What kind of conversation would they be having now if little Jessica had lived?
In many ways nature had known best. It hurt her to think it, but at eighteen she’d been hopelessly ill-prepared to take on the responsibility of a child. The logical part of her brain accepted that, even while her heart probably never would. Eliana had spent hours talking her through…everything. Patiently helping her manage emotions she’d not had the life skills to even begin to deal with.
First, there’d been the pregnancy itself and her mother’s inability to cope with her ‘perfect’ daughter’s fall from grace.
And then the stillbirth. The heartbreaking scan. The long hours of labour which had resulted in a perfectly formed baby girl—born asleep, as the euphemism went.
Marianne covertly studied His Serene Highness Prince Sebastian II. Their baby. She and Seb had created a little girl—and he didn’t even know.
She reached out for her water glass and took a sip, carefully placing it back down on the table. Eliana believed all men had the right to know if they were about to become a father…
Sometimes she wondered…if Jessica had lived long enough to be born safely, whether she’d ever have told him. At eighteen she’d been adamant he’d never know, but that had been her hurt talking. The first photographs of the about-to-be-enthroned Prince of Andovaria with his dark-haired fiancée had been cataclysmic. Like a switch flicking inside her—love to hate in a moment.
She sat back in her chair. But…eventually she might have told him. Perhaps. When Jessica had grown old enough to decide whether she wanted the poisoned chalice of being universally known as the illegitimate daughter of a European prince—with a mother he’d not considered worth marrying.
It was an academic question. There’d been no baby past the seventh month of her pregnancy. Marianne could feel the pain now, shooting through her—as it always did whenever she was reminded of Jessica. The sense of failure. And the emptiness that pervaded everything—and had done for practically her entire adult life.
She watched as Seb reached for his wine glass. He’d no idea. No understanding of how comprehensively he’d wrecked her life. And how she’d never forgive him.
CHAPTER THREE
THE photographs were fascinating. Far more so than Marianne had expected.
‘This is quite remarkable. Remarkable,’ the professor mumbled. ‘Everything completely shut away…’
‘Yes,’ Seb agreed, moving to stand behind him. ‘Until the renovation work began on that part of the castle, no one alive knew the rooms were even there.’
Marianne’s eyes instinctively followed Seb as he walked across the room, helplessly noticing the way his jacket skimmed the powerful shoulders of a man she knew had become an Olympic skier.
It was peculiar to think that she knew so much about him, whereas he knew nothing about her since he’d left her in Paris. She forced herself to look back down at the 10” x 8” photograph of a long, narrow room with row upon row of serviceable shelving filled to capacity.
‘Is nothing in here catalogued?’ the professor asked, pointing at the image he was holding.
‘No.’
Dr Leibnitz nodded his agreement. ‘So far, all we’ve done is make a very cursory inventory. There’s been no attempt at any sort of organisation.’
‘Marianne?’ The professor’s voice startled her. ‘What do you think?’
What did she think? Marianne looked up. ‘I think it’s a mammoth responsibility,’ she said carefully.
He nodded. ‘This needs a team.’
Seb sat down in an elegant Queen Anne armchair, his attention fixed on the professor. ‘What we’re hoping is you’ll feel able to head up that team. Handpick the people you want to work with you.’
‘Why me?’
‘Because you’re highly respected in your field,’ Seb answered, his voice deep, sexy and tugging at all kinds of memories she didn’t want to remember. Certainly not now. Not with Seb sitting so close to her. Marianne swallowed the hard lump that appeared to be wedged in her throat and deliberately looked down at the photograph in her hand.
‘As are many others.’
Marianne’s eyes skittered away from it as Seb leant forward on his chair. She looked back down, silently cursing. Somehow she needed to bring herself under a tighter control. Every movement he made, every blasted thing he did, she seemed to notice.
‘Andovaria is a small principality. Bigger than Liechtenstein or Monaco, but nowhere near the size of Austria or Switzerland. The sheer quantity of what we’ve found has made us think much of it might not rightly belong in Andovaria.’
‘And you have a problem with that?’ the professor asked quickly.
‘Not at all.’
Marianne caught the edge of Seb’s smile in her peripheral vision and she felt her breath catch. For years she’d wondered why she’d talked Beth into letting the boys join them—and now she knew.
‘My sister’s adamant that everything is kept in the way that will best preserve it for future generations.’ Seb paused. ‘But my primary responsibility is to Andovaria and I intend to ensure that everything that rightfully belongs to my country stays within our boundaries.’
He stood up and Marianne noticed the powerful clench of his thigh muscle. ‘And the easiest way, by far, is to put someone in charge of the project who has a neutral interest in what’s found.’
‘My interest is far from neutral.’
Seb smiled again and the pain in her chest intensified.
‘But you’re not actively seeking government funding or trying to raise the profile of any one particular museum….’ Seb’s words hung in the air.
The odds had always been weighted in favour of going to Andovaria, Marianne knew, but now it felt like a foregone conclusion. Peter would most definitely accept. How could he not? And how could she argue against it when it was clear his eyes wouldn’t be the ones evaluating every single piece, or writing every report?
Damn it!
Marianne put the photograph back down on the table. A sharp pain burst in her temple and shot down the left side of her neck. She raised a shaky hand and rubbed gently across her forehead.
Could she honestly go to Andovaria with Peter?
Maybe this was fate’s way of giving her that much talked-of ‘closure’? Maybe spending time in Seb’s country was exactly what she needed? And all it required was courage?
Her fingers moved in concentric circles against the pain in her temple. She was aware of Dr Leibnitz speculating about what might be found beneath Poltenbrunn Castle and the professor’s comments about the Habsburg dynasty and Rudolf von der Hapichtsburg in particular.
‘Marianne, are you feeling all right?’ the professor asked, breaking off his conversation.
Her hand stilled and she forced a smile. ‘I’ve a slight headache. It’s nothing.’
‘Perhaps some air?’ Dr Liebnitz suggested. ‘Shall I sit with you on the terrace for a moment, Dr Chambers?’
‘N-no, thank you. I’m fine. It’ll pass in a moment.’
Seb stood up and the abrupt movement startled her. ‘I’ll keep Dr Chambers company on the terrace while you continue your conversation, Max. It’s a little stuffy in here and I’d appreciate some fresh air myself.’
Panic ripped through her. ‘N-no. I—’
‘The terrace is very pretty,’ Seb interrupted smoothly, ‘with a stunning view over Green Park. Whenever I’m in London I particularly ask for this suite for that reason.’
His arm gestured towards the open glass doors and Marianne knew she had very little choice but to acquiesce with as much dignity as she could manage. ‘Thank you.’
By the time she was on her feet Seb was already standing by the doors, waiting. She didn’t dare look up at him as she walked out onto the terrace. A light breeze tugged at the silk of her dress, but the evening was warm enough. Almost. She gave a slight shiver, although that might have had nothing to do with the temperature outside.
‘A
re you cold?’ he asked quickly. ‘Do you have a wrap Warner could fetch for you?’
Marianne turned. ‘Warner?’
‘He’s the butler this evening.’
‘Ah.’ Warner was the butler. She’d forgotten—the staff had names. Although Warner, it seemed, didn’t warrant the use of his Christian name. So much for the equality of mankind. Marianne shook her head. ‘No. Thank you.’ It was nice to feel the breeze brushing against her skin. Nice to feel something other than the tight, constrained sensation in her chest.
She looked round the terrace. It was tiny, but beautifully formed—and the view was spectacular even at night. Seb was right about that. Marianne turned round and caught him watching her. His expression made her nervous and she looked away, stumbling into speech. ‘Th-this is all rather…incredible,’ she said, gesturing at the display of lights below them.
Seb moved closer. She could smell the light musky scent of his aftershave. Feel him breathing next to her.
‘The terrace?’ he asked quietly. ‘The view? Or us being together again?’
Marianne felt her throat constrict. Her eyes turned to look at him as though she was compelled to do so. ‘All of it,’ she said after a moment, her voice breathy.
Silence. Then Seb smiled and it still had the ability to seduce her. Why was that? Other men had smiled at her with just that look in their eyes, but they’d never made her feel so light-headed.
Marianne wrapped her arms around her waist in a movement she recognised as defensive, but she didn’t move away. There was a part of her that was very proud of that. ‘I didn’t curtsey.’
‘Pardon?’
‘When I arrived. I didn’t curtsey to you.’ For some reason it suddenly seemed so important he knew that.
A spark of laughter lit his dark eyes and he glinted down at her. ‘I think we’re a little past that. Certainly in private.’
‘I’m not doing it in public either,’ she shot back, irritated by the suspicion he was laughing at her. Marianne nervously fingered the back hook of one of her earrings. ‘Did you know I was coming with the professor tonight?’
‘Yes.’
She desperately wanted to ask what he’d thought about her coming. Did he find this situation as awkward as she did? But of course, that was impossible. He’d spoken to her as though they were strangers—and that was what they were. Strangers.
‘Peter couldn’t remember exactly what he’d told you. Whether I’d been a nameless colleague…’
‘No.’
No. Her eyes flicked up and away again. There was some comfort in hearing that he’d invited her to join them this evening knowing it was her. The hum of the traffic far below filled the awkward pause. ‘Oh.’ And then, ‘Were you surprised when he mentioned my name?’
‘Very.’
She could hear something like a smile in his voice and risked another look at him. It was a mistake. His eyes hadn’t changed. There might be fine lines fanning out at the edges now, but they were achingly familiar.
‘I knew there was a slight possibility I might see you at the conference, but that Professor Blackwell would refuse to come to Andovaria without you…’ His mouth twisted and he shook his head. ‘No, that part surprised me. You’ve done exceptionally well.’
She had, but she didn’t need him to tell her that. She felt as if she’d suffered the verbal equivalent of a regal pat on the head.
‘He made it very clear this morning his decision on whether he’d accept or not would be made in consultation with you. It’s impressive to have achieved that level of professional respect by the age of twenty-eight.’
Seb knew how old she was. He’d remembered the fifteen-month age difference between them. Marianne swallowed—and it felt a monumentally difficult thing to do. It was as though every normal function was now something that required conscious effort.
But then, Seb was standing so close. If she stretched out her hand she could touch him…If she leant in close he could hold her…It was bound to be difficult.
‘So, what do you think?’
Marianne blinked hard at the tears scratching at her eyes. ‘About?’
‘Coming to Andovaria? Do you have a husband to keep you in England? Family?’ he added when she’d yet to answer.
‘No husband.’
‘Boyfriend?’
Now, that was none of his business. Marianne swivelled round and schooled her features into the expression she habitually used to quash anyone who thought to question a young blonde female’s ability to have opinions that ran counter to their own. ‘Andovaria is only a short flight away,’ she said brusquely. ‘If the professor decides to accept, I’ll come with him. It’s a good career opportunity for me.’
‘And that’s important to you?’
‘Of course. It’s the driving force of my life.’
There was a small beat before he asked, ‘What do you think the professor’s thinking?’
Marianne shook her head. ‘He’ll let you know when he’s ready.’
‘And you don’t have a preference?’
His question was multi-faceted—and they both knew it. She looked down, apparently fascinated by the shades of pink that swirled together on the skirt of her dress. ‘I—I didn’t say that.’
‘Marianne—’
Her control snapped. ‘Don’t!’ She turned away as though to go back into the sitting room.
‘We need to talk.’
‘Not here,’ she said in almost a whisper. ‘This isn’t the place.’
‘It’s the best we have.’ And then when she didn’t move away any further, ‘I get the impression that Max and Professor Blackwell will hardly miss us however long we’re out here.’
He saw the faint nod of her head, her earrings swinging back and forth.
‘And there’s no one to hear us out here.’
Marianne stood motionless for a moment as though she was deciding what to do. The breeze caught at the light fabric of her dress. And he waited, completely uncertain whether she’d turn or walk back inside.
‘I suppose that’s important,’ she said at last, turning back to face him.
Marianne shivered again and wrapped her arms tightly around her. It hurt him to see her looking so…strained. That wasn’t the way he remembered her looking at him.
‘What do you want to tell me?’ She rubbed at her arms.
Another shiver. ‘You’re cold. If we were really on our own I’d give you my jacket.’
She seemed to uncoil and a spark of anger lit her eyes. ‘Well, that’s just a lovely offer, Your Serene Highness.’
It took a moment for him to remember what she was remembering. The walk in the park. The rain. The kiss. She’d looked so incredibly sexy in his sweatshirt, the sleeves rolled over three times…
The situation had been different then. For those brief weeks he’d been free—as he hadn’t been since. That summer the embargo on reporting his private life had miraculously held. There’d been no bodyguards, no responsibilities and, amazingly, no paparazzi. He’d been free to act exactly as he wished without reference to anyone or anything.
And what he’d wanted had been Marianne.
Seb broke eye contact and crossed back to the sitting room, beckoning to the butler. ‘Could you find Dr Chambers something to keep her warm?’
‘Very good, sir.’
‘And bring us a bottle of the dry white and a couple of glasses.’
His answer was a slight nod.
‘Thank you.’ He turned back to Marianne, fascinated by the pulse beating in her neck. ‘Shall we sit down?’
There was a moment’s hesitation before she decided to do just that. She sat herself facing out over the terrace, her eyes fixed at some point out in the distance, back straight and hands gripped in her lap.
Seb positioned himself opposite. Bizarrely, now she was sitting there, he was in no hurry to begin. What could he say that would begin to explain?
At nineteen he’d been so overwhelmed…by everything. All
he’d been able to do was react to whatever was happening in that precise moment. There’d been so much to adjust to.
And somehow he’d managed to block the image of Marianne waiting for him in Paris. Convinced himself she wasn’t his most urgent priority. For someone who lived his entire life trying to do the right thing by everyone, it was ironic he’d done something so spectacularly wrong.
What was it she had said? That she’d spent years of her life thinking him a ‘waster’ and a ‘liar’?
And yet she’d never taken her story to the Press. Never sold the photographs she must have of their time together. There wasn’t an editor alive who’d have failed to snap them up. Her story would have made her thousands.
But she had more dignity than that. A cool, classy lady.
‘How’s Nick these days?’
Her question startled him, broke into his thoughts. Seb met her eyes and saw the steely determination. She didn’t want this, didn’t want any part of this conversation, but she was damned if she was going to let him see it. And she’d had enough of waiting.
‘Are you still in contact with him?’ she prompted when he was slow to answer. ‘Or was he some kind of bodyguard and you lied about that as well? He tried hard enough to keep you away from me. Was that his job?’
Seb cleared his throat, still searching for the right words. ‘We’re friends. Good friends. And, for what it’s worth, he thought I should have told you exactly who I was—’
‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’
From the expression on her face it certainly wasn’t. Seb ran a hand across his neck, easing out the tension there. ‘We’re still in close contact, although I see him less often since his father’s death.’
‘And what was his real name? Archduke Nikolaus?’
‘Marianne…’
Her eyes widened. ‘I’m sorry, am I making this difficult for you?’ she asked, her rich voice distorted by sarcasm.
‘As of last April Nick’s the fifteenth Duke of Aylesbury.’
Marianne looked down at her fingers and concentrated on the opal colour of her nail varnish. Nick was a duke. Why was she surprised? Had she honestly expected anything different? Nick Barrington was the fifteenth Duke of Aylesbury and Seb Rodier was His Serene Highness Prince Sebastian of Andovaria. Inadvertently she must have strayed into La-La Land and nothing was as it seemed any more.
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