by Margaret Way
“But not from the spotlight of the media,” Mari’s father retorted. “Charlie, you know by now that not even a king can stop rumour and speculation. There was enough about Prince Mikhail’s honourable intentions.”
The slightest hint of irony in the stressed word made Sander want to smile. So that was where Mari got her flair for drama from—and it seemed Mikhail had shown his true intentions during the past few days.
“Nobody knows what His Grace’s intentions are towards our girl.”
With a sense of fatalism, Sander recognised Mari’s father’s ambition for his daughter to become a duchess—but, over that, a hard thrill was running through him that had nothing to do with his duty. Thanks to her father, he now had a chance. He might not win her fairly, but he’d win her. Mari would be his—she’d be his wife, his love. His doubts fled. The simple truth was he’d never be happy without her.
“You’re right to ask, sir,” he said, with the same quiet respect with which Charlie had spoken. “I care deeply for Mari, as she knows. It would be an honour and a privilege if you would allow me to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage.”
Taki Mitsialos beamed at him, and moved forward to shake his hand. “Good boy, good boy,” he said heartily, pumping Sander’s hand. “Charlie told me you were well brought up, but you never know with the upper classes if they are sincere or playing games, thinking we commoners are expendable.” A flicked glance at Mikhail showed Sander that they’d definitely discovered the Prince’s true intentions some time in the past few days. “Our girl will be a duchess!”
“No, Dad, I won’t.”
The inflexible tone, exactly like her father’s, made everyone turn to Mari. She stood small and alone, a step away from her royal cousin, her face pale and her hands clenched. “Thank you for asking, Your Grace, but the answer is no. You’ve done nothing to necessitate marriage. I won’t have anyone believing you did. I won’t trap a good man into marriage.”
Mikhail’s face changed subtly at her calm declaration. From barely concealed fury to hunter. Sander saw the plans crossing Mikhail’s mind.
In that moment Sander knew his diplomatic career was at an end. But he’d toss aside all consequences if it meant Mari would be safe from Mikhail’s predatory clutches.
“It’s no trap,” he said, over the protesting voices of her family. “I want to marry you, Mari. You know that. I told you last night how I feel.” And he smiled at her—the unfair smile that made her desire him.
Mari stared at him, her mouth open, and moistened her lower lip with her tongue. He saw the pulse beating hard in her throat. “No, you don’t. Please stop lying for my sake, Your Grace. There’s no need to protect me. I’m flying home—today, if that’s all right?” She turned to Charlie and Jazmine, her gaze pleading. “I want to go home and forget any of this happened.” Her clear-eyed gaze, first at Mikhail and then at Lysander, told him how serious she was.
But he wasn’t going down without a fight.
Amid the loud protests of her parents and her brother, and the cautious silence of the others, Sander knew this would be the fight of his life. “Mari, if we could talk privately, I think I could convince you of just how much I want you to be my wife,” he said. And his smile grew.
Her eyes widened a little; a delectable flush filled her throat and her breathing quickened. He felt that hard thrill chasing along his nerve-endings—she wanted him so much she couldn’t hide it, even in front of Mikhail—but then she backed away, a hand lifted in denial.
“Really, there’s no need for it, Y-Your Grace. You have your life, I have mine, and the two aren’t compatible. You can’t become a commoner, and I don’t want to be a duchess. We’ve had a lovely few days—and I hope we can remain friends—but we hardly know each other. We only met six days ago. The very thought of marriage is ridiculous.”
Her father and mother burst into indignant speech; Stavros made a helpless gesture at Charlie. The young King’s face reflected a weary fatalism: his family was ignorant of the intense pressure of international politics. The threat of an Orakis coup if the new Marandis dynasty showed too much nepotism was real. He couldn’t press for more law changes for their sakes, or even for Mari—his favourite cousin.
Jazmine, her face calm, moved to hold Mari’s hand. “I propose we stop here. Obviously we’ve come here with expectations that aren’t reflecting the truth, and we’re only distressing Mari. Aunt Maria, why don’t we take Mari somewhere quiet to talk?”
“Thank you, Your Majesty, but this isn’t a matter for you or the King,” Sander said, with a mixture of respect and inflexibility. “This is between Mari and me, without interference.”
A look of surprise crossed Jazmine’s face. “You’re right, Sander. I beg your pardon—Mari as well.” With a soft kiss to Mari’s cheek, she moved aside.
Sander kept his gaze wholly on Mari. “This doesn’t belong to anyone but us, Mari—not your parents, not kings or princes—just us.”
Mari blinked, her pretty face covered in confusion that he was still even here, let alone still trying to win her.
He took her hand in his. “I understand what you’re saying, and why—but you can’t deny there’s something between us, no matter how short a time we’ve known each other.” He saw the blush creep up her cheeks, and with a smile he held out a hand to her. “Will you please give me an hour, Mari?”
He saw it, saw her eyes soften and her sweet mouth give that tiny half-pout that meant she was thinking…she was tempted…she was giving in…
“Loath as I am to interrupt this magical moment between lovers, I have appointments to keep—and I have a few words to say. You’re fired, Sander. I don’t keep disloyal employees—and don’t bother asking for a reference. Your time in Chalnikan—and with the Diplomatic Corps, if I have anything to say about it—is done.”
Sander held the groan inside. Mikhail was going down swinging. He still wanted Mari—and, more, he didn’t want Sander to win. Now Mari knew it all. He moved to take her hand, to force an hour in private, to explain—
But Mari, her face amused, had turned to Mikhail. “If that was meant as a revelation, Your Highness, you’re a few days too late. I’ve known for days that Lysander worked for you—or, more accurately, for your father the King. And not only does it not bother me, your firing him for following the orders of your father, as well as his king and queen, doesn’t make your proposition to me more attractive. Once and for all, Your Highness, I will never want you.”
Mari’s family gasped at her bluntness; Jazmine and Charlie kept their faces impassive, as did Sander—though it was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do when he was dying to swing her into his arms and kiss her senseless—but all gazes swung to the young, spoiled Prince who’d never had to take no for an answer from a woman, and never in public.
Mikhail’s cheeks whitened, but after a moment he sneered. “I withdrew that particular offer days ago, Miss Mitsialos. I care nothing for what you do, or who you choose to sleep with. I came only to fire a disloyal employee.”
“Liar,” she said calmly, smiling at him as his cheeks changed from pale to mottled dark red with fury at a term no one had ever dared throw at him before. “Your face gives away everything you think and feel. You know, looking at yourself honestly—and accepting defeat now and then—will make you a better king when your time comes, Mikhail. You should take lessons from my cousin. He puts others before himself. That’s what a good king does.”
Without a word, Mikhail turned and strode down the gangplank to the other yacht.
“Well, that’s a relief. Back to family,” Charlie said—but his face changed in moments when his wife gave a tiny shake of her head. “Um…right. Uncle Taki, Aunt Maria, Stavros—I think we should leave Mari and Lysander alone to talk.”
The family vanished before either of them could speak.
“Traitors,” he heard Mari mutter, and he held in a chuckle. The thought of a lifetime laughing with her was so very appealing.
> “So how did you know about my position in Chalnikan?” he asked quietly as he led her out of the hot sunshine into a solar, seating her on a chaise.
She shrugged as she made herself comfortable. “You said you were a diplomat, but not where. So I did a Google search on you. Sit down, Lysander. I don’t like being at a disadvantage.”
He mock-groaned, but sat beside her. “You did a Google search on me? I feel violated. I wish I’d never told you we had net access here.”
The smile in her voice made him smile in return. “Even commoners have their ways.”
He tilted his head and checked her out. “I hadn’t realised how much of a snob you are until today.” Ignoring the indignant flash of her eyes, he went on, “My life isn’t a fairy tale, Mari. Much of the time it’s like walking a tightrope of expectation. I’d have thought Charlie’s new life would have shown you the reality of the life of the upper classes. Every member of the nobility still has to eat, sleep and use the bathroom. They still need to find love, get married and have children. And that’s what I want with you.”
“It’s only been six days,” she retorted with clear asperity, and he knew he’d upset her by calling her on her delusions. “We both know this isn’t real.”
Sander wanted to smile again. She sounded hunted, which meant she was tempted. He struggled against calling her a liar. He was a diplomat—he knew when to call a spade a spade and when to be tactful. A woman on the run did not want to hear she was being a coward. “I know it seems insane. It’s too soon. I can’t possibly love you—but the thing is, in these few days you’ve shown me a new way to look at the world,” he said softly, taking her hand in his, feeling happiness pierce him with almost knife-edged beauty. “You’ve made me see things differently, Mari. You’ve made me think, kept me laughing—and when you touched me, kissed me, you bowled me out. Completely. I spent last night imagining a lifetime of laughing with you, of learning from you—” he grinned “—and, of course, of kisses that make me melt. And I saw at least four little boys and girls who’d teach me not to take life too seriously. I saw my children with milk-chocolate eyes and gorgeous curls.”
“No, eyes like the sun sparkling on the Aegean and a smile that makes my insides flip,” she replied absently, her gaze focussed on his mouth. Then she inhaled sharply. “I didn’t mean to say that.”
Sander was no fool. As a famous king once said, there was a time to speak and a time to be silent. She’d been dreaming of him, she loved his eyes and smile, saw her children with those attributes; it was enough. It was a weapon to fight with until she was so desperate for him she’d wave the white flag of surrender willingly and say the words he’d spent a lifetime running from. Words he was now desperate to hear from only one woman’s mouth.
Oh, that sweet mouth…
It was time for the best kind of battle—a fight without words. He leaned into her and brushed his mouth over hers.
One, two, three butterfly kisses, waiting for her response—and then her hands were in his hair, she was falling back, bringing him with her as he took the kiss deeper, hotter, loving the rightness of lying on her, hearing her soft moans of joy, feeling her frantic hands touching him everywhere she could.
He kissed his way slowly down her throat and along her collarbone, hearing her murmur, “Lysander, Lysander,” as if she couldn’t get enough of him.
He’d never liked his full name before, but from the first time she’d said it he’d been hooked: a private whisper of her passion for him. When they were together, when they touched, it didn’t matter that they’d only met days before, or that they were Duke and commoner. Right now they were just a man and a woman, so right for each other it seemed ridiculous to let a title, or even his people, get in the way.
Finally he understood why a king would abdicate for the sake of the woman he loved…
“Don’t go, Mari mou,” he whispered in her ear, feeling her shiver. “At least stay long enough to know if this is real, if we can make it.”
She stilled beneath him. “I can’t be a duchess.”
He lifted his head from where he’d been exploring her ear with his lips. “Yes, you can,” he said softly. “You care, Mari. All my people want is someone to care for them.”
She shook her head, her mouth set stubbornly.
“I realise there are more things to think about than you and me alone. If you come to Persolis and decide you can’t be Duchess, maybe you can be my love, my wife, and let me do the work.” And then, no matter how she might promise to stay out of political life, within weeks she’d be questioning his every decision, giving him the human side of every problem. And when she did, he’d be the happiest duke in the world—because he needed her wisdom as much as he needed her smile, her laugh and her touch.
“I can’t,” she said again, a mulish look to her chin even as she wriggled beneath him—not trying to make him get off her, judging by the languid look in her eyes.
Oh, she wanted him—how she wanted him—but he saw the battle being lost through a lack of knowledge of his life. He changed tactics. “Just come to Persolis with me. See what you’re turning down before you go back to your exciting life.”
She pulled a face at his reference to the job she’d told him she hated on one of their island tours. “I’ll lose my job.”
He moved against her as he curved a hand around her cheek, and saw her forget what she’d been talking about. “I can see how tempting it would be. Receptionist or duchess—continue living with your parents…” her expression was indescribable at that “…or living with me, sharing my bed, my kisses…” He punctuated each word with a lingering kiss, making her moan and move beneath him.
“Stop it, Lysander,” she whispered, even as she turned her face to take in another kiss. “You—you’re trying to seduce me into it…”
“And totally without shame, too,” he whispered back, finger-drawing down the inside of her arm, feeling her body quiver in sweet, honest response.
Air was expelled from her lungs in a rush. “You don’t know me. It’s only been a few days.”
He was skilled in word analysis. He heard the fear and the longing, the wistful wishing and her terror that the love they both felt would go belly-up as fast as it had come to them. The dreamer fought the practical woman, sword to battleaxe, and not even Mari knew which was winning.
“We’ll never know if you leave,” he murmured, kissing her ear, loving the sensual squirm she gave. “Stay with me—a few weeks, a few months—until we know. It’s not merely about how we are together when we touch, as wonderful as that is. It’s about your laughter and your sunshine, your principles and your honesty, your caring and your refusal to back down. You have so much courage, Mari. Don’t lose it now.”
She buried her face in his neck. “Lysander…”
She was melting—but even while he felt the surge of masculine triumph, he knew this decision was too important for her to be seduced into it. “I can tell you I’ve never felt like this with any woman, but how can you believe it? You need time to know it won’t change—and I need time to convince you. Stay with me here in Hellenia, Mari—give us time to know this is real.”
“How can you not be angry? You lost your job because of me,” she whispered.
He closed his eyes at his stupidity. Of course she’d think he’d resent her for that. “Actually, I’ve been offered a better post—if I decide to take it. Even if I don’t, all you and Mikhail have done is eased a decision that was too hard for me. I’ve been avoiding it since Konstantinos joined the monastery. I’ve been telling myself it was best to stay on a while longer, to foster good relationships in the European capitals to benefit Persolis—and it was the right decision. But you’re right—it’s time for me to take my place in Persolis and let my mother retire.” When she didn’t answer, he said, “Why aren’t you angry? I didn’t tell you who I worked for, or why I took you away to separate you from Mikhail.”
She nodded, her eyes sincere. “There’s no poi
nt in my being offended. Mikhail’s insistence was causing an embarrassing situation for everyone. I’m grateful you helped me, and that you didn’t judge me or think me a mercenary woman out for what I could get.”
She was so innocent and wise, his lovely Mari—and he wanted to smile, as he always did when he was in her company. He held her closer. “Nobody could have looked at you, heard you that first day, and thought the worst of you, Mari.”
Her eyes shimmered, and he saw yearning and caring there—then they closed over. “I need space, Lysander. I need time to think.”
A good diplomat knew when to push and when to retire. “Of course,” he murmured, and moved off her body—it felt as if he’d left something behind as he stood. Maybe his heart. “All I ask is that you give us a chance…and listen to your heart, Mari.”
He saw the doubt in her face—the self-doubt. She needed to convince herself—which she’d never be able to do if she were a runner.
Such a shame for his sweet love that she was fighting someone with the best diplomatic contacts in the Corps.
Sander grinned, anticipating each and every battle…
CHAPTER SEVEN
A month later
“IS THIS a joke? You’ve had my passport for a month now, and the problem isn’t fixed?”
Mari glared at the plump, middle-aged woman behind the glass counter at the Australian Consulate, who smiled apologetically. “I am afraid not, madam. The irregularity with your passport is an unusual one, and it has to be sorted out at the London office. Until your passport returns here you can’t travel.”
In other words, you can’t leave Hellenia until a certain diplomat removes the unusual irregularity he created especially to keep you here. She knew the unspoken terms: Come and see me. Come to Persolis.
Right then Mari wanted to see Lysander, all right—to throttle him. This woman was like Sergeant Schultz from Hogan’s Heroes—she knew nothing. And those who could help her, the Ambassador and all his aides, were all far too busy to get her home.