A MERRY CHASE Page 3

  Chuckling to himself, Royce ignored her request and slipped down the hall. He paused once more, waiting for her to appear at the entranceway to the corridor, before easing into the Andrews' empty study. A chuckle broke from him as he neatly turned the tables upon Laurel, turning her into the pursuer.

  He composed his features into a pleasant smile as she sailed into the room. "Good evening, Lady Laurel," he murmured before she could utter a word. "I must say I'm pleasantly surprised that you sought out my company this evening."

  Tapping her fan against her hand, Laurel stepped closer. "It could hardly come as a surprise, my lord. Surely this was the precise reaction you sought."

  A clever little fox, Royce thought, holding back his smile. "I'd hoped," he admitted softly.

  Satisfaction warmed her features. "I'd surmised as much." Tilting her head to the side, Laurel said, "The only part that confuses me is why you're behaving in such an odd manner."

  "Odd?" The corners of his mouth inched upward, forming a quizzical grin. "And here I thought I was being intriguing."

  "Even if you were, it is certainly not something to which I would ever admit."

  Sighing lustily, Royce nodded his head. "Most certainly the wisest course, my lady. There is no telling what an arrogant scoundrel like me would do with a little encouragement."

  "A truer word has never been spoken."

  Royce couldn't help but appreciate the lovely sight she made, all flushed and flustered. His plan was progressing perfectly.

  "At the risk of being blunt, my lord, I must ask that you desist in your unwavering attention."

  "Why?"

  His question took her aback. "I should think that rather obvious," Laurel asserted. "I find it most uncomfortable."

  "Bravo for me then, for life would be terribly dull if one never felt unsettled."

  Her brows lifted. "I believe I would survive."

  "Perhaps, but you would merely be existing, not really living." Shrugging, Royce continued, "As for me, I'm thoroughly enjoying all that life has to offer. You should try it sometime, Laurel."

  "I don't believe I gave you leave to address me so informally," she replied stiffly.

  Closing the distance between them, Royce reached out and fingered the lace upon her sleeve. "We could easily remedy that," he pointed out.

  Laurel lifted her shoulder, dislodging his hand. "That will not be necessary as I don't plan on spending time with you."

  Not discouraged, Royce rubbed his jaw. "And why not?"

  "Because we have nothing in common," Laurel pointed out.

  "Of course we do," he denied, moving around the side of Laurel, circling her in the manner of hunter to prey. "Deep within your gaze, I see a spark of wildness…"

  Laurel parted her lips, drawing in a swift breath.

  "…a burning urge to let yourself experience life to the fullest…"

  Biting her lower lip, she looked lost within the seductive spell he was weaving.

  "…to indulge in your every fantasy…"

  Instantly, she stiffened, and the spell was broken. Squaring her shoulders, Laurel stepped back from Royce and walked toward the door.

  With her hand upon the knob, she glanced back. "I learned a long time ago never to believe in fantasies, Lord Van Cleef, so in the future I would appreciate it if you would focus your attentions elsewhere."

  Lifting his eyebrows, Royce remained silent as she walked from the room, her head held high. So, his bride-to-be was pricklier than he'd anticipated. Still, he was quite pleased with his results so far.

  There could be no doubt that he was affecting her senses … despite her efforts to ignore them.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  "I vow, Harriet, if he approaches me this evening, I will be completely and utterly cool to him."

  Tapping her toe in time to the music, Harriet slanted a glance at Laurel. "And your reason for rebuffing him is … what again?"

  "Because he is an arrogant wastrel by reputation and action and I want nothing further to do with him," Laurel explained, wishing it were true. It worried her that she'd been unable to stop thinking about the rakish Earl. Indeed, she'd lain in bed and heard his whispers over and over again, enticing her, beckoning to her. Pressing a hand against her stomach, Laurel refused to allow herself to think of him any further.

  The turmoil this man aroused proved an undeniable fact. Royce Van Cleef was dangerous to her state of being. She'd worked too hard to overcome her vulnerabilities to forget them even for a moment.

  "You'd best prepare your rebuff, Laurel, for here Lord Van Cleef comes now."

  At Harriet's whisper, Laurel jerked herself from her thoughts, lifting her head to watch Royce work his way toward her. The very instant their gazes met Laurel recognized the terrifying, overwhelming, yet somehow intriguing emotions soaring through her.

  While she knew in her head that she should avoid him, the way her heart leapt at the very sight of Royce made it impossible to remember why she should avoid him.

  "My lady," he murmured, reaching out to clasp her hand before bowing to press a kiss onto her glove-encased fingers. "It is always a pleasure."

  "My lord," she replied, proud of the coolness in her voice.

  But Royce didn't seem to notice. Instead, he turned smoothly toward Harriet. "Ah, Miss Nash, how delightful to renew our acquaintance."

  At Harriet's giggle, Laurel widened her eyes pointedly at her friend, but Harriet was too busy staring at Royce to notice. It would appear that he affected every lady's composure in the same manner as he affected hers.

  "My lord," Laurel began briskly, "you are not honoring the bounds of our agreement."

  "Agreement?" Shaking his head, Royce tilted one side of his mouth upward. "I never agreed to anything, my lady."

  Knowing he spoke the truth, Laurel stood her ground nonetheless. "While that might be true, I still expected you to grant my request like the titled gentleman you are."

  "Titled, yes. As to the gentleman part…" Royce shrugged lightly, grinning at her.

  That made her laugh. She couldn't help herself, despite her determination not to yield to Royce's charm. If only he weren't such an appealing rogue, Laurel thought with a sigh.

  "Excuse us, Miss Nash," Royce murmured as he caught Laurel's hand and tugged her onto the dance floor.

  Before she could even utter a protest, she was in Royce's arms. "I believe I made myself quite clear," Laurel finally said as Royce twirled her into position.

  "Perfectly," he agreed amicably, clasping her against him once more. "But I'm afraid I can't accommodate your request."

  "Can't? Or won't?"

  "Both." Caressing the small of her back, Royce slowed their steps. "I consider it my duty, as a gentleman, to teach you how to dream once again."

  If he'd said that he was going to toss her onto the floor and kiss her madly, he couldn't have shocked her more. "Excuse me?"

  "You heard me perfectly well the first time," Royce returned, tapping his fingers against the back of her hand. "Everyone needs fantasies, Laurel."

  Stiffening in his arms, she retorted, "That's not true. I am perfectly content to keep myself firmly set in reality. Living in a dream world, my lord, is a foolish thing to do."

  "Ahhhh," he sighed dramatically. "A realist, I see."

  "Exactly."

  "What a shame."

  Laurel stumbled slightly. "A shame? I hardly think so."

  "But it is," Royce protested lightly. "After all, fantasy is what gives life color, what makes the ordinary seem special."

  His words created a yearning within Laurel. Once, she'd believed as he did, and then Archie had shown her how painful it could be to have your dreams shattered.

  "Outside I have a magical carriage awaiting, one fit for a princess." His hand tightened upon her waist. "Come take a ride around the park with me, Laurel, and we'll pretend we're royalty taking a tour of our properties. Or we can even imagine that I'm a dastardly fellow
who's abducted you and is intent on carrying you away to Gretna Green."

  Oh, how he tempted her. Part of her yearned to accept the offer, to fall into his fantasy, but the other half demanded her to remember all she'd once been through. Feeling torn, Laurel shook her head slowly. "I … I … can't," she finished in a rush, regret sweeping through her.

  "Can't? Or won't?" he asked, mimicking her.

  The dance ended and Royce escorted Laurel back to Harriet's side. Bowing low, he pressed a kiss to the back of her hand. Yet as he straightened, he didn't release his hold. "I'll be waiting outside," he whispered softly. "Don't allow fear to control your destiny."

  As Royce turned and walked toward the garden doors, she longed to race after him, yet still she held back.

  Don't allow fear to control your destiny.

  Was that what she was doing? Laurel's heart pounded within her chest as the answer became all too clear. God help her, it was true. By allowing fear to dictate her actions, she'd inadvertently given Archie such power over her future. Yes, he'd taught her a lesson, but surely that didn't mean that she couldn't occasionally indulge in a harmless fantasy. As long as she went into it with a level head, she would be fine.

  There was no way in heaven or on earth that she would allow Archie to defeat her.

  "Laurel?" Harriet asked hesitantly. "Is everything all right? You look so … so…"

  "Certain?" Laurel nodded once firmly. "I hope so, because that is exactly how I feel. Now if you'll excuse me for a moment, I'm going to take in a bit of fresh air."

  Touching Laurel's arm, Harriet asked, "Would you like me to join you?"

  "No thank you," she replied with a smile. "I'll see you in a short while."

  Laurel took a few steps before turning around to grin at her friend, "Oh, and by the way, Harriet, for this evening you may address me as Your Highness."

  Laughing at Harriet's perplexed expression, Laurel spun around and hurried after Royce.

  * * *

  She wasn't coming.

  Pacing before the gilt carriage he'd borrowed for the evening, Royce struggled to keep faith in his plan. He'd been quite certain that Laurel wouldn’t be able to resist his challenge, yet with each passing moment, he grew increasingly less confident.

  He'd planned these encounters so very carefully, trying to ensure that he would spark her interest without too much attention lest he scare her off. And if she fell into the trap he'd laid this evening, then he knew he had her. One romantic spin around the park and Laurel would accept his offer without hesitation.

  And that would be that.

  All nice and neat, tied with a gilded ribbon. Being married to Laurel would be sweet indeed, Royce thought as he remembered the feel of her in his arms as they'd danced. Not to mention how pleasant it would be to lord over his friends the fact that his was the far superior method for catching a wife. A few strategically planned meetings and voilà!—a marriage made of compatibility without any tedious emotions mucking up the works.

  "Well, my lord, this is indeed quite a fantasy you've produced here."

  At Laurel's teasing voice, Royce turned to face her, relief flooding him along with excitement. Taking in the lovely picture she made in her evening gown of silk and lace, he could imagine tasting her sweet lips, molding her body against his, and satisfying the curiosity burning within him.

  "What seems to be the problem, Your Highness? Have you misplaced your royal scepter?"

  "Now that's something I'd never misplace," he returned with a laugh, doubting if Laurel caught the double entendre.

  Tapping a finger against her cheek, she smiled at him. "That is very reassuring."

  Her quick wit left him with no doubt that she had understood his teasing all too well. Pleasantly surprised, Royce swept into a low bow, demonstrating his best courtly manners. "Might I have the honor of your company whilst we tour the royal gardens, Your Highness?"

  Mimicking Royce's gesture, Laurel dipped into a curtsey. "It would be my pleasure, sire."

  Quickly, Royce stepped forward, offering his arm, and escorted Laurel over to the festooned carriage.

  Pausing, Laurel eyed the purple and gold ribbons decorating the horses' harnesses, her gaze sweeping over the ornate gold scrolling that rimmed the roof of the carriage. "This is most impressive, Royce."

  "It belongs to a friend of mine," he admitted with a wry grin. "It's a bit overdone for my tastes."

  Laurel trailed her fingers down the etched panel on the door, the languid movement echoing within Royce until he yearned to feel that delicate stroke against his skin. With a small shiver, he reined in his thoughts.

  Lifting her chin, Laurel pronounced grandly, "Still, it is a most fitting ride for a personage such as my royal self."

  "Indeed it is," Royce agreed, handing her up into the carriage.

  Once ensconced within the plush velvet interior, Royce sat back, entranced by the picture Laurel made against the lush surroundings. "Might I say that your beauty astounds me," he admitted quietly.

  Smiling brightly, Laurel dipped her head regally. "Your praise is most appreciated, sire," she said as she brushed out her skirts. "However, I will admit that I'd prefer it was my wit or my sense of fairness or even my direct manner that attracted you."

  Royce lifted an eyebrow. "I fear you do not understand my definition of beauty … for only a woman who possesses all the characteristics you mentioned can be considered truly beautiful."

  "Ah, yes, the perfect response," she replied softly.

  "Did you expect less from your courtier?"

  Tipping her head to the side, Laurel smiled at him. "I thought you were His Royal Highness."

  "I was, but I decided to switch," Royce admitted, shrugging lightly. "It's far more amusing to be your favorite admirer."

  "Ahhh," Laurel murmured with a laugh. "Then why aren't you bowing at my feet?"

  Without a moment's hesitation, Royce slipped onto his knees.

  Laughing at his silliness, Laurel tugged at his sleeve. "Come up off of there, Royce, before you hurt yourself."

  "Far better to bump my head than to offend your personage." He braced himself against the seat cushion for balance. "However, if it were a royal command—"

  "It is," Laurel returned, tapping the seat beside her. "Now please get up before we hit a rut and send you flying."

  "I would never disobey a royal decree," Royce murmured as he slid onto the seat next to Laurel. Tapping his fingers against his leg, he glanced around. "I must say, Your Highness, the view from your side of the carriage is far nicer than mine."

  "Of course," Laurel sniffed, her lips twitching with suppressed laughter. "What else would you expect?"

  "True enough." Royce leaned his head against the cushions, openly studying Laurel. "Seriously though, I am pleased that you decided to indulge in my little fantasy, Laurel."

  Glancing away, Laurel shifted restlessly. "I almost didn't," she admitted in a whisper. "But then I decided not to allow myself to be robbed of pleasure simply because of past … disappointments."

  "Past disappointments?"

  She lifted an eyebrow. "There is no need to be so polite, my lord. I'm quite certain you know of what I'm alluding to."

  "My name is Royce," he said firmly. "And if you refer to the incident with Lord Devens, then I am indeed acquainted with the subject."

  "Incident?" Laurel smiled over the word. "Is that what they're calling a broken engagement these days?"

  It was Royce's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Engagement? It was my understanding that no formal announcement had ever been made."

  "Then you were misinformed."

  Slowly, Royce lifted his hand to stroke one finger along the taut curve of her cheek. "It's rather a miracle that you accepted my invitation at all," he observed softly. "I shall consider myself quite lucky."

  Holding still beneath his touch, Laurel finally let free a shaky laugh. "A gentleman as persistent as you, my lord, creates his own luck."

  "Royce."
>
  Laurel sobered, meeting his gaze with her own. "Royce."

  Her soft whisper swept inside of him, tightening his chest, making him catch his breath in wonder at the odd sensation. Shaking his head, Royce struggled to pick up the thread of their conversation. "I do believe you're right," he murmured as he regained his balance. "The world belongs to those who make their own luck."

  His fingers fell away from Laurel's cheek as she tipped her head to the side. "That sentiment is one you share with Archie, for he used to say the very same thing."

  Stiffening, he took offense to her comparison. "I am nothing like that pansy-waist, Devens. Any gentleman who would cry off upon a lady deserves nothing but scorn."

  "That's true," Laurel acknowledged. "Please accept my apology, Royce." Placing her hand upon his forearm, she continued softly. "I know you have far too much honor to ever deceive a lady."

  Swallowing uncomfortably, Royce shifted in his seat. He was nothing like that dullard Devens and yet … he was deceiving her. His intent to marry her did nothing to lessen his culpability in the wager he'd made. Lord, if Laurel ever discovered the reason he'd begun this courtship, she would undoubtedly dismiss him without a word, cutting him off as quickly as she once did Devens.

  Glancing away, Royce swallowed hard, determined to never let her discover the intent behind his courtship. "While I appreciate your sentiment, please don't place me too highly in your esteem. Like many gentlemen, I often feel the end justifies the means."

  "Really?" Laurel leaned toward him. "When would that be the case?"

  "I can't think of any particular instance at the moment," he evaded smoothly. "I'm simply trying to point out that, like most men, I believe that honor is more often than not a matter of opinion."

  "I should think it would be rather black or white." She shifted her shoulders. "By its very definition, honor is a steady ideal, not a fluid notion."

  "By whose definition?" snorted Royce.

  Laurel tilted her chin upward. "By mine."

  "While I find the concept admirable, Laurel, I also find it utterly improbable." Tugging on a ribbon dangling from her sleeve, Royce continued his argument. "For instance, if you have a friend who arrives at a formal affair wearing the most dreadful of gowns, what do you say if she asks your opinion about her attire? Honor would dictate that you answer honestly, thereby hurting your dear friend's feelings. Whereas, if you allow personal emotion to color your perspective toward honor, you would simply ease your way around the direct question by admiring the fabric or the color of the gown."