by Robyn Grady
Maid for a Prince
a Point St. Claire novel
(previously under
The Prince’s Royal Affair)
© Robyn Grady 2016
HAT Rock Publishing
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relations whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
Kindle Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Welcome to the world of Point St. Claire!
This heart-warming town and its characters first came to life with Her Mother’s Day Miracle, one of five stories from The Holiday Baby Series. There was something so magical about the place, I just had to know more.
So I wrote The Holiday Romance Series. Cue the billionaire best man, a gorgeous doctor to the rescue, one high-flying lawyer with a tormented past, as well as a Halloween ghost story with a romantic Point St. Claire twist.
With this series, I’ve gone longer…deeper. Book 1, Maid for a Prince, is a sweeping hold-onto-your-heart romantic adventure that will keep you guessing until the very last page. (Note: tissues needed.)
I hope you enjoy Darius and Helene’s story. If you have time, please consider leaving a review.
Happy reading!
Robyn
www.robyngrady.com
@robyngrady (for Twitter)
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HERE
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Chapter 1
“Watch out beloooow!”
As her cry pierced the air, Helene Masters gripped the ladder’s top rung with one hand and lunged with the other. Her fingertips grazed the handle but the bucket, three-parts filled with paint, continued on, a short-range missile speeding toward earth.
This secluded Mediterranean island was a sacred place. The architecture was classic and walkways, like the one under this ladder, were patterned with sandstone laid thousands of years ago. She’d have a tough job cleaning up the mess.
But it got much worse than that.
Someone had just rounded the corner. At the same time she shouted out, the man glanced up. Espresso-colored hair, a proud aquiline nose and passionate mouth. A regal face, Helene thought in that split second. And one that was about to be covered in robin-egg blue.
The man braced, stepped back, and the bucket missed him by a whisker. It clanged on the stone, spraying plumes of blue into the air before the shower slapped the ground as well as that man’s shoes, pants and shirt.
Helene cringed to her toes. She was in big trouble. The last thing she wanted. The very last thing she needed. She was done with feeling like anyone’s accident waiting to happen.
Below her, strong bronzed hands bunched into fists and a dark gaze snaked back up to snare hers. A slash of paint oozed down one cheek while his Hollywood jaw clenched doubly tight. Energy rippled off him in blistering waves, hitting Helene with a smidgeon less intensity than a sonic boom.
Balanced on the ladder, she gulped out an apology.
“I’m so sorry. It slipped.”
He flicked his dripping hands. Blue dots flew as he squinted up and asked, “Who in the devil are you?”
His voice was deep and smooth. She loved his accent—rolling r’s, rounded vowels, and a tone that reminded her of black velvet.
“Your name?” he said again.
She gathered her thoughts. “Helene Masters.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Painting the gutters on this old stable.”
His flicked his hands again and muttered, “Clearly.”
But now, rather than ticked off, he sounded intrigued, and a certain glimmer in those dark eyes said that, whoever he was, she might not be thrown into some ancient jail cell just yet.
“Who commissioned you?”
Helene held her breath. “I choose not to answer on the grounds it might incriminate someone.”
His eyes flashed―black diamonds glittering in late-summer sunshine. Then one corner of that passionate mouth lifted so slightly, she might have imagined it.
“You’re concerned for a friend,” he surmised. “He has nothing to fear.”
“Says who?”
“Let’s say, a person of authority.”
Helene wondered… Could this man be the Prince of Teirenias? But the Prince wasn’t due on this island until next week. Besides, she’d seen a portrait. They looked similar in hair color and complexion. So did most people in these parts. But the person in the portrait was much younger. His jaw wasn’t anywhere near as strong as this man’s. Ditto the physique.
The man stepped back, leaving blue-bordered footprints behind. “Come down.” Flinching, he rubbed his neck. “I’m getting a crick.”
Whoever he was, Helene decided, it didn’t make sense to carry on a conversation with him down there and her all the way
up here.
A moment later, she was on the ground and feeling even more flushed. She’d known this man was built and attractive, but close up, he was bone-melting. His confident expression sent her blood pressure soaring. She’d heard about animal magnetism—the power some people had to hypnotize and draw in their prey.
This man smoldered with it.
“Tell me who’s behind your being here,” he glanced dubiously skyward, “painting gutters?”
“You’re a local?” she asked.
“I’m…from nearby.”
“Then you’d know. About the prince, I mean.”
A dark curl fell over his brow, bobbing in the briny breeze as he crossed his arms. “Fill me in.”
“Before the Prince of Tierenias can be crowned king, tradition says he needs to spend seven days and nights on this island—”
“A sacred place that helps royals-in-waiting realize their greatest strengths through meditation and spiritual renewal.”
Helene slowly grinned. She couldn’t have put it better herself.
“I was hired to tidy up before the Prince arrives. But I’m even more excited about this island’s other story. You’d know the one. About an ancient fertility goddess and her mysterious powers.”
His expression sobered, questioned, so she went on.
“Story goes that she can mesmerize any mortal of her choosing. It’s said that power is greatest in a secret place somewhere here on this island.”
Helene took in her surroundings: a centuries-old stone villa crouched on a bluff, verdant slopes dotted with olive trees and prickly pear, the scent of crystal-clear water and coo of gentle doves. Somewhere on this secluded paradise, the goddess was hiding…waiting.
“This island’s so beautiful.” Her gaze dropped to the blue-splashed sandstone. “And I’ve trashed it.”
He didn’t seem too concerned about that anymore. “I need to know who left you here.”
She didn’t want to get her friend in trouble. But records could be checked. Alexio’s name would show up eventually.
“Alexio owns a taverna on the main island,” she began, “but he also oversees the upkeep here. He does a lot of the work himself.” She brightened. “But Alexio became a grandfather yesterday, so he offered me the job. Three days work. He dropped me off yesterday.”
“And you?”
“What about me?”
“How do you come to be here? Your accent…you’re American?”
“From Maine. East Coast. I’ve always wanted to travel. As soon as I finished my degree, I was off.” Across the Atlantic, backpacking her way all over the place.
She’d swooned over Mad King Ludwig’s castle in Germany. She’d been blown away by the gothic splendor of Notre Dame. In Italy at the Fontana di Trevi, she’d tossed a coin and promised, no matter what, she would return. Then she’d hopped aboard a sailboat destined for that little known Aegean kingdom steeped in legend, the twin islands of Tierenias.
She’d heard that a distant relative had come from these parts. Helene was even named after her.
“Now, can I ask you a question?” she asked, and he considered before nodding. “Who, or what, are you? Some kind of guard or secret service type?”
“Not quite.”
“Are you here alone?”
He only lifted his chin higher.
Awareness stirred in her stomach and all the fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. But she’d already ruled that out. The prince was much younger. The planes of his face less angled. His body less…hard. He wasn’t meant to arrive until next week.
“You’re not—” She cut herself off with a short laugh. “You couldn’t be… Could you?”
The man thrust back his paint-splattered shoulders. “I am Darius Vasily, Royal Prince of Tierenias. And what we have here, Ms. Masters, is a huge problem.”
Darius Vasily had enjoyed many extraordinary experiences in his life: competing with the world’s leading sportsmen, trading with the world’s richest countries, dealing with the world’s wealthiest tycoons. This coming week, however, would be the most meaningful of his life. A week spent in isolation to prepare for the role to which he had been born.
Since childhood, Darius had vowed to be a good and responsible king. He was different from his father, but just as determined to succeed―although many would see this situation as the worst possible start. If his father stood here now, Ms. Masers would be marched off and dealt with promptly.
Darius’s first thought had been “reporter.” While Ms. Masters appeared to have genuinely paled when she realized who he was, media hounds used every trick in the book.
When he got back to the villa, he’d call the main island and have her story checked out.
“That portrait,” she was saying. “The prince—he looks…”
“Younger.” She was right. “That official shot will be updated after the coronation.”
“You weren’t supposed to be here this early.”
“A last minute change of plans. News was released that my confinement here begins today.”
“Then Alexio will know now, too.” When she studied the horizon, he noticed how her eyes mimicked the color of the island’s sunlit shallows...alive and unapologetically free. “He’s probably on his way to come get me,” she said.
“Not unless I give the order. The penalty is ninety days in chains.” He thought to add, “Not that chains have been used for that purpose for a hundred years, give or take.”
“Well, that’s good to know. But you’ll contact Alexio? I have his number.”
If her story panned out, palace administration would have that man’s details in the system. Still, Darius was not pleased that security had missed this woman during their sweep of the island, even given his change of plans and short notice.
“You only need to collect your things,” he said. When she nodded and headed for the stables, his brows shot up. “Wait. You slept in there?” Wasn’t there a groundsman’s cabin nearby?
“There’s a clean cot in the tack room.” She slotted her hands in the back pockets of her shorts. “It all adds to the adventure.”
Helene Masters radiated energy and effervescence as well as sex appeal. Useful qualities for a female reporter who wanted to sneak an interview with an isolated prince.
“So, you like adventure, Ms. Masters?”
“What’s life without risks?”
Darius would like to agree, but these days his life had little room for anything other than duty. Finding a suitable wife sat at the top of the list―a woman who would understand about duty, about succession. Clearly, this woman, Helene Masters, was not a candidate for Queen. Still, she was intriguing. He couldn’t help but wonder… How would those lips taste beneath his? As sweet as they looked? Possibly sweeter.
But he needed to make that call to verify who she was and why she was here. And then…
Well then, of course, he would take the steps necessary to have his unauthorized company escorted away.
End of problem.
Chapter 2
Three weeks ago, when she’d first arrived on the main island, Helene had heard that the Prince exuded charm and grace as easily as the sun gave off light and heat. After meeting him first hand, Helene totally agreed. Darius Vasily wore his air of entitlement as easily as night dressed in shadows or minutes carried time. Now that she was alone again, she couldn’t believe they had spoken, one on one. Definitely something to write home about.
From time to time, Helene’s normally quiet hometown was rocked by some scandal or other. A few years ago, one of Helene’s friends had been involved in a larger than life episode. A pearl and ruby heirloom was stolen from Belinda Slade’s house. It happened only a couple of months after her mom had passed away. Belinda―Billy to her friends―had emailed just the other day to say that, after all these years, she’d stumbled upon a real clue, a chance to right the wrong that would have broken her poor mom’s heart.
Last semester, big news surroun
ded a doctorate student. After a whirlwind affair with a billionaire best man had ended, nerdy Sophie Gribble had taken off for a life-changing adventure that had landed her halfway around the world. So cool!
And soon, Point St. Claire would be buzzing about this adventure.
How many girls are kicked off a mystical private island by a real life prince? Especially a prince as gorgeous as Darius Vasily.
After cleaning up the spilled paint as best she could, Helene got rid of the rags. Then she rinsed the brushes and her hands with turpentine. Inside the tack room, she got her belongings together. From the wooden table, she scooped up her cell phone and wondered. But the prince had been clear. He would contact the appropriate people. She only needed to wait.
Still, a brief text message to Alexio wouldn’t hurt.
Prince arrived early.
I’m fine. Don’t worry.
Talk soon.
HM
After she put down the phone, the smell of turpentine seemed to grow and press in. She could keep an eye out for her lift while she took a final dip in the cove to wash off properly.
Stripped down to her swimsuit, she sprinted over pebbled sand and splashed into the shallows. When she was thigh deep, she plunged in. She swam beneath the surface until her lungs felt ready to burst. Spearing up, she broke free and gulped back air then dove again, and a third time, to clear the turpentine smell. But nothing could wash away the image of Darius Vasily’s lopsided smile or the way his dark hooded gaze had searched hers, almost intimately.
She wasn’t a virgin, although she wasn’t all that experienced, either. Only a couple of half-serious relationships. One day she hoped to surrender to a passion deeper and stronger than any emotion she’d ever known.
How would it feel to enjoy that kind of bliss with a man like the prince?
Vasily…
Even his name was hot.
Back on shore, she wrapped a sarong around her hips and thought about returning to the stables. But the span of beach to her right looked so appealing. Sandals in hand, she set off with warm pebbles crunching under her feet and the Mediterranean sun heating her back and bare shoulders. In no time, she’d reached the other side of the cove where sand and pebbles gave way to an outcrop. Exposed rocks glistened with sea-spray.