The Christmas Princess (2 page)

This man, she saw as he turned, had one of the finest examples of
the jaw
she had ever—

“Ms. Gareaux.”

“Yes.”

With two strides he closed much of the gap, though far from cozy.

Automatically, she catalogued a description as she’d learned to do for Gerard. High, sharp cheekbones balanced
the jaw
. Neatly trimmed medium brown hair. Penetrating eyes, narrowed so much she couldn’t tell their color.

Whoa!

What had she been thinking about men with
the jaw
seeing things? He sure did. He was cataloging right back. It felt like a beam of light, like—

A vibration started at the base of her skull and zinged down her spine. “You’ve been watching me.”

His eyelids lowered and rose once. That was it. One blink. Otherwise, he could have been a lump of granite — albeit a nicely shaped lump.

Oh, God,
had
it been her imagination? All the times she’d looked around these past days, she’d never spotted anything or anyone out of place. And why on earth would this man with
the jaw
be following her?

“Ms. Gareaux, please sit down.”

He pulled out a chair. She sat.

“My name is Hunter Pierce.” He flipped open a passport-sized leather folder for a flash of a two-part ID with the top part including the Department of State logo and the words “Special Agent” and the bottom part showing a signature and photo ID. It was definitely the same man. He returned it to his inside suit jacket pocket. “I’m here on a confidential matter on behalf of the Department of State. This matter—”

“About Brussels sprouts?”

“No. About you.”

“
Me
? Oh.” Her stomach flipped. “
Oh, my God
. Leslie, Grady–.”

“No.”

“Nobody’s hurt? Reese or—”

“No.” He waited a breath as if to be sure his certainty had stopped her. It had. “For the sake of our country, you must never discuss with anyone what I’m about to tell you, whether you agree to cooperate or not. I need your pledge to that.”

Her mind raced, trying to make sense of this. “Cooperate with what?”

“First, your pledge.”

That was dirty pool. Dangle the sake of her country, make it all mysterious and 007ish — what was the chance of saying no after that?

“I pledge not to discuss whatever this is — unless it’s going to get somebody hurt or something,” she added.

He’d pulled out a paper with closely printed type beneath the United States seal, and placed it on the corner of the nearby table. He held out a pen. “Sign here, please.”

She took the pen, but tugged the paper from under his fingers and brought it in front of her to read the legalese. “Hey! This says I can go to jail.”

“Only if you divulge what you just promised not to divulge without permission. The appeals process—” He tapped a figure to the last paragraph. “—is spelled out if you feel permission would be or has been withheld without sufficient cause.”

She read the words again. This was not a Monopoly “Do Not Pass Go, Go Directly to Jail” card, this was the real thing. On the other hand, if she didn’t find out what this was about she’d be lined up right behind the cat under “Cause of Death: Curiosity.” In which case going to jail would be moot.

She signed.

“What is this about, Mr. Pierce?”

He refolded the paper and tucked it away before saying, “Your country needs your assistance. This is not dangerous or hazardous duty. Quality accommodations and meals would be provided. All expenses would be covered. However, it would require a commitment until January second. That means—”

“January? That’s
weeks
from now. I haven’t worked here long enough for that kind of vacation—”

“An official request for your assistance would be made. A lobbying organization such as this would not refuse such a request.”

“But you said this doesn’t have anything to do with Brussels sprouts.”

“It doesn’t.”

“What
does
it have to do with?”

“It has to do with you being a princess for the month of December, Ms. Gareaux.”

It had made more sense when it was about Brussels sprouts.

“A princess?” she repeated.

“Yes. Until the first of the year. After that—”

“I’m not a princess.”

“We know that. However, you bear a strong resemblance—”

April shook her head, trying to get things back in order. “Wait, back up. I’m not a princess and you know it? So people who know this princess would also know I’m not her. Uh, she.” Wouldn’t a princess get the pronoun right the first time? “Plus, people who know me will know I’m, uh,
me
.”

So not a princess.

“No need to worry about people who know the princess. And you wouldn’t be around people you know. As I started to say, you will step away from your usual life. We would provide housing, any necessary wardrobe, transportation–”

“Transportation? So you’re like the dog and horse who became the footman and coachman.” She chuckled. “Although, actually the
mice
provided the transportation when they were turned into horses.”

He didn’t react.

“
Cinderella
?” she prompted. “ ‘Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo’?”

Come to think of it, if he provided the wardrobe that also made him the Fairy Godmother. Before she could swallow that image, he gave a single shake of his head. “I am not at liberty to further discuss arrangements until you have agreed to this, Ms. Gareaux.”

He spread another form before her, but she didn’t look at it. “Did Zoe hire you?”

“No.”

She wouldn’t put this past her boss, who’d hired a male stripper dressed — briefly — as a doctor for nine-months pregnant Lorene’s baby shower and was forever saying April needed to get a little wild.

April eyed Mr. Jaw. He would look even better with his attire reduced to a single stretch of spandex than Mr. Stethoscope had. Though she’d never heard of a stripper impersonating a member of State’s security. Not even in Washington.

But it had to be something like that, because otherwise it was real.

“Are you a friend of Jason’s?” she demanded.

“No.”

“If this is one of his so-called jokes, it’s even less funny than the others.”

“I assure you Ms. Gareaux, this is not a joke.”

She stood. “If it’s not a joke, I’m the absolutely last person you want.”

He stood, too, picking up the form. Two of his fingers brushed across the back of her left hand.

It was a tiny fraction of the contact experienced each morning and evening with any number of strangers in standing-room only Metro cars. Yet the warmth of this contact against her nerve-chilled hands was like a close encounter with a defibrillator paddle. It certainly changed the rhythm of her heartbeat.

Ah. His hand jerked the tiniest bit too … didn’t it?

Hunter Pierce’s voice snapped her back with a thud. “You’re the only possibility, Ms. Gareaux.”

In that instant she knew it wasn’t a joke.

“No,” she said, retreating. “I’m sorry … No. I have, uh, a fiancé.” Why hadn’t she said that from the start? She couldn’t possibly disappear for the month of December to pretend to be a princess.

She hadn’t quite reached the door when he said, “April.”

Reluctantly, she halted and faced him.

“Remember, you have sworn to tell no one about this.” He tapped his jacket where he’d put the first form, over his heart.

“I remember.”

Green.

His eyes were green.

CHAPTER TWO

“Miss April, Mrs. Warrington asks that you be taken to her upon your arrival,” Barton said when he opened the entry door to her. She’d reminded Reese a week ago that she still didn’t have a set of keys.

“I’ll just go upstairs and ...” Try emergency repairs to her hair.

“She asked to see you immediately, Miss April.”

For an instant, she thought she saw sympathy in Barton’s impassive face.

“Of course.” No sense in getting him in trouble.

“Thank you, Miss April.”

She hated being called Miss April by the staff. She’d asked them to call her April. Mrs. Warrington had countermanded her. Reese had suggested Ms. Gareaux. Mrs. Warrington had said, “We don’t need to go that far.”

He led the way to Mrs. Warrington’s office. Tapped on the door, opened it, then closed it behind her once she was inside.

“Come in, April. Sit down. Your hair style is particularly unfortunate today.”

She couldn’t argue. She sat on the “guest” chair that would have been considered cruel and unusual punishment in several states. “How are you today, Mrs. Warrington?”

“I am in splendid health, as always.”

April tried not to notice that the older woman didn’t thank her for asking, nor ask in response. April also tried not to compare Reese’s mother to her own great-grandmother. To many they would appear to come from the same mold, though Beatrice Craig was somewhat older. Her great-grandmother was a tartar, for sure. But she had a graciousness, a kindness, Mrs. Warrington lacked.

“I will not prolong this,” the woman began.

Prolong what
? April knew better than to ask.

“Roberta has returned.” Mrs. Warrington said no more, apparently waiting for her to respond.

“Reese told me.” After she’d asked him about the rumor Zoe had heard.

Mrs. Warrington grimaced. “If he had, we would not be having this conversation.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No, you don’t.” The older woman’s sigh held exasperation that she was required to explain. “She has returned to Reese. Roberta was always his proper match, and they have reconciled. Your things have been packed. Barton has called a taxi.”

April understood the words. She even got the picture. Maybe at some level, with the way Reese had acted this week, she’d suspected. Those years after her dad died, with Melly swapping men as often as addresses, she’d come to sense when it was brewing, like feeling a change in air pressure.

Yes, at some level, she’d suspected. Still, she was shocked. And sad, of course. But she wouldn’t cry in front of Mrs. Warrington. That’s why her eyes were totally dry. Pride. “Reese is having his
mother
break up with me?”

“The ring, of course, will be returned to us, since it is a family piece.”

“A grown man — nearly fifty years old — has his
mother
break up with his fiancée?”

“Reese regrets any pain you might have incurred.”

“You incur debt. You
feel
pain.” Or inflict it, in the case of this woman. April wanted to rail at her. Wanted to pound on the desk. Wanted to hunt down Reese and pound on him.

The spirit of Beatrice Craig — though still, thank heavens, safely ensconced in her great-grandmother’s elegant and surprisingly sturdy form — entered April and infused her backbone with steel.

She stood.

She removed the ring.

She looked down at the woman, a bubble of something rising in her. “I hope you’ll all be very happy together.”

She closed the door behind her. Maybe now she’d cry.

Nope. Barton appeared in the hallway.

“Your taxi is at the door, Miss April.”

Along with her luggage, no doubt. All very efficient. She slid her icy hands into her jacket pockets. The right one encountered the business card she’d placed there. Hunter Pierce. She’d thought about that strange encounter non-stop until the moment Barton had opened the front door. “Thank you, Barton. First, I’m going to the kitchen.”

“Mrs. Warrington said—”

“I’m sure she did. But what she says no longer affects me.”

She headed for the kitchen. Corrinda, the cook, was at the sink and Harlan, who kept the grounds and house running, sat at a table in the far corner.

“Oh, Miss April,” Corrinda said, as soon as she saw her. “I’m so sorry.”

Of course, they’d all known before she did. “Thank you. I wanted to say goodbye to you — to you both, and to thank you for your kindnesses to me.”

“Common decency, that’s what you got from us. It only looks like kindness in comparison to what you’ve received from the head — and tail — of this house’s family,” Corrinda said.

Automatically, April started to deflect criticism of the Warringtons, then reconsidered. “You’re partly right. You both
have
been kind, but they have been awful. I was an idiot. Just like Leslie tried to make me see.”

“Oh, now, never tell me that sweet lady said you were an idiot. She loves you. And so does that husband of hers. You go right to them and tell them exactly what happened. They’ll take care of you.”

Despite the phrase
they’ll take care of you
echoing in her head like a discordant gong, April again said, “Thank you.” She hugged the woman, then laid a hand on Harlan’s shoulder. “And you, Harlan. Good-bye.”

“You’re better off,” he said with a grunt, patting her hand.

On her way back to the front entry, she passed the open double doors to what Mrs. Warrington insisted be called the drawing room. It sure wasn’t a
living
room.

And there sat the three of them, looking like a bad knockoff of those ancient Noel Coward movies Grady loved.

The Evil Ex was the first to spot April at the threshold.

“
This
is the piece of fluff you’ve entertained yourself with? Really, Reese.”

Fluff? Her? A piece of fluff? The other woman must have seen things in her no one else ever had.

He half rose. “April?”

“Reese.” Roberta and her mother-in-law spoke in unison.

He sank back down.

Had he even tried to break free? He’d said he would. But looking at him now, she knew he never would have succeeded. Mrs. Warrington was right. He and Roberta belonged together.

“Goodbye, Reese. Good luck.”

At the front door, Barton watched closely as a taxi driver stowed two totes atop the two large suitcases she’d brought when she came here four months ago. The rest of her few belongings were in storage.

“The driver has been paid sufficiently to drive you wherever you would like to go in the metropolitan area. May I tell him your destination?”

“No, thank you. I’ll tell him.” When she came up with something.