Royal 02 - Royal Passion Read Online Free Page B

carriages that had led the elderly cousin with whom she and Helene were staying to believe that Mara was going to the Loire Valley with her grandmother, Mara could only agree. The detailed instructions as to what she must say and do, which she had received on the long ride to the gypsy camp, and the violent way that ride had ended, had served to reinforce the impression.
    There was no time to dwell upon what was done, however, for questions, as swift and lethal as an ambuscade of arrows, were hurtling around her.
    "From whence did your carriage come? What was its color? How many horses, outriders? What folly caused you to be expelled? Was it lack of cooperation or too much? How came such beauty to be scorned? And where then is the fury? And the hell?"
    The questions were directed with suspicion. That they were well founded did not prevent the rise of a feeling of ill-usage in Mara. “Doubtless,” she said, sending the prince a flashing glance as she acknowledged the quote that had become a saw and traced it to its source, “in the same place as the rage of heaven."
    "There are things, then, that you remember,” Roderic said, his tone soft.
    Mara stared into his bright blue gaze, refusing to look away. “So it would seem."
    "How fortunate, otherwise you would be as a child again, wet, wiggling, and beguiling, as well as quite helpless..."
    "Fortunate for you that I am not."
    "Oh, I don't know. I might have enjoyed jogging you on my knee."
    "A perilous undertaking, under the conditions you describe."
    "You mean if you were wet?"
    She had, of course, but it was disconcerting to be taken so literally, and with such an open and engaging, therefore dangerous, smile. She had been warned about the prince's penchant for games with words. He meant her to be disconcerted.
    "It would be a natural condition,” she said, her tone even.
    The voice of the prince softened, lowered. “The man was a fool."
    "What?"
    "To discard you."
    Mara felt something tighten inside her chest, but she refused to follow so obvious a lead. “It might have been a woman."
    "Do you think so? An abbess, perhaps? But none would wish to be rid of such tender and easily sold merchandise. A jealous rival? She could have cut your throat as easily or else splashed vitriol here and there where it would do the most harm. A relative, perhaps, bent on discrediting you? But why? To destroy your good name and make you unfit for a proper bridegroom? Men can be such idiots about such things, as if a night in the dew mattered. Will it matter?"
    "Oh, don't!” she exlaimed, swaying a little, frowning as tension caused her head to pound. “There is no need to mock me."
    "I was thinking, instead, of sending you to your repose. It seems, above all, what you need."
    Was that compassion she heard in his voice? She could not be sure. Repose, composure. No doubt he was right. She could not seem to think any longer. If she weren't careful, some unguarded remark would give her away. Her gaze shifted to the caravans drawn up around the fire, particularly to the one painted blue and white and decorated with scrolls of gold; one newer, neater, than the others.
    "Where shall I sleep?” she asked, and began wearily to gather her cloak around her.
    Roderic, hearing that simple question, caught his breath. The temptation to direct her to his caravan, his bed, was so great that he was startled into silence. Where had it come from, this sudden wave of desire for a bedraggled, injured female without a name? She was beautiful, but he had seen beautiful women before, had had more than his share of them. She intrigued him—not the least because the lilt of her voice and her choice of words were the same as those of his mother, easily recognizable as being of Louisiana—but women with mysterious pasts were ten per centime in Paris. No, it was something more, something indefinable, something of which he must be wary. Still, his caravan was the safest place.
    Mara looked up and, seeing the