She closed her eyes a moment. “Yes. Chris is special to me—that’s what I felt.”

“What was her reaction?”

“She said that it stinks.” A giggle bubbled in her throat. A sound he’d heard too rarely. “She’s of the opinion that you, my father and Loubet should be horsewhipped.”

Reeve made a sound that might have been amusement or regret. Basically, it was agreement. “Sounds like a sensible woman.”

“She is. I can’t tell you what it meant just to talk to her. Reeve, she didn’t look at me as though I were ill or odd or … I don’t know.”

“Is that what we do?”

“Sometimes, yes.” She brushed her hair back, looking at him with an eagerness that asked for understanding. “Chris took it all in, stated her opinion, then asked me to help her pick out a dress. It was all so natural, so easy, as if there weren’t all these blanks between us. We were simply friends again, or still. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“You don’t have to. But I’ll have to talk to her.”

Brie’s lips curved. “Oh, I think she’s planning on it.” She kissed him then in the light, friendly manner she could assume so unexpectedly. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For not telling me all the reasons I shouldn’t have done it.”

“The decision was always yours, Brie.”

“Was it?” She laughed, shaking her head. “I wonder. My bath is cooling,” she said, deliberately changing the mood. “You’ve detained me.”

“So I have.” Smiling, he ran a fingertip lightly down her breast and felt it tremble.

“The least you can do is wash my back.”

“Sounds fair. Trouble is, I’ve missed my bath, as well.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” She drew away from him to rise. “I once wondered if I’d shared the tub with anyone. It’s very large.” Naked, with the sun filtering in behind her, she began to refasten her pins. “And we have more than an hour before dinner.”

Chapter 12

Glitter. Glamour. Fantasy. That was a royal ball in a centuries-old palace. Elegance, sumptuousness, sophistication were what was expected when you brought together the rich, the famous and the royal.

Five Baccarat chandeliers trembled with light. Some of the colors couldn’t even be named. A half-acre of floor gleamed, the color of aged honey. There was silver, crystal, white linen and masses and masses of flowers. But even these paled when compared to the glow of silks, the fire of jewels: the beautiful people.

Brie greeted the guests and tried to forget she was tired. For twelve hours she’d worked nonstop to make certain everything was perfect. It was. She had the satisfaction of that to offset her nerves. Cinderella had had her ball, she mused. But Cinderella hadn’t had to deal with the florist.

There were gorgeous clothes and luxurious scents, but for her, there was a sea of faces and a mental list of names too long for comfort.

Her father was by her side, dressed in his most formal uniform. It reminded people that he’d been a soldier, a good one. But Brie thought he looked like a god—handsome, powerful. Remote.