workers.’
‘He’s got another think coming. Speaking of which…he’s having dinner with us tonight.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
‘Eggs and toast in the nursery?’
‘Don’t push your luck. Do you have anything to wear to a formal dinner?’
She stared. She looked down at her dripping jeans and her bare feet.
She giggled.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘As formal as you like. I’ll wear my dry jeans.’
‘Pippa…’
‘Don’t fret,’ she said. The rail they were perched on was four feet high. He was standing right beside her, so she was just above his head height. She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair, an affectionate ruffle such as one she might have given Marc. Or Sophie or Claire. So there was no need for him to react…as he did. ‘I won’t disgrace you,’ she said.
‘I know that,’ he said stiffly and moved away.
‘I won’t do anything else either,’ she told him, quite kindly. ‘There’s no need to back off like a frightened horse.’
‘I did not!’
‘Yes, you did,’ Marc said. ‘Don’t you like it when Pippa rubs your head?’
‘No. Yes. I…’
‘He doesn’t like getting his feathers ruffled, kids,’ she told them, turning her attention back to the cows. ‘Leave him be to settle. What time’s dinner, Mr de Gautier?’
‘Seven. The kids will be fed at six. And before you say you and the kids are sticking together, Beatrice, the older of the two maids in the children’s wing, will sit with the children. If they give the slightest sign of needing you she’ll fetch you. But by the amount of excitement they’ve had today I suspect they’ll be well asleep.’
‘So might I be.’
‘You slept for fifteen hours on the plane. I’ve got a crink on my shoulder to prove it.’
‘On your shoulder?’
‘Where your head landed. You fell sideways.’
‘I did not.’
‘No, you didn’t,’ he agreed cordially and she glowered.
‘How can I fall sideways in a first class seat?’ she demanded.
‘You wriggle in your sleep.’
‘Well, you snore.’
‘I don’t!’
‘Oh, yes, you do. We need an independent arbitrator. Failing that I refuse to accept responsibility for your crink.’
‘I accept your lack of responsibility,’ he said and grinned. ‘But about dinner. You think you might stay awake until seven?’
‘I’m pretty hungry,’ she told him. ‘But I guess I can always pinch a toast finger from the kids to keep me going.’
She was gorgeous.
Max left them and walked slowly back to the castle entrance, past the gardeners busily erecting their decking, past the pile of kids’ clothing…
The castle had subtly changed already.
She was gorgeous.
They were all great, he told himself hastily. The kids and Pippa would breathe new life into this place. He just had to persuade them to stay and things would be fine. The kids could have a glorious time. The load of responsibility would be lifted from Pippa’s shoulders and he could leave and get on with his life.
For the first time since he’d been approached after Bernard’s death, the awful feeling of being trapped was lessening.
Okay, he still needed to be Regent. He’d accepted that. But back in Paris his construction company was waiting, and in four short weeks he could be back there. He could keep on with the work he loved. He could cope with the legalities of the regency from a distance. He could stay low-key. Okay, he’d accept a bit of publicity now as he persuaded Pippa to keep the children here, but after that he could disappear into the background.
His mother need never be brought into it. It was a solution that suited them all. It felt great.
Or it should feel great. There was one little niggle.
The children’s safety?
That was crazy. The maid hadn’t said outright she was worried. He was reading too much into it.
Pippa would keep things safe.
And there was another niggle.
Pippa was gorgeous.
So what?
So he wanted to kiss her. He’d already kissed her and it had felt excellent. He wanted, quite desperately, to kiss her again.
Which was dumb. Even one kiss was dumb. Even though for him it had been a light-hearted bit of fun-it must have been-she might not have thought of it as that.
Of course she had. She’d giggled. She’d ruffled his hair then as she’d ruffle one of the kids’ hair. She was beginning to hold him in some sort of affection, he thought. She was starting to think of him as family.
Which was good.
Except…did he want her to see him as family? Even that was too close. She’d bulldozed him into staying here for a month and that was a month too long.
He should telephone his mother and let her know what was happening.
Not yet, he thought. He needed to get things sorted first.
What sorted?
It was his thoughts that needed sorting, he decided. His normally razor-sharp intellect was fogged with one sprite of a red-headed woman in soggy jeans and with a bare midriff.
A red-headed woman…
‘Excuse me, sir.’ He’d been walking up the vast steps to the castle entrance, but as soon as he walked through the doors he found a deputation waiting. Two footmen, carrying boxes. One ancient retainer in topcoat and tails. ‘Can you spare a moment?’
He stopped and frowned. ‘You are?’
‘I’m Blake, sir,’ the man said, in the country’s mix of French and Italian but with a heavy English accent. ‘I was valet to the last prince, and to his father before him.’
‘The devil you are.’ Max’s eyebrows rose. ‘They really had valets?’
‘Yes, Your Highness. I knew your mother,’ he added gently. ‘And your father.’
‘Right.’ Max had his measure now and he’d recalled information he’d read just that afternoon. The castle was full of people like Blake. Blake had been on the castle payroll for sixty years, but the death of the last prince had left no provision for retirement. Long-serving staff had been paid peanuts for years. Unless they stayed working here they’d be destitute.
He’d get reparation under way tomorrow, he thought, watching the old man take one of the parcels from the footman. His hands were shaking as if he had early Parkinson’s.
‘This is your dress regalia,’ the old man said, handling the box with reverence. ‘When you flew in before going to Australia you left some clothes behind and we took the liberty of taking measurements and having this made. It would mean a lot to the staff if you were to wear it tonight, the first night of the new order in this Court. Your Highness.’
He lifted the lid with reverence and held it out.
Max stared at Blake. Then he stared down at the box as if he’d just been handed a box of scorpions.
‘Dress regalia.’
