The Wedding Party And Holiday Escapes Ultimate Collection. Кейт Хьюит
of him, the Frog Prince. Nothing to do with his looks—he was Adonis personified. Even on the croquet lawn his fluid athleticism was obvious. Michelangelo’s David come to life. The confidence that came from the unique combination of his position in the world and his looks pervaded everything about him.
Her mother, following Rafe’s gaze, saw Lexie and abandoned the game to glide across the lawn, probably convincing herself she’d been about to win. Rafe strolled in her wake. And though he appeared relaxed, she couldn’t help but feel he was zeroing in on her like an Armani-clad, heat-seeking missile. She watched him through narrowed eyes. Her mother crossed into her line of vision and scanned Lexie critically from head to toe, her expression a dire warning to behave herself.
Lexie’s jaw clenched tighter, but as they neared her she forced her lips into a smile and extended her hand. Rafe reached for it, closed strong fingers around hers and then lifted her knuckles to his lips and pressed the gentlest of kisses there.
For as long as his touch lasted, confusion reigned. And in her surprise, Lexie forgot her anger, forgot her plans for her future, forgot her mother, even. She was aware only of being simultaneously swamped and stilled by sensation, warm lips and gentle fingers and the strange shiver of heat that coursed through her. Rafe lifted his head and she felt at close range the burning connection of his gaze from dark, honey-colored eyes.
As he released her fingers, her presence of mind returned and she remembered everything, recognized his tactic as some kind of power play. “It’s a pleasure to meet you again, Your Highness,” she said through her most practiced smile.
He returned a smile that hid the irritation she’d glimpsed earlier. “Rafe will do. Unless you’d also prefer me to call you Miss Wyndham Jones.”
“No.” Lexie shook her head.
“In that case, Alexia, the pleasure is all mine. It’s been too long.”
She bit down on the word liar that wanted to escape her lips, partly because it would be so terribly impolite, but mainly because she, too, had lied. Nothing about this meeting was the pleasure it should have been. “And such a surprise, too. I must confess, I was expecting Adam.” Thoughtful, gentlemanly, mature Adam.
One corner of Rafe’s lips lifted in a mocking smile. “You usually are, as I recall.”
Lexie felt her face pale. How dare he? One mistake. Four years ago. A mistake she’d fervently hoped he’d forgotten. After all, to a man like him it was an event that could barely have registered. It should have been nothing to him. It was nothing, she reminded herself. An accident, a misunderstanding.
At a glittering masquerade ball, if you had just turned eighteen, it was easy to confuse one masked prince’s identity with another’s, particularly when their hair and builds were so similar. And if that prince waltzed you to a quiet corner behind a fluted marble column and kissed you, gently at first and then as though you were ambrosia itself, coaxing an unguarded response in return, then when he unmasked you and realized who you were, staggered backward, cursing under his breath…
“I’m afraid I must apologize on my brother’s behalf.” Rafe’s tone, though still formal, had softened, and he sounded almost sincere. Of course, he, too, would regret that it wasn’t Adam here instead of him. “Royal duties prevented him coming to escort you back to San Philippe. He is, however, greatly looking forward to your arrival.”
It took an effort of will not to roll her eyes. Greatly looking forward to? Could he be any more formal? And still the word liar simmered in her consciousness. Because despite the fact that she’d had a crush on Adam for almost as long as she could remember, and that she knew Adam liked her, and that for years the possibility of a match between them had been promoted by their respective parents, their correspondence was hardly much more than friendly.
But things were about to change. Adam hadn’t seen her in four years. He was about to meet the new, improved, grown-up Alexia Wyndham Jones.
“In the meantime, unfortunately,” Rafe said, “you’ll have to make do with me.”
“Oh, not unfortunate at all,” her mother interjected before Lexie could respond. Under Rafe’s questioning gaze, Lexie swallowed her retort. Probably for the best. This man, as well as potentially being her brother-in-law, was apparently her pathway to her future, and she would do what needed to be done to ensure nothing went wrong now. Not when she was this close to setting her life on its proper course.
Rafe was no more than a temporary inconvenience.
“Alexia was reminiscing just yesterday about her last visit to San Philippe,” said her mother. “I don’t believe you were there at the time.”
“I was gone for most of it, but I did arrive back in time for her final evening and the masquerade ball.” A hint of amusement and challenge laced his voice.
One stupid, mistaken kiss. Why did he have to be so intent on reminding her of it?
“The ball. I’d almost forgotten about that.” Lexie smiled sweetly. “It was so overshadowed by everything else I saw and did while I was there.”
Rafe’s lips stretched into a grin, and a roguish gleam lit those dark eyes. “I shall have to see if I can remind you, seeing as it’s all we shared of that visit. I recall your gown in particular, a deep burgundy, and it had—”
Lexie laughed, sounding scarily like her mother, but at least cutting short anything further Rafe might have said. The gown had featured a daringly low back. When they’d danced, his fingertips had caressed her skin, trailing sparks of heat. “I can scarcely remember what I wore yesterday, let alone four years ago. As for reminding me of that last visit, there’s no need. I’m sure I’ll make enough new memories in the future.” She looked pointedly at him.
Her words, or her glance, seemed to recall Rafe to his purpose here. Not to discomfit her by reminding her of a kiss that was best forgotten because it should never have happened, but to escort her to his country so she could get to know his brother better and more important, for Adam to get to know her better. Courtship was the word her mother had used—but only once, because apparently Lexie had found it “inappropriately amusing.”
Rafe straightened and took a step back. The gleam in his eyes disappeared, his expression hardening into regal arrogance.
“Dinner will be served at eight,” her mother said, oblivious to the tension and displeasure arcing between them. “I’ve invited a few close friends, and some of your countrymen.”
It promised to be a tedious, stuffy affair. Lexie could almost have pitied him if she hadn’t been so annoyed and if he weren’t so far above needing that sentiment from her. He was the one who would be on display tonight, not only for his countrymen but for friends of her mother’s eager to be able to boast of their dinner with European royalty. Lexie, on the other hand, would be able to slip away relatively early.
“I look forward to it,” Rafe said, sounding as though he meant it.
Liar.
Rafe tossed his dinner jacket over the back of the arm chair in his room. He’d attended more boring dinners in his life than he could possibly count, but tonight’s ranked among the worst. If it hadn’t been for the presence of Tony, an old school friend, now a high-powered Boston attorney, the evening would have been unbearable.
Out of curiosity, he’d closely watched the woman who hoped to snare herself a prince—his brother’s would-be bride—throughout the evening. She had shown scarcely any reaction as her mother, none too subtly, toasted her success in her forthcoming travels. His observation of her served only to confirm that she was a perfect match for Adam. Demure, respectable, quiet and a gracious hostess. In a word, boring.
Even the dress she’d worn, a silvery high-necked thing that she’d teamed with pearls, had been boring. She had a passable figure, curves where they should be, yet she did nothing to accentuate her assets. She wore her glossy auburn hair swept back from her face into a sleek—boring—knot. He had seen no trace of the spark he’d imagined