There's nothing like a royal wedding to get everyone excited. Mills and Boon have issued a commemorative mug - you'll find it on their website; link opposite - and there are a load of "royal romance" books on the shelves.
I've only written one "royal romance" book. THE ORDINARY PRINCESS, and since it's just been released as an eBook, I thought it would be a great giveaway this month.
Laura Varndell, my heroine, is a bit of a republican. She's also in trouble with her career. She has ambitions to be a great crusading reporter like her aunt, but she keeps getting sidetracked by her emotions and missing the big story. Her boss has given her one last chance. Bring home a headline or rewrite her career plan.
Her aunt suggests she interview Prince Alexander Orsino. The most elusive royal in the world. He looks down his long nose at her from a photograph taken at a charity gala and she is hooked.
Breaking his niece's ankle is not a good start.
‘I left her just here,’ Laura insisted, pointing to the spot where they’d both crashed to the cobbles.
‘With a broken ankle?’ Prince Alexander did not sound convinced. He glanced up at the nearby drainpipe. ‘How far did she fall?’ he asked, without waiting for explanations. He evidently knew his niece very well indeed.
‘She didn’t fall,’ she began, then stopped.
She had no wish to dwell on what – or who -- had caused the injury. Besides there were more important things to worry about. Like, what had happened to the princess? Two minutes ago she’d been lying where they were standing. Injured, unable even to attempt to hobble to the front door. Now she’d vanished into thin air.
‘I left her just here,’ she said. ‘I put my jacket under her head and…’
‘It’s not here now,’ he said, cutting short her explanation.
‘I was just going to say that!’ Then, ‘Oh!’ She turned and stared up at the Prince in total horror as the reality of what must have happened sank in. ‘She’s been kidnapped hasn’t she? And it’s all my fault!’
‘I doubt that.’ Prince Alexander appeared totally unmoved by her dramatic declaration. Or the fate of his niece. Clearly he didn’t understand what she was telling him.
‘Yes, really!‘ she insisted. It was no good. She’d have to own up. ‘Look, I saw her climbing down the drainpipe and I thought she was a burglar, so I tackled her to the ground.’ His dark brows rose imperceptibly. Actually, putting it baldly like that, it did seem pretty unlikely she realised, but after the briefest pause, she pressed on with her confession. ‘That’s when she broke her ankle. As I said, my fault. I didn’t want to leave her –'
‘But she insisted?’ Then, without giving her an opportunity to reply, ‘I wasn’t actually referring to your culpability. Merely to your reasoning.’
What?
‘Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Princess Katerina told me that she wasn’t supposed to be out. I get the picture, okay? You’re mad at her and she’s in trouble. But that scarcely matters under the circumstances. She’s disappeared and you have to do something. Now!’
‘I’m sorry, Miss …’ He paused offering her an opportunity to introduce herself.
‘Varndell,’ she completed quickly. She was beginning to suspect that this was a man who wouldn’t do anything until the social niceties had been satisfied. No matter what the emergency. ‘Laura Varndell. But I really don’t think-’
‘Alexander Orsino,’ he replied, offering his hand. ‘How d’you do?’
That was it. Enough.
‘This isn’t a cocktail party!’ she declared, furiously, ignoring his hand. ‘And I know who you are. All I want to know is what you’re going to do about finding your niece!’
‘Nothing while I’m standing in this alleyway,’ he informed her, his voice cool enough to freeze a whole pitcher of cocktails. ‘If you’ll come back into the house –'
Ice? Had she thought the man was made of something as warm as ice?
‘I don’t want to go back into the house!’
What was she saying!
Hadn’t she been standing on the pavement trying to come up with some plan to get herself invited inside? Her whole career depended upon it. Possibly. But right now Princess Katerina’s disappearance took precedence.
‘I want you to call the police - or Special Branch - or the Diplomatic Protection Squad. Right now!’ she demanded, when he didn’t leap to her command.
‘And how do you suggest I do that?’ he enquired, apparently unperturbed by the crisis.
That “serene” bit of his title wasn’t just for show, apparently. But this wasn’t a time for serenity. It was a time for panic.
‘Shout?’ he offered, when she didn’t help him out.
The air left her lungs with a little whoosh, deflating, along with the rest of her. ‘No … sorry - of course not,’ she muttered. Then she laughed – well it was more of a giggle really, but even so, quite unforgivable under the circumstances.
‘I don’t appear to be thinking very clearly.’ Which had to be the understatement of the year. ‘I’m not used to this kind of thing.’
‘You’ve had a shock, Miss Varndell, one for which my niece will, in due course, apologise. In the meantime I really do think you should come inside. Take a moment to recover.’
It was hysterics, of course. The desperate urge to giggle. In some small rational part of her brain she recognised that. This man’s niece had been kidnapped and all he was concerned about was that a total stranger might have suffered a little shock.
Noblesse oblige was safe in the hands of His Serene Highness Prince Alexander Michael George Orsino.
And why would she be complaining, exactly?
She’d got her wish. The Prince was inviting her into his home and handing her a scoop on a plate. The inside story on a royal kidnapping was just what she needed to get back into Trevor McCarthy’s good books. The very least she could do was to say “thank you” very nicely and let His High Serenity take her inside so that she could do her research in comfort.
While she was recovering.
Slowly.
So that she could watch the story unfold around her.
‘Thank you,’ she said, as nicely - if somewhat breathlessly - as she knew how. ‘I do seem to be feeling a little bit shaky.’
One moment it was an act, the next it was nothing but the truth as the Prince took her elbow in his palm and directed her firmly towards his front door. His manner suggested that, thoughtful though his invitation had appeared, he’d had no intention of letting her go anywhere until he’d grilled her about her involvement in his niece’s disappearance.
She swallowed.
It would make great copy, she reminded herself.
Once she’d got bail.
For a chance to win a paper copy of THE ORDINARY PRINCESS, tell me what you thoughts are on the royal wedding. What you hope for Will and Kate. What you'll be doing to celebrate on the day. Or not. A memory of some other royal wedding. I'll draw a prize-winner from all the comments on Sunday March 27th (which was my parents wedding day).
Meantime, if you want one for your Kindle, you'll find it here on
Amazon
Where does a man, who spends his entire life in the spotlight of the public gaze, whose every move is recorded by the paparazzi - or even the man in the street with a mobile phone - get to meet the special one, whether she's princess or PA, showgirl or shop girl? And when he's struck by cupid's dart, how will he know that the woman of his dreams is marrying him rather than his rank, status, wealth?
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