The Royal and The Runaway Bride. Kathryn Jensen

she asked.

      “If you want someone to talk to, I can send to the castle for someone.”

      “Most of the guests would have left by now,” she said. “Besides, I don’t like them.”

      “Any of them?”

      She shrugged. “I don’t like rich people.”

      He laughed. “I’m not exactly a pauper, woman, in case you haven’t noticed.”

      “You’re different,” she said, smoothing another dollop of lotion across the flat of her stomach, then circling her fingertips around her belly button. He followed the sensuous motion of her fingers with fascination. “You don’t put on airs and spend money for the thrill of it.”

      “How do you know so much about me?”

      “I’m good at figuring out people.” With one tragic exception, she thought, then chased that sad part of her life from her mind. Robert was no longer a concern. She had put him out of her life. “It’s sort of a hobby of mine, studying people and, sometimes, pretending to be like them.”

      She tipped her head to one side and observed him, wondering if he’d take her hint. After all, sooner or later she’d have to tell him who she really was.

      “Why is that?” Phillip asked.

      “Whenever life gets boring you just step into someone else’s shoes.”

      “I suspect it might be more than that,” he said thoughtfully. “Some people experiment with different roles because they’re trying to find out who they really are.”

      She laughed, gave her head a shake and sipped her tea. Then she stared at him long and hard. “You think so?”

      “Could be in your case. Maybe being a horse trainer isn’t what you’d most like to be.”

      “But I love horses,” she objected, clinging to her role out of sheer stubbornness.

      “And you were doing great with Eros. But that doesn’t mean your heart doesn’t yearn for something more than coddling wealthy folks’ pets.” She pouted at him, and he wished he could figure out what she was thinking at that moment. He suspected she was more than a little embarrassed by having taken the fall. “Never mind. Eros is a troubled spirit. If he hadn’t wanted you on him, he would have lost you long before that jump, despite all your experience.”

      She considered that for a moment and felt a happy little thrill inside of her. She had done well, hadn’t she? Alex put down her teacup. “Do you know what I want more than anything?”

      “A blueberry scone instead of the raisin?”

      She waved him off. “No, silly. I mean, what I really, really want in life.”

      “Oh, now we’re into the heavy stuff.” He shook his head, mocking her, and sat back down on the edge of her chaise to listen.

      “I’m serious.” She straightened up, seized his hand and brought it into her lap. At once, he was conscious of the warmth of her flesh beneath the thin robe. “I want to be someone who makes a difference. I want to do something special and important with my life.”

      “I’d say you have every opportunity to do that,” he commented. “Just choose. There are plenty of charities out there.”

      “No!” she shouted, startling him with the emotion and strength in her voice. “That’s just it. I don’t want to chair committees or sponsor fund-raisers like rich women. I want to do things, not oversee others as they do them.”

      He nodded. The urge was all too familiar. Hadn’t he felt restless, hemmed in by his estate and people’s expectations of him? He didn’t have to work to keep a roof over his head. He could travel anywhere he pleased. Yet he felt discontent.

      “Do you know where Silverdorn is?” he asked her suddenly.

      “You mean, your kingdom, Prince?” She shook her head.

      “It no longer exists. At one time it was a small region on the border between France and Italy, a much-contested territory. My family lost it to other monarchs centuries ago, but we have retained our titles as tradition allows.”

      She giggled.

      “What’s so funny?” he demanded, offended that his family’s plight seemed humorous to her.

      “You’re…homeless?”

      He smiled slowly. “Not homeless…but country-less, yes. That does sound ridiculous, doesn’t it? Someone with as much wealth and property to be without a country.”

      She was laughing harder now. “The homeless prince. Oh, oh God— Ouch!”

      “Hurts, huh? Serves you right for making fun of the less fortunate,” he teased.

      She cradled her aching shoulder with her good arm. “Cut it out. You’ll make me laugh harder.”

      Tears formed in her pretty eyes, and Phillip perversely felt like doing something to make them shine even more. He reached out, making tickling motions with his fingers as he neared her stomach, and her eyes widened in panic.

      “Don’t you dare! No fair torturing the wounded.”

      “I think you’re far less wounded than you pretend,” he accused. “In fact, you’re so used to acting out roles, you probably don’t know who you really are.”

      The look on her face stunned him to silence. Her laughter immediately ceased. Pushing herself up off the chaise with a flinch of pain, she walked away from him down the terrace steps toward the water.

      “Alex, what did I say?” he called after her. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

      She tugged her robe closer around her body and moved stiffly down the steps as he chased after her. “Just leave me alone.”

      “No. Obviously I’ve hit on a sore spot. I’m sorry. I really am. Tell me why what I said offended you.”

      She shook her head and kept on walking. He caught up to her with no trouble, as she was slowed down by her shoulder.

      “Alex?” He stepped in front of her. There were tears again, but not happy ones. Her face was contorted in a secret agony. He carefully enfolded her in his arms, taking care not to put pressure on her injured shoulder. “Tell me. I don’t want to make the same mistake again.”

      She drew a shuddering breath and rested her cheek against his chest. “You’re right,” she whispered. “I don’t know who I am. Not really.”

      “But that was just a joke. You’re an excellent trainer, I’m sure. You just had a bad day. Besides, you’re too intelligent a woman not to know who you are.”

      She looked up at him, green fire in her eyes. “Do you, Phillip? Do you know who you are?

      “I’m not sure what you mean.” He was suddenly aware of the heat of her body, of the luscious curves, hollows and soft swells that were her breasts and hips. She was tucked into his body, and the scant clothing she wore seemed inconsequential protection. He was aroused.

      Rotten timing, Kinrowan, he thought ruefully.

      “You are a prince by title, without a kingdom. How else would you define yourself?” she demanded.

      He didn’t know. “Well, I’m a man who loves horses and competes by jumping them. And I’ve always been fascinated by sailing and I have several boats.”

      “I’m not talking about things you own,” she said sharply. “I’m talking about who you are, deep in your soul.”

      He was at a loss. What was she talking about?

      She pulled away from him to pace the path between the grand house and the intoxicatingly blue ocean. “All right. I’ll give you an example. Say there’s this young woman who has been