Sabrina Philips - Prince of Montéz, Pregnant Mistress

Leon lifted his arm sharply, the motion drawing back the sleeve of his shirt to reveal a striking Cartier watch. ‘I would love to discuss the details now, but I’m afraid I have a meeting to attend with the principal of the university, as it happens. Much as I’m sure that, given your predilection for university staff, you’d find meeting Professor Lefevre stimulating, it is something I need to do alone. You and I can continue this discussion over breakfast.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Breakfast. Petit déjeuner. The first meal of the day, oui? ’ He stared at her face, which was aghast. ‘It is also a painting by Renoir, I believe—but, of course, you’re the expert.’

Could he have any more of a cheek? ‘I am well aware of the concept of breakfast, thank you. Just as I am well aware that I will be eating mine back in Cambridge tomorrow morning. You invited me here to discuss this today. ’

‘And I subsequently discovered that unfortunately today is the only day Professor Lefevre can have this meeting. But since you have nowhere else to be this can wait until tomorrow, oui? ’

Cally seethed. ‘I have a plane to catch. Home.’

‘But how can you make the most important decision of your career without knowing all the facts?’

There was nothing to decide, was there? How could she even contemplate working for a man who had humiliated and lied to her? Because the job was everything she’d strived for, she thought ruefully. She recalled the hideous boss she’d once had at the gallery gift shop who’d paid her a pittance for running the place single-handedly, how she’d ignored him and had just knuckled down. She could do it again for her dream commission, couldn’t she? But some-how she wasn’t sure that ignoring Leon would be so easy. Unless she could do the restoration without his interference. Rent a studio by the seafront and work on the paintings there, only return here when she’d completed them. The idea seemed almost idyllic without the threat of his presence.

‘If I stay for—for breakfast, ’ she repeated, the concept still ludicrous to her. ‘You’ll be open to discussion about how I would wish such a project to be completed?’

‘Discussion? Of course.’

Cally did a mental calculation of whether she could afford one night in a French guesthouse, having presumed that she’d be back on a plane out of here this afternoon. She supposed that she had left that hotel in London a night earlier than planned…

‘What time would you have me return?’

‘I would have you here ready and waiting,’ he said, beckoning for her to keep up with his brusque steps out of the ballroom and into the hallway, where the man who had driven her here was waiting compliantly, head bowed. ‘This is Boyet. He will show you to your room and bring you dinner.’

And before she could argue the prince was gone.

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