by Donald Robyn
Shrugging, Max eased the tension in his shoulders. He and his grandfather had discussed constitutional matters, and then the old man had startled him by raising the subject of a wife.
‘Do you have any preferences?’ he’d asked.
‘No,’ Max said shortly.
His grandfather snorted. ‘Well, you’d better start looking. You’ve been living like a monk this past year or so. It’s not normal.’
Max lifted his brows. ‘I’ve been busy,’ he said, more mildly than he felt. The old man looked grey and drawn, as though he was holding himself together by stern will-power. ‘And now there’s this disease in the vines.’
‘How’s young Rosa doing?’
‘Extremely well, but she’s giving no guarantees of success.’ Briefly he outlined the steps he’d taken and Rosa’s suggestions for confining the outbreak.
The king nodded. ‘Doctors or not, I’ll see her when she comes here on her way back to New Zealand,’ he said. ‘I’m feeling better by the day.’
And that had been an end to it, but just before Max had left the king had said in a different voice from his usual autocratic tones, ‘Give the prospect of marriage some thought. Niroli needs heirs—plenty of them, and the sooner the better.’
He was right. Max watched the lights of Cattina come up to greet them as the helicopter descended. The decision of his various grandsons to choose their own paths of life had appalled the king. Max was certainly not the man he’d have chosen to follow him on the throne, but the old autocrat had grudgingly accepted that there was no one else.
If he turned it down, the only person left was Rosa.
And even if the people of Niroli could be persuaded to accept a woman as their monarch, the family rules applied equally to her.
Duty or love—the age-old dilemma. Realising that his hand was clenched into a fist on the arm of the seat, he relaxed his fingers.
She was young enough to get over this…this wilderness of passion and aching, tormenting need. His mobile mouth pulled into a grim smile. Who was he fooling? He’d had five years to deal with it, and it hadn’t gone for him.
But she was resilient and strong. Eventually another man would convert that innocent sensuousness into rapturous satisfaction.
Max discovered he was grinding his teeth. Bleakly he told himself he’d be glad when at last she was happily married.
And knew he lied.
The chopper touched down gently, the clatter of the rotors changing pitch. Max frowned. There seemed to be a welcoming committee—surely, he thought with a stab of fear, not another outbreak? He searched the knot of people for Rosa’s tall elegant figure, but couldn’t find it. His concern eased. If it had been another case of shot blight she’d be waiting.
He picked up his briefcase and got out, bending his head until he was well beyond the clattering rotors.
The mayor bobbed his awkward bow. ‘Your Highness,’ he shouted, ‘it is the princess—she has been hit by a car.’
In a voice no one had ever heard before, Max demanded, ‘What are her injuries?’
The mayor said hastily, ‘Slight.’ He crossed himself. ‘Bruises only, not even a broken arm or leg, but she has concussion and the doctor says she needs a nurse for a couple of days. One is with her now, and the doctor also.’
‘Thank you,’ Max said, long legs taking him towards the castello. Behind him he could hear the mayor telling Giovanni how it happened; one part of his mind heard it, but the other was concentrated on his cousin, in pain and suffering.
Rosa lay quietly, mainly because her head hurt too much to formulate thoughts. She knew she’d been run into, knew she’d only been bruised and that this headache was a mild case of concussion.
If this was mild, she’d hate to have a serious one.
And it didn’t help to know that she’d been to blame; hearing the chopper had temporarily turned off her brain.
Soft noises lifted her eyelids; she stared at Max’s beloved face, and sudden tears clogged her lashes. ‘Don’t make me cry,’ she whispered. ‘My head is killing me.’
A warm, strong hand clasped hers. He said uncompromisingly, ‘When you’ve recovered I’ll kill you. What possessed you to walk across the street without looking? No, don’t answer that—you’re in pain.’
‘It’s just a headache,’ she said fretfully. ‘How is the driver? I remember him swearing, so I know he’s not badly hurt.’
‘He’s not hurt at all,’ Max said crisply. ‘Unlike you, he’s aware of road safety—he was wearing his seat belt.’ His tone altered. ‘Apart from your head, how does the rest of you feel?’
‘Battered,’ she admitted. ‘But truly, there’s not much wrong. Can you apologise to the driver for me? I must have scared him witless.’
‘You did. He’s down in the hall being interrogated by the local police, and hugely relieved that he hasn’t killed you.’
Her smile was pale and transitory. ‘I feel so silly,’ she said. ‘How was your day?’
‘Good.’ He put her hand back on the coverlet. ‘The doctor is glowering at me from the door so I’d better go. Do what he and the nurse tell you. Just take it easy—try to sleep.’
‘Not much chance of doing anything else.’ She sighed, then winced. ‘I know it was stupid, and now I’ve just made things more difficult for you. Sorry, Max.’
‘You should be.’ He stooped and kissed her on the forehead—like a father kissing his child, but even that chaste salute brought heat to her cheeks.
‘Don’t worry about anything,’ he commanded, and was gone.
Next morning her headache had vanished, but the bruises she’d felt the night before had begun to appear in all their glory. Not only were they an interesting blue, but they hurt whenever she moved—even when she breathed.
When the doctor paid his morning visit, Max asked the doctor curtly, ‘Is it possible she’s broken a rib?’
The doctor shook his head. ‘She hasn’t even cracked one—she’d be in much more discomfort if she had. It’s just the bruises. It will be some days before she feels comfortable again.’
‘I’m here,’ Rosa said crisply. ‘And conscious.’ She glared at them both. ‘And there’s nothing wrong with my ribs—I’ve had a cracked rib, and, believe me, this is nothing like that.’
‘When did you crack a rib?’ Max asked.
‘Falling off a horse when I was sixteen.’ Mortified, she wondered what on earth had made her let that out. Defiantly, she went on, ‘At our villa on the royal island. Just after you left, if I remember correctly.’
Of course she remembered everything, especially embarrassing him with her unwanted adoration. She’d fallen because she’d been weeping at Max’s departure with his gorgeous, charming girlfriend, and her horse had stumbled.
He lifted a black brow. ‘I didn’t hear about that,’ he said, his voice completely neutral.
‘Why would you?’ Cheeks slightly flushed, she said to the doctor, ‘I need to get up as soon as I can.’
‘Not today.’ He and Max spoke together.
Deferring to superior knowledge, Max gestured the doctor to go on.
‘This morning you stay in bed,’ the older man said sternly. ‘This afternoon if you feel like it you can sit in a chair for an hour or so. Tomorrow, spend the morning in the chair and in the afternoon take a short gentle walk around the room. Gradually work up to a full day on your feet. You’ll feel those bruises until they fade.’
Rosa’s jaw jutted. ‘I have to get up today. I have work to do.’
Max said authoritatively, ‘She’ll stay in bed.’
So Rosa waited until they were both gone to push back the bedclothes and swing her legs over the side. Muscles she didn’t even know she had protested in outrage and beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, but she clenched her teeth and grabbed the head of the bed, using it to lever herself upwards.
‘What are you doing?’ The nurse rushed across to the bed. ‘Highness, it won’t do you any good to force yourself to g
et up. What will the prince say?’
‘Plenty, no doubt,’ Rosa said, swaying slightly, but already feeling better for being on her feet. Max would be only too pleased to see the back of her, so the sooner she got up and moving, the better.
The nurse looked torn. ‘I shall tell him,’ she decided, and turned to the door.
‘No!’ But Rosa’s command was overlaid by another voice, cold and uncompromising.
‘Get into that bed,’ Max said, and when she stared mutinously at him, hiding the heady clamour his arrival caused, he strode across the room, picked her up with a strength that couldn’t be denied, and with exquisite care eased her back under the covers.
‘And this time, stay there!’ he commanded, the steely note in his voice even more intimidating than his expression.
Tactfully, the nurse disappeared.
Before he had a chance to straighten up, Rosa said quietly, ‘Do you know what to do with the vines?’
He was so close she could see the fine grain of his skin across his cheekbones, and recall with abrupt and intense accuracy how it had felt beneath her fingertips.
Perhaps something of that forbidden delight surfaced in her eyes, because Max stood up abruptly and took a pace back from the side of the bed. ‘No. But no one will expect you to do anything when you’re hurt.’
‘You’d ignore the pain and get back to work,’ she charged.
‘That’s different.’
She shrugged. ‘So much for equality of the sexes.’
‘Men are stronger than women.’ He held up an imperative hand when she opened her mouth to refute that. Amusement gleamed in his eyes. ‘Yes, I know scientists have proved that when it comes to endurance women last longer, but there’s no need for you to endure anything. I’ve spoken to the lab staff; they’re certain they know what to look for now, but it would help if you could write out that protocol for checking the vines, and another for the tests they need to do if any more outbreaks are suspected. Make both as detailed as you can.’
Rosa hated to give in, but, with every muscle in her body wrenched and aching, she accepted that for at least while she worked on the protocols she could stay in bed. ‘All right,’ she said coolly.
He looked down at her with narrowed eyes. ‘Can I trust you to stay in bed?’
She was going to object, but something stayed her tongue. He had enough to worry about; the only way she could ease his burden was do as he asked. ‘Yes,’ she said, adding, ‘For today, anyway.’
Although his frown warned her that he wasn’t impressed, she went on steadily, ‘Tomorrow I’ll see how I feel, but staying in bed isn’t going to help my bruises. And I need to supervise the monitoring of the vines.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Another thing I didn’t realise was how obstinate you are. Yesterday you showed the technicians how to do that.’
‘They need overseeing.’ Her smile was a warning. ‘As for obstinacy, how do you think I managed to persuade my parents to let me take my scientific bent seriously? Both of them—but my mother especially—wanted a completely different life for me.’
Max walked across to the window, standing there and staring out over the town and the valley. Rosa let her eyes feast greedily on his tall form, dominating the room against the blue, blue sky of summer. In spite of her efforts to control and subdue it, the swift kick of arousal was always there, even though she knew it could never be appeased.
Finally he turned and said austerely, ‘It seems there is no end to the sacrifices Niroli requires of us. Very well. Tomorrow you can do what you feel is necessary, but today you stay in bed.’
So she did, working on step-by-step instructions, making them as clear and positive as she could.
That night Max read the results of her efforts in his office, then handed the papers over to Giovanni. ‘What do you think?’
The older man perused them, finally pronouncing, ‘Excellent. She has a clear and logical mind, the princess, and with this to refer to and tick off, surely no one can miss even the smallest sign of trouble.’
‘I’ll get my PA to organise for them to be printed and laminated, and we’ll make sure every household has at least one copy.’
Nodding, Giovanni put the paper down on the desk. He hesitated, then said casually, ‘She has grown into a charming woman.’
‘She has,’ Max said, and got to his feet. ‘Stubborn, also. Tomorrow she insists on getting up.’
Giovanni smiled, but his dark eyes were troubled. ‘You call it stubborn,’ he chided, ‘but most would say it’s strength of character. Besides, some have made the same accusation about you.’
Shrugging, Max said, ‘A family trait, then. Now, I suggest we go to bed early tonight, as tomorrow looks like being a long day.’
‘Look, a perfect morning,’ the nurse said, flinging back the curtains. ‘One for the gods. How do you feel after a night’s sleep?’
‘Much better,’ Rosa told her firmly. ‘Well enough to get up.’
Tut-tutting, the nurse helped her to dress, suggesting that for today no bra was necessary.
‘Not that you need one,’ she observed, easing a soft silk shirt over Rosa’s shoulders. ‘You have a model’s figure—slim and elegant.’
Rosa, who for years had envied her sister her more voluptuous body, smiled with a hint of irony and tried not to flinch as she got into a pair of loose trousers. ‘It would have been nice to know what was in my future when I was growing up all gawky and awkward.’
The nurse chuckled. ‘Ah, you would have found something else to worry about! Teenagers always do.’
Like falling in love with a forbidden man? She’d wanted so desperately to be beautiful like Isabella, because then Max might see something in her.
And now it didn’t matter; the family rule she’d barely thought of in her teens stood like a wall between them. Until the death of her parents they could have married. Oh, it would have caused a scandal and cut both of them out of the succession, but it would have been possible.
Now it wasn’t. Max’s conscience wouldn’t allow it.
Neither would hers. Even if he loved her she couldn’t lure him into a relationship. He was the ruler Niroli needed to coax it into the twenty-first century.
Biting her lip, because her body was letting her know in no uncertain terms that it resented any movement, she pulled on her boots.
Someone knocked on the door. Her heart picked up speed, accelerating even further when the door opened to reveal a very grim Max. ‘Is anything wrong?’
‘Only that you’re insisting on this,’ he said curtly, coming into the room. ‘Ready?’
‘Yes,’ she said with emphasis, only to spoil it by wincing when she took the first step.
‘Get back into bed,’ Max said lethally.
Her head came up. ‘No.’
Their eyes duelled across the room. Finally Max shrugged. ‘On your own head be it. I’ll carry you down.’
‘No,’ she said, both excited and appalled. ‘I’m too heavy.’
He looked at her with glittering eyes. ‘In that case, you won’t be able to make your way down the stairs. And even if did you crawl down them on stubborn will-power alone, after that you won’t be fit to do any sort of supervision, let alone a whole day of it.’ He paused, before saying deliberately, ‘I won’t drop you.’
He didn’t want to do it, she could tell, but he was right. Bracing herself for his touch, she said, ‘You’d better install elevators.’
‘Why?’ Gently he scooped her up and turned towards the door. ‘You’ll be leaving soon, and no one else has ever needed them.’
‘Oh, rub it in,’ she grumbled, because her body was purring into life, sensuous and catlike now that she was in his arms. ‘I know I used to trip over a lot, but, truly, until I came back to Niroli I thought I’d outgrown my clumsiness.’
‘You’re not clumsy—you never were. Even when you were growing so fast you had trouble controlling your long limbs, you reminded me of a colt, all arms and legs but w
ith the promise of grace and elegance,’ he said, negotiating the stairs with steady confidence. ‘I used to wonder how you could see through that mane of hair.’
And why her mother hadn’t persuaded her into having it cut, he remembered. Although his aunt Francesca had loved both her daughters, she’d had much more in common with Isabella. She simply hadn’t known how to deal with a forthright, determined kid with a passion for such unfashionable interests as biology and science.
Uncannily echoing his thoughts, Rosa said, ‘You gave me my first microscope when I was eight.’
He smiled. ‘I’m surprised it stayed in your memory.’
She’d stammered her thanks, later confiding shyly that it was the best present she’d ever had, even better than her pony. She’d been such a straightforward child, speaking her mind with sometimes alarming results. Time, he thought, hefting his fragrant armful a little higher as he eased down the final few stairs, hadn’t changed her much, although she’d learned circumspection.
His body stirred, its uncivilised impulses barely curbed by consideration and the fear of hurting her further. ‘How the hell did you manage to walk into poor old Gesemane’s car?’
‘He hadn’t bothered to switch on his lights,’ she said in self-defence. ‘But I was thinking of something else.’
‘Trying to work out what to do for the vines?’
When she nodded her hair brushed his cheek, silky and warm, scented with some faint perfume that set his body onto full alert.
‘I suppose I must have been,’ she said, not exactly evading an answer.
Max wondered what she wasn’t telling him. ‘Promise me you’ll take it easy today, and stop when you start to feel tired.’
‘Don’t nag,’ she said spiritedly. ‘I’m not stupid. I don’t want to be a bother to you, so I’ll give up when I have to.’
They’d reached the bottom of the stairs. Mysterious, exotic eyes flicked a glance his way. ‘Put me down now, please.’
Without stopping he said, ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was strained. ‘Put me down, Max.’