by Douglas, Michelle; Gordon, Lucy; Pembroke, Sophie; Hardy, Kate
‘You really love your job, don’t you?’ he asked.
‘Of course. Don’t you?’
‘I guess so,’ he prevaricated. He’d never known anything else. He’d always grown up knowing that one day he’d become king. There wasn’t an option not to love it. It was his duty. His destiny. No arguments.
‘So what do you do?’ she asked.
She really wasn’t teasing him, then; she actually didn’t know who he was. And he wasn’t going to make things awkward or embarrass her by telling her. ‘Family business,’ he said. ‘My grandfather’s retiring, next month, so I’m taking over running things.’ It was true. Just not the whole truth.
‘Workaholic, hmm?’
He would be. But that was fine. He’d accepted that a long time ago. ‘Yes.’ Not wanting her to get too close to the subject, he switched the topic back to her work with glass.
* * *
When he smiled, Lorenzo Torelli was completely different. He wasn’t the pompous idiot he’d been in the garden; he was beautiful, Indigo thought.
And she was seriously tempted to ask him to sit for her. He would be the perfect model for the window she was planning.
‘If you’re really interested in the glass,’ she said, ‘come and have a look at my temporary workshop after dinner.’
‘I’d like that,’ he said.
They continued chatting over dinner, and Indigo found her awareness of Lorenzo growing by the second. It wasn’t just that she wanted to sketch him and paint him into glass; she also wanted to touch him.
Which was crazy.
Lorenzo Torelli was a total stranger. Although he seemed to be here on his own, for all she knew he could be married. And her radar to warn her that a man was married or totally wrong for her hadn’t exactly worked in the past, had it? She’d made the biggest mistake of her life where Nigel was concerned.
Though at the same time she knew it wasn’t fair to think that all men were liars and cheats who just abandoned people, like her ex and her father. Her grandfather hadn’t been. Gus wasn’t. And, from what Lottie had told her, their father had been a total sweetheart and had never even as much as looked at another woman. Though Indigo still found it hard to trust. Which was why she hadn’t even flirted since Nigel, much less dated.
‘Penny for them?’ Lorenzo asked.
No way. She fell back on an old standby. ‘When I’m about to start work on a new piece, I tend to be pretty much in another world.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with being focused on your work.’
Good. She was glad he understood that.
After coffee, he asked, ‘Did you mean it about showing me your work?’
‘Sure.’ She took him through to the library. ‘I guess it starts here. We took the window out this afternoon.’
‘There’s a facsimile of the window on the boards,’ he said, sounding surprised.
‘People come especially to Edensfield to see the mermaid window. I don’t want to disappoint them by hiding everything behind scaffolding,’ she explained. ‘I went to Venice when they were doing some work on the Bridge of Sighs, and they’d put a facsimile of the bridge on the advertising hoardings. I thought that was a brilliant idea and I’ve tried to do something like that with my own work, ever since.’
‘Good idea,’ he said.
‘Come and see the mermaid up close. She’s gorgeous. Victorian—very much in the style of Burne-Jones, though she isn’t actually one of his.’
* * *
He smiled. ‘I was thinking earlier, if you’d been wearing a green velvet dress, you would look like a PRB model.’
‘Thank you for the compliment.’ She blushed, looking pleased. ‘That’s my favourite art movement.’
‘Mine, too.’ He almost told her that his family had a collection and that Burne-Jones had sketched his great-great-grandmother. But then he’d have to explain who he was, and he wasn’t ready to do that yet.
‘I’d love the chance to work on some PRB glass.’ She gave a wistful smile. ‘Maybe one day.’ She led him into a room further down the corridor. ‘Gus set up this room as my workshop. Obviously we’ve had to rope off my table for health and safety purposes—I work with dangerous substances—but people can still talk to me and see what I’m doing. I have a camera on my desk and the picture feeds through to that screen over there, so they can see the close-up work in total safety.’
She was so matter-of-fact about it. ‘Don’t you mind working with an audience?’ he asked. ‘Doesn’t it get in your way?’
‘The house is only open for a few hours, four days a week,’ she said with a shrug. ‘The visitors won’t be that much of a distraction.’
The window from the library had already been dismantled into frames; the one containing the mermaid was in the centre of her table.
‘I took close-ups of the panel this afternoon so I have a complete photographic record,’ she said. ‘Next I’m going to take it apart, clean it all and start the repairs.’
‘Which is why the camera’s one of the tools of your trade.’ He understood that now. ‘I’m sorry I accused you of being a pap.’
‘You’ve apologised—and nicely—so consider it forgotten.’ She looked at him. ‘Though if you really want to make it up to me, there is something you could do.’
Quid pro quo. It was a standard part of diplomacy. Though part of Lorenzo was disappointed that she’d asked. He’d thought that Indigo might be different. But maybe everyone had their price, after all. ‘Which is?’
‘Would you sit for me?’
He blinked. ‘Sit for you?’
‘So I can draw you.’
He’d already worked that out. ‘Why?’
She spread her hands. ‘Because you look like an angel.’
Heat spread through him. Was this her way of telling him that she was attracted to him? Did she feel the same weird pull that he did? ‘An angel?’ He knew he was parroting what she said, but he didn’t care if he sounded dim. He needed to find out where this was going.
‘Or a medieval prince.’
That was rather closer to home. Though he thought her ignorance about his identity was totally genuine. ‘And what would sitting for you involve?’ he asked.
‘Literally just sitting still while I sketch you. Though modelling is a bit hard on the muscles—having to sit perfectly still and keep the same expression for a minimum of ten minutes is a lot more difficult than most people think. So I’d be happy to compromise with taking photographs and working from them, if that makes it easier for you.’
Which was where this had all started. ‘Is that why you took my photograph?’
She nodded. ‘You were scowling like a dark angel. You were going to be perfect for Lucifer.’
‘Why, thank you, Ms Moran,’ he said dryly.
She grinned. ‘It’s meant as a compliment. Or you could be Gabriel, if you’d rather.’
‘Didn’t Gabriel have blond hair?’
‘In the carol,’ she said thoughtfully, ‘his wings were drifts of snow, his eyes of flame.’
On impulse, he sang a snatch of the carol.
Her eyes widened. ‘I wasn’t expecting that. You have a lovely voice, Mr Torelli.’
‘Thank you.’ He bowed slightly in acknowledgement of the compliment.
‘So will you sit for me?’
He was tempted. Seriously tempted. But it was all too complicated. ‘Ask me another time,’ he said softly. When he’d worked out how to say no while letting her down gently. ‘Tell me about your work here. The mermaid’s face is damaged, so are you going to replace that bit of the glass with a copy?’
‘I could do, but that would be a last resort. I want to keep as much of the original glass as possible.’ She grimaced. ‘I’d better shut up. I can bore for Engl
and on this subject.’
‘No, I’m interested. Really.’
‘Trust me, you don’t want to hear me drone on about the merits of epoxy, silicon and copper foil,’ she said dryly.
He smiled. ‘OK. Tell me something else. What’s the story behind the mermaid?’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Gus hasn’t told you?’
‘It’s not exactly the kind of thing that comes up when you’re a schoolboy,’ he said, ‘and since we left school I guess we’ve had other things to talk about.’
‘Rebuke acknowledged,’ she said.
He wrinkled his nose. ‘That wasn’t a rebuke.’
* * *
Maybe not. It hadn’t been quite like the way he’d spoken to her in the garden, when he’d been all stuffy and pompous.
‘Tell me about the mermaid,’ he invited.
He really meant it, she realised in wonder. He actually wanted to hear what she had to say. ‘So the story goes, many years ago the Earl was a keen card-player. He won against almost everyone—except one night, when he played against a tall, dark stranger. It turned out that the stranger was the devil, and his price for letting the earl keep the house and the money he’d wagered and lost was marriage to the earl’s daughter. The earl agreed, but his daughter wasn’t too happy about it and threw herself into the lake. She was transformed into a mermaid and lived happily ever after.’
‘I thought mermaids were supposed to live in the sea,’ Lorenzo said.
She grinned. ‘Tut, Mr Torelli. Hasn’t anyone told you that mermaids don’t actually exist? Lottie says there’s a version of the story that has the mermaid rescued by a handsome prince, but that might be a bit of a mix-up with the Hans Christian Andersen story.’
‘I hope not, because if I remember rightly that doesn’t have a very happy ending.’
Lorenzo’s eyes were very dark. Beautiful. She itched to paint him, to capture that expression. If only he hadn’t said no. Or maybe she could paint him from memory.
He reached over and wound one of her curls round the end of his finger. ‘I can see you as a mermaid, with this amazing hair floating out behind you,’ he said softly.
Oh, help. That sensual awareness of him over dinner had just gone up several notches. It would be so easy to tip her head back and invite him to kiss her...but that would be such a stupid thing to do.
Indigo was about to take a step backwards. Just to be safe. But then Lorenzo leaned closer and brushed his mouth against hers.
His kiss was sweet and almost shy at first, a gentle brush of his mouth against hers that made every single one of her nerve-ends tingle. And then he did it again. And again, teasing her and coaxing her into sliding her hands into his hair and letting him deepen the kiss.
Indigo had had her fair share of kisses in the past, but nothing like this. Even Nigel, the man she’d once believed was the love of her life, hadn’t been able to make her feel like this—drowsy and sensual, and as if her knees were going to give way at any second.
When Lorenzo stopped kissing her, she held on to him, not trusting her knees to hold her up. The last thing she wanted to do was fall at his feet and make an idiot of herself.
Though she had a nasty feeling that she’d already done that.
‘We really ought to get back to the others,’ she said.
‘Are you worried that they’ll think you lured me here for other reasons than to talk about glass?’
‘No.’ She could feel the colour seeping into her face. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. They all know how I am about my work. They probably think I’m boring the pants off you right now.’
He gave her a slow and very insolent smile. ‘Interesting choice of phrase, Ms Moran.’
Her face heated even more. Because now she could see herself taking his clothes off. Very, very slowly. And not because she wanted to paint him naked: because she wanted to touch him. Skin to skin. Very, very slowly. Until he was begging her for more.
Oh, for pity’s sake. She’d only just been introduced to him. Insta-lust wasn’t the way she did things. Why was she reacting to him like this? ‘Let’s go back,’ she said, hoping she didn’t sound as flustered as she felt.
‘Has Indi been showing you what she’s doing with the mermaid?’ Gus asked Lorenzo when they rejoined the others in the drawing room.
‘Yes.’
‘She’s brilliant. Maybe you ought to commission her to do you a portrait for the coronation. Glass instead of oils,’ Gus suggested.
Indigo frowned. ‘Coronation? Whose coronation?’
Gus looked embarrassed. ‘Whoops. I think I might have just put my foot in it.’
‘It’s fine,’ Lorenzo said.
Oh, no, it wasn’t, Indigo thought. There was a lot more to this than met the eye. Especially as Lorenzo looked shifty, all of a sudden.
They chatted for a few moments more; when they were alone again, Indigo narrowed her eyes at him. ‘What’s this about a coronation?’
‘The King of Melvante is abdicating next month and handing over to his grandson,’ Lorenzo said.
She still didn’t get it. Why had Gus suggested that Indigo should do Lorenzo’s portrait in glass? ‘And?’ she prompted.
He wrinkled his nose. ‘That would be, um, me.’
‘You’re going to be the King of Melvante?’
He nodded. ‘Nonno’s already passed on a lot of his duties to me. And he’s going to be eighty, next month. I want him to enjoy his old age, not have the burden of the crown.’
‘So that’s what you meant about the family business. Being king.’
He shrugged. ‘Running a country isn’t so different from running a business.’
Even so, she was hurt that nobody had told her. Lottie was her closest friend, and she’d known the family for years. Lorenzo obviously thought that she’d tell tales to the media, but surely Lottie’s family knew otherwise?
A king-to-be.
No wonder he’d been sensitive about having his photo taken, and no wonder he hadn’t wanted to sit for her.
This changed everything.
When he’d kissed her, only minutes before, she’d thought this just might be the start of something. How stupid of her. No way could a king-to-be have a fling with someone like her. OK, so strictly speaking Indigo’s father was an earl, so it wasn’t so much the noble and commoner thing; but he’d been married to his countess when Indigo was born and not to Indigo’s mother. The press would drag that up if they found out she was even vaguely involved with Lorenzo. Plus there was the whole mess of her relationship with Nigel and the way he’d let her down. That would look bad, too. A king couldn’t afford to be touched by scandal.
So her common sense needed to kick back in, and fast. Absolutely nothing was going to happen between them now.
It couldn’t.
‘I’ll make sure I address you properly in future, Your Highness,’ she said coolly. ‘It’s a pity you didn’t bother to tell me before.’
‘It wasn’t relevant. You’re a friend of the family and so am I. Who we are outside Edensfield isn’t important.’
‘You still could’ve told me.’
‘How? Was I supposed to correct you and tell you that, actually, no I’m not Mr Torelli, and it should be “Your Royal Highness Prince Lorenzo” to you?’ He grimaced. ‘Talk about an arrogant show-off.’
She blew out a breath. ‘I guess you have a point. I understand now why you were annoyed with me for taking your photograph.’
‘Because I try to protect my privacy—not because I think I’m a celeb or a special snowflake who deserves red carpet treatment,’ he said.
Her frown deepened. ‘What about your bodyguards? I assume you have them, and they’re so discreet that I haven’t noticed them yet.’
‘I get a little bit more libe
rty than usual from my security team because I’m staying in the house of a family friend,’ he said.
‘But you still can’t do anything spontaneous or even go for a walk without telling half a dozen people where you’re going. Your life must be scheduled out down to the millisecond.’
‘Most of the time, yes,’ he admitted. ‘But I’m officially on leave at the moment. Taking a bit of time to get my head in the right place, so to speak.’
‘Before you’re crowned king.’
‘Yes. Obviously I’m not entirely neglecting my duties while I’m here—I can do a lot of things through the internet and the phone—but Nonno thought I needed a bit of time out to prepare myself.’
‘Your grandfather,’ she said, ‘sounds very sensible.’ Like hers had been. ‘But forgive me for being dim. I don’t tend to read the society pages, so I really had absolutely no idea who you were.’
‘You,’ he said, ‘are the last person I’d accuse of being dim.’
‘You only met me today. I could be an airhead.’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Give me some credit for being able to judge someone’s character quickly and accurately.’
‘I guess in your position you have to do that all the time.’ She paused. ‘So how come you’re taking over, and not your father?’
‘He died in a car crash when I was ten,’ Lorenzo said. ‘Along with my mother.’
She could see the pain in his eyes, and then he was all urbane and charming again. Behind a mask. Clearly it hurt too much to talk about. She could understand that; there were certain bits of her own past that she didn’t talk about.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said softly. ‘That must’ve been hard for you. And for your grandparents.’
‘It was a long time ago, now,’ he said. ‘You get used to it.’
‘Yes, you do.’
‘That sounds like experience talking,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘My grandparents brought me up.’ She couldn’t quite bring herself to tell him of the circumstances, not wanting him to pity her.
‘Something we have in common,’ he said.
Not quite. She didn’t think that Lorenzo’s parents were like hers, choosing to abandon their child. In his case, his parents had been taken from him in an accident. In hers, her father had chosen to distance himself before she was born—his only contribution to her life had been to pay for part of her education—and her mother had been more focused on her own love-life than family life. ‘Just about the only thing.’