LANCASTER LOOKED DOWN at the bag in his hands, bemused.
His first sensation, when Sophie had stepped out of that plane, had been one of abject relief. She was in his territory, now. He could keep her safe.
Of course, typical of Sophie, his comfortable sense of being in control had lasted less than a second. He had become aware, as she stood there in the doorway of the plane, how truly beautiful she was, more so even than the last time he had seen her. It was as if she was coming into herself in new—and dangerous—ways.
She had clipped back that waterfall of black hair, shiny as a fresh-tarred road, but it only made the exquisite bone structure of her face more apparent. Her eyes were as blue—and as changing—as the waters of the famous hot springs that dotted Havenhurst.
He hadn’t seen her since Prince Ryan’s christening. There had been opportunities. Princess Madeline had met Sophie in Mountain Bend several times to work on the town revitalization projects, but he had stepped back from the security team on those occasions.
From the christening, he remembered how young she was—twenty at the time—wearing that dress that had been way too grown up for her. The dress that actually made her look younger because it was so unsuitable, but it had telegraphed she was in that place where she was discovering her power as a woman, but still had to have too much to drink to be comfortable with that power. It was the too-much-to-drink part that had enabled him to put her off.
Though in truth, her lips had scorched like a permanent brand, and changed, probably for all time, the way he looked at her.
Which explained the avoidance strategy he had employed on all things Sophie Kettle to date.
Now, seeing her standing at the top of the steps coming down from the plane, he was aware that Sophie Kettle had come into herself, and that the transition was complete. There seemed to be no uncertainty left in the woman who came toward him.
She’d always been striking. Now, there was a layer of sophistication there that brought it to the next level.
The word dangerous came to his mind again. But he was a man who had prepared for danger all his life, and his strategy of avoiding her had worked well, so far, and would work again.
And then, fifteen seconds in—giving him fair warning nothing was going to go according to his plan where she was concerned—she had been in his arms. He had felt the soft crush of her body against his, looked into the sapphire of her eyes and breathed in the spring water freshness of her, and felt about as unsafe as he had ever felt.
Not just from her.
But from a longing that had bubbled to the surface in him. Had been bubbling, really, ever since Edward and Maddie had started showing him, on a daily basis, what it meant to share a life with another instead of going it alone.
Lancaster reminded himself, grimly, that he’d had that once. He had failed and he was not a man who tolerated failure—or would leave himself open to it again.
With that fresh resolve he watched, still bemused, as Sophie realized she had taken the driver’s side of the vehicle. She got out, gave him a dirty look, as if it was somehow his fault she had ended up behind the steering wheel, and then got in the passenger door.
Still the front seat.
He deposited her bag in the back seat, took a deep breath, opened his door and slid in.
“I’d prefer if you rode in the back,” he told her, his level tone not betraying, in the least, how essential it felt to get the barriers up between them and keep them there.
Her carefully clipped-back wave of shiny black hair had fallen over one shoulder, and she tossed it back. “I prefer riding in the front. And this time, your preferences don’t override mine.”
He cast her a look out of the corner of his eye, and saw from the delicate blush rising in her cheeks that she regretted saying that. She turned her face and looked out the window.
The last time it had been what he preferred, she had had a bit too much to drink at Ryan’s christening. She’d wanted his lips. He had wanted hers, too, but luckily discipline was part of his daily routine, and he had managed to walk away from the temptations she offered. Sophie didn’t ever need to know how hard that had been.
“The preference is not mine, exactly,” he told her reasonably. “We have certain protocols. Guests of the prince and princess do not generally ride in the front seat. Nor do the staff address them by their first names.”
She snorted. “There’s no need to act as if you’re the hired help.”
From the woman who had just handed him her bag! He wasn’t going to win this one, but he could take his victories where he could get them. Sophie was here. She was safe. If she was planning on being aggravating—and apparently she was—that was a small price to pay. He was going to have to pick his battles with her very carefully. And so he started the vehicle and put it in gear without saying what he wanted, which was that he was the hired help, and they’d both do well to remember that.
But, of course, it wasn’t that simple, because she was right. They had a shared love of certain people that would make their lives forever more complicated and interwoven than he wanted them to be.
She apparently read his intention to ignore her, and was having none of it. “Major, what’s new in your life since we last met?”
“My life,” he said, “is relatively unchanging.” This fact was usually a comfort to him. Today, for a reason he did not care to explore, it felt different.
“Wild adventures?” she prodded him. “A great vacation, maybe? Learned to play the bagpipes? Jumped in some fall leaves? Have a girlfriend? Acquired a dog? Or a plant? Something that needs you?”
It bothered him more than he would ever let on that she had gone straight to his weakness. He had been needed once. It was not something he had taken to or wanted to experience again.
“My job needs me,” he said.
“Uh-huh.” She managed to utter that phrase with a total lack of conviction.
Lancaster realized that tucked in her seemingly casual questions, between breaths, was what she really wanted to know.
Lie, he ordered himself. This whole exercise was going to be so much simpler if she thought he had a girlfriend. But he found he could lie easily enough for her benefit—to get her to the safety of Havenhurst—but not so easily for his own.
“Nothing has changed much for me since the last time we met,” he said.
“Ah. Unlike me. I’ve moved six times. Traveled the world with a band. Had a great job. Lost a great job. Been engaged. Then not engaged. It’s been a whirlwind.”
Her tone was light, layered with a new sophistication, as if she had breezed through the whirlwind life had thrown at her. He said nothing.
“I don’t have the same illusions I once had,” she said firmly, “romantic or otherwise.”
He didn’t say anything.
“I’m trying to reassure you, Major. I mean, I did have a crush on you at one time. Obviously. I don’t anymore.”
He wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disconcerted that she intended to tackle their history head-on. Did he feel just a tiny twinge of something when she said that?
Yeah, like relief, Lancaster told himself sternly.
“I’m cynical, now. Off men. Nursing a wound, so to speak.”
Out loud, he said, “I’m sorry you’ve had a rough go, Sophie.”
“I thought you weren’t going to call me by my first name.” She had pulled that thick wave of hair back over her shoulder and was running it between her hands. He could smell the scent of her shampoo—light, clean, a hint of lemongrass.
“I thought so, too,” he said. That was a reminder how hard it was going to be not to cross lines with her. He needed to be quiet, now. Drive her to the castle. Hand her over to Princess Madeline, and the security detail he had handpicked for her.
He told himself it was only because of his job that he needed to probe her mental state.
“It happened recently?” he asked.
“Last week.” She tossed her head as if it didn’t matter a whit. He wished she wouldn’t do that.
“Still a fairly fresh wound, then.”
“I’m not going to start crying, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He glanced at her. Despite her claim there were, indeed, tears sparking behind her eyes.
“Anyway, I was engaged to one of the security guys for the band. I seem to go for a type, don’t I? Women found him completely irresistible.”
Lancaster heard the sharp note of betrayal right under the flippant tone.
“Anyway, it was not a pretty split. I broke a guitar over his head. It was a Fender. I got fired, which was totally unfair, but then, who expects life to be fair?”
Lancaster slid her a glance again. He was not sure, but it seemed as if she might be more mad than sad. He was also not sure which would be easier to deal with.
Not, he reminded himself, that he would be dealing with it. She would not be happy to know he already knew what she had just told him, except for the part about women finding her fiancé irresistible. He’d been caught by surprise when the prince had told him she’d been fired, but he’d done his homework since then. She’d think it was intrusive, how much he now knew about her.
But that was his job. The more he knew about her, the better his chances of doing that job—keeping her safe, and by extension, the Royal Family.
“How old are you, Sophie?” Of course, he knew that, too.
“Twenty-two,” she said, annoyed. He couldn’t tell if she was annoyed that he had asked, or annoyed that he appeared to have forgotten, because they had shared this information before.
“That’s very young to be making lifelong commitments.” What was he doing? Trying to comfort her? Trying to tell her it was a good thing her engagement had ended? Or warning her not to jump from the fire into the frying pan? Particularly if, despite her denials, the frying pan was him?
“How old are you?” she asked him. “Thirty, now?”
He nodded. He refrained from saying, though he wanted to, Way too old for you.
“And how old were you when you got married?”
He hesitated. “Nineteen.”
“Humph.”
“It was different for me. Havenhurst is different. It’s a more traditional kind of culture than the United States. People grow up faster here, marry younger. I had followed family tradition and joined the guard when I was seventeen, so I considered myself established at nineteen.”
“Oh, and that wasn’t a lifelong commitment? Joining the guard? It’s kind of sad, really. Like, you were never young. Come to think of it, you act like you were never young. You’re way stodgy beyond your years.”
He kept the sting of that from registering in his face. Stodgy? No, not just stodgy. Way stodgy.
He kept his voice deliberately neutral. “I’m just saying maybe, in time, you may see it for the best that the job and engagement didn’t work out exactly as you planned.”
“I think you may be right. I’m not ready to be like my folks. Or you. The fun grinds to a halt the second you make a commitment.” She regarded him thoughtfully. “I could show you a thing or two about having fun, Lancaster.”
It occurred to him he did not know anything about her parents, beyond what was in his file on Sophie. Married for twenty-five years, settled in Mountain Bend. Were they not happy? Now was the wrong time to show interest in that, particularly since he knew she could indeed show him a thing or two about having fun. Again, he thanked years of discipline for not letting anything show in his face.
He noted she had dropped the Major, just as he had inadvertently dropped the Miss. Small things, but indicators he was in a tricky situation.
When she got no reaction, she gave a short laugh.
“But you’re out of luck this time. I’m officially heartbroken. I won’t be coming after you,” she continued, her tone deliberately light. “Reigniting the old flame. It’s not in the cards. Sorry, it’s probably a disappointment to you. Every man loves to have someone shamelessly besotted with him.”
There was no way to respond to that without getting in trouble, particularly since she had hinted her ex might be that kind of man, so he maintained his silence. He pulled up in front of the castle and saw her reach for her door handle.
“If you’ll just wait a moment, I’ll come around—”
He got out of the car, but Sophie was not waiting for him to open her door for her. She flipped her hair one more time and slid quickly out of the car, as if it were a race. She opened the back door, grabbed her own bag and threw it over her shoulder.
“Miss Kettle,” he said.
She waved a hand over her shoulder at him. “Don’t trouble yourself. I’ve been here before. I know my way.”
The stilettos were making it harder to make that getaway than she had probably thought it would be, and he could have easily caught up with her. She even glanced over her shoulder, daring him to come after her.
He folded his arms over his chest, and narrowed his eyes, but resisted the temptation to follow her, and escort her to the prince and princess’s quarters within the castle.
Despite the fact she he had been here before, a guest traipsing through the palace unaccompanied and unannounced was not the norm. He was not at all happy she was thwarting protocol, but he had a feeling he’d better get used to it, because she was not really under his authority and he needed to get over any illusion that she was!
“Pick your battles wisely,” Lancaster reminded himself firmly. He watched until she was safely inside the palace doors, and then got back in the car and drove away.