But there was something else, too. Something he’d felt for a long time but hadn’t admitted to anyone else. He was lonely, and in one afternoon Rose Walters had made him feel like a human being and not just a title or a news item. Of course he’d want to know more about her.
“Maybe,” he said quietly, “because I could use a friend.”
She laughed. Not really at him, but more an elegant outburst of incredulity. “You? Come on. You’re Diego Navarro. Social butterfly. Charming as the devil himself, by all accounts.”
“Including yours?”
“I’ve only just met you.”
He smiled, just a little. “First impressions?”
She frowned. “Okay, yes. Charming.”
Something inside him was pleased she thought so. But there was more to him than some . . . playboy. He guarded that inner part of himself fairly closely, because in his position the truth made a person vulnerable. That she’d seen it and somehow tapped into it today made her very different from anyone he’d ever met, except for maybe Ryan.
“Do you have family, Rose?”
She didn’t correct him on the use of her first name. Instead she turned from the fountain and began walking along the path, slowly, her shoes making little shushing noises against the finely crushed rock. “I do, yes,” she answered. “My parents are both living, and I have a brother and a sister and . . . several cousins.”
He smiled. Did she realize there was a warmth to her voice when she spoke of them? “That sounds very nice,” he replied, falling into step beside her.
“My brother’s a vicar,” she said, and chuckled. “Which came as a big surprise as he was always getting into trouble when we were kids. And my sister lives in London and works in insurance.” She angled a look in his direction. “We’re very firmly middle class.”
There she went, using labels again, pointing out how different they were. It was getting quite annoying, really. “And what do they think of your line of work?”
She shrugged, then tossed her head a little, her hair flipping over her shoulder and out of her way. “My brother teases me because I work for posh families. My sister thinks I’m crazy to want to be around children all the time, and my mother fears I’ll raise everyone else’s kids and never have any of my own, though she also thinks it’s lovely that I get to travel now and then.”
It
sounded so refreshingly normal. So many times over the years he’d longed for that kind of family. Not that his wasn’t great—they were. But there was a whole different expectation and a whole different way of living when you were under a microscope. Every transgression, every mistake was documented and publicized.
“Do you? Want some of your own?”
She hesitated and looked over at him. “I suppose I do. I’m twenty-six. Nothing’s ticking loudly yet, and I haven’t met the right man, so I don’t worry too much about it.”
She looked away, but something was off. A little twist of her lips, perhaps, or the way her gaze shifted downward. There was something to that story, but he wasn’t going to press. He knew that they had to have some boundaries.
They started walking again, beneath an arbor of wisteria that surrounded them in sweet scent.
“This garden is beautiful. Emilia showed me a lot of the flowers today. She’s very quick and has a good memory.”
“Cecilia was very hands on with them. Even though Mariana was always here, Ceci was a wonderful mother. I think that was one of the reasons Raoul loved her so much.” He paused, then figured he might as well say what was on his mind. “Mariana brought us up too, after our mother died. It’s not a huge stretch to understand why Raoul was attracted to someone with a soft and nurturing heart.”
She nodded, then grinned at him. “That’s not your type, though, is it?”
She was referring to the tabloid stories, he supposed. “I believe the correct term is ‘arm candy,’” he said. “I don’t even know if I have a type. Perhaps the uncomplicated type, if any.”
“I think you want me to feel sorry for you. It’s kind of difficult, considering where we are.”
She was so blunt. He liked that about her. Liked even more that she had a little half-grin on her lips. She was teasing, he realized.
“Not working, then. Damn.”
She laughed, a warm, sultry sound that was unexpected. It hit him square in the gut and he reminded himself that she was off-limits.
“I like your laugh,” he said quietly. The night and the intimacy of the garden prompted hushed tones. It was as if no one else existed. No divide in their station, no official family duties, none of the grief that had permeated the palace lately. He nudged her elbow with his hand. “There hasn’t been much laughter here lately. It’s nice, even if it is at my expense.”
She stopped, turned to him, and looked up into his face. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have teased you about your life of privilege. You put your pants on one leg at a time like the rest of us.”