Rescuing the Royal Runaway Bride Read online

  Royal bride on the run...

  Into the arms of an enigmatic rescuer...

  On the way to the Vallemont royal wedding, Will Darcy’s overblown sense of chivalry leads him to rescue a damsel in a muddy wedding dress! And, yes, it’s the princess-to-be! While the media furor dies down, they’re holed up in one hotel room where irrepressible Sadie makes buttoned-up Will reconsider his life. For once work isn’t his priority—resisting the tantalizing royal runaway is!

  The Royals of Vallemont

  Royals on the run!

  A brand-new duet by Ally Blake!

  It’s the day of the royal wedding of Prince Alessandro Hugo Giordano and Sadie Gray. All of Vallemont are in attendance...except the bride!

  With a media storm raging around them, runaway princess-to-be Sadie is helped by wedding guest Will, while jilted Prince Hugo heads to Australia where he meets tantalizingly unsuitable Amber.

  Will Sadie and Hugo find their happy-ever-afters? And will Vallemont get the royal wedding it’s been waiting for?

  Find out more in Sadie’s story

  Rescuing the Royal Runaway Bride

  Available now!

  And don’t miss Hugo’s story

  Amber and the Rogue Prince

  Available June 2018!

  Sadie followed the path of Will’s gaze to find her gown had fallen open.

  Not much—enough to show her collarbone and a little shoulder.

  When she found his eyes again his jaw clenched, as hard as stone. His nostrils flared with the fervor of a racehorse, then with patent effort he tore his gaze away.

  Sadie was surprised to find her hands shaking as she surreptitiously tugged her dressing gown back together. And her heart beat like gangbusters.

  He didn’t like her. But it turned out he was very much aware of her.

  The horrible truth was that she was aware of him, too. The sure strength of his arms, the scent of his neck, the intensity of his gaze had been playing like a brutal loop in the back of her mind whenever she felt herself begin to relax.

  And now they were stuck here, in this romantic hotel room.

  It was going to be a long night.

  RESCUING THE ROYAL RUNAWAY BRIDE

  Ally Blake

  Australian author Ally Blake loves reading and strong coffee, porch swings and dappled sunshine, beautiful notebooks and soft, dark pencils. Her inquisitive, rambunctious, spectacular children are her exquisite delight. And she adores writing love stories so much she’d write them even if nobody else read them. No wonder then, having sold over four million copies of her romance novels worldwide, Ally is living her bliss. Find out more about Ally’s books at allyblake.com.

  Books by Ally Blake

  Harlequin Romance

  Billionaire on Her Doorstep

  Millionaire to the Rescue

  Falling for the Rebel Heir

  Hired: The Boss’s Bride

  Dating the Rebel Tycoon

  Millionaire Dad’s SOS

  Harlequin KISS

  The Rules of Engagement

  Faking It to Making It

  The Dance Off

  Her Hottest Summer Yet

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  For my husband, Mark, who loves nothing more than looking to the stars.

  Praise for

  Ally Blake

  “Now I’m used to being entertained by Ally Blake’s wit, enjoying her young quirky heroines and drooling over her dark, brooding heroes. But this book stuck inside me somehow...”

  —Goodreads on Millionaire Dad’s SOS

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPT FROM MAROONED WITH THE MILLIONAIRE BY NINA MILNE

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE DAY COULD not be more perfect for a royal wedding, thought Will as his open-topped hire car chewed up miles of undulating Vallemontian roads.

  The sky was a cerulean-blue dome. Clusters of puffy white cumuli hovered over snow-dusted mountains and dotted shadows over rolling green hills filling the valley that gave the small European principality its name.

  By Will’s calculations, snow should fall on the valley any day. Instead, the delicate bite of a warm sun cut through the washed-clean feeling that came after lashings of rain. It was as if the influential Vallemontian royal family had wished for it to be so, and so it was.

  But Will Darcy did not believe in wishes. He believed in the human eye’s ability to find millions of colours in a drop of light; the resultant heat of distantly burning stars; that weather forecasting was an inexact science.

  This coming from an astronomer; his field truly a game of extrapolation, using ancient evidence to build current theory, relying on calculations that pushed against the edges of the range of known values. One had to be part cowboy, part explorer, part decoder, idealist and seer to do well in the field—something he’d addressed as the keynote speaker at the Space and Time Forum in London the night before.

  It had been a late night too. Hence the fact he’d flown into Vallemont only that morning, and would arrive at the palace just as the ceremony was about to start.

  The delayed flight had also given him plenty of opportunity to back out if need be. There was the lecture on worm holes he was due to give at the University of Amsterdam a few days from now, after all. The podcast with newyorker.com. The notes from his editor on the second edition of his graduate-level astronomy textbook due any day. And then there was the virtual-reality game set in the Orion Nebula for which he was both investor and technical advisor.

  Reasons enough to forgo the trip.

  But only one reason to get on that plane.

  To see his old friend tie the knot.

  A day for knots, Will thought, choosing to ignore the one that had formed overnight in his belly at the thought of what this day might bring.

  He pressed down on the accelerator on the neat little convertible his assistant had hired for him in the hope he might “realise how damn lucky he was and take a moment to enjoy himself”. The chill wind ruffled his hair as he zoomed through the bucolic countryside until the road narrowed, heralding yet another idyllic Arcadian village.

  Around a tight bend and he was in the thick of it—tightly winding cobblestone streets dotted with gaslight-style street lamps, stone houses with thatched roofs tucked tightly together and wedged into the side of a steep hill, their windowsills abundant with brightly coloured flowers; history in crumbling stone walls, mossy pavements and the occasional brass sign telling of times past.

  The engine on the low-slung sports model growled as Will changed down a gear. The suspension knocked his teeth together as it struggled against the ancient stone beneath, but it was all he could do to avoid the crowd spilling from the thin footpaths onto the road.

  Festive they were. All smiles as they headed to pubs and parks and lounge rooms all over the country to watch the wedding on television. Pink and gold ribbons had been strung across the road. Handmade banners flapped from weathervan
es. Pink flower petals covered the footpaths and floated in tiny puddles.

  All because Will’s oldest friend, Hugo, was getting married to some woman named Mercedes Gray Leonine, no less. Though those who had strung the ribbons and scattered the petals knew the guy as Prince Alessandro Hugo Giordano.

  Then the roadway cleared and Will aimed for a stone bridge crossing the rocky river that trapped the village against the hillside and hit open space again.

  It was all so very green, rain having brought a lush overabundance, shine and glisten as far as the eye could see.

  And on he drove. Until he reached a tunnel of trees running parallel to the river.

  Glimpses of fields pushing into the distance sneaked through the dark foliage. The ever-present mountains cast cool shadows through the sunshine. And, if his GPS wasn’t glitching, any moment to the east...

  There. Sunlight bounced off arched windows and turned pale sandstone turrets into rose-gold. Pink and gold banners flapped high in the breeze while the Palace of Vallemont sat high and grand on its pretty bluff, like something out of a fairy tale.

  And the knot in Will’s stomach grew so that it pressed hard against his lungs.

  The first time he’d been invited to the palace had been well over a decade before. Circumstances—by way of a skiing accident—had seen to it that he’d been forced to stay at his grandparents’ mausoleum of a townhouse in London that summer, leaving his sister, Clair, to visit the royal family as Hugo’s special guest on her own.

  Only a few weeks later, Will’s life had been irrevocably, tragically altered. The boy who’d already lost so much became a young man who’d lost everything. And Vallemont, this postcard-pretty part of the world, had been a throbbing bruise on his subconscious ever since.

  Memories lifted and flurried. He’d handled things less than admirably at the time. This was his chance to put things right. He held the steering wheel tighter and kept moving forward.

  The thicket filled out, the view narrowing to the curving tunnel of green and rutting muddy road that hadn’t had the benefit of recent sunshine. A herd of sheep suddenly tripped and tumbled their way across the road.

  Will slowed again, this time to a stop. He rested his elbow on the windowsill, his chin in his hand, his finger tapping against his bottom lip. If life wasn’t so cruel, random and insensate, he might one day have attended a very different wedding in this storybook place. Not as a ghost from the groom’s past, but as best man and brother, all in one.

  He shook his head.

  What ifs were not relevant. The world simply kept on turning. Day would dissolve into night. And tomorrow it would start all over again.

  The last of the sheep skittered past, followed by a wizened old man in overalls holding a crook. He tipped his hat. Will returned with a salute. And then he and the knot in his belly were off again.

  He kept his speed down as rain had dug deep grooves into the ancient mud and stone. The trees hung dangerously low over the road, dappling sunlight over the windscreen, shadow and light dancing across his hands, hindering his vision for a second, then—

  Will slammed on the brakes. He gripped the wheel as the car fishtailed, mud spattering every which way, the engine squalling, the small tyres struggling to find purchase.

  Then the car skidded to a jarring halt, momentum throwing him forward hard against the seatbelt, knocking his breath from his lungs. At which point the engine sputtered and died.

  His chest burned from the impact of the belt. His fingers stung on the wheel. Blood rushed like an ocean behind his ears. Adrenaline poured hotly through his veins. And beneath it all his heart clanged in terror.

  He’d heard a noise. He was sure of it. The growl and splutter had been punctuated with a thud.

  Expecting carnage, axle damage from a fallen log, or, worse, a lone sheep thrown clear by the impact, Will opened his eyes.

  Sunlight streaked through the thicket. Steam rose from the road. Wet leaves fell like confetti from a tree above. But there was no sheep in sight.

  Instead, dead centre of his windscreen, stood a woman.

  He blinked to make sure he wasn’t imagining her. So pale, sylph-like in the shadows of the dark, dank vegetation, she practically glowed.

  As if in slow motion, a leaf fluttered from above to snag in a dark auburn curl dangling over her face. Another landed on a fair bare shoulder. Yet another snagged on the wide skirt of a voluminous pink dress three times bigger than she was.

  Those were details that stampeded through Will’s mind during the half-second it took him to leap from the car. The mud sluicing over the tops of his dress shoes and seeping into his socks mattered only so far as the fact it slowed him down.

  “Where are you hurt?” he barked, running his hands through his hair to dampen the urge to run them over her.

  Not that she seemed to notice. Her eyes remained closed, mouth downturned, black-streaked tears ran unstopped down her cheeks. And she trembled as if a strong gust of wind might whip her away.

  Best case scenario was shock. Worst case... The thud still echoed against the back of his skull.

  “Ma’am, I need you to look at me,” he said, his voice louder now. It was the kind of voice that could silence a room full of jaded policy-makers. “Right now.”

  The woman flinched, her throat working. And then she opened her eyes.

  They were enormous. Far too big for her face. Blue. Maybe green. Not easy to tell considering they were rimmed red and swollen with dark tears.

  And every part of her vibrated a little more, from her clumpy eyelashes to the skirt of her elaborate dress. Standing there in the loaded silence, the hiss and tic of his cooling engine the only sound, he knew he’d never felt such energy pouring off a single person before. Like the sun’s corona, it extended well beyond her physical body, impinging on anyone in its path.

  He took what felt like a necessary step back as he said, “I cannot help you until you tell me whether you are hurt.”

  She let out one last head-to-toe quiver, then dragged in a breath. It seemed to do the trick as she blinked. Looked at his car. Lifted her hands into the air as if to balance. Pink diamonds dangling from her ears glinted softly as she shook her head. No.

  Will breathed out, the sound not altogether together. Then, as relief broke the tension, anger tumbled through the rare breach in his faculties.

  “Then what the holy hell were you doing jumping out in front of my car?”

  The woman blinked at his outburst, her eyes becoming bigger still. Then her chin lifted, she seemed to grow an inch in height, and finally she found her voice. “I beg your pardon, but I did not jump out in front of your car.”

  Will baulked. The lilting, sing-song quality of the Vallemontian accent that he had not heard in person in years was resonant in every syllable. It took him back in time, making the ground beneath his feet unsteady.

  He refocused. “Jump. Leap. Swan dive. It’s all the same. You had to have heard me coming. My car engine isn’t exactly subtle.”

  That earned him a surprisingly unladylike snort. “Subtle? It’s a mid-life crisis incarnate. You should have been driving your overcompensation more slowly! Especially with the roads being as they are after the rain we’ve had.”

  “It’s a rental,” he shot back, then gave himself a swift mental kick for having risen to the bait. “Speed was not the issue here. The pertinent fact is that you chose to cross at a bend in the road shaded by thick foliage. You could have been killed. Or was that your intention? If so it was an obtuse plan. Nearly every person in the country is already at the palace or sitting by a TV to watch the royal wedding.”

  At that she winced, her pale face turning so much paler he could practically see the veins working beneath her skin. Then she broke eye contact, her chin dipping as she muttered, “My being right here, right now, was never part of any plan, I can assure you of
that.”

  Okay. All right. Things had gone astray. Time to bring everything back to fundamentals. “So, just to be clear, I did not hit you.”

  She shook her head, dark red curls wobbling. “No, you did not.”

  “I could have sworn I heard a thud.”

  Her mouth twisted. Then she looked up at him from beneath long, clumping eyelashes. “When I saw you coming I did the only thing I could think to do. I threw a shoe at you.”

  “A shoe?”

  “I’d have thrown both if I’d thought it would help. But alas, the other one is stuck.”

  “Stuck?” Will was aware he was beginning to sound like a parrot, but the late night, early morning, the knotty reality of being in Vallemont after all these years were beginning to take their toll.

  He watched in mute interest as the woman gathered her dress and lifted it to show off skinny legs covered in pale pink stockings. One foot was bare. The other foot was nowhere to be seen—or, more precisely, was ankle-deep in mud.

  Will glanced back at his car. Then up along the road ahead.

  Time was ticking. Hugo’s wedding was looming. Will wasn’t sure of the protocol but he doubted a soon-to-be princess bride would be fashionably late.

  The woman in pink was calmer now, the static having dulled to a mild buzz. Best of all she was unhurt, meaning she was not his problem.

  Will did not do “people problems”. His assistant, Natalie—a jolly, hardworking woman who performed miracles from a desk at home somewhere in the Midwest of the United States—was the only person in the world to whom he felt beholden and only because she told him every time they spoke that he should. Even then her efforts on his behalf were well-compensated.

  He preferred maths problems, fact problems, evidentiary problems. His manager would attest that time management was Will’s biggest problem as he never said no to work if he could find a way to fit it all in.

  And yet... He found that he could not seem to roust himself to wish the woman well and get back on his way.