Page 39 of Revelations of A Secret Princess

Through the formal welcomes her mind kept straying to Ariane. Was she sleeping or was she beset by the nightmares?

Did she miss Caro?

Caro told herself it was too soon for that, thoughshemissed her daughter with a permanent ache beneath her ribs. After years believing her child dead, the impatience to be with her grew stronger not less. She’d only just resisted calling again tonight to check on her. Lotte had been reassuring this morning when she phoned. That had to be enough.

Soon she’d be free to go back to the castle. To Ariane.

And Jake.

Sinuous heat swirled through Caro’s middle at the thought of Jake.

Feminine desire battled with trepidation whenever she thought of him. The man she’d almost given herself to. The man she wanted. She, who’d believed no man could ever again tempt her into intimacy, much less trust.

The man who’d been considerate and caring in a way unmatched by any other man in her life.

The man who stood between her and her daughter.

Except surely the person she’d seen behind the forbidding exterior and rapier-sharp mind needn’t be an enemy? He wanted the best for Ariane. Surely, once he knew the truth he’d understand. Cooperate.

Caro clung to that thought through the last of the welcomes. In a couple of days she could return to Switzerland, see Ariane and explain to Jake.

He’d be surprised at first but he was no ogre. They’d find a way to negotiate this situation and—

‘Princess Carolina.’ The deep voice, like trailing velvet dipped in arsenic, wrapped around her.

Her thoughts shattered. Slowly, using every effort to turn a neck suddenly stiff with tension, she looked to the next guest.

She felt herself sway, wondered distantly whether she might black out. But she didn’t have the luxury of escape.

Jake Maynard stood there, superb in formal clothes tailored lovingly to his tall, broad-shouldered form. He’d looked daunting in business clothes, vital and handsome in a knitted pullover and jeans, raffishly sexy in gym gear. It shouldn’t surprise her that in a bow tie and dinner jacket he was devastating.

Yet he stole her words as well as her breath. Caro stared up at the man watching her with the hooded silvery gaze of a predator. So handsome, with such a palpable aura of danger and power she instantly thought of a fallen angel. Or maybe that was because of the hot mercury stare pinning her to the spot.

‘Or do you prefer to be called Caro?’

Nearby someone snatched a shocked breath at his effrontery but Caro was too busy standing tall when that poison-drenched voice wound tight around her, stopping the air in her lungs.

Without waiting for an answer he captured her hand. Instead of shaking it, he lifted it slowly, ostentatiously. He didn’t bend his head, instead raising her arm high so she could see her pale hand in his as he pressed his lips to her fingers.

Involuntarily her fingers curled around his as energy jagged from her hand up her arm and down to her breasts and lower, to that empty space deep inside. The blood racketed around her body so fast she felt light-headed.

Caro heard a hissed breath, hers, then felt the convulsive shiver of her body’s response. To him. To the anger sizzling in that half-lidded stare. And, heaven help her, to his bold challenge.

‘Mr... Maynard.’ Her hesitation made it sound as if she was trying to remember his name, which was better than revealing how undone she was as he stood there, arrogantly stopping the queue of guests and holding her hand so close she felt the warmth of his breath on her fingers. The flesh across the back of her shoulders drew tight and her skin prickled. ‘How good of you to attend.’

‘You were expecting me?’ His eyebrows rose as if in polite enquiry but Caro was busy reading the rest of his face. The grooves carved down his cheeks by the tight set of his jaw, the pronounced tic of a pulse at his temple and the flare of his nostrils as if assailed by some unpleasant smell.

Caro wavered on the verge of panic. She couldn’t do this. Not here, not now. She needed quiet, a place to explain away from curious ears. She needed his understanding and compassion, not his enmity.

But finally Caro steadied herself. She had no option.

‘I hadn’t realised you were on the guest list but I hope you enjoy the ball.’

‘I’m sure it will be most entertaining.’ Still he didn’t release her hand. She was conscious of the increasing number of stares trained on them.

‘Please go on through.’ She nodded towards the double doors flung wide to the gilded ballroom. Footmen stood on either side of the entry with trays of champagne. Beyond them guests milled, quaffing drinks, showing off their finery, chattering in anticipation.

Slowly he lowered her hand. But instead of releasing it, Jake curled his fingers around hers. His hold tightened into an implacable grip that matched the forbidding angle of his jaw. ‘Perhaps you’d like to show me around, Your Highness?’

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