Vows to Save His Crown

by Kate Hewitt

  ‘Is something the matter?’

  She compressed her lips, trying not to express any overt hostility. So far as she knew, this man had very little experience with children in general and his son in particular. Perhaps he didn’t realise how unusual an occurrence it was for a primary schoolteacher to arrive at a parent’s doorstep at eight o’clock in the evening.

  It was unusual, but Amelia had timed it thus on purpose in the hope of avoiding Cameron. She hadn’t wanted her little pupil to overhear them, nor to know more than he needed to at this point.

  ‘This conversation would be better had inside. May I come in?’

  His brows drew together, thick and full, giving his expression a forbidding and darkly handsome look. She thought then how intimidating he might be to some people, those who had to work with him or relied on his good opinion in order to advance professionally. Fortunately for Amelia, neither of those things applied to her. She was able to be professional and confident, her motives for coming to him motivated purely by concern for her young pupil.

  ‘Do you make a habit of turning up uninvited at the homes of your students?’

  ‘Not at all, sir, which should give you some clue as to how important I consider this matter to be.’

  ‘What exactly do you consider to be important?’

  ‘Your son.’

  Again, there was something in his features, a look of annoyance or frustration, but it was gone again almost immediately. ‘The nanny has put Cameron to bed already. If you wanted to see him...’

  Her heart squeezed at that, and she swept her eyes shut for a moment, forcefully pushing emotions to the side. But, oh, it was almost impossible when she remembered Cynthia McDowell, who had adored and doted on her son, who had made up for all the lack of money in the world with an abundance of love and interest. To think of the dear little boy losing his mother, inheriting this man as a father and being shunted into a nanny’s care all in the space of less than two months!

  It only galvanised her, making her feel even more strongly about her reasons for coming to Renway Hall so late on a Friday evening. ‘It’s you I’d like to speak to, Mr Anastakos.’

  ‘And it can’t wait until Monday?’

  She considered that a moment. ‘Would Monday suit you better?’

  ‘Not necessarily.’ He shifted his shoulders. ‘I’m not sure if any time would be convenient, given that I have no idea what you’ve come to discuss.’

  ‘You’ll just have to take it on trust, then, that I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t important.’

  ‘I don’t take anyone on trust,’ he asserted silkily, nonetheless taking a step backward and gesturing into the hall. ‘But I am intrigued.’ He cast a glance at his wristwatch. ‘I have five minutes.’

  She bristled at that and—barely—resisted an inclination to point out that discussing his son’s emotional health and welfare was something for which he should prioritise a little more time, particularly in the wake of recent events, but she didn’t. It was important to keep her mind on what she wanted, and arguing unnecessarily with this man would do nothing to achieve her goal.

  ‘Come with me.’ He turned, walking down the corridor. She had a brief impression of an endless expanse of tiles and walls lined with ancient art—one in particular caught her eye, so she stopped walking for a moment to look at it properly.

  ‘This is a Camareli.’

  She felt him stop and turn without even looking in his direction. There was something about his presence that seemed to puncture the air around her—it wasn’t necessary to look at him to know how he moved. He was dynamic, as though his absolute magnitude was so bright it was almost overpowering.

  The painting depicted a Madonna scene. Bright colours had been used, but it was the nature of the brush strokes that had revealed the artist’s hand before Amelia had seen the small signature in the bottom-right-hand corner of the painting.

  ‘Yes.’ And then, after a moment’s silence, ‘But we’re not here to discuss art, are we, Miss Ashford?’

  She jerked her gaze to his face, wondering at the rapid hammering of her pulse, the flipping of her heart inside her chest. Her features were cool, her eyes giving away nothing of her internal responses. ‘No, Mr Anastakos. We’re not.’

  He began to move once more, turning through two wide doors into a room that had leather furniture and a grand piano. The art on the walls in here was world-class too—more famous, by artists of greater renown than Camareli. Then again, she’d always had a thing for the lesser known Renaissance painters, and Camareli was just that.

  ‘Maria, Cameron’s teacher is here. I’ll be a few minutes.’

  A stunning blonde woman dressed in a slinky red gown moved with all the grace of a ballerina, standing from the white leather lounge she’d occupied a moment earlier and subjecting Amelia to the same slow inspection Santos had performed earlier. But, where Santos’s eyes had seemed to trail heat over Amelia’s body, the other woman’s left only ice in their wake.

  ‘But, darling, we’ll be late,’ Maria pouted.

  Santos expelled a breath so his nostrils flared and his features showed disdain. ‘Apparently it can’t wait. Call Leo—he’ll make you a cocktail.’

  ‘Oh, fine, but if I’d known this would involve baby sitting and being abandoned all night I would never have come,’ Maria complained, turning her slender body away from Santos and Amelia.

  Amelia, for her part, could only look at Maria with a sense of wonder—she’d never seen a woman in the flesh who was so like some kind of Hollywood celebrity. Everything about her was a study in perfection, from her figure to her sheening hair; from her flawless make-up and sky-high heels to manicured nails.

  ‘She’s very beautiful,’ Amelia remarked conversationally as they left the room, returning to the long marbled corridor.

  ‘Yes,’ Santos returned in almost the same tone, pausing at another doorway. This time, it led to an office, all modern furniture and computers. There was more artwork here, and a large mirror that showed a reflection of the stables.

  He closed the door behind them and Amelia—for no reason she could think of—jumped a little.

  ‘So, Miss Ashford? You have my full attention; what would you like to speak to me about?’

  He gestured to one of the seats opposite his desk. She took it, crossing her legs and placing her hands in her lap, her eyes following him across the room, where he paused at a bar and opened a crystal Scotch decanter. He poured two generous measures then handed a glass to her, their fingertips brushing as he placed the Scotch in the palm of her hand.

  ‘Thank you.’ She cradled the Scotch without taking a sip. She’d bypassed the usual phases of wild abandon and teenage letting down of hair and had never really developed a tolerance for or interest in alcohol. Every now and again she enjoyed a few sips of a nice wine with a special dinner, or champagne on Christmas Eve, but it certainly wasn’t something she imbibed on a daily basis.

  Unlike Santos, she gathered, as he threw half of his own Scotch back in one go before resting his bottom on the edge of his desk, rather than taking up the seat opposite, so he was much closer to her than she’d anticipated. His long legs were just to her right, so she could reach out and touch them if she wanted.

  The thought threw her completely off-balance in a way she’d never experienced in her life. She’d been on a few dates, but they had been academic exercises more than anything, something she’d been encouraged to try at Brent’s urging and never really found comfortable or fun.

  You have to give it time, Millie. Get to know a guy, see his good side. Just go with the flow!

  But those dates had all ended the same way—with Amelia feeling bored out of her brain and wanting nothing more than never to see the man again. One particular date had left her so bored she’d almost fallen asleep at the table. It was very rare for her to factor her intellect
into her thoughts but, at times like that, it was impossible not to realise that being a child genius, being exposed to some of the world’s greatest minds from a very young age, had left her with absolutely zero tolerance for small talk. And particularly not with men who were quite clearly preoccupied with the more physical aspects of the evening.

  A shudder shifted through her at the whole failed debacle of dating, but that didn’t explain why now, so close to Santos Anastakos, she felt heat building inside her blood, warming her from the inside out.

  The sooner she could get this over and done with, the better. She had to plead Cameron’s case and then leave—she never had to see Santos again after that.

  She geared herself up to start speaking, to say what she’d come to say, but Santos spoke first, his eyes roaming her face quite freely, his gaze curious now, speculative in a way that did nothing to help her overheating blood.

  ‘How old are you?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  His expression shifted; for a moment she saw scepticism there, perhaps even disapproval. ‘You look too young to be a teacher.’

  She ran her finger around the edge of the Scotch glass, feeling the indents in its shape. ‘I’ve been at Elesmore for a little over three years.’

  She brushed aside his disbelief. It wasn’t necessary to tell him that she’d graduated with her first degree—physics—at the age of eleven, completed her second degree by thirteen and a postgraduate doctorate by fifteen, before doing an about-turn and deciding she wanted to become a teacher. He didn’t need to know that she’d graduated from her education degree at sixteen and had spent a few years travelling and consulting for various space agencies before finally accepting a position in a small local comprehensive on the basis they wouldn’t advertise who she was.

  Anonymity and a lack of pressure had been her goal—normality after a lifetime of being pushed through one hoop to another.

  ‘Which makes you...?’ he prompted, taking another sip of his Scotch. His throat shifted as he swallowed and she found her gaze focussed on his skin there, covered by a hint of stubble, dark and thick. It would feel bristly if she reached up and ran her fingers across it.

  She startled at the thought and wrenched her eyes to the view of the stables just visible in the mirror.

  ‘My age isn’t relevant,’ she murmured, her fingers tightly gripping the Scotch glass. She was nervous! Amelia hadn’t expected that but sitting in this man’s office now, surrounded by proof of his business acumen and success, it was impossible not to recognise how dynamic and powerful he was—imposingly so. That was why she felt as though a kaleidoscope of butterflies had been let loose in her belly.

  ‘Fine, then, let’s discuss what is relevant,’ he responded with a hint of something in his voice—something cold and unwelcoming, as though she were wasting his time and he wanted her gone.

  ‘Mr Larcombe told me you’re planning to pull Cameron out of Elesmore. That not only are you looking to remove him from the school he’s been at since he was three years old, you’re also intending to move him to Greece once the term ends.’

  Silence fell, a silence that was thick and unpleasant, but Amelia resolutely didn’t interrupt it, and several beats passed, each heavy with the words she’d flung at him; each filled with nothing but the sound of her thudding heart.

  ‘And...?’ The word was drawled by his lips, lips that were wide and chiselled, harsh and compelling; lips that drew her attention far more than she was comfortable with.

  ‘And? Is it true?’

  ‘Do you imagine the school headmaster lied to you?’ His question was teasing, gently sarcastic in nature. It wasn’t intended to be rude, she thought, but that didn’t stop it from having an immediate effect on her.

  Heat began to bloom in her cheeks. She wasn’t used to being treated like an imbecile. She glared at him forcefully, her expression clearly showing how unimpressed she was, but she forced a brittle smile into place, remembering the old adage that you caught more bees with honey. ‘I hoped he’d made a mistake somehow.’

  ‘He didn’t.’ Santos shifted a little, inadvertently brushing her knee with his. It was like being jolted with a thousand volts of electricity. She stared at him in surprise, a reaction she was nowhere near experienced enough to conceal, and saw speculation move over his features. She blinked her eyes closed, before turning them towards the view once more, but it wasn’t quite enough. He’d seen her reaction and was now wondering at the reason for it.

  Great.

  She was literally the opposite of the sophisticated beauty in the room down the hallway. Where Maria was stunning and expensive-looking, Amelia felt dowdy, dull and quite utterly out of her depth even having a conversation with a man like this. For goodness’ sake, his knee had touched her knee and she was permitting that to turn her stomach into a tangle of knots! Preposterous.

  ‘When the school year finishes, Cameron will move to Agrios Nisi with me.’ He spoke as though he hadn’t even realised they’d touched—his bloodstream wasn’t running with the force of a thousand wild stallions.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because it’s where I live. And I am apparently his father.’

  She ignored the last remark. ‘But what is there for him on Agrios Nisi?’ The words were delivered with uncharacteristic fire, but Amelia couldn’t help it. Ever since the headmaster had relayed the plans to Amelia, her head had been swimming with disapproval, and her heart with a sense of panic and pain. It wasn’t right to drag Cameron away from everything and everyone he knew. The little boy deserved better than that, especially now. She knew, better than anyone, what it was like to be sent from pillar to post—and by your parents!

  ‘Apart from miles of pristine coastline and a chance to have the kind of childhood any boy would kill for?’

  A small noise of ridicule escaped her lips before she could stop it. ‘What he needs, Mr Anastakos, is to be here—especially now.’ She drew in a breath, trying to calm her racing heart and pounding pulse without much success. ‘He’s lost so much already this year. To take him away from the friends who adore him—and the faculty who also adore him,’ she finished ineptly, her throat thick with the pain of how much Cameron had come to mean to her, ‘Will be to inflict further trauma on a little boy who’s already suffered considerably. I understand things weren’t necessarily amicable between you and Cynthia but that hardly seems like a reason to punish Cameron. He deserves you to act in his best interests and keeping him here, in England, at Elesmore, is the very least you can do.’

  ‘My relationship with Cameron’s mother is none of your business.’

  Amelia’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, but how you treat Cameron is, very much so.’

  ‘As for Cynthia,’ he continued, as though she hadn’t spoken, ‘It was neither amicable or otherwise. The truth of the mater is, we barely knew each other.’

  Amelia blinked at this sterile description of the woman with whom he’d made a child and shook her head. ‘Be that as it may, you clearly knew each other well enough to become parents, and now you’re all Cameron has left. He deserves more than this.’

  The silence that fell now was punctuated only by the sound of her own breathing. Santos stared at her from eyes that were almost oceanic in colour, his tanned skin slightly flushed along the hard ridges of his cheekbones. It was a face prone to sternness anyway, all symmetrical and sharp, as though a sculptor had been obliged to turn granite into humanity with only a blade as a tool, leaving no room for nuance and undulation, only harsh edges and finality. But now, like this? There was such obvious anger and rejection on his face that Amelia almost regretted coming here.

  Almost, but not quite.

  Cameron deserved to have someone fight on his behalf. At six, he was too young to realise how the adults in his life had failed him, but Amelia recognised the behaviours and, while she wouldn’t ordinarily think of interfering, th
is was different. Cameron was different.

  She refused to fail him.

  Copyright © 2020 by Clare Connelly

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  ISBN-13: 9781488059667

  Vows to Save His Crown

  Copyright © 2020 by Kate Hewitt

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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