Lynn Raye Harris - Men In Uniform - Captivated By The Prince

He chuckled, and his eyes sparkled with laughter, but Emily could see the concern behind them, and regretted that she was the cause.

‘What’s this one called?’ she asked, determined to set everything back on an even keel as she pointed to an orangered, rosette-shaped bloom.

‘A good choice,’ he commented thoughtfully, stabbing his fork into the ground to come and join her. ‘This rose is named after Shakespeare’s contemporary, the great English playwright Christopher Marlowe. Here,’ he invited, selecting a bloom to show her and holding it up loosely between his fingers, ‘inhale deeply, signorina. You should be able to detect a scent of tea and lemon. Lemon tea,’ he declared, chuckling again, pleased with his joke.

‘Mmm. It is a distinctive scent,’ Emily agreed after a moment. ‘But what is the connection between Christopher Marlowe and roses?’

‘You don’t know?’ he demanded.

It seemed as if she was going to have to learn something about her own culture before starting on his, Emily realised. ‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ she said ruefully.

‘Christopher Marlowe pressed a rose inside the pages of a book he gave to a friend after an argument…to express his regret over their disagreement.’

‘And did his friend forgive him?’

‘Who could resist?’ the old gentleman retorted, his eyes widening as he surveyed the array of beautiful blooms nodding in the breeze in front of them.

Before Emily could stop him, he cut one for her.

‘Here, signorina, take this. Press it between the pages of a book…and always remember that if a rose is shown love and care it will flourish and bloom, wherever it is planted.’

Taking the flower from his hand, Emily smiled. ‘Do you work here every day?’

‘I intend to,’ he told her, eyes shining with anticipation. ‘I intend to make this rose garden the most talked about in all of Ferara…all of Europe!’

They talked for some while, and then she left him to his work.

‘I’m sure you will,’ Emily agreed. ‘It’s so very beautiful already.’

‘Would it bother you if I came here to talk to you again?’

‘Bother me?’ he exclaimed with surprise. ‘On the contrary signorina. I should love it.’

‘In that case,’ Emily said happily, ‘see you tomorrow.’

The old man bowed as she started to move away. ‘Until tomorrow, signorina. I shall look forward to it.’

After her encounter with the elderly gardener Emily felt more confident that she had something to contribute to palace life. A plan was taking shape in her mind: a scheme to improve the living conditions of all Alessandro’s employees—though she had to admit to a moment’s concern when her private secretary said she knew of no one matching the old man’s description in royal service.

Turning it over in her mind, Emily returned to her desk to catch up on some correspondence. On the top there was a large red journal she didn’t recognise, and, opening it at the flyleaf, she saw it was from Alessandro. He had written simply, ‘For Emily from Alessandro—a record of your thoughts’. And then, at the bottom of the page, he had added the date of their forthcoming marriage.

‘Do you like it?’

She nearly jumped out of her skin. ‘I love it,’ she said bluntly, running the fingers of one hand appreciatively down the length of its spine.

‘Your secretary showed me in,’ he explained. ‘I hope you don’t mind?’

‘Not at all.’ The now familiar surge in her pulse-rate had reached new and unprecedented levels, Emily discovered as she continued to stare at Alessandro standing on the balcony outside her room. Surely there would come a point where she’d got used to seeing him? But how could anyone look that good in a pair of jeans and a simple dark linen shirt? She surmised he was off-duty, and wondered what he planned to do with his free time. ‘Is this a gift for me?’ she said, glancing down at the journal.

He answered with a grin and a shrug.

‘Five years of entries?’ she teased lightly. ‘I presume you couldn’t get any less?’

His silence allowed her to draw her own conclusions. ‘Well, I’ve never had anything like it before.’ she admitted frankly, ‘so, thank you.’

‘May I come in?’ he said, leaning on the doorframe.

‘Of course.’ She wondered if her heart would ever steady again. ‘I was only going to write some letters.’

‘But I thought you wanted to have a look around Ferara?’

‘I do.’ She tried not to read anything into the remark, but her pulse rate rebelled again. ‘I’m very keen to learn more. Actually, I’ve already made a friend of one of the gardeners.’

‘Did he tell you much about our country?’

‘He was a very interesting old gentleman, as it happens. And, Alessandro?’

‘Yes?’

Emily waited, noticing how his eyes reflected his thoughts—there was a something in his expression now that suggested this might be a good time to air her idea. ‘I know you’ve been very busy, and that small things aren’t always apparent, but…’

‘Get on with it,’ he encouraged with a gesture.

‘After talking to the gardener I got the impression that his apartment could do with some renovation—just some little touches that would make his life easier.’

‘And you’d like to take charge of these?’

‘Yes. I think it would be worthwhile.’

‘I’m sure it would,’ Alessandro agreed. ‘And as far as learning more about Ferara is concerned—well, I’ve taken the afternoon off, so I could show you around, if you like.’

A shiver of excitement raced down Emily’s spine as she let him wait for her answer.

‘The chocolate festival,’ he prompted, ‘the one I told you about? It’s usually held in February, but there’s to be a special demonstration in celebration of our marriage. Because of the heat at this time of year it’s taking place inside the grand hall of one of the municipal buildings.’

So, his talk of a chocolate festival hadn’t been a wind-up after all, she realised, feeling a rush of anticipation. ‘I’d love to go.’

‘That’s settled, then,’ he said. ‘We’d better leave right away if we want to catch the best demonstrations.’

When they arrived, Emily was amazed to find the streets of Ferara had been recreated within the cool, vaulted interior of the ancient building, complete with chocolate stalls, chocolate sculptures in various stages of completion, and crowds milling about. There was a ripple of excitement when Alessandro was spotted with his bride-to-be, but after the initial surprise they were able to move around the vast marble-floored exhibition area quite freely. It was Emily’s first real exposure to her new countrymen, and at first she held back a little self-consciously, but Alessandro grabbed her hand, drawing her forward, giving every indication of being proud of his choice of bride.

He was either a very good actor, Emily decided, or—a very good actor, she told herself firmly, knowing how easy it would be to let her imagination get the better of her where Alessandro was involved.

‘Let me get you some chocolate,’ he offered, weaving through the press of people, towing her behind him. He took her to stand beneath one of the towering pillars where an artist was already busy at work, then reached out and caught some of the glossy flakes as they showered down. He began feeding them to her, until Emily had to beg him to stop.

‘Stop? Are you sure?’

‘No,’ Emily admitted, laughing because she was sure her face had to be smeared with chocolate.

To anyone unaware of their tangled relationship they would have passed for two people in love, laughing and enjoying the festival for what it was—an explosion of happiness and goodwill to celebrate the marriage of a man who was clearly much loved by his fellow Ferarans.