The Princess Finds Her Match (8 page)

He was nothing but a casual dalliance for her, a spur-of-the-moment hook-up on her wild night in Las Vegas. He felt acid seeping into his stomach at her dismissal of what could have been something profound. He watched her smiling at the crowd, a fake one, the one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. He felt something close to disgust that even though he had only known her for a few hours, he could already distinguish the façade she presented to the world. Was the connection that night just pretense on her part as well?

“This way, Your Highnesses.” The announcer and master of ceremonies positioned the royals in the middle of the two opposing teams. Facing the audience comprised of the media, corporate sponsors, relatives, supporters, and a handful of spectators who had stayed after the game, Nic stared straight ahead, his blood churning. The Black Cavalier players were presented with their corporate prizes first, which included several champagne bottles and luxury watches from a major sponsor.

The master of ceremonies then announced Team Arion as the official winner of this year’s Gallagher Cup. Tansy drunk-screamed excitedly, her voice rising above the applause, and Nic spotted her pink, wide-brimmed hat bobbing in the crowd. “That’s my fuckin’ team, you assholes!”

Tansy’s fuckin’ team alright,
Nic thought sardonically, and good thing he was spared that distinction.

He saw Lexie, assisted by an event organizer, handing the miniature gold cups to each of the players. She was smiling and shaking each of the team member’s hands, followed by the Prince, who was engaging in small talk with each of the players.

Beside him, Rupert Butler whispered with a leer, “She’s one fine-looking filly, if you ask me. With all the inbreeding among the royals, it’s a wonder she’s a beauty. ” Nic’s jaw clenched and his hands tightened into fists. “Guess she takes after her mother. Colleen Gallagher was a flake, but you can’t deny she was something in the looks department.”

A small breeze wafted on stage, and Nic was assailed by a familiar hint of lavender before he heard her lilting contralto congratulating Butler on that last deciding goal.
She sure knew how to charm them
, he thought with some bitterness. The Prince then admired Butler’s pony, purchased from Nic’s farm, which had won Best Horse.

“May I present to Your Highnesses the team captain of Arion?” the announcer introduced, sounding self-important, “Ten-goal handicap player and winner of the Triple Argentine Open, Mr. Nicolas Fernandez.”

She was already reaching her hand out to shake his, a smile plastered on her lips, when she lifted her cat eyes and they intersected with his. All hope that he had imagined her effect on him two nights ago vanished like a polo ball in the middle of the high goal Argentine Open. She froze, her smile died, and her extended hand remained extended. A few awkward seconds ticked by. The announcer cleared his throat.

Slowly, as if almost leisurely, Nic finally stuck his hand out and grasped hers, not breaking eye contact. He held on a bit longer than was polite until Lexie was forced to step back and pull her hand away discreetly.

“Congratulations, Mr. Fernandez,” she murmured, her voice composed. Shite. He could have left it at that. And he would have had if she hadn’t flashed him her bloody ice princess smile.

That did it. He said nonchalantly, in an insultingly familiar manner, a bit loud enough for several people nearby to hear, “Have we met, Your Highness?”

Off to the side, the Prince’s brows drew together. He swore Butler’s ears perked up.

It was juvenile but savagely gratifying the way her blush stole all over her cheeks and down her graceful neck, exposed by her upswept hairstyle. He almost felt a tinge of regret for making her feel awkward, but her next words wiped them out.

“No, we haven’t,” she said in an emotionless tone, her eyes not meeting his. “Have a good day, Mr. Fernandez.” And she walked away, leaving him stupidly staring after her once more.

C
rap
! Crap! Crap!
Other languages were beyond her linguistic ability at this moment. Lexie wanted to play sick and stay holed up in her hotel suite, but she was as robust as a horse. Her
nonna
had witheringly said that this was due to an infusion of peasant blood from Colleen Gallagher. She had never had anything more serious than the common flu, and Stefan might come up and investigate her disappearance from tonight’s championship after party.

She took a surreptitious peek at her reflection in the ballroom mirror. Her color was a bit high but other than that, she looked
normal
. Theia had looked at her askance when she insisted on wearing a shrug earlier while dressing up, as it required covering the fabulous beadwork of her off-shoulder gown.

“I might get cold,” she said defensively, and did she imagine it, or did a certain spot on her shoulder blade tingle just a little a bit with her lie? It was just probably from getting raw with the vigorous scrubbing she had been doing in an attempt to erase her souvenir from that night. Thankfully, her Press Secretary’s job description didn’t include styling her clothes, so she didn’t inquire any further. Nor argue. Although Theia occasionally slipped and called her by her title, which Lexie insisted she use only when they were in public, she and her secretary had formed a relationship that was more than employer and employee. Theia had become much like a sister to her.

Blair, looking very sexy in a bias-cut turquoise gown, materialized at her side with an equally sexy young man in tow. Lexie recognized him as one of the players of Arion.

“All alone?” Blair arched one perfectly plucked eyebrow. Her grin spelled trouble.

Lexie kept her tone polite for the sake of the other guest. “Theia had to go to the ladies’ room.” Then, as she couldn’t contain it any longer, demanded in a fierce whisper, still keeping her expression neutral. “How could you not have told me who he was?”

They both knew who
he
was.

Blair appeared unrepentant. “It was much more interesting that way.” She kept her arm on the polo player with the sultry mouth. “Besides, it wasn’t my fault that you didn’t share life stories after your wham-bang. Honestly Lexie, I can’t believe you didn’t recognize Nic Fernandez. Don’t you read
People
magazine?” She rolled her eyes, as if not believing how much of a provincial hick her cousin was, royalty or not.

Lexie never read the tabloids. It was the only way she could avoid inadvertently running across photos of Peter. “Keep your voice down.”

After the awarding ceremony, Lexie had isolated herself back in her hotel suite and clicked on the Internet for information about Nicolas Fernandez. As images of him filled her computer screen, she recalled the shock and panic she felt earlier, as if she had conjured the reality of the man who had filled her every waking minute since she had left him standing at the lobby. Her mind had gone momentarily numb and she went on autopilot. It was only after several minutes, slowly emerging from the shock, and ensconced in the car that would whisk her back to the hotel, that she recalled what she had answered to his question.

She remembered Stefan standing stiffly beside her, all the cameras aimed at her and Nic. “No, we haven’t met.” She had denied him, and in doing so had negated that precious, wonderful time they had spent together.

“Don’t mind Angel,” Blair replied without concern, cutting into her thoughts. She turned to her date, glancing at him from lowered lids. “He doesn’t understand much English.” Poor Angel responded with a besotted smile. “Gotta scram. Stefan is heading this way. Drat, but he is bringing the Delicious Duke with him.” Blair appeared torn between staying for an introduction or getting a lecture from her cousin. Avoiding the sermon won. “See ya.” She disappeared into the crowd with current boy toy.

“You’re looking very lovely tonight, Lexie.” Julian Walkden a.k.a the Delicious Duke planted a friendly kiss on her cheek. Tall, blond, and tanned, he was an avid sportsman and frequently caught on camera without his shirt while engaging in athletic pursuits. Lexie had been subjected to Blair drooling over his photos in tabloid magazines that had shown him surfing in Hawaii, so she had a pretty good idea what lay beneath the tux.

“Thank you, kind stranger.” A year ago, his long hair had been tied back. Now he had settled for the debonair, clean-cut look.

Julian smiled at her. “Missed me, poppet?”

As her brother’s closest friend since their boarding school days, Julian had spent several summers in Seirenada. ”I’ve been languishing while you were gone.”

Julian chuckled. “Impertinent miss.”

Lexie smiled, deliberately falling into their old bantering. “How is Maggie?”

“Oh, you know my sister,” Julian nicked a champagne glass from a circulating waiter. “Unhappy until she is in some godforsaken place without water or electricity, mucking in the mud for her precious artifacts.”

“Julian is coming over to Seirenada for a visit.” Stefan looked at her expectantly.

“How wonderful,” Lexie replied, injecting enthusiasm into her tone. It wasn’t enough for Stefan. He frowned.

“You can show Julian around.” It was a command.

Yeah. Right. Like the Duke hadn’t motored around the island all those summers he had spent there when he was younger, his shirt off, obliging the village girls with an eyeful of his broad, manly chest.

Stefan spoke again. “If you’ll excuse me, I see Rupert Butler heading this way, and I refuse to discuss alledramite unofficially.”

Stefan took the arm of her surprised PA, who had just come back and was now being dragged away, albeit with finesse. Theia shot Lexie a perplexed look.

Lexie shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t see Mr. Butler anywhere.”

“Neither do I,” the Duke said.

Lexie registered the subtle change in Julian’s tone. “Oh.”

“Your brother’s about as subtle as a sledgehammer.” A pregnant pause. “I heard about Wainwright in the news.”

She glanced at Julian’s concerned face. He had been there the night when the shit hit the ceiling, or was it the fan? Sometimes she wondered if Julian knew more than he was letting on. Lexie was afraid to ask. It would surely get back to Stefan. And what was the point?

“I’m fine, Julian,” she said. “Thank you.” Apart from engaging in a mad, wild escapade last night trying to overcome the past, she was doing fine and dandy.

“Lexie, about the betrothal−“

But Julian never finished his sentence. Several popping flashbulbs heralded some latecomer celebrity arrival. She glanced at the doorway of the ballroom, and vibrant blue eyes pinned her from several feet away. The reckoning had come sooner than she expected.

N
ic saw
her immediately when he entered the ballroom. She was standing beside Walkden’s tall, imposing form. He noted how good they looked together, both elegant, titled, and privileged. Their eyes locked but she immediately turned away, placing a hand on the Duke’s arm. Nic’s mouth tightened. His timing had been off. The Butlers arrived the same time as he did, and now he was forced to fall in step beside them as they made their way to the royals.

“You look fabulous, Your Highness,” Tansy Butler gushed as they stopped to chat with the pair, but her gaze was riveted to the man beside Lexie. “Your Grace,” Tansy greeted, a bit breathless. Julian greeted the couple with equanimity. He nodded at Nic equally.

“Thank you, Mrs. Butler. You are looking especially lovely this evening.”

In a bondage hooker kind of way
, Nic thought ungraciously, and he had to give credit to the Duke for the way he delivered the flattery with a straight face.

“But not as lovely as the Princess,” Tansy simpered, still in awe of royalty. She was gazing at Lexie’s gown with a covetous gleam. “The beadwork is fabulous.”

“It was made by a designer from Seirenada.” Nic heard the pride in her voice.

“Her Highness has been voted best-dressed several times, my dear,” Rupert Butler interjected, making his presence known.

Nic vaguely recalled complimenting Melissa once on a dress she had worn on one of their dates. Melissa had said the embroidery was inspired by the dress the Princess Alexandria had worn during her brother’s coronation. Strange that he could remember that particular detail.

“The Princess has impeccable taste,” Nic added blandly, because, well, he felt like it. Lexie stiffened imperceptibly.
She wasn’t as immune as she seemed then,
he thought with satisfaction. Rupert glared at him, warning him not steal the spotlight.

“Lexie will look lovely no matter what she is wearing,” Walkden added gallantly.

This time it was Nic’s turn to stiffen at Walkden’s use of her pet name. “I think
red
,” he emphasized, “will suit Her Highness’ coloring very well.”

“Red for a redhead?” Tansy sounded horrified at the fashion faux pas.

“I will look like a strawberry!” Lexie’s amused tone sounded forced. She was still refusing to look at him.

“No. You will look like strawberries and cream.” Nic meant to rile her up, but he couldn’t stop his voice from growing husky at the recollection of her bare skin.

She blushed. He caught the tiny furrow that appeared between Walkden’s brows, sensing some undercurrents.

“You’re lookin’ quite flushed, Your Highness. It’s quite a crush and a bit warm,” Tansy trilled.” Maybe you could take off your jacket and we can see the beadwork on the bodice?”

“No!” Lexie started. Tansy appeared taken aback by the vehemence in her protest. “I meant I am fine. Perfectly comfortable.” Rattled, her accent became more pronounced. Her eyes darted furtively to his. He deliberately kept his expression blank.

Just then, a circulating photographer stopped by to take a group shot. He directed Nic and the Duke to flank Lexie while Tansy was made to stand between Walkden and Butler.

He inhaled her familiar lavender scent while she stood ramrod-straight, looked at the camera, and held her artificial smile.

Perhaps it was a kindness after all what she did, running out on him that night and refusing to look back. Hell, if he had known who she was at the start, he would have run as fast as his legs would have carried him out of that dive bar. There was no future with women like her − spoiled, narcissistic, high-maintenance females who cared only about themselves. And because she dared to let him feel, just for one night, that there could be something between them, Nic decided to wipe off that mask of a smile with one word. He leaned down and placed his lips near her ear.
“Rojita,”
he whispered in mock tenderness, and she flinched. He waited for the photographers to finish and with a curt nod at the Duke, he walked away and dismissed her from his mind and his life.

T
he insistent ringing
of the door chime penetrated the thick fog of a few hours of sleep. Bleary-eyed, Lexie pulled on her robe to get the door. It was eight o’clock in the morning and she had overslept. Not surprising since she was up ‘til three, her mind going round and round in circles. Her thoughts kept oscillating between attempting to talk to Nic and explaining her situation or just leaving things as they were. She was leaving tonight for California, and for all she knew, Nic had probably flown off already for another tournament.

She had been a glutton for punishment. Unable to sleep, she had scoured the Net for more information on Nic. She had learned that he had been born and raised in Argentina but that his mother was British and that his family had spent a lot of time in the United Kingdom when he was growing up, because his father was a favorite polo player of the Queen. His father had taught some of the royals how to play, until a riding accident had forced him to retire and devote his entire time to the family’s
estancia
and horse-breeding farm in Argentina.

Nic Fernandez was a ten-goal handicap player, the highest rating given to a polo player, and he was the reigning king of the sport. Lexie saw photos of him with different beautiful, sophisticated women, and one female in particular caught her attention. It was Melissa Osgoode-Rathborn, one of reality TV’s current darlings. Before getting married to a congressman, she and Nic had been in a long-term relationship. No reason had been given for the break-up, but speculation had been rife that Melissa’s father, who was a congressman too back then before being voted to senator in recent elections, had disapproved of the relationship.

Lexieopened the door without bothering to look in the peephole. It was Theia, concern etched on her face. Pushing past her, the PA entered the suite and closed the door firmly. There were none of her customary greetings. Lexie had a bad feeling about this.

“You might want to take a look at this,” she said without preamble. Her usually calm, melodic voice was terse. She thrust the papers in her hand.

It was a tabloid newspaper.

“The Princess and the Polo Player Caught in Passionate Hook-Up”, the headline screamed. A series of pictures of her and Nic kissing in the foyer of the Bellagio was splashed across the front page. They had been taken from a distance and were grainy, however, the last photo taken was of her alone as she approached the taxi stand. The paparazzi must have been hiding nearby because it was a clear frontal shot of her face, her hair in disarray, her face blotchy from sleep. In smaller print it read “Princess Flees The Morning After.”

Lexie staggered to the nearby couch, her knees barely holding her up. “Oh my God.” She raised stricken hazel eyes to her Press Secretary. “Has Stefan seen it?” She had switched to the Liguerian dialect unconsciously.

“I don’t know, but Leonardo has informed me His Highness would like to see you in his suite the minute you wake up.” Theia’s expression was neutral, but Lexie knew a judge probably looked the same before pronouncing the guilty verdict.

She was being summoned. Lexie raised trembling hands to her forehead in a gesture of shame. Trust her to fail in an epic manner what should have been an uncomplicated, anonymous one-night fling.

Stefan was standing by the glass window in the study of his suite, his hands clasped behind him. He turned immediately when he heard their footsteps. His grey eyes were carefully neutral, but there was palpable tension in his stance.