctor? I will have him fired! You need to lie down. You need to rest. You’ve been shot, for God’s sake!”
“Your Highness, I can assure you that Mr. Jones is—”
At the sound of the patronizing voice, Rachel rounded on the smiling man who stood behind Peter.
“You! Are you a
moron
? Do you know nothing? This man has been shot. He lost consciousness! He needs rest, he needs care—”
“He needs you to give him a hug.”
Because he had spoken to her so quietly, because he asked it, of course she wrapped her arms around his waist gently. He wrapped his right arm around her, his left being in a sling. And then, without warning, she burst into tears.
* * * *
Peter rested his chin atop her head and simply held her. She’d been pacing like an angry tigress when he came into the waiting room and then had nearly ripped the doctor’s face off, and that had been damn good to see.