Isabella leaned her body against the heavy, arch-shaped oak door leading to the lower level of the San Rimini Royal Palace, wiggled the iron key until she felt it slide into just the right position, then shoved as hard as she could.
“I take it you’re going to show me the trick to opening that door.” Nick’s voice came from behind her as the thick oak started to move.
“The locks were supposed to be upgraded last year,” she apologized. “I hate to think how old this one is.”
“Original. Door, too. Amazing it’s held up this long.”
She raised an eyebrow. He spoke as if he’d installed it himself. “You are the expert. Perhaps we shouldn’t replace it.”
“Depends on what’s behind the door. If the collection is valuable enough, and isn’t going anywhere for a while, you might consider removing the entire door and hanging it in the empty archway next to my guest room. That way, you can replace the door that’s missing there and hang something with a modern alarm here.”
She withdrew the key from the lock and faced him. “Have you visited this wing of the palace before? How do you know there used to be a door in that archway?”
He gave her an offhand shrug. “I could tell from the shape of the arch and the scratches along the side where the hinges used to be that a similar door once hung there. Probably so they could close off this hall and keep the drafts down.” He raised his head and scrutinized the high, wooden support beams and the gently curved stone ceiling. “Back when this corridor was built, there weren’t any hidden heating vents.”
“There still aren’t any in the storage area, unfortunately. Prepare to be chilly.”
She flicked on the lights, illuminating a narrow stone staircase leading down half a flight to the lower level of the keep. Nick followed behind her, keeping one hand on the cool gray wall as they descended the aged, concave steps. When they entered the cavernous storage area, she heard Nick inhale sharply.
“I warned you it was chilly.”
When he didn’t respond, she turned to see he’d crossed behind her and knelt to study a sword laying atop a blue velvet cloth on the floor, just to the left of the stairs.
“That was returned a few days ago. It’s one of the few pieces I’ve lent out to the museum.”
“That’s why it’s by the door?”
She nodded. “According to the experts at the University of San Rimini, it’s late twelfth century. The museum curator thinks it could have belonged to King Bernardo or to his son, King Rambaldo. I wanted your opinion.”
Nick’s brown eyes widened in interest. He stilled his hands inches above the weapon. “May I?”
“Of course.”
He lifted the sword with care, then ran his fingers along its length. Turning it, he studied the pommel. “This wasn’t the king’s.”
“Which? Bernardo or Rambaldo?”
“Either.”
She stepped behind him, leaning over his right shoulder to share his view of the sword’s hilt. As she did so, the faint smell of his aftershave blended with the warmth of his skin to launch an all-out assault on her senses. She fought off a momentary wave of unsteadiness, forcing herself not to put a hand on his broad shoulder for support.
The last thing she needed was to feel a man’s firm muscle under her palm. She’d made her choices in life, and couldn’t allow a fleeting attraction to distract her from her obligations now, no matter how gorgeous the distraction might be.
Purposely ignoring the way his jet-black hair curled behind his ears, she focused on the sword. “How can you draw such a conclusion so quickly? The professors and the curator each had it for weeks.”
“You see this area?” Still crouching, he shifted his weight to face her and pointed to the pommel, the round ball at the end of the sword. “Most San Riminian kings had their crest engraved here. Bernardo’s was a combination of his and his wife’s initials. Rambaldo used a dragon with a crown on its head, though some scholars claim he used a different crest. Either way, a crest would appear on any sword he owned.”
“So who did it belong to?” She frowned. “Are the professors at the university even right about the date?”
“Oh, it’s twelfth century, no doubt. That’s evident from the manner in which it was crafted. Plus, in the late twelfth century, most San Riminian knights had a small cross stamped into the grip when they left for the Third Crusade. They believed having the cross resting in the palm of their hand during battle would give them God’s protection.” He grasped the sword at the top of the hilt with his right hand and pointed with his left to a spot just below his palm.
“See? Here it is. Most knights had the grip wrapped in leather or velvet, so this area, on the grip itself, was protected. Of course, that covering is long gone now and you can see the cross.” She blinked at a tiny indentation, barely visible on the grip. If she hadn’t known to look for it, she’d have thought it to be nothing more than a small ding. But as Nick traced the shape for her with one lean finger, she realized it was, indeed, a cross.
He stood, then offered Isabella a hand to help her up. Once she’d gained her feet, she smiled, intending to thank him for his chivalry, but he took a couple steps away from her.
She stifled a cry of surprise as he swung the sword in front of him in a wide arc. “It’s the right weight and size,” he commented, as much to himself as to her. “And the craftsmanship is exquisite.”
He took another step away, then pivoted, slicing through the cold, still air of the storage room with as much power as an ancient knight defending his home against an invading enemy. An exuberant grin spread across his face, again showing off his dimple. “I’m positive it would have belonged to a knight from the Third Crusade. Someone lucky enough to return from the battlefield, given the fact the sword found its way home.”
He let the sword drop to his side, but kept his hand firmly on the grip. His eyes glittered. “This is fabulous. What else is down here?”
“Very few weapons, thank goodness. They were taken for the museum’s original wing.” She hated to think what he’d do with a lance. “The most fascinating items are the documents. Ancient court records, even some birth and death records. Centuries of monastic writings. If you can read ancient San Riminian…” She raised an eyebrow in question, since even most San Riminians had difficulty with the ancient dialect.
“I can.”
“Then you’ll find a wealth of information that hasn’t been studied by anyone at San Rimini University. There are also tapestries, paintings, sculptures… You name it, it’s probably down here somewhere. Even old kitchen dishes and palace draperies, though most of those are in tatters.” She glanced around the room, astonished as always at the vast collection. “As you can see, it’s only loosely organized.”
Isabella’s mother, Queen Aletta, had ordered the construction of dozens of storage stalls from plywood and wire mesh when she first conceived of the museum expansion. The oversize stalls lined the walls of the vast open area. Each had a code posted on its door that roughly designated the period from which the artifacts dated, but otherwise, nothing had been inspected or sorted. In the center of the room, all the artifacts too large to fit in the stalls stood in a jumble. A few sarcophagus lids and parts of three altars retrieved from ancient cathedrals dominated the area. Oversize paintings, a large iron grille that Isabella guessed stood at the entrance to the old section of the palace at one time and hundreds of other items she couldn’t identify filled the rest of the space.
“I’d like to see where the documents are kept. I’ll be looking at those first. With any luck, we’ll find an inventory, or at least a description of some of the pieces.” Nick stared around the room, his face a mixture of wonder and anticipation. “This is every historian’s dream. Not nearly as dusty as I expected, either.”
“I told you it would be the chance of a lifetime,” she replied. “And even though it doesn’t seem dusty now, it will be once you start moving things around. My mother had the open areas of the floor cleaned, but most of the artifacts were left untouched.”
“That’s fine.” Nick seemed in another world. He knelt to turn over a small wooden chest, inspected the bottom, then righted it before moving along to the next group of items.
“Unfortunately,” Isabella explained, “the documents are scattered throughout the room. Anything with an obvious date was placed in the appropriate stall, but the rest were placed into crates in the back of the room. I’ll provide you with tools to open them. If you need help—”
“I shouldn’t.”
He walked in front of her, boyish happiness in his stride as he peeked through the wire mesh into each of the stalls, occasionally turning to stare at the sarcophagus lids as he went. He kept the ancient sword in his hand, twirling it at his side as if it had been crafted especially for him. Despite the fact he wore a black polo shirt and pressed khakis, she couldn’t shake the mental image of him as a medieval warrior. His biceps bunched as he wielded the weapon, and for a brief moment, she could envision him in full armor, sporting a knight’s longer hair and brandishing the weapon against San Rimini’s enemies.
“Have you always worn your hair so short?” she asked, then felt her face heat in embarrassment. Her nanny, rest her soul, would roll over in her grave to hear the princess ask such a question. “I apologize. I don’t know what prompted me to ask something so personal.”
“That’s not too personal. Asking for my income tax returns or what kind of underwear I wear, now that’s personal.”
As soon as the offhanded reply to the princess’s apology left Nick’s mouth, a sudden wave of panic grabbed his gut. He’d relaxed too much, let his guard down. What if she did seek out his nonexistent tax returns? He stopped walking and turned to face the princess, but intentionally kept his voice aloof. “I did wear my hair longer once. Long time ago, though. Why?”
He’d been foolish enough to note that the oak door to the storage room entrance was the original. He’d passed through it dozens of times on his way to this very storage area, which served as the armory in King Bernardo’s day. Nick corrected his slip easily enough, but something in the princess’s expression now gave him pause.
It was as if she saw him the way he was. When he wore his hair longer.
She waved off his question. “No real reason, I guess. Just curiosity. The close-cropped look suits you. It’s—it’s similar to my brother Antony’s, is all.” She leaned over to finger a rolled-up tapestry, but as they continued their walk along the row of stall doors, he noticed her discreetly continue to study him and the way he held the sword.
She couldn’t possibly know. Not unless she’d seen a painting of him, and he knew for a fact none existed. He’d been a landless knight and fortunate in his access to the royal household. Only the king and other titled members of San Rimini’s elite commissioned paintings, not knights merely aspiring to that lofty group.
He inwardly cursed himself for his paranoia and changed the subject. No one in this day and age would believe his story, let alone guess at it merely from watching him hold a sword.
Still…
Holding the weapon aloft, he asked, “Where does this belong?”
“I’ll leave it to your discretion. Your job is to sift through this collection, remember?” She shot him a grin, and he realized that even in private, she showed the same clear emotions the press photographers so often captured when she was out in public.
He returned her smile without meeting her gaze, lest he be tempted by what he saw in her too-friendly amber eyes. The intimacy of their quiet surroundings and the memories brought back by the immense collection of artifacts taxed his ability to distance himself from other people, as he’d spent years schooling himself to do. Scanning the room, he spied a desk jimmied into one corner, close to the door. In his fascination with the sword, and with the princess, he missed seeing it when he’d entered. High above the desk a lone window broke the long plane of stone wall, granting it the room’s only sunlight. “I’ll just put it on the desktop for now.”
She reached under the cuff of her white silk blouse to check her watch. “I’ll do it. My half hour’s nearly up. I hate to leave you alone to forage down here, but I have an appointment I must attend.” She reached for the sword, and he gave it to her, half-wondering if doing so was a breach of etiquette. One generally didn’t ask a princess to carry a sword.
“The weight of medieval weapons always surprises me,” she commented as she took it. “I’ve lifted this sword before, and I know it’s only three pounds or so, but I have no idea how men used to fight with them for such long periods of time. You’d think by the end of a day in battle they’d be as likely to injure themselves as the enemy.”
He leaned forward to help her, reaching for the hilt. “Men used to spend years training in order to use them properly. It’s as much a matter of technique as it is strength. Here, why don’t I take it to the desk?” She looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the light of the lone window, and he realized he had her hand trapped beneath his.
What had he been thinking? He should have just let her take it to the desk, proper etiquette be damned, instead of touching the untouchable princess. Already his body responded to the feel of her delicate hand under his stronger one, filling with the sharp ache of want.
“Will you show me?”
He blinked, desire sending his mind down the path his body longed to take. Show her what?
“You seemed to have the technique down pat, and I’ve always been curious.”
Duh, Nick. She’d spent her life surrounded by displays of ancient swords and armor, living in a thousand-year-old palace, yet never experienced the terror of the real thing as her ancestors had. Of course she’d be curious about how the weapon would be used.
“I suppose.”
He swallowed hard and moved behind her, allowing his arm to curl around hers, her back to brush against his chest. The scent of her expensive shampoo floated up to him, and he fought to keep his instant arousal in check. Far too many years had passed since he’d allowed himself the comfort of a woman. The love-’em-and-leave-’em relationships his curse necessitated left him feeling so empty he’d given them up long ago.
But his self-imposed celibacy didn’t mean he was immune to beautiful women. Particularly this beautiful woman.
She flexed her hand around the hilt, and her body moved even tighter against his. “Like this?”
“Just like that.”
He gave an inward prayer for strength. And not the kind of strength needed to hold the sword.
From the first moment he’d heard the princess’s silky voice over his closed-circuit television, he should have been on his guard. If he wasn’t careful, he’d be kissing the princess within minutes. And he’d learned enough about women over his long lifetime to realize that she’d probably kiss him right back.
She turned her long neck and met his gaze. Her whisper-soft lips beckoned to him, and suddenly he wondered if she would kiss him first. It occurred to him that a woman like her, living in the public eye and sharing her home with three brothers, her father and a slew of staff and bodyguards, probably didn’t get much opportunity for stolen kisses.
He started to pull back. Kissing the princess would jeopardize not only his job, but his peace of mind. But then her exquisite lips parted just enough to ask, “Where do you want me to put my other hand?”
He stared at her for a heartbeat, then the sword clattered to the cold stone floor.
Isabella jumped at the noise, which seemed to echo forever in the cavernous room, and let out a surprised gasp.
“Your Highness! I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
“Yes, fine.” She recovered. “I’m fine. Just startled.”
He bent to retrieve the sword. “I must’ve lost my hold on it. Here,” he twisted it in his hand, demonstrating that he had better control of the weapon this time, “let’s start over.”
The princess backed toward the door, her face several shades paler than usual. “No, that’s all right. There are certain things I was probably never meant to learn.” She checked her watch again, though only a few minutes had passed since she last checked. “And I don’t want to be late to my appointment.”
“Well, perhaps later, if you change your mind.” So long as she meant learning about the sword.
She nodded, but said nothing. It was only after she left the room he realized she hadn’t corrected him when he’d called her “Your Highness.”
Isabella gave the guard outside her palace apartments a cursory nod, then disappeared into the sanctuary of her private rooms and made a beeline for the sumptuous Italian marble bathroom, the one room in the palace where she was always guaranteed to be undisturbed. After misting her face with the bottle on the countertop and blotting it with a fluffy cotton towel, she studied herself in the heavy, gilt-edged mirror.
“I must be the world’s most famous twenty-eight-year-old virgin,” she muttered, then said a quick prayer of thanks that the world had no clue. What had she been thinking, asking Nick Black where she should put her hand? She’d meant on the sword, but the instant the words left her mouth, she’d realized the double meaning. And felt his instant reaction against the small of her back just before the sword fell to the floor.
The whole episode rocked her to the core. Yet at the same time, while her brothers had informed her long ago that men could get aroused without much provocation, and intended that information to serve as a warning, the idea she’d caused such a reaction in Nick thrilled her.
“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she grumbled aloud to the mirror. Hadn’t it been drilled into her since childhood that letting her private desires supersede her royal duties only led to trouble? Just look at what had happened to Princess Stefanie. To Diana. To Fergie. If she fell for a man, what would make her immune to the ravages of the press?
And how would that publicity affect her family? The Windsors and Grimaldis still caught flak for their past indiscretions.
Resolving to focus on her duties, she strode back into her bedroom, where one of the maids had thoughtfully unpacked her belongings, taken away her laundry and laid out the silver Valentino gown and diamond necklace she planned to wear to her father’s annual Red Cross benefit dinner. Business came first, and for someone in her position, business never ended.
In fact, she only had twenty minutes before she needed to meet her father so they could enter the ballroom together.
She located the notes for her speech, which she’d written on the flight to Boston, read through them a final time, then stuffed them into a small beaded bag designed to match the gown. After carefully stepping into the dress to avoid snagging the delicate beadwork, she slipped the straps over her shoulders and zippered the back. Studying her image in the full-length mirror, she decided she’d pass muster, though she wished she could wear jeans and flip-flops. Not that she owned a pair of either.
A knock sounded at the door, and she strode through her sitting room to answer it, hooking the diamond necklace at her nape as she walked.
“Nerina.” She smiled at her secretary. “Come in. I assume my father is waiting.”
“Not yet, Your Highness.” The older woman gave a slight bow. Though Isabella constantly urged Nerina to relax, the secretary’s twelve years in service to Queen Aletta ingrained a certain level of formality into her behavior. “King Eduardo asks that you meet him on the east staircase in ten minutes.” After politely inquiring about the princess’s trip, Nerina pulled out her electronic organizer. “Before you meet with the king, we should discuss your schedule for tomorrow.”
“Please,” Isabella said as she stepped into her shoes, then went in search of a hairbrush.
Nerina followed her as far as the bathroom door, keeping a discreet distance as Isabella located the brush and some pins in the vanity drawer.
“At 8:00 a.m. you’ll appear at the Catholic elementary school adjacent to the Duomo to talk to the students about the importance of charity work. You should offer some examples of things the children can do to help others.”
Isabella listened as she pinned her hair into a loose chignon. “I’ve already spoken to Father Dario about it. I have several ideas.”
Nerina nodded, “Of course, Your Highness. While you’re visiting the school, the Greek foreign minister will be holding talks with King Eduardo and Prince Antony. When you return from the school, you’re to give him a tour of the rose garden prior to an outdoor lunch. Your father, your brother Antony and his wife, Princess Jennifer, will all be in attendance. There will be several members of the press on hand, so one of your softer suits would be appropriate. At two-thirty, you’ll need to break from lunch. Several members of the planning committee for the Venice Film Festival will be here to meet with you to finalize your duties as master of ceremonies. Your father has set aside the palace library for the meeting.”
Isabella frowned as she turned from the mirror and grabbed her purse. “Will I have any time for a break? I didn’t get to sleep on the flight back from Boston.”
Nerina shook her head. “I’m afraid not, Your Highness. Perhaps I can squeeze in some time on Wednesday. It’s the best I can do.”
Isabella thanked her, but as they strode side-by-side through the royal family’s private wing toward the east staircase, Nerina outlined a schedule for the next week so jam-packed Isabella knew she’d have to sacrifice her gym time if she wanted a nap. She tugged at the hip of her beaded gown, deciding it might be better to go to the gym. Otherwise, she’d never fit into her gowns by the time the film festival rolled around.
“What should I tell Mr. Black, Your Highness?”
Isabella stopped walking as the sound of Nick’s name popped her out of her thoughts about form-fitting clothes. “I’m sorry, Nerina. What about Mr. Black?”
“I went to the storage area before I came to your apartments to ensure he had any office supplies or reference materials he might require. The supplies are on order, Your Highness, but apparently you neglected to leave him the chart explaining the layout of the stalls.”
“I have it in my apartments.” Somewhere.
“I can deliver it to him while you’re attending the Red Cross benefit, if you’d like.”
“I have to find it first,” she admitted. “I’ll get it to him first thing in the morning.” Which meant another trip to the storage room, and another face-to-face meeting with Nick.
She’d always considered the older section of the palace as an escape, a retreat from the pressures and grandeur of her life as a modern-day princess. A place she could let down her defenses, pretend she was a normal person. As a child, she’d hidden herself away in the old guest quarters to read romance novels without the observant eye of her nanny upon her. As she’d grown, however, she’d spent more time in the storage areas, indulging her curiosity about her country’s history without anyone interrupting to make demands of her, as people so often did when she was in her apartments.
But now, with Nick Black residing within the keep’s silent stone walls and investigating the recesses of the storage room, her retreat was no longer her own. And letting her defenses down, as she tended to do whenever she retreated to the medieval section of the palace, was no longer an option.
If she did, what would Nick make of it? If she allowed him to get close to her again, as she had this afternoon, would he dare to kiss her?
Because if he did, she knew she’d kiss him back, despite her logical side warning against it.
“You look beautiful, mi figlia.”
Her father entered the hallway from a side door, his calm voice soothing her frayed nerves, as it always did when he complimented her.
She couldn’t help but smile at him. “Lei è gentile, Papa. And you look wonderful, as well.”
At fifty-five, her father retained the vigor and good looks of his youth, despite having heart surgery nearly two years earlier. His tuxedo emphasized his lean physique, and the dark color suited his flawless olive skin and short salt-and-pepper hair. He extended his arm as they approached the top of the staircase. “And your trip to the United States, Isabella? I understand you found an expert to continue your mother’s museum work?”
She nodded, and a vision of Nick twirling the sword in his strong, scarred hand flashed through her mind. “It is my hope he can finish in time to open the wing as part of our upcoming independence celebration.”
The king’s eyes filled with delight at her words, and he kissed her cheek. “Splendid! Your mother would be so touched. As I am.”
As they arrived at the top of the staircase, conversation between father and daughter ceased. The crowd, gathered in the Imperial Ballroom below them, quieted as all eyes turned to the princess and king.
Along with all their expectations.
Isabella descended the stairs on her father’s arm, catching the eye of the Red Cross director and flashing him a smile, then nodding to a familiar parliament member. This was her element, the arena in which she shone, and where she could help so many.
The last thing she needed was to spend her evening thinking about the mysterious man she’d just hired.
She greeted one of her father’s longtime friends, Count Giovanni Alessandro, and politely listened to him talk about his thirty-something son, as he always did when they were together. She knew the Count hoped for her to take an interest in the young man, but she knew his reputation. How many nights had the Count’s son spent passed out in a casino hotel room after gambling all afternoon? He might be the most wonderful man on earth, once he got away from the parties, but she would never risk the controversy such a relationship would cause her family.
She caught her father’s eye as he circulated among the guests. He flashed her a quick smile, and she knew he was proud of her and all she’d done.
No, she’d worked too hard and too long to take any missteps now. And while the Count’s son presented no temptation, Nick Black most certainly did. As she excused herself and moved farther into the ballroom, she resolved to take the chart down and leave it on the storage room desk tonight, while Nick slept, instead of waiting until morning.
Before seeing Nick again, she needed to get her hormones under control. Under no circumstances would temptation get the better of her.