‘Let me see.’
‘He’s…he’s injured.’ She opened her arms so Alastair could see the state of her small burden, and it was all Alastair could do not to wince at the sight.
‘Hell!’
Penny-Rose wasn’t listening. Pedestrians were having to detour around her, but she didn’t notice. She sat with her back against the door of the lingerie shop, and her whole attention was on one small dog.
‘It’s OK,’ she comforted him. ‘It’s OK, little one. You’re fine now.’
Only he wasn’t fine. He needed a vet.
‘Alastair…’
He was way in front. ‘Paris is a dog-loving city,’ he said, kneeling beside her. He knew without being asked that she’d never abandon this mutt-and in truth he felt the same himself. The dog was gazing at him now, and there was something about those huge brown, pain-filled eyes… ‘There are organisations who take in strays, and there are veterinary surgeons everywhere. I’ll call a taxi and we’ll take him to the closest.’
She breathed a long sigh. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected-she knew this man so little-but all she knew now was that he hadn’t reacted like her father.
Her father would have taken one look at the dog-and one look at his daughter’s concerned face-and fetched his gun.
But Alastair was different! His first thought hadn’t been how best to be rid of the problem and how to hurt her in the process, but how best they could help the dog.
He was some man, she thought dazedly.
He was some prince!
But she needed to concentrate on the dog. She turned back to her pup, cradling him close to give him some body warmth. ‘He’s only a baby.’ The pup was still at the gangly half-grown stage, when dogs were most at risk, outgrowing their cuteness and risking abandonment in the process. ‘And he’s shaking all over.’
‘I’d imagine he must be. He looks as if he’s been hit by a car.’
‘And he’s starving. His ribs… Oh, pup…’
‘Come on.’ Alastair made a decision and glanced round the street with a rueful smile. ‘You can’t stay here.’
For the first time she seemed to take in her surroundings. They were hardly dignified. She was sitting in the dust with her stockinged legs out in front of her. She’d lost a shoe. The pup was curled into her lap. Her pale lemon suit was filthy, there was blood on her skirt and she must look…
She didn’t get any further. A flashbulb went off not four feet from her face.
She looked up blindly and the flash went again.
The cameraman had been in a nearby café and had been attracted by the screech of brakes. This had the makings of a great photo opportunity, he’d thought as he’d watched what had unfolded-a beautiful woman crouched on the pavement among scattered shopping, her arms full of bloodied dog.
So, while the rest of Paris had gone about its business, he’d hauled his camera out of his bag and headed over to take a few snaps.
Penny-Rose looked up, her face uncomprehending. What…?
‘Let her be,’ Alastair growled, and the man’s attention turned to him. His eyes widened in shock.
Alastair de Castaliae!
Alastair wasn’t as well known in Paris as he was in his own country but this cameraman was on the fringe of the paparazzi. He knew his celebrities! In one instant his face changed. He saw a fortune dangling before his eyes, and his camera turned onto automatic.
In the next thirty seconds he’d taken maybe a dozen shots-of the couple crouched on the pavement, of the girl trying to protect her dog from the flash of the camera, and Alastair using his body to shield her.
Which left Alastair in a dilemma. Stopping the camera was impossible. Short of doing the man harm, he had to be allowed to take what he wanted.
He had a choice. He could treat the cameraman as the enemy-which would get them nowhere-or he could treat him as an accomplice, which might achieve more.
‘OK, we’re sprung.’ Alastair sighed, letting his shielding hand drop. ‘Any chance of doing a deal?’
‘What sort of deal?’ The man was still behind his camera, still clicking, but his mind was in overdrive. There’d be at least three major newspapers who’d bid for these pictures, and that was just in France. In Alastair’s principality there’d be more, and then there were the women’s magazines…
Alastair could see the way his mind was working. And his thoughts had to move even faster.
‘We’re making an announcement on Friday,’ Alastair told him. ‘Back home. Would you like to be around when we do?’
The man’s eyes practically started from his head. He was only just getting a toehold in this industry, and this could be the break he’d been looking for.
‘Sure.’ His camera was lowered as he stared in disbelief. ‘Yeah, great.’
‘Then give us a day before you publish these pictures,’ Alastair said. ‘One more day of peace.’
‘You’re marrying the girl?’ The man looked closely at Penny-Rose and tried for the jackpot. ‘Will you tell me your name?’
‘As I said, we’re making an announcement on Friday.’ Alastair refused to be drawn further, and Penny-Rose took her cue from him.
What else could it be but an announcement of a marriage? The cameraman knew the conditions of the old prince’s will. All the paparazzi did. It was their business to know.
‘And you’re taking a last fling in Paris before the world catches up with you?’ The photographer was a romantic at heart, and he could see the headlines over his pictures. He took an uneasy glance along the street. The last thing he wanted now was someone else with a camera. He wanted a scoop!
And Alastair was as eager to get off the street as the cameraman now was to have them leave. He hauled out a business card and scribbled something on the back. ‘Here. Ring this number, ask to speak to Dominic and he’ll organise you a free return flight.’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘I’d never kid about something like this.’
The man stared down at the card and his face twisted. And he decided on a bit of honesty himself. ‘You know, this could be just what I need…’
‘I know. But we need another day by ourselves.’
The man hesitated. ‘I won’t be scooped?’
‘Not if you keep your mouth shut for twenty-four hours.’
‘I can do that.’ The photographer grinned, making up his mind. ‘One more day with your lady, your dog and your…’ His grin broadened. ‘Your lingerie.’
With a gasp, Penny-Rose realised what had happened. She’d thrown aside her bags as she’d dived for the dog. She was now sitting among a pile of…
Oh, good grief!
‘Can you edit those out?’ Alastair demanded, glancing around at the wisps of silk. He fished in his wallet. ‘I’ll make it worthwhile.’
‘Nothing would make editing this out worthwhile,’ the man said bluntly. Then, as Alastair signalled for a taxi, he threw in a last question. ‘The dog-I assume it’s a stray?’
‘I imagine he is,’ Penny-Rose said shortly.
‘Are you keeping it?’
A taxi drew to a halt. Alastair helped Penny-Rose to her feet and thankfully she tumbled into the car, still clutching her pup.
‘Just tell me,’ the photographer said, this time more urgently. ‘Are you keeping the dog?’
Alastair was gathering knickers and bras and shopping bags together. They needed to get out of there, fast!
‘Are you keeping it?’ the photographer demanded a third time, and Alastair turned to Rose.
Her face was white and strained. She’d had enough, he knew. These days in unfamiliar territory had taken their toll.
She was so far from home, he thought as he watched her hug the pup. She’d come close to being killed, she was badly shocked, and now… Suddenly he realised he’d never seen anyone look so alone.
She wasn’t alone. She was with him. He needed her-and if he wasn’t careful he’d lose himself a wife!
Were they keeping the dog? She was holding on as if she needed the pathetic little creature more than the pup needed her.