The Balfour Legacy

by Various

  He turned and walked across the room in the direction of the French doors. Emily ducked her head, gritting her teeth against the tears of shame and fury that burned like red-hot needles behind her eyes, just willing him to be gone and leave her alone with her humiliation and her hot, shameful longing.

  ‘I wouldn’t have slept with you,’ she hissed. ‘I wouldn’t have let you go that far.’

  He reached the door to the terrace and Emily felt a chill blast of night air as he pulled it open, and caught the feral scent of damp earth and grass beneath the delicate perfume of lilacs. Pausing he looked back at her, and for a moment she caught something like despair on his face.

  ‘I wouldn’t have tried to,’ he said wearily, and then he was gone.

  Chapter Four

  IT WAS a spectacular sunrise.

  Luis sat at the window of his suite watching the stars fade as a warm-pink blush crept tentatively into the sky from the east. He had given up on sleep and got up when it was still velvet dark, and in those dead hours it had seemed almost unimaginable that the cold and shadowed landscape before him would ever feel the sun’s warmth again.

  But gradually, inch by inch, the sleeping garden was washed with the watery rose light of the new day, softened by pearly mist. Many people would probably see it as a beautiful symbol of hope, Luis thought acidly. To him it was just another reminder that there was no let-up. No escape. Life just continued, relentlessly, whether you wanted it to or not.

  Whether you deserved it or not.

  There was a discreet knock on the door, and Tomás came in bearing coffee and a selection of newspapers.

  ‘Morning, sir. I take it you slept well?’

  Picking up yesterday’s paper from Santosa Luis kept his expression neutral and didn’t bother him with the truth. The night was over. Now he had to get through the day ahead.

  ‘Brilliantly, thank you, Tomás,’ he said blandly, scanning the headlines. ‘Now, what exciting engagements do we have to look forward to today?’

  Tomás consulted the printed itinerary on the top of his ubiquitous clipboard. ‘Well, sir, there’s nothing planned for the morning, but this afternoon you’re scheduled to make brief visits to a mother-and-toddler group in South East London, a charity that provides sports opportunities for children in the care system, and a day-care centre for elderly people.’

  ‘What fun. Talking of which, how’s my father?’

  Tomás shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘I was just coming to that, sir. I spoke to his private secretary late last night and the news wasn’t terribly good, I’m afraid to say.’

  Luis looked up from the paper. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Nothing to bother you with, sir.’ Tomás’s words were intended to soothe, but the note of anxiety in his voice rather spoiled the effect. ‘The king was admitted to hospital last night because he had had a little difficulty in breathing, but his doctor assured me he was comfortable and sleeping peacefully by the time I called. But it did make me think that we should perhaps think about returning to Santosa earlier than planned. Josefina in the press office is delighted at the success of the trip and the level of positive publicity it’s generated, however—’ Tomás hesitated, pressing a finger to his lips thoughtfully before adding ‘—she feels now that it would be counter-productive for you to be away from Santosa when the His Majesty is clearly unwell.’

  Luis took a swig of coffee and set his cup carefully down on its saucer before speaking. ‘Do the public know how ill my father is?’

  ‘No, sir. It’s been reported that he has spent some time in hospital, and the press office have made a vague statement about “tests” but no official announcement has been made to the effect that the king is…’

  ‘Dying.’

  ‘That’s right, sir.’ Tomás flinched at the brutality of the word. Or at the brutality of the way Luis spoke it. ‘Josefina feels that this isn’t the right time to make that kind of statement, what with the celebrations for His Majesty’s Silver Jubilee only a matter of weeks away and everything else so…unresolved.’ He trailed off, clearing his throat and ostentatiously leafing through the sheaf of papers on his clipboard.

  Luis smiled sardonically, picking up the newspaper again and turning to the sports pages at the back. ‘Don’t worry, Tomás. I understand what you’re saying. If the public got wind of the fact that King Marcos Fernando was about to die and pass the crown on to the notorious black sheep of the Cordoba dynasty there would be revolution on the streets of Santosa. Is that it?’

  ‘Of course not, sir,’ Tomás said, quickly and hugely unconvincingly. ‘It’s just that we need to do a little bit more work on your image before the public are ready to accept you as a successor to your father. As you know, your father is deeply loved by the people, and a twenty-five-year reign was always going to be a hard act to follow, even by…’

  He stopped abruptly.

  There was a moment of silence, and then Luis finished the sentence for him. ‘Even by Rico.’ His heavily ironic drawl was edged with a bitter edge of despair. Tossing the paper aside he got up and went to stand at the window, gazing out unseeingly over the exquisitely landscaped garden.

  The sun was up now in a sky the same colour as the swimming pool that glittered beyond the beech hedge to his right. ‘But there we have the problem, don’t we?’ he went on bleakly. ‘If even my noble brother would find it hard to please the people of Santosa, what the hell chance do I have?’

  ‘Every chance, sir.’ Tomás came to stand beside him. ‘You’ve made a great start in changing the way the public sees you. Now we just have to capitalise on that and keep up the good work so that—when the time comes—the public will see you as a caring, responsible monarch.’

  Luis laughed hollowly. ‘Great idea. And how do you propose we perform that little miracle?’

  Tomás opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment their attention was simultaneously drawn by a movement below. Emily Balfour emerged onto the terrace and walked across to the stone balustrade that separated it from the lawn beyond. She was wearing the clothes she’d arrived in last night, minus the black tights, and Luis found his gaze drawn to her bare feet. An emotion he couldn’t quite identify stirred somewhere deep inside him.

  ‘Miss Balfour seems like a very sweet girl, sir,’ Tomás said quietly.

  Luis glanced at him. ‘Is that just an idle observation, or does it have some relevance to the conversation we’re having?’

  Tomás’s tone was carefully neutral. ‘I was just wondering, sir—and without wanting to pry—is there anything of a romantic nature between you? Security informed me that you were back in your room early last night…’

  ‘Nothing happened,’ Luis said tonelessly, watching as Emily leaned her elbows on the balustrade. The morning sun gleamed on her polished mahogany hair, and as she tilted her face up to it, he saw her expression of absolute seriousness. She looked as cool and remote as a Victorian angel, and he remembered the fragility of her body as he lifted her out of the bath. ‘As you say, Miss Balfour is very sweet, which makes her of limited interest to me.’

  Her or anyone else, he thought blackly. Those days were over.

  ‘Good.’

  Luis raised an enquiring eyebrow. ‘Tomás?’

  ‘What we need is someone to provide a diversion, sir. Someone to absorb some of the media scrutiny, if you like, in a way that would reflect positively on you. But it would be better if it was someone with whom you have no genuine romantic attachment, to avoid unnecessary upset.’

  ‘When she’s no longer needed, you mean?’ Luis said acidly.

  ‘Essentially, sir, yes,’ Tomás conceded. ‘When the time eventually comes for you to marry and we need to begin to introduce the future Queen of Santosa to the people. But until then—’

  ‘Remind me who’s in the running for that enviable position,’ Luis interrupted coldly.

  ‘Until recently there were two possibilities, the Duchess de Mesa and Lady Helena Maygro
ve-Carter. However, those photographs of Lady Helena dancing on the table in a nightclub have led to the feeling that she’s not a good choice.’

  ‘Funny. They made me feel exactly the opposite,’ Luis drawled, his eyes still on Emily Balfour. She had placed one foot on the top of the stone balustrade and was easing gently into a balletic stretch, lying along her extended leg in an impressive display of suppleness. ‘But in the meantime you’re saying I should take Emily Balfour back to Santosa with me?’

  ‘It’s certainly an idea.’

  Luis tipped his head back for a moment, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets and gritting his teeth against the curse that sprung to his lips at this intrusion of politics into his personal life. With every day that had passed in the ten months since his brother died he realised more forcefully what a charmed life he had lived beneath the radar as Santosa’s ‘spare’ to Rico’s ‘heir.’

  He was paying for those carefree years now, and he would go on paying for the rest of his life. But even the price of his own freedom wasn’t high enough to make up for what he’d done.

  ‘What makes you think she’d come?’ he said hollowly. ‘What’s in it for her?’

  ‘She seems to be having a difficult time at the moment, personally speaking. I gather that she’s unwilling to return home to her family, but I can’t help but think that her present situation is far from ideal. However, she’s clearly someone who is motivated by a desire to help other people, so it’s possible that—’

  ‘She’d be willing to help me out by compromising herself to improve my tarnished image?’ Luis’s laugh was harsh in the still morning sunlight. ‘I think you may be overestimating her generosity there, Tomás.’

  Tomás flashed him a brief smile but it died before it reached his eyes. ‘Sir, that wasn’t quite what I was getting at. I entirely agree that Miss Balfour would be uncomfortable with the idea of being part of any deliberate deception—however, with a little help from the press office, the media might be encouraged to make their own assumptions when they see you together.’ He paused, turning round and going back to the table to pour more coffee. ‘It was actually Princess Luciana I was thinking of.’

  ‘Luciana?’

  ‘She’s just lost her mother, as has Miss Balfour. It’s my observation that Miss Balfour is perhaps the kind of person who would take comfort in comforting others, and Luciana—in common with lots of girls her age—has a keen interest in ballet.’

  The spoon made a musical sound against the china cup as Tomás stirred cream into his coffee, otherwise the room was very quiet. Standing at the window Luis looked down to where Emily had straightened up and was now changing legs, hitching her skirt up as she placed the heel of her other foot on top of the stone wall and leaned forward to hook her fingers around her instep.

  ‘Does she?’ Distantly he registered surprise, but it was overwhelmed by the greater surprise of how extremely tight and lush Emily Balfour’s behind looked from this angle. ‘Is your wife still Luciana’s nanny?’

  ‘Not at the moment. She went on maternity leave just after Prince Rico and Princess Christiana died, which was difficult for everyone. Valentina says that the replacement nanny, a Senhora Costa, has worked for some of the best families in Brazil and comes with superb references, but her approach is rather formal which seems to have made Princess Luciana withdraw into herself. My feeling is that Miss Balfour might be someone Luciana would open up to. She’s obviously very good with children.’

  Tomás came to stand beside him again. Luis waved away the cup of coffee he held out. The way he felt right now it would probably choke him. ‘You’ve thought this all through, haven’t you?’

  ‘I spoke to Josefina in the press office at some length last night, sir.’ At least Tomás had the decency to look slightly sheepish. ‘She thinks that Miss Balfour could be an extremely valuable asset to Operation Chrysalis.’

  ‘Operation Chrysalis?’ Luis repeated, his voice dangerously soft.

  ‘The process of overhauling your public image, sir.’

  ‘Chrysalis. I see.’ Dear God. It was like some farfetched sci-fi film where they kidnapped a public figure and replaced him with a brainwashed clone. ‘And neither you nor Josefina see any problem with using Miss Balfour as a Santosan PR pawn?’

  ‘I prefer not to see it like that.’ Tomás gave him a determined smile. ‘I think that we’re offering Miss Balfour an opportunity that will be to her benefit as much as ours, Your Highness. As long as certain safeguards are put in place, to protect her welfare.’

  Luis stepped closer to the window and put his hand against the pane. ‘And what would they be?’

  ‘Firstly that you don’t sleep with her, sir.’

  His fingers curled up into a fist, as if he might be about to punch it through the glass. ‘I think I can just about manage to restrain myself,’ he said sardonically. After all, he’d resisted more tempting bodies than hers in the past ten months. ‘And secondly?’

  A moment passed before Tomás answered the question. When he did his voice was oddly subdued. ‘We absolutely cannot put her in a position where she could be emotionally compromised. So you must be careful—very careful—not to let her fall in love with you.’

  Luis gave a harsh, hollow laugh. ‘Given the way that she feels about me I don’t think that there’s any danger of that whatsoever. The main difficulty will be getting her to agree to come to Santosa with me. As you’ve got the rest of it all worked up, perhaps you could turn your brilliant mind to that, Tomás?’

  ‘That’s easy, sir. Just do what you do best.’

  Luis gave a twisted smile. ‘But since seducing her is not an option—?’

  ‘I was talking about charm, sir. You’re a prince, remember? Be charming.’

  Discipline. Focus. Control.

  The words that had been her mantra all through the years at ballet school echoed through her head as Emily held the stretch and felt her muscles protest. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the clear, cool, lilac-scented morning and attempted to let go of the tension in her shoulders from a sleepless night.

  Discipline. Focus. Control.

  It’s a shame those words hadn’t been echoing through her head last night when Luis Cordoba had kissed her, she thought bleakly. It was a bit late now. In fact, the words stable door and horse were also echoing around in the wake of discipline, focus and control.

  And also, come to think of it, ruthless, arrogant and bastard…

  How dared he take liberties with her like that? she raged silently, swinging her leg down from the stone wall and lifting it again in a high extension, holding her foot above her head. Not only with her body, but also with her mind, playing some sadistic game to try to expose her as some kind of…of…

  Hypocrite.

  The word dropped into her consciousness like a pebble into a deep, still lake.

  ‘Bravo! If I had roses, I’d be throwing them at you now.’

  With a yelp of horror, Emily let go of her foot and staggered upright, whirling round in the direction of that sardonic drawl. Talk of the devil. Luis was leaning over the parapet that surrounded the balcony jutting over the terrace in the centre of the house.

  ‘I was just doing some stretching,’ she muttered, wincing at the obviousness of the statement and turning her back so he couldn’t see how much she was blushing. ‘I didn’t know anyone was watching.’

  ‘Don’t let me interrupt. Please, carry on.’

  As if. ‘I’m finished anyway.’

  ‘Good. Then I’ll join you for breakfast. I’ve asked for it to be brought to your room.’

  She turned round, opening her mouth to tell him to get lost, but instead gave a gasp of alarm. In one fluid movement he had climbed over the stone parapet around the first-floor balcony and was lowering himself onto the narrow ledge on the other side.

  ‘What the hell are you—? For God’s sake, Luis, no!’

  She clapped her hands to her mouth, stopping the anguished croak of her voice
as she watched him slide down so that he was holding onto the edge of the balcony. For a moment his body hung suspended, swinging, his shirt rising to show an expanse of golden, well-muscled back before he dropped to the ground.

  The breath whooshed out from Emily’s lungs. He turned round, brushing the dirt from his palms as he strode easily across the grass towards her.

  ‘Very impressive,’ she snapped as he came closer, folding her arms across her body, as if that would contain the frantic banging of her heart. ‘But couldn’t you have come the conventional way, like any normal person?’

  ‘I could, but I would have had to get Tomás to inform security and bring two personal-protection officers with me.’ He pulled a chair out from the table on the terrace and sat down, and in the honeyed morning light Emily noticed lines of tension around his beautiful mouth. ‘It makes spontaneity a little difficult.’

  She frowned, suddenly taking great interest in her fingernails. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him. She didn’t want to feel anything for him. ‘But presumably it’s necessary—for your own safety,’ she said crossly.

  ‘Is it? I think that if someone wants to kill me badly enough they’ll find a way.’

  The sudden hollowness in his voice made her heart lurch and she realised he was thinking of his brother. The deaths of Prince Rico and the Crown Princess Christiana in a helicopter crash had shocked the entire world. She swallowed, trying to dislodge the hard lump in her throat. ‘Isn’t that all the more reason to be careful?’

  Luis looked at her steadily, and gave a slow, twisted smile. ‘No.’

  For a long moment their gazes held. She’d decided, at some point while she’d been twisting between the hot sheets last night, that if she saw him this morning she would be icily polite but utterly aloof. The words drifted weakly through her head as she looked helplessly into eyes that were dark with emotions she couldn’t begin to interpret. She opened her mouth to speak—to say something that would demonstrate her icy aloofness—but at that moment there was a knock on the door in the bedroom.