The Impoverished Princess Page 3

  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. Half way 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 fare welled 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, in tensely 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. Dry-mouthed, 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 red headed 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 un bearably intimate, she nodded and un clipped 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 deco rated 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.