“I had better get ten-to-one for this,Durchlaucht.”
Wulfram smiled at Dieter’s old nickname for him, but his eyes wandered back to the entrance to the viewing room where Rae was sitting.
Dieter muttered into his lapel that he needed to be relieved from the personal duty and waited, fidgeting, for two squirming minutes while Wulframtapped the ring box in his pocket.
Soon after Wulf had met Dieter in the Swiss Army, when Dieter had been Wulf’s rifle training instructor, Dieter had discovered the German wordDurchlaucht,a style that meantYour Serene Highnessand had been used by many of the ruling and princely families of Europe for centuries, including the Hannovers. The unisex style was used for very high-ranking princes and princesses, but not kings. It was a jab at their lost throne, and Dieter knew it.
Wulfram had recognized the word and refused to take the bait, and after a while, it became a bro-word between them. Wulf was even amused by Dieter’s persistence in calling him that.
When Dieter finally became comfortable enough with Wulfram’s ten-year-old little sister to tease her, he began to call herDurchlauchtig,which translated asMost Serene Highness,a higher style meant for anointed kings and queens.
Flicka had instantly known thatDurchlauchtigoutranked Wulfram’s nickname ofDurchlaucht.She had turned on Wulf with a haughty glimmer in her green eyes that had made both of them laugh all night.
After that, Dieter called FlickaDurchlauchtigevery chance he got, and her elfin chin popped up as she grinned at him.
But he didn’t call her that anymore.
Friedhelm finally got his ass upstairs so Dieter could double-time it back to the lobby and the reception. He mentally listed the people he needed to find and convince that they needed to lay down a double-or-nothing bet before Wulfram started telling people that he’d proposed to Rae Stone.
To hell with double or nothing. Dieter was going to wager ten-to-one that Wulf would propose tonight. He might as well make some money off this inside information.
That sounded like something a Swiss banker would say, not a soldier. A clammy shiver rolled down his spine.
As soon as Dieter hit the bottom of the stairs, Flicka was standing right there and grabbed his arm. Damn it, she was supposed to be having a fantastic time at her own reception, not stalking him.
Flicka’s gaze fixed right on Dieter’s, and she spun him to face her. Even in the dim Louvre lobby, he could see the strobe light glinting in her crystal green eyes.
She demanded, “Did he propose?”
Dieter jumped in shock. “How the hell did you know that?”
“It was entirely obvious.”
He stepped back from Flicka, the subject, and scanned the area. No attackers, no lens glare. No immediate danger. He began evaluating farther out. “It wasnotobvious. I’m going to lose thousands if I don’t double-or-nothing all those bets.”
“So he did propose?” Flicka nearly shouted.
“Not yet.” They were too exposed here, standing on the edge of the crowd in full view of the balconies. He flipped his hand around and took her arm to guide her away from the crowd. His fingers pressed into her soft skin. “He’s going to, though. He has a ring. How the hell did you know?”
“He was talking with our cousin William. William called his grandmother, I assume, on his cell phone. Wulf talked to her, very seriously, and then there were congratulations.”
The initial scan for danger was completed with no targets. Dieter began skimming his gaze over the balconies and knots of people, looking for situations while he argued, “He doesn’t need the Queen of England’s permission to marry. He’s not British royal family in imminent danger of being crowned king of Britain.”
Flicka was looking at him, not around herself. When had she gotten so lax about security? She said, “Not underEnglishrules, buthouserules. He needed permission from her as the sovereign head of the House of Welf to marry.”
The balconies were clear. The room was clear. Dieter began a more complicated analysis, looking at people who were moving in the shadows or fidgeting with their clothes.
His peripheral vision caught glimpses of Flicka’s slim form, the swells of her breasts and hips in the ivory dress she wore, and flashes of the green crystal of her eyes.
He frowned. “But Wulf is the head of your House.”
Flicka shook her head. “Wulf is the head of the House of Hannover, which is a cadet branch of the House of Welf. She’s an anointed sovereign, so she’s the head of the House of Welf. It’s complicated. He did need her permission or else he would be disinherited, which means that some cousin or other would instantly become insanely wealthy. Anyway, William congratulated him, so I guess Wulf got her permission, which means he’s going to ask her.”
“I’m glad I’m Swiss and therefore neutral in all things. We overthrew our minor monarchs long before you Germans did.”
“Is he proposing up there?”
Instead of answering, Dieter surveyed the room, not liking the many balconies thronged with people above them. “You shouldn’t be out here in the open.”
