by Donald Robyn
Now he noted one of the local men eyeing her with the frank appreciation of the islanders, and was transfixed by a pang of savage jealousy that came out of nowhere. That was all he needed in this crisis, he thought cuttingly—a stupid, futile lust for a cousin so young she was barely more than a schoolgirl.
An innocent one, at that. Unless she’d been totally discreet, she was probably still a virgin.
A fierce desire to be the first man in her bed startled him; he’d never demanded to be the first with his lovers. But more shocking—and infinitely more dangerous, he instinctively knew—was the unusual tenderness that underpinned the physical hunger.
Once inside the great hall of the castle he said abruptly, ‘I hope you don’t mind eating your lunch by yourself. I have work that won’t wait.’
Rosa looked up into a face shuttered against her. ‘Of course not,’ she said automatically. ‘I have work to do too. Is the castello hooked up to the internet?’
His smile was sardonic. ‘This is Niroli, not the end of the world. Just use the telephone jack.’
Inside her room, Rosa bit her lip. Stupid, stupid—of course the castle had every conceivable electronic aid for the modern businessman. Max ran a huge investment banking concern from here. Straightening her shoulders, she booted up her laptop and told herself she didn’t care if he was moody.
It was stupid to feel that he resented her. He had much more important things to think about than a stray cousin here to do a job before she went back to New Zealand.
Much later, after siesta, she walked down the staircase, admiring the art that adorned it. His taste interested her—along with the requisite old masters, the castello was adorned by an eclectic display of modern art, bold yet strikingly at home on the ancient stone walls.
Smiling at the manservant who appeared as she reached the hall, she said, ‘I need coffee and fresh air.’
‘This way, Your Highness.’ He showed her to a courtyard.
She looked around, delight swelling inside her. Years before, someone had grafted this enchanted place onto the grim old castle, filling it with roses still in flower, their perfume heavy in the warm air. A mellow stone fountain splashed serenely, and grapevines cast a pool of shade on the flags of the wide terrace. In several pots gardenias bloomed, the chaste white flowers at odds with their sultry perfume.
Loungers and chairs and a big wooden table revealed that this part of the castello was well used. She hesitated, but stiffened her spine and walked into the shade.
Her heart jumped when Max came out through a door in a wall of gracious nineteenth-century glass. If he was surprised to see her it didn’t show in his handsome face, although his survey of her was keen and too perceptive. ‘Sleep well?’ he asked.
She hid her sharpened senses with a wry smile. ‘It didn’t take me long to surrender to old habits. Very well, thank you.’
‘Good. Sit down and have a glass of lemonade—or would you prefer coffee?’
‘Home-made lemonade?’
‘Of course,’ he said, brows rising.
‘It sounds wonderful. And I’d like some coffee too, please, to chase away the sleep.’
The drinks came accompanied by small cakes and fresh fruit. Knowing dinner would be later than she was accustomed to, Rosa ate gratefully and caught up on news of the family.
Finally, however, she said, ‘I have bad news, I’m afraid.’
His face hardened. ‘Tell me,’ he commanded.
She took a deep breath. ‘My boss in New Zealand agrees that it is shot blight, and so the vines on the three infected vineyards must be removed and burnt. It’s too late to save them.’
Muttering something explosive, Max got to his feet in a single, lithe movement. Rosa watched him pace out into the sunlight, the rays burnishing his head into bronze fire, his face set in stern, angry lines.
He stopped and swung around, fixing her with a coldly formidable gaze. ‘You’re sure of this?’
‘I’m sorry, but, yes, we all are—the lab here, the lab at home and me. We’re all agreed that the soil in the infected vineyards should be fumigated.’ Honesty compelled her to finish, ‘But even then there are no guarantees.’
And because she guessed how he must feel, she went across to stand beside him, giving the only support she thought he’d take from her. The cheerful splash and murmur of the fountain faded into the background. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said again.
‘Stop apologising—it’s not your fault.’
His aggressive tone hurt, but he wasn’t being personal; he had to tell his growers this bad news, and she didn’t blame him for being angry with fate or the gods or whatever had sent this blight.
She said, ‘Most outbreaks occur during a wet spring and sweep through the area like wildfire; the fact that this arrived in late summer, and is confined to only three vineyards, could be a hopeful sign.’
‘It had better be,’ he said grimly, and looked down at her, his mouth twisting. ‘Very well, the three confirmed vineyards will be razed, every last twig and root burned and the land kept out of grape production for at least ten years.’
‘It’s the only thing that’s worked.’
‘I know. What about the adjacent vineyards?’
Rosa swallowed. ‘Although there’s no sign of the blight in them, I think they should be burned too—as a precaution. If we don’t have any more than three other outbreaks we’ve got enough spray to—with any luck—control it in the valley.’
His lips compressed into a thin, severe line. ‘It’s not going to be easy to convince the affected growers when their vines show no signs of disease.’
‘I know,’ Rosa said. ‘But they trust you—that’s obvious. You might be surprised.’
He frowned. ‘It seems I dragged you all this way for nothing.’
Stifling a stab of pain at his bluntness, she returned it. ‘I doubt if you’d have got the spray without someone to accompany it to oversee its use.’
He regarded her with lifted brows. ‘Really?’ he drawled.
‘Really,’ she returned with spirit. ‘Agricultural sprays are big business—the CEO wouldn’t have released it unless someone he trusted accompanied it. As well, technicians need to be shown exactly how to monitor the vines, what to look for and how to record the results of the tests they do. And my boss wants full and accurate reports of everything we do.’ Pride drove her to finish, ‘Once that’s all under way, I’ll go home.’
‘Home? Do you think of New Zealand as home?’
Startled, she paused before saying on a note of surprise, ‘I suppose I do—for now, anyway. I love it there, and I feel I’m doing good work. I might even try and do my doctorate over there.’
A dove cooed forlornly in the grapevines. Frowning, Max kept his eyes fixed on the bird while he said with unexpected gentleness, ‘Forgive me, Rosa—I’m taking my anger out on you and that’s not fair. You’ve already energised the researchers—the head of the institute told me that his assistants are now eager to get to work on several new lines you suggested.’
‘I’m glad,’ she said simply. She hesitated before asking, ‘Do you want me to tell the growers what has to be done?’ Before he could answer she hurried on, ‘I don’t have to live here; bad news might come easier from me.’
His gaze softened as it rested on her lips, then heated. Colour rose unbidden to her skin. Dry-mouthed, she fought back a powerful surge of sensation that sang through her veins like warm honey, sweeping away inhibitions.
After that hooded, dangerous glance Max turned away as though the sight of her irritated him. ‘Thank you for offering, but I owe it to them to do it.’
Max knew he’d hurt her, but her damned innocence was both challenge and protection. Without realising it, Rosa was too tempting. He wanted nothing more than to kiss the grave concern from her lips, to feel them cling hungrily to his and then to carry her across to a lounger and make her his in every possible way.
In bed the previous night he’d tossed for hours, try
ing to banish her from his mind so that he could sleep. Yet when he did at last manage to, she’d invaded his dreams, those dark siren’s eyes veiled and mysterious, her mouth inviting as she whispered sweet promises to him.
Because she was his cousin, she was completely forbidden.
He’d be the next King of Niroli. For all his grandfather’s faults, he loved the old man who worried incessantly about the welfare of his country. There was no one else now to take over; the only other male descendant was illegitimate.
He was it, he thought savagely. Born so far from the throne that he’d never dreamed of having to take up its burden, he’d now accepted it. In a way he’d even looked forward to it. His grandfather ruled autocratically, using the island parliament more as a sounding-board than a governing body. Max had been prepared to sacrifice his privacy and his freedom for Niroli so that he could introduce modern democracy to the island.
Hell, he thought with sudden, cold disgust at himself, he’d been smug. This fierce wildfire passion had the potential to derail his plans.
If he let it.
He’d always prided himself on his self-control, yet one heavy-lidded glance from Rosa’s exotic tilted eyes, dark with hidden thoughts, had splintered his defences into matchsticks.
Speaking with surprising passion, she blurted, ‘I wish I could be more help. I wish I could tell you we had a cure.’
‘Setting up links with the lab here is important, and will probably become more so in the future,’ he told her, glad of the interruption. Then, because he wanted other people around them, he suggested, ‘Shall we fly to Porto di Castellante tonight and have dinner there?’
Rosa clamped down on a wildfire spurt of delicious anticipation. ‘That would be lovely. I haven’t visited Grandpapa yet. Can you organise that for me—if he’s well enough, of course?’
‘I’ll see how his doctors feel,’ Max told her.
That evening Rosa hauled out the one dress that might do for dinner in the capital. Black silk energised by white polka dots, its scooped neck revealed the soft swell of her breasts. Frowning, she wondered if she was revealing too much golden skin.
Then she shrugged. When she’d arrived in New Zealand she’d been so impressed by Kate’s elegance that she’d asked her flatmate to recommend a make-up expert. This woman had not only shown her how to emphasise the natural tilt of her eyes and her sweeping cheekbones, but told her that she should be proud of her assets.
‘You’ve got a fabulous figure—you could be a model if you stood straighter. And your breasts are just right, not too big or too small. But you can certainly wear lower necklines—although not too low, because overtly sexy is not your style. Your skin is just gorgeous.’
Rosa had been startled, but the woman’s chic confidence had made her more than willing to listen. ‘I thought of cutting my hair,’ she said tentatively.
‘Don’t you dare! Use it to balance your height. And for heaven’s sake, get rid of those flat heels.’
‘But I tower over just about everyone,’ Rosa explained.
‘Who cares? Oh, only short men with inferiority complexes, that’s who! Why worry about them? You’ve got the most elegant pair of ankles I’ve seen for years, and legs that go on for ever. Play to your assets. Show the world that you appreciate yourself. And walk every day for twenty minutes with a book on your head until you’ve got rid of that stoop.’
Rosa had obeyed, helped by Kate’s recommendation of a good gym; also with Kate’s help she’d learned what clothes suited her, and she’d developed a style to suit her exotic looks.
For Max, she thought now, pulling out her black sandals, high and elaborately strapped to call attention to those ankles. It had all been for Max.
Even when she’d accepted that she might never see him again, she’d been transforming herself for him.
‘Idiot!’ she muttered bleakly at her reflection. Common sense told her she was crazy; instead of dressing for Max she should stay at the castle and work out a plan of action for dealing with shot blight.
Common sense could go hang; she was never likely to have the chance to go out with him again. She pinned a tremulous smile to her lips and ran down the staircase.
The helicopter landed at the private pad in the grounds of the royal palace. Rosa’s gaze travelled from the royal standard—the family coat of arms emblazoned on the brilliant blue that stood for the sea surrounding Niroli—to the waiting car with its discreet lack of insignia. ‘Is there any chance I might be able to see Grandpapa tonight?’ she asked.
‘I’m afraid not.’ In the back seat of the vehicle after the chauffeur had set it in motion, Max explained, ‘He’s still very tired and his doctors are insisting that he stay in bed without visitors for another couple of days. The yachting tragedy was a huge blow to him; he’s never really recovered.’
‘It was a huge blow to all of us,’ she said in a muted voice.
He slid his hand over hers and gripped for a second. ‘To all of us,’ he agreed, removing it.
His touch was entirely sexless, and supremely comforting. The whole family had sought comfort together, but that swift clasp of Max’s strong hand had eased the last raw spot in her heart. ‘And I suppose all this turmoil about the succession had just piled on the agony for Grandpapa.’
‘Yes.’ His voice was clipped and level. ‘He’s fragile, and his doctors are careful.’
She risked a glance at his angular profile. ‘Do you want to be King?’
Max’s mouth hardened. ‘It’s not a matter of wanting. I have to be King. Put simply, there’s no one else left.’ After a pause that lasted for just a second too long, he drawled, ‘Unless you want to take it on?’
Shuddering, Rosa shook her head so vehemently that a lock of hair fell from her loose chignon. She tucked it back in and said with heartfelt earnestness, ‘Apart from the fact that Niroli has never had a woman ruler, I’d hate it.’
‘But if it happened you’d accept the responsibility, and do your best.’
The pool of ice beneath her ribs expanded as a cold shiver of foreboding ran the length of her spine. His words echoed in her ears like a grim prophecy. She swallowed and said flatly, ‘It would be my duty.’
‘That’s how I feel.’ His broad shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘So it’s no use complaining about it. In royal families duty is destiny, and it seems that my destiny is duty. Life takes odd turns.’
Beneath his dispassionate lack of self-pity Rosa sensed a flinty determination. Max wasn’t a man to want or need sympathy; he’d face his future with the iron will and intelligence that had brought him success in his other endeavours.
Unable to find the right words to express her support and compassion, she said, ‘How will you deal with your business commitments once you’re King?’
Another pause, even longer this time, until he replied in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘I won’t—too much conflict of interest. I’m preparing to cash up and get out.’ He looked across at her, his eyes level. ‘That’s confidential. I’ll choose when to let the world know.’
‘Of course,’ she said automatically, while a small part of her warmed to the knowledge that he trusted her. How much would he miss the cut and thrust of big business, using the finely tuned entrepreneurial skills that had taken him to the top in such a short time?
Without thinking, she said, ‘But there will always be the wine.’
And wished she’d kept quiet. Put like that, it sounded very second-best.
‘I’ve already done as much for the industry as I can. They’re ready to take charge of their own destiny. This outbreak of blight will sap their confidence, but once they’ve coped with it—and they will—they’ll be fine.’
‘I’m sure you’ve trained them well,’ she said drily.
The corners of his beautiful mouth compressed into a brief smile. ‘I always knew it wasn’t going to be a lifetime commitment. Even before the succession problem came up I was getting ready to hand over. Of course I’ll always have an int
erest in the industry—the fact that I own vineyards in the valley will see to that.’
The car drew into the kerb and the bodyguard climbed out to open the back door. Passers-by—mostly tourists, Rosa realised as she got out—peered curiously at them.
Without any obvious hurry, Max took her arm. Sharp little thrills of electricity ran through her body, heating her skin; she had to stiffen her spine to meet the smiles and bows of the restaurant owner.
Control, she thought feverishly. You can control this! He was barely touching her, yet she felt it in every cell of her body—the innate, effortless authority of a man who combined steely brilliance as a businessman with the ability to match any of the grape-growers when it came to physical labour.
Their arrival was managed with the slickness of long experience, the owner seating them to one side of the room behind a screen of potted plants and a small fountain. They could see out, but few of the other diners even realised they were there, and fewer still knew who they were.
Rosa wondered what other women Max had brought to this place.
When they’d ordered he leaned back in his chair and smiled at her. Her skin tightened, and she tried to return his smile with one equally charming and enigmatic.
His face hardened and he looked down at the glass of wine he’d chosen for an aperitif, swirling it as he said idly, ‘I’m glad you’re enjoying New Zealand. What are your plans for the rest of your life?’
Bitter-sweet pleasure ached through her; she’d cherish the memory of this evening for the rest of her life. This would be the only time she’d ever sit like this with him, listen to him speak about something dear to his heart.
It would be all she had. When next she saw him he’d be officially recognised as the king’s heir.
And as soon as the abdication process had taken place, he’d be the new King of Niroli.
Pain took her breath away. She loved him, she realised wretchedly. She’d always loved him. For some reason her heart had found another home when she was sixteen, and that suppressed love had grown despite the long, lonely years.
She managed a flippant smile. ‘Find a way to control shot blight first. After that—’ she shrugged ‘—who knows? More of what I’m doing now—learning how to control anything that stops vine-growers producing their best results.’