He still hadn’t really gauged the strong attraction between them. Getting up close and personal with a colleague on a mission, or back home, was entirely different from travelling to a country with a princess about to be made Head of State. If Gabrielle could barely get her head around this, how could he?
She turned towards him. Her smile was nervous, but the gleam in her eye was still there.
She lifted her hand as if she were about to touch his cheek. But her hand froze in mid-air and she glanced behind them towards her security detail. Their gazes connected almost as if the touch had still happened. The buzz that he’d first felt in Narumba was still clearly there.
They’d just never quite reached the place that they’d been heading to.
She pulled her hand back, her dark eyes intense. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you for coming with me.’
The reply was easy. ‘Any time.’ He leaned back as they settled back in their seats for landing.
Mirinez. Another country to check off his list on the map he’d had since he was a child. He had no idea what would come next.
* * *
Her stomach couldn’t settle. All the way up the mountain in the limousine her eyes were fixed on the castle.
Sullivan seemed relaxed. He wasn’t demanding her attention, just offering the occasional smile of support. She was secretly glad he’d insisted on coming but she was also confused. The intensity of Paris and Narumba and all the things she’d intended to do with Sullivan seemed so far out of her grasp. Starting something now would be unfair. She hadn’t even had a chance to contemplate what her role would be in Mirinez. They’d only ever spoken of ten days together. A fling. She couldn’t weigh him down with the royal duties that were about to descend on her.
All she knew was that he felt like the one solid thing around her. And that didn’t refer to his muscular stance—though that wasn’t exactly a problem either.
Arun had been furious that the royal security detail of six had been beaten by one unknown quantity. Gabrielle didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
She was furious with Andreas. Furious. She’d never known anger like it.
Her entire life it had been made clear that Prince Andreas would inherit the title and rule the principality. It had never even occurred to her that might not happen. Their father’s death had been a shock to them both, but it had only moved the inevitability of Andreas’s role a little closer.
She’d spent the last few hours in the plane rethinking every conversation, every contact, every text, every email that they’d ever shared.
And she was still furious. It seemed that life in Mirinez wasn’t Hollywood enough for Andreas’s wife. She’d made him choose. And he had.
The last few years out of the spotlight had been blissful for Gabrielle. She liked living under the radar. She liked being a doctor, thinking like a doctor, acting like a doctor. That was the life she had chosen.
As the limousine turned and drove between the stone-carved pillars and through the wrought-iron gates Gabrielle sucked in her breath. She’d loved living here as a child. It was only as an adult she’d felt cloistered by the views and opinions around her.
The limousine door opened and she stepped out. The stones crunched beneath her feet as the cold-tipped air from the mountain swept around her. The cream-coloured palace loomed above her, built on the side of the mountain, looking over the city of Chabonnex below.
The city was stunning. From here it looked like a village built for tiny people, filled with tram lines and townhouses. There were no skyscrapers or tower blocks in Mirinez.
She walked up the steps to the palace entrance. The doors were wide open and the familiar scent of pine, lemon and old oak filled the air. The palace had always smelled like this. She walked across the black and white marble floor. She’d been told that the palace in Mirinez had been based on designs of Blenheim Palace in the UK. Mirinez’s was like a miniature version. Every room had high ceilings with ornate plaster designs, lavish chandeliers and wood-panelled walls.
Her father’s advisor, Franz Hindermann, was waiting. He gave her the briefest of nods. ‘Princess Gabrielle, we have much to discuss.’
She nodded in acknowledgement. ‘Franz, I’ve brought a guest with me. A colleague from Doctors Without Borders, Dr Darcy. Will you show him to my apartments?’
Franz couldn’t hide the blanching of his face. She was surprised. She’d long since been an adult—what did he expect?
‘Ab-bout your apartments,’ he stammered as he handed over a clipboard filled with sheets of paper.
‘Yes?’
‘Well... I’ve moved you.’
‘What?’
So that’s what the hesitation had been for. ‘Why have you moved me?’
Franz cleared his throat. ‘Prince Andreas moved out rather quickly. And he took all of his belongings with him. His last instructions were to move you into the royal apartments.’
A chill spread through her. So this was real. This was actually happening. The apartments that had housed her mother and father, and then her brother and his wife, were now hers.
She’d spent years with a view that looked out over the mountain and stables. A view she’d loved.
Now it would consist of something else entirely. ‘Oh, okay,’ she said quickly. ‘Put Dr Darcy in the rooms next to mine.’
Franz nodded and hurried away.
Sullivan appeared at her shoulder, holding his bag. ‘You okay?’
She turned towards him. Right now she wanted to turn back the clock twelve hours. She wanted to go back to the bar in Paris where there was wine and laughing and a really hot guy in the corridor. She wanted to close her eyes, take his hand and let him lead her to the promised hotel suite where she could peel off the clothes that had kept them apart for the last two weeks.
She didn’t want to think about being a princess. Her country. A brother who had abdicated and disappeared. She didn’t want to think about the responsibility. She couldn’t even begin to imagine how this would affect the life she wanted to live.
She rested her palm against his chest, feeling his defined muscles and warm skin through the thin cotton of his T-shirt. Somehow being around this man grounded her. Focused her.
It let her think about the things she really wanted to do. Patients. Medicines. The next mission. Dark nights. Tangled sheets and so, so much more.
‘No, I’m not,’ she said clearly. ‘But I will be.’
Sullivan’s eyebrows rose for a second and his familiar grin spread across his face. ‘Let me know what you need.’
He leaned forward and whispered in her ear, ‘In every sense.’
The tight feeling in her belly unwound, spreading warmth that blossomed outwards. She pulled back, staring at her hand. She shouldn’t have touched him. It was confusing things. For her and for him. She couldn’t meet his enquiring gaze. She just gave the briefest of nods towards Franz and watched Sullivan follow him up the main staircase.
* * *
After twenty-four hours Sullivan felt as if he was having an out-of-body experience. People didn’t move around this palace—they glided. The volume control seemed to be in a permanently muted state. He wondered what would happen if he went back to the main entrance, stood with arms and legs apart and let out some kind of jungle scream—or maybe even, in keeping with Europe, a kind of yodel.
He wasn’t used to being around so much quietness. Quietness reminded him of a few occasions he’d been out retrieving wounded casualties in Helmand Provence and he’d had the signal from the one of other soldiers to keep absolutely quiet. Those days were long past and he had no real desire to go back there.
Or to the silence of his father’s house.
Plus, he was bored. The wonder of living in a palace was for five-year-old girls in pink fluffy dre
sses. Not for guys used to living out of a backpack for three months at a time in places where running water wasn’t always available.
He wasn’t working. And if he wasn’t working he had time to think.
Time he neither needed nor wanted. Thinking might take him down a road he didn’t want to travel.
Someone had bought him a suit. Last time he’d worn a suit had been at a job interview long ago. There hadn’t been much call for one since.
He’d picked it up, held it against himself and laughed. It was designed to fit a man of much smaller proportions. He doubted he could even fit a thigh into those trousers.
There was always a member of palace staff floating around outside the rooms. ‘Why do I have a suit?’ he’d asked a small nervous-looking individual.
‘Mr Hindermann th-thought you might n-need one,’ he stammered, ‘if you were accompanying the princess to any official events.’
Sullivan raised his eyebrows. The thought hadn’t even entered his mind. He wasn’t here to do anything like that. That would make him—what—some kind of man candy? He shuddered as wicked thoughts crossed his mind.
‘Get me a kilt.’
‘Wha-at?’ The man looked even more nervous.
‘A kilt. I don’t wear suits. I have Scottish heritage. I’ll only wear a kilt.’
He was doing his best not to laugh. He had no more Scottish ancestry than an American apple pie, but it would teach them to ask and not to presume.
‘Do you know where Arun is?’
Redness was creeping up the smaller man’s face. ‘Mr Aliman will be in the security headquarters.’
‘And that is?’ Sullivan pointed down the corridor and took a few steps in that direction.
The man pointed. ‘Down the stairs, into the west wing, take a left, another left, a right, a left and up the second flight of stairs.’
Sullivan blinked. Then smiled. ‘No problem.’
The palace was bigger than he’d thought. Wings must have added on in later parts of the construction. But the directions were good. Ten minutes later he found Arun.
The dark-skinned man stood as soon as Sullivan appeared at the door. ‘Dr Darcy, what can I do for you?’
Sullivan paused for a second, wondering how to approach this. Arun was the only guy in this place that he might actually relate to. He sat down in the chair opposite. ‘I was wondering—’ he began.
‘What to do?’ cut in Arun.
Sullivan smiled. He liked a man who got to the point.
‘I can arrange a tour for you around Mirinez’s capital and historic sites.’
Sullivan couldn’t help but roll his eyes. ‘Thank you, but no. That’s not what I had in mind.’
His eyes caught sight of a thick itinerary with Gabrielle’s name on it. He leaned forward, catching the paper at the edge and letting the pages fan past his thumb. ‘This is everything Gabrielle has to do?’
Arun glanced at the empty doorway. ‘Princess Gabrielle has been gone for a number of years. There is a lot to catch up on.’
Sullivan folded his arms. ‘Why do I feel as if you chose those words very carefully?’
The edges of Arun’s lips turned upwards. ‘Because you’d be correct. A number of issues have been...’
‘Ignored? Pushed under the carpet? Destroyed?’
Arun gave a brief nod. ‘It’s fair to say that for the last few years Prince Andreas was...distracted. A number of trade agreements with our neighbouring countries urgently need reviewing. Some business deals on behalf of the government, some laws, some peace treaties all need the royal seal of approval.’
Sullivan shook his head. ‘What on earth has been going on here?’
Arun shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands. Sullivan got the distinct impression he secretly wanted to answer, Not much.
Sullivan leaned forward and put his elbows on the desk. ‘What can I do?’ He gestured towards the itinerary. ‘It looks like Gabrielle won’t have time to breathe, let alone anything else.’ He met Arun’s gaze and put his cards on the table. ‘I don’t take kindly to sitting around. Is there a hospital? A clinic I could visit? Somewhere I could make myself useful?’
Arun paused for a second then gave a careful nod. ‘You understand healthcare in Mirinez is different from the US?’
Sullivan frowned. ‘What does that mean?’
Arun held up his hands again. ‘Mirinez is a tax haven. We have many, highly exclusive, state-of-the-art, private hospitals.’
Sullivan leaned back in his chair. ‘Is this a tax haven or a plastic surgery haven?’
‘Don’t the two go hand in hand?’ There was a wry expression on Arun’s face.
Sullivan didn’t even try to stop the exasperated sound coming from his throat. ‘What about the citizens of Mirinez? They can’t all be millionaires. Where do they go?’
Arun nodded. ‘We have a few state hospitals and a few state-funded clinics. We also have a number of semi-private clinics part funded by businesses operating in Mirinez.’
Sullivan stood up. ‘That’s fine. Take me to some of those.’ Then he realised how those words sounded and he lifted his hand in deference. ‘Sorry, I’d be grateful if you could find someone to take me somewhere I might actually be useful. I’m a surgeon. My qualifications are available for anyone who needs them.’
Arun was smiling. ‘Which one of my men that you punched would you prefer to take you?’
Sullivan winced. ‘Yeah, about that...’
Arun nodded. ‘You’re right. We’ve rarely had any incidents. Their training needs to be reviewed and updated.’
Sullivan put his hand on his chest. He was trying not to smile at Arun’s response. ‘But I never said that.’
‘You didn’t need to.’ Arun picked up the phone. ‘I’ll get someone to meet you at the rear entrance to the west wing—near the stables.’
‘The tradesmen’s entrance?’ he joked.
‘Exactly.’ Sullivan was starting to really like this guy. His British sense of humour was shining through. ‘Where did you go to school?’ he asked.
‘Gordonstoun.’
‘That explains it, then,’ he quipped.
‘Oh, Dr Darcy?’ Arun had a mischievous look on his face. ‘Did the suit fit?’
‘Not in this lifetime.’
Sullivan headed out the door as the very British laugh followed him down the corridor.
CHAPTER SIX
MIRINEZ FELT LIKE a whirlwind. From the second she’d set foot in the palace Gabrielle hadn’t even had time to think.
She’d now sent Andreas seventeen emails and left six voicemails, each one more irate than the last. It wasn’t the fact he’d abdicated. Well, it was. But it was also the fact he hadn’t been doing the job he should have been doing for the last three years.
She looked at the carved wooden desk that had been in the palace for hundreds of years. Franz had allocated her tasks into piles. And it wasn’t simple piles like urgent, important and information.
No, these piles were overdue by two years, overdue by one year. Must be signed today. Must be contacted today.
Then there were sub-piles about legal matters, countries, trade agreements and finance.
She held up her hands. ‘What on earth has Andreas been doing? How have things got so bad?’
It shouldn’t be like this. It definitely shouldn’t. Mirinez was a small principality with a population of forty-five thousand. Her father had managed things comfortably. He’d looked after orders of state, their government, entertained visiting dignitaries, all while keeping up a whole variety of personal interests. Since she was a child, Gabrielle had known the role didn’t need to be a full-time job. She’d thought that once Andreas had married his TV star wife, he would have plenty of time to keep her happy. It se
emed he’d spent all his time keeping her happy and none at all dealing with matters of state.
Right now, if he’d been in the same room she would have wrung his neck with her bare hands.
Franz couldn’t even meet her gaze. She reached over and squeezed his hand. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just shocked that things have been so neglected. I had no idea Andreas wasn’t fulfilling his duties. Why didn’t you tell me?’
Franz met her gaze with his slate-grey eyes. ‘I was forbidden.’
The words cut through her heart like ice. ‘What?’
Franz was a traditionalist. He must be nearly seventy now and had been in the employment of the Mirinez royal family for Gabrielle’s entire life. If Andreas had forbidden him to contact her, he would have respected the Prince’s wishes. She didn’t even want to think what the stress had done to Franz’s health.
She was beyond angry. She was furious. Her stomach gave a little flip at the thought of what she’d brought Sullivan into.
She hadn’t been upfront about being a princess. But when he’d sensed her momentary panic at returning home he’d insisted on coming back with her. Truth was, whether he liked it or not, Sullivan Darcy was a gentleman.
But the amount of work in front of her was going to consume her every waking minute. She hadn’t expected this. He was her guest.
She leaned her head down on the desk as the old-fashioned phone in front of her started to ring. Franz answered it in his usual low voice but his quick change in tone made her sit up again.
‘What is it?’
His face was instantly pale. ‘There’s been an accident in one of the diamond mines. An explosion.’
Gabrielle was on her feet in a second. ‘How many?’
Franz was confused. ‘How many what?’
She grabbed her jacket. ‘How many casualties and what mine?’
Franz spoke again then stammered his reply, ‘Around f-forty, mostly b-burns. It’s the Pieper mine.’
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