Paula received an invitation, too. Harry was catering, and he pleaded with her. To no avail. She couldn’t take the risk.

What risk? He had probably forgotten all about her if he thought of her at all, and she...

All right. She was as anxious to view his yacht as she was to see him play polo.

Wrong. You’re anxious to see him, idiot!

Well... out of sight, out of mind. She gave Harry a definite no.

Well, not exactly definite. When Harry persisted, she hesitated.

She’d never been on a sailboat, much less a yacht. And, from what she’d heard, the Vandercamp yacht was something to be seen.

Why not? With so many guests, he’d hardly notice one serving maid. Especially if she kept well out of his sight.

He recognized her the minute she stepped on the gangplank. He handed the binoculars to his steward, who stood beside him on the upper deck, and pointed. “That is she.”

The steward nodded and hurried away.

Brad focused the binoculars on Paula. Caught by the buoyant enthusiasm reflected in her face, he felt his pulse quicken. That was why he had searched. For another glimpse of that face. Bright, smiling, bubbling with expectant wonder, as if always on the verge of some happy, exciting adventure.

Paula’s eyes were wide as she ran up the gangplank. This wasn’t a yacht, it was a ship! She tried to take it all in as she followed Harry and other workers across a deck that had been scrubbed and polished to a shining perfection. Down a hall and several spiral staircases to an oversize kitchen. No. It was called a galley, and it was equipped with ovens, refrigerators, counters and other appurtenances adequate for the average hotel. Certainly enough to accommodate one—

“Paula, honey, give me a hand here,” Ruth, Harry’s chief assistant, called. “These better go in the fridge. This here’s some boat, ain’t it?”

“Sure is.” Paula lifted a carton of shrimp. “Guess he likes to travel in style.”

“Shoot, he don’t travel on it. Least he didn’t coming here.”

“Oh?” Paula tried to remember. The Ashfords had been so excited when the yacht—

“Guess it don’t travel fast enough for him. He flew in from France or Italy... some fancy place on the Riviera where he was playing whatever game he plays there.”

“So why the yacht?”

Ruth shrugged. “Who knows?” Guess no San Diego hotel is grand enough for him. Anyway, this boat, the Renegade, sailed in while he was still frolicking in Italy, and he’s living abroad while here. Pretty decent living quarters, wouldn’t you say?”

“Nice.”

“One thing about working with Harry,” Ruth said. “You get to know how the other half lives.”

Right, Paula thought. At least Ruth certainly knew more about the prince than Whitney did. Heck, I’m learning more than Whitney while fixing shrimp, she thought, as Ruth rattled on.

“Costs a pretty penny just to park it—more than two thousand a day for a big one like this—and don’t forget the crew that’s always on hand, whether anybody’s aboard or not...eight or ten I heard.”

“That many?” Paula asked, incredulous.

“Oh, sure. Who’s gonna maintain and sail the ship? There are those who maintain and sail this thing, as well as those who serve His Highness and guests who don’t know how to pick up a plate for themselves.”

“And all for one person.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’s alone much, honey. I hear he’s always got some special lady aboard.”

“Oh?” Something else Whitney had missed. Was a lady—

“No lady with him now,” Ruth said, answering the question Paula had not asked. “Some Italian woman back where he come from, but I guess he left her there. Seems like he gets bored pretty quick.”

Paula remembered the mischievous eyes, the engaging smile. He hadn’t looked bored. But maybe that was the way it began, and then... She felt her face grow hot and shook her head in irritation. As if something had begun the night of the costume ball! Good Lord! She was as foolish as Whitney. One impromptu dance and—

“And ’course there’s always lots of entertaining, like this,” Ruth went on.

“Plenty of bedrooms for overnight cruises. And we didn’t have to supply no linen or china, stuff like that. And, Lord, if you’d seen the wine racks. I never—” She broke off at the appearance of a man, immaculate in a white tuxedo.

Harry turned from one of the ovens to greet him. “This is Mr. McCoy,” he said, addressing his employees. “He is chief steward on the Renegade, and we are pleased to be working with him and his staff tonight. Now, as to procedure, as you know, bars and buffets are being set up on the two decks and at various indoor parlors. Each of you will now be assigned to certain sections where you will be assisted by one or more members of the regular Renegade staff.”

After a short conference between the two men, assignments and directions were made. Paula, who had received no assignment, assumed that she was to remain in the kitchen arranging the platters and hot dishes that would go up on dummy waiters to the various levels. But when Mr. McCoy arose from the table, he nodded to her. “Please, will you come with me?”

Puzzled, she followed him from the galley and up more and more staircases. After what seemed like an endless climb, they reached a landing, which he crossed to a door. He unlocked it with a card key and stepped back for her to enter.

She walked in, looked around. Commodious, but definitely a private parlor, she thought, noting a small table set for two.

She was to serve only two people? She turned to question the steward, but he inclined his head and quickly withdrew, closing the door behind him.

She looked at the table, the ice bucket with champagne beside it, a loaded buffet within easy reach. Serving only two would be a piece of cake. Since they weren’t dining with the other guests, they obviously wanted to be alone. After serving them, she supposed she should, like Mr. McCoy, quietly withdraw. She chuckled. The only difficulty might be in finding her way to the galley.

Meanwhile, what had Ruth said? Yep, this was a good chance to see how the other half lives.

The sofa curving around the conversational area in one corner of the room was cushioned in shades of blue, somehow reminiscent of the tossing waves of the sea. The table centering the area held a big bowl of chrysanthemums that seemed to catch their color from the sunlit coastline displayed in the oversize picture on the wall. Everything spoke of good taste and money. She spotted a door, which she opened to a bedroom also tastefully done in shades of ocean blue.

Just as she started in, she felt the roll of the boat beneath her feet. They were off! Whoever she was to serve might come in at any moment, and she didn’t want to be caught peeking. She quickly shut the door.

Just in time, she thought, as she heard the click of the card key and saw the other door open. She was standing at attention when he came in.

The prince himself.

Of course. Who else? Why hadn’t it occurred to her before? Anybody who would sneak a servant he didn’t even know on to a dance floor where she should not be would think nothing of sneaking away from his own guests to have a private rendezvous with...how had Ruth put it? His present interest.

She was surprised at her own indignation. Why should she care what he did, when and with whom?

Curiosity got the best of her, and she looked beyond him. Where was she?

“Hello, again,” he said.

Her gaze flew to him. She had been too immersed in speculation to remember that he might recognize her.

She played it straight. “Good evening, sir. May I get you something? A drink or—”

“Allow me.” He took the champagne from the ice bucket, uncorked it with practiced dexterity and poured two glasses. He handed one to her, touched it with his own. “To us.”

What was going on? She set the glass down. “Thank you, sir, but I don’t drink while working.”