Falling for the Secret Princess
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Kandy Shepherd
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CHAPTER ONE
NATALIA KNEW SHE should have eyes only for her friends, the bride and groom, as the deliriously happy couple exchanged vows in the grounds of a waterfront mansion on Sydney Harbour. The correct etiquette and protocol for every possible social occasion had been drummed into her since birth. ‘You must always follow the rules, Natalia.’ She could almost hear the commanding tones of her parents. But, although she knew it was an impolite no-no, she could not help her gaze from straying to the tall, darkly handsome guest on the opposite side of the informal garden aisle. He was hot. Unbelievably hot.
What was it about Australia? Since she’d arrived in Sydney, five days previously, she’d never seen so many good-looking men. But none had triggered her interest like this one.
She’d noticed him as soon as the guests had started arriving—broad-shouldered and imposing, black hair, wearing an immaculately tailored charcoal tuxedo. Spanish? Middle Eastern? Greek? It was difficult to tell from this distance. She’d sneaked more than a few surreptitious glances since, each lingering longer than the last. This time he must have sensed her gaze on him because he turned to meet it.
Mortified, she froze. For a long second her eyes connected with his and he smiled, teeth dazzling white against olive skin, dark brows raised in acknowledgment. She flushed and quickly averted her gaze, looking down with feigned interest at the Order of Service card in her hand.
Despite her reputation in the gossip pages, Natalia wasn’t a flirt, or a ruthless breaker of men’s hearts. In fact she could be cursedly shy when she encountered an attractive man. But there was something about this fellow wedding guest that made her want to smile right back boldly. To flutter her eyelashes and let him know how drawn she was to him.
Instead she twisted the card between her fingers, determined not to look up again. Breach of protocol aside, she’d been warned to stay right under the radar so as not to take attention away from the bride and groom by her presence. That didn’t mean conducting a public, across-the-aisle flirtation with a handsome stranger.
But then she remembered with a giddying rush of excitement that she was here incognito and in disguise. Those constricting rules need not apply to her alter ego. She could do whatever she liked.
No one but a select few were aware that she was Princess Natalia of Montovia, second in line to the throne of a small European kingdom, notorious for her six refusals of proposals of marriage from royal suitors and her seeming determination to stay single.
Her presence could draw unwanted media attention. The press intrusion was here, even in far-away Australia. Her brother Tristan, the Crown Prince, had married a Sydney girl, and every move they made was newsworthy. The condition of Natalia being allowed to accept the invitation to this wedding, where her brother was a groomsman and his wife a bridesmaid, was that she—Princess Heartbreaker—stayed out of the gossip pages.
So Natalia had chosen a full-on disguise for her stay in Sydney. Her shoulder-length dark brown hair had been straightened, lengthened with extensions and lightened to a honey-blonde that complemented her creamy skin. She’d tried coloured contact lenses to darken her blue eyes, but they’d hurt so she’d abandoned them. Her exclusive designer clothes had been replaced with a wardrobe purchased from a smart high street chain—she’d picked outfits that a regular, non-royal twenty-seven-year-old woman would wear—and her priceless jewellery was locked in a safe back home at the palace, save for a single pair of diamond ear studs.
So far, to her delight, no one had guessed her secret. And the more she knew she was getting away with her disguise, the bolder she’d become at testing it.
Not-Princess Natalia—at this moment not bound by her kingdom’s rules—lifted her eyes and turned back to face the handsome guest, to find him still looking at her. She smiled, sure and confident, though she was racked with nerves inside. His answering grin made her flush grow warmer and awareness shimmer through her body.
Natalia had a sense that he was assessing her, in a subtle yet thorough way. Daringly, she did the same to him. On longer examination he was every bit as hot as he had appeared at first glance. Her smile danced at the corners of her mouth and she angled her shoulders towards him, scarcely aware that she was doing so. His grin widened and he nodded almost imperceptibly in acknowledgment of their silent exchange.
Her heart started beating in excitement. What next? Should she—?
At that moment the celebrant declared Eliza and Jake man and wife, and the newlyweds exchanged their first married kiss, to the accompaniment of happy sighs and cheers from their assembled family and friends. Natalia automatically turned towards the flowered arch where her friends were kissing, and watched as the couple started their march back down the grassy aisle. The bride was flaunting a neat baby bump, which was cause for great celebration.
‘Don’t you want to have children?’
Natalia’s mother, the Queen, had asked that question—for what must have been the zillionth time since Natalia had turned eighteen—as she’d reluctantly said farewell to her only daughter.
Of course she did. And she wasn’t averse to marriage. But she wasn’t going to couple up with a man she didn’t love just so she could have children and ensure further heirs to the throne. Besides, at twenty-seven she wasn’t panicking. She simply hadn’t met a man who thrilled her, either before or after the lifting of the edict that royals had to marry royals. In theory, she could now marry anyone she liked. That was if she ever fell in love.
Was it because of the men or herself that she’d never felt that giddying elation? Maybe she had to face up to the fact she wasn’t a ‘falling in love’ person. Perhaps she didn’t have it in her to trust someone enough to fall in love. Certainly there were very few examples of happy relationships in her family to inspire her.
She believed with all her heart that Tristan and Gemma’s happy marriage would last the distance, but it was an exception. Her other brother’s arranged marriage had been trumpeted as a ‘love match’, but his wife had turned out to be cold-hearted and greedy. Her selfishness had, in fact, contributed to her husband’s death. And then there were the King and Queen... As a teenager she’d been devastated to discover her parents’ marriage was a hypocritical sham.
But this wedding here in Sydney was the real deal, and it gave Natalia a skerrick of hope that true love could be found—among non-royals, anyway.
The bride shone her a special smile as she passed between the rows of white chairs set out on the lawn of the mansion. Eliza was one of the few here who knew her real identity. Eliza and Jake were friends of her brother Tristan. And Eliza and Tristan’s wife, Gemma, along with their friend Andie, who was married to the best man, Dominic, ran Sydney’s most successful party planning business, Party Queens.
Gemma now lived in Montovia and participated in the business from a distance. Her new sister-in-law had become a close friend, and Natalia had met the other two Party Queens on their visits to Montovia.
She had been thrilled to receive an invitation to Eliza and Jake’s wedding. Not just because Eliza was a friend, but also because she’d wanted to see Sydney—the place where Tristan had met his wife Gemma, the place where he had spent a glorious few weeks as an anonymous tourist. She’d wanted a rare chance to be anonymous too. To be herself. Possibly even to find herself.
After the rest of the bridal party had passed by, she looked over to the handsome stranger with bated breath, only to see an empty chair.
Finn was caught up in a swell of well-wishers, all rushing past him to congratulate the bride and groom. As they thronged around him he lost sight of the beautiful woman across the aisle. By the time he’d elbowed past the other guests he could only see the back of her head as she hugged Eliza, her long blonde hair glinting golden in the afternoon sun. Then he himself got caught up in conversation with the best man, Dominic.
Weddings tended to bring out the grouch in Finn. He was what people delighted in calling ‘an eligible bachelor’. He’d even, to his horror, been included in a well-publicised list of ‘Bachelor Millionaires’—but he was a private person and loathed being in the spotlight. A wedding seemed to bring out matchmaking efforts in even the most unlikely of his friends and acquaintances, all keen to introduce him to potential spouses in whom he had no interest whatsoever. Marriage was not on the cards for him. Not in the foreseeable future.
Thankfully, property developer Dominic wanted to talk business, not potential brides, but real estate was the last thing on Finn’s mind. He ground his teeth in frustration at the effort of being polite when all he ached to do was find an opportunity to see her again—the gorgeous sexy woman in the dark pink dress that hugged her curvaceous form. He had to see if she’d felt the same zing of attraction. That instant awareness that hadn’t struck him for a long, long time.
After Dominic went on his way Finn politely but impatiently brushed off a stranger who wanted to gush about how romantic the wedding was and headed for the veranda of the beautiful old Kirribilli house where the reception was being held. He had one thing on his mind—to find that lovely woman before some other guy did.
Where was he? Natalia searched the throng of guests, the women wearing a rainbow of dresses, the men in shades of grey and black. No hot guy.
Eliza had ridden up the makeshift aisle on a pony, and a cluster of people had gathered to admire the little mare tethered under the shade cast by the late-afternoon shadow of a towering fig tree. Hot guy wasn’t there either.
Natalia was five-foot-five in bare feet. Her stilettos gave her some height advantage over the crowd, but not enough to locate him.
She headed for the mansion where the meal was to be served. Then climbed the short flight of wide, sandstone steps to a veranda that gave a view of the garden to the harbour beyond.
From her new vantage point she scanned the throng in the garden below. Dignity, Natalia, dignity. A princess did not chase after a man—no matter how devastatingly attractive she found him.
She rested her hands lightly on the veranda railing, so any onlooker would think she had paused to admire the view of the Opera House with its white sails on the opposite shore of the harbour. Then she tensed at the sudden awareness that tingled along her spine. All her senses seemed to scream an alert.
Him.
Slowly she turned around. The hot guy stood behind her, framed by the arched sandstone windows of the mansion. Just steps away he looked even more handsome than at first glance. Sculpted cheekbones, and his eyes... Not the dark brown she had expected but lighter—hazel, perhaps. A sensuous mouth that lifted in a half smile.
He held a flute of champagne in each hand, tiny bubbles floating rapidly upwards like the excitement rising in her. He stepped forward and offered her a glass. ‘I snagged these from a waiter heading out to the garden.’
That voice! Deep, resonant, husky... The tone sent shivers through her. Her hands felt suddenly clammy with nerves. But it would be most un-princess-like behaviour to wipe them down the sides of her dress. She reached out for the flute, hoping it wouldn’t slide out of her grip. The movement brought her closer to him, so close that she caught his scent—spicy, fresh, male—so potent it caused her pulse to quicken.
She wanted to close her eyes and breathe him in. Instead she took a breath to steady herself. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured.
‘Most welcome. You’re a friend of the groom?’ he said.
How did he know that? Panic seized her voice, choking any possible reply.
‘You were on the groom’s side of the aisle,’ he prompted.
‘Yes. Yes, of course. Jake is a family friend.’
Tristan, Jake and Dominic had been friends for years, having met on the ski slopes of Montovia long before their Party Queens spouses had come along. Jake had been Tristan’s best man at his wedding to Gemma.
But Natalia didn’t want any questions about their connection. ‘You, of course, were on the bride’s side.’
‘I went to university with Eliza. Since then I’ve done business with her party planning company.’
‘I met her quite recently,’ Natalia said.
Eliza had been one of Gemma’s bridesmaids at her brother’s spectacular wedding in the grand cathedral the previous year. Just the kind of wedding her parents intended for her. Dread squeezed her at the very thought. Marriage Montovian royal-style seemed more like a trap than a gateway to happy-ever-after.
‘Eliza’s lovely, and she seems so happy.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘And Jake’s a good guy.’
Natalia had devised a cover story for her alter ego, but it didn’t go very deep. Stalling, she gulped some champagne as she tried to keep the details straight in her mind.
Hot Guy seemed to have no such hesitation. He transferred his glass to his left hand and offered his right. ‘Finn O’Neill,’ he said, by way of introduction.
Natalie stared at him, spluttered over her champagne, and coughed. Then she quickly recovered herself. ‘I’m sorry, I—’
‘You were startled by my name? Don’t worry. You’re not the first and I’d lay a hefty bet you won’t be the last. Irish father; Chinese grandfather and Italian grandmother on my mother’s side.’
So that was where those exotic good looks came from. ‘No. I...er...’ She started a polite fib, then thought better of it. To conceal her identity she was being forced to fib. No need to do so unnecessarily. ‘Yes, I was surprised. Your name doesn’t match your looks. Not like the Irish guys I’ve met, that is.’
‘I’m a fine example of Australia’s multicultural population,’ he said lightly.
He was a fine example of a male.
Before she could dig herself in any further, she took his hand in a firm shake. ‘Natalie Gerard,’ she said. Natalie seemed a less memorable name than Natalia; Gerard was her father the King’s name. She actually didn’t have a surname—she was simply known as Natalia, Princess of Montovia.
‘By the sound of your accent, you’re English,’ he said.
‘Er...yes,’ she said.
She didn’t like to lie. But she’d promised her family not to blow her cover to anyone, in case of leaks to the media. Princess Heartbreaker in disguise at a wedding would be the kind of thing they liked to pounce on. So lie she must—though she’d rather think of it as tactical evasion.
Thank heaven for the English-born tutor married to a Montovian woman who had taught her perfectly accented English from the time she’d started to speak her first words. She also spoke impeccable German, French and Italian, with passable Spanish. So for today she would be English.
‘Do you live here?’ Finn asked.
She shook her head. ‘Sadly I’m just visiting on vacation. I wish it were longer. Sydney is fabulous.’
‘Spring is a good time to visit,’ he said.
‘Yes, it is,’ she said. ‘I’m loving it here.’
Just plain Natalie, a tourist, had spent the last three days riding the ferries, visiting the beaches, taking in a concert at the Opera House. She’d revelled in her freedom and anonymity—even though her two bodyguards were always at a discreet distance. As they were here now, masquerading as waiters.
Perhaps Finn had snagged the champagne from one of them. She was so used to the constant presence of household staff and bodyguards she scarcely noticed their presence.
‘Where do you live in England?’ Finn asked.
‘London,’ she said.
The royal family had a house in Mayfair, where she’d lived for a while when she was studying. Until the paparazzi had snapped her staggering out of a nightclub after one too many cocktails and she’d been recalled in disgrace to the palace before she’d been able to finish her degree in architecture.
‘Whereabouts in London?’ he said. ‘I visit there quite often.’
No need to get too specific... Natalia chose to answer the second part of his question instead. ‘What takes you to London?’
‘My import/export business,’ he said.
Which could, she thought, mean anything.
‘What do you do?’ he said.
Nothing she could share with him. Being Princess of Montovia was pretty much a full-time role. She wasn’t allowed to be employed—rather had thrown herself into charity work.
Her main occupation was with the charity she’d started, which auctioned worn-once designer clothes and accessories donated by her and others in her circle to benefit her particular interest—the promotion of education for girls wherever they lived in the world.
Her online fashion parades and auctions had taken off way beyond anything she’d anticipated. Donations of fashion items now came from wealthy aristocrats and celebrities from all over Europe. Bids came from all around the world. The administration was undertaken by volunteers, so profits went straight to where they were needed. She was proud of what she had achieved through her own initiative. But that had nothing to do with Natalie Gerard.
The fact was, she’d been destined for a strategic marriage rather than a career. Especially after the tragic accident nearly three years ago that had robbed Montovia of her older brother Carl and his family, and pushed her up to second in line to the throne after Tristan, now Crown Prince.
Her life had changed radically after the tragedy, with her parents now obsessed with maintaining the succession to the throne. She’d had to work within their restrictions, not wanting to add to their intense grief in mourning their son and two-year-old grandson, still reeling from her own grief, not to mention the outpouring of grief throughout the country.
But she was beginning to weary of doing everything by the royal rules. She wanted her own life.
She couldn’t share any of that with Finn. Instead she aimed for impartial chit-chat. ‘I work in fashion,’ she said.
That wasn’t too much of a stretch of the truth. Organising her high-end fashion auctions was a job, if not a paid one.
‘Retail or wholesale?’
‘Retail.’
Her role often required several changes of formal clothing a day. That involved a lot of shopping in the fashion capitals of Europe. In fact, that had kicked off her idea for the auctions—she and other people in the public eye were expected by fashion-watchers to appear at functions in a different outfit each time. That meant expensive garments were often only worn once or twice.
‘You fit the part.’
His eyes lit with admiration as he looked at her simple sheath dress in a deep rose-pink overlaid with lace. It wasn’t silk, but it was a very good knock-off of a French designer whose couture originals took up considerable hanging space in her apartment-sized humidity-controlled closet back at the palace before they were moved on to auction.
‘Thank you,’ she said, inordinately pleased at the compliment. ‘What do you import and export?’ she asked, deflecting his attention from her.
‘High-end foods and liquor,’ he said. ‘It takes me all around the world.’
She nodded. ‘Hence your work with Party Queens?’
‘Exactly,’ he said.
She finished her champagne at the same time he did, then placed her glass on the wide veranda railing. Someone would be along to pick it up.
But Finn reached for it. ‘I’ll put that glass somewhere safer,’ he said.
Mistake, she thought as he took the glasses and placed them on a table just inside the doorway. Regular girl Natalie would not be used to household staff picking up after her.
Finn was back within seconds. ‘Tell me, Natalie, are you here with a partner?’
He glanced at the bare fingers of her left hand—without realising he did so, she thought. She did the same to him. No rings there either.
‘No partner,’ she said.
‘Good,’ he said, with a decisiveness that thrilled her.
‘Either here at the wedding or in my life.’
‘Me neither,’ he said. ‘Single. Never married.’
Her spine tingled at this less than subtle trumpeting of his single status. She was single and available too. For today.
Maybe for tonight.
‘Likewise,’ she said.
This handsome, handsome man must be thirtyish. How had such a catch evaded matrimony?
‘D’you think they’ve put us at the singles table for the meal?’ he asked.
‘I have no idea,’ she said. ‘I... I hope so.’
‘If they haven’t I’ll switch every place card in the room to make sure we’re seated together.’
She laughed. ‘Seriously?’
‘Absolutely. Why wouldn’t I want to sit with the most beautiful woman at the wedding?’
She laughed again. ‘You flatter me.’
He was suddenly very serious. ‘There’s no flattery. I noticed you as soon as you walked across the grass to take your seat. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you.’
She could act coy, not admit that she’d noticed him too, flirt a little, play hard to get... But she’d never met a man like him. Never felt that instant tug of attraction. And time was in very short supply.
‘I noticed you too,’ she said simply.
For a long moment she looked up into his eyes—up close a surprising sea-green—and he looked down into hers. His gaze was serious, intent, totally focused on her. The air between them shimmered with possibility. Her heart set up a furious beating. She felt giddy with the awareness that she could be on the edge of something momentous, something life-changing. He frowned as if puzzled. Did he feel it too?
‘Natalie, I—’
But before he could say any more Gemma came up the steps, Tristan hovering solicitously behind her. Her sister-in-law smiled politely, as if Natalia were just another guest, although her eyes gleamed with the knowledge of their shared secret. Tristan’s nod gave his sister a subtle warning. Be careful. As if she needed it. She was only too aware of her duty.
Duty. Duty. Duty. It had governed her life from the moment she was born. Duty to her family, to the Crown, to her country. What about her duty to herself? Her needs, her wants, her happiness? She was twenty-seven years old and she’d toed the line for too long. If she wanted to flirt with the most gorgeous man she had met in a long time—perhaps ever—she darn well would, and duty be damned.
She took a step closer to Finn. Smiled up at him as Tristan went past. The rigid set of her brother’s shoulders was the only sign that he had noticed her provocative gesture. But Finn mistook her smile for amusement.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘It isn’t every day you go to a wedding where the groomsman is a prince and the bridesmaid a princess and everyone is pretending they’re regular folk like you or me. That’s despite the security detail both out on the road and down on the water to keep the media scrum at bay.’
‘Bizarre, isn’t it?’ she said lightly.
In fact, it was rare that she went to a wedding where the bride and groom weren’t royalty or high-ranking aristocracy. This wedding between people without rank was somewhat of a novelty.
‘Bizarre, but kinda fun,’ Finn said. ‘When else would our paths cross so closely with royalty? Even if the Prince is from some obscure kingdom no one has ever heard of.’
Obscure? Natalia was about to huff in defence of her country. Montovia might be small, in both land mass and population, but it was wealthy, influential and punched above its weight on matters of state. But for today she was just plain Natalie—not Princess Natalia. And she wanted to enjoy the company of this very appealing Aussie guy without getting into any kind of debate that might give the game away.
‘A prince is a prince, I guess, wherever he hails from,’ she said.
‘And a princess always adds a certain glamour to an occasion,’ Finn said drily.
‘Indeed,’ she said.
A smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. If only he knew.
‘Talking of fun...let’s go inside and swap those place cards if we need to,’ she said.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said.
Startled, she almost corrected him. Ma’am was a term of address reserved for her mother, the Queen, not her. But of course he was only using the word generically. She really had to stay on the alert if she were to successfully keep up the act.
She went to tuck her hand into his arm but decided against it. If she touched him—even the slightest touch—she wasn’t sure how she’d react. She’d only known Finn O’Neill for a matter of minutes but she already knew she wanted him.
He could be the one.
