Lucy Gordon - Princess Dottie

“But they might if the hours weren't so long,” said Dottie, who'd been studying hard. “If you reorganized the debates so that the votes were at a reasonable hour I think the women would come forward.” After a moment's thought she mused, “With a little encouragement.”

Enderlin turned a hunted look on Randolph who was sitting to one side, but he seemed preoccupied with his notes.

“Do I understand that you intend to provide the encouragement, ma'am?” Enderlin asked faintly.

“Could be.”

“Might I suggest that these interventions would be more appropriate when you've been here a little longer?”

“You mean when the election's over?” Dottie asked mischievously. “I did know that there was one due in a year. I want things done before that.”

He made one last effort. “Such matters take time-”

“Not if you have the power of decree,” Dottie reminded him mischievously. “We'll have to move fast if we're to get things changed before then, but I know I can leave that to you. Randolph is always telling me how efficient you are.”

When Enderlin had bowed himself out Randolph said grimly, “Do you mind leaving me out of your assaults on the executive? I value my skin.”

“Coward.”

“Yes, I am a coward,” he said after a moment. “More than you know, ma'am.”

“Don't call me that.”

“It is appropriate.”

“I mean when we're alone. I'm still Dottie.” There was almost a plea in her words.

“No,” he said at last. “Dottie has gone a long way away, and how can I complain? It was I who sent her away.”

He walked out without the usual punctilious request for permission, leaving her wanting to burst into tears. Or throw something. Either one would have been better than the ache she felt all the time nowadays, and which she'd soon realized had nothing to do with the loss of Mike. It was the loss of Randolph that hurt.

It had been building up since that night in London when he'd whisked her away from her ordinary life, thrown magic into the air so that it dazzled her as it fell, and then…

“And then he made me fall in love with him,” she mused. “Dirty, rotten swine!”

Her feelings for him had always been there, from the first evening. No, from the first moment when she'd seen him in the café and known that he was unlike all other men. He was thrilling and dangerous, and he'd aroused her senses as Mike never had. She'd called him a magician, too ignorant and unsuspecting to know that the spell he cast was the oldest one in the world.

She would have seen the truth earlier if there hadn't been so many things in the way. But she saw it now, and it made her so angry with him that sometimes she could hardly bear to be with him. But when she wasn't with him it was worse.

Most painful of all was the knowledge that she could marry him tomorrow. A man as shrewd and subtle as Randolph would know the right words to convince her, because she longed to be convinced. Just let him once guess her feelings for him, and she would be lost. They would embark on a marriage of love on her side and duty on his. And in no time at all she would hate him.

Sophie had left the palace now and was living at the Bekendorf family mansion in Wolfenberg, at which, it was rumored, a stream of gifts arrived each day from Korburg. But she still had the freedom of the palace park, and arrived there most mornings for a ride.

Sometimes Randolph joined her, for it suited his pride to have the world see that they were still on good terms. And Sophie, still doing a hopeful juggling act, always welcomed him warmly.

One morning when he didn't appear she went to seek him out in his office. Strictly speaking she should have been properly announced before walking in on the crown princess's private secretary while he was reading the royal correspondence. But while So phie stuck rigidly to protocol for others, she blithely ignored it to suit herself.

“My dear,” Randolph said, rising to kiss her cheek. “It's good to see you looking so well.”

She was at her best, blazing with life and health, and elegant in her riding habit. She kissed him back, cheekily, on the mouth, lingering just a moment too long, so that he gently disengaged himself.

“Prince Harold would not approve,” he said lightly.

She shrugged. “Oh, nothing's settled. But he'll be here soon.”

“Sophie be careful,” he said, meaning only to be kind. “Harold is a cold, unscrupulous man. He won't treat you well if it suits him not to.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I mean he may be after bigger fish. He still wants the throne of Elluria.”

“As do you,” she said with a brittle laugh. “You'd better marry the silly creature quickly before she realizes what you're really after.”

“Don't talk like that,” he said in a voice he'd never used to her before. “I forbid you ever to mention the subject again. It's an insult to her and an insult to me.”

Sophie shrugged, not disconcerted, as Dottie would have been, by the bleak winter that had come over Randolph. She'd miscalculated, but she would recover. She perched on a corner of his desk and glanced over the letters there. Randolph didn't notice, being occupied in arranging coffee for her, to atone for his ill temper. By the time he dismissed the servant and looked back into the room Sophie was tearing open a small packet.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. “You can't open her letters.”

“Why not? It's from England. You couldn't have given it to her anyway. It's probably from her lover. Read it and throw it away.”

Examining the wrapping Randolph saw, with a sinking heart, that it was postmarked Wenford.

Sophie gave a shriek of laughter. “Listen to this…'Dottie, love-”'

“Give me that,” Randolph snapped, tearing it from her hands. “How the devil am I going to explain to her that it's been opened?”

“I thought it was your job.”

“Not her private letters.”

“She shouldn't be getting private letters from her lover. Just don't give it to her.”

“I shall give it to her, because I won't betray her trust.”

“She wouldn't know.”

“She would if you grew careless and-shall we say?-let it slip.”

“Me? Do such a thing?”

“I'm not sure, but I'm beginning to realize that I never really knew you Sophie.” He gave her a level gaze that would have alarmed a more perceptive woman. “Perhaps you and Harold will go well together after all.”

She smiled. “Don't you think I'll make a splendid Princess Consort?”

“Only for him. Not for me. I don't think you should come here again.”

There was no mistaking his meaning. Sophie scowled, understanding that this game, at least, was lost.

“I'll leave you then,” she snapped, snatching up her riding hat and marching out so forcefully that the servant, bringing coffee, was forced to flatten himself against the doorjamb.

Left alone with the letter in his hands Randolph clenched his fingers slowly so that the paper was scrunched and only Dottie, love was showing.

It wasn't too bad, he told himself. Mike might have written “My darling,” or something intense. On second thoughts, no. Intensity wasn't his style. For him, “Dottie, love” was the height of passionate abandon. And she would understand it that way.

If he gave it to her.

He shut off the thought at once. She'd already made it insultingly clear that she didn't trust him. This would simply prove her right, and if she didn't know it, he would.

Without further delay he went to her apartments, marching in without waiting to be announced. Dottie had been contentedly munching breakfast, wrapped in a large pink toweling robe. She choked over her coffee and drew the robe more firmly around her. Her movement was just fast enough to leave him in doubt whether she was wearing anything underneath.

Inwardly he cursed the bitter fate that had made her a sexy imp who could get under his skin without trying to. What was a man to do who'd had one glimpse of the loveliest body on earth, and then been haunted by it, day and night, ever since. The sight was there in his dreams, and with it a rich chuckle at some absurdity of life that he'd never noticed before, but would never forget now, because it reminded him of her. He would awaken to find himself trembling, aching in his loins with a deprivation that only one thing could ease. And that was something he couldn't have.

By day it was even worse, for he would be with her, always at a disadvantage, struggling not to let her suspect feelings that shocked him because he couldn't master them. A lifetime of discipline and control, all set at nothing because this exasperating creature had a smile of wine and honey and a wicked gleam in her eyes. But she hadn't overcome him yet, and he would make sure she didn't.

He coped by keeping their meetings brief, businesslike and sometimes harsh on his side. It frustrated him, but it was his only protection.

“Do you mind?” Dottie asked belligerently.

“I shan't disturb you for long. I merely wished to give you this,” he held out the letter, “and to apologize for the error which led to it being opened. It fell in with all the other official correspondence.”

“Oh yeah?” she said, looking at the postmark. “You saw Wenford and assumed it was 'official correspondence'?”

“It was an accident, ma'am, but one for which I wish to apologize.”

Dottie was examining the rest of the packet, which turned out to contain a piece of wedding cake, and some wedding photos.

“He didn't waste much time,” she murmured. “Nice of him to send me some cake.”

“May I suggest that letters from your ex-fiancé are inappropriate?” he said, putting as much frozen propriety into the words as he could manage.

She didn't answer at first. She was studying a picture of the bride and groom, happily lost in each other. Looking over her shoulder Randolph felt nauseated by Mike's gaze of foolish fondness for the commonplace creature he'd preferred to the magical Dottie. It made no difference that he himself had pushed them together. Mike should have treasured his enchanting fiancée, and never looked at another woman, no matter what the provocation.

Dottie's face bore a look of sadness. “They look very happy together,” she said wistfully.

“Would it have been that way with you and him?” Randolph couldn't stop himself asking.

“Oh no, you were right about that. And he was right, too. She suits him better. It's just, they're daft about each other, like people should be on their wedding day,” she added wistfully.

“You speak like someone who's given up on happiness.”

“On that kind, yes. You shouldn't be surprised. You brought me to a place where it doesn't happen anymore.”

He knew his next words were unwise but all the wisdom in the world couldn't have stopped him say ing them. “That's not true Dottie. This can be a happy place.”

“It'll never be happy for me,” she said quietly.

There was an ache in her voice that he couldn't bear. He would have given anything, if only she could smile again. But she was looking into the distance, murmuring, “A cozy little home and a cozy little husband. This place isn't cozy.”

“No, it's not. But as I told you before, you're meant for something bigger.”

“It's all right, I'm not fighting anymore. At least, I'm not fighting my destiny, or whatever you want to call it.”

“Then what?”

“You. I'll always fight you.”

“Because you don't trust me?”

“Because I thought I could trust you, before I discovered that I couldn't. That's worse than knowing from the start. But it doesn't matter, does it? Because feelings don't matter and people don't matter.”

“I never thought I'd hear you talking like this. I don't like it.”

“Well you did it,” she said with a little sigh. “I learned my lesson well, didn't I? But this-” she held up the letter and an edge returned to her voice, “this is out of order. Don't you ever dare read my private letters again.”

Her swift change from wistful to autocratic caused a revulsion of feeling in him. “I did not read your letter,” he said, tight-lipped.

“Oh yeah? You opened it and you didn't read it?”

“I didn't-” He stopped, realizing that the truth would lead to more trouble.

“Didn't what?” Light dawned. “You didn't open it? Then who did.”

“It was an accident.”

“Who opened it?”

“Sophie,” he said unwillingly. “She was trying to help. She didn't know-”

“You let Sophie read my correspondence?”

“I didn't mean it to happen.”

“Oh please!” she said bitterly. “Did I give the pair of you a good laugh?”

“Don't call me a liar,” he said in a dangerously quiet voice. “Don't ever do that.”