The Princess and the Duke Page 14

  His head went back, his lips twisting. “You think I’m lying.”

  “Through your very tightly clenched teeth.”

  “Fine,” he said flatly. “Think whatever the hell you want to think. I’m going to take care of the car. You can wait here.”

  She expected him to go to the telephone, which sat in plain view on top of a curious little triangular table beside a striped chair. But he strode through the kitchen, and she heard the distinctive sound of a door.

  She hurriedly slipped into her shoes and followed. Outside the kitchen was a detached garage across the small patch of yard that was neatly groomed and a rose garden that wasn’t. One garage door was open, and she peered into the gloom. He’d switched on a bare overhead bulb, and she was surprised at the neatness inside. In addition to the lawn-care equipment and an assortment of storage boxes stacked on metal shelves, there was a motorcycle that looked fairly new.

  Pierce stood at the rear of the garage, pawing through a drawer that she soon realized was part of an elaborate tool chest. “You’re going to fix it yourself?”

  He tossed some tools and a few incomprehensible looking items into a canvas bag. “That’s the plan. I’d call for a car but the phone is disconnected.” He crossed the strap over his shoulder and went to the motorcycle, rocking it forward over the stand and rolling it from the garage before swinging his leg over it. “Wait inside the house. Please,” he added before she could open her mouth. “I shouldn’t be long.”

  “I thought I wasn’t supposed to be left unprotected,” she said sweetly.

  “Meredith, right now, you’re safer away from me than you are with me.” He started the motorcycle and roared around the house and down the road before she could think of a single thing to say in response to that.

  She looked at the garage for a moment, wondering if she should close the door, but left it. There were no other houses in the immediate area, and it was obviously not a well-traveled road, considering the length of the grass that was growing over it.

  She wandered through the garden, absently pinching off withering blooms the way old Pierre had taught her to do when she was little, traipsing around behind him in the gardens with her curious mind in full gear. Her curiosity now had her wondering why Pierce—for it was likely he—had made an effort at keeping his parents’ home in order but had neglected the roses, which had nearly run wild.

  The heels of her shoes sank into the soft earth, but she barely noticed. She stood among the overgrown roses, surrounded by tall pines. The air was cooling because of the coming rain, the breeze filled with the heady scent of roses and the tang of evergreen and the kind of silence that was practically deafening.

  Then it hit her.

  She was totally and completely alone.

  There were no servants within earshot, no staff merely the buzz of an intercom away, no royal guards watching for…whatever.

  A sharp crack of thunder made her jump, and she deliberately shrugged off the shivers that rippled up and down her spine.

  She looked at the overcast gray sky. “It’s been a very odd day,” she said aloud.

  And when she went inside the cozy little house where Pierce had spent his childhood, she wished, in the silliest of ways, that he would hurry back.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Pierce went into the house through the kitchen door, which was why he saw the mess first. Not a mess, really. But there was a pot in the sink, a crumpled towel on the tiled countertop.

  “Meredith?”

  She didn’t answer, and he shoved his hand through his hair, scattering rainwater as he strode rapidly through the kitchen into the living room. “Mere—” He stopped short, her name dying in his lips.

  She was curled up on the sofa, her hands folded together beneath her cheek.

  She was asleep.

  He blew out a short, relieved breath. Then he realized there were other small differences in the house aside from the stuff in the kitchen. He smelled furniture wax instead of mustiness. And flowers. There was a glass bowl of cut roses sitting in the center of the small round table where he’d eaten meals and done homework. Also sitting on the polished surface were two plates, flatware, glasses, napkins. And in a covered bowl, macaroni and cheese.

  “You’re back.”

  He turned on his heel and looked at her. She hadn’t moved, and her eyes looked soft with sleep. “It took longer than I thought,” he said. But nowhere near long enough to drive out the want burning inside him.

  He watched her slowly straighten her legs like a cat stretching in the sun. Point her toes, flex. She’d removed her jacket, and the skirt beneath had climbed another precious inch above her knees. The silver colored blouse she wore looked to him like little more than silky lingerie.

  She sat up and tugged the clip from her hair, which cascaded around her shoulders. “I hope you don’t mind,” she said in a hushed tone. “I tried my hand at cooking.”

  “And cleaning.” His voice sounded strangled. “You shouldn’t have.”

  She looked stricken, unnecessarily reminding him how unique she was. Intelligence and grace with an overwhelmingly appealing innocence that he knew for a fact she revealed very rarely.

  “I didn’t mean to offend—”

  “You didn’t.” He rubbed his hand over his rib cage, leaving a streak of grease.

  She stood, and the hem of her skirt slid down, jealously guarding the two inches of taut leg above her knees from his eyes. “You’re wet.” She blinked again, giving him an agonizing idea of how she’d awaken in the mornings. Warm and soft and sexily off balance until she fully roused.

  “The storm finally hit.”

  “It’s been threatening to all day. Did you get the car going?”

  “Anxious to leave?”

  Her lashes swept down for a long moment, and when they lifted, all signs of sleepiness were gone. “Do you want me to lie to you or tell the truth?”

  One of them was doing enough lying for them both. But he knew the truth, could see it in her eyes, and it was killing him that he was hurting her at all. “It’s fixed, but I don’t know how long it’ll last. The parts I had on hand weren’t quite right. I hope it’ll get us at least to the base without breaking down again.”

  “We’ll need to get your motorcycle back here?”

  “Yeah. I’m sorry, this day is taking a hell of a lot longer than it should have.”

  She walked to the table, giving him a wide berth. “It’s too bad the phone is out. I could have canceled my plans this evening and gotten some work done.”

  “The telephone’s been disconnected for years,” he said. “I’m not up here often enough to need a phone.” And what had her plans involved, he wondered. Though he didn’t make the mistake of suggesting she join him for dinner again. Considering what had transpired between them, it would be foolishness of mammoth proportions.

  “But you’re up here just often enough to make sure the grounds are groomed,” she observed, tongue-in-cheek.

  “Yard work can be hired out, Your Royal Highness.” And it often was, though not on a regular basis.

  “Right. What about the rosebushes, then?”

  “What about them?”

  “They need tending, too. Can’t your hired gardening service take care of your mother’s roses, as well?”

  “My father’s. He was the rose person. Mom was the mechanic.”

  “Your father’s, then. They’ve nearly gone wild.”

  “He used to be out there working with them while I’d play ball.” The truth was, Pierce couldn’t stand to touch the roses. Not as long as he lived the life of lies he was living. He shrugged off the thought the way he always did. After ten years of practice, it should have gotten easier. Lately, though, it seemed harder than ever.

  She’d picked up the bowl of pasta. “Do you want some of this?”

  “I can’t believe you made it.”

  “It’s passable. Barely. But I had to use canned milk and no butter because—”r />
  “The refrigerator is empty.”

  “Yes.” She lifted her shoulder in a little shrug and carried the bowl to the kitchen. “I didn’t know what else to do with my time while you were gone. If I’d had my briefcase…” She set the bowl on the counter and picked up the towel. Folded it. Set it down only to repeat the entire process. “I found the clippers in the garage and was going to try to cut back the roses a little. They need it badly, you know. But the lightning began and it seemed very close, so I—”

  “Your Royal Highness.”

  She went silent.

  “Meredith. What’s this about?”

  She threw down the towel. “What do you mean?”

  “If you want to experiment with puttering around a kitchen, fine. Great. Have fun. I’m all for you tackling anything your heart desires. But something’s obviously bothering you.”

  “Besides you?” Her chin had lifted a little, though she still didn’t look at him.

  He waited. Watched. Saw the gradual erosion of bravado as her shoulders curved.

  “Why do you even care?” she asked finally. “You want a wall between us, but you’re always scaling it.”

  “There is no wall, Your Royal Highness.”

  She cast him a long look, her lips curving humorlessly. “Right.”

  He grabbed the towel rather than reach for her, and began rubbing at the grease he hadn’t been able to get off earlier. “There are things that you don’t know—”

  She turned to face him. “Then tell me.”

  “That you can’t know.”

  “Like the fact that you saved Major Fox’s life?”

  He’d stepped right in that one. He stared at her stonily.

  “Oh, never mind,” she said tiredly. “The one thing I am good at is research. If I want to find out, I will.”

  She was good at a great many things, but she wouldn’t find anything about that night. Because the RET had made damn sure there were no loose ends. Aside from Fox, that was. The man had been doing his job that long-ago night. Admirably so. And until his health began deteriorating, they’d been able to trust him with the truth. Now, with the disease that sucked at his memories, any truth he’d once known was unlikely to be unveiled or believed.

  Which made Pierce feel even more a fraud as he stood in his childhood home. If his father had lived to see what became of his son—

  “You can do anything you set your mind to,” he told Meredith flatly. He dropped the towel and picked up the bowl, dumped the congealing stuff in the trash, yanked out the bag and tied the ends. He’d take it to the bin rather than leave it inside the house. He had no idea how long it would be before he made it back.

  Probably not until after the alliances were signed and done with and life for the RET and the King got back, more or less, to normal.

  If the King ever got back to anything at all.

  “I can do anything except be a normal woman.”

  He focused on Meredith, aware that he’d hardly been thinking at all about the King and the state of his health. When that was exactly what should have been foremost in his mind. That, and the uneasy knowledge that Broderick’s whereabouts were still unknown. “What are you talking about?”

  “I thought I had a fairly decent grasp on what it was like to be a commoner.” She picked up the pan she’d already washed and tucked it in the cupboard. “But I was wrong. Do you know I’ve never been by myself before this afternoon?”

  “I wasn’t far. And you were perfectly safe. Nobody would connect you with my parents’ old home.”

  “Of course you would have considered the security angle.” Her voice was soft. “That’s not what I meant, anyway.”

  She looked naked without her usual aura of self-confidence. Impossibly vulnerable. And it made him hurt because he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms. “Meredith, you are a compassionate, independent, sensitive woman, regardless of being born to privilege.”

  “Who does nothing of importance. I don’t teach, like your mother did. I certainly don’t preach, like your father.”

  “You don’t need to. Your gifts are your own. This country loves you. You’re a role model for thousands of girls and young women who see you—an honest-to-God princess—actually doing something productive with your life. None of the Penwycks are purely decorative. Surely you know that.”

  “But—”

  “There are no buts. You are educated, and no amount of privilege can endow you with that. You’ve gotten the RII involved in efforts beyond their usual scope, and that’s no small task. You always represent your family—this country—honorably. You don’t have to be able to live the life of a commoner to be able to understand their needs.”

  She looked away, dashing a fingertip over her cheek. “How independent is it that I didn’t like being alone? Knowing that there was nobody within calling distance to come if I needed them. Even at the palace, I’ve my personal maid. Susan is never more than a moment away. It’s pathetic.”

  “It’s natural. It’s something you’ve had no experience with. But you’d get used to it. You’d learn if you had to. If you wanted to. You could do anything you set your mind to, Meredith. But not everyone has it in them to live the life you do.”

  “Having my every need tended to? Every indulgence indulged?”

  “Living in a fishbowl, nearly every move you make in the public eye. Most people couldn’t do it. But you do. And you do it so well that an entire country who feels as if they participated in your growing up loves you for it.”

  “I don’t want the entire country’s love,” she said huskily. “Just one man’s.”

  “Meredith—”

  “Forget I said that,” she said hurriedly. “You’re not going to admit to anything but what you’ve already said, and I’m not going to change what I believe, either. So let’s just leave it at that before we make more of a mess than we already have.”

  “Retreat?”

  “After a standoff, what else is there to do?”

  “What else is there to do?” Meredith tossed down the newspaper and eyed her father. “I can’t help it that someone got a photograph of Pierce and me in his car returning from North Shore yesterday. It’s just a photo, Your Majesty. And if it weren’t for you canceling your appearance at Sunquest’s dedication, I would not have even been there.”

  “You look like a drowned rat. You’ve thoroughly embarrassed this family.”

  She wasn’t used to her father’s censure—had never done anything remotely tending to earn it—and her back went stiff as a post. “We were caught in the rain when his car broke down for the second time near the army base, and I think I’m a little too old for lectures about what is or is not seemly.” She’d gone to breakfast particularly early in hopes of catching her father, who occasionally took his breakfast there before his busy day began, but she hadn’t expected to receive an earful the moment she appeared.

  “It’s not as if the photographer caught us in each other’s arms,” she said reasonably. “Pierce is pushing the car, for goodness sake.” And she’d been steering it well off the side of the road where it wouldn’t pose a hazard to any driver in the rain. They’d missed dinner with his officers, and she’d never managed to get hold of George Valdosta to cancel their dinner engagement.

  Her father sighed noisily and snapped the newspaper flat, clearly a dismissal.

  She didn’t like being dismissed. Not even by him. “Father, there is something I’d like to ask you—”

  “I’m busy, Meredith.”

  Her jaw tightened. “It’s about Uncle Edwin,” she persisted.

  “He’s dead.”

  “Yes.” She would not get sarcastic with her father. It would be beyond disrespectful. “I wanted to know more about how he died.”

  “By a bullet,” he said, without looking up. “Why do you care?”

  She blinked. She knew her father had never been overly fond of Edwin, but his attitude was far beyond cold. “H-he was my uncle.�
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  “He was a lazy, good for nothing idi—Ah.” Morgan was suddenly all smiles and good humor. “Good morning, my dear. This is a pleasant surprise.”

  Meredith swallowed and turned to see her mother entering the room, followed closely by Mrs. Ferth, who was busy making notations on her steno pad.

  “Majesty.” Marissa nodded and continued past the breakfast table to the sideboard where she poured herself a glass of orange juice. “I’m not staying, though.” She stopped and brushed a kiss over Meredith’s cheek. “Come by my office before you leave for the day, would you?”

  “Of course.” Meredith smiled and murmured a good morning to Mrs. Ferth, and in moments the two women were off again. She looked at the King. “You were saying?”

  “Nothing of importance,” he said smoothly. He rose, rounded the table and leaned down to kiss Meredith’s cheek.

  She held herself still, wondering if she was simply going mad as a shiver danced down her spine. “Father, I really want to know more about Edwin’s death. There’s hardly anything in the papers, and nobody that I’ve spoken with so far seems to have anything to say about it other than the standard ‘unspeakable tragedy’ that the papers quote you as having said.”

  The King watched her, his hazel eyes unreadable. “Let it go, Meredith.”

  “But—”

  “I said, let it go.” His voice was silky. “You wouldn’t want to cause your mother any pain, now would you?”

  “It was ten years ago. Surely long enough for the loss to have been eased by time.” Her hands lifted. “I simply want to know what happened to him. Why are you treating it like some big mystery?”

  His face went red, and he grabbed her wrist, yanking her to him. His grip was so tight, her bracelet felt as if it were cutting through her skin. “Are you arguing with me, Meredith? That’s not wise of you. Not wise at all. I’m a busy man, with no time for idiotic little quests like yours. The alliances will make history. I’ll be known as the greatest ruler Penwyck has ever known.”

  She blinked, so utterly shocked that she couldn’t even twist her wrist free of his punishing grip. Morgan had never been extremely involved in his children’s lives, but there had been many times when Meredith and he had engaged in rather spirited debates. He’d always laughed in the end, seeming to delight in her intellect challenging his. And he’d never felt a need to tout his brilliance to anyone.