be my friend.’
Her friend, the prince?
Her friend, her lover?
Ramon.
Part-time mistress?
Forget Sofia, she told herself fiercely. Forget Perpetua. Tonight she’d hold on to the fairy tale.
‘So…so there’s no royal cook?’ she managed.
‘There are three, but they scare me more than my valet. They wear white hats and speak with Italian accents and say bechamel a lot.’
‘Oh, Ramon…’
‘And there’s no security camera in the smaller kitchen,’ he told her, and she looked up into his face and it was all she could do not to burst into spontaneous combustion.
‘So will you come?’ His eyes dared her.
‘I’m coming.’ Mistress or not, dangerous or not, right now she’d take whatever he wanted to give. Stupid? Who knew? She only knew that there was no way she could walk away from this man this night.
‘Slippers and robe first,’ he suggested and she blinked.
‘Pardon?’
‘Let’s keep it nice past the footman.’ He grinned. ‘And do your belt up really tight. I like a challenge.’
‘Ramon…’
‘Second kitchen, no security camera,’ he said and gave her a gentle push back into her bedroom. ‘Slippers and gown. Respectability’s the thing, my love. All the way down the stairs.’
They were respectable all the way down the stairs. The footman watched them go, his face impassive. When they reached the second kitchen another footman appeared and opened the door for them. He ushered them inside.
‘Would you like the door closed?’ he said deferentially and Ramon nodded.
‘Absolutely. And make sure the Huns stay on that side.’
‘The Huns?’ the man said blankly.
‘You never know what they’re planning,’ Ramon said darkly. ‘If I were you, I’d take a walk around the perimeter of the palace. Warn the troops.’
‘Your Highness…’
‘Just give us a bit of privacy,’ Ramon said, relenting at the look of confusion on the man’s face. ‘Fifty paces from the kitchen door, agreed?’
Finally there was a smile-sort of-pulled back instantly with a gasp as if the man had realized what he was doing and maybe smiling was a hanging offence. Impassive again, he snapped his heels and moved away and Ramon closed the door and leaned on it.
‘This servant thing’s got knobs on it. Three months and they still treat me like a prince.’
‘You are a prince.’
‘Not here,’ he said. ‘Not now. I’m me and you’re you and the kitchen door is closed. And so…’
And so he took her into his arms and he held her so tight the breath was crushed from her body. He held her like a man drowning holding on to a lifeline. He held her and held her and held her, as if there was no way he could ever let her go.
He didn’t kiss her. His head rested on her hair. He held her until her heart beat in synchronisation with his. Until she felt as if her body was merging with his, becoming one. Until she felt as if she was truly loved-that she’d come home.
How long they stayed there she could never afterwards tell-time disappeared. This was their moment. The world was somewhere outside that kitchen door, the servants, Sofia’s words, Perpetua’s warnings, tomorrow, but for now all that mattered was this, her Ramon. Her love.
The kitchen was warm. An old fire-stove sent out a gentle heat. A small grey cat slept in a basket by the hearth. All Jenny had seen of this palace was grandeur, but here in this second kitchen the palace almost seemed a home.
It did feel like home. Ramon was holding her against his heart and she was where she truly belonged.
She knew it was an illusion, and so must he. Maybe that was why he held her for so long, allowing nothing, no words, no movement, to intrude. As if, by holding her, the world could be kept at bay. As if she was something that he must lose, but he’d hold on while he still could.
Finally he kissed her as she needed to be kissed, as she ached to be kissed, and she kissed him back as if he was truly her Ramon and the royal title was nothing but a crazy fantasy locked securely on the other side of the door.
With the Huns, she thought, somewhat deliriously. Reality and the Huns were being kept at bay by powdered, wigged footmen, giving her this time of peace and love and bliss.
She loved this man with all her heart. Maybe what Sofia had said was wrong. Maybe the Perpetua thing was crazy.
The cat stirred, coiling out of her basket, stretching, then stepping daintily out to inspect her food dish. The tiny movement was enough to make them stir, to let a sliver of reality in. But only a sliver.
‘She’s only interested in her food,’ Jenny whispered. ‘Not us.’
‘I don’t blame her. I’m hungry, too.’ Ramon’s voice was husky with passion, but his words were so prosaic that she chuckled. It made it real. Her Prince of the Blood, dressed in medals and tassels and boots that shone like mirrors, was smiling down at her with a smile that spoke of devilry and pure latent sex-and he was hungry.
‘For…for what?’ she managed, and the devilry in his eyes darkened, gleamed, sprang into laughter.
‘I’d take you on the kitchen table, my love,’ he said simply. ‘But I just don’t trust the servants that much.’
‘And we’d shock the cat,’ she whispered and he chuckled.
‘Absolutely.’
He was trying to make his voice normal, Jenny thought. He was trying to make their world somehow normal. In truth, if Ramon carried out his earlier threat to untie the cord of her dressing gown, if he took that to its inevitable conclusion, there was no way she’d deny him. Only sense was prevailing. Sort of.
Where he led, she’d follow, but if he was trying to be prosaic…maybe she could be, too.
‘I could cook in this kitchen,’ she said, eyeing the old range appraisingly, the rows of pots and pans hanging from overhead rails, the massive wooden table, worn and pitted from years of scrubbing.
‘The pantry adjoins both kitchens,’ Ramon said hopefully. ‘I’m sure there’s eggs and bacon in there.’
‘Are you really hungry?’
‘At dinner I had two queens, one duke and three prime ministers within talking range,’ he said. ‘They took turns to address me. It’s very rude for a Crown Prince to eat while being addressed by a Head of State. My Aunt Sofia was watching. If I’d eaten I would have had my knuckles rapped.’
‘She’s a terrifying lady,’ Jenny said and he grinned.
‘I love her to bits,’ he said simply. ‘Like I love you.’
‘Ramon…’
‘Gianetta.’
‘This is…’
‘Just for tonight,’ he said softly and his voice grew bleak. ‘I know this is impossible. After tonight I’ll ask nothing of you, but Gianetta…just for tonight can we be…us?’
His face was grim. There were vast problems here, she knew, and she saw those problems reflected in his eyes. Sofia had said the ghost of his father made this palace hateful, yet Ramon was stuck here.
Maybe they could go back to where they’ started.
‘Do you want bacon and eggs, or do you want muffins?’ she asked and tried to make her voice prosaic.
‘You could cook muffins here?’ Astonishment lessened the grimness.
‘You have an oven warmed for a cat,’ she said. ‘It seems silly to waste it. It’ll mean you need to wait twenty minutes instead of five minutes for eggs and bacon.’
‘And the smell will go all through the palace,’ he said in satisfaction. ‘There’s an alibi if ever I heard one. We could give a couple to Manuel and Luis.’
