The Princess Affair Page 8

  While the tabloids had gotten wind of her presence at Summa on its opening night, they hadn’t discovered that she’d ditched a scheduled event to be there, so she’d dodged that particular scandal. Neither had there been any word from her father, who was returning today from a business trip to Edinburgh. She wondered if he’d managed to see Arthur while in Scotland. Probably not. He was, after all, a stickler for the rules, and Arthur wasn’t allowed any sort of leave until the Christmas holiday.

  “Did you talk to Arthur yesterday?” she asked Ashleigh. “I haven’t spoken to him since the weekend.”

  “He called this morning to tell me they’re heading off on some sort of exercise and it might be a few days before we could speak again.”

  “How did he sound?”

  Ashleigh smiled over the brim of her teacup—a gentle, happy smile that was entirely without pretense. The fondness she felt for Arthur was palpable, and Sasha wondered fleetingly whether she would ever inspire that kind of emotion in anyone. Being wanted had its perks, certainly, but sometimes she hoped for more. For someone who would smile that way when thinking of her.

  Her mind’s eye flashed to the memory of how Kerry had instinctively shielded her when their kiss had been interrupted. No one short of her own protection detail had ever reacted that way—certainly never a woman whom she’d just engaged in a clandestine tryst. Sasha couldn’t deny that Kerry’s instinctive selflessness and courage made her even more attractive. Perhaps that was why she’d found herself unable to stop thinking about her, days later.

  “He sounded excited.” Ashleigh’s words cut through her introspection. “You know how he is.”

  Arthur’s boyish enthusiasm hadn’t entirely faded, and Sasha hoped it never did. How he managed to retain it in the face of their father’s tyrannical handling was beyond her. Then again, their father treated his only son quite differently.

  “I hear the King has asked you to fill in for Arthur at his engagements,” Ashleigh said. “How has that been?”

  Sasha bit back a sigh. Ashleigh was aware of the fault lines that ran beneath their family’s civilized veneer, and Sasha felt fortunate to have another ally in her future sister-in-law. But she didn’t want to monopolize the conversation with her complaints.

  “It’s a tug-of-war, as always. Nothing new there. But how are you? Holding up all right?”

  “Yes, just fine. Plenty to keep me busy.”

  “Like this film project.” Sasha was more than happy to turn the conversation to something that did not involve family. “What did you think of my initial ideas for venues for the premiere?”

  They talked business for a while, and Sasha felt her melancholy slip away as the plans for Ashleigh’s event began to coalesce. The film launch was meant to cater to a broadly influential audience—from peers of the realm who had been born into the House of Lords, to up-and-coming avant-garde artists working for social justice. The best sort of party would be one with the formal trappings of an elegant society soiree, which could then be subtly undercut throughout the event. Most of her previous work had been on birthday parties and bridal showers, and Ashleigh’s request presented a unique opportunity to showcase the range of her abilities.

  As Sasha was wrapping up a voice memo outlining her to-do list, a murmur rippled through the crowd. Moments later, a hush descended, broken only by faint whispers. She glanced up to the sight of her father striding toward them, dressed immaculately in a black suit and holding a briefcase in one hand. Flanked by two members of his security team, he cut an imposing figure. Murmurs of “the King” reached her just before he did. Ashleigh rose immediately, while Sasha took her time getting to her feet. She also kept her sunglasses on.

  “Good afternoon, Alexandra. Ashleigh.”

  “Good afternoon, Your Majesty.” Ever proper, Ashleigh delivered the words with a small curtsy.

  “Hello, Father.”

  He only glanced at her before returning his attention to the woman who would soon be his daughter-in-law. “I don’t wish to inconvenience you, Ashleigh,” he said, “but I’m afraid I need to speak with Alexandra on some business matters.”

  “Of course, sir.” Ashleigh gathered her shawl from the back of her chair and embraced Sasha lightly. “We made some great progress today. See you soon.”

  With an extra squeeze that Sasha knew was a silent token of encouragement, Ashleigh turned toward the doors leading into the lounge where her own bodyguard waited. Irritated at her father’s callous interruption, Sasha dropped back into her chair before he was seated. A minor breach of protocol, but the tiny rebellion felt good.

  “I suppose it never occurred to you that we might be discussing business of our own?”

  His bushy eyebrows rose. “You’re affronted?” He opened his briefcase and pulled out the tabloid that had broken the story of her visit to Summa. It displayed a grainy photograph—clearly taken by someone’s phone—of her dancing in the club. Kerry’s face was visible in profile, but fortunately, they had been several feet apart at the time. Sasha felt a sudden pang of guilt for what might have happened had the camera caught them a few minutes later.

  “When I rang the Secretary of the Rhodes Trust to ask her how the reception had gone, she mentioned how sorry she was to hear of your illness, and how impressed she was by the generosity of your impromptu visit the next day.”

  Sasha crossed her right leg over her left and hid behind her glasses, determined not to let him bully her into guilt or defensiveness.

  “This rag,” he continued, rattling the paper, “tells a different story.” When she remained silent, he leaned forward. “Do you have nothing to say for yourself?”

  “I don’t believe my behavior requires justification.”

  When his cheeks grew mottled, Sasha struggled to hold back a tight smile. If they had been in his office, he would have been able to give his temper free rein. Here, in public, she had the distinct advantage. He leaned in over the table, and Sasha found herself hoping he would inadvertently dip his dark sleeve into the clotted cream.

  “You are going to make amends to the Rhodes trustees,” he said, his voice soft and threatening. “You will organize an appropriate event for the incoming class of scholars—an academic event—and you will pay every penny yourself.”

  For a moment, Sasha wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. Once she realized he was quite serious, she couldn’t stop her smile from breaking free. At her father’s look of consternation, she laughed. Did he truly believe he was punishing her by asking her to plan a party? Not only could she use this opportunity for her company’s advantage, she could also test the fortitude of the walls Kerry Donovan had put up between them.

  “What exactly do you find so humorous about this situation, Alexandra?”

  She stood and reached for her purse. “Only this, Father: that for the first time in my life, you’ve ordered me to do something I’m actually good at, and that I enjoy.” She turned to walk away, then looked back over her shoulder. “Your invitation will be in the mail.”

  *

  The sun was just beginning to set as Kerry entered the front door of the Iffley Road Sports Complex for her weekly workout and dinner “date” with Harris. Just for him, she’d made one exception to her morning exercise rule, and so far she was enjoying their sessions. Tonight, though, she passed the ID checkpoint with a pit of dread in her stomach. She knew exactly what Harris would want to discuss tonight, and she didn’t have any good answers.

  As she walked through the atrium, she passed Claudia Tully, captain of the Balliol women’s football team. Claudia had been kind to her ever since they’d met at the first team meeting—before anyone knew Kerry would be a ringer. Smart, fun, and happily involved with her boyfriend, Claudia was exactly the sort of friend Kerry wanted to cultivate.

  “Kerry, hi!” Her curly brown hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her cheeks were flushed with exertion.

  “Hey, Claudia. Good workout?”

  “Not bad. Are
you excited for Saturday?”

  Kerry grinned. “You have no idea.”

  On Saturday, Balliol would play Magdalen in the first match of the season. The team had only been practicing since the first day of classes, just over a week ago, but Kerry was so eager for a real match that she didn’t care how ill-prepared they were. Besides, as she had to keep reminding herself, this was essentially an intramural league. She hadn’t played in an organization this low-stakes since kindergarten. It took some getting used to.

  “I can’t wait,” Claudia was saying. “You’ll be our secret weapon. They’ll never know what hit them.”

  “I’m just glad to be playing. I was going crazy without it.”

  Claudia nodded sympathetically. “I’ll let you go. See you at practice tomorrow?”

  “Absolutely.” And then she remembered. “Oh, hang on. I’m going to have to miss a game. Not next week, but the weekend after. I’m sorry.”

  Claudia waved away her apology. “Please, don’t even worry. It’s fine.”

  After bidding her good-bye, Kerry jogged up the stairs toward the weight room. Still preoccupied with how to formulate a response to Harris’s inevitable question, she didn’t notice that he was lying in wait for her at the top.

  “Hey, you.”

  Nonchalance, she decided, was the best tactic. “What’s up? How was your day?”

  “My lecture was boring. But it was the hot prof, so I didn’t mind so much.”

  “Glad to hear it, one-track mind.” She slugged him lightly in the shoulder. “How about you help me with my erg technique today? I’ve never figured out how to use that thing properly, and I’d like to add it in to my cardio regimen.”

  “Follow me, young Skywalker.”

  He led the way to a row of erg machines and demonstrated where the straps should rest on her feet. After situating himself onto the next machine over, he grabbed the handle and leaned forward in a low crouch.

  “Watch my technique, and remember: first legs, then back, then arms.”

  “Legs, back, arms,” Kerry repeated under her breath as he demonstrated a few strokes on the machine.

  “Now you try. I’ll watch your form.”

  Kerry sat all the way forward until her knees were touching her chest. She grasped the handle and pushed backward with her quads, focusing on the sequence Harris had taught her. Legs, back, arms. As she slipped into a rhythm, she increased the pressure of her strokes.

  “That’s near perfect,” Harris said. “Just remember, when you want to row harder, most of that power should come from your legs.”

  Breathing deeply, she focused on maintaining the proper sequence of motions. Already, she had broken a sweat. Now that she knew the proper technique, the erg would make a valuable addition to her fitness plan.

  At the whirr of the machine next to her, she looked over to see Harris settling into his own stroke. His movements were smooth, economical, and powerful—the product of years of repetition—and Kerry tried to mimic his form and fluidity.

  “So,” he asked after a moment, “get anything interesting in the mail today?”

  Despite having expected the question at some point, she faltered. Determined to regain her rhythm before she answered him, she spent several moments focusing on her technique.

  “I got the invitation, yes,” she finally said.

  “She organized it with you in mind, didn’t she?”

  “What?” Kerry willed her body to continue moving smoothly, despite the storm winds lashing at her mind. “No, she didn’t.”

  “She sure as hell did. C’mon, Ker. This thing is at Balmoral Castle—built when, exactly?”

  “Fourteenth century, originally,” Kerry said automatically, before realizing she’d betrayed herself.

  Harris just laughed. “And the guest of honor is the President of the Royal Institute of British Architects. Face it: Sassy Sasha has made it doubly impossible for you to reject her invitation.”

  “I don’t have to go.”

  “Oh? Really? You’re going to miss out on a chance to explore a Scottish castle and to meet the biggest bigwig in your field?”

  Kerry’s jaw clenched and she yanked harder at the handle, taking out her frustration on the machine. He was right, and she didn’t want him to be. As she had read the elegantly-lettered invitation this morning, her mouth had literally fallen open. She couldn’t argue with logic. Sasha had deliberately laid a trap for her, one into which she would willingly walk.

  Her heavy sigh was all the confirmation Harris needed. “I didn’t think so.”

  “She’s smarter than everyone gives her credit for.” When Kerry glanced over again, she found him nodding. His rhythm had never faltered. “Now, can we consider this conversation closed and get back to our workout, please?”

  He grinned. “You asked for it. Power-ten, on my mark. And remember—push with your legs first. Otherwise you’ll end up throwing your back out and you’ll be no good whatsoever to your princess.”

  Kerry grit her teeth but refused to rise to the bait. Instead, she concentrated on rowing harder.

  Chapter Seven

  Sasha rested her palms on the stone parapet and inhaled deeply, enjoying the light breeze drifting down off the mountains. High above her head, the wind whisked cirrus clouds across the deep blue sky, and she tracked their progress in the chiaroscuro patterns flickering across the pine-covered peaks that encircled the Balmoral estate. Below, at the bottom of a long, grassy slope, the late afternoon sunlight glinted redly off the surface of the River Dee.

  Nostalgia rose in her like a flood, and for one exquisitely painful moment, she could have sworn her mother was standing behind her. She wanted to turn and see that gentle, benevolent smile—to run into her embrace and breathe in her distinctive, warm milk scent.

  Sasha dug her fingertips into the stone, anchoring herself—refusing to turn, forcing her body, if not her mind, to remain in the present. Perhaps it had been a mistake to choose Balmoral for this event. She hadn’t realized just how much being here would remind her of the many summers their family had spent in the Highlands before her mother’s illness. She didn’t have idyllic memories from her childhood, but those came close.

  Suddenly ill at ease, she adjusted the fit of her cardigan and smoothed one hand down the front of her silk dress. This was no time for indulging in sentimentality. Any minute now, the charter bus conveying her guests from the airport would arrive. To distract herself while she waited, she went over the schedule again in her head.

  Upon their arrival, the group would be shown to the dining room, where they would eat a light supper. After the meal, they would retire to the games room for cocktails, cards, and billiards. In the morning, brunch would be followed by a tour of the castle and a wide range of outdoor activities. In the evening, a full dinner would be served, and on Sunday morning, the scholars would return to Oxford.

  Such was the official agenda. Unofficially, however, Sasha was on a mission to seduce Kerry Donovan. How that one kiss had managed to get under her skin, she had no idea. The only thing she knew for certain was that her desire to feel the fierce chemistry between them again had shown no signs of abating. She hadn’t once sought out other company in the intervening weeks. Every need had been sublimated into the work of preparing for this event.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of silver beneath the trees. Moments later, a low rumble reached her ears. The bus. She hurried inside, double-checking her reflection in one of the mirrored windows on the way, pleased at how the colorful fabric of her dress draped across her thighs. As she descended the stone staircase, Sasha heard the spitting sound of gravel beneath tires and knew the bus had reached the roundabout. She nodded to Ian and joined the stewardess of the castle just inside the door. Celia Royston had been responsible for overseeing the building and grounds of Balmoral for as long as she could remember, and Sasha was grateful that Celia hadn’t raised any stumbling blocks to her plan for this weekend.

  “Th
ank you for all your help,” she murmured as a member of her staff pushed open the double doors.

  “My pleasure, Your Royal Highness.”

  Sunlight flooded the atrium, bringing with it the enthusiastic chatter of her guests as they disembarked from the bus. She didn’t hear Kerry’s voice, and dread washed over her at the thought that perhaps she hadn’t made the trip after all. But she had RSVP’d, and she didn’t seem like the sort of person who would break promises. Sasha had to believe she would be here.

  Exhaling quickly, she stepped out onto the landing. The group was unloading their baggage from beneath the bus, but a hush fell over them as soon as she was visible. Relief soothed her nerves when she caught a glimpse of Kerry’s red hair, and she had to force her gaze not to linger.

  “Trustees and scholars, welcome to Balmoral Castle. I’m happy you could join me this weekend.” She gestured to her left. “This is Celia Royston, the castle stewardess. Her staff will direct you to your rooms and describe the available amenities. In half an hour’s time, we’ll convene in the dining room for supper.”

  She paused to survey the crowd, and almost immediately her gaze was drawn back to Kerry. Dressed in fitted gray slacks, a white Oxford shirt, and a black jacket that clung to her broad shoulders, she looked at once sophisticated and sexy. Her color was high already, but her cheeks darkened perceptibly when their eyes met. The sudden rush of confidence made Sasha smile in triumph. She still had the power to affect Kerry Donovan, and she was going to use it.