Brooding Billionaire, Impoverished Princess
Robyn Donald
Alex’s smile became set, his gaze piercing. ‘Sure, Princess?’
‘My name is Serina,’ she said, holding his eyes.
She wanted him to kiss the woman she was, not the public persona—serene princess, daughter of a long line of monarchs, scion of a defunct throne.
Tension sparked the silence between them, turning it heavy with desire.
‘Do you know what you’re asking for?’ he said, a raw note altering the timbre of his voice and sending little shudders down her spine.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I know. But what do you want?’
Something flickered in the burnished blue of his eyes and brought a half-mocking smile to that wicked mouth, with its narrow top lip buttressed by a sensuous lower one.
‘A kiss,’ he said. ‘And I’m not asking, Serina—I’m taking what you’ve been silently promising me since we danced together at Gerd and Rosie’s wedding.’
He drew her towards him. She put a hand on his chest, looking up into an intense, chiselled face.
On a thrill that was half fear, half voluptuous anticipation, she thought he looked like a hunter…
Robyn Donald can’t remember not being able to read, and will be eternally grateful to the local farmers who carefully avoided her on a dusty country road as she read her way to and from school, transported to places and times far away from her small village in Northland, New Zealand. Growing up fed her habit. As well as training as a teacher, marrying and raising two children, she discovered the delights of romances and read them voraciously, especially enjoying the ones written by New Zealand writers. So much so that one day she decided to write one herself. Writing soon grew to be as much of a delight as reading—although infinitely more challenging—and when eventually her first book was accepted by Mills & Boon
she felt she’d arrived home. She still lives in a small town in Northland, with her family close by, using the landscape as a setting for much of her work. Her life is enriched by the friends she’s made among writers and readers, and complicated by a determined Corgi called Buster, who is convinced that blackbirds are evil entities. Her greatest hobby is still reading, with travelling a very close second.
Recent titles by the same author:
THE MEDITERRANEAN PRINCE’S CAPTIVE VIRGIN
HIS MAJESTY’S MISTRESS
VIRGIN BOUGHT AND PAID FOR
INNOCENT MISTRESS, ROYAL WIFE
THE RICH MAN’S BLACKMAILED MISTRESS
RICH, RUTHLESS AND SECRETLY ROYAL
Brooding Billionaire, Impoverished Princess
by
Robyn Donald
MILLS & BOON
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CHAPTER ONE
NARROW-EYED, Alex Matthews surveyed the ballroom of the palace. The band had just played a few bars of the Carathian national folk song, a tune in waltz-time that was the signal for guests to take their partners for the first dance of the evening. The resultant rustle around the margins of the room flashed colour from the women’s elaborate gowns and magnificent jewellery.
Alex’s angular features softened a little when he saw the bride. His half-sister outshone any jewel, her blazing happiness making Alex feel uncomfortably like an intruder. Quite a few years younger, Rosie was the daughter of his father’s second wife and, although they’d become friends over the past few years, he’d never had a close relationship with her.
Alex transferred his gaze to his brother-in-law of a few hours, the Grand Duke of Carathia. Gerd wasn’t given to displays of overt emotion, but Alex blinked at the other man’s unguarded expression when he looked down at the woman on his arm. It was as though there was no one in the room but the two of them.
It lasted scarcely a moment, just long enough for Alex to wonder at the subtle emotion that twisted inside him.
Envy? No.
Sex and affection he understood—respect and liking also—but love was foreign to him.
Probably always would be. The ability to feel such intense emotion didn’t seem to be part of his character. And since breaking hearts wasn’t something he enjoyed—a lesson he’d learned from a painful experience in his youth—he now chose lovers who could accept his essential aloofness.
However, although he couldn’t imagine that sort of emotion in himself, he was glad his half-sister loved a man worthy of her, one who not only returned her ardour but valued her for it. Although he and Gerd were distant cousins, they had grown up more like brothers—and if anyone deserved Rosie’s love, Gerd did.
Couples began to group around the royal pair, leaving them a space in the middle of the ballroom.
The man beside him said, ‘Are you planning to sit this one out, Alex?’
‘No, I’m pledged for it.’ Alex’s blue gaze moved to a woman standing alone at the side of the room.
Elegant and smoothly confident, Princess Serina’s beautiful face revealed nothing beyond calm pleasure. Yet until Rosie and Gerd had announced their engagement, most of the rarefied circle of high society she moved in had assumed the Princess would be the next Grand Duchess of Carathia.
Regally inscrutable, if Serina of Montevel was secretly grieving she refused to give anyone the titillating satisfaction of seeing it. Alex admired her for that.
During the last few days he’d overheard several remarks from watchful wedding guests—a few compassionate but most from people looking for drama, the chance to see a cracked heart exposed.
Made obscurely angry by their snide spite, Alex mentally shrugged. The Princess didn’t need his protection; her impervious armour of breeding and self-suffi-ciency deflected all snide comments, denied all attempts at sympathy.
He’d met her a year ago at Gerd’s coronation ball, introduced by an elderly Spanish aristocrat who had formally reeled off her full complement of surnames. Surprised by a quick masculine desire, Alex had read amusement in the Princess’s amazing, darkly violet eyes.
A little sardonically he’d commented on that roll call of blood and pride, power and position.
Her low amused chuckle had further fired his senses. ‘If you had the same conventions in New Zealand you’d have a phalanx of names too,’ she’d informed him with unruffled composure. ‘They’re nothing more than a kind of family tree.’
Possibly she’d meant it, but now, possessed of disturbing knowledge about her brother, Alex wasn’t so sure. Doran of Montevel was only too aware that those names were embedded in European history. Did the Princess have any idea of what her younger brother had got himself mixed up with?
If she did she’d done nothing about it, so perhaps she also wanted to see herself back in Montevel, a true princess instead of the bearer of a defunct title inherited from her deposed grandfather.
And Alex needed to find out just what she did know. He set off towards her.
She saw him coming, of course, and immediately produced an irritatingly gracious smile. The smoky violet of her gown echoed the colour of her eyes and hugged a narrow waist, displaying curves that unleashed something elemental and fierce inside Alex, an urge to discover what lay beneath that lovely façade, to challenge her on the most fundamental level—man to woman.
‘Alex,’ she said, the smile widening a fraction when he stopped in front of her. ‘This is such a happy occasion for us all. I’ve never seen such a blissful bride, and Gerd looks—well, almost transfigured.’
A controlled man himself, Alex admired her skill in conveying that her heart wasn’t broken. ‘Indeed,’ he responded. ‘My dance, I believe.’
Still smiling, she laid a slender hand on his arm and together they walked into the waiting, chattering circle around Rosie and Gerd.
Alex glanced down, a phrase from childhood echoing in his head. White as snow, red as blood, black as ebony. Snow White, he remembered.
And Serina was an almost perfect snow princess.
Exquisite enough to star in a fairy tale, she radiated grace. Her black chignon set off her tiara and classical features perfectly, contrasting sensuously with the almost translucent pallor of her skin.
She’d passed on one part of the description, though; her lips were painted a restrained shade of dark, clear pink. A bold red would be too blatant, too provocative for this Princess.
But they were tempting lips…
A hunting instinct as old as time stirred into life deep within Alex. He’d wanted Serina Montevel ever since he’d first seen her, but because he too had wondered if she was wounded by dashed hopes he’d made no move to attract her attention. However, a year had passed—enough time to heal any damage to her heart.
He stopped with Serina on the edge of the crowd of dancers and sent a flinty territorial glance, sharp as a rapier, to a man a few paces away eyeing Serina with open appreciation. It gave him cold pleasure to watch the ogler hastily transfer his appreciative gaze elsewhere.
The band swung into the tune and the crowd fell silent as the newlyweds began waltzing. Softly the onlookers began to clap in time to the beat.
Serina glanced up, tensing when her eyes clashed with a sharp blue gaze. Her breath locked in her throat while she wrestled down an exhilarating excitement. Tall, dark and arrogantly handsome, Alex Matthews had a strangely weakening effect on her.
Warily, because the silence between them grew too heavy, almost significant, she broke into it with the first thing that came into her head. ‘This is a very pretty tradition.’
‘The Carathian wedding dance?’
‘Yes.’
Neither Rosie nor Gerd smiled; eyes locked, it was as if they were alone together, absorbed, so intent on each other that Serina felt a sharp stab of—regret?
No, not quite. A kind of wistful envy.
Just over a year previously she’d decided to make it clear to Gerd—without being so crass as to say the words—that she wasn’t on the market to become Grand Duchess of Carathia. Such a union would have solved a lot of her problems, and she admired Gerd very much, but she wanted more than a convenient marriage.
Just as well, because shortly afterwards Gerd had taken one look at the Rosie he’d last seen as a child and lost his heart.
What would it be like to feel that herself? To be loved so ardently that even in public their emotions were barely containable?
Keeping her eyes on them, she said quietly, ‘They fit, don’t they.’ It wasn’t a question.
Alex’s enigmatic glance, as polished as the steel-sheen on a sword blade, brought heat to her skin. What a foolish thing to say about a couple who’d just made their wedding vows!
Of course they fitted. For now, anyway, she thought cynically. Somewhere she’d read that the first flush of love and passion lasted two years, so Gerd and Rosie would enjoy perhaps another year of this incandescent delight in each other before it began to fade.
‘Perceptive of you,’Alex commented in a level voice. ‘Yes, they fit.’
The music swelled, accompanied by a whirl of colour and movement as everyone joined in the dance, swirling around the absorbed couple.
Serina braced herself. Nerves taut, she rested one hand on Alex’s shoulder and felt his fingers close around the other as he swung her into the waltz. Anticipation sizzled through her—heady, compelling, so unnerving that after a few steps she stumbled.
Alex’s arm clamped her against his lean, athletic body for breathless seconds before he drawled, ‘Relax, Princess.’
His warm breath on her skin sent tiny, delicious shudders through her, a gentler counterpoint to the sultry heat that burgeoned deeply within her at the intimate flexing of his thigh muscles. Shocked by the immediacy of her response, Serina pulled herself a safe distance away and forced herself to ignore the sensual tug until her natural sense of rhythm settled her steps.
This acute physical response—jungle drums of sensation pounding through her—had sprung into action the first time she’d met Alex. Gritting her teeth, she resisted the tantalising thrill, sharp and adrenalin-charged as though she faced a sudden danger.
Did he feel the same?
She risked an upward glance, heart racing into overdrive when she met searing, disturbingly intent eyes. His grip didn’t tighten, but she sensed a quickening in him that he couldn’t control.
Yes, she thought triumphantly, before a flurry of panic squelched that intoxicating emotion.
Swallowing, she said in her most remote tone, ‘Sorry. I wasn’t concentrating.’
Then wondered uneasily if the admission had hinted at her body’s wilful blooming.
Rapidly she added brightly, ‘This has been one of the most charming weddings I’ve ever attended. Rosie is so happy, and it’s lovely to see Gerd utterly smitten.’
‘Yet you seem a little distracted. Is something worrying you?’ Alex enquired smoothly.
Well, yes—several things, in fact, with one in particular nagging at her mind.
But Alex wasn’t referring to her brother. He’d have noticed that plenty of eyes around the ballroom were fixed on her, some pitying, others malicious. Of the two she preferred the spite, although a hissed aside that had been pitched carefully to reach her ears still stung.
‘It must be like eating bitter aloes for her,’ a French duchess had said.
Her blonde companion had returned on a laugh, ‘I’ll bet the brother’s furious—once she failed to land Prince Gerd they lost their best chance of clawing their way out of poverty. And losing out to a nobody must be bitter indeed.’
Not everyone was as catty, but she’d noticed enough abruptly terminated conversations and parried enough speculative glances to know what many of the guests were thinking.
Let them think what they liked! Pride stiffening her spine, she smiled up at Alex. Oh, not too widely, in case those watchers suspected her of acting—but with a slow, amused glimmer that should give some of the eager gossipers a few seconds of thought.
‘I’m not distracted, and nothing’s wrong,’ she told him, her tone level and deliberate.
His black brows climbed for a second. ‘As you’ve probably noticed, quite a few people here are wondering whether you’re regretting a missed opportunity.’
At least he’d come out and said it. She tilted her head and met his calculating scrutiny with unwavering steadiness, praying he couldn’t see how brittle she was beneath the surface self-possession.
‘About as much as Gerd is,’ she returned coolly, hoping she’d banished every trace of defiance from her voice.
Alex’s mouth—unsoftened by its compelling hint of sensuality—relaxed into a smile that was more challenge than amusement. ‘Indeed?’
‘Indeed,’ she returned, infusing the word with complete assurance.
‘Good.’
She shot him a questioning glance, parrying a look that sent a quiver the full length of her spine. He let his gaze wander across her face, finally settling it on her lips. A voluptuous excitement smouldered through her.
Surely—yes, she thought with a triumph so complete she could feel it radiating through her—he was flirting with her. And she was going to respond.
But first she had to know something. That suspect recklessness gave her the courage to say, ‘I’m surprised you’re alone this week.’
His latest reputed lover was a gloriously beautiful Greek heiress, quite recently divorced. Rumour had it that Alex had been the reason for the marriage breakup but Serina found that difficult to believe. He was noted for an iron-bound sense of integrity, and it seemed unlikely he’d let a passing fancy for a beautiful woman compromise that.
However, she thought with another spurt of cynicism, what did she really know about him? Nothing, except that he’d used his formidable intelligence, ruthless drive and an uncompromising authority to build a worldwide business empire.
Besides, his fancy for his Greek lover might not be passing.
Alex’s tone was matter-of-fact. ‘Why? I have no partner or significant other.’
So that was that. Neither have I seemed far too much like a bald, much too obvious invitation.
Serina contented herself with a short nod, and kept her eyes fixed on the throng whirling behind him. He was an excellent dancer, moving with the lithe, muscular grace of an athlete, and wearing his formal clothes with a kind of lethal elegance that proclaimed the powerful body beneath.
‘So what’s ahead for you?’Alex asked coolly. ‘More of the same?’
‘More weddings? No one else I know is getting married in the immediate future,’ she returned, deflecting the query.
He met her glance with a glinting one of his own. ‘You’re happy just doing the social round?’
A little shortly, Serina replied, ‘Actually, I’m planning to go back to school.’
Alex’s gaze sharpened. ‘You surprise me. I thought you’d settled into being Rassel’s muse.’
‘We decided he needed a new one,’ she told him without rancour.
Her time with the up-and-coming Parisian fashion designer had been stimulating but, although losing the very generous salary was a blow, she’d been relieved when he’d decided he needed someone more edgy, more in tune with his new direction.
She had no illusions. Rassel had originally chosen her because she had the entrée to the circles he aspired to. The fact that she both photographed well and possessed the body to display his clothes superbly had helped him make the decision. It had always been a problematic relationship; although Rassel referred to her as his muse he’d expected her to behave like a model, and had only reluctantly accepted any input from her. Now that he’d made his reputation he didn’t need her any more.
And she didn’t miss his monstrous ego or his insecurity.
Alex asked, ‘So what are you going to study? Horticulture?’
Did he know she wrote a column on gardens?
‘Landscape architecture.’
She was so looking forward to it. She’d just come into a small inheritance from her grandfather, the last King of Montevel. Added to the money she earned for the column, the bequest would provide enough money for Doran to finish university as well as pay her tuition fees and living expenses.
It would mean an even more rigorous routine of scrimping, but she was accustomed to that.
‘I suppose that figures. Will you continue writing your garden column for that celebrity magazine?’Alex’s dismissive tone made it quite clear what he thought of the publication.
‘Of course.’ Loyalty to the editor made her enlarge on her first stiff response. ‘They took a chance on me and I’ve always done my best to live up to their expectations.’
Why on earth was she justifying herself to this man? She tried to ignore a turbulent flutter beneath her ribs when she parried his enigmatic gaze.
‘Why landscape architecture? It’s a far cry from writing about pretty flowers and people who never get their hands dirty.’
Allowing a hint of frost to chill her words, she said, ‘Apart from admiring the beauty of what they achieve, I respect the hopeless, impossible ambition of gardeners, their desire to create a perfect, idealised landscape—to return to Eden.’ Crisply she finished, ‘And I’ll be good at it.’
‘Your title and social cachet will see that you succeed.’
The comment, delivered in a negligent voice, hurt her. Especially since she knew there was an element of truth to it.
Serina hid her stormy gaze with long lashes. ‘It will help. But to succeed I’ll need more than that.’
‘And you think you have whatever it takes?’
‘I know I have,’ she said calmly.
For answer he pulled her hand into a suitable position for inspection. ‘Perfect skin,’ he murmured on a sardonic note. ‘Not a scratch or stain anywhere. Immaculately manicured nails. I’ll bet you’ve never got your hands dirty.’
The corners of her mouth curved upwards and her eyes glittered. ‘How much will you wager?’
Alex’s laugh smashed through defences already weakened by the feel of his arms around her and the subtle connection with his body, the brush of his thighs against her, the barely discernible scent that seemed to be a mixture of soap and his own inherent male essence.
‘Nothing,’ he said promptly, returning her hand to its normal position. ‘If you want to gamble you shouldn’t show your hand so obviously. Did you have a flower garden as a child?’
‘I did, and a very productive vegetable plot. My mother believed gardening was good for children.’
His expression gave nothing away. Hard-featured, magnetic, he was far too handsome—and Serina was far too aware of his dangerous charisma.
He said, ‘Of course, I should have remembered that your parents’ garden on the Riviera was famous for its beauty.’
‘Yes.’ Her mother had been the guiding light behind that. Working in her garden had helped soothe her heart whenever her husband’s affairs figured in the gossip columns.
The property had been sold after her parents’ deaths, gone like everything else to pay the debts they’d left behind.
The music drew to an end, and Alex loosened his strong arm about her, looking down with a smile that was pure male challenge. ‘You should come to New Zealand. It has fascinating plants, superb scenery and some of the best gardens in the world.’
‘So I believe. Perhaps one of these days I’ll get there.’
‘I’m going back tomorrow. Why not come with me?’
Startled, she flashed him a glance, wondering at his unexpectedly keen scrutiny. Why on earth had he suggested such a crazy thing? Yet she had to resist a fierce desire to take him up on his offer—and on whatever else he was offering.
Just pack a small bag and go…
But of course she couldn’t. Reluctantly she said, ‘Thank you very much but no, I can’t just head off like that, however much I might want to.’
‘Is there anything keeping you on this side of the world? An occasion you don’t dare miss?’ He paused before drawling, ‘A lover?’
Colour flared briefly in her cheeks. A lover? No such thing in her life—ever.
‘No,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘But I can’t just disappear.’
‘Why not? Haruru—the place I own in Northland—is on the coast, and if you’re interested in flora there’s a lot of bush on it.’ When she looked at him enquiringly he expanded, ‘In New Zealand all forest is called bush. And in Northland, my home, botanists are still discovering new species of plants.’
He smiled down at her with such charm that for a charged moment she forgot everything but a highly suspicious desire to go with him.
It was high summer, and the small, cheap apartment in the back street of Nice was stuffy and hot, the streets crowded with tourists…Photographs she’d seen of New Zealand had shown a green country, lush and cool and mysterious.
But it was impossible. ‘It sounds wonderful, but I don’t do impulse,’ she returned lightly.
‘Then perhaps it’s time you did. Bring your brother, if you want to.’
If only! Temptation wooed her, fogging her brain and reducing her willpower to a pale imitation of its normal robust self.
A trip to New Zealand might divert Doran from his increasingly worrying preoccupation with that wretched video game he and his friends were concocting. Prone to violent enthusiasms, he usually lost interest as quickly as he’d found it, but his fascination with this latest pursuit seemed to be coming worryingly close to an addiction. Serina had barely seen him during the past few months.
A holiday could wean him away from it.
It suggested a way for her to avoid the frustration of these past months, too. The sly innuendoes and unspoken sympathy, the rudeness of media people demanding to know how she felt now that her heart was supposedly shattered, the downright lies written about her in the tabloids—it had all been getting to her, she admitted bleakly.
If she went to New Zealand with Alex Matthews her world would assume they were lovers. How she’d enjoy hurling a supposed affair in every smug, avid face! A sharp, clamouring excitement almost persuaded her to agree.
For a moment she wavered, only to rally at the return of common sense. Just how would that prove she wasn’t hiding a broken heart or shattered hopes?
It wouldn’t. The gossips would accurately peg it as bravado, and therefore further confirmation of their suspicions.
‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said carefully, ‘and I’m sure Doran would love to visit New Zealand.’
‘But?’ Alex said ironically.
‘We can’t afford a holiday right now.’
Broad shoulders lifted in a slight shrug, but his gaze didn’t waver. ‘I share a jet with Kelt and Gerd, so transport won’t be a problem. And I have an appointment in Madrid in a month’s time, so I could drop you both off at Nice on the way there.’ He looked down, eyes glinting, and challenged softly, ‘Scared, Princess?’
‘My name is Serina,’ she stated, tipped off balance by the cynical note in his voice. ‘What reason do I have to be afraid?’
Apprehensive, yes. Her stomach felt as though she were standing on the edge of a high cliff. Alex Matthews was way out of her league. Yet Doran…
She looked across the ballroom to her brother, laughing with a group of young men, one of whom was his greatest friend, the son of an old associate of her father’s, another exile from Montevel. It was young Janke who’d introduced Doran to the excitement of computer gaming. Together they’d come up with the idea of creating their own game and making a fortune by selling the rights.
It would be a huge success, Doran had told her enthusiastically, and sworn her to secrecy in case any other video game creator got wind of their idea and stole it.
At first she’d dismissed it as an amusing fantasy on their part—until the project had taken over Doran’s life.
A month on the other side of the world might just break the spell.
Alex said bluntly, ‘You have nothing to fear from me.’
Colour heated her skin. ‘I know that,’ she said on a note that probably sounded a bit equivocal.
As though she hadn’t spoken, he went on, ‘And accommodation won’t be a problem—I live in a huge old Victorian house with enough bedrooms for a huge Victorian family. As well as being beautiful, Northland is interesting in itself—the first place where Maori and Europeans met and mingled and clashed.’
The hairs on the back of her neck lifted in a primitive reaction to…what?
Nothing, she told herself curtly. Although Alex’s tone was pleasant, it was also impersonal, and his offer to host Doran as well meant he didn’t expect her to fall into his bed.
Well, not right away…
Nerves zinging, she said, ‘It’s just not possible,’ and dismissed the subversive thought that a month in New Zealand would provide her with photographs and information for quite a few columns.
But Alex must have noticed that moment of weakness because he said, ‘Why not?’ And when she hesitated he went on, ‘Why don’t you ask your brother how he feels?’
He’d refuse, she was sure. ‘OK, I’ll do that.’
She sent another look across the room, intercepted by her brother, who strode across to them, lean and athletic-looking for someone who’d spent most of the past six months in front of a computer.
When Alex casually mentioned his suggestion Doran responded with his usual enthusiasm. ‘Of course you must go, Serina!’
‘The invitation is for you too,’ Alex said pleasantly.
Excitement lit up Doran’s mobile face, then faded. He glanced at Serina before saying, ‘I wish I could, but…you know how it is.’ He spread his hands and finished vaguely, ‘Appointments, you see.’
Alex said, ‘I believe you’re interested in diving.’
‘Well, yes.’ Doran’s eager response was a sharp contrast to his previous tone.
‘New Zealand has some fantastic sites—in fact, there are two magnificent wrecks not far from Haruru, but friends of mine are going up to Vanuatu in the Pacific to dive the reefs. If you’re interested I’m sure I could get you a berth.’
Doran’s look of extreme longing increased almost comically when Alex added, ‘They’re talking about diving the Second World War wrecks there, as well.’
Serina said quickly, ‘Wouldn’t you have to be an experienced diver to deal with those?’
‘Serina—’
Doran’s protest was overridden by Alex’s voice. ‘So what are your qualifications, Doran, and where have you dived?’
Doran launched into his CV and, when he’d run down, Alex said, ‘That sounds good enough.’ He looked at Serina and added with a smile that held more than a tinge of irony, ‘And, just to reassure your anxious sister, my friends are responsible and expert divers and I’m sure you’re sensible.’ He mentioned the name of a family famed for their exploration of the seas and the subsequent prize-winning television programmes.
‘Wow! And I’m a very cautious diver!’ Doran said, clearly forgetting that he’d refused the trip. He flashed an indignant glance at his sister. ‘You know that, Serina.’
She blinked. She’d had to learn thrift since her parents’ death, so that now the easy way the very rich moved around the world startled her, and the smoothly masterful way Alex had taken control of the situation made her feel the ground had been cut from under her feet.
‘Of course you are,’ she said, ‘but you’d have to get to Vanuatu, and we can’t possibly impose—’
Alex cut her short. ‘Doran won’t be imposing. My friends are taking up a yacht.’ He glanced at the man beside him. ‘You’ll probably have to work your passage.’
Cheerfully, Doran said, ‘That’s no problem.’
Without looking at Serina, Alex said casually, ‘I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning. Let me know when you’ve made up your mind. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better go and see whether Gerd needs me for anything.’
CHAPTER TWO
BARELY waiting long enough for Alex to walk out of hearing, Doran said defiantly, ‘Serina, don’t be so damned responsible. I’m an adult, you know, legally and in every other way. The diving in Vanuatu is absolutely fantastic, and since you let Gerd slip through your fingers this will probably be the only chance I’m ever likely to get to see it.’
Serina returned acidly, ‘I thought you were going to make your fortune with your wretched game!’
And could have kicked herself for letting his angry response get to her. Her brother loved her, but he needed a more mature figure in his life, someone he would respect and listen to.
Shamefaced, he admitted, ‘OK, I was completely out of order and unfair. I’m sorry. But…’ The words trailed away.
‘Anyway, you told Alex you couldn’t go,’ she reminded him.
He sent her a look of mingled exasperation and embarrassment. ‘It’s too good a chance to miss. I can organise it.’
Relieved, she retorted, ‘In that case, you’d be mad not to take Alex up on his offer.’
‘So would you,’ he said.
They measured glances. It looked as though he’d refuse if she did.
Surrendering, Serina shrugged and said lightly, ‘Fair enough. I’ve always wanted to see New Zealand, and it would be a fantastic opportunity to find material for the column.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, Serina, loosen up a bit! Forget the column and being a big sister—just have a proper holiday. Give Alex Matthews a chance to show you how much easier life can be when you’re not trying so hard to be a role model.’
That hurt, but she smiled and said coolly, ‘Perhaps I might.’
Watching him stride away, she asked herself why she wasn’t exulting that—thanks to Alex’s unexpected offer—things had fallen into place so easily.
Instead, she found Doran’s final comment running around in her mind.
Fun? With Alex Matthews? She looked across to where he stood talking to the royal couple. Her gaze roved his face, unconsciously noting the strong framework, the lean body in superbly tailored evening clothes, the formidable, arrogantly effortless impact of his presence.
Tingles of sensation shortened her breath and hastened her pulse. He impressed her altogether too much, and that could be dangerous.
Of course, on closer acquaintance they might decide they didn’t like each other…
Serina dragged in an unsteady breath, feeling as though she’d been caught up in a storm, tossed and tumbled by strong winds until she didn’t know where she was going. Liking had nothing to do with the stark fact that whenever she saw Alex Matthews—or even thought of him—something shifted in the pit of her stomach and she felt a strange mixture of wariness and elation as her hormones raged out of control.
If she went to New Zealand she suspected she’d be even more vulnerable. Could she subdue this elemental response, leash it so she’d return unscathed after a month of close contact?
Put like that, it sounded idiotically Victorian—just like the mansion Alex lived in.
She didn’t have to go. Doran had clearly decided to take up his offer. She could turn his invitation down, retreat to normality…
And spend the rest of her life wondering if she’d been a complete coward.
Controlling an urge to gnaw her lip indecisively, she greeted an approaching couple with relief. But later in the evening she found herself face to face with someone she’d successfully avoided until then. Superbly dressed, the older woman was still beautiful enough to dazzle.
As she had dazzled Serina’s father.
Her mother’s anguish only too vividly remembered, Serina masked her dislike and contempt with a calm smile as the woman cooed, ‘My dear girl, this must be such a difficult time for you.’ Her words oozing an odious sympathy that clashed with her avid scrutiny, she went on, ‘I do so admire your courage in coming here.’
Serina held onto her temper with a stoic determination she hoped didn’t show in her face. ‘You are too complimentary—I can assure you it took no courage.’
The older woman sighed. ‘Such noble defiance,’ she said patronisingly. ‘So like your dear father—he clung to that magnificent aristocratic pride even when he’d lost everything. One could only admire his spirit in the face of such tragedy, and wish that he had been rewarded for it.’
Furious at the mention of her father, Serina couldn’t trust herself to speak, so raised her brows instead.
The older woman went on, ‘And for you, I hope that soon the pangs of being rejected will ease. A broken heart is—’ She broke off abruptly, her gaze darting behind and above Serina.
The back of Serina’s neck prickled and she had to stop herself from twisting around. She knew who’d come up behind her.
A warm smile pulled up the corners of the older woman’s impossibly lush mouth. ‘Mr Matthews,’ she purred, ‘how lovely to see you.’ Her tone was deep, slightly husky, and somehow she imbued the meaningless words with an undercurrent of sexuality.
A sizzle of emotion tightened Serina’s face, caused by something that came humiliatingly close to jealousy. She half-turned and met Alex’s hard blue gaze. After a second he looked away and greeted the older woman with aloof courtesy.
Her father’s mistress cooed, ‘As I was about to tell the Princess, repining is such a waste of time, but I see I have no need to bore her with lessons learnt over a lifetime. Clearly she has already packed away the past and is looking to the future.’
Serina met her smug smile with a stiff movement of her head. ‘So kind of you to take an interest in my life,’ she said, disgust and anger edging her words. How dared the woman insinuate that she was chasing Alex?
Smoothly, Alex said, ‘I’m sure you’ll excuse us, madam. The Grand Duke and Duchess wish to speak to the Princess before they leave.’
As they walked away Serina said stiffly, ‘You didn’t need to rescue me; I can cope.’
‘I’m sure you can,’ he said, a sardonic smile tilting his hard, beautiful mouth, ‘but I dislike vultures on principle. They foul the atmosphere.’
Serina gave a shocked gasp, followed by a choke of laughter. ‘She’s a horrid woman, but that’s really too harsh.’
‘It’s not. You are far too polite.’
A raw note in the words made her look up sharply. After the slightest of pauses he went on, ‘I like that little gurgle of laughter. I don’t think I’ve heard it before.’
‘I don’t do it to order,’ she retorted, furious because she was flushing. What was it about this man that turned her into some witless idiot?
‘Careful,’Alex warned, his voice amused. ‘The mask is slipping.’
Serina faltered. The hand beneath her elbow gripped hard enough to keep her upright, and for a second she wondered if she’d have bruises there tomorrow.
‘The mask?’ she enquired stiffly.
‘The one you wear all the time—the perfect-princess mask that hides the puppet behind,’ he returned with cool insolence, relaxing his grip.
Was that how he saw her—a lifeless thing hiding behind a disguise?
Squelching a foolish stab of pain, she stated, ‘I’m not really a princess—Montevel is now a republic so it’s just another empty title. And surely you must know that nobody is perfect.’
‘So what’s behind that utterly poised, totally collected, exceedingly beautiful face?’
Her startled glance clashed with an assessing scrutiny that sent a shiver scudding down her spine. ‘A very ordinary person,’ she countered, hoping she sounded more composed than she felt.
A very ordinary person still fuming over the exchange with her father’s mistress—and secretly thrilled by Alex’s cool summary of her attributes.
Thankfully they’d reached the royal couple, and Alex drawled, ‘Rosie, Gerd, tell Serina she’ll love New Zealand. I don’t think I’ve entirely convinced her that it’s worth crossing half the world to see.’
The brand-new Grand Duchess smiled up at Serina, her vivid face alight. ‘Of course you’ll love it,’ she said, her pride in her country obvious. ‘It’s the most beautiful country in the world—apart from Carathia. And as a Northlander born and bred, I’m convinced that Northland is the best part of it.’
‘Everyone says it’s glorious,’ Serina said, very aware of Gerd’s speculative glance.
Enthusiastically, Rosie continued, ‘And Haruru is just—magical. Huge and green and with beaches that match anything the Mediterranean offers.’ She and her new husband exchanged an intimate smile that indicated a shared experience.
Serina stifled another pang of envy.
Blandly, Alex said, ‘Gerd, perhaps you can reassure the Princess that she’ll be perfectly safe staying with me.’
Embarrassed by his bluntness, Serina sent him a furious glance and blurted, ‘I didn’t think—’ She caught herself and finished more sedately, ‘Of course I know that!’
Gerd’s brows lifted and the two men exchanged a look, a masculine thrust and parry that made Serina wonder. Although Alex and the Grand Duke didn’t look alike, for a second the resemblance between them outweighed the differences.
Then Gerd said levelly, ‘You can trust Alex.’
‘I’ll second that,’ Rosie said with conviction, adding with a wry laugh, ‘Even when he’s being a pain in the neck—actually, especially when he’s being a pain in the neck—he’s utterly staunch.’
Grabbing at her composure, Serina said, ‘I’m quite sure he is.’ She took in a swift breath and managed to smile. ‘I’m just not accustomed to making such quick decisions.’
They spoke for a few more minutes, then she wished them all happiness, and Alex escorted her back. Halfway across the expanse of floor, he said, ‘So are you coming to New Zealand or not?’
‘Yes,’ she snapped, making up her mind with jarring suddenness.
Lapis lazuli eyes held hers for a tense moment before Alex nodded. ‘You’ll enjoy it—and think of the columns you’ll be able to source. I’m leaving at ten tomorrow morning, so I’ll see you get a wake-up call in time.’
Serina’s fingers trembled as she fastened her seat belt. She’d used cosmetics to hide the toll a sleepless night had taken on her face, but nothing could smooth away the turmoil of thoughts and emotions knotting her stomach.
The previous night, raw from her encounter with her father’s mistress and Doran’s words, it had been easy to be defiant, but once the ball was over and Rosie and Gerd had been farewelled in showers of rose petals, she’d gone to her room wondering why on earth she’d let her dislike of the woman manoeuvre her into a decision she might come to regret.
And there had been a couple of shocks since then, the first when Alex had told her that Doran had left for Vanuatu halfway through the night.
‘Why?’ she demanded in the car that was taking her and Alex to the airport.
‘When I contacted my friends last night they told me they were already there, and almost ready to leave for the diving sites, so I got Doran to organise his own journey. He managed to talk himself onto several flights that will get him there within their deadline.’
She gave him a look of astonishment mingled with indignation. Doran had always relied on her to organise any travel arrangements. And who was paying his fare? A sick apprehension clutched at her.
As though he could read her mind, Alex said blandly, ‘Don’t worry about finances. Doran and I worked it out between us.’
‘How?’ she demanded.
‘He’s going to spend his holidays for the next year working for me,’ Alex told her calmly.
‘Working for you?’ This time she felt a mixture of bewilderment and relief. If Doran was working for Alex he wouldn’t have time to sit in front of a computer dreaming up fairy-tale fantasies of derring-do that might—but probably wouldn’t—earn him a fortune.
‘There’s always something to be done in an organisation like mine,’ Alex told her.
She eyed him sharply. ‘Why are you doing this for him?’
‘He was desperate to get to Vanuatu, and this seemed the best way to achieve that.’
‘It’s very kind of you,’ she said with reserve.
‘I’m not particularly kind,’ he corrected her, ‘but I don’t like to make an offer and then have to retract it. This way he’ll get the holiday he wants, and he’ll also see a bit of the world. As for working for me—I assume he’s going to have to earn his living?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then the experience will give him an idea of how the corporate and business worlds are organised.’
Serina had barely digested this when she discovered that Gerd’s brother Kelt and his family weren’t travelling with them.
Surprised anew, she said, ‘I thought—somehow I assumed they were going home with us—with you.’
He shook his head. ‘They’re flying to Moraze to spend some time with his in-laws.’
She’d watched Alex with his cousin’s small children, surprised and rather touched by their patent pleasure in his company. And his obvious affection for them hinted at a softer side to the man.
She’d looked forward to seeing more of them. But she and Alex would be alone—or as alone as anyone could be on a plane that boasted more flight crew than passengers.
A rebellious excitement welled up, so keen she could feel it thrilling through every cell. She, Serina Montevel, who’d never done a reckless thing in her life, was heading for a holiday on the other side of the world with a man she found wildly attractive.
Although attractive was far too pallid and emotionless a word. A sensible woman would have refused his invitation—would have kept on saying no until Alex decided she was more bother than she was worth…
Serina realised she was exceedingly glad that she wasn’t that sensible woman.
Alex broke into her scattered thoughts with a question. ‘Are you a nervous flier?’
‘No,’ she told him decisively, adding, ‘This is all new to me. I’ve never been in a private jet before.’
A black brow climbed. ‘You surprise me.’
‘Why?’
He leaned back and regarded her with enigmatic eyes. ‘I had the impression you spent a lot of time jetting around the royal circuit.’
‘Usually I drive,’ she told him evenly. Sometimes she used trains. It irritated her—no, it hurt—that he should despise her without bothering to take the trouble of finding out anything about her.
She went on, ‘And I’ve never crossed the world before. Is jet lag as bad as they say?’
‘Some people find it very difficult to deal with. I don’t.’
‘Ah, an iron man,’ she said sweetly.
His smile was swift and unexpected, sending a reckless shiver of pleasure through Serina.
‘Did I sound smug?’ he asked. ‘I’m fortunate, but I do take precautions.’
‘Such as?’
‘I always change my watch to the time of my destination.’ He extended an arm to show her.
Automatically, Serina noted the watch—a superb brand, classic and without ostentation. She dragged her gaze from that sinewy wrist, rejecting the memory of how strong it was. When she’d faltered he’d held her upright without any visible effort. And yes, he’d marked her. The bruises were faint and would soon fade, but she felt oddly as though she’d been branded.
‘New Zealand is nine hours ahead of us, and from now on we’ll be eating at that time,’ Alex told her. ‘If you can relax enough to sleep later, you’ll have adjusted to the local time when we arrive in Auckland.’
Sleeping wouldn’t be difficult. She’d spent a lot of last night staring into the darkness and wondering what on earth she’d agreed to.
Nothing, she told herself again. After all, Alex’s attitude, as well as his remark to Gerd and Rosie the previous night, had made it obvious that he was fully in control of his physical urges. Which had to be a good thing…
It was a pity she couldn’t quite feel any gratitude for his unspoken promise of restraint.
She bent her head and altered her watch to match his, saying, ‘Rosie says she drinks gallons of water and tries to spend at least ten minutes every hour walking or doing exercises.’
She’d been grateful for that information; at least striding around the cabin would give her something to do, something to concentrate on.
Not that drinking a lake of water or walking the whole way to New Zealand would slow the pace of her heart, or stop her from being so acutely, intensely aware of Alex she felt as though she was inhaling his essence with every breath she took.
‘Keeping away from alcohol and caffeine seems to help too,’ Alex told her laconically.
‘That won’t be a problem.’
However, when the engines changed note and they began to pick up speed down the runway, Serina decided she could use something strong and sustaining. Drymouthed, she peered out at the mountains of Carathia rapidly speeding past as the jet broke free of the earth and started to climb.
A weird, baseless panic clenched her stomach muscles. Deliberately, carefully, she relaxed them and kept her eyes fixed on the view outside.
Never in all her life had she behaved so impetuously. Never. Thinking back, she couldn’t remember when she’d decided that the best way to meet life was with restraint and cool composure. Possibly she’d just been born sensible and prosaic.
Whatever the cause, having been her mother’s confidante in the continuing saga of unfaithfulness and despair that had been her parents’ marriage, she’d vowed that she wasn’t going to endure pain like that. So far, no man had ever been able to test that decision.
Yet Alex’s caustic comparison of her to a puppet had been the final impetus that stung her into jettisoning caution and common sense to take this wild step into the unknown.
Alex leaned back in his seat and smiled at her. Her heart jumped and she relished an intoxicating sense of freedom. Half scared, half excited, she admitted that Doran had been right.
Unless she wanted to wear the princess mask for the rest of her life, she needed to break out and find out who the real Serina was. Restraint and reserve could go hang. While she was in New Zealand she’d be the perfectly ordinary woman she’d told Alex she was.
A sudden lightness, almost a feeling of relief, sent her spirits soaring. All her life she’d been an appendage to something or someone else—the daughter of her parents, Doran’s sister, the last Princess of Montevel, cousin to every royal family in Europe.
Even her career…Although she’d proved she was a good writer with a gift for painting the essence of a landscape in words, it had been her title—and the entrée it gave her—that got her the chance to write her first column.
Keeping her eyes fixed on the view through the window, she watched as, still climbing steeply, the plane wheeled and turned away from the Europe she knew so well, heading towards unknown, more primal shores on the other side of the world.
When the seat belt light flicked off Alex touched her arm—the lightest of touches, yet it ran like wildfire through her.
He said, ‘I have work to do. If you need anything, ring for the steward.’
She nodded, watching him surreptitiously as he moved across to a desk that had clearly been set up for business. Tall and rangy, the chiselled planes and angles of his face strong and disturbingly sensual, he dwarfed the cabin, diminishing the luxurious interior into insignificance by the sheer force of his personality.
What would he be like as a lover? Tender and thoughtful, or wildly passionate, as masterful as he was sexually experienced?
Her breath came faster and, to her shock, a languorous heat flowed through her, melting her bones and setting her nerves dancing in forbidden anticipation.
What did she know about loving, about lovers? If Alex made a move she wouldn’t know what to do.
He’d probably find that off-putting.
Or laughable.
Fortunately, the steward came silently through with a selection of magazines—including, she noticed, the one she wrote for.
Dragging her mind away, she checked her column, frowned at a sentence she could have framed better, then turned over a few more pages and tried to concentrate on the latest fashions.
Rassel had been right to sack her, she decided, frowning at one photograph. He was heading into punk, and she’d look ridiculous in his latest creations. She didn’t suit an edgy, rebellious look—her face and persona were too conventional to cope with the wild side.
Her gaze drifted across the opulently furnished cabin to Alex, dark head bent slightly as he read his way through a mountain of papers. He must have taken a speed-reading course, she thought idly, then forced her eyes back to her magazine.
Feverishly, she pretended to examine a tall redheaded model clad in scraps of gold leather and tried to concentrate on the text beneath, but the words jerked meaninglessly in front of her eyes.
After several minutes she relaxed enough to be able to breathe easily. Her lashes drooped. The hum of the engines and last night’s sleepless hours were a strong sedative. She opened her eyes and stared out the window, only to feel her skin prickle.
Was Alex watching her?
No, of course not. Disciplining herself not to glance his way, she looked down at the page again. The print blurred in front of her.
‘You’re tired.’
Alex’s voice made her jump and the magazine slid from her lap onto the floor. She scrabbled for it but the seat belt held her fast, and helplessly she watched his lean brown hand pick the magazine up and put it down on the seat beside her.
‘You might as well use the bedroom over there.’ His voice was level as he nodded towards a door off the cabin. ‘You’ll be more comfortable there.’
Because the thought of him watching her while she slept in the seat was unbearably intimate, she nodded and unclipped her belt, only to stagger slightly when she stood up and the plane tilted a little.
Alex’s eyes narrowed and his hand shot out to grip her shoulder. ‘It’s all right—we’re crossing the mountains, and this is minor turbulence. As soon as we hit cruising altitude things will settle down.’
Automatically, Serina straightened. ‘I’m not afraid, but thank you,’ she said. ‘I just wasn’t expecting it.’
Immediately his grip loosened. ‘OK now?’
‘Yes. Fine.’
She headed across to the bedroom, wanting nothing more than to put some distance—and a door—between them. His touch had scrambled her brain and alerted unknown hidden pleasure points in her body, sending secret pulses of sensation through every cell.
If this uncontrollable response was desire, she not only didn’t know how to deal with it, she found it downright embarrassing.
Her breath eased out in a long jagged sigh once she’d shut the door behind her. The huge bed was opulent, the cabin decorated for sleep, relying on subtle colours and the cool play of linen against gleaming silk, the soft luxury of a caramel cashmere throw. Her gaze fixed onto the plump pillows that called to her with a siren’s lure.
Yet more alluring, more compelling, was that unbidden hunger for something she’d never experienced, something she was afraid of—the reckless, dangerously fascinating clamour of her body for a fulfilment she didn’t dare seek.
‘So forget about it and start behaving like a sane person,’ she commanded beneath her breath.
She sat down and eased off her shoes, then swung up her legs.
But as her eyes closed she found herself wondering how many women had shared this bed with Alex.
CHAPTER THREE
THAT unwelcome query translated into Serina’s dreams, darkening them with images of pursuit. She was being chased by something darkly ominous, something that intended to kill her…Although she ran until her breath came in great sobbing gasps she couldn’t outpace her pursuer. A thin cry forced itself past her lips.
And then she was shaken so vigorously her teeth chattered.
‘Wake up, Serina,’ a deep, hard voice commanded. ‘Come on, Princess, you’re having a nightmare. Wake up and it will be over.’
Still in thrall to the dream, she huddled away from the imperative hand on her shoulder and catapulted towards the other side of the bed, only to be imprisoned by long fingers fettering her wrist.
Her lashes flew up; she stared at Alex Matthews’ grim face and, to her horror and shock, tears burned behind her eyelids.
‘It must have been a stinker,’ he said harshly, his arms tightening around her so that she was hauled up into the refuge of his powerful body, her cheek against the open neck of his shirt.
Warmth enveloped her, and his faint sexy fragrance. Gratefully, she curved into him, soaking up the bonedeep security of his vitality. She could hear his heart, fast and heavy, and anticipation burst into full flower inside her, so shameless and sudden she shuddered at the intensity of it.
Until she realised he was as aware of her as she was of him. Shocked, she jerked upwards, and this time Alex let her go.
‘Oh, good lord,’ she muttered, despising her lack of self-control. ‘Sorry—I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
And then her words registered. Heat washed her entire body in a flood of colour, and she had to stop her instinctive dive under the nearest pillow. Instead, she stared belligerently at him.
‘It’s all right,’ he said shortly. He got to his feet and looked down at her. ‘Do you have nightmares often?’
Serina managed to rally enough fragments of her usual composure to say in a voice that was almost level, ‘Occasionally—but doesn’t everyone?’
Not Alex Matthews, she’d be prepared to wager.
He said, ‘Want to talk about it?’
‘No,’ she returned abruptly, then flushed. ‘Sorry again; that was rude of me.’
‘Sometimes talking about something will banish the fear.’
He sounded only mildly interested but after one rapid glance at him she looked away, her nerves stretched so taut she could feel them twanging.
However, he had comforted her so he deserved some sort of explanation. Reluctantly, she said, ‘I think it’s a standard nightmare—I was being chased, running like crazy but not being able to escape whoever or whatever was after me. I can never see what it is I’m afraid of, which is idiotic.’
If only she could see it she’d be able to face it and deal with it, but the terrifying menace had never revealed itself to her.
She should have outgrown it years ago. Her mother had told her it was a growing-up dream, a fear of leaving childhood behind and becoming an adult, but Serina no longer believed that. She’d had to grow up the year she’d turned eighteen, the year her parents had died.
‘Expecting dreams to follow any sort of logic sounds like a recipe for futility,’ Alex said casually.
She tried a pale smile. ‘Oh, well, it’s over. Thank you very much for rescuing me.’
There was no immediate answer, and she looked up again to catch a frown before he asked in the same impersonal tone, ‘Can you think of any reason for having it now?’
With an attempt at her usual crispness she said, ‘No. But then, as you’ve just pointed out, dreams don’t necessarily have a reason.’
His brows smoothed out, leaving his bold face unreadable. ‘A meal will be ready soon. If you’d like a shower, feel free to use the bathroom.’
‘I’d like that very much.’ As he turned to go, she added, ‘Thank you. You’ve been very kind.’
‘No problem,’ he said over his shoulder as he left.
For a few seconds Serina sat very still, deliberately allowing her shoulders to sag while she breathed slowly and steadily in an attempt to relax.
What a fool she’d been! Dear heaven, the moment Alex lifted her she should have pulled away and found the self-control to reject his well-meant comfort politely but definitely.
Instead, she’d snuggled—yes, snuggled—into him as though he were her last refuge in a dangerous world.
And it had been wonderful—strong arms around her, that faint disturbing scent that was his alone, his body quickening into life against hers…
Until she’d realised what she was doing—what she’d been begging for.
Humiliation roiled through her in a sick flood. Biting her lip, she opened the door into the small, luxurious bathroom and turned the shower onto cold.
Alex looked up when she emerged, every hair in place, cosmetics subtly renewed. The mask was back, he thought sardonically, and this time set in concrete. A piercing twist of hunger took him by surprise. Irritated, he tried to banish it.
Why did she exasperate him so much? Because she’d turned a defunct royal connection into a lifestyle? A clearly profitable lifestyle, if her wardrobe was anything to go by.
No, that was unfair; her clothes were almost certainly advertisements for the designer she’d been a muse for.
What the hell did a muse do? Nothing, he suspected, beyond attracting attention and showing off the couture clothes made for her. If so, the designer had chosen well; Serina of Montevel had connections to royalty all over Europe, and she looked superb in the subtly sensuous clothes that draped her elegant body.
Which didn’t alter the fact that Alex despised people who played on their heritage, their title or their position.
Yet he didn’t seem to be able to despise Serina—Princess Serina, he reminded himself. He’d not only invited her to stay with him, he’d organised a holiday for her brother to keep him out of mischief, and promised him holiday work for a year.
So why was he pushing his way into her life? Because she was a challenge?
He dismissed that thought; he’d never regarded women as trophies, the harder to win the more prestigious. As for her kid brother—well, he quite liked the boy, and keeping him away from the pack of wolves he’d inadvertently fallen in with would be to Gerd and Rosie’s advantage because Montevel and Carathia shared a border.
And the Princess? She intrigued him.
Reduced to the most basic level, he wanted her. And it cut both ways—he was too experienced to misread the quick fluctuations of colour in her exquisite skin, the subtle alterations in her breathing, the tiny physical signals she couldn’t control.
Fight it with everything she had—and she was certainly doing that—the elegant Princess Serina couldn’t hide her response to him. Yet she’d made it plain she resented the mindless tug of desire and had no intention of acting on it. Which probably meant that just as the attraction was mutual, so was the exasperation.
It seemed a waste, but it was her decision to make.
He glanced at her serene face as she lowered herself gracefully into the chair and picked up a magazine.
Last night the woman who’d finally wrecked her parents’ marriage and possibly caused their deaths had insinuated that Serina was on the lookout for a rich husband. He despised the woman—and himself for not being able to banish her words from his mind.
Perhaps Serina was saving herself for marriage, although he’d heard rumours of a couple of serious relationships. Since when had he allowed himself to worry about rumours? The elegant, intelligent, exquisitely mannered Princess with social kudos to spare would be the perfect wife for any man who could afford her.
With Gerd’s marriage a sure thing, had Serina seen Rosie’s half-brother—certainly not royal, but rich and well-connected—as a possible second-best?
And if Serina knew more about her brother’s conspiracy than Gerd’s security men had been able to uncover, then a wealthy, besotted husband would be a definite asset in their plans.
Mentally he shrugged. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had pursued him for reasons of her own, and he doubted if it would be the last. And if Princess Serina thought she could manipulate him into anything with coyness she was hugely mistaken.
He might find her very attractive, but he was fully in control of his sexual urges.
If she had wondered whether he was good husband material, she was clearly now having second thoughts. On that bed she’d catapulted out of his arms as though he’d been the unknown, terrifying pursuer of her dream.
Or perhaps, he thought cynically, she’d decided that giving in too soon would lower her value in his eyes…
He was surprised at his relief when the arrival of the steward offering drinks before the meal interrupted his thoughts.
After she’d eaten Serina opened her elderly laptop to map out several future columns. The previous night she’d spent some of her sleepless hours on the Internet researching New Zealand and its plant life.
‘Anything I can help you with?’Alex asked casually.
‘I don’t know.’ But he seemed interested, so she went on, ‘I emailed my editor, and she’s quite excited about my visit to New Zealand. Europeans know all about formal and English country gardens, but she and I are sure the readers will enjoy something different and new.’
Alex said, ‘Most of the gardens will be very informal, and you won’t be able to give your readers a titillating glimpse into the private lives of the aristocracy. We don’t have one.’
‘Really?’ Serina didn’t try to repress her sarcasm. Was he being deliberately insulting? OK, so he had a point; on occasion she’d inserted innocuous information about the owners in her column, but she hoped that wasn’t the main reason for her readers’ loyalty.
‘Actually,’ she purred sweetly, ‘if you’d ever read my column you’d know that the gardens are the stars, not the people who own them. And to make sure I haven’t inadvertently invaded the owners’ privacy I show them the copy before it goes to the editor.’
‘So it’s a collaborative enterprise?’
Repressing an unusual impulse to snap back, she returned, ‘Besides, if I relied on gossip to sell my work I’d soon find my choice of gardens drying up. I’ve done some research, and it seems that in Northland alone there are several magnificent places that I’m sure would interest my readers.’ Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘How about yours?’
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