Page 113

She didn’t throw the dress on the floor. Cesca carried it out into her bedroom and laid it out over the couch in front of her fireplace, because she knew they would want to preserve and display it. As well they should, because she knew it was a work of art.

Then she peeled herself out of the corset she’d been wearing and padded into the series of interconnected rooms that held her wardrobe. Saviero had said to dress comfortably, so she pulled on a pair of jeans, stuck her feet into boots, and shrugged her way into a lovely, soft sweater before she stopped to question herself.

Why was she obeying him?

But even as she asked herself the question, a ribbon of heat seemed to unfurl deep inside her. And her breath got raggedy all over again.

Like that infernal man knew exactly what he was talking about when he’d mentioned taking her in hand. She already knew she liked his hands on her.

And that was an excellent reason not to do anything he said at all, ever, she thought as she walked back into her bedroom, and contemplated simply wandering off into a different part of the palace.

But he was waiting there.

Saviero Cimarosa, now His Royal Highness, Prince Saviero, by her own doing, was leaning against the foot of her bed. His arms were crossed over his impossibly wide chest, which he had chosen to dress in a long-sleeved T-shirt that made a meal of all of those muscles. Until this moment, she hadn’t realized that he owned jeans, much less actually wore them.

She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him in anything but a suit, in fact. Or anywhere but at work. The casualness all this implied made her feel shivery again, deep inside. Like this was a bridge she couldn’t uncross.

“I really don’t think—” she began.

But he only shook his head. Then he shocked her completely by straightening from the bed, coming over, and taking one of her hands in his.

“We can talk about that later,” he told her, in that quiet way that made her bones ache to do what he said, to make him happy, to have him approve of her, and when had that happened? Because she knew she’d felt it in the Cathedral.

But it also felt…older. Like she’d been lying to herself about this man for a long, long time.

He smiled, like he knew that, too. “It’s Christmas,” he said in that low voice that seemed wired straight into her blood. “And I have something to show you.”

CHAPTER SIX

SHE STARED BACK at him blankly and it made Saviero smile, though he tried his best to hide it.

“This is actually a tradition,” he told her. “I know you’re allergic to such things, but this one I think you’ll like.”

“And what makes you imagine that you have the slightest idea what I like?” Cesca asked, a lot like she was being argumentative for the sake of it despite the way he could feel her fingers wrapped around his.

But before he could answer, she flushed that deep red all over again.

Neither of them pointed out that he’d already proved that he had a very good idea, in fact, what sorts of things might appeal to her. And had stopped them from exploring that subject further.

For the first time in memory, Saviero watched as Cesca looked something less than completely sure of herself. She blew out a breath, and then nodded, and he took that as all the permission he needed.

He did not take her out through her suite of rooms, past her staff. Neither did he cross them over to his side of the palace wing and take her out that way.

Instead, he led her into the back of her own dressing rooms, where he reached behind a painting and, while she watched him like he was mad, opened up the secret door that waited there.

Cesca stared at him in shock, then peered past him into the passageway he’d opened. “How the hell did I not know that was there? I’ve lived in these rooms since I was all of ten years old.” She frowned at him. “More importantly, how did you know that door was here?”

“One of my favorite hobbies that you will no doubt consider boring, though perhaps less so now, is studying the eccentricities of the palace,” he said as he led her through the door, and showed her the lever on the other side that closed it behind them.

Before the pitch dark took hold, he flipped a switch and lights came on, showing that they were standing on a landing. And that a spiral stair reached high above them and wound down far below.

He found he liked the look of wonder on Cesca’s face. The softness in her eyes.

“In the 1800s, there was a rather dastardly prince who had a penchant for stable boys that did not please his father the king overmuch,” he told her. “The prince did not care to discuss his predilections with his father any more than necessary, and so took it upon himself to build the stairway so that he could do as he pleased without being seen. It was your aunt, the Princess Martine, who rediscovered it when she was a teenager and modernized it to some extent, meaning adding electricity, so she could happily ignore her parents’ wishes, and sneak out as she pleased.”

He led her down the stairs as he told her these things, round and round as the stair wound them, tucked away behind the walls of the palace. All on their own.

“I always thought of my aunt Martine as perhaps the last person who would ever sneak about,” Cesca said with a laugh. “For any reason. She was always so fearsomely proper.”