Donna Clayton - In Pursuit Of A Princess

However, it had been pure luck for her—and the whole of her country—that Etienne had shown an interest in her. Under the pretense of responding to his attention, she planned to keep her eyes and ears open, to collect all the information possible about who was plotting against her country.

As she descended the curved staircase, she glanced at the massive grandfather clock standing on the landing. Twelve minutes past the hour. Perfect. Ariane’s grandmother, Dowager Queen Simone de Bergeron, had advised that when one was attending a party given in one’s honor it was polite to arrive fashionably late, allowing time for the other guests to have assembled themselves.

Her name was announced and she paused inside the doorway of the ballroom as she’d been taught to do since she was a child. All eyes turned to her.

She was confident that her attire befitted her position. The soft silk of her strapless, form-fitting gown was the same midnight blue of her eyes. Her hair was swept off her shoulders with the perfect amount of wispy tendrils framing her face. The jewels in her tiara glittered, as did the diamonds gracing her earlobes and throat. Her father would have been proud….

Grief rushed over her, but she quelled the tears that so suddenly scalded the backs of her eyelids. Now was not the time to succumb to emotion, not with a room full of nobility scrutinizing her every move. Forcing her mouth to spread into a gracious smile, she made her way toward her host and hostess.

“Your Highness.” Ariane greeted the king of Rhineland, offering the man a curtsy. But it was the queen who reached out to her.

“Oh, Ariane,” the woman said, “we’ll have none of that formal behavior from you. This is Giraud.” She indicated her husband. “And I insist that you call me Laurette.”

The king chuckled jovially. “You’ll have to do as she says,” he told Ariane. “I may wear the bigger crown, but Laurette runs the place.”

They laughed, and Ariane was keenly aware of the fondness this couple obviously shared. All her instincts told her that she was going to like these people. She hoped she didn’t discover they were involved in the conspiracy.

Laurette’s expression turned somber. “I was so sorry to hear about the passing of your father. King Philippe was a wonderful man.”

Sorrow welled up in Ariane. She had yet to come to grips with her grief. She smiled through the pain. “Thank you. No one knew Father was having heart problems.”

“If there is anything we can do for you while you’re here with us…”

The king’s kind offer touched Ariane’s heart.

Suddenly, Queen Laurette looked pained. “I’ll have to apologize for my son. I don’t know what could be keeping him. He’s always in some meeting or other.”

“I’ve sent out a search party.” Giraud patted Ariane’s arm. “Don’t worry. He’ll turn up soon enough.”

“I’m sure he will.” But even as Ariane stood there with her back to the crowd, she became cognizant of the low murmur rushing through the room. Surely the guests were discussing the prince’s faux pas.

As she made her way across the polished marble floor, Ariane’s smile didn’t wilt in the least; however, she could feel annoyance spark inside her like the striking of a match. Of all the pompous, egotistical things for the prince to do! Arriving after her at a party given in her honor was not only arrogant, it was downright rude.

Like the loyal and trusted friend she was, Francie, Ariane’s lady-in-waiting, stood nearby, the frown on her brow blatant proof of the aggravation she felt.

“He’s an oaf to have done this to you,” Francie said in a rush.

Ariane sighed, knowing exactly about whom Francie was speaking. “It’s all right. I’m not concerned with the prince, anyway. You know that.”

The words rolled off her tongue easily enough—and they should have been nothing but true. So why, she wondered, was she feeling so perturbed?

“Yes, but no one else here does,” her friend reminded her. “And now everyone’s talking. They’ll all be thinking—”

“Keep your voice down.” Ariane picked up a flute of champagne from a tray and nodded her appreciation to the servant who offered it. Once the man was out of earshot, she said to Francie, “I know what they’ll be thinking—and saying. That I’m a desperate woman who is hankering after their prince.”

Maybe that was the cause of her irritation. She didn’t like being thought of as desperate.

“But he was the one who made first contact,” her lady said, her ire obvious.

Francie got herself worked up easily and it never failed to tweak Ariane’s humor. A grin curled the corners of her mouth. “It’s going to be all right. Yes, I had hoped that my arrival would go smoothly, but I can surely handle a bumpy start.” She smiled a genial greeting to an elderly man who strolled by. “Maybe the prince has taken ill. Or he’s been detained with affairs of the state.”

“At eight o’clock on a Saturday evening? Nothing could be more important to the prince of Rhineland than to be here. ” Francie’s expression displayed her indignation as she firmly added, “Ten minutes ago.”

“Okay, you’ve made your point. So the prince is an arrogant lout.” Ariane sipped her champagne. “Speaking of affairs of the state…what do you say we find a likely candidate and talk politics? That is why I’m here.”

Francie’s nose wrinkled. “Political talk bores me. You know that.”

Yes, Ariane did. “Then you go find a handsome man to dance with.”

The woman started to go, but paused long enough to warn, “You be careful.”

“Careful is my middle name. Besides—” Ariane let her eyes go wide with feigned naïvetë “—as soon as I show them that I’m empty-headed and harmless, every official in the castle will be clamoring to impress me with all they know.”

Etienne slipped into the ballroom using a side door. His parents would have his head for being late. But the matter couldn’t be helped, he thought, his mouth firming into a grim line. He could only meet with the most trusted members of his Intelligence Service when everyone else was otherwise occupied.

Ruthless rumors were afloat. It had been reported to him that a person—or persons—within his father’s cabinet wanted to seize control of the neighboring country of St. Michel. Etienne was appalled that someone wanted to take advantage of the de Bergeron family when they were still in mourning over the loss of King Philippe. The idea was barbaric in this day and age.

Granted, the unexpected death of the king left the country with no male heir—and it was common knowledge that the law of St. Michel declared that females could not rule. It was an archaic edict, but legally enforceable, nonetheless. No war would be fought. Not a single Rhineland soldier would march across St. Michel’s border. This battle would be waged in the international courts. And all of this would take place in a civilized and peaceful manner. Yet it would be nonetheless barbaric in Etienne’s mind.

He paused when he caught sight of his parents who were waltzing out on the dance floor. His mother was just getting over a serious bout of pneumonia. She’d been ill for some time now and his father had been worried that she may not recover completely. It was good to see them enjoying themselves.

He let his gaze travel slowly over the guests in the ballroom. It didn’t take but an instant to find who he was looking for. She stood out in the crowd, his princess did. Ariane was that stunning. Heat spiraled like liquid smoke low in his gut.

Her honey-blond hair was twisted into an intricate coiffure, a few loose and softly curling strands falling to brush against her sexy bare shoulders whenever she moved her head. The line of her milky neck was long and graceful and delicate. She had the kind of throat that enticed a man to press his nose against warm skin, to inhale the distinct and subtle womanly aroma that would be hers and hers alone. Ariane, he silently surmised, would smell of sunny summer days and flowery meadows.