by Donald Robyn
For once—because he wanted to be with her—he’d let his heart rule his head. Dowsing the swift flare of elation that realisation caused, she said slowly, ‘Why would paparazzi sniff around the royal island? The people here are notorious for their loyalty to the family.’
‘This is where Giovanni and Queen Eva conducted their illicit affair,’ Max told her, each word dropping like a stone.
The cold patch beneath her ribs expanded. ‘I see. But surely—you said yourself that the islanders don’t talk.’
He didn’t try to appease her with platitudes. ‘Anything’s possible. I always assume the best and prepare for the worst.’ Metallic, opaque eyes met hers. ‘Today my head of security warned me that a man who appears to be an ordinary tourist is trying to find out about that long-ago love affair.’
When she gasped, he went on sardonically, ‘Nothing so crass as straight questions. Conversations have been struck up with old people who’d have been around then, directed along certain paths, innuendoes made. So far with no success that I’m aware of, but it’s possible that there was gossip then, and that someone will spill the beans.’
She nodded, feeling sick. ‘I suppose that’s why I’ve been feeling as though someone’s watching me—that strange sensation between the shoulder blades. Max, it was dangerous to come here.’
‘Don’t worry,’ he said instantly. ‘You’ll be well protected if the news breaks. I can get you out of here within twenty minutes of any trouble, and within an hour you’ll be leaving Niroli for New Zealand.’
‘I’m not worried about myself.’ She should be as staunch as he was, not weakly begging to be reassured.
He gave her a savage pirate’s smile, eyes glinting with something too close to recklessness for her liking. It faded, replaced by his usual uncompromising control. ‘I don’t care what they might say about me, but there are others—my mother, the king—who have to be considered.’ He frowned, and took her hand, urging her up the stairs. ‘Has all this spoiled the evening?’
‘The evening was great,’ she said.
It would have been even better if they hadn’t had to pretend they were nothing more to each other than cousins who happened to be spending a holiday in the same place, but she wasn’t going to whine.
‘It’s been—wonderful,’ she said at the top of the stairs. ‘I’ll never forget it.’
‘It’s not over yet. Come here.’
But when she moved into his arms she wouldn’t look at him until he tipped her chin with a lean brown finger. Eyes glinting gold, he said, ‘Shall I show you what I wanted to do for the whole evening?’
Her slow smile of promise sent his hormones crazy. ‘I’d love that,’ she told him huskily.
But later, when he’d thoroughly and expertly made love to her, she thought that the evening had been tarnished. Like all lovers, she wanted to be open and frank about her love; now she knew it could never happen.
Max said into the darkness, ‘What’s the matter?’
‘Oh, I’m just railing at fate,’ she said on a note of irony.
‘Railing never achieved anything.’ He took her in his arms and held her against his heart, and she went to sleep with its slow, steady, completely reliable rhythm in her ears.
In fact she slept so deeply that when she woke alone in her bed early in the morning she felt as though she’d been heavily sedated.
After her shower she wandered out onto the balcony, to comb her wet hair. The sun had long been up, and the sea glittered as the waves frisked into the bay.
Over breakfast she asked tentatively, ‘Are you sure you’ll leave Niroli?’ She could bear being Queen if he stayed. ‘It’s your home…’ Her voice trailed away.
His face set into formidable lines of authority. ‘I’ll leave. Even if the king allowed it—and he won’t—staying will be impossible.’
Dismayed, she objected, ‘But you love the place! It’s wouldn’t be fair to drive you away—’
‘Nothing is fair about this situation.’ Cold cynicism hardened his voice and his face was unreadable.
Visualising the torment she’d go through if he stayed, and she was eventually forced to take the throne, she shivered. Inevitably she’d give herself away. ‘I suppose it wouldn’t work.’
‘It would not,’ he said with uncompromising decision.
She forced herself to sound practical. ‘So if it happens, where would you go? I know you have an apartment in London and another in New York—would you live in one of those?’
‘I might go to New Zealand,’ he said, and smiled sardonically at the surprise she couldn’t hide. ‘I’ve spent the past years dragging an ancient industry into the twenty-first century; I’d like to produce new wines in a largely untried terroir.’
Rosa sprang to the defence of the place she’d learned to love. ‘They do brilliant white wines.’
‘I know, and all credit to them. They’ve even produced some superb reds. If I were setting up there, I’d try grapes from Niroli in the north where it’s warmer, and pinot noir in the south, against the mountains.’
‘In other words,’ she said, entering into the spirit of this, ‘you don’t plan to be content with a vineyard, you want to develop an industry. Once an entrepreneur, always an entrepreneur!’
They spent the rest of the meal discussing the possibilities—pretending, she realised, that one day they’d be able to do it together.
But at the end of the meal she said quietly, ‘Can you stop the sale of your business affairs, or is it too late?’
‘Yes; I’ve already put that on hold.’
‘Won’t it cause the sort of gossip you don’t want?’
‘No. The whole thing’s been very discreetly handled so far—kept in the family, so to speak.’ He gave a mirthless smile. ‘No one’s going to worry about a hiatus.’
That morning they went to visit her parents’ grave. The king had wanted his son buried in the vault in the cathedral in the capital, but Rosa and her siblings had fought for the island, which her parents had loved and where they’d spent their happiest times. The tiny church in the nearest village had offered a sanctuary in hallowed ground, and eventually the king had given in.
The villagers stayed respectfully away while Rosa laid flowers she’d picked on the hillsides around the villa on the grave where they’d been buried together.
Tears pricked her eyes, but as she stood there and looked out over the sea they both loved so much, she said quietly, ‘I think they’re at peace. They had problems—’ briefly her mind skated to Adam Ryder, the product of her father’s one indiscretion ‘—but they loved each other.’
The next few days were spent in heated, erotic seclusion. The sex, as Rosa had always known it would be, was wonderful—a true communion of bodies and spirit—but in the years to come it would be the talking she’d miss.
Not that they agreed on everything; in some ways they couldn’t have been more different, although arguing with him was as much fun as agreeing, and she had never felt so exhilarated, so stimulated as when they clashed.
And they talked about Niroli’s future; very soon Rosa realised that Max was grooming her for the position of ruler.
When she taxed him with it he smiled wryly. ‘If the worst comes to the worst, I won’t have to worry that I left you completely unprepared.’ He paused, then said evenly, ‘I won’t be able to mentor you if you are forced onto the throne. There must be no hint of scandal—for some years you’ll be watched exceedingly carefully, and not just by the paparazzi. The islanders will be wary. And although I will give you my complete support, we mustn’t contact each other at all.’
‘There’s always email,’ she said, despising herself.
He looked straight at her, his brows together. ‘Even email can be breached,’ he said quietly. ‘No. A clean break, Rosa. It’s the only way.’
Chapter 11
Rosa closed her eyes, her whole being rebelling at Max’s brutal decision. She wanted to wail, to weep and scream and throw
herself onto the ground, sobbing and beating her fists in an orgy of grief.
Of course she did none of that. Training held, she thought, scanning his beloved face with painful intensity. She’d been trained to be a princess; now it seemed she might have to undergo further, more stringent instruction.
‘It’s too dangerous,’ Max stated. ‘Rosa, you’ll make an excellent ruler for Niroli. You’re clever—you learn fast. You have excellent people skills. You’re prepared to compromise without losing your integrity.’
Her lips trembled. ‘Thank you. If—if it comes to that, I so hope you’re right.’
At least after the last few days of intense discussion, she had a much better idea of how Niroli worked. She still dreaded the thought of having to take up a position she wasn’t qualified for, but Max’s confidence in her ability to cope had heartened her.
She’d always cherish the knowledge of his belief in her.
Towards the end of their stolen days together, Rosa and he attended a formal blessing of the fishing fleet, then left the villagers to enjoy themselves at the fiesta that followed, giving the servants the two days off.
After that she’d leave the island, and they’d probably never see each other alone again.
They spent the time together in erotic laziness, worshipping at the shrine of their passion, and each hour she fell further and further in love with Max.
Once he said lazily, but with enough emphasis to make her lift her head from his chest, ‘We’re masochists. This is only going to make things harder when we’re no longer together.’
Yawning, Rosa settled her hips even more firmly against his. He stirred, and she chuckled, a low, intimate little sound. ‘I know, but I’m so glad you came.’ Her voice deepened into intensity. ‘If this is all I’m going to have, then it will be worth it.’
He smiled and kissed her shoulder. ‘I told myself to stay away.’
‘Did you?’ She slid a wicked tongue into his ear, enjoying the sudden hardening of his body beneath her. ‘That inconvenient conscience of yours, I suppose. How does it feel now?’
‘Sated, like the rest of me.’ But he turned her over onto her back and stroked her from her high breasts to the juncture of her legs, his hand lingering with potent carnal effect on her satin skin.
‘Mmm, me too,’ she said huskily, finding him with unerring accuracy.
But his head came up abruptly and his eyes narrowed as he looked across to the window, shuttered against the afternoon sun.
Rosa froze. Eyes dilating, she opened her mouth to ask what he’d heard.
He dipped his head and breathed against her ear, ‘Get dressed,’ and then left her alone and exposed in the big bed, pacing with noiseless steps across the tiles to stop just inside the open doors onto the balcony.
The closed shutters protected him from prying eyes. Shuttered gold barred his lean body, poised and lethally powerful as any predator. Moving as silently as she could, Rosa pulled on shorts and a T-shirt, combed her hair and was coming across to stand beside him when he gestured.
She stopped, separating out the music of the waves, the sleepy call of a dove. From somewhere below came a gentle scraping noise—the sort of sound someone might make if they were trying to climb the vine that wound its way up the wall of the villa.
An intruder? Unconsciously she gnawed her lip, watching Max with wide, frightened eyes.
He turned and took her hand, pulling her well away from the windows. In a voice that was perfectly clear yet pitched for her ears only, he said, ‘Go into the bathroom. You’ve had your siesta, and now you’re washing your face and getting dressed. If he gets onto the balcony, yell for me and run out into the hall.’
Nerves twanging, she tiptoed into the bathroom, ran taps, cleaned her teeth, washed her face and dried it, then put on make-up carefully, hoping it hid the traces of the long hours spent in Max’s arms.
Adrenaline boosted her confidence, so that she felt she could take on the world and win. Nevertheless, she had to stop and take a deep breath when she could no longer put off going out into the bedroom.
It was a huge let-down—and an almighty relief—when her stabbing gaze found no one in sight—not in the room, not silhouetted against the shutters from outside. Heart pounding, she walked across to the shutters and flung them back.
Again, nobody, but from somewhere—in the garden, she was almost certain—she heard voices. She hesitated. Should she go out? Yes. Clearly Max had wanted everything to seem entirely normal, and if she’d just woken from her siesta she’d definitely be curious and want to see what was happening.
So she ignored the hollowness in her stomach and stepped out onto the balcony. Beneath the silk tree two men were facing each other—one a total stranger, now firmly held in Max’s grip.
Outraged and a little frightened, Rosa snatched up her mobile phone and ran down the stairs and out into the brazen heat.
Intent on each other, neither man noticed her arrival. She relaxed when she realised that, although their attitudes proclaimed antagonism, they were talking rather than squaring up at each other. In fact, when she stopped in the deep shade of a carob tree Max let the intruder go.
‘Get the hell out of here,’ he said contemptuously in English. ‘If I see you again on this island I’ll call the police.’
The intruder flicked an insolent glance at Rosa. ‘Why aren’t you calling them now?’ he asked.
Max gave him a look that should have shut him up. ‘On your way,’ he commanded.
The other man asked, ‘How would it affect your chances of being King if your grandfather discovered that you’re sleeping with your cousin?’
Rosa’s jaw dropped. The sheer vulgarity of his words shocked her. Horrified, she watched as Max took a swing at the man, knocking him to the ground. ‘Try that,’ he said between his teeth as the man scrambled to his feet, ‘and I’ll bring both you and your rag of a newspaper to bankruptcy.’
‘You can’t prove you’re not,’ the man shot back, keeping well out of Max’s reach as he nursed his jaw.
In a tone that lifted the hairs on Rosa’s skin, Max said, ‘Are you trying to blackmail me?’
‘Just checking.’ The journalist took a hasty step backwards. ‘OK, I’ll believe that you’re keeping to your own beds. But what would the king say if he knew that at about the time your father was conceived his wife was having a hot and heavy affair with the keeper of the royal vineyards? That might explain why your father showed no signs of the Fierezza charm and looks.’
Horrified, Rosa watched Max’s fists clench at his sides.
Contemptuously he said, ‘I won’t honour that with an answer. You have an hour to get off the island. Don’t bother trying to get back onto it. Your employer will be hearing from me.’
The reporter shrugged. ‘Ever heard of DNA testing?’
Max merely lifted a scornful brow. ‘You’re using up your time.’
The intruder sent another glance at Rosa. ‘Your cousin’s a scientist—she’ll know all about it. Get her to fill you in on how easy it is to collect samples. All it takes is a maid with a grudge.’
Max said lethally, ‘Rosa, ring the police.’
‘Hey—you can’t do that.’
‘Watch me,’ Max said with cold menace as Rosa tapped in the number that took her straight to the local police station.
‘I’ve got proof,’ the man shouted. ‘Photographic proof.’
It took every bit of Rosa’s self-control not to let her gaze fly to Max’s face. Sick apprehension built inside her and she silently urged the police to answer.
Max’s icy voice cut through the hot silence of the afternoon. ‘You’re lying.’
‘I’m not! It’s impossible to keep an affair secret in a place like this and Queen Eva’s made enemies here—not everyone thinks the sun rises and sets because the royal family tells it to.’ The journalist’s words tumbled over each other in his urgency to get them out. ‘I shot a snap of Giovanni What’s-his-name, and sent it to an
expert in forensic medicine. He checked it against you and your brother and he says that it’s a ninety per cent chance that you’re all descended from the grape-grower, not the king.’
Before Rosa could process this, a voice spoke in her ear. She wrenched her thoughts together enough to tell the flustered clerk at the police station briefly what was happening, and was assured that someone would be at the villa in ten minutes.
Max said nothing, his silence made more ominous by the unreadable mask of his face.
‘Hey, listen,’ the reporter protested, uneasy now. His eyes darted from Max’s cold, intimidating face to Rosa’s. Presumably judging her to be the easiest to sway, he said, ‘Princess, tell him that he can’t come over all feudal—those days are past.’
‘You’re trespassing,’ she said, hoping her contempt hid her fear. ‘It’s illegal here. Besides, I heard you trying to blackmail him.’
‘I didn’t,’ he yelped. ‘Listen, he knows all about it. Ask him why he and the old man had DNA testing before he came here. Go on, ask him!’
‘You disgust me,’ she retorted.
‘He knows he’s not a Fierezza.’ He grinned. ‘Anyway, it doesn’t matter. The results are with my office in London.’
Rosa hoped that her shock didn’t appear in her expression. She didn’t dare look at Max.
The journalist said eagerly, ‘He’s keeping you out of your rightful place as Queen of Niroli, and he’s trying to hang on to power by making you fall in love with him.’
‘Have you ever thought of writing fiction?’ she said frigidly, not daring to look at Max.
Touching the jaw where Max had hit him, the journalist blustered, ‘You assaulted me—or isn’t it illegal in Niroli for fake princes to punch out the press? You can’t put me in prison. I’ve got a right to tell the truth.’
‘I doubt if you’d recognise truth if it approached you in a bikini. It is illegal to attempt blackmail and to trespass,’ Max said with lethal scorn. ‘However, what happens to you will be decided by our courts.’ He looked up as the sound of an engine drowned out the soft whisper of the waves. ‘Ah, here are the police.’