Revealed: A Prince and A Pregnancy (15 page)

‘I fainted,’ she said firmly. ‘I did not collapse.’

Rafael ignored her massaging of the facts. ‘I was waiting for the doctor to finish examining you. Etienne agreed to it.’

‘Did he have a choice?’

Another faint smile. ‘No. But you do. If you’d rather we made different plans, just say so.’

‘I like this course you’ve set,’ she assured him gently. ‘A princess for six months, a champagne heiress for three more, and a winemaker’s muse for the final three months of every year. I could embrace them all. Turn around.’

He turned towards her.

‘No, the other around.’ The one where his back was towards her.

He didn’t oblige. He knew now, from experience, that looking would be followed by touching and that touching
invariably led to lovemaking. He’d been extremely careful to limit her touching these past two days. Doctor’s orders.

‘I’m having a thought,’ she said.

‘If it involves rewording the artwork, the answer’s no.’

‘It’s a really good thought.’

‘No. Eat your flatbread.’

‘I think I’m over flatbread for breakfast,’ she said with a delicate shudder. Rafe eyed her warily, probably wondering whether a dash to the bathroom was in the offing. It wasn’t. Playing with the delectable vision of angelfaced and wickedly built masculinity before her was.

‘I’m thinking that if it’s a girl we should abandon the archangel names altogether. Metatronella’s really not working for me.’

‘Couldn’t agree more,’ he said.

‘Thing is, I’m having trouble with all the names already in place, never mind having to add another couple to the front. Brulee Duvalier Alexander de Morsay is quite a mouthful.’

‘You cannot name a child after a dessert,’ he said firmly.

‘But I
can
name one after flowers, months of the year, stars, destinations, admirable qualities and the occasional fruit? How odd. And how about Hope?’

‘No Hope whatsoever.’

‘Serenity?’

‘Unlikely,’ he said.

‘Unlikely’s a little problematic, given all those last names. It could call her parentage into question and we wouldn’t want that.’

Rafael shot her a speaking glance. He seemed a bit on edge today. He’d seemed a bit on edge ever since she’d fainted. Simone abandoned her teasing and headed for the truth of her thoughts on names for this child.

‘My mother’s name was Angelina,’ she said tentatively. Her mother had died before Simone had reached her first year. Simone didn’t remember her at all, she only knew
of
her. But what she knew sounded good. ‘Angelina Grace.’

‘That would work,’ he said with a quiet smile that filled her heart.

‘I’ve thought of a boy’s name too.’ She had, just now. In the interests of fairness and in the name of love. ‘Harrison.’

‘That would work too,’ he said gruffly.

‘I know. Now turn around, I’m on a roll.’

‘No.’

He was staying away from her on purpose. He hadn’t made love to her in two days. He’d held her gently through the night instead, as if afraid she would break. But the children of Caverness were not so easily broken. The children of Caverness refused to let despair get the better of them. The children of Caverness had ways. ‘Do you remember the first time you kissed me?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not on my knee after I’d taken a tumble off the wall, or on the top of my head after we’d beaten Luc and Gabrielle at football.’

‘Of course not,’ he said with a tilt to his lips. ‘Although for future reference I remember those times too.’

‘It was at the harvest ball. And you were avoiding me for all you were worth.’

‘Probably because I wasn’t worth much.’

‘You were to me.’

‘I was parking cars, Simone. You were the belle of the ball.’

‘It
was
a very nice car,’ she said wistfully. ‘Ferrari, wasn’t it?’

‘Bugatti.’

‘Close enough.’ By the time they’d finished with that first kiss he could have taken her anywhere, including on the bonnet. He hadn’t. It had taken him another week to take her fully. Another week of restraint on his part and agonised waiting on hers. She hated waiting. ‘I don’t suppose you’d consider making love with me this morning?’ she asked.

He looked as if he was considering it. His body certainly was. But he shook his head reluctantly. ‘The doctor said three days of bed rest.’

‘I’d just like to point out that what I have in mind is in fact a bed-based activity.’

He laughed at that, but he still shook his head. ‘No.’ He headed for the bathroom.

‘Going somewhere?’

‘The shower,’ he said. ‘And it had better be cold.’

‘Want me to scrub your back for you?’

‘I want you to eat your bread.’

‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said hurriedly, before he disappeared from her sight.

‘I’ve noticed,’ he said dryly.

Yes, well. Enforced bed rest did that to a person. ‘Caverness’s harvest ball is on in a couple of weeks. I’m thinking that if we arrive home in the next few days I’ll be needing an escort and that you won’t be parking cars. I’m thinking I’d like to do things properly this time.’

‘You mean on the hood of the Bugatti?’

He
did
remember. Simone grinned. ‘I mean that if a dark angel prince turned up bearing impure thoughts and blood red roses I could be persuaded to stay by his side.’
‘For how long?’ Rafe’s wariness was back. It always came back when they talked of the future.

‘That would depend,’ she said gravely. ‘On what the prince wants.’

‘I
STILL
don’t understand why you need a Bugatti by Friday,’ said Gabrielle as they sat at their favourite café, and waited for their decaf to arrive, along with their day-old baguettes and, for Gabrielle, a side dish of olive and anchovy tapenade. Simone was trying her dry bread with Vegemite today, courtesy of a care package from Harrison.

‘You know how when you were going to meet Luc in the caves you needed the right props?’ said Simone. ‘The white dress and your hair just so? Well, this is the same thing only I need a Bugatti.’

‘Oh,’ said Gabrielle. ‘
Oh
. Well, why didn’t you say so? I thought you just wanted a car.’

‘No, I’m aiming a little higher than that.’

‘You mean an all-out war of seduction between you and Rafael?’ said Gabrielle. ‘Culminating in for ever and ever amen?’

‘That’s the plan.’

‘I like it,’ said Gabrielle. ‘So you don’t actually need to buy this car. You could just borrow one.’

‘True,’ said Simone thoughtfully. ‘Although if everything goes according to plan it might be nice to have around the place. A little reminder, so to speak.’

‘Trust me,’ said Gabrielle. ‘You do not need a Bugatti 101 as a reminder. Press a flower between the pages of a book or something.’ Gabrielle scanned the pages of the antique car magazine spread out before her. ‘Do you know how much one of these 1956 models
cost
?’

Simone peered over her water glass at the magazine spread out before Gabrielle. Gaby assisted by picking up the magazine and holding it out for her, with her finger pointing at the car in question. ‘Oh,’ said Simone. ‘For
that
?’

‘Yes,’ said Gabrielle. ‘For that. Seriously, could it get any uglier? No, you don’t need to buy one of those. You need something borrowed. Does it have to be blue?’

‘Only in that the Bugatti at the ball all those years ago was blue and I’d like to strive for authenticity,’ said Simone.

‘You do know that Josien kept attendance records of all the Harvest Balls,’ said Gabrielle, leaning back in her chair with her fingers steepled in front of her. ‘Not to mention a valet parking book recording which car arrived with whom and where the valets were supposed to put it?’

‘
Did
she now?’ said Simone.

‘She
was
uncommonly thorough,’ said Gabrielle, with the tiniest hint of pride. ‘Put it this way, find that book, find the owner, a little finessing, a little persuasion, and you’ll have yourself a blue Bugatti for the evening.’

‘I like your thinking,’ said Simone.

‘What’s not to like?’ said Gabrielle. ‘I’ve just saved you a fortune and preserved your sense of good taste as well.’ Gabrielle leaned forward and looked at the
picture once more. ‘Seriously, who in their right mind would ever buy one of
those
?’

Luc and Rafael stood in the middle of the luxury antique car showroom and studied the models on offer. Most of them were pre 1950 models. Not all of them were driveable on today’s roads.

‘Seriously, Day, why a Bugatti?’ asked Luc for approximately the fiftieth time. ‘They’re ugly, expensive, and worst of all designed by Italians although I will concede that the EB Veyron is quite a car. But these older ones…’ Luc looked around him once more. ‘How about a nice new tractor instead?’

‘No. I need a Bugatti,’ muttered Rafe, and nodded towards the big blue beast at the back of the showroom. ‘
That
Bugatti.’

The salesman had been hovering in the background. Crisp suit. Red tie. Receding hairline. Nice comb-over. Rafe caught his eye and he was with them in an instant. ‘Tell me about the Bugatti 101,’ he said.

‘The 1956 model? What can I say?’ said the salesman. ‘
Monsieur
, it’s an
excellent
choice.’

Luc snorted. Rafe smiled at the salesman, unperturbed.

‘All original parts, fully reconditioned engine, fully restored interior that comes with a ten-year guarantee—the interior’s been done by our specialist master leather craftsman and is based on a truly inspired Hermès redesign—’

‘How much?’ Rafe cut through the salesman’s homage to Hermès.

The salesman named a price that had Luc whooping with laughter and even the salesman smiling a little. ‘And yet, it
is
a solid investment,’ said the salesman.
‘Particularly this model. There hasn’t been a 1956 Bugatti 101 on the open market for over twenty years. There were only ever six of them made, as doubtless you already know. We’re lucky to have it in the showroom. Luckier still to be representing the sale.
Messieurs
, I realise that the price sounds exorbitant, but this car truly is a rare collector’s item.’

Rafe sighed. Why the hell couldn’t Simone have cornered him when he’d been parking a Ferrari or a Lamborghini? Or even, heaven help him, something British like an Aston Martin? But no. ‘Is it registered?’ he said. ‘Can we drive it?’

‘It’s car club registered,’ said the salesman. ‘And we can most certainly arrange for you to test-drive it at the current owner’s private residence, for he does have racetrack facilities. Of course, some sort of monetary expression of interest and good faith would be required.’

‘Who owns it?’ Luc had stopped laughing and started paying attention. ‘I might know him.’

‘
Monsieur
, I’m not at liberty to say,’ replied the salesman. ‘Although I can most certainly pass
your
names on to
him
at your request.’

Lucien gave his own name. The salesman’s eyes widened. Lucien offered up Rafe’s name as well and added a Prince to the front and a de Morsay de Maracey to the end.

‘Messieurs,’
said the salesman. ‘Let me arrange that test-drive for you
now
.’ He bowed low and scurried towards the tiny sales cubicle in the corner of the showroom just as fast as his soft salesman legs could carry him.

‘Handy being a prince,’ said Luc after a moment’s thoughtful pause.

‘Quite,’ said Rafe, and then went and spoiled the surrealism of the moment with a shake of his head and a grin his face hadn’t seen the likes of since childhood.

‘Are you ever going to tell me
why
you want this monstrosity of a car?’ asked Luc.

Rafe’s smile widened. ‘Never.’

The night of the harvest ball came complete with full moon, a starry sky and a Gabrielle who had taken over the duties of hostess for the evening in order to give Simone more time to plan her seduction of a certain prince who’d risen from her bed this morning and pranced around half-naked until she’d eaten a Vegemite rice cracker, at which point he’d kissed her on the temple and told her he’d see her this evening.

Both he and Luc had been noticeably absent all day. Guests would start arriving in another hour or so. Gabrielle currently paced Simone’s room, a habit she’d likely as not picked up from her big brother. Gabrielle was, however, fully clothed—if you could call the backless and sleeveless midnight-blue ball gown and strappy diamanté sandals fully clothed.

‘Luc said he’d be back at
five
at the latest,’ Gabrielle murmured for the umpteenth time.

Simone glanced at her bedside clock. It was ten to seven.

‘What did Rafe say?’ asked Gabrielle next.

‘Nothing.’

‘Typical.’ Gabrielle rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, which one of us is going to call them?’

‘You’re the recently married woman,’ said Simone. ‘It’s your
duty
to know where your husband is at all times. My guess is that Luc will think you remiss if you
don’t
call him and find out what’s going on.’

‘You’re right,’ said Gabrielle and stopped her pacing. ‘You’re absolutely right. May I use your phone?’

‘Of course.’

The conversation was short and sweet and consisted of, ‘Where are you?’ from Gabrielle, followed by her startled silence, then a bubbling giggle, and then the words, ‘You’re not serious?’ Clearly Luc was serious because Gabrielle laughed again, told him he’d better be home within the hour, and hung up.

‘Nicely done,’ said Simone approvingly. ‘Very wifely. So where are they?’

‘About ten kilometres away. They’re having car trouble.’ Gabrielle sniggered again. ‘One of the field hands is on his way with a trailer to collect them.’

Simone crossed to the dresser mirror and swiftly began to pin up her hair. Nine years ago Simone had worn a modest white gown to the harvest ball. She still had the gown, but it no longer accommodated her growing curves. Besides, she’d moved on from white.

Tonight’s gown glowed boldly in the light, a deep royal red that flowed over her body like water and rippled with every move she made. The bodice was a halter-neck design and the seamstress had outdone herself when it came to making the alterations needed for a pregnant body and fuller breasts. Simone’s shoes matched her dress and she planned on piling her hair high on her head and securing it with diamanté pins, mostly to afford Rafe the pleasure of taking it down.

She wore Duvalier diamonds in her ears and at her wrist, but she’d left her throat and her fingers bare. She would have Rafe’s lips at her throat before the night was through, and that was all she needed.

Almost
all she needed, she conceded. There was still
the small matter of one day hearing three little words come out of Rafael’s mouth.

Any order would do.

‘Do you have a plan?’ asked Gabrielle as she watched Simone pin up her hair.

‘Not really.’ All Simone had was her love and she’d been telegraphing that love as loudly as she could for weeks now. She’d never said it, not in so many words, because Rafe hadn’t been ready to hear them. She hoped he was ready to hear them tonight. ‘Get him to the Bugatti. Do a little reminiscing…Do you think it’s wrong to propose to a man?’

‘You’re going to
propose
to Rafael tonight?’

‘I’m not sure. I’m still thinking about it. But it’s an option, right?’

‘Well…’ Gabrielle sounded somewhat conflicted.

‘Because I’ve got this book.’ Simone withdrew a slim leather bound volume of poems from her dresser drawer. ‘I figure if I
am
going to do this I’ll need some kind of lead in. I’m thinking about comparing him to a summer’s day.’

Gabrielle ran her hand over her face, probably to camouflage the smile. ‘Are you serious?’

‘Well, I
was
. How about if I told him I loved him and then counted the ways?’

‘I know how deep your love for my brother is, Simone. You’d be there all night.’

‘Not if I followed the poem,’ muttered Simone, leafing through the book for more inspiration.

‘You could always wait,’ said Gabrielle gently.

‘I know.’ Simone smoothed the pages of the book open unseeingly. ‘It’s just…I have a wonderful life, I know that. A child in my belly and the man I love by
my side. I should be content. All the pieces of the puzzle fit exactly the way I want them to and the picture’s so beautiful and full of light. There’s just one piece missing, that’s all. It’s the piece where Rafael loves me, and I can’t seem to find it and I don’t know what to do.’

‘Wait,’ said Gabrielle gently. ‘As far as I can see that’s all you need to do now. Just wait, that’s all, and trust Rafael to fight his way past his demons and through the briars to get to you. He’s almost there. There aren’t that many demons left. Returning to Caverness to face his memories of growing up here was one of the last and he’s done it. For you,’ said Gabrielle softly as she took the diamanté pin from Simone’s fingers and positioned it in her hair. ‘So if I were you, I would give him this night and simply love him and enjoy him the way you do and see where he takes you. He might just have found that last piece of the puzzle for you.’

Rafael and Luc got the Bugatti into place beneath the linden trees with half an hour to spare before the harvest ball guests were due to arrive. Luc cut out fast, muttering dire threats about torching Bugattis if his wife chewed him out for disappearing all day and turning up late for the ball.

Grimacing, Rafe fished his mobile from his pocket and dialled Gabrielle.

‘We’re here, we’re late, and it’s all my fault,’ he said as soon as she answered. ‘So be nice to your husband when he turns up because if you’re not, he’s going to torch my new car.’

‘Where
is
your new car?’ she asked lightly.

‘Halfway down the linden drive. Why?’

‘Does it run?’ she said. ‘Can you drive it?’

‘After a fashion. It doesn’t mind short distances.’ It had managed the first twenty kilometres of a two-hundred-kilometre trip without stopping, hadn’t it?

‘Where are the keys?’ she said next.

Rafael leaned down and looked in the car. No keys. He checked his pockets. No keys. Luc had been driving the monster the last time it had died. ‘Luc has the keys,’ he said.

‘Oh, good,’ she said.

‘Do not let him torch my car.’

‘Trust me,’ she said, and hung up.

Rafael hit the chateau at full stride after that, in his quest to shower, shave and avoid Duvalier women until he was at least semi ready for this ball. Avoiding Simone was easier than expected for she was not in their room, although the lingering scent of her perfume was. Getting clean and dressed in under fifteen minutes was not a problem. Finding the little leather-bound book of poems that Etienne had given him proved impossible. Still, he did have the frog he’d scoured the Caverness water gardens for at dawn this morning. Handy things to have around, frogs.

He’d deposited the tiny creature in an upturned terracotta flowerpot in the window box just outside their room, figuring it would be safe there for the day. He gently lifted the pot. Nothing. He looked
in
the pot. No frog. It had probably dug into the soil for the night. Never mind. Rafe had applied a modicum of forward thinking and had a back-up plan when it came to amphibians. Fortunately, Cartier made platinum frogs for people just like him, and smothered them in emeralds and diamonds and hung them from filigree chains. Go figure.

He found
that
frog in his sock drawer and slipped it into his jacket pocket. What else did he need tonight?

Courage, he needed that.

Confidence, he would need that too.