To Dance with a Prince Read online

  The military had given him an outlet for all that pent-up energy and replaced impulsiveness with discipline.

  Those years after his eighteenth birthday had reinforced his knowledge that his life did not really belong to him. Every decision was weighed and measured cautiously in terms, not of his well-being, but the well-being of his small island nation. There was little room for spontaneity in a world that was highly structured and carefully planned. His schedule of appointments and royal obligations sometimes stretched years in advance. Aware he was always watched and judged, Kiernan had become a man who was calm and cool, absolutely controlled in every situation. His life was public, his demeanor was always circumspect. Unlike his cousin, he did not have the luxury of emotional outbursts when things did not go his way. Unlike his cousin, he could not pull pranks, be late, forget appointments.

  He was rigidly correct, and if his training and inborn sense of propriety did not exactly inspire warm fuzziness, it did inspire confidence. People knew they could trust him and trust his leadership. Even after Francine, the whispers of what had happened to her, people seemed to give him the benefit of the doubt and trust him, still.

  But then his relationship with Tiffany Wells, an exception to the amount of control he exerted over his life, seemed to have damaged that trust. His reputation had escalated from that of a man who was coolly remote to a man who was a heartless love-rat.

  There would be no more losses of control.

  And while it was not high on his list of priorities to be popular, he did see performing the dance as an opportunity to repair a battered image. His and Tiffany’s breakup was a year ago. It was time for people to see him as capable of having a bit of fun, relaxing, being human.

  Was that why he’d said yes? A public relations move? An opportunity to polish a tarnished image, as Adrian had suggested?

  No.

  Was it because of the girls, then? He had been moved by Miss Whitmore’s description of the goals of No Princes. Kiernan had felt a very real surge of compassion for underprivileged young women who wanted someone they perceived as important to value them, to recognize what they were doing as having merit.

  But had that been the reason he had said yes? The reason he had been swayed to this unlikely cause that was certainly going to require more of him than signing a cheque, or giving a speech or just showing up and shaking a few hands? Was that the reason he’d said yes to a cause that had his staff running in circles trying to rearrange his appointments around his new schedule? Again, no.

  So, was it her, then? Was Meredith Whitmore the reason he had said yes to something so far out of his comfort zone?

  Kiernan let his mind go to her. She had astounding hazel eyes, that hinted at fire, unconsciously pouty lips, a smattering of light freckles and a wild tangle of auburn locks, the exact kind of hair that made a man’s hands itch to touch.

  Add to that the lithe dancer’s body dressed in a leotard that clung to long, lean legs, and a too-large T-shirt that hinted at, rather than revealed, luscious curves. There was simply no denying she was attractive, but not in the way one might expect of a dancer. She was at odds with the dance he had witnessed, because she seemed more uptight than Bohemian, more Sergeant Major than free-spirited gypsy.

  Beautiful? Undoubtedly. But the truth was he was wary of beauty, rather than enchanted by it, particularly after Tiffany. The face of an angel had hidden a twisted heart, capable of deception that had rattled his world.

  Meredith Whitmore did not look capable of deception, but there was something about her he didn’t get. She was young, and yet her eyes were shadowed, cool, measuring.

  Not exactly cold, but Kiernan could understand why Adrian had called her Dragon-heart, like something fierce burned at her core that you would get close to at your own peril.

  So, he had said yes, not because it would be a good public relations move, which it would be, not wholly on the grounds of compassion, though it was that, and not because of Meredith’s beauty or mystery. It was not even her very obvious emotional reaction to her disappointment and her valiant effort to hide that from him.

  No, he thought frowning, the answer to his agreeing to this was somewhere in those first moments when she had been dancing, unaware of his presence. But what exactly it was that had been so compelling as to overcome his characteristic aversion to spontaneity eluded him.

  So, the astounding fact was that Prince Kiernan, the most precise of men, could not pinpoint precisely what had made him agree to do this. And the fact that he could not decipher his own motivations was deeply disturbing to him.

  Now, he paused at the doorway of the ballroom, took a deep breath, put back his shoulders, and strode in.

  He hoped to find her dancing, knowing the answer was in that, but she was not to be caught off guard twice.

  Meredith was fiddling with electronic equipment in one corner of the huge ballroom, her tongue caught between her teeth, her brow drawn down in a scowl. She looked up and saw him, straightened.

  “Miss Whitmore,” he said.

  She was wearing purple tights today, rumpled leg warmers, and a hairband of an equally hideous shade of purple held auburn curls off her face. She didn’t have on a speck of makeup. She did have on an oversized lime green T-shirt that said, Don’t kiss any frogs.

  He was used to people trying to impress him, at least a little bit, but she was obviously dressed only for comfort and for the work ahead. He wasn’t quite sure if he was charmed or annoyed by her lack of effort to look appealing.

  And he wasn’t quite sure if he felt charmed or annoyed that she looked appealing anyway!

  “Prince Kiernan,” she said, a certain coolness in her tone, which was mirrored in the amazing green gold of those eyes, “thank you for rearranging your schedule for this.”

  “I did as much as I could. I may have to take the occasional official phone call.”

  “Understandable. Thank you for being on time.”

  “I’m always on time.” He could see why she intimidated Adrian. No greeting, no polite how are you today? There was a no-nonsense tone to her voice that reminded him of a palace tutor. He could certainly hear a hint of Dragon-heart in there!

  “Brilliant,” she said, and then stood back, folded her arms over her chest, and inspected him. Now he could also see a hint of Sergeant Henderson as her brows lowered in disapproval! He felt like he had showed up for a military exercise in full dress uniform when the dress of the day was combat attire.

  “Do those slacks have some give to them? I brought some dance pants, just in case.”

  Dance pants? He disliked that uncharacteristic moment of spontaneity that had made him say yes to this whole idea more by the second. He wasn’t going to ask her what dance pants were, exactly. He was fairly certain he could guess.

  “I’m sure these will be fine,” he said stiffly, in a voice that let her know a prince did not discuss his pants with a maiden, no matter how fair.

  She looked doubtful, but shrugged and turned to the electronics. “I have this video I want you to watch, if you don’t mind, Your Highness.”

  As he came and stood beside her, the scent of lemons tickled his nostrils. She flicked a switch on a bright pink laptop. The light from the chandeliers danced in her hair, making the red threads in it spark like fire.

  “This has had twelve million hits,” she said, accessing a video-sharing website.

  He focused on a somewhat grainy video of a wedding celebration. A large room had a crowd standing around the edges of it, a space cleared in the center of it for a youthful-looking bride and groom.

  “And now for the first dance,” a voice announced.

  The groom took one of his bride’s hands, placed his other with a certain likeable awkwardness on her silk-clad waist.

  “This is the bridal waltz,” Meredith told him, “and it’s a very traditional three-step waltz.”

  The young groom began to shuffle around the dance floor.

  Kiernan felt relieved. Th
e groom danced just like him. “Nothing to learn,” he pronounced, “I can already do that.” He looked at his watch. “Maybe I can squeeze in a ride before lunch.”

  “I’ve already lost one prince to riding,” she said without looking up from the screen. “No riding until we’re done the performance.”

  Kiernan felt a shiver of pure astonishment, and looked at Meredith Whitmore again, harder. She didn’t appear to notice.

  She tacked on a “Your Highness” as if that made bossing him around perfectly acceptable. Well, it wasn’t as if Adrian hadn’t warned him.

  “Excuse me, but I really didn’t sign up to have you run my—”

  Meredith shushed him as if he was a schoolboy. “This part’s important.”

  He was so startled that he thought he might laugh out loud. No one, but no one, talked to him like that. He slid her a look as if he was seeing her for the first time. She was bossy. And what’s worse, she was cute when she was bossy.

  Not that he would let her know that. He reached by her, and clicked on the pause button on the screen.

  It was her turn to be startled, but he had her full attention. And he was not falling under the spell of those haunting gold-green eyes.

  “I am already giving you two hours a day of practice time that I can barely afford,” he told her sternly. “You will not tell me what to do with the rest of my time. Are we clear?”

  Rather than looking clear, she looked mutinous.

  “I’ve set aside a certain amount of my time for you, not given you run of my life.” There. That should remind her a little gratitude would not be out of order.

  But she did not look grateful, or cowed, either. In fact, Meredith Whitmore looked downright peeved.

  “I’ve set aside a certain amount of time for you, also,” she announced haughtily. “I’m not investing more of my time to have you end up out of commission, too! We’re on a very limited schedule because of Prince Adrian’s horse mishap.”

  Prince Kiernan looked at Meredith closely. Right behind the annoyance in her gorgeous eyes was something else.

  “You’re deathly afraid of horses,” he said softly.

  Meredith stared up into the sapphire eyes of the prince. The truth was she was not deathly afraid of horses.

  But she was deathly afraid of a world out of her control.

  The fact that he had got the deathly afraid part of her with such accuracy made her feel off balance, as if she was a wide open book to him.

  She felt like she needed to slam that book shut, and quickly, before he read too much of it. Let him think she was afraid of horses!

  It wasn’t without truth, and it would be so much better than the full truth. That Meredith Whitmore was afraid of the caprice of life.

  “Of course I’m afraid of horses,” she said. “They are an uncommon occurrence in the streets of Wentworth. My closest encounter was at a Blossom Festival parade, where a huge beast went out of control, plunged into the crowd and knocked over spectators.”

  “You’re from Wentworth, then?” he asked, still watching her way too closely.

  He seemed more interested in that than her horse encounter. Well, good. That alone should erect the walls between them. “Yes,” she said, tilting her chin proudly, “I am.”

  But instead of feeling as if the barrier went up higher, their stations in life now clearly defined, when he nodded slowly, she felt as if she had revealed way too much of herself! She turned from the prince swiftly, and clicked on the Play button on the screen, anxious to outrun the intensity in his eyes.

  She focused, furiously, on the video. As the groom looked at his new wife, something melted in that young man’s face. It was like watching a boy transform into a man, his look became so electric, so filled with tenderness.

  Too aware of the prince standing beside her, Meredith scrambled to find sanctuary in the familiar.

  “If you listen,” she said, all business, all dance instructor, “the music is changing, so are the steps. The dance has a more salsa feel to it now. Salsa originated in Cuba, though if you watch you’ll see the influences are quite a unique blend of European and African.”

  “This really is your world, isn’t it?” Kiernan commented.

  “It is,” she said, and she prayed to find refuge in it as she always had. It was just way too easy to feel something, especially as the dance they watched became more sensual. It felt as if the heat was being turned up in this room. Prince Kiernan was standing so close to her, she could feel the warmth radiating off his shoulder.

  On the video, the young groom’s whole posture changed, became sure and sexy, his stance possessive, as he guided his new bride around the room to the quickening tempo of the music.

  “Here’s another transition,” Meredith said, “He’s moving into a toned down hip-hop now, what I’d call a new school or street version rather than the original urban break dancing version.”

  A man’s voice, an exquisite tenor soared above the dancing couple. I never had a clue, until I met you, all that I could be—

  And the man let go of his wife’s hand and waist and began to dance by himself. He danced as if his new bride alone watched him. Gone was the uncertain shuffle, and in its place was a performance that was nothing short of sizzling, every move choreographed to show a love story unfolding: passion, strength, devotion, a man growing more sure of himself with each passing second.

  “You’ll see this is very sporty,” Meredith said, “and these kind of moves require amazing upper body strength, as well as flexibility and good balance. It’s part music, part dance, but mostly guts and pure athleticism.”

  She cast him a look. The prince certainly would have the upper body strength. And she had not a doubt about his guts and athleticism.

  What she was doubting was her ability to keep any form of detachment while she worked with him trying to perfect such an intimate performance.

  The dancer on the computer screen catapulted up onto one hand, froze there for a moment, came back down, and then did the very same move on his other side. He came up to his feet, tossed off his jacket, and loosened his tie.

  “If he takes anything else off I’m leaving,” Kiernan said. “It’s like a striptease.”

  She shot him a look. Now this was unexpected. Prince Kiernan a prude? Where was the man of Playboy Prince fame?

  They watched together as the groom’s feet and hips and arms all moved in an amazing show of coordinated sensuality. The bride moved back to the edges of the crowd, who had gone wild. They were clapping, and calling their approval.

  As the final notes of the music died the young groom took a run back toward his bride, fell to his knees and his momentum carried him a good ten feet across the floor. He caught his wife around her waist and gazed up at her with a look on his face that made Meredith want to melt.

  The young groom’s face mirrored the final words of the song, I have found every treasure I ever looked for.

  There was something so astoundingly intimate about the video that in the stillness that followed, Meredith found herself almost embarrassed to look at Kiernan, as if they had seen something meant to be private between a man and a woman.

  She pulled herself together. It was dancing. It was theater. There was nothing personal about it.

  “What did you think?”

  “I thought watching that was very uncomfortable,” Kiernan bit out.

  So, he’d picked up on the intimacy, too.

  “It was like watching a mating dance,” he continued.

  “I see we have a bit of prudishness to overcome,” she said, as if the discomfort was his alone.

  But when his eyes went to her lips, Meredith had the feeling that the prince had a way of persuading her he was anything but a prude.

  Something sizzled in the air between them, but she refused to allow him to see she was intimidated by it. And a little thrilled by it, too!

  Meredith put her hands on her hips and studied him as if he was an interesting specimen who had fou
nd his way under her microscope.

  “You didn’t see the romance in it?” she demanded. “The delight of entering a new life? The hope for the future? His love for her? His willingness to do anything for her?”

  “Up to and including making a fool of himself in front of—how many did you say—twelve million people? Every male in the world whose bride-to-be has insisted they look at this video is throwing darts at a target with his face on it!”

  “He didn’t look foolish! He looked enraptured. Every woman dreams of seeing that look on their beloved’s face.”

  “Do they?” He was watching her again, with that look in his eyes. Too stripping, too knowing. “Do you?”

  Did she? Did some little scrap of weakness still exist in her that wanted desperately to believe? That did want to see a look like the one on that young groom’s face directed at her?

  “I’m all done with romantic nonsense,” she said, not sure whom she was trying to convince. Prince Kiernan? Or herself?

  “Are you?” he asked softly.

  “Yes!” Before he asked why, before those sapphire eyes pierced the darkest secrets of a broken heart, she rushed on.

  “Prince Kiernan, the truth is I am an exception to the rule. People generally love romantic nonsense. Romance is the ultimate in entertainment,” Meredith continued. “It has that feel-good quality to it, it promises a happy ending.”

  “Which it doesn’t always deliver,” he said sourly.

  The ugly parts of his life had been splashed all over the papers for everyone to read about. He was, after all, Prince Heartbreaker.

  But Meredith was stunned that what she felt for him, in that moment, was sympathy. For a moment, there was an unguarded pain in his eyes that made him an open book to her.

  Which was the last thing she needed.

  “All I’m saying,” Meredith said, a little more gently, “is that if you can do a dance somewhat similar to that, it will bring down the house. What do you think?”

  “How about I’m not doing anything similar to that? Not even if the entertainment value is unquestionable.”