The Prince & The Showgirl Page 7

  "Well, glory be, if it isn't the answer to all our prayers," Ariel called out on that same husky Southern voice daytime television viewers had come to know so well. It was, Sabrina thought with an inner smile, the voice of a woman interested in a man.

  Since Sonny's death, Dixie had become even more vocal in her desire for a grandchild. Perhaps, Sabrina considered, Ariel might be the one to get their mother off their collective backs.

  After collapsing onstage during the second act of Private Performances, Sabrina had undergone an emergency operation that had left her unable to ever have children. At the time, Arthur had assured her that it didn't matter. They had, after all, agreed that they didn't want children.

  Afterward, when she had escaped her husband's controlling attitude and had begun to think for herself, Sabrina had realized that it had been Arthur who had never wanted a child. And, like everything else in their marriage, Sabrina, eager to please, desperate to be loved and accepted, had simply gone along.

  Faced with the knowledge that she would never be a mother, Sabrina had experienced a deep sense of loss. But then she'd gotten the plum role of Maggie and was too busy with work to dwell on her loss. But there was still not a day that went by that Sabrina didn't feel a fleeting pang of regret.

  "The lights will probably be back on soon," she said, thinking that the electrician would undoubtedly work at triple speed to impress her sister. Then again, he might be reluctant to rush the job, which would require him to leave. Sabrina had seen it happen before— grown men practically falling all over themselves to earn so much as a glance from Ariel Darling. Having been absolutely faithful and sheltered during her ill-fated marriage, what Sabrina had failed to see—and what her controlling husband had known too well— was that most males behaved in much the same manner around her.

  "I think Bernard wants very much to impress your sister," Burke agreed, dragging his gaze from Sabrina to watch the man practically preening like a cock out to impress a hen.

  "It happens all the time. Ariel's the beauty of the family," Sabrina said without rancor. "She takes after Dixie."

  Burke sensed that Sabrina was genuinely unaware of being the true beauty in the Darling family. He found himself wishing that the coronation ball was tonight. It would give him an excuse to dance with her. Burke had the feeling that Sabrina Darling was the type of woman who'd fit superbly into a man's arms. And his bed.

  The look he was giving her made her blood hum, her heart beat faster and her knees turn weak and rubbery. Sabrina felt as if she'd just run a marathon.

  She let out a shaky breath. "Well, as much as I've enjoyed our little chat, I wanted to get some exercise in before we resume rehearsing. Your chef is so wonderful, if I don't watch out, I'll end up looking like the Pillsbury Doughboy."

  "I find that highly unlikely."

  "Well, since I can't afford to outgrow all those costumes Dixie bought for the next few months, I thought I'd take a walk along the lakefront."

  "An excellent idea." Burke backed away, allowing her to pass. "Enjoy your stroll."

  She could feel his gaze as she made her way up the aisle. She swore not to look back, but of course she did. Her eyes met his and although the sky outside the theater was a clear, alpine blue, Sabrina could have sworn she heard the dap of thunder.

  Furious at herself for allowing him to get under her skin this way, she tossed her head with a flare of annoyance.

  Burke nodded, accepting her unspoken challenge.

  Unsure whether she was running from him or her own dangerous fantasies, Sabrina spun around and marched quickly out of the theater, slamming the enormous door behind her.

  Immersed in her own nervousness, she failed to notice that the moment she left the building, she acquired a silent, shadowy escort.

  Up on the stage, Ariel and Raven, who'd been watching the encounter with unabashed interest, exchanged a look. And then a smile.

  "Is it me, or did the temperature in here take a sudden rise?" Ariel murmured, fanning herself dramatically with her sheet music.

  Dixie, who'd been sitting in the front row, had also not missed the exchange between her stepdaughter and the prince.

  "Sabrina deserves a fantasy romance," she declared. "After all that low-down snake of a husband put her through."

  "Sabrina and a prince," Ariel said on a long, drawn-out sigh. "It would be like a fairy tale."

  Raven, the sole pragmatist in the colorfully theatrical Darling family, looked worried. "It could also be a disaster," she warned. "Sabrina's been through a rough time, which makes her extremely vulnerable right now. And everyone knows the prince's reputation with women."

  As he approached the stage, Burke couldn't help overhearing snippets of their conversation.

  Having been born into the royal family, he'd lived his entire life in the glare of the international spotlight. Exaggerated reports of his exploits with the opposite sex had never disturbed him. He had, with his innately pragmatic view of life, merely considered the source.

  He'd also noticed, with some amusement, that whenever he appeared on the cover of one of those gossip magazines, tourism—his country's lifeblood— increased. It was a private Giraudeau joke; there had been many times when he'd complained that although escorting the world's beauties was difficult work, he would make the sacrifice, for family and country.

  He had an urge to reassure Sabrina's family that he was not the rogue Raven, at least, perceived him to be. With a self-discipline that had always served him well, Burke resisted that urge.

  As he gave his compliments to Sabrina's talented sisters, Burke kept thinking about that heated challenge he'd, seen in Sabrina's silver eyes.

  There had been nothing subtle about that look. Indeed, she might as well have taken a gauntlet and slapped him across the cheek.

  An expert fencer, Burke had never been one to back away from a challenge. This was going to be, he decided with a slow, inward smile, a most enjoyable duel.

  5

  "So," Ariel said that evening as they dressed for dinner, "has he kissed you yet?"

  Sabrina knew better than to pretend that she didn't know what her sister was talking about. "No. And he's not going to, either. Not if I have anything to say about it."

  "I don't know," Raven argued as she rolled an ebony silk stocking up one long leg, "from the way you two were lighting up the royal theater, I'd guess that you're both suffering from a lot of stored-up sexual energy."

  "I haven't thought about sex since my divorce," Sabrina said, not quite truthfully.

  Just last night she'd had a dream in which Burke had played a starring role. The erotically vivid dream had left her shaken. And wanting.

  "Besides, I'd rather concentrate on my work." She cast a warning glance toward the adjacent bathroom, where the maid was preparing Dixie's bath.

  "All work and no play…" Ariel warned. Wrapped in a thick royal blue towel, she began digging through the drawers of the antique armoire, "Has anyone seen my beaded sweater?"

  "Not since Philadelphia," Sabrina answered.

  "Oh, damn, I remember now. I sent it down to the concierge to be cleaned." She tapped a pink fingernail against her front tooth. "I hate life on the road."

  "I don't know," Dixie drawled sapiently, stretching out on a pink satin lounge that looked as though it might have belonged to Marie Antoinette, "sometimes it has its advantages."

  She popped a Swiss chocolate from a silver tray into her mouth. "This is sure a long, long way from the kind of places your daddy stayed in when he started out on the road."

  "Don't get used to this," Raven warned. She stood and twisted around in order to check that the sexy seams running up her black hose were straight. "Because in six more days we'll be back in the real world."

  "From the way his royal highness has been looking at Sabrina," Ariel said, her voice muffled by the white silk camisole she was pulling over her head, "I'd say that there's a good chance one of us will be staying here in Fantasyland."

&nbs
p; "Speaking of fantasies—"

  Before Sabrina could finish her retort, the young maid appeared in the doorway. "Would madame and mesdemoiselles wish anything else?"

  "You've done quite enough, Monique dear," Dixie said with her trademark smile.

  "More than enough," Sabrina said under her breath.

  Although Monique was as polite and as efficient as Chantal had promised, the way she was always hovering nearby, eager to help, made Sabrina uncomfortable. Earlier this evening, she and Monique had gotten into a contretemps when she'd insisted on running her own bathwater.

  Dixie, overhearing Sabrina's remark, gave her daughter a slightly censorious look and said, "I believe we can muddle through for the rest of the evening ourselves, Monique. But thank you so much for all you've done." Another smile, even more dazzling than the first. "No one's ever ironed the pleats on my green dress so perfectly."

  "Thank you, Madame Darling." The young woman's doe brown eyes were overbrimming with gratitude. "I shall be in my room in the servant's wing. If there is anything else you need, anything at all—"

  "We'll call you," Dixie agreed. "Good night, Monique."

  "Bonne nuit, madame." Monique backed out of the room on a subservient bow. "Bonne nuit, mesdemoiselles."

  "Such a sweet girl," Dixie murmured. "And so polite. Now," she said, turning back toward Sabrina, "what were you saying, darling?"

  "I was saying that Ariel has obviously spent too many years in Hollywood." She frowned as she concentrated on applying a sweep of rose blush to her cheekbones. "Life," she pointed out briskly, "is not some soap opera."

  "Well, I know that." Ariel deftly piled her hair into a precarious twist atop her head, securing it with a diamond clasp. "But, I gotta tell you, little sister, if any man ever looked at me the way that prince has been looking at you ever since we arrived, I'd hightail it right down to Neiman Marcus and start shopping for a trousseau."

  "And you all accuse me of being the family romantic," Sabrina muttered.

  "I think Ariel's got a point, baby," Dixie said, licking chocolate from her fingertips. "It's obvious that the man's downright smitten with you."

  Sabrina arched an amused brow. "Smitten?" She reached for the one somber item in her wardrobe—a dress she'd bought to wear to her father's funeral.

  "Honestly, Mama, if the man is interested, it's merely sex."

  "Lots of long-standing marriages start out based on sex." Dixie's knowing tone gave Sabrina a surprising, intimate glimpse into her father and stepmother's relationship.

  "Now we're talking about marriage?"

  At the last moment, her hand, as if acting on its own volition, plucked a gold-tissue lame slip dress from its padded satin hanger. The devastatingly sexy dress had been purchased specifically for the tour with funds Dixie had charmed from a Nashville National Trust bank vice president.

  As Dixie had pointed out during a whirlwind shopping spree in Atlanta reminiscent of Sherman's march through Georgia, it was important to the success of the tour that the girls looked like the stars they were. And if that meant going even deeper into debt, then that's exactly what they'd do.

  "Just because you've been burned once is no reason not to reach for the brass ring again," Ariel said, blithely mixing her metaphors. "Why, Jolene's been married six times. And don't forget, one of those times was to the infamous Peachtree Lane rapist. But that didn't stop her from getting engaged again." Jolene was the headstrong Georgia belle Ariel played on Southern Nights.

  Feeling decidedly reckless, Sabrina unzipped the dress, stepping into it before common sense prevailed and she changed her mind. "If marriage is such a dandy institution, why don't you get married?"

  "We are talkin' about you, sugar," Ariel replied in Jolene's sugary Southern drawl. "And besides, if a man like Prince Burke ever proposed, I'd get him to the altar pronto, before the man knew what hit him."

  "Why don't you just hit him over the head with a club and drag him down the aisle?" Raven suggested.

  "Why, that's not such a bad idea." Ariel turned toward Dixie with a bold grin. "Mama, how about after dinner, you and I go looking for a nice sturdy tree limb?"

  "You girls are all impossible," Dixie answered with a indulgent smile. "And for your information, I happen to agree with Prince Eduard. Every woman wants grandchildren to spoil."

  The teasing conversation had taken an all-too-familiar turn. The three sisters pretended a sudden intense interest in dressing for dinner. And even as her stepmother's words created that now-familiar stab of pain in her heart, Sabrina told herself that it was her own fault for not telling the rest of the family the truth about her condition.

  At the time, she hadn't wanted their sympathy. Then, like all lies, once told, it had taken on a life of its own, and although now she'd love to have a chance to talk about her emotional pain with her mother and sisters, unfortunately she couldn't quite work up the nerve to confess that she'd been less than truthful.

  As she descended the wide curving staircase with Dixie and her sisters, Sabrina vowed to get the dark secret off her chest before the tour ended.

  For the first time since her arrival, Burke had joined the family for predinner cocktails. Sabrina knew she was in trouble when her stomach fluttered at the sight of him, resplendent in stark black-and-white evening wear, standing beside the massive stone fireplace.

  Reminding herself that discretion was the better part of valor, she remained on the opposite side of the room and was chatting with Chantal when Burke appeared beside her.

  "If you don't mind," he said to his sister, "there's something I'd like to show Sabrina."

  Chantal arched an ebony brow. "Then I'd suggest you ask her." She gave Sabrina a "men, whatever can you do with them?" look.

  "Mademoiselle?" Burke addressed Sabrina for the first time since she'd entered the room ten minutes earlier. His inviting smile made her uneasy.

  "It wouldn't be polite of me to be late for dinner."

  "This won't take more than a few minutes."

  He glanced down at his wafer-thin gold watch. Her father had had a watch like that. Dixie had bought it for him for their twentieth anniversary. It had been ridiculously expensive, Sabrina recalled. She also remembered that Sonny had lost it six months later while fishing for catfish.

  "I promise to return you to the dining room with time to spare."

  Aware that everyone was watching them, Sabrina told herself that she would have left this room with the devil himself in order to escape all those intent gazes.

  "All right, then. I suppose I could spare a few minutes."

  Burke's lips quirked. "Thank you," he said formally. "I appreciate your sacrifice."

  He took her elbow in his hand and led her from the library and down a maze of curving stairways and high-ceilinged halls.

  He entered a room that could have easily doubled as a museum! Sabrina stopped in her tracks and stared at the numerous displays of gleaming armor.

  "You brought me here to show me weapons?" That was a distinct surprise. She'd thought he intended to steal a kiss. Or two. Or more. Apparently she'd been wrong.

  "Not exactly."

  "Good." She folded her arms across her gilded bodice and glanced around. "I suppose this is where I tell you that I'm a pacifist."

  "An admirable trait," he agreed easily. "However, in defense of my ancestors, I feel the need to point out that fighting and hunting were once necessary pastimes."

  She stopped before a boldly embossed, lavishly etched and gilded set of armor. The silver suit was more than protection against enemy soldiers, she realized. It was a status symbol, meant to dazzle.

  "This is quite something." A picture flashed unbidden through her mind: Burke clad in this very armor, astride a gleaming white steed, the sun glinting off the polished silver with a light so bright as to be blinding.

  "It belonged to Maximillian I," Burke revealed. "When my grandfather was a child, he collected toy soldiers. As he grew older, the soldiers grew."

&nbs
p; "My father collected early Western guns," Sabrina revealed.

  "I'd like to see them." Like most Europeans, Burke had a fascination of the American west.

  "Mother sold them." Two of his Colt pistols had recently sold at auction in New York and an 1876 Winchester rifle had been bought by a wildcatter who'd struck it rich in the West Texas oil fields before the bust. Dixie, who'd always been vocal about her personal dislike for guns, had cried copious tears when the rifle had sold. Sabrina sighed at the unhappy memory. "She didn't want to. But she didn't have a choice."

  Realizing that he was behaving impulsively again, Burke decided to locate Sonny Darling's collection and return it to the man's family. He tried to tell himself that his decision was not due to his feelings for Sabrina, but merely an understanding of tradition and the belief that certain things, no matter their monetary cost, were far more valuable as family keepsakes.

  "I didn't invite you here to bring up unpleasant memories," he said. "Rather, I wanted you to see this."

  Cupping her elbow in his hand, he led her across the tartan flooring to the opposite wall. There, resplendently surrounded by a heavy gilt frame, hung a life-size full-length portrait of a young woman clad in a traditional scarlet flamenco dress trimmed in an ebony lace flounce. Her dark hair was a wild tangle around her bare shoulders, and her eyes—more black than brown—flashed with tempestuous fire.

  "She's absolutely stunning."

  "That's Katia Giraudeau, Phillipe's Spanish wife. And my grandmother."

  "The gypsy." Sabrina looked into the expressive face and imagined she could hear the staccato clatter of castanets, smell the smoke of the fire.

  "Katia was born with second sight," Burke divulged. "Unfortunately Montacroix has always had its share of superstitious citizens, and a few of them accused her of being a witch. Her family, however, learned to trust her uncanny intuition."

  Sabrina studied the picture, her attention riveted on those flashing dark gypsy eyes. "Do you believe in clairvoyance?"

  Burke shrugged. "It's an intriguing notion, but entirely unsubstantiated by evidence. However," he surprisingly revealed, "although intellectually, I find extrasensory perception difficult to explain, having grown up with Katia as a grandmother, I can't deny the possibility."