Emily and the Notorious Prince

by India Grey

  ‘Miss Balfour seems like a very sweet girl, sir,’ Tomás said quietly.

  Luis glanced at him. ‘Is that just an idle observation, or does it have some relevance to the conversation we’re having?’

  Tomás’s tone was carefully neutral. ‘I was just wondering, sir—and without wanting to pry—is there anything of a romantic nature between you? Security informed me that you were back in your room early last night…’

  ‘Nothing happened,’ Luis said tonelessly, watching as Emily leaned her elbows on the balustrade. The morning sun gleamed on her polished mahogany hair, and as she tilted her face up to it, he saw her expression of absolute seriousness. She looked as cool and remote as a Victorian angel, and he remembered the fragility of her body as he lifted her out of the bath. ‘As you say, Miss Balfour is very sweet, which makes her of limited interest to me.’

  Her or anyone else, he thought blackly. Those days were over.

  ‘Good.’

  Luis raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘Tomás?’

  ‘What we need is someone to provide a diversion, sir. Someone to absorb some of the media scrutiny, if you like, in a way that would reflect positively on you. But it would be better if it was someone with whom you have no genuine romantic attachment, to avoid unnecessary upset.’

  ‘When she’s no longer needed, you mean?’ Luis said acidly.

  ‘Essentially, sir, yes,’ Tomás conceded. ‘When the time eventually comes for you to marry and we need to begin to introduce the future Queen of Santosa to the people. But until then—’

  ‘Remind me who’s in the running for that enviable position,’ Luis interrupted coldly.

  ‘Until recently there were two possibilities, the Duchess de Mesa and Lady Helena Maygrove-Carter. However, those photographs of Lady Helena dancing on the table in a nightclub have led to the feeling that she’s not a good choice.’

  ‘Funny. They made me feel exactly the opposite,’ Luis drawled, his eyes still on Emily Balfour. She had placed one foot on the top of the stone balustrade and was easing gently into a balletic stretch, lying along her extended leg in an impressive display of suppleness. ‘But in the meantime you’re saying I should take Emily Balfour back to Santosa with me?’

  ‘It’s certainly an idea.’

  Luis tipped his head back for a moment, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets and gritting his teeth against the curse that sprung to his lips at this intrusion of politics into his personal life. With every day that had passed in the ten months since his brother died he realised more forcefully what a charmed life he had lived beneath the radar as Santosa’s ‘spare’ to Rico’s ‘heir.’

  He was paying for those carefree years now, and he would go on paying for the rest of his life. But even the price of his own freedom wasn’t high enough to make up for what he’d done.

  ‘What makes you think she’d come?’ he said hollowly. ‘What’s in it for her?’

  ‘She seems to be having a difficult time at the moment, personally speaking. I gather that she’s unwilling to return home to her family, but I can’t help but think that her present situation is far from ideal. However, she’s clearly someone who is motivated by a desire to help other people, so it’s possible that—’

  ‘She’d be willing to help me out by compromising herself to improve my tarnished image?’ Luis’s laugh was harsh in the still morning sunlight. ‘I think you may be overestimating her generosity there, Tomás.’

  Tomás flashed him a brief smile but it died before it reached his eyes. ‘Sir, that wasn’t quite what I was getting at. I entirely agree that Miss Balfour would be uncomfortable with the idea of being part of any deliberate deception—however, with a little help from the press office, the media might be encouraged to make their own assumptions when they see you together.’ He paused, turning round and going back to the table to pour more coffee. ‘It was actually Princess Luciana I was thinking of.’

  ‘Luciana?’

  ‘She’s just lost her mother, as has Miss Balfour. It’s my observation that Miss Balfour is perhaps the kind of person who would take comfort in comforting others, and Luciana—in common with lots of girls her age—has a keen interest in ballet.’

  The spoon made a musical sound against the china cup as Tomás stirred cream into his coffee, otherwise the room was very quiet. Standing at the window Luis looked down to where Emily had straightened up and was now changing legs, hitching her skirt up as she placed the heel of her other foot on top of the stone wall and leaned forward to hook her fingers around her instep.

  ‘Does she?’ Distantly he registered surprise, but it was overwhelmed by the greater surprise of how extremely tight and lush Emily Balfour’s behind looked from this angle. ‘Is your wife still Luciana’s nanny?’

  ‘Not at the moment. She went on maternity leave just after Prince Rico and Princess Christiana died, which was difficult for everyone. Valentina says that the replacement nanny, a Senhora Costa, has worked for some of the best families in Brazil and comes with superb references, but her approach is rather formal which seems to have made Princess Luciana withdraw into herself. My feeling is that Miss Balfour might be someone Luciana would open up to. She’s obviously very good with children.’

  Tomás came to stand beside him again. Luis waved away the cup of coffee he held out. The way he felt right now it would probably choke him. ‘You’ve thought this all through, haven’t you?’

  ‘I spoke to Josefina in the press office at some length last night, sir.’ At least Tomás had the decency to look slightly sheepish. ‘She thinks that Miss Balfour could be an extremely valuable asset to Operation Chrysalis.’

  ‘Operation Chrysalis?’ Luis repeated, his voice dangerously soft.

  ‘The process of overhauling your public image, sir.’

  ‘Chrysalis. I see.’ Dear God. It was like some far-fetched sci-fi film where they kidnapped a public figure and replaced him with a brainwashed clone. ‘And neither you nor Josefina see any problem with using Miss Balfour as a Santosan PR pawn?’

  ‘I prefer not to see it like that.’ Tomás gave him a determined smile. ‘I think that we’re offering Miss Balfour an opportunity that will be to her benefit as much as ours, Your Highness. As long as certain safeguards are put in place, to protect her welfare.’

  Luis stepped closer to the window and put his hand against the pane. ‘And what would they be?’

  ‘Firstly that you don’t sleep with her, sir.’

  His fingers curled up into a fist, as if he might be about to punch it through the glass. ‘I think I can just about manage to restrain myself,’ he said sardonically. After all, he’d resisted more tempting bodies than hers in the past ten months. ‘And secondly?’

  A moment passed before Tomás answered the question. When he did his voice was oddly subdued. ‘We absolutely cannot put her in a position where she could be emotionally compromised. So you must be careful—very careful—not to let her fall in love with you.’

  Luis gave a harsh, hollow laugh. ‘Given the way that she feels about me I don’t think that there’s any danger of that whatsoever. The main difficulty will be getting her to agree to come to Santosa with me. As you’ve got the rest of it all worked up, perhaps you could turn your brilliant mind to that, Tomás?’

  ‘That’s easy, sir. Just do what you do best.’

  Luis gave a twisted smile. ‘But since seducing her is not an option—?’

  ‘I was talking about charm, sir. You’re a prince, remember? Be charming.’

  Discipline. Focus. Control .

  The words that had been her mantra all through the years at ballet school echoed through her head as Emily held the stretch and felt her muscles protest. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the clear, cool, lilac-scented morning and attempted to let go of the tension in her shoulders from a sleepless night.

  Discipline. Focus. Control.

  It’s a shame those words hadn’t been echoing through her head last night when Luis Cordoba had kissed her, s
he thought bleakly. It was a bit late now. In fact, the words stable door and horse were also echoing around in the wake of discipline , focus and control.

  And also, come to think of it, ruthless, arrogant and bastard …

  How dared he take liberties with her like that? she raged silently, swinging her leg down from the stone wall and lifting it again in a high extension, holding her foot above her head. Not only with her body, but also with her mind, playing some sadistic game to try to expose her as some kind of…of…

  Hypocrite.

  The word dropped into her consciousness like a pebble into a deep, still lake.

  ‘Bravo! If I had roses, I’d be throwing them at you now.’

  With a yelp of horror, Emily let go of her foot and staggered upright, whirling round in the direction of that sardonic drawl. Talk of the devil. Luis was leaning over the parapet that surrounded the balcony jutting over the terrace in the centre of the house.

  ‘I was just doing some stretching,’ she muttered, wincing at the obviousness of the statement and turning her back so he couldn’t see how much she was blushing. ‘I didn’t know anyone was watching.’

  ‘Don’t let me interrupt. Please, carry on.’

  As if. ‘I’m finished anyway.’

  ‘Good. Then I’ll join you for breakfast. I’ve asked for it to be brought to your room.’

  She turned round, opening her mouth to tell him to get lost, but instead gave a gasp of alarm. In one fluid movement he had climbed over the stone parapet around the first-floor balcony and was lowering himself onto the narrow ledge on the other side.

  ‘What the hell are you—? For God’s sake, Luis, no!’

  She clapped her hands to her mouth, stopping the anguished croak of her voice as she watched him slide down so that he was holding onto the edge of the balcony. For a moment his body hung suspended, swinging, his shirt rising to show an expanse of golden, well-muscled back before he dropped to the ground.

  The breath whooshed out from Emily’s lungs. He turned round, brushing the dirt from his palms as he strode easily across the grass towards her.

  ‘Very impressive,’ she snapped as he came closer, folding her arms across her body, as if that would contain the frantic banging of her heart. ‘But couldn’t you have come the conventional way, like any normal person?’

  ‘I could, but I would have had to get Tomás to inform security and bring two personal-protection officers with me.’ He pulled a chair out from the table on the terrace and sat down, and in the honeyed morning light Emily noticed lines of tension around his beautiful mouth. ‘It makes spontaneity a little difficult.’

  She frowned, suddenly taking great interest in her fingernails. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him. She didn’t want to feel anything for him. ‘But presumably it’s necessary—for your own safety,’ she said crossly.

  ‘Is it? I think that if someone wants to kill me badly enough they’ll find a way.’

  The sudden hollowness in his voice made her heart lurch and she realised he was thinking of his brother. The deaths of Prince Rico and the Crown Princess Christiana in a helicopter crash had shocked the entire world. She swallowed, trying to dislodge the hard lump in her throat. ‘Isn’t that all the more reason to be careful?’

  Luis looked at her steadily, and gave a slow, twisted smile. ‘No.’

  For a long moment their gazes held. She’d decided, at some point while she’d been twisting between the hot sheets last night, that if she saw him this morning she would be icily polite but utterly aloof. The words drifted weakly through her head as she looked helplessly into eyes that were dark with emotions she couldn’t begin to interpret. She opened her mouth to speak—to say something that would demonstrate her icy aloofness—but at that moment there was a knock on the door in the bedroom.

  It broke the spell. Luis got to his feet. Dragging a hand through his hair he spoke with his habitual wryness. ‘That’ll be the trained assassin now.’

  ‘I’ll get it.’

  Emily darted inside, glad of the excuse to escape, and the chance to recompose herself as the room-service stewards brought out trays laden with silver coffee pots and plates of croissants. She sat down and waited for them to withdraw again, before saying stiffly, ‘I was so sorry about the loss of your brother and his wife.’

  ‘Not as sorry as I was,’ Luis replied, helping himself to a croissant.

  The shutters were down again, his sardonic mask back in place. Determined not to let him see how much his flippancy shocked her, Emily tried again. ‘You must miss him a lot.’

  ‘You could say that.’ Leaning back in his chair Luis tore the croissant open with long, ruthless fingers, exposing its soft inside. ‘I’d give anything to have him back—’ he glanced at Emily with a bitter smile ‘—so I could get on with my life as it was before.’

  ‘Of course.’ Frowning, she took a brioche. ‘You’re the heir now. I wasn’t thinking of it like that.’

  ‘Weren’t you?’ he said bitterly. ‘I wasn’t aware there was any other way to think of it.’

  ‘Er…well,’ she said with a small, artificial laugh. ‘How about in terms of personal bereavement? You lost your brother and your sister-in-law. Your father lost his son, and your little niece lost her parents.’

  ‘Thank you for reminding me.’

  She shook her head, speechless for a second before stammering, ‘Sorry. I—I can’t even imagine what that must be like…’ She stopped again, looking down at her hands. ‘At least, I can—a bit. How old is she?’

  Luis shrugged. ‘Five…maybe six.’

  ‘You don’t know ?’ An image of her sister Annie’s little boy appeared in her mind, and Emily felt her throat close up with emotion. Three-year-old Oliver was the darling of the Balfour clan—doted on by everyone. His birthday was a red-letter day in everyone’s diary, an occasion of extravagant family celebration and an excuse for all the sisters to spoil him shamelessly.

  ‘I’m not great with little girls.’

  ‘No.’ Emily speared a curl of butter from the dish and put it on the side of her plate. ‘I imagine they’re completely irrelevant to you until they reach the age of consent.’

  Luis looked across at her with dark, dead eyes. ‘You make it sound as if that’s a bad thing, whereas I’d suggest exactly the opposite.’ He smiled thinly. ‘It’s not that I don’t care about her. It’s more that I don’t know where to start. I don’t have anything in common with her. She likes…I don’t know, pink ponies, and ballet…’

  ‘Ballet?’ Emily stopped, the brioche halfway to her mouth.

  ‘According to Tomás. Valentina—his wife—is part of the nursery staff, or was until she left to have a baby. Apparently Luciana’s ballet mad.’

  He was pouring more coffee, and Emily found herself unable to take her eyes off his hands. Against the delicate white china they looked very big, very tanned.

  ‘Does she do lessons?’

  ‘No. She’s always been ridiculously shy, but since the accident she hardly speaks at all. She wouldn’t have the confidence.’

  ‘But ballet would be good for her.’ Emily sat up, snapping out of the hypnotic grip his elegant, long-fingered hands had exerted over her a moment ago, suddenly alert. This was her area of expertise. Her passion. ‘Some of the children I’ve been teaching at Larchfield have really come out of themselves since they’ve been learning—like Niomi yesterday. She wouldn’t even lift her head and look anyone in the face when she started, but one of the first things you learn in ballet is to stand tall and hold your head up. Everything else follows from there. You should encourage Luciana to take lessons.’

  Taking a mouthful of coffee he gave a swift, dismissive shake of his head. ‘Security nightmare. I might take risks with my own life but I wouldn’t put hers in danger. I owe her that much, at least.’

  Emily frowned, not understanding. ‘But couldn’t you hire a teacher? Privately?’

  He looked at her, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes a li
ttle before saying slowly, ‘It’s complicated. Recruiting people to work in the household is always a long and tedious process, especially where my niece is concerned. It would have to be someone pretty special, you see. Someone Luciana could relate to, who would understand the situation she’s in…’

  He trailed off. For a long moment the only sound was the innocuous singing of the birds. His coffee cup was cradled between his hands, and she was horrified by the tremor of bliss that threatened to shake her as she remembered the way they’d held her foot last night, stroking and massaging. She was aware of a creeping heat in the pit of her stomach, a gathering tension between her thighs… But then in some tiny corner of her rational mind realization dawned.

  ‘No,’ she gasped, her eyes widening. ‘Oh, no— You want me —’ Words failed her. She got to her feet, shaking her head as she tried to clear it, tried to anchor herself to sanity and reason. ‘After what you did last night you’re actually asking me to come back to Santosa and work for you?’

  He got up too, his gaze flicking scornfully over the writing on her T-shirt. ‘Wouldn’t it be better than working in a lap-dancing club?’

  She laughed shakily. ‘No. No, I don’t think it would. Because at least the men there don’t bother to hide what they want.’ She threw her napkin down and slid out from her chair. ‘They don’t play games. At least there I feel a hell of a lot safer than I do when I’m around you!’

  His head jerked backwards slightly, almost as if she’d hit him and for a moment the blaze of emotion in his gold eyes almost dazzled her. But then he looked away, dragging a hand over his face as if to blank it out again. When he spoke his voice was cool and faintly ironic.

  ‘Your honesty is startling. Now, perhaps I’d better take you back to London.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  EMILY’S hand was shaking as she tried to get her key into the lock. Behind her she could hear the low, thrumming purr of the car engine.

  Don’t look round, she told herself desperately, gritting her teeth. Just concentrate on opening the bloody door and getting inside where you can forget all about Luis Cordoba and his…his …proposition.