Harry
I can't believe she asked me out.
For a few minutes it was the only thought in my brain, even as I spoke to people, congratulated other riders, slapped shoulders, smiled at all the right people.
I couldn't even remember the last time a stranger had asked me out. Because of course, even though I might have been a stranger to them, they all knew who I was, and knew all the protocol. Don't speak to the prince first. Don't touch the prince, unless he extends his hand first. Call him Your Royal Highness the first time you meet, and Sir thereafter...
No wonder we royals rarely met anyone outside of our circle. Except when I was in the army—that was a place where we were all pretty much equal and I could hang out with anyone I liked, without guys getting all worked up about it. The polo grounds were a great equalizer too—in the heat of a match nobody cared who was taking the ball away or trying to score goals, it was all about playing the game. It wasn't till boots hit the ground that people remembered I was a prince.
But Samantha...
I sucked in a breath. She was cute, with blonde hair that was probably long when it wasn't yanked up in a messy bun. Jeans that were snug in all the right places and a dark blue shirt that brought out the color of her eyes. And funny, in a rowdy kind of way, like she would push me over on my arse again if she felt like it, just for fun. Almost as tall as I was, our eyes almost on level.
How did I notice all that in such a brief time?
She reminded me of myself, when I was younger. Had I been younger, and not attached, I would have gone back—
I pushed that thought away.
But the thought wouldn't stay away. When I saw Paul Coster chatting with some of his polo mates, I joined them. And after they left, I pulled him aside.
"Great match!" he said, "That one shot was bloody brilliant—"
"You've got a new groom?" I said, and somehow it was a question. "Blonde, mid-twenties, Canadian?"
Paul frowned thoughtfully and shook his head. "Not that I know of."
"I just saw her down there, holding that gray mare of yours."
Paul bit his lip, then nodded. "Oh, yes. Her. Couple of the regular boys called out sick and Carolyn sent over two girls from the riding school to fill in. Why? She not handling the ponies well?"
"No, no. She's got good hands." I winced mentally at that turn of phrase. "You going to keep her on?"
"Could, I suppose. I'm always on the lookout for good hands." He laughed. "Are you recommending her?"
"Yes. I mean, I've only just met her, but she seems like a good one." And if she's working for you, I know I'll see her again, I thought, but couldn't voice it aloud.
"I'll have my man talk to her then. Thanks for the tip."
"Any chance you might be ready to sell that gray mare?" I asked.
Paul laughed. "Not yet, but if she bites another of my grooms I might start thinking about it."
He turned away and before I could think about it I heard myself saying, "Anyone using your box today?"
Paul turned back, a bit puzzled. "Not now. Jillian was in there earlier, but she left about an hour ago. You're welcome to use it if you need some space. 7A."
I nodded and slapped his shoulder lightly. "Thanks. Sounds good. I'll call you later—we should get together after the holidays."
Paul nodded. "Right. Happy holidays, sir—and to your fiancée as well."
Meg—I couldn't think about her at the moment. I made my way to where my own grooms were gathered.
"Dave, a moment?" I said, singling out the one who'd been with me the longest.
"Yes, sir?"
"You have anything to write on?"
He produced a crumpled notepad and pen from his back pocket and handed it to me, and I scrawled a quick note.
Samantha-can we speak a moment in private? Box 7A. Discretion, please? H.
I folded the note several times, like I was back at school, and handed it to Dave. "Coster's got a new groom today. Blonde girl, Canadian. Was taking care of his gray mare. Give her this, please?"
Dave took the note, his expression unchanged. "Of course, sir."
"Thank you." And I turned, heading back to the arena and the private boxes, my heart hammering like I was still on the polo grounds, driving for a great goal.