focus of her mind, her senses, her emotions. She wanted to turn and touch him with her hand. She wanted to press herself to him. She wanted to taste his mouth, breathe his breath, feel his heartbeat against her skin. Her own heart began to pound so loudly she was sure that he must hear it. Her breathing began to pulse with the beat, faster and faster, and she wanted … she wanted …
He rose, suddenly, and left the room, not saying a word. She turned beet-red where she sat, sure that she’d driven him away with her relentless need for him. It was embarrassing. But it was such a deep part of her she couldn’t really regret it.
She knew she loved him. She always had. The fact that she could never have him was her own private tragedy. Tears welled in her eyes.
And then the elevator dinged and she whirled, watching the doors open. In came an enormous rack full of clothes. Her jaw dropped as she watched it arrive.
“Is this for me?” she asked, stunned.
The older man who was pushing the rack stopped and leaned around to smile at her. “I don’t know if you remember me, Princess. I’m Rolfo, Prince Andre’s assistant. I want you to call on me if you need anything.”
“Oh, thank you,” she said, though she couldn’t take her eyes off the clothes. She went closer, touching one fabric, then another. “What am I to do with all these? I can’t possibly wear them all.”
“No.” He laughed. “You’re to go through them and pick out the ones that appeal to you. Try them on. And then make a few choices.”
She looked at him, her eyes wide. This was the most delicious moment she’d had in ages.
“How many am I to take?” she asked breathlessly.
“As many as you like, Your Highness.”
She shook her head. “But I don’t know …”
Her voice trailed off.
“Take your time, Princess,” Rolfo said in his kindly manner. “The answers will come to you.”
As she turned to begin sorting through the treasure trove she was overwhelmed. It was really too much. For a moment she couldn’t speak. She’d spent most of the last seven years wearing a crisp white blouse with a plaid skirt. She had no idea where to begin. Reaching out, she touched a white lace blouse, a red velvet skirt, a sky-blue fitted silk sheath, and she sighed.
Rolfo watched her for a moment with a smile, then he left so discreetly she forgot he’d ever been there.
Prince Andre reappeared, raising his eyebrows as he surveyed the scene.
“I see Rolfo has brought you quite a stack of clothes,” he said. “Go ahead and have some fun choosing some things to wear for the next few days. I’ve got a couple more calls to make.”
He realized that this was only fair. After all, he should have taken care that she’d gotten suitable clothes long ago. She was a princess. It was way past time to put away her schoolgirl clothes.
From the look on her face, he could see this was something she wasn’t used to. But that didn’t make sense. Why wasn’t she amassing some sort of massive trousseau? She was supposed to be preparing for a wedding. Why wasn’t someone making sure she was going to her groom properly attired?
With chagrin, he realized he was the one who should have been taking care of making sure that happened. Some guardian he was.
And yet he knew why he’d been neglecting his duties. The more he thought about her, the more he wanted to think about her—and that was something he had to avoid. He’d stayed away for a reason, and it appeared others had not jumped in to take up the slack as he would have hoped. For a few seconds he indulged in a flash of anger toward his aunt, the Duchess of Fersuit, who lived with them at the castle off and on. Why hadn’t she taken over this task? Just how lonely had Julienne been these last few years? And all because he couldn’t trust himself to be near her.
But those days were over. He was going to take over this project and get her married, come hell or high water. And once he got through with her she would understand the sort of life she could lead as a princess, as opposed to what it would be like for her if she chose to turn her back on her destiny.