Marion Lennox - Stepping Into The Prince's World

He wouldn’t be swimming for a while yet, he thought, but he looked at the house and thought he’d never seen anything more fantastic.

If he was being honest a one-room wooden hut would have looked good now, he conceded. But this...

‘Safe,’ he said, and the woman in his arms wilted a little. Her effort to climb the cliff had been huge.

‘B... Back door...out of the wind,’ she managed, and her voice was thready.

She’d fought to reach him in the water. She’d been injured trying to save him and now she’d managed to get up the cliff. He hadn’t thought he had any strength left in him, but it was amazing what a body was capable of. His army instructors had told him that.

‘No matter how dire, there’s always another level of adrenalin. You’ll never know it’s there until you need it.’

He’d needed it once in a sticky situation in West Africa. He felt the woman slump beside him and needed it now. He stopped and turned her, and then swept her up into his arms.

She didn’t protest. She was past protesting.

The little dog tore on ahead, showing him the way to the rear door, and in the end it was easy. Two minutes later he had her in the house and they were safe.

CHAPTER THREE

THE FIRST THING he had to do was get himself warm.

It seemed selfish, but he was so cold he couldn’t function. And he needed to stay switched on for a while yet.

He laid his lifesaver on a vast settee in front of an open fire—miraculously it was lit, and the house was warm. She was back in her dry clothes and after her exertion on the cliff she wasn’t shivering.

He was. His feet and hands were almost completely numb. He’d been in cold water for too long.

She knew it. She gripped his hand as he set her down and winced. ‘Bathroom. Thataway,’ she told him. ‘You’ll find clothes in the dressing room beside it.’

‘I’ll be fast.’

‘Stay under water until you’re warm,’ she ordered, and now the urgent need had passed he knew she was right.

He’d been fighting to get his feet to work on the way up the cliff. He’d also been fighting to get his mind to think straight. Fuzzy images were playing at the edges and he had an almost overwhelming urge to lie by the fire and sleep.

He was trained to recognise hypothermia. He’d been starting to suffer in the water and the physical exertion hadn’t been enough to raise his core temperature. He had to get himself warm if he was to be any use to this woman or to himself.

‘You’ll be okay? Don’t move that arm.’

‘As if I would. Go.’

So he went, and found a bathroom so sumptuous he might almost be in the palace at home. Any doubts as to how close he’d come to disaster were dispelled by the pain he felt when the warm water touched him.

There was a bench along the length of the shower. Two shower heads pointed hot water at him from different directions. He slumped on the bench and let the water do its work. Gradually the pain eased. He was battered and bruised, but he’d been more bruised than this after military exercises.

With his core heat back to normal he could almost think straight. Except he needed to sleep. He really needed to sleep.

There was a woman who needed him.

He towelled himself dry and moved to the next imperative. Clothes. This was a huge place. Who lived here?

The master bedroom was stunning, and whoever used it had a truly impressive wardrobe. There were over-the-top women’s clothes—surely not belonging to the woman who’d saved him? He couldn’t see her in flowing rainbow chiffon—but the guy’s wardrobe was expansive, too. He found jogging pants that stretched to fit and the T-shirts were okay. There were even socks and sheepskin slippers. And a cardigan just like his grandfather wore.

Exhaustion was still sweeping over him in waves, but at least his head was working. It had to keep working. He was dehydrated and starving and he needed to fix it. He found the kitchen, found a stack of long-life milk in the pantry and drank until the hollow, sick feeling in his stomach receded. Feeling absurdly pleased with himself, he headed back to the living room.

She was lying on her back, her eyes closed. He could see pain radiating out from her in waves.

‘Hey,’ he said, and she turned and managed a weak smile.

‘Hey, yourself,’ she managed. ‘They look a whole lot better on you than Don.’

‘Don?’

‘Don and Marigold own this place.’

‘Not you?’

‘I wish.’ She grimaced again. ‘Actually, I don’t wish. I’ve run out of good coffee.’

‘You think it’s time for introductions?’ he asked, and she winced and tried for a smile.

‘Claire. Claire Tremaine. I’m the island caretaker.’

‘I’m Raoul,’ he told her. ‘Raoul de Castelaise.’ Now surely wasn’t the time for titles and formalities. ‘Soldier. I’m pleased to meet you, Claire. In fact I can’t begin to tell you how pleased. Tell me about your arm.’

‘I guess...it’s broken.’

‘Can I see? I’ll need to lift your windcheater.’

‘I don’t have a bra on.’

‘So you don’t. You want me to find you a bra?’

‘I don’t care,’ she muttered. ‘Look at my arm. Don’t look at anything else.’

‘No, ma’am.’ He sat on the edge of the settee and helped her sit up, then carefully tugged off her windcheater. She only had her good arm in it, so it came off easily.

She’d ordered him not to look at anything else. That was a big ask.

Too big.

She was beautiful, he thought. She looked almost like an athlete, taut and lean. Her chestnut curls were wisping onto her naked shoulders.

She looked vulnerable and scared.

He headed back to the bathroom and brought out a towel, wrapping the fluffy whiteness around her so she was almost respectable but her arm was still exposed.

She hugged the towel to her as if she needed its comfort. The bravado she’d shown since the moment he’d met her in the water seemed to have disappeared.

She was scared?

Yeah. He was a big guy. Apart from the dog, she seemed to be in this house alone. She was semi-naked and injured.

Why wouldn’t she be scared?

‘Can I tell you that my grandmother thinks I’m trustworthy?’ he told her, tucking in the edges of the towel so it made an almost secure sarong. ‘She tells the world what a good boy I am, and I’m not about to mess with her beliefs. I am trustworthy, Claire. I promise. If only because my grandmother’s presence seems to spend a lot of time sitting on my shoulder. You’re safe with me.’

And she managed a smile that was almost genuine.

‘Scary Granny, huh.’

‘You’d better believe it. But I can handle her.’

‘And you love her?’

‘You can believe that, too.’

And her smile softened, as if she really did believe him. As if somehow his words really had made her feel safe.

‘Are you French?’ she asked.

‘I’m from Marétal. It’s a small land-locked country near...’

‘I know it,’ she said, in an exclamation of surprise. ‘Your army’s taking part in the international army exercises in Tasmania. I looked it up.’

‘You looked it up?’

‘I get bored,’ she admitted. Her voice was still tight, but she was making a huge effort to sound normal. ‘I was listening to the Tasmanian news on the radio. They listed the countries taking part. I didn’t know where Marétal was. So you’re part of that exercise.’ And then her voice grew tighter. ‘Are there...are there any other soldiers lost overboard?’

‘Only me—and it wasn’t an army exercise,’ he said ruefully. ‘Despite the camouflage, I’m off duty. I took a friend’s boat out from Hobart and got caught in the storm. I had two days being flung about Bass Strait, finally made it to the lee of your island and you know the rest. But my friend—the guy who owns Rosebud—is in Nepal. He doesn’t know I took his boat and I didn’t tell anyone I was going. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. I broke all the rules and the army would agree that I’ve been an idiot.’