Romancing The Crown: Leila and Gage. Kathleen Creighton

breeze. At least it was western music tonight. Not country western, that would have been too much to hope for—but the classical stuff, something vaguely familiar to him. Mozart, he guessed, or maybe it was Beethoven. He never could keep those guys straight.

      He had the gardens to himself tonight. Everyone seemed to be inside the grand ballroom, nibbling fruits and exotic Middle Eastern tidbits and awaiting the arrival of the king of Montebello and his entourage, including the recently restored crown prince, Lucas, who not so long ago had been all but given up for dead. Elena had filled him in on that story, and thinking of it now, Cade could only shake his head. The whole thing sounded like something out of a spy novel to him.

      He’d pay his own respects to the honored guests before the night was over, of course; he owed that much to Elena. But for now, he was seizing the opportunity for a much needed breath of fresh air. And some space—oh, yeah, that more than anything. There was something about this damned island, beautiful as it was, that gave him claustrophobia. He’d be glad when all the hoopla was over and he could get down to doing business with the old sheik. Hassan and Elena were postponing their honeymoon long enough to give him the intro he needed to smooth the way, but he was confident the negotiations would be easy sailing for all concerned.

      As he stepped though the rose-covered arch that led to the promenade where yesterday he’d stood and listened to that strangely sinister conversation, he paused once again to light one of his cherished cheroots. This time, though, he didn’t linger there but continued on down the tiled walkway, which was arrow-straight and flanked on both sides by rows of intricately carved columns and lit at regular intervals by torches. At the far end, through another arched portal, he could see where it opened out finally onto a cliff-top terrace overlooking the sea. Through the portal the sky still glowed with the last wash of sunset, and it seemed to Cade like the gateway to paradise.

      He walked toward his destination slowly and with a pleasant sense of anticipation, savoring the taste of the cigar, enjoying the textures of the night and his aloneness in it, feeling the breeze curl around his shoulders like a cloak…stir through his hair like caressing fingers…

      And something shivered down his spine. He’d felt something…something that wasn’t really a touch. Heard something that wasn’t quite a sound. And knew with absolute certainty that he wasn’t alone in the promenade any longer.

      He halted…turned. Froze. His heart dropped into his shoes.

      Halfway between the archway and where he stood the figure of a woman paused…hovered…then once again moved slowly toward him. Tonight, she wore an evening gown of a delicate yellow-gold, something shimmery that seemed to glow in the light of the torches like a small pale sun. It had a high neck and long, flowing sleeves, a bodice that clung and skirts that swirled around her legs so that she seemed to float, disconnected from the ground, like a wraith or a figment of his imagination. Except that he knew she was only too real.

      Strands of long black hair, teased by the same wind that made a plaything of her skirts, coiled around her shoulders and lay like a shadow across one breast. Something glittered in the twist of braids on top of her head…caught an elusive source of light and winked. He couldn’t see her features in that purple dusk, but he’d known at once who she was. In a strange way, her body, the way she moved, seemed already familiar to him.

      Leila almost lost her courage. The tall figure silhouetted against the evening sky and framed by gold-washed pillars seemed so forbidding, utterly unapproachable, like a sentinel guarding the gates of Heaven. But, oh, she thought as her heartbeat pattered deliriously in her throat, how commanding he looked in his evening clothes—how elegant, even regal.

      And yet—the notion came to her suddenly, the way such insights often did to Leila—as elegant and at ease as he appeared, there was something about the formal dress that didn’t suit him. As if his appearance of ease went no deeper than his skin…as if it were his soul that was being suffocated.

      Almost…almost, she turned to run away, to leave him there with his solitude. For uncounted seconds she hovered, balanced like a bird on a swaying branch, balanced, she was even in that moment aware, between two futures for herself…two very different paths. One path was familiar to her, its destination dismally certain. The other was a complete unknown, veiled in darkness, and she had no way of knowing whether it might lead her to the freedom she so desired…or disaster.

      She hovered, her heart beating faster, harder, and then, somehow, she was moving forward again, moving toward that imposing figure in evening clothes. She felt a strange sense of inevitability as the figure loomed larger, as she drew closer and closer to the American named Cade Gallagher. And it occurred to her to wonder if she had ever had a choice at all.

      They were only a few feet apart now, close enough that one or the other must speak. But Cade only looked at her and went on quietly smoking…something too brown to be a cigarette, too slender to be a cigar. Reminding herself what Kitty had said, that in America—in Texas—it was permissible for a woman to speak first, Leila summoned all her courage and sent up a small prayer.

      “Good evening—it is Mr. Gallagher, is it not?” She kept her voice low to hide the tremors in it. “May I call you Cade?”

      “I wish you would.” His voice was a husky drawl that shivered her skin as if someone had lightly touched her all over. He gave a bow, and she wondered if he might be mocking her. “Good evening, Princess—or is it, ‘Your Highness’?”

      “If I am to call you Cade, then you must call me Leila.” She was glad for the shadowy torchlight that hid the blush she could feel burning in her cheeks. On the other hand, she hoped he would see the dimples there, and as she joined him, she smiled and tilted her face toward him and the light.

      He waited for her to reach him, then turned so that they walked on together toward the terrace, side by side. Leila’s heart was beating so hard she thought he must hear it.

      After a moment he glanced down at her and said, “Shouldn’t you be at the royal reception?”

      She hesitated, biting her lip, wondering just how “cheeky”—it was a word she’d acquired during her school days in England—she dared be. Hoping he wouldn’t think her insolent, she looked up at him through lowered lashes and colored her voice with her smile. “Yes, I should. And…should not you be, as well?”

      He acknowledged that with a soft and rueful laugh. Emboldened, she added, “You are certainly dressed for it.” And after a moment, bolder still, “You do look quite nice in evening dress, but…” She counted footsteps. One…two…

      She felt his gaze, and, looking up to meet it, caught a small, involuntary breath. To get his attention, a woman would have to be a little bit…She smiled and said on the soft rush of an exhalation, “But, I liked what you were wearing yesterday—especially your hat. You looked quite like a cowboy.”

      She heard the faint, surprised sound of his breath as he looked down at her. “Yesterday?”

      “I saw you in the garden,” she explained with an innocent lift of her shoulders. “I was with my sisters, on the balcony outside our chambers. I could not help but notice you. You stood out, among all the others. I thought you looked…very American—like someone I have seen in the Western movies.”

      He gave a little grunt of laughter, but she didn’t think it was a pleased sound.

      She conjured up a new smile. “But tonight…tonight you look very different—elegant, very sophisticated. And, of course, very handsome.”

      He laughed uncomfortably. “Princess—”

      She laughed too, in a light and teasing way, and before he could say more, hurried on. “But, you have run away from the reception and all the ladies who would admire you, to walk alone in the gardens…” She left it hanging, the question unspoken.

      Cade brought the slender cigar briefly to his lips before answering. “I needed some air,” he said abruptly, and there was a certain harshness in his voice now. They had stepped onto the terrace that