the next-door stall, pushed the door open and stepped inside, all his senses on alert. Could be a saboteur, a horse thief...?
Surely that was a figure lying in the straw. Hoping to evade detection? Swiftly he pulled his phone from his pocket, turned on the torch, held the light up and blinked; there on the straw lay one of the most beautiful women he’d seen in his life. Long chestnut hair, straight classical nose, high cheekbones. And impossible, nay, criminal, to ignore the length of her slim curvy figure, clad in jeans and oversized jumper, over...he squinted at the cuffs of her wrist...checked flannel pyjamas.
OK, Cesar. Time to stop staring and time instead to figure out why Gabriella Ross, Crown Princess of Casavalle and his possible bride-to-be, was hiding in a bed of straw.
GABI LIFTED A hand to shield herself from the intrusive beam of light and instantly the man holding the torch redirected the rays to the floor. What to do, what to do? What on earth had possessed her to hide? Stupid, stupid, stupid. The urge to weep from sheer mortification was tempting but she refused to succumb.
Instead she had to embark on mission impossible to try and salvage even a semblance of dignity. As she looked up at the man, he stooped and held out a hand. ‘May I help you up, Your Royal Highness?’
Fabulous; he’d recognised her. Any forlorn hope that she could somehow pretend to be a fainting groom faded.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, figuring a hand up would be more dignified than a clumsy scramble to her feet.
His hand encircled hers, his grip cool and firm as he helped her up and then stood back. She darted a look at him, his face cast in shadows, the torch now by his side so she couldn’t see him clearly. Yet even in the gloom she registered handsome features and the bemusement that etched them. Dark short hair, strong features, firm jaw, tall, muscled body dressed in clothes that discreetly indicated expense. His dark grey woollen coat moulded broad shoulders and to her irritation she felt a sudden surge of...interest.
Get a grip.
This man was a stranger in the Casavalle stables; belatedly she wondered if she should be scared. Yet he looked vaguely familiar. Oh, God. Was he perhaps someone she should know? She had been introduced to so many people over the past weeks it was nearly impossible to remember them all, though she was trying.
But surely she would remember who he was...if she’d met him before... She couldn’t imagine forgetting a man with such a potent aura.
An aura that was messing with her head, making it whirl and think with her hormones rather than her common sense. Not the behaviour of a queen in waiting; she’d learnt that much. Think, Gabi. He was in the stables at midnight—good chance, then, that he had a reason to be here; something to do with the horses. Perhaps he’d been sent with the gift from the Asturias family, with Ferron and Arya. That would make sense. Perhaps she’d spotted him earlier in that whirlwind press photo and registered his presence. Maybe he’d come in to check on them.
Doubt flickered in her mind—to be brutally honest he didn’t look like a groom, but she still didn’t understand the hierarchy of how the royal entourage worked. Not that it mattered. The man was connected to the horses in some capacity—she didn’t need to know any more than that. Right now what mattered was that she should stop gawping at him. Royalty did not gawp.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘And...um...sorry about that.’ She gestured to the straw with what she could only hope was a poised rueful smile. Knew it was more likely to be a grimace. ‘I was checking the horses. Sounds stupid but I was worried they may be a little homesick.’
An arrested look came to his face, and his dark brown eyes flashed with empathy, surely a confirmation that this man must be connected somehow with the horses.
He smiled at her. ‘That makes sense, or, if it does not, I do understand and appreciate it. But why the straw?’ Reaching out, he pulled a bit out of her hair.
Gabi was pretty sure there was some royal protocol or other that made the gesture punishable by death. Yet this man made the move seem natural.
‘I...you startled me and I just...dived for cover. I hadn’t realised someone else would be coming to check the horses. I’m so sorry to interrupt your work here. Please proceed with your duties.’
For a fleeting second an expression she couldn’t interpret crossed his face, and then he took the smallest of steps backwards, executed a bow.
‘Ma’am. There is no need for you to apologise. These horses are now yours and are yours to visit any time of day and night. I know they will appreciate your care.’
‘And I’m sure that they appreciated yours. Tell me, are you their...?’ She allowed her voice to question and he took another small step backwards.
‘I have been responsible for them. I stopped by tonight to ensure they have settled in, that they are not, as you say, “homesick”. Soon I will return to Aguilarez.’ He hesitated, studied her face. ‘If you like, before I go, we could take a moonlit ride; you could get to know Ferron and Arya better.’
Her turn to hesitate now; were royal princesses supposed to go on moonlit rides with strangers? Possibly not...but...her brain scrambled into overdrive, wanting, seeking reasons to justify her instinctive desire to say yes. This man wasn’t a stranger as such—he was part of the Aguilarez entourage. So this could be classed as a gesture of friendliness. Also he must love these horses and probably wanted a chance to have one last ride—it would be unkind to deny him that. And royalty often rode out accompanied by staff, and maybe she could use this as a fact-finding mission. Find out more about the Asturias family before the ball, especially Prince Cesar. And...dammit...she wanted to do this. Craved a ride on one of these magnificent animals in the company of this man.
‘Thank you. I’d like that. As long as you don’t have to be back...’
‘No. I do not need to leave yet.’ He gestured outside. ‘It is beautiful outside but cold—if it is not too presumptuous, I could lend you my coat.’
‘But then you’ll be cold.’
‘I am used to these temperatures, ma’am; I grew up here. My jumper will suffice.’ With a smile that rocked her backwards he hitched off his coat and handed it to her.
‘Thank you, though I suspect I’ll look ridiculous.’ Though perhaps no more ridiculous than she already did, with bits of her pyjamas protruding at wrist and ankle.
‘I’ll saddle them up,’ he said.
‘We’ll saddle them up,’ she corrected. ‘Which one would you prefer to ride? Ferron?’ After all, he’d gone to Ferron’s stall first—perhaps that was his preferred mount.
‘I would like that,’ he said.
Gabi couldn’t help but observe as he saddled the horse; his actions were deft and fluid as he tucked the stirrups under the saddle, manoeuvred the buckles of the girth—whatever his role he was familiar and comfortable around horses and Ferron seemed more than content. His murmured words and gentle touch demonstrated clearly that he was known to this horse and any minor doubts faded away.
Soon they had led the horses out and mounted.
‘Where to?’ he asked.
‘Through the woodlands,’ she suggested.
‘Sure.’ As he patted Ferron’s neck and they set off curiosity beset her. Now out in the moonlight she could see him more clearly, saw that his hands were smooth, his clothes definitely expensive.
‘So, have you worked for the royal family for long?’
‘All my life. You could say it is a family tradition.’ His voice was tinged with a low irony.
‘Do you regret