Philippe watched a tendril of Ella’s auburn hair slip from her oh-so-neat chignon as she bent over one of the illuminated manuscripts in the Morgan Library, and he felt a shaft of desire blaze right through him. She was so lovely, so refreshingly honest and open, her gray-green eyes hiding nothing. She was also incredibly suspicious of his playboy reputation, but he thought she was beginning to thaw, just a little.
One day, he told himself. One day to enjoy himself, to be the man he wanted to be, the man he truly was. Not the reckless playboy who sold newspapers and was responsible for bringing tourism to his country.
Ella glanced up, her eyes widening.
“What’s wrong?”
“Wrong? Nothing’s wrong.”
“You sighed.”
“Did I?” He was amazed at how attuned she was to him…and he to her, right from the beginning. “I was just looking at this Mozart composition.”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” She moved to join him at another glassed-in display cabinet. “I love this place.”
“Do you?” He wasn’t surprised, just pleased.
She nodded. “I love feeing like I’m a part of so much history.”
“I know what you mean.” It was how he felt about his own country, part of the reason he hadn’t protested his sister’s abdication. When you realized that you were part of something much greater than yourself, it made any personal concerns seem petty.
“And the rooms…” She glanced up at the frescoed, vaulted ceiling. “It’s as if I’m stepping into another world. But I suppose you’re used to places like this.”
“I suppose I would be, if I’d grown up in a palace.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You didn’t?”
“I grew up in our country house in the mountains. Admittedly it was a very nice home, but it wasn’t palatial. The palace in Montvidant is kept for state ceremonies and occasions.”
She stared at him, and he could almost see the gears in her mind turning. Another assumption destroyed…or so he hoped.
“And where do you live now?” she asked as they moved toward another display case, this one housing a Gutenberg Bible.
“I have a flat in Montvidant’s capital city, Amarne.”
“But when you’re king? You’ll live in the palace then, right?”
He shrugged. “My mother spends most of her time in our mountain home, but she does reside in the palace when she has to come to Amarne for state functions. So yes, I will live in the palace on occasion.”
“Are you looking forward to that?” Ella asked, and before he could censure himself, Philippe answered honestly.
“Not really.”
She cocked her head, her eyes dark with sympathy. “Why not?”
“Because I never wanted to be king. But I accept my duty.” He smiled, knowing he’d said too much and wanting to lighten the moment. “Have you seen enough? Because I’d like to treat you to lunch.”
“Um…sure,” she said, her voice a little breathless, and Philippe reached for her hand, threading her fingers through his. He felt a pull deep inside him at the slide of her soft skin against his, and he watched her pupils dilate. She was as attracted as he was. The question remained, however…would they do anything about it?
Philippe knew what he intended the answer to be.