The Impoverished Princess

by Robyn Donald

  He managed to call a halt, to look into her huge eyes and say in a voice that probably sounded as taut and explosive as he felt, ‘Serina—we have to stop this right now or it will be too late.’

  Her lashes fell slowly, trembled against skin as translucent as the finest silk, but when she lifted them again she was once more in command of herself.

  ‘So we stop,’ she said, a husky note in her voice giving her away.

  Alex found himself wishing he’d taken the chance. For the first time ever he’d lost control, been tempted to follow his desires and damn the consequences.

  Mastering his hunger, he released her and tried to summon his usual detached attitude. The after math of a carnal storm unlike anything he’d ever experienced made it near impossible.

  Who’d have thought the gracious, reserved Princess would show all the instincts of a courtesan?

  No, most courtesans had their eyes firmly on their bank balances, bargaining sex for security. Serina had offered herself ardently and without reserve.

  And then he wondered whether she’d have been so passionately willing if they hadn’t spoken about her brother.

  Even as the thought formulated, he knew it wasn’t likely. She seemed convinced that Doran and his friends were designing a video game, so why would she be concerned? She also guessed he’d warned Gerd about the possibility of trouble on his borders.

  However, he had to assume that she might have been lying. An inner revulsion at the thought forced him to realise how much he wanted to trust her. The computer game story was a brilliant subterfuge, entirely believable. Pity it wasn’t true. Young Doran and his band of romantic, eager conspirators had no idea what they’d got into.

  He looked down into her face and saw with savage satisfaction that she too was struggling for control. The ache in his groin intensified into a plea, a demand—almost a command. He fought it back because he didn’t dare give his innermost instinct free rein.

  He’d be betraying Gerd and Rosie if he didn’t make every effort to find out whether Serina knew anything—any small scrap of information that could lead them to the people who were backing her brother and his friends. In spite of their efforts, he and Gerd still weren’t sure who was pulling the strings, or why, although they had their suspicions. If the Princess had any inkling, he was honour bound to find out.

  And if that meant seducing her into pillow talk, then it would have to be done. It was, quite literally, a matter of life and death, not only for her brother and his friends, but for many other people.

  Serina looked up, catching a glimpse of something harsh and grim in his eyes. Chilled, she masked a shiver by turning away so she could pretend to examine the rose again.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said evenly.

  ‘Why?’ She even managed a smile. ‘I know the tabloids call me the ice princess, but surely you don’t believe them? I have been kissed before.’

  His brows rose and he surprised her by stooping to snap off the bloom and hold it out to her. In a wry voice he told her, ‘I’m sorry because I stupidly made the arrangement for our flights without thinking that we might want to prolong our stay here.’

  Colour heated her skin. Now—or never, she thought, wondering if he could hear her heart thudding so heavily in her chest.

  Now. Because she wanted to know what making love to Alex was like in finitely more than she wanted to obey the strictures drummed into her by her mother and her governess. For the first time in her life she realised how potent desire could be…

  ‘I—thank you,’ she said, and answered his unspoken proposition by lifting the flower to her lips, still tender from his kisses. The petals were warm and smooth and she inhaled their sweetly provocative perfume.

  Hastily, she said, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a rose exactly this shade of red before. And, as it seems perfectly happy growing in a pot, I’d like to buy one for myself when I get back home. It should enjoy living on my balcony, and it would be a charming reminder of my visit here.’

  ‘If you want a true reminder of New Zealand, a native plant might be more appropriate. You can buy sealed packets of seeds that are acceptable to most countries now.’

  How could he switch so abruptly—from the passionately demanding kisses of a few minutes ago to this pleasant, conversational courtesy?

  With ease, clearly. Emotion and sensation were still churning through her, but Alex was once more fully in control.

  ‘I’ll look out for them.’ She turned to go, but remembered something. ‘What time do you plan to leave this morning?’

  He paused, as though remembering something. ‘There’s been a change of plan—if you’re happy with it. I met friends at the dinner last night who live not far north of here in a vineyard. Their garden is beautiful—a show piece. Today they’re launching their latest red with lunch and a reception there. They invited me and, when I mentioned you were with me, they extended the invitation to you.’

  ‘That’s very kind of them,’ she said uncertainly.

  His brows lifted. ‘How is it that in your conversation I so often hear a but coming?’

  The ironic question brought a smile. ‘I’d love to meet them, and the launching of a new wine is a very special occasion…’

  Her voice trailed away. How could she explain that she didn’t want to appear to his friends as his latest conquest, arm candy for a successful man?

  Before she could go any further, he said, ‘New Zealanders are notoriously informal, and I can promise you the invitation is genuine. Aura suggested we come for lunch and look around their garden as that’s your interest.’ And, when she hesitated anew, he added, ‘She recognised your name and has read some of your columns.’

  Somehow that appeased her uncertainty. ‘I’d love to go,’ she said quietly.

  He glanced at his watch. ‘Then we’d better move. Breakfast will be in about twenty minutes.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ she promised and headed back into her bedroom.

  Once inside, she stood still in the middle of the room and took several deep breaths, trying to clear the fog of confusion and frustrated desire from her brain.

  The perfume from the rose drifted up, softly seductive, and she said beneath her breath, ‘That’s enough of that, thank you! I need a clear head right now.’

  She filled a glass with water and popped the flower into it, ruefully examining a tiny bead of bright blood where a thorn had broken the skin on her thumb.

  For some reason she didn’t want to analyse what had happened out there on the terrace. Tiny tantalising prickles of sensation ran across her skin as she remembered…

  Stop it, she commanded her wayward mind. So she enjoyed Alex’s kisses—too much—and, judging by his initial reaction, he’d enjoyed her response.

  And then he’d shut down. Again.

  Why? And where—if anywhere—did they go from here?

  She stared at the mirror, absently taking in the luxurious cream and gold opulence of the bathroom. Very feminine. And she’d better not forget that other women would have used this room.

  The thought tarnished the residual excitement of his kisses, her pleasure in the day, in the rose.

  Once she’d been the unwilling witness to a scene between her mother and her father, when her father had said impatiently, ‘It means nothing, my dear. You are and will always be the only woman I love—any others are mere entertainment.’

  Her mother had asked wearily, ‘Do all men feel that way?’

  And her father, probably made uncomfortable by his wife’s unspoken grief, had blustered a little before replying, ‘Yes. All the ones I have met, anyway. It is simply the way men are.’

  Serina’s experience had backed up her father’s words. Many men—and women—didn’t need to love, or even like someone to want them.

  Serina knew she wasn’t that sort of person. She’d promised herself that she’d wait for someone special, someone who would make her feel things she’d never felt before, someone she could respect�
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  And a year ago that imaginary someone became concrete when she’d met Alex. Now she understood that her wildfire physical response to him had made that decision, rather than anything she knew of his character. In danger of letting passion override everything else, she needed to be absolutely sure of her feelings. And to do that she’d have to learn more about him, respond to him intellectually and emotionally as well as with this consuming, elemental hunger.

  Only then could she take the next step.

  And by then, she thought with an inward quiver of excitement, she’d under stand what that next step should be.

  In the meantime, she’d better work out what she should wear to a lunch and reception to launch a new wine.

  She chose a sleek, sophisticated suit of fine wool in a deep crimson.

  When she emerged in it Alex looked at her and asked, ‘Did you choose that to match the colour of the wine?’

  ‘It never occurred to me,’ she said, half-laughing.

  They drove to the vineyard, where his friends made her welcome. The Jansens were a few years older than Alex, and they lived with their four children in a magnificent house overlooking a wide valley braided with vines that ran down to an estuary. They were a striking couple, interesting and informative, and their garden was superb, a blend of native plants and subtropical exotica that trans fixed Serina.

  The guests at the launch were an equally international selection; Serina enjoyed chatting with the local residents, and was delighted to see an old friend, daughter of the royal house in a Mediterranean island, now living in a vineyard in the South Island with her handsome husband.

  There were others she recognised too. As she sipped an exquisite champagne-style wine at the reception, she caught the eye of another old friend making his way towards them. The handsome scion of a famous French champagne house, Gilberte swooped on her, kissing her on both cheeks.

  ‘Dearest Serina,’ he said extravagantly, ‘what on earth are you doing here in the uttermost ends of the earth?’

  ‘She’s with me,’ Alex said from behind her.

  Smile widening, Gilberte looked up. ‘Ah, Alex, I should have known you’d be with the most beautiful woman here—apart from our hostess, of course!’

  Serina laughed. ‘Same old Gilberte—a compliment for every woman,’ she said affectionately, aware of a prickle of tension that had nothing to do with Gilberte. ‘What are you doing in the den of the opposition?’

  ‘Oh, Flint and I are old friends,’ he told her, ‘and I come often to New Zealand—just to keep a watch on what they are doing, you under stand, but also because I love the place. And because we still sell a lot of champagne here.’

  Later, she looked from the window of the small commercial aeroplane as they flew the length of the long, narrow spine of Northland.

  Beside her, Alex said, ‘Admit it—you were surprised by the people you met at Flint and Aura’s launch.’

  ‘A little,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘Because New Zealand is so far from anywhere—and looks so small on the map, lost in a waste of ocean—I suppose I’d expected a very insular group, although I’d heard that New Zealanders are extremely friendly.’

  ‘Well-travelled too,’ he drawled. ‘And accustomed to overseas visitors—we get a lot of them.’

  She flashed him a rueful smile. ‘All right, I will admit that the very cosmopolitan guests at the launch surprised me. Apart from the lovely people, the whole occasion was like something out of a dream—the valley with vines braiding the hills and the lovely glimpse of sea, that beautiful house and the wonderful gardens, and some truly fabulous clothes.’

  ‘I’d have thought you were accustomed to occasions like that,’ Alex observed, his tone ambiguous.

  ‘It was—’ Serina stopped herself from finishing with special. Because, although she’d thoroughly enjoyed the occasion, it had been made special by Alex. She ended lamely, ‘—lovely. So friendly and warm and—well, just plain fun! The setting was exquisite. I liked your friends very much, and the wine they produce is an inspiration.’

  Alex said, ‘I asked Aura and Flint if you could feature their garden.’

  ‘I—thank you so much,’ she said, more than a little surprised, and touched too. Because they were his friends, she hadn’t ventured anywhere near that subject. ‘That was very kind of you.’

  He said, ‘They’re happy for you to do that, but not immediately—it’s holidays next week so they’re taking the children to the Maldives. When they come back they’ll get in touch and we’ll go down in the helicopter.’

  ‘You have a helicopter?’

  ‘I share one with Kelt, who lives not far away.’

  Well, what had she expected? He shared a private jet with Kelt and Gerd, and as a business man with worldwide interests he’d need to travel a lot.

  She turned her head to scan the two separate seas that gleamed on either side of a green land folded into hills and valleys.

  ‘The Pacific Ocean on the right,’ Alex told her, pointing out an island-studded coast where beaches gleamed golden and white. He indicated the other side. ‘And the Tasman Sea on the left.’

  The Tasman coast was wilder, more rugged, with no islands and long stretches of cliff-bound shore. Rows of breakers marched onto black glistening beaches that swept for miles. Between the seas were farm lands, small villages, the dark sombreness of vast tracts of pine plantations, and mountains covered in a dense cloak of trees.

  ‘It might look pristine and un touched, but most of it was milled for kauri during the nineteenth century,’ Alex said when she remarked on the huge areas of forest. ‘Originally this was a land of bush, insects and birds, many of them flightless. The only mammals here were three species of bats, plus the seals and sea lions and dolphins and orca and whales in the seas around the coast.’

  She said wistfully, ‘It must have been breathtaking to be the first person to step on its shores.’

  He regarded her with a slight smile. ‘An explorer at heart, Serina?’

  ‘Not until now,’ she said, wondering if he might read the underlying meaning in the words.

  If he did, he didn’t respond. ‘The Maori colonised New Zealand from tropical islands. They brought kiore—Maori rats—and dogs that started the destruction of the native wildlife, and of course fire and stone axes travelled with them as well. Yet, even after eight hundred or more years of occupation, the birdlife was enough to make the first Europeans marvel at the dawn chorus. Apparently it was so loud they could hardly hear each other speak.’

  He pointed out a swathe of silvery trees marching across hills by the sea. ‘Olives—a very successful crop here. And those darker trees are avocados.’ He settled back in his seat. ‘More predators arrived with the European colonists. Apart from a few visionaries well ahead of their time, people have only recently realised how much has been lost, and started working to bring back some of the glories of the past.’

  Fascinated, Serina asked, ‘How are they doing that?’

  He lifted a brow. ‘If you’re really interested, I’ll take you to see something I’m connected with.’

  His sceptical tone irritated her. Did he think she was foolish enough to pretend an interest just to match his?

  Probably, she thought realistically.

  And why not? He was rich, well-connected and handsome—and, even more than that potent package deal, he possessed a charismatic presence, his combination of effortless male sexuality and compelling authority making him stand out in any company. He probably had gorgeous women flinging them selves at him all the time, wide-eyed with anticipation.

  Like several at the launch that afternoon…

  The smile she gave him was cool with an edge. ‘Oh, I couldn’t think of taking up your valuable time,’ she said sweetly. ‘If you give me a map, I’ll check it out.’

  ‘No,’ he said calmly. ‘It’s on my land. I’ll take you. We’ve predator-fenced an area of bush, and when we’ve trapped the rats and weasels and possums and fer
al cats inside, we’ll return some of the birds that no longer live there.’

  Her mother had always said the way to interest a man was to let him talk about himself. Deliberately ignoring the maternal instructions, Serina said, ‘I’d love to see it. What’s the name of that town beneath us?’

  ‘Whangarei,’ he said. ‘Northland’s only city.’

  She looked down. ‘It has a glorious setting—those amazing mountains reaching out into the coast, and the harbour curling up into the heart of the town. But then, everything I’ve seen so far is breathtaking.’

  ‘There are ugly parts too, of course,’ he said judicially. ‘Some of our towns are old and tired, and some have been built with no regard for the countryside that surrounds them.’

  Clearly he loved this part of New Zealand. She said, ‘I’ve read and heard quite a bit about the South Island, but not very much at all about the north.’

  ‘The South Island is magnificent; we’ll see whether we can get you there before you go back. But I was born and bred in the north—it’s always been home, so to me it’s the most beautiful place in the world.’

  Without thinking, she said, ‘It must be wonderful to feel that way about a place.’

  ‘You don’t?’

  ‘No,’ she said, wishing she’d stayed silent. ‘My parents were Montevellan, and they continually longed to go back. Nice—the Riviera—was only ever a temporary base for them. I think I was born homesick for a place I’ve never known. I’ve always felt alien.’ She shook her head, meeting hooded blue eyes with a tingle of sensation. ‘No, alien is too strong a word; dislocated would be better.’

  ‘You speak English like a native,’ he commentedidly.

  She shrugged. ‘Doran and I shared an English nanny and then a governess from Scotland until I went away to school.’

  He didn’t seem overly interested—and why should he be? But he asked, ‘You’ve not been to Montevel?’

  ‘We can’t go. The government banned any member of the royal family from returning.’

  ‘Ever felt like taking another identity and slipping in to find out what it’s like? Seeing it might wipe out that inborn nostalgia; few places live up to the praise of the people who love them.’