Lisa Laurel - The Prince's Bride

“Especially the lovely mademoiselle in blue, I see.” Although born on Isle Anders, Gustave was half French, a circumstance that flavored both his cooking and his speech.

He was observant, too. Erik had been watching Julie all night. And he wasn’t the only one. It came as no surprise to him that the eyes of some of the top connoisseurs in the world of women had glazed over when she walked into the ballroom.

“She has done a fine job,” Erik said, choosing safe ground. “As for her appearance, she does much credit to the king by her manner of poise and restraint”.

“Ah, yes, I have often myself been struck by her level of poise and restraint,” Gustave said with a chuckle. Erik wondered what the chef found so amusing, but became distracted when he saw a duke with a reputation for shameless philandering trying to wheedle Julie onto the dance floor. A duke who, in the receiving line, had asked him who the luscious babe in blue was. It had taken all of Erik’s restraint to give him a civilized, stony stare, when what he wanted to do was take him outside and wipe the leer from his face.

It was requiring even more restraint to watch the man flirt with her now. It wasn’t the first time Erik had felt protective toward Julie. He could have kissed her that night nine years ago, like she’d wanted him to—hell, like he’d wanted to. But it wouldn’t have been fair to leave her with a memory like that, young and vulnerable as she was. He had rejected her, but at least he had tried to be gentle as well as firm about it. And seeing her again, all grown up, and obviously over him, he realized that he must have handled the matter well. As much as Erik’s instincts still made him want to protect Julie, reason told him he had no right to. Even if he weren’t a soon-to-be engaged man.

A waiter, wending his way through the crowd, offered them champagne from his tray. Gustave took a glass and, watching the duke, asked Erik idly, “Isn’t this where the prince rescues the fair damsel from the dragon?"

Erik, who had no taste for champagne, waved the waiter away. “Where have you been, my friend? Fair damsels can take care of themselves these days,” he said, as much for his own benefit as for Gustave’s. As if on cue, Julie went her way alone, leaving behind a crestfallen duke.

“A pity,” Gustave observed. “It gave you young princes something to do.”

Erik looked at Julie for the hundredth time since he’d arrived that afternoon. She carried herself with a refined grace that made her look right at home in the elegance that surrounded her. Her brown hair, swept off her bare shoulders into a smooth, sophisticated style, shone with gold and copper highlights. She wore a tasteful amount of makeup that played up her features but didn’t hide the scattered freckles he remembered, and those only enhanced the glow of her skin. Curvy in her evening dress, she seemed sexy without meaning to be; but those long legs of hers would show to advantage no matter what she wore—or didn’t wear.

Gustave’s low voice intruded on his thoughts, which were taking a dangerous turn. “It looks like she is going to the serving tables. Would you like to join her, Your Highness? The food is excellent. I can vouch for it.”

At that, Erik smiled. “I’m sure you can. Maybe later, Gustave.”

“Ah, and maybe later the young lady will be dancing. She turned down the duke, but she will accept my offer. I am a grandfather, and dancing with me will be no threat to a lovely young mademoiselle,” Gustave said, gliding away. “Of course, it will be no thrill, either. Unlike a dance with the prince.”

Erik watched him disappear into the crowd. As host, it was his duty to dance with as many of the women in attendance as possible. But he wouldn’t dance with Julie. He had danced with her nine years ago and had felt things that he didn’t think were decent for a grown man of twenty-one to feel toward a girl of sixteen. Even worse, he had felt something much deeper than lust. Now she was of age, and he was about to be safely engaged—but he still had no intention of challenging what he had battled to overcome at twenty-one.

Julie was seating herself at one of the tiny tables set in one corner of the room, among an attractive grouping of large plants and the formerly recalcitrant fountain, which now bubbled obediently. Laughing at something a man at the next table said to her, she took a delicate bite of food, then a sip of champagne. Suddenly she glanced up, right at Erik. Caught staring, he looked guiltily away, then cursed himself both for staring at her in the first place and for having such a damn fool reaction to being caught.

Impatiently he looked toward the entrance. Surely Roberta should have been here by now. The camera crew was busy filming the ball. He had told them to expect that his surprise announcement would take place at midnight.

Not that it was going to be much of a surprise anymore, and that was all right. People were probably speculating as to his choice, and Roberta’s name should be at the top of most people’s list. They had dated casually for years, on and off. It had worked well because neither had expected anything from the other. She because she was in love with another man, he because he had no desire to love or be loved by any woman.

Now he was expecting a lot of her. And he was confident that she would give it. He trusted her. She would show.

Julie, alerted by the kitchen staff of the persistent ringing of the castle’s private line, had gone into the library to answer the phone. When she hung up a few minutes later, she felt countless emotions churning deep inside her. The one that surfaced was dread.

She had to find Erik. Hurrying out of the room, she hoped she wasn’t too late.

He hadn’t been in the ballroom when the phone call came in, so she searched the other downstairs rooms first, with no luck. Trying to appear calm, though her heart was hammering, she decided to try the ballroom again.

She found him in a corner, talking to a group of men. As Julie approached, she heard one of them ask, “Is it true that you are announcing your engagement, old boy?”

The man took Erik’s silence as affirmation, and prodded further. “Who’s the lucky woman?"

If Erik had been inclined to answer, he didn’t have a chance.

“I am.” Julie pushed her way into the group and took Erik by the arm. “At least, for one dance. Don’t you remember you promised to dance with me?” she asked, looking pleadingly at Erik.

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