His Temporary Cinderella. Jessica Hart

to see if you’re going to be a suitable princess, and fraternising with the servants makes it look as if you don’t know how to behave.’

      ‘One, there’s no question of me being a princess, so it doesn’t matter how I behave,’ said Caro, ‘and two, it’s an absurd attitude in any case. This is the twenty-first century.’

      ‘This is also Montluce, which is an absurd place.’

      Philippe sat up and began undoing the top buttons of his stiff dress shirt and Caro looked at him sharply.

      ‘What are you doing?’

      ‘What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting ready for bed.’ His voice was muffled as he took hold of his collar and pulled the shirt over his head.

      ‘Aren’t you going to use the bathroom?’

      Philippe’s hands paused at the top of his zip. Caro was sitting straight up, the colour running high in her cheeks. ‘You don’t need to look,’ he said. ‘We’re stuck with each other for the next few weeks. Don’t you think we should at least get used to being comfortable together?’

      ‘There’s nothing comfortable about watching you strip off in front of me,’ she snapped. ‘I bet you don’t even have a pair of pyjamas!’

      ‘I can’t rival yours for style, I agree, but I’ve got these.’ He waved a pair of dark silk pyjama bottoms at her. ‘I’ve had to get used to wearing them in this damn place. People are wandering in and out the whole time.’

      Alarmed, Caro pulled the sheet up to her chin. ‘Not in here?’

      ‘Not unless there’s a constitutional crisis, but you never know, so don’t worry, I’ll be decent,’ said Philippe. ‘But I’ll get changed in the bathroom if that makes you feel better.’

      When he came out, Caro was lying under the cover, holding it tight under her nose. A pillow was wedged firmly down the middle of the bed.

      ‘I know what you said about having no trouble keeping your hands off me,’ she said, seeing his expression. ‘It’s just to stop me rolling against you in the night by mistake. I think we’ll both sleep better having it there.’

      Philippe threw back the cover on his side of the bed and got in. ‘If you say so,’ he said.

      To: [email protected]

      From: [email protected]

      Subject: Re: I’m here … where are you?

      I’m here, and loving it! Thank you so much for being there, Caro. Without you and Philippe, I’m not sure I would ever have had the courage to go. I won’t tell you where I am, but it’s wild and beautiful, and I’ve got a job!!! I’m doing all sorts of things I’ve never done before—peeling potatoes, answering the phone, writing a shopping list, making a pot of tea—and it’s fun! I know you’ll roll your eyes, but it’s exciting for me. By the time I go to bed, though, I’m exhausted, so I’d better be quick. Just so you know that I’m fine, and yes, I’ve sent a message to Grandmère as well.

      I know she can be daunting, but her bark is really worse than her bite. And if Apollo liked you, that will be a big thing. Grandmère might not let on, but she adores that dog. He’s her only weakness, so I’m sure she’ll be impressed that he’s taken to you, as he hates everyone else and is always biting people.

      I’m really glad you and Philippe are getting on so well. How well, exactly????? Should I be reading anything between the lines??? Tell me all!

      Grosses bises

      Lxxxxxxxxxxxx

      Caro was smiling as she read Lotty’s message—only Lotty would be excited at peeling potatoes!—but her smile faded when she got to the end. How had Lotty got the idea that there might be anything between her and Philippe? She thought she’d been so careful to make it clear that they were just friends!

      Not that there had been much friendliness that morning. Philippe had been crabby from the moment he woke up, and had stomped off to a meeting with the First Minister in a thoroughly bad mood. When Caro had told him she planned to take Apollo for a walk, he’d just grunted at her and told her to stick to the grounds—as if she’d risk taking the Dowager Blanche’s dog out into the city. She wasn’t stupid.

      The truth was that Caro was feeling scratchy and out-of-sorts too. She hadn’t slept well. How could she be expected to sleep when Philippe was lying next to her half naked?

      Yes, he’d had those low-slung pyjama bottoms on, but that had left his chest bare. Solid, brown, tautly muscled, it taunted Caro from the other side of the bed. Her hands had twitched and throbbed with the longing to reach out and touch him, to feel the flex of muscles beneath the smooth skin. She’d tried not to look, but it had been impossible not to notice the powerful shoulders, the fine dark hairs arrowing downwards.

      Heart racing, blood pounding, Caro lay and imagined sliding her fingers through those hairs. His body would be hard, solid, warm. He was so close, too. It would be so easy to roll over and reach for him.

      And that would have been a big mistake.

      Thank God for that pillow.

      She’d been too hot in her pyjamas, but she didn’t want to thrash around in case she woke Philippe. As far as she could tell from her side of the pillow, he was sleeping peacefully, quite unbothered by her presence in the bed with him. She might as well be a bolster, Caro decided vengefully.

      Eventually irritation had subsided into glumness, swiftly followed by brisk practicality. What did she think? That Philippe would take a look at her in her pyjamas and rip them off her? She looked like a bolster, and if she knew what was good for her she would behave like a bolster too.

      Otherwise it was going to be a very long two months.

      Well, there was no point in sitting around feeling cross. Caro finished the pain au chocolat that the palace kitchen had sent up for breakfast along with a perfect cup of coffee—she was going to be the size of a house, if not a palace, by the time she left—and pushed back her chair.

      From the kitchen window she could look down at the courtyard at the front of the palace. Outside the railings, tourists milled around, pointing and taking photographs.

      She belonged down there with the ordinary people, Caro thought, not up here in a palace, like a Cinderella in reverse, having her breakfast brought up by soft-footed servants. She belonged with an ordinary man, not a prince.

      It wouldn’t do to forget that.

      The pain au chocolat had been delicious, but she wanted to make her own breakfast. Philippe was in meetings most of the day, so she could amuse herself. She would go back to the real world where she belonged, Caro decided, washing up her breakfast dishes without thinking in the kitchen. Grabbing her bag, she thrust her feet into comfortable walking sandals and set off for the great sweeping staircase that led down to the palace entrance.

      She would go and explore.