Marrying the Rebel Prince

by Janet Gover

  Nicolas wondered how they compared in Lauren’s eyes. He had a dreadful suspicion that he would not benefit by the comparison.

  ‘You are doing good work here, Josef.’ Nicolas sincerely meant every word.

  ‘Thank you. St Benedict is the patron saint of the homeless and lost. Of course, I have some other help …’

  Nicolas followed the pastor’s gaze. He was looking at Lauren, who was still bent over her sketch pad. Nicolas felt a stab of jealousy.

  ‘Does Lauren come here often?’ he asked.

  ‘Twice a week – sometimes more,’ Josef replied, without taking his eyes from Lauren. ‘She sketches people.’

  ‘Has she ever drawn you?’

  ‘Yes she has. She gave it to me. It’s got pride of place in the broom closet I call my office.’ The warmth of feeling in the pastor’s voice was unmistakable.

  Nicolas felt his chest constrict. Lauren had drawn Josef but she had been unable to draw him. He found himself experiencing an emotion he’d rarely felt before meeting Lauren … He was envious of this pastor, in his worn suit and shabby surroundings. He cast a quick sideways glance at Josef. The look on the man’s face told him everything he needed to know. Nicolas felt an overwhelming urge to tell Josef who he really was. To lay claim to his own special relationship with Lauren. It was a childish urge, and Nicolas was ashamed of it.

  ‘I want to thank you for helping me with that furniture.’ Josef broke through his thoughts. ‘You and Tom were a big help.’

  ‘Think nothing of it. I would like to help some more.’ Even as he said the words, Nicolas realised his mistake. The pastor would expect a donation, and Nicolas never carried money. He suspected that his bodyguard would have more than enough for a generous donation, but he could hardly embarrass himself further by asking for it.

  ‘That’s good of you. I’m sure there are many ways you could help.’

  Josef smiled slightly as he said the words. He knows, Nicolas thought, yet he’s asked for nothing. Suddenly Nicolas felt very inferior to the quiet smiling man in the shabby suit. He rose to his feet and held out his hand.

  ‘Goodnight, Josef.’

  ‘Goodnight … Cole.’ The pastor’s handshake was firm and friendly. ‘I look forward to seeing you again.’

  Nicolas found Lauren still engrossed in her sketch. ‘May I?’ he asked, holding out his hand.

  Lauren handed him the sketchbook as he sat down next to her. The drawing on the uppermost page was of the woman, Else, and her child. Lauren had captured her timid half smile and added … something. Her poverty and sadness were evident in her face, yet something about the angle of her head, the shape of her cheeks …

  ‘You’ve made her beautiful.’

  ‘But she is beautiful.’ Lauren sounded surprised. ‘Can’t you ever see past the outside? Designer dresses and diamonds and make-up don’t make someone beautiful. Didn’t you see the beauty in her?’

  ‘I do now.’

  Slowly he turned the next page and looked down at his own face. He tilted the sketch to catch the light, pleased that at last Lauren had drawn him. The face that looked back at him was unmistakably his, but there was something in it he didn’t recognise. The chin was his. The mouth too, and the distinctive eyes shared by all the men in his family. However, the whole face was more than the individual parts. This wasn’t the prince of a ruling house. He was neither soldier nor playboy. The man in the sketch was a better man than Nicolas knew himself to be.

  ‘You flatter me.’ He tried to hide his feeling of awe at her skill.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  Lauren’s blue-grey eyes were serious. She held his gaze for long moments. Something stirred deep inside Nicolas as he looked at the lovely girl at his side. He found himself wanting to be the man she had drawn.

  A discreet cough broke their gaze.

  ‘I think perhaps we should leave now.’ Sergeant Lawry was standing beside them.

  ‘Yes. Of course.’ Nicolas handed the sketch pad back to Lauren, who stowed it carefully in her tote bag as if it were precious.

  They walked back through darkened streets. Discreetly, Sergeant Lawry moved a few yards ahead of them.

  ‘The homeless man who first took you to the shelter – was he there tonight?’ he asked.

  ‘No. He died last winter.’ Her voice was sad.

  ‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

  They walked in silence for a short time, Lauren deep in thought and wrapped in sadness.

  ‘I was very impressed by Josef.’ The last thing Nicolas wanted was to talk about another man, but that little twinge of jealousy just wouldn’t go away.

  ‘He’s wonderful. He is so kind. He sees such terrible things there sometimes, but he never gives up.’

  Every word she spoke sent a shaft into Nicolas’s heart. He’d seen terrible things too. Things no man should have to live with. Had he given up?

  ‘Josef can’t change the world.’ Even to his own ears the words sounded petty, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  ‘No, he can’t.’ Lauren leaped to her friend’s defence. ‘But he can change one small part of it. And at least he’s trying. That’s more than most people can say.’

  ‘You mean me, don’t you?’ Nicolas challenged her.

  ‘If the shoe fits …’

  ‘You’re not being fair,’ Nicolas tried to defend himself. ‘I …’

  ‘You’ve never been to this part of the city before; you’ve never met people like these.’ Lauren stopped walking and spun to face him, her eyes flashing. ‘How could you not know about these people? Don’t you read the newspapers?’

  ‘I do. And I …’

  Lauren jumped back in before he could begin to defend himself.

  ‘You just go to your society parties and drink champagne and race fast cars. All paid for by someone else.’ She was brimming with angry indignation. ‘You never think about how the rest of the world lives. And you never give anything back!’

  ‘Don’t be so swift to judge me, Lauren.’ Nick felt his own anger rising. ‘You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve had to …’

  ‘Hey, Nick! Who’s the girl?’ Before the shouted words even had time to register, a bright flash of light left him momentarily blinded.

  ‘Damn it.’ Instinctively, Nicolas reached an arm around Lauren, pulling her close to him for protection as two photographers emerged from a dark lane, their cameras flashing wildly.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  Lauren’s confused and frightened cry against his chest sent a wave of anger surging through him. He looked around for his bodyguard. The sergeant was moving towards the photographers, his hand held up in a warning gesture.

  ‘Thomas, the car!’ Nicolas ordered.

  The bodyguard hesitated for a second, reluctant to leave his charge.

  ‘Go.’ Years of military training echoed through the prince’s command.

  The sergeant turned and started running. The car was just around the next corner. He would take less than a minute to reach it.

  ‘Come on, miss. Give us a smile.’

  ‘What’s your name, sweetheart?’

  The raucous calls filled the air around them as Nicolas held Lauren tightly against his chest, guiding her gently towards the road, where he hoped his car would arrive any moment. He gripped her even tighter when she started to struggle as if to free herself. He would not let her go! He would not allow those vultures near her!

  After what seemed an eternity, the roar of an engine signalled Sergeant Lawry’s return with the car. The photographers stepped back to avoid being hit. Nicolas didn’t wait for his bodyguard. He reached for the door and bundled Lauren inside and then threw himself in after her.

  ‘Go!’

  The sergeant didn’t need the command. The vehicle was already moving as the prince spoke, but the commotion had attracted attention already and people were drawing closer, phones in hand.

  ‘Lauren, it’s all right.’ Nicolas reached for the girl huddled
in the far corner of the seat. He could feel rather than hear her sobs. ‘We’re fine. They won’t catch us.’

  Lauren’s sobs faded to stillness. She shrugged off his comforting arm.

  ‘What happened? Who were they?’ Her tear-bright eyes stared at him in confusion.

  ‘Paparazzi.’ Nicolas coloured the word with every ounce of his disgust and anger.

  ‘But how did they find us?’

  ‘It happens. Someone must have seen us when we were walking to the shelter earlier in the evening. As long as you’re all right, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter?’ Lauren took a deep breath, then seemed to go very cold. ‘It was horrible.’ She shuddered.

  Nicolas wanted to hold her in the safety of his arms, to comfort her and bring a smile back to the face that looked so haunted.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

  ‘Back to the palace of course,’ Nicolas answered.

  ‘No. Take me home.’

  ‘Lauren, you can’t go home.’ Nicolas kept his voice calm and reassuring. ‘You don’t want them to track you down. Find out where you live. You need to be protected. I can do that at the palace.’

  ‘No. You can’t. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be in this position.’ Lauren slid further away on the leather seat. ‘I won’t hide from them. I won’t give them that satisfaction.’

  Nicolas heard the steel in her voice. He admired her for her courage, but …

  ‘I mean it.’ Lauren interrupted him even before he could speak. ‘They’re not following us now. Take me home.’

  Nicolas couldn’t stand the look on her face. A look almost like hatred cut through his anger and concern, leaving nothing but profound regret at his own actions. He glanced out the rear of the car. They weren’t being followed.

  ‘Thomas, turn the car around.’

  Chapter Five

  Lauren’s own terrified face stared back at her from the television. This morning she hadn’t needed Maria’s call to send her to the news channel. After a sleepless night, she’d turned on the set at first light. It was even worse than she’d feared.

  NICK’S MYSTERY LOVE.

  The headline screamed from below an image of Nick holding her against him. Her face was hidden but her distinctive hair was not. And over the video the presenters speculated on her identity.

  ‘… believed to live not far from the place where this photograph was taken. The area is a known haunt of the homeless and police say drug traffickers are frequently …’

  Lauren felt a small wave of what could have been relief. They didn’t know who she was or where she lived. Not only that, it appeared they also didn’t know where she and the prince had been. Perhaps this wasn’t the total disaster she’d feared.

  Lauren turned the television off. She looked at her phone lying on the coffee table, and the laptop lying next to it. No, she was not going anywhere near the internet today. Maybe this thing would blow over when they couldn’t find her.

  Last night, Prince Nicolas had suggested the safest place for her would be the palace. Maybe today he was right. And she had her sketches from last night. She wanted to spend some time studying those. Her studio was definitely the best place for her right now.

  A short time later she cautiously opened the door of her building. She peered outside, fearing the worst, but the street was empty. She was being foolish. Slightly cheered, she set off towards the bus stop. As she turned the corner, she froze. There it was again. That image of her terrified face. But this was a hundred times worse because it was on the front page of a hundred newspapers stacked in the news-stand by the bus stop.

  Lauren’s hands began to shake. She jammed them hard into the pockets of her jeans and glanced around. The streets were starting to fill with people heading to work. And every single one of them carried a mobile phone. She looked back at the news-stand and the photographs that covered the front pages, and her heart seemed to shrink inside her. The newspaper seller was looking at her. He frowned, then looked down at the newspapers. His face contorted with glee as he looked back at Lauren’s face and her striking blue and white hair.

  He recognised her!

  Fighting back her panic, Lauren grabbed a couple of newspapers. Digging into the pocket of her jacket she found some coins and thrust them at the paper seller. She spun on her heel and almost ran back towards her flat. She could feel the man’s eyes on her, and knew that he’d soon be spreading the word, hoping for his own moment of tabloid glory as the man who helped identify Prince Nicolas’s new flame.

  Lauren took the front steps at a run and carefully locked the building’s security door behind her. Even that wasn’t enough to make her feel safe. She sprinted up the stairs to her flat, fumbling with the keys as she unlocked the door. Stepping over the threshold into the familiar comfort, Lauren forcefully slammed the door behind her. She leaned back against its solid strength, sobbing for breath – and sobbing with emotion.

  At last her breathing slowed and she felt able to step away from the door. She tossed the papers onto her wooden table and crossed to the window. Standing hidden behind her curtains, she scanned the street, looking for any sign of photographers or reporters. She saw familiar faces as her neighbours set out for work. She saw anonymous passers-by. No one showed any particular interest in her building.

  Lauren stepped back from the window. She avoided looking at the newspapers on her table and walked through to the tiny kitchen. After pouring a glass of orange juice, she took a deep draught. She sipped the rest while she set about making a cup of instant coffee. When she felt her equilibrium restored by these small familiar acts, she took her coffee and a tub of yoghurt back to the table – and to those tabloids.

  They were even worse than she feared. Speculation varied according to which paper she was reading, but the overriding theme was to wonder why Prince Nicolas, who had been happy to flaunt his previous relationships with supermodels and society party-girls, should be so desperate to keep this relationship a secret. Was it, they speculated, because he was serious this time? Or perhaps it was because she was from the wrong side of the tracks or had a background that made her unsuitable to be a royal bride.

  As she read, she reached for her phone.

  ‘Hello, Lauren. How are you?’ The tone of her voice told Lauren her mother hadn’t seen any of the news.

  ‘I’ve been better, Mum.’

  ‘You’re not sick are you?’

  ‘No. I’m fine. You know how I told you about the chance to paint that portrait of the prince …’

  ‘Yes. Did you get the commission? Oh, honey, I am so proud of you.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Lauren closed her eyes, wishing she could just leave the conversation there, but her mother had to know. ‘Mum, go turn your tablet on and take a look at the news sites – the gossipy ones.’

  ‘All right. I’ve got it here, but what do you mean …’

  Her mother’s voice tailed off and Lauren knew she’d found the right site.

  ‘Oh, Lauren. I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mum.’

  ‘Sorry? What on earth are you sorry for?’

  ‘People are going to start nosing around and trying to find out about me. They might come to you. They might want to know about my father …’

  ‘Lauren, stop it. If they ask me, I will tell them I have a wonderful daughter who makes me proud and whom I love very much. As for your father, he was never a part of your life. You are not responsible for his actions. I will simply tell them the truth – that there’s only you and me.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘Honey, don’t pay any attention to what people say. You are your own person, and I love you very much. That’s all that matters. Except of course … well, I have to ask, is he really as handsome as he looks in his photos?’

  Lauren chuckled. ‘Yes he is.’

  When she hung up the phone, Lauren was feeling much better but it only lasted until she looked at the next headline.
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  Help the Herald Identify the Newest Royal Flame! Keep your eyes peeled for the blue-haired beauty. Phone us if you spot her, or if you snap her picture, send it to us. Become the first to identify the new royal lover.

  Lauren’s hand flew to her hair. The style and colour that had been so much fun were now a liability. The blue she liked so much was a brand, declaring her identity to anyone who saw her. Like the newspaper seller. Lauren leaped to her feet and crossed back to the window. The streets were busier now as people headed off to work. Many of them had newspapers tucked under their arms.

  Lauren was confident that her friends and neighbours wouldn’t give her up, but any stranger who saw her would know her in an instant. One quick call on a mobile phone and she would be at the mercy of every journalist and photographer in the city.

  Her hair. It all came down to her hair. Lauren picked up the phone and dialled Maria’s number, knowing as she did that her friend wouldn’t be there. Maria started work early, and would have left her flat some time ago. Today, of all days, her friend wasn’t around to help her. But did she really need Maria? Her flat was usually littered with hairdressing supplies – including hair dye. Lauren and Maria had long ago exchanged spare keys.

  Lauren hesitated. Was she overreacting? Would the tabloids really try to hunt her down? She moved back to the window and glanced out. As if in answer to her question, a man appeared in the street, a camera hung from a strap around his neck. Lauren quickly stepped back from the window, her heart pounding. Enough! She pulled a set of keys from a jar on her mantel. She would not be a prisoner in her own home!

  * * *

  Lauren slipped quietly into the studio and shut the door behind her. She was alone now, inside a palace with the tightest security the country could offer. But high walls and armed guards didn’t make her feel any better. Lauren ran her fingers through her hair, feeling an unfamiliar roughness, and blessed the luck that had delivered her to this point without being recognised. At least, she didn’t think she had been recognised.

  Every moment on the streets and on the bus had been a nightmare. She continually looked from face to face, wondering who would be the one to spot her. Every time she saw someone nearby speaking into a mobile phone, she had almost panicked. Any call could be the one that set the hounds on her trail.