‘You don’t need me…’
‘You signed a contract. Yesterday, as I remember-and it was you who wanted it signed before we came into port.’ His hands were on her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze, and her anger was suddenly matched with his. ‘So you’ve been on the Internet. Do you understand why I have to return?’
And she did understand. Sort of. She’d read and read and read. ‘It seems your uncle and cousin are dead,’ she said flatly. ‘There’s a huge scandal because it seems your cousin wasn’t married after all, so his little son can’t inherit. So you get to be Crown Prince.’ Even now, she couldn’t believe she was saying it. Crown Prince. It was like some appalling twisted fairy tale. Kiss a frog, have him turn into a prince.
She wanted her frog back.
‘I don’t have a choice in this,’ he said harshly. ‘You need to believe that.’ Before she could stop him, he put the back of his hand against her cheek and ran it down to her lips, a touch so sensuous that it made a shiver run right down to her toes. But there was anger behind the touch-and there was also…Regret? ‘Gianetta, for you to go…’
‘Of course I’m going,’ she managed.
‘And I need to let you go,’ he said, and there was a depth of sadness behind his words that she couldn’t begin to understand. ‘But still I want you to take my boat home. Selfish or not, I want to see you again.’
Where was dignity when she needed it? His touch had sucked all the anger out of her. She wanted to hold on to this man and cling.
What was she thinking? No. This man was royalty, and he’d lied to her.
She had to find sense.
‘I’m grabbing my things,’ she said shortly, fighting for some semblance of calm. ‘I’ll be in touch about the money. I swear I won’t owe you for any longer than absolutely necessary.’
‘There’s no need to repay…’
‘There is,’ she snapped. ‘I pay my debts, even if they’re to princes.’
‘Can you stop calling me…’
‘A prince? It’s what you are and it’s not new. It’s not like this title’s a shock to you. Yes, you seem to have inherited the Crown, and that’s surprised you, but you were born a prince and you didn’t tell me.’
‘You didn’t ask.’
‘Right,’ she said, fury building again. She shoved his hands away and headed below, whether he liked it or not. Ramón followed her and stood watching as she flung her gear into her carry-all.
Dignity was nowhere. The only thing she could cling to was her anger.
‘So, Jenny, you think I should have introduced myself as Prince Ramón?’ he asked at last, and the anger was still there. He was angry? What did that make her? Nothing, she thought bleakly. How could he be angry at her? She felt like shrivelling into a small ball and sobbing, but she had to get away from here first.
‘You know what matters most?’ she demanded, trying desperately to sort her thoughts into some sort of sense. ‘That you didn’t tell me you owned the boat. Maybe you didn’t lie outright, but you had plenty of opportunities to tell me and you didn’t. That’s a lie in my books.’
‘Would you have got on my boat if you thought I was the owner?’
There was only one answer to that. If he’d asked her and she’d known he was wealthy enough to afford such a boat-his wealth would have terrified her. ‘No,’ she admitted.
‘So I wanted you to come with me.’
‘Bully for you. And I did.’ Cling to the anger, she told herself. It was all there was. If he was angry, she should be more so. She headed into the bathroom to grab her toiletries. ‘I came on board and we made love and it was all very nice,’ she threw over her shoulder. ‘Now you’ve had your fun and you can go back to your life.’
‘Being a prince isn’t my life.’
‘No?’
‘Gianetta…’
‘Jenny!’
‘Jenny, then,’ he conceded and the underlying anger in his voice intensified. ‘I want you to listen.’
‘I’m listening,’ she said, shoving toiletries together with venom.
‘Jenny, my grandfather was the Crown Prince of Cepheus.’
‘I know that.’
‘What you don’t know,’ he snapped, ‘is that he was an arrogant, cruel womanizer. Jenny, I need you to understand this. My grandfather’s marriage to my grandmother was an arranged one and he treated her dreadfully. When my father was ten my grandmother fell in love with a servant, and who can blame her? But my grandfather banished her and the younger children to a tiny island off the coast of Cepheus. He kept his oldest son, my uncle, at the palace, but my grandmother, my father and my aunt were never allowed back. My grandmother was royal in her own right. She had money of her own and all her life she ached to undo some of the appalling things my grandfather did, but when she tried…well, that’s when my father died. And now, to be forced to go back…’
‘I’m sorry you don’t like it,’ she said stiffly. What was he explaining this for? It had nothing to do with her. ‘But your country needs you. At least now you’ll be doing something useful.’
‘Is that what you think?’ he demanded, sounding stunned. ‘That I spend my life doing nothing?’
‘Isn’t that the best job in the world?’ She could feel the vibrations of his anger and it fed hers. He’d known he was a prince. ‘The Internet bio says you’re aligned to some sort of charity in Bangladesh,’ she said shortly. ‘I guess you can’t be all bad.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ she said, and she thought, where did she go from here?
Away, her head told her, harshly and coldly. She needed to leave right now, and she would, but there were obligations. This man had got her out of a hole. He’d paid her debts. She owed him, deception or not.
‘Okay, I’ll be the first to admit I know nothing of your life,’ she said stiffly. ‘I felt like I knew you and now I realize I don’t. That hurts. But I do need to thank you for paying my debt; for getting me away from Charlie. But now I’m just…scared. So I’ll just get out of your life and let you get on with it.’
‘You’re scared?’
‘What do you think?’
‘There’s no threat. There’d only be a threat if you were my woman.’
That was enough to take her breath away. If you were my woman…
‘Which…which I’m not,’ she managed.
‘No,’ he said, and there was bleakness as well as anger there now.
She closed her eyes. So what else had she expected? These two weeks had been a fairy tale. Nothing more.
Move on.
‘Jenny, I have to do this,’ he said harshly. ‘Understand it or not, this is what I’m faced with. If I don’t take the throne, then it goes to my father’s cousin’s son, Carlos. Carlos is as bad as my grandfather. He’d bring the country to ruin. And then there’s the child. He’s five. God knows…’ He raked his hair with quiet despair. ‘I will accept this responsibility. I must, even if it means walking away from what I most care about.’
And then there was silence, stretching towards infinity, where only emptiness beckoned.
What he most cared about? His boat? His charity work? What?
She couldn’t think of what. She couldn’t think what she wanted what to be.
‘I’m sorry, Ramón,’ she whispered at last.
‘I’m sorry, too,’ he said. He sighed and dug his hands deep into his pockets. Seemingly moving on. ‘For what’s between us needs to be put aside, for the sanity of both of us. But Gianetta…Jenny… What will you do in New Zealand?’
‘Make muffins.’ Her fury from his perceived betrayal was oozing away now, but there was nothing in its place except an aching void. Yesterday had seemed so wonderful. Today her sailor had turned into a prince and her bubble of euphoria was gone.
‘Make muffins until you can afford to go back to Australia?’
‘I don’t have a lot of choice.’
‘There is. Señor Rodriguez, the lawyer you met this morning, h
as already found someone prepared to skipper the Marquita-to bring her to Cepheus. I’ve already met him. He’s a Scottish Australian, Gordon, ex-merchant navy. He’s competent, solid and I know I can trust him with…with my boat. But he will need crew. So I’m asking you to stay on. I’m asking you if you’ll sail round the Horn with him and bring the Marquita home. If you do that, I’ll fly you back to Australia. Debt discharged.’
‘It wouldn’t be discharged.’
‘I believe it would,’ he said heavily. ‘I’m asking you to sail round the Horn with someone you don’t know, and I’m asking you to trust that I’ll keep my word. That’s enough of a request to make paying out your debt more than reasonable.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Do you want to go back to cooking muffins?’ He spread his hands and he managed a smile then, his wonderful, sexy, insinuating smile that had the power to warm every last part of her. ‘And at least this way you’ll get to see Cepheus, even if it’s only for a couple of days before you fly home. And you’ll have sailed around the Horn. You wanted to see the world. Give yourself a chance to see a little of it.’ He hesitated. ‘And, Jenny, maybe…we can have tonight?’
That made her gasp. After all that stood between them…What was he suggesting, that she spend one more night as the royal mistress? ‘Are you crazy?’
‘So not tonight?’ His eyes grew bleak. ‘No. I’m sorry, Gianetta. You and me… I concede it’s impossible. But what is possible is that you remain on board the Marquita as crew. You allow me to continue employing you so you’ll walk away at the end of three months beholden to nobody.’
No.
The word should have been shouted at him. She should walk away right now.
But to walk away for ever? How could she do that? And if she stayed on board… maybe a sliver of hope remained.
Hope for what? A Cinderella happy ending? What a joke. Ramón himself had said it was impossible.
But to walk away, from this boat as well as from this man…Cinders had fled at midnight. Maybe Cinders had more resolution than she did.
‘I’ll come back to the boat in the morning,’ she whispered. ‘If the new skipper wants to employ me and I think he’s a man I can be at sea with for three months…’
‘He’s nothing like me,’ Ramón said gently, almost bleakly. ‘He’s reliable and steady.’
‘And not a prince?’
He gave a wintry smile. ‘No, Gianetta, he’s not a prince.’
‘Then it might be possible.’
‘I hope it will be possible.’
‘No guarantees,’ she said.
‘You feel betrayed?’
‘Of course I do,’ she whispered. ‘I need to go now.’
The bleakness intensified. He nodded. ‘As you say. Go, my Gianetta, before I forget myself. I’ve learned this day that my life’s not my own. But first… ’
And, before she could guess what he was about, he made two swift strides across the room, took her shoulders in a grip of iron and kissed her. And such a kiss… It was fierce, it was possessive, it held anger and passion and desire. It was no kiss of farewell. It was a kiss that was all about his need, his desire, his ache to hold her to him for this night, and for longer still.
He was hungry for her, she thought, bewildered. She didn’t know how real that hunger was, but when he finally put her away from him, when she finally broke free, she thought he was hurting as much as she was.
But hunger changed nothing, she thought bleakly. There was nothing left to say.
He stood silently by as she grabbed her carry-all and walked away, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. He didn’t try to stop her.
He was her Ramón, she thought bleakly. But he wasn’t her prince.
He watched her go, walking along the docks carrying her holdall, her shoulders slumped, her body language that of someone weary beyond belief.
He felt as if he’d betrayed her.
So what to do? Go after her, lift her bodily into his arms?
Take her to Cepheus?
How could he?
There were threats from Carlos. The lawyer was talking of the possibility of armed insurrection against the throne. Had it truly become so bad?
His father had died because he hadn’t realized the power of royalty. How could he drag a woman into this mess? It would be hard enough keeping himself afloat, let alone supporting anyone else.
How could he be a part of it himself-a royal family that had destroyed his family?
Jenny’s figure was growing smaller in the distance. She wasn’t pausing-she wasn’t looking back.
He felt ill.
‘So can we leave tonight?’ He looked back and the lawyer was standing about twenty feet from the boat, calmly watching. ‘I asked them to hold seats on tonight’s flight as well as tomorrow.’
‘You have some nerve.’
‘The country’s desperate,’ the lawyer said simply. ‘Nothing’s been heard from you. Carlos is starting to act as if he’s the new Crown Prince and his actions are provocative. Delay on your part may well mean bloodshed.’
‘I don’t want to leave her,’ he said simply and turned back-but she’d turned a corner and was gone.
‘I think the lady has left you,’ the lawyer said gently. ‘Which leaves you free to begin to govern your country. So, the flight tonight, Your Highness?’
‘Fine,’ Ramón said heavily and went to pack.
But fine was the last thing he was feeling.
His flight left that evening. He looked down from the plane and saw the boats in Auckland Harbour. The Marquita was down there with her new skipper on board. He couldn’t make her out among so many. She was already dwindling to nothing as the plane rose and turned away from land.
Would Jenny join her tomorrow, he thought bleakly. Would she come to Cepheus?
He turned from the window with a silent oath. It shouldn’t matter. What was between them was finished. Whether she broke her contract or not-there was nothing he could offer her.
Jenny was on her own, as was he.
His throne was waiting for him.
And two days later the Marquita slipped its moorings and sailed out of Auckland Harbour-with Jenny still on board. As she watched the harbour fade into the distance she felt all the doubts reassemble themselves. Gordon, her new skipper, seemed respectful of her silence and he let her be.
She was about to sail around the Horn. Once upon a time that prospect would have filled her with adrenalin-loaded excitement.
Now… She was simply fulfilling a contract, before she went home.
CHAPTER SIX
R AMÓN’S introduction to royal life was overwhelming. He walked into chaos. He walked into a life he knew nothing about. There were problems everywhere, but he’d been back in Cepheus for less than a day before the plight of Philippe caught him and held.
On his first meeting, the lawyer’s introduction to the little boy was brief. ‘This is Philippe.’
Philippe. His cousin’s son. The little boy who should be Crown Prince, but for the trifling matter of a lack of wedding vows. Philippe, who’d had the royal surname until a month ago and was now not entitled to use it.
The little boy looked like the child Ramón remembered being. Philippe’s pale face and huge eyes hinted that he was suffering as Ramón had suffered when his own father died, and as he met him for the first time he felt his gut wrench with remembered pain.
He’d come to see for himself what he’d been told-that the little boy was in the best care possible. Señor Rodriguez performed the introductions. Consuela and Ernesto were Philippe’s foster parents, farmers who lived fifteen minutes’ drive from the palace. The three were clearly nervous of what this meeting meant, but Philippe had been well trained.
‘I am pleased to meet you,’ the little boy said in a stilted little voice that spoke of rote learning and little else. He held out a thin little arm so his hand could be shaken, and Ramón felt him flinch as he took it in his.
&n
bsp; Philippe’s foster mother, a buxom farmer’s wife exuding good-hearted friendliness, didn’t seem intimidated by Ramón’s title, or maybe she was, but her concern for Philippe came first. ‘We’ve been hearing good things about you,’ she told Ramón, scooping her charge into her arms so he could be on eye level with Ramón, ending the formality with this decisive gesture. ‘This dumpling’s been fearful of meeting you,’ she told him. ‘But Ernesto and I are telling him he should think of you as his big cousin. A friend. Isn’t that right, Your Highness?’
She met Ramón’s gaze almost defiantly, and Ramón could see immediately why Sofía had chosen Consuela as Philippe’s foster mother. The image of a mother hen, prepared to battle any odds for her chick, was unmistakable. ‘Philippe’s homesick for the palace,’ she said now, almost aggressively. ‘And he misses his cat.’
‘You have a cat?’ Ramón asked.
‘Yes,’ Philippe whispered.
‘There are many cats at the palace,’ Señor Rodriguez said repressively from beside them, and Ramón sighed. What was it with adults? Hang on, he was an adult. Surely he could do something about this.
He must.
But he wasn’t taking him back to the palace.
Memories were flooding back as he watched Philippe, memories of himself as a child. He vaguely remembered someone explaining that his grandmother wanted to return to the palace and his father would organize it-or maybe that explanation had come later. What he did remember was his father leading him into the vast grand entrance of the palace, Ramón clutching his father’s hand as the splendour threatened to overwhelm him. ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of. It’s time you met your grandfather and your uncle,’ his father had told him.
His mother had said later that the decision to take him had been made, ‘Because surely the Prince can’t refuse his grandchild, a little boy who looks just like him.’ But his mother had been wrong.
Not only had he been refused, some time in the night while Ramón lay in scared solitude, in a room far too grand for a child, somehow, some time, his father had died. He remembered not sleeping all night, and the next morning he remembered his grandfather, his icy voice laced with indifference to both his son’s death and his grandson’s solitary grief, snarling at the servants. ‘Pack him up and get him out of here,’ he’d ordered.
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