Rendezvous, she thought with a snicker. Well, it was true that Bennett had come to Houston to help her celebrate her twenty-first birthday. One of her closest friends had fallen madly in love with him for about a week. Because of the connection, she’d been asked to accompany him on a tour of Washington a few years before. And she had visited Cordina a few times with her sister. Then there was the time she and Bennett had hooked up in Paris quite by accident. It was difficult to think of one lunch in a public café as a rendezvous, but the press needed to print something.

“Will another member of the royal family choose an American?”

The article ended with the question. Don’t hold your breath, she answered silently, then set the paper aside. What would the press have to talk about when Bennett did meet the right woman and settle? Laughing to herself, she picked up her cooling croissant. By then it was very likely Brie’s children would be old enough to marry.

“Interesting reading?”

Eve glanced over at the entrance of the little solarium. She should have known he wouldn’t let her have breakfast in peace. “I enjoy a joke, Your Highness.” She started to rise, when he waved her back into her seat.

“You consider this funny?”

“I got a laugh out of it, though I imagine Ben gets tired of having every woman he smiles at added to the list of prospective wives.”

“He thinks little of it.” As, under most circumstances, Alexander did himself. “Ben enjoys a scandal.”

Because it was said without heat, she smiled. If he wanted to let the words exchanged the night before be forgotten, she was more than willing. She’d spent long enough stewing about them. “Who doesn’t?” At a closer glance he looked tired, and more than a little strained. Sympathetic, she softened. “Have you had breakfast? I can offer you coffee and croissants.”

“Yes, a few hours ago. I could use the coffee.”

She rose and took another cup and saucer from the server. “It’s barely ten, but you look as though you’ve had a difficult day.”

For a moment he said nothing. Such was his training. Then he relented. It would be on the radio and in the papers soon enough. “There was news from Paris this morning. A bomb at the embassy.”

Her fingers tightened on the handle of the coffeepot. “Oh, God, your father.”

“He’s not hurt. His secretary was injured slightly.” He paused, but his voice was calm and even when he continued. “Seward, the assistant to the minister, was killed.”

“I’m sorry.” She set down the pot to put a hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry. Do they know who did it?”

“No one’s taken the credit. We have only suspicions.”

“Is the prince coming home?”