The Prince's Ultimate Deception. Emilie Rose

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      The Prince’s Ultimate Deception

      Emilie Rose

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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      To Christine Hyatt for sharing your wisdom

       and showing me the path.

       You helped me make my dreams come true.

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      One

      “Please. You have to help me.”

      A woman’s desperate plea caught Prince Dominic Andreas Rossi de Montagnarde’s attention as he and his bodyguard Ian waited for the elevator inside Monaco’s luxurious Hôtel Reynard. He observed the reflected exchange between a long-haired brunette and the concierge through the gilt-framed mirror hanging on the wall beside the polished brass elevator doors.

      “Mr. Gustavo, if I don’t get away from all this prewedding euphoria I am going to lose my mind. Don’t get me wrong. I am happy for my friend, but I just can’t stomach this much romance without getting nauseous.”

      Her statement piqued Dominic’s curiosity. What had soured her on the fairy-tale fantasy so many others harbored? He had never met a woman who didn’t wallow in wedding preparations. Each of his three sisters had dragged out the planning of their weddings for more than a year, as had his beloved Giselle.

      “I need a tour guide who can work around my bridesmaid’s duties for the next month,” she continued. “One who knows the best places for day trips and impromptu getaways because I don’t know when I’ll need to escape from all this—” she shuddered dramatically “—happiness.”

      American, he judged by her accent, and possibly from one of the Southern states given her slight drawl.

      The concierge gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry, Mademoiselle Spencer, but it is nearly midnight. At this hour I cannot contact our guides to make those arrangements. If you will return in the morning I am sure we can find someone suitable.”

      She shoved her fingers into the mass of her thick, shiny curls, tugged as if she were at her wit’s end and then shifted to reveal an exquisite face with a classical profile. Her bare arms were slender, but toned, and she had a body to match beneath the floor-length green gown subtly draping her curves. Nice curves deserving of a second glance which Dominic willingly took. Too bad he couldn’t see if her legs were as superb as the rest of her.

      His gaze slowly backtracked to the reflection of her lovely face and slammed into mocking and amused emerald eyes the same shade as her dress. She’d caught his appraisal and repaid him in kind with a leisurely inspection of her own. Her gaze descended from his shoulders to his butt and legs. One arched eyebrow clearly stated she intended putting him in his place. He fought a smile over her boldness, but he couldn’t prevent a quickening of his pulse. When her eyes found his once more he saw appreciation but no sign of recognition.

      Interesting.

      She returned her attention to the concierge. “In the morning I have to ruin two years’ worth of dieting and exercise by stuffing myself with wedding cake samples. Please, I’m begging you, Mr. Gustavo, give me a guide’s name tonight so I’ll at least have the promise of escape tomorrow.”

      Escape. The word echoed in Dominic’s head as he pondered the elevator’s unusual slowness. He needed time to come to terms with his future, to marrying and having children with a woman he didn’t love and might not even like, without the paparazzi shoving cameras in his face. In a word, he needed to escape—hence the lack of his usual entourage, dying his blond hair brown and shaving the mustache and beard he’d worn since he’d first sprouted whiskers.

      This would in all likelihood be his last month of peace before all hell broke loose. Once the paparazzi caught wind of the proceedings at the palace they would descend on him like a plague of locusts, and his life would no longer be his own. He could see the headlines now. Widowed Prince Seeks Bride.

      Apparently the American needed to escape, as well. Why not do so together? Looking at her would in no way be a hardship, and discovering how she’d willingly divorced herself from romance would be an added bonus.

      He glanced at Ian. The bodyguard had been with him since Dominic’s college days and sometimes Dominic swore the older man could read his mind. Sure enough, warning flashed in Ian’s brown eyes and his burly body stiffened.

      The elevator chimed and opened, but instead of stepping inside the cubicle Dominic pivoted toward the concierge stand. Ian hovered in the background, silently swearing, Dominic was sure. “Perhaps I could be of assistance, Gustavo.”

      Gustavo’s eyebrows shot up, not surprising since the man often arranged Dominic’s entertainment.

      “Pardon me for eavesdropping, mademoiselle. I could not help but overhear your request. I would be happy to act as your guide if that meets with your approval?” Dominic waited for recognition to dawn in her eyes. Instead a frown pleated the area above her slim nose. From her smooth porcelain skin he guessed her to be in her late twenties or early thirties—far too young to have forsaken love. As was he. But what choice did he have when duty called?

      Her gaze traveled over his white silk shirt and black trousers and then returned to his face. “You work here?”

      Surprise shot through him. Was his simple disguise so effective? He had hoped to throw off the paparazzi from a distance, but he hadn’t expected to fool anyone up close, and yet she apparently didn’t know who he was. Admittedly, he’d lived as low profile a life as any royal could in the past few years, and he avoided the press more often than not, but still…Was this possible?

      Dominic made a split-second decision not to enlighten her. He’d had a lifetime of cloying, obsequious women due to his lineage. Why not enjoy being a normal man for as long as it lasted? “I don’t work for the hotel, but I am here as often as I can be. Hôtel Reynard is my favorite establishment.”

      She looked at Gustavo. “Can I trust him?”

      Gustavo seemed taken aback by the question. As he should be. Dominic, as next in line to the throne of Montagnarde, a small three-island country four hundred miles east of New Zealand, wasn’t accustomed to having his integrity questioned.

      “Certainement, mademoiselle.”

      Her thickly lashed emerald gaze narrowed on Dominic’s. “Are you familiar with Southern France and