by Liz Fielding
What? Oh, no. She couldn’t, shouldn’t. But this wasn’t about the kind of day out that she would tell her grandchildren about. This was work.
Deep breath.
Go for it.
‘…I’d be equally delighted to accept.’ She left a pause long enough for her heart to pound against her chest twice. ‘But I’m afraid I do have one condition.’
‘Only one?’
He’d reverted to the ice man. Clearly no one in the history of the world had ever put a condition on accepting an invitation from an Orsino. She wanted to say, Sorry, forget that, I didn’t mean it. I want to come with you, get to know you just for me…
He waited. Her mouth dried.
Too late to call back the words, go back to the warmth.
‘Nothing onerous,’ she said, her attempt at keeping her voice light coming out just plain squeaky. ‘But if Katie is going to have a break from being a princess, Your Highness, I think you should have a taste of “ordinary” life, too.’
Laura caught her breath as, behind Prince Alexander, Katie’s mouth dropped open in the kind of shocked reaction that not even a well-trained princess was able to disguise.
It was as if she was determined to sabotage her career. This time she’d completely blown it. Thrown it all away. Not content with a workmanlike piece on spending the day with Prince Alexander at Ascot, she’d wanted more. A lot more.
What on earth had she been thinking?
Oh, that was easy.
She hadn’t been thinking at all. It was always the same. She disengaged her brain and leapt in with both feet.
Or maybe not.
Maybe her feet, for once, knew best.
Ascot—delightful though it would be to swan around the royal enclosure as the guest of Prince Alexander—wasn’t going to help her career.
The truth of the matter was that if she appeared at Ascot with His Serene Highness, she would be the story. That was the whole point of the invitation, after all. Which was fair enough. She could live with that. But she was entitled to something in return.
The story she’d rashly told Trevor she was going to deliver.
The story on which her entire future depended. The one with pictures.
Alexander Orsino knew that he had been handbagged.
By Katie, who had managed to manipulate him because he hadn’t been paying attention—distracted by Laura Varndell in a state of undress. And by Laura, who in any state at all was a distraction few men would be able to resist.
It was why he was here, after all. Responding to the memory of vivid eyes, a mouth that was quick to smile. A mouth that wasn’t afraid to tell him exactly what its owner thought.
It was why he had not sent her jacket—or the brooch—with a messenger. Never able to fool himself, he was not about to start now. He had wanted to take a second look, get another charge from the energy she’d brought with her into his home. And his forgetful niece had given him the opportunity.
But it was time for him to regain control.
He glanced at his watch. ‘Katie, I don’t think you should keep Karl waiting any longer,’ he said, without taking his eyes off Laura. ‘Not if you are going to get packed in time to catch the afternoon flight.’
‘Pack?’ Katie’s eyes widened in shock. ‘But I thought—’
‘My hope that you might avoid further attention was clearly a forlorn one.’ He indicated the window. ‘The photograph of you has already fuelled media attention. The press will keep taking photographs of you and keep rehashing last night’s story. It is not going to go away, so you will have to.’
‘But you said—’ Katie, on the point of arguing, took one look at his face and realised that there was no point. Instead, hiding her hurt under a careless shrug, she turned to Laura. ‘Can you believe it? One kiss and I’m banished. I might as well become a nun.’ Then, remembering her manners, ‘Thank you for coffee, Laura. And for trying to help.’
‘I’m so sorry, Katie—’
She seemed genuinely distressed, he thought. Blamed herself. But Katie was fair.
‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault. Just be glad you have a life.’ His niece saved her ire for him, glaring at him as she picked up her bag, biting back tears, refusing to let them fall before she turned and almost ran from the apartment.
Laura flinched as the door slammed. ‘Did you have to be so cruel?’ she demanded, forgetting all about addressing him as Your Highness in that slightly arch manner that was just short of insolent. That suggested she thought the whole title thing was ridiculous.
‘I’m not being cruel.’ He moved towards the window, watching as the waiting photographer called out to Katie, snapping her tearful face as she looked up before climbing into the back of the car. ‘Far from it. Do you see?’ he said, inviting her to follow his gaze.
She left it just long enough to allow him the full impact of her disapproval before she glanced out of the window.
‘Tomorrow,’ he continued, ‘there will be a report in the press that Princess Katerina has been sent home in disgrace after the nightclub incident. That photograph will confirm just how upset she is. No one will doubt it.’
‘And?’
‘And with luck the photographer will follow her now so that I can leave undetected.’
‘You mean you’re sending her home in tears simply to avoid having your immaculate reputation sullied by the press?’ she demanded.
‘My reputation is neither here nor there. I don’t want you having to fight your way out of a front door blocked by newsmen demanding to know what I was doing here.’
‘Oh.’
‘Her banishment isn’t permanent. Next week she can fly back to London without the VIP treatment. Economy class perhaps would be best. Very ordinary.’ Her eyes narrowed but she wasn’t quite ready to smile. ‘I will arrange for her to stay with her mother’s old nanny and, provided she does nothing to draw attention to herself, she can return to school on Monday like any ordinary girl. Live anonymously for the next three months. Take the bus. Even go to the cinema with some boy called Michael who has yet to learn that kissing a girl is something not to be shared with the rest of the world.’
He looked down at her, found himself distracted by the way a strand of her hair was sliding over an ear that was today decorated with a little gold teddy bear. Had to physically stop himself from tucking it back into place. From kissing the frown from her lovely face.
‘Isn’t that what you wanted for her?’ he asked, to distract himself.
‘Well, yes. But you could have told her that,’ Laura said, still indignant, if slightly confused. ‘She’s a very convincing actress.’
‘Sometimes acting isn’t enough, Laura. Sometimes you have to feel the pain.’ He shrugged. ‘So, perhaps I wanted to make a point, too. Remind her what will happen if she’s stupid enough to go clubbing again. She won’t get another chance.’
‘That’s harsh.’
‘Just reality. One mistake might be forgotten if there’s a distraction. Two will make her a target. I’m sure she’ll get the point.’
‘Maybe. I still think you should have told her.’
‘I will. I’ll call her tomorrow,’ he replied, leaving her in no doubt that the subject was closed. ‘In the meantime we have to make sure that the press have something more interesting to focus on.’
‘We?’
‘Ascot? You did volunteer,’ he pointed out. ‘You can, of course, change your mind. I am certain Katie will understand why she cannot return—’
Now he had her attention. Her lovely eyes flashed as they focused on him.
‘No! No, really. If it’ll help Katie—’ Then, not quite able to meet his eyes, she said, ‘I’m sorry I said that—about you being cruel. She’s fortunate to have someone who’ll give her the chance to have her “ordinary” life, however briefly.’
‘She has three months. I hope she makes the most of it. It will have to last her the rest of her life,’ he said, his mouth tightening as he said it. An
gry about that. ‘My time is rather more constrained. I have a week at the most.’ He turned to her. ‘So, Laura, tell me, what do you have in mind?’
‘Sorry?’
‘You offered me a taste of ordinary life. A holiday from affairs of state. The dreary social round of receptions, galas, official dinners.’
‘I never said they were dreary,’ she said.
‘Oh, but they are, Laura. Believe me, they are.’ Although she would undoubtedly liven things up. They might even become enjoyable— ‘So,’ he said, ‘if the invitation is still open I am at your command. Or do you believe I am not worth the effort? That I am beyond help?’
The comic look of blank astonishment on her face made him want to laugh out loud.
‘Are you free this afternoon?’ he pressed.
‘This afternoon,’ she repeated, as if unfamiliar with the words. ‘As in today?’
‘We have no time to waste. After Ascot,’ he pointed out, ‘you won’t have an ordinary life to share with me. You’ll be part of the circus. However briefly.’
‘No. I suppose not. Although now that you’ve made Katie invisible there’s really no need—’
She stopped, perhaps realising that she was just about to talk herself out of an invitation to one of the social events of the year. She was safe. He wasn’t about to let that happen. This had nothing to do with Katie. He was doing this for himself.
‘Can you just take time off like that?’ she asked. ‘What about your official engagements?’
‘A diplomatic virus?’ he offered. ‘Or perhaps a touch of exhaustion?’
‘No one will believe that.’
‘You think anyone will dare to say so to my face?’
She blushed. ‘No, I suppose not.’
‘It will only take one journalist with the curiosity to follow up Katie’s story and discover the truth to ruin the whole thing for her. We need to redirect their attention. If Katie is to return, Ascot is not negotiable. Which is why I’m accepting your terms,’ he said. ‘You get to make your point. Starting this afternoon.’
Laura seemed momentarily lost for words. Which he thought was probably a first. It didn’t last. ‘If your country can spare you,’ she said, ‘my afternoon is yours.’
‘It will stagger on without me for a few hours,’ he assured her. The paperwork would pile up, but it would do that anyway. ‘What about your own job?’
‘Job?’
‘I assume, being ordinary, you do have a job?’
‘If I had a job I’d be there right now,’ she pointed out. ‘I’m, um, between appointments.’
‘How fortunate for me. I’ll pick you up at about three, after I have taken Katie to the airport. I should organise her flight. May I use your telephone?’
‘Help yourself.’
While he called his aide, Laura crossed to the window and looked up at the street.
‘Is your car the big black convertible?’ she asked, when he rang off and joined her to check that the photographer had, indeed, followed Katie.
‘Is that a problem?’
‘We should all have such problems.’ As she turned to look at him the sunlight touched her hair, lighting up the soft curls that were now hell-bent on escaping her high-speed attempt at control, turning them into a silver-gilt halo. ‘But it isn’t exactly ordinary.’
‘No,’ he said, not looking at the car. ‘Not ordinary at all.’
‘Better leave it at home this afternoon. It’ll attract attention.’ She frowned. ‘That photographer might run a check on the numberplate to find out who owns it.’
‘It is registered to a company,’ he said.
‘Montorino plc?’
‘Near enough. I take your point.’
‘Better take the bus as well. The number forty-two stops just along the road.’ And she caught her lower lip to stop a smile from breaking out, her teeth tugging at the soft pink flesh, giving his body ideas that his brain knew to be ill-advised.
His brain wasn’t listening. He didn’t want to use public transport. He wanted to drive them both out into the country and get lost somewhere without telephones or newspapers until next week, when they’d put in an appearance at Ascot and he would be forced to come back down to earth.
‘Give it a try,’ she pressed, when he didn’t respond. ‘It’ll be a new experience for you.’
‘I can’t wait.’
Laura closed the door, leaned against it. Groaned. What had she done?
Got herself a story, that was what, she told herself firmly. A career-enhancing story. At least she’d got the makings of one.
Get it right and Trevor McCarthy would welcome her back with open arms.
Get it right and she’d be taken seriously.
And what about Prince Alexander? She pushed away the niggling voice of a conscience that would intrude at the most inconvenient moments.
What about him? He was one of the richest men on earth. He had everything a man could dream of.
All she wanted was the job she’d set her heart on from the moment she’d been able to read her mother’s articles—had understood what Jay did. It wasn’t such an impossible dream. She was prepared to work hard. Wasn’t asking to be rich, or famous.
Prince Alexander owned a whole country, for heaven’s sake, with his own palace to live in during the week and a fairytale castle in the country for weekends and vacations. A mansion in London. Sports cars. A yacht, in all probability.
The last thing in this world he needed was her sympathy.
What about that young maid who was clearly terrified out of her wits by him? What about a country governed by an autocrat?
The last thing he deserved was her sympathy.
He didn’t give a fig about her privacy. He knew that after Ascot she’d have every paparazzo in London camped on her doorstep, yet he’d practically blackmailed her into accepting his invitation. Making it clear that if she backed out Katie would be staying in Montorino.
So. That was clear, then. No problem. She could do this. He’d have his distraction and she’d file her story to run on the day the pictures appeared of them both at Ascot.
CHAPTER FIVE
ALEXANDER knew he should not be doing this; there were a hundred things demanding his attention. But then there always were. And a deal was a deal. Laura was compromising her privacy to give Katie some peace. The least he could do in return was indulge her determination to show him what she thought he was missing.
He found himself smiling at that. It would be interesting to compare notes when she’d experienced life from his point of view. He thought a little public transport might go a long way once she’d tasted the comfort of a chauffeur-driven Rolls.
It was, after all, only fair that she should give him a chance to convert her to his point of view. Something he hadn’t mentioned when he’d accepted her challenge.
Then, as he searched through his wardrobe for something suitably pedestrian to wear, he wondered if she’d have the same problem with clothes for Ascot. All the other women in their party would be dressed in haute couture. Would she be offended if he offered to underwrite the expense?
Without a doubt, he decided.
And was torn between the conflicting reactions of pleasure and regret. He was attracted by her frankness, her honesty, artlessness. All those qualities that meant she’d tell him to keep his haute couture.
But it would have been a pleasure to dress Laura in the softest silks, hand-stitched linen, shoes fit for a princess.
He caught sight of his reflection in a tall cheval mirror and pulled a self-mocking face. Correction. Dressing her had been the furthest thing from his mind.
Just as well she would never allow him such self-indulgence.
‘Shopping?’
‘Shopping,’ Laura confirmed. ‘I’m sorry it’s nothing more exciting.’
Prince Alexander had arrived exactly on time, having taken only partial heed of her advice and been dropped off by a taxi at the end of the street. At least he was
wearing the standard uniform of the off-duty male, the kind of classless clothes that would blend in anywhere.
Unfortunately His Highness, strikingly tall, strikingly broad-shouldered, was incapable of looking ordinary even in jeans. Or maybe it was just the way they clung to his waist, his backside, thighs, as if moulded to him, that lifted her pulse-rate. The faded wear creases were all in the right places, too.
How had they got that way?
The man in the photograph on the cover of Celebrity magazine didn’t look as if he’d ever heard of denim, let alone worn it on a regular basis.
Dragging her mind back to the business in hand, she said, ‘Us ordinary folk have to eat, too.’ Her nerves were wound up to snapping point, making her sharper than she’d meant to be. ‘But with us it’s a do-it-yourself thing. First we shop. Then we cook. Then we eat.’
‘No problem,’ he replied, politely ignoring her edginess. ‘I just wondered if I’d gone a bit too down-market in my attempt to blend in, but clearly your idea of shopping doesn’t coincide with Katie’s.’
‘We’re not going anywhere near Knightsbridge, if that’s what you mean. Someone would be sure to recognise you there. Even wearing jeans.’
It occurred to her that she was giving his hips entirely too much attention and she forced her gaze upwards. Met those disconcertingly dark eyes head on.
What was he thinking?
‘You’ll fit right in at the local market,’ she said.
At least his clothes would. Prince Alexander would always stand out from the crowd, turn heads, no matter how ‘down-market’ he dressed. He might be wearing the clothes of the average man in the street, but he still had the bearing of an aristocrat. A prince.
She’d just have to rely on the sheer improbability of His Serene Highness touring the local street market, apparently picking out vegetables for his supper, to keep him incognito.
She’d originally settled on a visit to the supermarket as the most ordinary thing she could think of. The up side of having him push a trolley round the shelves would, unfortunately, be more than offset by the fact that his photograph was on the front page of this week’s Celebrity magazine, prominently displayed on the news-stand just by the entrance.