Victoria Chancellor - The Prince's Cowboy Double

He was nothing like any Englishman she’d ever known…except in one regard. He obviously thought women should be decorative in and out of the bedroom, and quiet otherwise. His attitude bordered on that of a feudal lord who had his pick of willing wenches. Very soon, Mr. Hank McCauley was going to learn that Lady Gwendolyn Reed was no man’s willing wench.

“I still think you haven’t thought this through,” he said, breaking into her private thoughts. It took her a moment before she realized he meant the substitute prince plan.

“I have very little choice,” she said, stopping at the glass-and-brass lift beside an indoor waterway and focusing on her job, not her personal feelings. The water was quite pleasant, but she took little solace in the gurgling sounds. Every minute that passed left her closer to tomorrow’s public engagements. She couldn’t afford a hint of scandal to reach the ears—or the cameras—of the European paparazzi. Much less reach inside the palace in Belegovia.

Hank McCauley made a halfhearted attempt to hide a yawn. She supposed he really was tired after staying up all night with the horse. Perhaps she could give him an hour or so for a nap while she arranged her materials. They needed a place setting for a five-course dinner, a sampler of appetizers and a selection of wines. And Milos needed to start measurements in case alterations were necessary to the two suits Hank—as Prince Alexi—would wear tomorrow. Hopefully they wouldn’t need to purchase shoes. She doubted San Antonio stores carried the Italian style Alexi preferred.

“If you would like, you may take a nap while I gather what I’ll need to continue our training.”

The lift doors opened and a family of five exited. She and McCauley entered, only to be followed by an older couple who smiled and nodded. Her substitute prince tipped his hat, just like the hero in a Western movie.

“Whatever works best for you, darlin’, he drawled, “but you’re always welcome to join me for my nap.”

The older couple smiled at the cowboy as if he’d made a profound statement of worldly importance. Gwendolyn closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. Would she ever become accustomed to his outrageous behavior?

Hank awoke groggy and disoriented, a gentle tapping sound penetrating his foggy brain. He wasn’t in his own room back at the ranch, but this big bed was sure comfortable. He stretched, his hands coming in contact with his hat. He’d been wearing it when he’d gone upstairs to the suite. At the Hyatt Regency in San Antonio.

The big suite reserved for Prince Alexi of Belegovia.

The tapping sound stopped. He blinked, focusing on the door. Sure enough, it opened just enough for Lady Wendy to poke her aristocratic nose around the corner. One slim hand held on to the darkly stained wood as if she were dangling for her life.

“Mr. McCauley, are you decent?”

“Darlin’, I’m about as decent as I get.”

She looked into the room, her eyes reflecting a cautious curiosity. He immediately noticed that she’d pulled her hair back into the severe style she favored.

He couldn’t wait to mess it up again.

Whoa! He shouldn’t be thinking along those lines. He’d kissed her once, but that needed to be the end of it. Lady Wendy Reed was just a little too sweet, a little too elegant for his white-bread taste. She’d be gone from his life faster than he could say lickety-split.

“I hope you had a pleasant rest, Mr. McCauley, because we need to begin your instruction.” He noticed she wasn’t looking at him much. He looked down, but sure enough, the buttons on his Levi’s were all done up, so that couldn’t be it. Either he’d offended her somehow, or she didn’t trust herself to watch him. Either way, it didn’t bode well for their working relationship.

She sure as hell wasn’t calling him “Hank,” as he’d asked. She was keeping it real professional with “Mr. McCauley.”

He might have overdone the good old boy routine just a bit. Maybe she didn’t want to get too familiar with a slightly broken-down bronc rider who had a smart mouth and a low threshold for boredom. With a sigh, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Sure. Let me just splash some water on my face and I’ll be right out.”

“Very good,” she said crisply, pulling the door closed behind her.

She couldn’t wait to give him a princely makeover, as if he were inadequate as he was. He didn’t like the thought; he didn’t appreciate the feeling deep in his gut that to someone like Lady Wendy, he was inadequate. If he didn’t watch out, he’d work himself into a really lousy mood. That just wouldn’t do, since he was in San Antone on someone else’s dime. Sure he wanted to learn some fancy manners and figure out what to wear to which event, but he also wanted to have some fun.

Life was too short to spend it all tied up in knots.

He stretched his unreliable back, pleased that his nap hadn’t frozen up his often-abused muscles. His old injuries came back to haunt him occasionally, usually at the most inconvenient times. Like when he was trying to impress a woman.

With a big yawn, he made his way into the marble-and-brass bathroom. Time was up; he was about to become Prince Alexi.

SIX HOURS, FIVE COURSES of food, one haircut and manicure, and three alterations of clothing later, Hank was even more tired of this Prince Alexi guy than he’d been this morning. Not only had the prince run off with Kerry Lynn, but he had about the most god-awful boring job in the universe. Smiling, shaking hands, eating, sitting and wearing expensive clothes was about all the prince was good for.

Of course, Hank now understood why Alexi ran off. Only six hours in the prince’s shoes—quite literally—and Hank was ready to run screaming from the fancy suite.

“Mr. McCauley, are you listening? The family tree of the royals in Belegovia is very important information.”

“I’m sure it is, Lady Wendy, but since I’m going to have laryngitis tomorrow, I can’t imagine I’d have to talk to anyone about these relatives of the prince.”

“Still, someone may mention one of the dukes or counts, or even their wives. It’s important that you are not caught making a mistake regarding your relatives.”

“His relatives,” Hank clarified, scowling at Milos Anatole, who knelt beside him with a mouthful of pins and some chalk. “You know, these pants looked just fine to me.”

“Prince Alexi is approximately one half inch taller than you, Mr. McCauley,” the uppity, nervous valet announced around the mouthful of pins.

“Yeah, but a half inch? I’m only going to be wearing his things for a few hours.”

“It’s entirely possible someone could notice that your clothes didn’t fit perfectly,” Lady Wendy explained.

Hank shook his head. This prince really was a bore. Like the most important thing in the world was whether his pants “broke” at just the proper place above his expensive Italian shoes.

“Who’s gonna be lookin’ that hard at my pants?” Hank asked, putting both hands on his hips.

Milos frowned up at him. Wendy blinked at him as if he’d said something ridiculous.

“What?”

“Mr. McCauley, the prince is under constant observation by a variety of press. Both legitimate publications and the more irritating paparazzi track his every move. They will be at all the events.”

Hank narrowed his eyes. “You never said anything about folks following me around, taking dozens of pictures.”

“More like hundreds,” Wendy told him in a matter-of-fact voice that for some reason irritated the hell out of him.

Hank squared his shoulders, trying his best to be intimidating. “You owe me.”

“You have yet to name your price,” she informed him. “Of course, I’ve already explained that the Belegovian treasury is not an endless well of funds.”