Protected by the Prince

by Annie West

  Every night she’d tossed in her bed, remembering. Imagining things that left her feverish and unsettled. Furiously she tried to repress the blush staining her cheeks, hoping he’d put it down to the chill wind.

  ‘Tamsin.’ He stopped a few paces away.

  Despite her embarrassment her lips curved in response when he smiled, a dimple grooving his cheek.

  She could almost believe he was pleased to see her, though she told herself he didn’t really care. She tried to dredge up anger. He’d kissed her out of pity.

  ‘Alaric.’ She liked saying his name. Too much. ‘How are you? I thought you were away?’ Too late she realised she sounded far too interested in his activities.

  ‘Business kept me away until today.’ Was that a cloud moving over the sun or had his bright gaze shadowed?

  ‘We need to talk about my work.’ She drew herself up straight, reminding herself that was all that mattered. Not her shocking weakness for indigo eyes. ‘I haven’t been able to access the chronicle to continue my translation. Your staff claim not to know where it is.’ Indignation rose that he didn’t trust her with her own find!

  ‘My priority is ensuring absolute secrecy till we confirm it’s genuine.’ His expression grew stern.

  Tamsin opened her mouth to protest that it shouldn’t stop her work. ‘However, arrangements will be made to enable you access while maintaining security.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Her indignation fizzled, leaving her feeling wrong-footed.

  ‘Now, would you like to come out with me tonight?’

  He sounded like a polite host, entertaining a guest. Except he’d bought her cooperation, bribed her with staff for her project. The knowledge stopped her pleasure in his smile. The staff had turned up days ago and now it was time to deliver on her part of the bargain.

  ‘Where are we going?’ She might as well be gracious about it.

  His smile broadened and her lungs squeezed. He really was the most stunning man.

  ‘To a ski resort.’ He named a town famous for exclusive luxury that drew the world’s most prestigious VIPs. ‘There’s an event I must take part in then we’ll stay for dinner.’ No mention of her role as decoy. The man was a diplomat when he wanted to be.

  ‘Fine.’ She stepped forward and he turned, shortening his stride to match hers.

  ‘Watch the icy path.’ He clasped her elbow and she tensed. Heat rayed from his touch, countering the wintry air.

  He held her arm even when they reached safer ground. Tamsin didn’t fuss by telling him to release her. He’d think she read too much into the gesture. Hurriedly she searched for something to say.

  ‘What should I wear?’

  He slanted her a piercing glance and the air sizzled between them. He was remembering, too.

  I don’t give a damn about your clothes, he’d said.

  And then he’d kissed her.

  Tamsin’s pulse accelerated painfully as she watched his impassive face. Or had their kiss meant so little he’d forgotten it?

  ‘Some will be in ski gear and the rest dressed for an evening out. Take your pick.’ Heat shimmied through her as their gazes collided and she felt again that sensation like chocolate melting, deep inside.

  Spending time with Alaric had to be the biggest mistake of her life! Yet despite her doubts, Tamsin couldn’t resist the invitation in his smile and the intriguing mystery of his cool, blue eyes.

  Even when he annoyed her, Alaric made her feel alive; brimming with an effervescence she’d never known.

  Tamsin stood on the terrace of an exclusive resort hotel, huddled into the soft luxury of the full length faux-fur coat that had been delivered just before she left.

  She’d been about to object, uncomfortable with accepting clothes Alaric had bought when she’d seen his note.

  To keep you warm tonight. This was my mother’s. I’m sure she’d approve its loan.

  He’d lent her something of his mother’s? Ridiculous to feel such pleasure that he’d trust her with the gorgeous garment. Yet she couldn’t dispel delight that he’d thought of her comfort. Without being obvious, he’d also ensured she wouldn’t look too out of place in this A-list crowd.

  Tamsin glanced at the glamorous, beautiful people surrounding her, some of the faces familiar from press reports. They quaffed vintage champagne as if it were water. And the jewels—even by lamplight some of the women almost blinded her with their casually worn gems.

  She stroked the soft coat. For now it didn’t matter that beneath its elegant lines she wore a chain store dress and a pair of plain court shoes, her best, which she’d bet none of the sophisticated women here would be seen dead in.

  ‘Here they come!’ Excitement rippled through the gathering and Tamsin turned to look up at the blackness of the mountain looming above.

  Butterflies danced in her stomach. It was hunger, not excitement at the idea of Alaric joining her.

  ‘There they are.’

  Now Tamsin saw it. A flicker of colour high on the mountain. As she watched the flicker became a glow then a tiny jewel-like thread of colour trailing down the slope.

  The moon emerged from behind clouds to illuminate the imposing outline of one of Europe’s most famous peaks. Its cool brightness intensified the scene’s magical quality.

  She couldn’t take her eyes from the ribbon of rainbow colours descending in swooping curves through the silver gilt night. She’d never seen anything like it. Excited murmurs in a dozen languages buzzed in her ears and she found herself grinning, rapt in the spectacle.

  Her spine tingled as a clear chorus of voices rose. A cluster of people, many in traditional Ruvingian costume, waited on a flat area beside the hotel.

  The singing stopped and in the silence Tamsin heard the whoosh of skis. The stream of colour descended to the clearing, resolving into dozens of skiers, each holding a coloured lantern in one hand and a basket in the other.

  ‘They skied that slope with no hands?’ The mountain was notoriously dangerous.

  ‘It’s tradition,’ said a woman in cherry red ski clothes and scintillating diamonds. ‘Didn’t you know?’

  Tamsin shook her head, her gaze on the lead skier. Alaric. Her knees gave a little wobble as she took in his proud, handsome face and his easy grace as he slid to a flourishing halt. He handed the basket to a blonde who curtseyed and blushed. Each skier delivered a basket and was rewarded with a goblet.

  ‘Mulled wine,’ said the woman beside her.

  There was a bustle as Alaric stepped out of his skis and headed purposefully through the crowd. It parted before him and Tamsin wondered what it would be like to have that effect on people.

  His progress wasn’t entirely easy. Others moved towards him, all women, she noted, frowning.

  No wonder he had a reputation as a ladies’ man. He didn’t even have to search them out!

  Some smiled, others greeted him and still others reached out to touch. A twist of something sharp coiled through Tamsin’s stomach as she watched a beautiful redhead kiss him on the cheek.

  Tamsin’s sense of not belonging rushed back full force. Why was she here? Companion indeed! This was a farce.

  ‘Your Highness.’ The woman beside her bobbed a curtsey then Tamsin forgot her as she looked up into eyes like midnight. Black hair flopped roguishly on his brow and his lips curved in an intimate smile that sent shivers of longing scudding through her.

  ‘Tamsin.’ He lifted the silver goblet in his hand. She had a moment to notice its intricate design, then the scent of spiced wine filled her nostrils and its sweet pungency was in her mouth.

  Heat exploded within, surging through her blood. An instant later it exploded again as she watched Alaric lift the goblet to his lips, turning it deliberately to drink from the same place she had. His eyes held hers as he tilted it and drank. Not a sip like hers but a full bodied swallow.

  Fire sparked across Tamsin’s skin at the blatant sexual message in his eyes. She told herself it was an act.

  Yet a cra
zy part of her wished the message she read in his stare was real. She must be losing her mind!

  Seated at a quiet table by a window overlooking the resort, Tamsin tried to relax. It was impossible with Alaric, like a sleek, dark predator, on the other side of the table.

  The taste of spiced wine was on her tongue but it was the taste of him she remembered. Why couldn’t she get that kiss from her mind? Heat flooded her cheeks as she sought for something to say, convinced his brooding eyes read too much of her inner turmoil.

  ‘Tell me about the night ski. Is it an old tradition?’

  Alaric settled back in his chair and stretched his legs. Tamsin shifted as they brushed hers.

  ‘Since the seventeenth century. The locals have re-enacted it ever since.’

  ‘Re-enacted what?’ Maybe if she focused on this she wouldn’t react to his lazy sensuality.

  ‘It was the worst winter on record. Avalanches cut the valley off and crop failure meant the villagers were starving. In desperation some young men set off through near blizzard conditions to get supplies, though everyone believed the trek doomed.’ Alaric’s voice was as dark and alluring as the rest of him. Tamsin felt it curl around her like the caress of fur on bare skin.

  ‘Fortunately one of the avalanches also brought down rock and opened a new route out of the valley. Weeks later they returned with supplies. Ever since the locals have commemorated the feat, and the salvation of the village.’

  ‘And the wine?’ She couldn’t shake the idea there’d been hidden significance in the way he’d shared that goblet.

  ‘Just to warm the skiers.’ His eyes gleamed.

  ‘That’s all?’

  He leaned forward, his gaze pinioning her till her only movement was the pulse thudding at her throat.

  ‘You think I’ve deviously tied you to me in some arcane tradition? That we’re betrothed, perhaps?’

  Her cheeks grew fiery. ‘Of course not!’

  His brows arched disbelievingly but she refused to admit how the simple act of sharing his wine had taken on such ridiculous significance in her mind. If only he hadn’t looked so sinfully sexy and dangerous as he’d deliberately drunk from her side of the cup.

  ‘Don’t fret,’ he purred, reaching out to cover her hand in a blatantly possessive gesture. ‘Our companionship has a purpose and my actions were designed to achieve that purpose. They succeeded, don’t you think?’

  ‘Admirably! Everyone got the message.’ She tugged her hand free and placed it in her lap, conscious of the interest emanating from the rest of the restaurant. There were celebrities aplenty here but Alaric was the man drawing every eye.

  He raised a glass of delicious local wine in a toast. ‘To more success.’

  Reluctantly she lifted her glass. ‘And a speedy resolution.’

  Alaric smiled as he watched her sip the wine. Not the usual practised smile that he’d learned to put on like a shield from an early age. But a smile of genuine pleasure. Tamsin Connors pleased him, and not just because she was refreshing after so many grasping, eager women.

  He enjoyed her company, even when she was prickly. And tonight the glow in her cheeks gave her a softness at odds with the strict hairstyle and unimaginative dress.

  His silence unnerved her. He saw it in the way she shifted in her seat. Yet he didn’t try to ease her tension. If she was on edge she was more likely to reveal her true self. He needed to understand her, find out how far he could trust her.

  ‘You know,’ she mused, her eyes not quite meeting his, ‘there’s a way out of your problem. Fall in love with a nice, suitable princess and marry. Women won’t bother you then.’

  Instantly Alaric’s sense of satisfaction vanished. He stiffened, fingers tightening around the stem of his glass. ‘I’m in no hurry to marry. Besides,’ he drawled, aiming to cut off this line of conversation, ‘the princes of Ruvingia never marry for love.’

  For an instant he allowed himself to remember his brother, the only person with whom he’d been close. Love had barely featured in their lives and when it had it had been destructive. Felix had been ecstatic in his delusion that he’d found the love of his life. He’d been doomed to disappointment.

  Ruthlessly, Alaric clamped a lid on the acrid memories.

  ‘What about the princesses?’

  ‘Pardon?’ Alaric looked up to find Tamsin, far from being abashed by his offhand response, was intrigued.

  ‘Do princesses of Ruvingia ever marry for love?’

  ‘Not if they know what’s good for them,’ he growled.

  The hint of a smile curving her lips died and she sat back, her expression rigid and her eyes wide.

  Damn. He felt like he’d kicked a kitten when she looked like that. He speared a hand through his hair and searched for a response that would ease the hurt from her eyes.

  ‘Royal marriages are arranged. It’s always been that way.’ Until Felix had made the mistake of thinking himself in love.

  Love was an illusion that only led to pain.

  ‘Even your parents?’ she said wistfully. ‘That wasn’t a love match?’

  Clearly Tamsin Connors had a romantic streak. She’d probably grown up reading about princes rescuing maidens, falling in love and living happily ever after. Obviously she had no idea how far from the truth her fantasy was.

  ‘My parents married because their families arranged a suitable match.’

  ‘I see.’ She looked so disappointed he relented.

  ‘I was too young to remember but I’m told my mother was besotted with my father, though it was an arranged match.’

  ‘She died when you were little? I’m sorry.’

  Alaric shrugged. You didn’t miss what you’d never known. Maternal love was something he’d never experienced.

  ‘It must have been hard for your father, left alone to bring up his family.’

  Alaric watched her sharply but she wasn’t fishing for details, just expressing genuine sympathy.

  ‘My father had plenty of assistance. Staff. Tutors. You name it.’

  Looking back on his boyhood it seemed his remote, irascible father had only appeared in order to deliver cutting lectures about all the ways Alaric failed to live up to his golden-haired brother. For a man who, according to under stairs gossip, had only slept with his wife long enough to conceive a spare heir, he’d been remarkably uninterested in his younger son.

  ‘Still,’ she said, ‘he must have missed your mother. Even if he didn’t marry for love, he would have grown to care for her.’

  Alaric shook his head. No point letting her believe some fairy tale when the truth was publicly known. ‘My father didn’t waste any time finding another woman.’

  ‘He married again?’

  ‘No, he simply ensured there was a willing woman warming his bed whenever he wanted one. He was a good-looking man and he had no trouble attracting women.’

  People said Alaric was like him.

  Hadn’t the disaster with Felix stemmed from Alaric’s too-easy success with women?

  There was no disputing the fact Alaric, like his father, had never fancied himself in love, possibly because he’d never experienced it. Ice trickled down his spine. Maybe it was a character flaw they shared. That they were incapable of love. Unlike Felix. Unlike Alaric’s mother who’d reputedly died of a broken heart.

  ‘I see.’

  He doubted it. Tamsin, he was beginning to suspect, had a naïve streak a mile wide.

  He’d bet she’d be horrified to learn the first girl to profess love for Alaric had simply been aiming to meet his father. That love had been code for sex and expediency in a quest for the power and riches she’d hoped to obtain in the bed of a man old enough to be her own father.

  Alaric had learned his lessons early. If there was one thing he’d never be foolish enough to do, it was to give his heart.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘THANKS for coming, Alaric. It was good to talk before I put the expansion plans to the rest of the board.’

&n
bsp; Alaric turned. He didn’t let his eyes flicker to the scar disfiguring Peter’s cheek and neck. He’d long ago trained himself not to, knowing pity was the last thing his old comrade wanted. But nothing could prevent the sour tang of guilt in his mouth.

  ‘My pleasure.’ He forced himself to smile. ‘You know I always have time for the youth centre. I just wish there’d been something like it when we were kids.’

  Peter shrugged. ‘The army saved us both from turning into feral teenagers.’

  Alaric thought of his rebellious teens, chafing at his father’s aloof authoritarianism and his own sense of uselessness, kicking his heels between royal duties.

  ‘You could be right. Just as well the military is royalty’s accepted profession for superfluous second sons.’

  ‘Hardly superfluous.’

  Alaric shrugged. It was the truth, but he wasn’t interested in discussing his family.

  ‘I like your Tamsin, by the way. A bit different from your usual girlfriends.’

  It was on the tip of Alaric’s tongue to say she wasn’t his, yet. ‘She is different.’ That’s why she fascinated him. She was an enigma. Once solved she’d lose her allure and finally he’d get a full night’s sleep.

  They walked into the large indoor sports hall to find a crowd clustered below the climbing wall. There was no sign of Tamsin. Last time he’d seen her she’d been engrossed in some new computer programme with a couple of lanky youths.

  Then he saw her—halfway up the towering wall.

  Bemused, he stared. He’d left her without a qualm, seeing her so involved and with his staff to look after her while he attended his meeting. Had she been pressured into scaling the massive wall? The teens often challenged visitors in a test of courage.

  ‘Way to go, Tamsin!’ called one of the youths holding the rope that kept her safe.

  Alaric strode over, fury pumping in his veins. At them for forcing her into this. At himself for allowing it to happen.

  He slammed to a halt as he realised, far from being petrified, she was making steady progress up the wall.

  She wore a helmet but her feet were bare and her trousers rolled up, revealing those shapely calves. The harness she wore outlined the lush femininity of her derriere and made his blood pump even faster.