Lisa Laurel - The Irresistible Prince

On paper, a year had seemed like enough time. Not surprisingly, ever since the deadline had been announced, women had been launching themselves at him from all sides. But even in the exclusive stratum of society that was the milieu of royalty, an altar-bound prince seemed to meet nothing but social climbers, hangers-on and mercenaries—all cleverly disguised as the ideal princess. He himself had met one too many. After ten months Lucas had finally faced up to the fact that the kind of woman he wanted wouldn’t be the type to come sashaying up to the palace gates, anyway. He would have to go to her. So here he was.

He paced between the counter and the window, finding a narrow path through a maze of closely set, round tables that were each bracketed by a pair of wooden chairs. Coming here had been the idea of his two closest friends. They were brothers, princes of Isle Anders, which was his country’s long-time ally and closest neighbor in the remote North Atlantic waters near Iceland. Prince Erik and Prince Whit had both recently married, well and fruitfully—Whit had finally settled down with the love of his life, who was the mother of his six-year-old daughter, and Erik and his adored—and adoring—new bride were expecting a honeymoon baby to arrive in the spring. There would be no shortage of heirs to the throne in the kingdom of Isle Anders, and no shortage of marital happiness, either.

That was it in a nutshell. Lucas wanted what his friends had found. And they had both found their princesses in America: sweet, smart, down-to-earth women homegrown right here in Anders Point, Maine. So Erik and Whit had sent him to Anders Point; more specifically, they had sent him to their wives’ friend, Annah Lane. Lucas had enough reservations about the whole thing to sink his island home, but it was more of a plan than he had been able to come up with, and when push came to shove, doing something was infinitely preferable to doing nothing but listen to the hourly chime of the big tower clock in the courtyard outside of his palace.

The kettle whistled softly as steam came out of its spout. He thought again of her inviting him to make himself a cup of tea, as if he should know how to do that. He wished he did. He could use a drink of any kind. But after glancing over the bewildering array of unfamiliar things behind the counter, he spun away. Pacing over to the big front window, he stared out into the dusk. In the darkness he saw her reflection as she worked in the room down the hall. Having seen her up close, he felt objectively that nothing about her looks confirmed his friends’ insistence that she was an extraordinary woman. She was of medium height and medium build, with medium brown hair cut to medium length. Her eyes were uncommonly large and expressive, but they were a common enough shade of brown. Only her lips departed from the earthy hues of the rest of her coloring; they were a lush, rich red that enhanced her every expression, whether upturned with amusement or softened with empathy. But not pouty with flirtiness, which seemed to be the standard for feminine lips since he had been given his deadline. That was refreshing, at least. And for the reason he had come to her, other qualities were far more important than looks.

He turned away from the window and positioned himself in one of the creaky wooden chairs, in order to get a better view into the well-lit back room. Sounds filtered down the hallway, and what he saw and heard caught his interest. The customers she had felt obliged to wait on were no more than girls, and they were keeping her busy. One was asking her opinion as she twirled in front of a mirror in a long dress. Another wanted to look at something in a locked jewelry case. Yet another was asking to try on a hat that was on a top shelf. Many another person would have snapped and growled by now, but it seemed that nothing was too much for Annah Lane. From climbing a ladder for the hat to kneeling on the ground to pin up a hemline, she handled it all with calm efficiency. Her patience seemed unending, and that too would be a desirable trait in the person he was looking for. She always seemed to be almost smiling, as if there was some hidden well of humor within her; and when her laughter bubbled up, it sounded genuine.

As it had been during the brief time she had spoken to him, her warmth was palpable. That was what kept him there in the chair, when his better judgment was of the opinion that he should cut and run. The sounds gradually dwindled, and at last she ushered the girls out the back door and turned the latch. True to her promise, she flicked out the lights and made her way down the hall toward him.

It was too late to turn back now. Now he could only hope for the best, but be prepared for the worst—that she would say no.

Annah was uncomfortably aware of the prince’s eyes on her as she walked down the hallway. She had noticed him watching her while she was working, and had a spot of dried blood on her finger where she had jabbed herself with a pin to prove it. She had been a bit unsteady on the ladder, too, as if proximity to a prince had the power to upset her equilibrium. But Annah’s calm had never been rattled by royalty before. After all, hadn’t her best friends just married princes? But there was something about this particular prince.

He stood up as she entered the room, and Annah found herself nearly overwhelmed by his sheer physical presence. “Thank you for waiting,” she said.

His answer was a regal incline of his head.

She glanced behind the counter and saw the kettle gently steaming. “Oh. Didn’t you have any tea?”

He seemed to hesitate a moment before answering. “No. I...didn’t.”

It dawned on her then that a prince might consider performing such a task beneath him. “Would you care for some now?” she asked, smiling slightly.

“Yes. Thank you.”

She poured a cup for each of them while he watched. “Please, sit down,” she said, placing the cups at one of three booths that lined the far wall. He waited until she was seated and then slid into the opposite bench. When Annah was serving customers there, the booth seemed like a nice roomy spot. But sitting across from Prince Lucas, she was preoccupied with the thought that the smallest slouch on her part would bring her knees into contact with those of His Highness.

She sat as straight as she could, waiting for him to say something, but he seemed more inclined to study her. Tension wound in her like a spring, while she went through the motions of fishing out her tea bag with a spoon. “You said you wanted to speak with me,” she said, when she could stand it no longer.

“Yes.”

“About whatever is troubling you?”

His eyes met hers abruptly. “Why do you say that?” he asked cautiously.

“The fact that you seemed bent on wearing a path in my linoleum was a dead giveaway,” she pointed out gently.

“You are correct,” he said. “I have a problem, and I am here because I have been told that you can help me, Miss Lane.” His smoky voice brought an odd tinge of warmth to Annah’s insides. “Prince Erik and Prince Whit of Isle Anders have both, ah—” his slight hesitation made her breath catch, in spite of herself “—recommended you.”

Erik and Whit had recently married Annah’s two best friends. That explained what had brought him here, but not what he wanted. “Recommended me?” she asked, frowning. “What sort of a problem is it, Your Highness?”

“In order to keep the throne, I must be married by the first of the year.” He stopped, as if hoping that would be sufficient explanation.

“I know,” Annah told him. “Everyone knows that, Your Highness.” She took a sip of tea, waiting for him to elaborate on how she could help him with his wedding plans. Although amused by the thought, she refrained from asking whether he needed her to clothe the royal wedding party or to cater the reception. “What exactly is it that you need?” she asked diplomatically.