She was enjoying herself too much, Ella knew. Letting down her guard, relaxing, laughing. After visiting the library, Philippe had taken her to an elegant and extremely exclusive restaurant—just a handful of tables and chairs off Madison Avenue.
She hadn’t resisted when he’d poured them both wine from a very expensive bottle, even though it was only a little past noon. She didn’t suppress the telltale flutter of her heart when Philippe leaned back in his chair, his eyes glinting ice-blue, and said, “So tell me about yourself, Ella.”
She took a sip of wine; it was rich and velvety. “There’s not much to tell.”
“There’s always something.”
“What do you want to know?” she asked, hearing a flirtatious, provocative note in her voice. From the silver flare in Philippe’s eyes, she knew he’d heard it, too.
“Where did you grow up?”
“Connecticut.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Boyfriend?”
She hesitated only a second, her heart starting to beat hard. “No.”
Philippe smiled faintly and took a sip of wine. “Why did you only complete one year of university?”
She nearly choked, surprised by the sudden switch in the direction of his questioning. “My mother got sick,” she said after a moment. “And my dad wasn’t around. So I left school to take care of her.”
She saw the shadows gather in Philippe’s eyes, the downturn of his mouth, and she knew he sympathized. In different ways they’d both obeyed the call of duty, and paid its price. “I’m sorry,” he said. She just nodded, her throat tight.
“What about you, Prince Philippe? Why didn’t you ever want to be king?”
He shrugged. “I suppose because I never thought I would be.”
“What were you going to do instead?”
“Teach history at the Sorbonne.” For a second she thought he was joking, but then his mouth twisted wryly and he said, “Surprised you again, I see.”
“You did,” she admitted. “You’re an academic?”
He shrugged, the movement drawing her gaze to his powerful shoulders. “Not anymore.”
“Do you regret it?”
He didn’t answer for a long moment, just swilled the wine around in his glass. “I see no purpose to regret,” he said finally. “Life is what it is.”
“Yes, but—”
“Come.” He threw his napkin on the table, a smile playing about his mouth. “Are you finished? Because I have always wanted to go skating at Rockefeller Plaza.”
“Skating—”
“Do you skate?”
“A little—”
He held out his hand and she took it, his fingers closing around hers. “Then let’s go. It’s time for part two of our date.”
She felt a jolt reverberate right through her. “This isn’t a date!”
Philippe’s smile turned positively wolfish as he drew her from the table. “Oh yes, it is.”