A Royal Proposition

CHAPTER FIVE

SO INSTEAD of eating the hotel’s sumptuous breakfast they found a patisserie and Alastair proceeded to show Penny-Rose that he had absolutely no idea what slumming meant. As a peasant, he failed miserably. Penny-Rose’s simple baguette was simply not enough, not faced with the choice of Paris’s magnificent pastries.

So while she watched in open-mouthed amazement, he proceeded to buy one of everything he could see. A baguette, croissants and mouth-watering pastries filled with fruit, something chocolate that Penny-Rose, with her limited French, decided was called Death by Explosion, and more…

Then there was coffee in huge take-away mugs, the smell of which made her mouth water.

They emerged finally from their patisserie to find piles of grapes and mandarins on a next-door stall. Ignoring her protests-‘You’ve dragged me away from the Hotel Carlon’s breakfast, woman-you can let me buy what I want’-he loaded them with so much breakfast they were having trouble carrying it. And Penny-Rose was caught between laughter and exasperation.

She was given time for neither. ‘Now to the Bois de Boulogne,’ Alastair decreed. ‘It’s the closest.’

It was also the loveliest.

The sun was already warm with the promise of a magnificent day to come. The park was filled with mothers and pushchairs, elderly couples sitting soaking up the sun, and small children playing tag or racing with balloons…

In true royal fashion Alastair found a tree and claimed it as their own. He signalled to someone in the distance, and before she knew it there were two deckchairs set up for their comfort.

‘Now…’ Alastair surveyed his scene with satisfaction. ‘Breakfast as Parisians do it.’

‘Oh, right. Parisian princes, would that be?’

‘You don’t like this either?’ His face fell ludicrously and it was all Penny-Rose could do not to laugh.

But he was watching her with such an expression of anxiety on his face-and the sun was warm on hers-and it was Paris in the springtime and the coffee smelled tantalising and the pastries were exquisite…

‘I’d have to be a mindless idiot not to enjoy this,’ she said softly, smiling up at him. ‘No, Alastair, I don’t like this. I love it!’

After that the shopping was better, though Penny-Rose still found it uncomfortable. She was now wearing some of the clothes she’d purchased the day before. That made her feel less conspicuous in these over-the-top salons, but every time she dressed at the end of each fitting she couldn’t help thinking, These aren’t my clothes.

These aren’t me.

She was buying clothes for a princess, she thought. Not for Penny-Rose O’Shea. Or two-bob Rose. Or whoever she was. She was beginning not to know any more.

Once he’d made the decision to accompany her, Alastair took his duties seriously. He insisted on seeing her as she emerged in each outfit, and his smiles of approval disturbed her still more. She was turning into what he wanted, she thought.

She was becoming no longer herself. She was becoming Alastair’s wife-for-a-year, and the prospect was more and more disturbing.

But finally Alastair was satisfied. Almost. At four o’clock he announced her major wardrobe complete, and he escorted her to a tiny shop off the main boulevard.

The shop needed some explaining, and he did it fast. ‘Before you get the wrong idea, my mother told me to bring you here,’ he told her hastily. At the look on her face, his dark eyes glinted with laughter. ‘This,’ he said with an evil grin, ‘may well be the best part of the whole shopping experience. It’s knicker time.’

And as Penny-Rose gazed into the window she could only gasp.

These weren’t just knickers. They were flights of fancy. Here were silken wisps of elegance that had nothing at all in common with the sturdy knickers she was wearing-except maybe two holes for legs.

‘I can’t buy these!’

Alastair’s grin faded. ‘You can.’ He took her hand, imbuing her with the gravity of the occasion. Only his still-lurking glimmer belied his serious tone. ‘And you must. The servants will be doing your washing, and they’ll expect quality.’ His grin returned in full and she stared at him in confusion. The rat-he was enjoying this! ‘Remember,’ he told her, ‘this marriage has to appear real.’

Somehow she found her voice. ‘Your wife would wear things like these?’

He nodded, with no hesitation at all. ‘Of course she would.’ He motioned to a flagrantly indecent set of bra and panties on a flagrantly indecent model, and his laughter became more pronounced. ‘My wife would especially wear those.’

‘Oh, yeah, I can see Belle in those!’

His smile faded again, but this time the fading was for real. He hadn’t been thinking of Belle, she realised as she watched his face. The rat had actually been thinking of her!

This was crazy. The whole situation was absurd!

‘So I’m buying these to keep up appearances with the laundress?’ she asked carefully.

‘That’s right.’

‘Does the laundress have any colour preference?’

He pointed to the bra and pantie set-bright crimson. ‘I bet bright crimson would work a treat.’

‘On the laundress.’ She glowered.

He assumed an air of injured innocence. ‘Who else could I be thinking of?’

‘Right.’ Her glower intensified. ‘Well, if this is just between me and the laundress, you can take yourself off while I make my purchases.’

‘Hey…’

‘This is between me and the laundress and the shop assistant,’ she said firmly. ‘Back in your box, mister.’

‘That’s no way to talk to a prince.’

‘A princess can talk any way she wants. And you want a virtuous bride. Virtuous brides wouldn’t be seen dead in a shop like this, especially with their prince-and especially before they’re married.’

He thought that one through and didn’t like it. ‘That’s not playing fair.’

‘Who’s playing?’

Their eyes locked.

And suddenly the question was very, very real.

Who was playing? Who could tell?

The scary part was that somewhere in that over-the-top place Penny-Rose finally started to enjoy herself. With Alastair firmly left outside, she let the sales assistant have her head and she tried on set after set of the most gorgeous lingerie she’d ever seen in her life.

And standing in front of the three-way mirror she started to get an inkling of how Cinderella must have felt.

‘It’s an out-of-body experience,’ she told herself, looking at her trim body clothed only in a wisp of lace that could well have been cut-with cloth left over-from a very small handkerchief. She grinned. ‘Or an only-just-in-body experience. I guess when this is all done I can donate these to charity.’

Charity would have a fit, she decided, and it was with a chuckle and arms full of packages that she emerged to the street to find her waiting prince.

But her prince wasn’t where she’d left him. She searched the street, and found…

A dog. A pup…

The pup was some sort of terrier, knee high, wire-haired and fawn and white. Or he might once have been fawn and white. Now his fur was matted and filthy, and a deep, jagged wound stretched along most of his side. One leg was carried high, his shaggy ears drooped and his eyes were dull with misery.

It was the end of a Paris business day. The boulevard was crowded, with legs going everywhere. Even though Paris was a city of dog lovers, in this crowd one small dog didn’t stand a chance of being noticed. Except by Penny-Rose, who was feeling bereft herself and was searching for Alastair.

She saw the dog first. As she emerged from the shop and saw him, the small creature was pushed too close to the road, and she realised how he’d got that wound. He was headed that way again.

‘No!’ With a cry of dismay she dropped her parcels and darted forward. She was too late to stop the dog being pushed onto the road, but that didn’t stop her from diving after him. There was a screech of brakes, and the next moment she was crouched in the gutter, her arms were full of dog and her eyes were reflecting his pain.

‘Oh, no…’

‘Rose!’

Alastair had been waiting with the patience of a saint-sort of. He’d been across the road, window-shopping and desperately trying not to think of what his intended wife was doing. He hadn’t succeeded. For some reason, all he could think of was his bride wearing that lingerie…

So he hadn’t noticed the dog through the mass of legs across the street, and the first thing he saw was Rose diving head first into the crazy Parisian traffic.

Hell! What on earth…? His heart hit his mouth. He lunged across the road, ignoring braking cars. Reaching the gutter where she knelt, he looked down in consternation.

What was wrong? Had she been hit?

‘Are you…’ His voice was a cracked whisper as he stooped urgently toward her. ‘Rose, are you OK?’

‘Yes.’ She didn’t even look up.

His breath came out in a long rush. Dear God…

‘What…what on earth are you doing?’

‘It’s a dog,’ she said, as if he were stupid. But he wasn’t. After that heart-stopping moment when he thought she’d been hit, his brain was starting to function again. A taxi veered toward them, and before she knew what he was about, she was bodily lifted and carried back toward the shops.

‘You’ll get yourself killed!’ Alastair had been badly shaken and it showed. ‘Are you crazy?’

But Penny-Rose wasn’t noticing, not even when he carried her across the pavement to the safety of the shop doorway. She had eyes only for the dog she carried. Alastair set her down, and her fingers kept probing, parting matted fur so she could see the damage.

What was wrong with him?

The dog lay limp and unresisting in her arms, past caring. Alastair knelt beside her, and watched woman and dog together. He felt as if all the breath had been knocked out of him.

‘Let me see.’

‘He’s…he’s injured.’ She opened her arms so Alastair could see the state of her small burden, and it was all Alastair could do not to wince at the sight.

‘Hell!’

Penny-Rose wasn’t listening. Pedestrians were having to detour around her, but she didn’t notice. She sat with her back against the door of the lingerie shop, and her whole attention was on one small dog.

‘It’s OK,’ she comforted him. ‘It’s OK, little one. You’re fine now.’

Only he wasn’t fine. He needed a vet.

‘Alastair…’

He was way in front. ‘Paris is a dog-loving city,’ he said, kneeling beside her. He knew without being asked that she’d never abandon this mutt-and in truth he felt the same himself. The dog was gazing at him now, and there was something about those huge brown, pain-filled eyes… ‘There are organisations who take in strays, and there are veterinary surgeons everywhere. I’ll call a taxi and we’ll take him to the closest.’

She breathed a long sigh. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected-she knew this man so little-but all she knew now was that he hadn’t reacted like her father.

Her father would have taken one look at the dog-and one look at his daughter’s concerned face-and fetched his gun.

But Alastair was different! His first thought hadn’t been how best to be rid of the problem and how to hurt her in the process, but how best they could help the dog.

He was some man, she thought dazedly.

He was some prince!

But she needed to concentrate on the dog. She turned back to her pup, cradling him close to give him some body warmth. ‘He’s only a baby.’ The pup was still at the gangly half-grown stage, when dogs were most at risk, outgrowing their cuteness and risking abandonment in the process. ‘And he’s shaking all over.’

‘I’d imagine he must be. He looks as if he’s been hit by a car.’

‘And he’s starving. His ribs… Oh, pup…’

‘Come on.’ Alastair made a decision and glanced round the street with a rueful smile. ‘You can’t stay here.’

For the first time she seemed to take in her surroundings. They were hardly dignified. She was sitting in the dust with her stockinged legs out in front of her. She’d lost a shoe. The pup was curled into her lap. Her pale lemon suit was filthy, there was blood on her skirt and she must look…

She didn’t get any further. A flashbulb went off not four feet from her face.

She looked up blindly and the flash went again.

The cameraman had been in a nearby café and had been attracted by the screech of brakes. This had the makings of a great photo opportunity, he’d thought as he’d watched what had unfolded-a beautiful woman crouched on the pavement among scattered shopping, her arms full of bloodied dog.

So, while the rest of Paris had gone about its business, he’d hauled his camera out of his bag and headed over to take a few snaps.

Penny-Rose looked up, her face uncomprehending. What…?

‘Let her be,’ Alastair growled, and the man’s attention turned to him. His eyes widened in shock.

Alastair de Castaliae!

Alastair wasn’t as well known in Paris as he was in his own country but this cameraman was on the fringe of the paparazzi. He knew his celebrities! In one instant his face changed. He saw a fortune dangling before his eyes, and his camera turned onto automatic.

In the next thirty seconds he’d taken maybe a dozen shots-of the couple crouched on the pavement, of the girl trying to protect her dog from the flash of the camera, and Alastair using his body to shield her.

Which left Alastair in a dilemma. Stopping the camera was impossible. Short of doing the man harm, he had to be allowed to take what he wanted.

He had a choice. He could treat the cameraman as the enemy-which would get them nowhere-or he could treat him as an accomplice, which might achieve more.

‘OK, we’re sprung.’ Alastair sighed, letting his shielding hand drop. ‘Any chance of doing a deal?’

‘What sort of deal?’ The man was still behind his camera, still clicking, but his mind was in overdrive. There’d be at least three major newspapers who’d bid for these pictures, and that was just in France. In Alastair’s principality there’d be more, and then there were the women’s magazines…

Alastair could see the way his mind was working. And his thoughts had to move even faster.

‘We’re making an announcement on Friday,’ Alastair told him. ‘Back home. Would you like to be around when we do?’

The man’s eyes practically started from his head. He was only just getting a toehold in this industry, and this could be the break he’d been looking for.

‘Sure.’ His camera was lowered as he stared in disbelief. ‘Yeah, great.’

‘Then give us a day before you publish these pictures,’ Alastair said. ‘One more day of peace.’

‘You’re marrying the girl?’ The man looked closely at Penny-Rose and tried for the jackpot. ‘Will you tell me your name?’

‘As I said, we’re making an announcement on Friday.’ Alastair refused to be drawn further, and Penny-Rose took her cue from him.

What else could it be but an announcement of a marriage? The cameraman knew the conditions of the old prince’s will. All the paparazzi did. It was their business to know.

‘And you’re taking a last fling in Paris before the world catches up with you?’ The photographer was a romantic at heart, and he could see the headlines over his pictures. He took an uneasy glance along the street. The last thing he wanted now was someone else with a camera. He wanted a scoop!

And Alastair was as eager to get off the street as the cameraman now was to have them leave. He hauled out a business card and scribbled something on the back. ‘Here. Ring this number, ask to speak to Dominic and he’ll organise you a free return flight.’

‘You’re kidding!’

‘I’d never kid about something like this.’

The man stared down at the card and his face twisted. And he decided on a bit of honesty himself. ‘You know, this could be just what I need…’

‘I know. But we need another day by ourselves.’

The man hesitated. ‘I won’t be scooped?’

‘Not if you keep your mouth shut for twenty-four hours.’

‘I can do that.’ The photographer grinned, making up his mind. ‘One more day with your lady, your dog and your…’ His grin broadened. ‘Your lingerie.’

With a gasp, Penny-Rose realised what had happened. She’d thrown aside her bags as she’d dived for the dog. She was now sitting among a pile of…

Oh, good grief!

‘Can you edit those out?’ Alastair demanded, glancing around at the wisps of silk. He fished in his wallet. ‘I’ll make it worthwhile.’

‘Nothing would make editing this out worthwhile,’ the man said bluntly. Then, as Alastair signalled for a taxi, he threw in a last question. ‘The dog-I assume it’s a stray?’

‘I imagine he is,’ Penny-Rose said shortly.

‘Are you keeping it?’

A taxi drew to a halt. Alastair helped Penny-Rose to her feet and thankfully she tumbled into the car, still clutching her pup.

‘Just tell me,’ the photographer said, this time more urgently. ‘Are you keeping the dog?’

Alastair was gathering knickers and bras and shopping bags together. They needed to get out of there, fast!

‘Are you keeping it?’ the photographer demanded a third time, and Alastair turned to Rose.

Her face was white and strained. She’d had enough, he knew. These days in unfamiliar territory had taken their toll.

She was so far from home, he thought as he watched her hug the pup. She’d come close to being killed, she was badly shocked, and now… Suddenly he realised he’d never seen anyone look so alone.

She wasn’t alone. She was with him. He needed her-and if he wasn’t careful he’d lose himself a wife!

Were they keeping the dog? She was holding on as if she needed the pathetic little creature more than the pup needed her.

‘Yes,’ Alastair said strongly, and with the same flash of insight that had seen her homesickness, he knew this was the only sensible thing to do. ‘Of course we’re keeping the dog. Why not?’

The cab driver took them to the nearest veterinarian.

‘Not to the animal shelter?’ Penny-Rose asked, and Alastair shook his head. For some reason he was unsure what to say-they were both in unfamiliar territory.

So they stayed silent while the vet clucked over the little dog, cleaned and stitched the gash on his side, examined his leg and told them the pup was starving but the leg itself was just badly bruised.

‘Take him home and give him a light meal-not too much as his stomach won’t be accustomed to big feeds. Look after him well, Madame.’

The vet smiled, speaking in halting English. Normally this man didn’t deign to use English-it was his opinion that foreigners should speak French in France-but there was something about Penny-Rose that made a man want to help all he could. Her halting thanks in French had made him smile. ‘Though I have no need to tell you to take care of him,’ he said gently. ‘I believe you are doing so already.’

Unlike the photographer, he didn’t ask if she intended keeping him. That was assumed.

But she’d been thinking, and there were problems.

‘I don’t think I can take him,’ she faltered as they emerged again to the streets of Paris. She looked up and found Alastair’s eyes gravely watchful. ‘At the end of the year I need to go home. The quarantine between here and Australia takes months.’

‘What’s a few months between friends?’ Alastair smiled. OK, if he was getting committed, he might as well get really committed. To a dog, mind, he told himself hastily. Just to a dog! ‘If there are problems, I’ll look after him when you go.’ He looked down at the disreputable mutt, the pup looked mournfully back and Alastair’s grin broadened. OK. Commitment here didn’t seem too hard. ‘My castle could do with an aristocratic hound as watch dog.’

‘Alastair…’ Penny-Rose caught her breath at the enormity of his offer. She felt like she’d been handed the crown jewels. ‘You’re kidding?’

‘Would I kid about something that means so much?’

She stared up at him, and something caught in her throat. Penny-Rose had never been handed a gift like this in her life. Gifts weren’t something that came in her direction-ever.

With a struggle she kept her voice light, though she felt tears of gratitude welling and it was all she could do to fight them back. ‘An…an aristocratic hound,’ she managed. ‘I don’t think so.’

‘He’ll do.’

She thought about this. ‘As I’ll do for a wife. Make-believe until the real thing comes along.’

‘That’s right.’ He was looking at her strangely, and her insides were kicking-hard.

Someone had to be practical.

Penny-Rose had to be practical! It was the only way if she wasn’t going to sink into the man’s chest and sob.

‘Well, let’s go, then.’ She set her chin with resolution. ‘Take us home. Your temporary wife and your aristocratic hound. You’re getting yourself quite a collection, Alastair de Castaliae.’

‘I believe I am,’ Alastair murmured.

And he didn’t look like a man fighting against the odds one bit.

To her surprise their cab didn’t take them back to Hotel Carlon.

‘I’ve arranged something different,’ Alastair told her as they drove in the opposite direction. ‘While you were trying on knickers, I made a few phone calls and had our bags moved.’ He grinned. ‘Maybe it’s just as well. Something tells me Scruffy will be more comfortable there.’

‘Scruffy…’ She was confused, but recovering. ‘Who are you calling Scruffy?’

‘Not you.’ Alastair’s eyes teased her. ‘Though come to think of it…’ At the look in her eyes he held up his hands in mock defence. ‘No. The pup. Of course I mean the pup. Scruffy.’

‘His name,’ she said with injured dignity, ‘is not Scruffy.’

‘Well, what else would you call him?’

Scruffy! Humph. ‘His name is Leo.’ With her equilibrium almost restored, with it came decisiveness. She raised her eyebrows with aristocratic hauteur, a princess in the making. ‘It means king.’

‘A king.’ He sounded stunned. ‘Like in Leo the lion?’ He looked down at the bandaged, bedraggled mutt in her arms, his lips twitched and he nodded. ‘Oh, right. I see it.’

‘You will.’ She smiled. ‘Just wait until he recovers.’

‘So I have a Leo and a Rose,’ he told her, but he was half talking to himself. ‘What next?’

What next indeed?

What next was introducing her to their hotel, which was pure pleasure. Penny-Rose walked through unassuming street doors and was stunned into silence, but this time it wasn’t grandeur that was taking her breath away. It was loveliness.

The hotel’s two floors were sedate and low. Built in pink-washed stone, the buildings circled a cobbled courtyard. French windows opened out to the garden, and her first impression was the fluttering of soft drapes in the evening air.

And that air was gorgeous! The courtyard was a mass of flowers. Wisteria clung to hundred-year-old vines, there were early roses, delicate pink tulips, soft blue forget-me-nots… And more.

The hotel itself looked almost inconspicuous in the garden setting. Chairs and tables were scattered under the trees, comfortable and inviting. There was a well-used birdbath, a sculpture of a woman drooping over a fishpond; there was the gurgle of running water behind…

This was just fabulous, Penny-Rose decided, and when Alastair showed her to her room-no porters here-it was even better. Her bedroom was simplicity itself, its major adornment being the window-framed courtyard. There was crisp white linen, fluffy white towels, a bath with no fancy gadgets at all, mounds and mounds of pillows and…

A dog basket!

She looked an astonished question at Alastair. How had he managed this?

‘I told Madame what our problem was,’ he told her. ‘She moves fast. Someone will be here any minute with minced steak for Leo.’

‘Oh, Alastair…’ She found herself suddenly close to tears again. Drat the man. She didn’t give way to emotion-she never gave way to emotion-and here he was unsettling her as no one else could.

As usual, when things got too much for her she resorted to practical matters. Or tried to. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply. ‘But…’ She glanced at her watch. It was well past eight and even her own stomach was rumbling. ‘How…how can we eat?’

‘We’re in the middle of the best eating district in Paris. We can eat any time we want.’

She bit her lip. He’d done so much already, and this was hard. ‘I mean… I can’t leave Leo.’

‘Now, how did I know you’d say that?’ He smiled down at her, that heart-stopping smile that made her insides do somersaults. ‘No problem. While you feed Leo I’ll make a foray out into the big, bad world and bring us back food. We can eat in the courtyard.’

‘Two picnics in one day!’

He nodded. ‘I can handle it. Can you?’

‘Yes. Oh, yes.’

She couldn’t think of anything more perfect.