Robyn Donald - Royals - Wed To The Prince - By Royal Command / The Princess and the Outlaw / The Prince's Secret Bride

‘No,’ she said, adding with a smile that hurt the muscles in her cheeks, ‘I’m fine, thank you.’

He didn’t seem to notice anything different about her attitude, but she didn’t fool herself. Like every predator, he was acutely tuned to his surroundings.

Neither spoke as they went down in a lift and walked out of the building into heat that sucked the breath from her lungs. Ahead, a limousine purred softly, like a waiting cat. Apart from that and the sound of a jet in the distance, it was blessedly silent. No hounds of the Press yapped around her, no lights flashed in her eyes. A uniformed man gave a short salute to Guy and held the back door open. Behind the wheel she made out the form of a driver.

Sliding into the seat, she commented in a voice with no expression at all, ‘It’s every bit as hot as the tropics, but not at all humid.’ And because she could no longer hold the question back, she asked with a cool lack of emphasis, ‘What exactly were you doing on Sant’Rosa?’

‘I have interests there. And friends.’ He glanced down at her, thick lashes veiling the glimmering depths of his eyes. His tone told her nothing as he went on, ‘Several years ago I spent a few weeks there as a hostage.’

A hostage?

Horrified, she asked unevenly, ‘How on earth did that happen?’

‘I delivered medical supplies during the civil war, and the government of Sant’Rosa saw a way of using me.’ He shrugged, looking straight ahead as the car drew smoothly away. ‘They kidnapped me to persuade my cousin to act as intermediary between them and the rebels.’

She stared at him. ‘What happened?’

‘I escaped the second night,’ he said nonchalantly. A swift grin reminded her again of the buccaneer she’d first met, as did the wry note in his voice when he added, ‘It wasn’t difficult; they were pretty half-hearted gaolers.’

She closed her eyes. ‘You escaped, but you stayed on the island? In the middle of a civil war?’

‘They were desperate,’ he said briefly. ‘And I liked them. They knew the Republic was ready to move troops across the border if there was any chance of a truce between the warring sides. In fact, we fought off an incursion while I was there.’

Appalled at the risks he’d taken, she demanded, ‘We fought off?’

His broad shoulders lifted. ‘I was involved in a very minor way,’ he said casually. ‘They were much better bush fighters than I was, but terror makes fast learners.’

‘Or dead ones,’ she said tightly.

‘Life’s for living; it’s not worth much if you’re forever looking over your shoulder.’

The car purred quietly down a road shared with an occasional donkey and many more motor-scooters, all ridden by young men with very white teeth who waved insouciantly at the limousine as it eased past them.

Lauren clamped her lips together to stop herself from raging at Guy for valuing his life so cheaply.

‘We’re heading inland to a villa up in the hills; I thought your parents would prefer it to the coast because it’s cooler there,’ he told her.

‘Thank you.’ She had to fight back a heavy thud of disappointment. For some reason she’d thought they’d be at the same place…

Fool! A sensible woman would want as much distance between them as possible.

But she wasn’t sensible about Guy. From the moment she’d seen him, villainously unshaven on Sant’Rosa, she’d battled a ferocious, elemental appetite that had nothing, she reminded herself stringently, to do with love or respect.

He said, ‘My cousin, Luka, and his wife would like to meet you, but they’re sure that you and your father need to rest today, so it will probably be tomorrow.’

‘I’ll look forward to that,’ she said untruthfully.

He lifted a lean hand to acknowledge a wave from a donkey rider. Olive trees shimmered in the slow breeze, their leaves gleaming silver against a sky as blue as heaven. Small plants and wild flowers grew against the bases of ancient stone walls that bordered the road.

Guy surveyed her, his eyes cool and intent. ‘What’s the matter?’

Lauren gathered her composure around like cling film, leaned back and showed her teeth.

‘Nothing,’ she said coolly. ‘Well, nothing apart from a dodgy marriage to a man who neglected to tell me he was a prince.’

His brows lifted. Wielding courtesy like a weapon, he said with suave distinctness, ‘It didn’t seem relevant at the time.’

‘Most people would consider it very relevant. I had no idea that you were a member of the Dacian royal family until—’ she glanced at her watch ‘—about half an hour ago, when I saw an article about you in a magazine. When we went through that ceremony on Sant’Rosa I did think Bagaton sounded vaguely familiar, but not enough to ring alarm bells.’

‘Alarm bells?’ he said softly. ‘Why should you be alarmed?’

She lifted her head and met his glinting gaze full on. ‘I’m not in the habit of marrying princes, even to get out of a bad situation.’

‘I didn’t tell you because you didn’t ask,’ he returned with cutting urbanity. ‘You found me useful, so you sensibly used me. Besides, it didn’t matter—it’s merely an accident of birth. The important thing on Sant’Rosa was to get you to safety.’ He flicked her a glance edged with satire. ‘You didn’t ask who I was when I came to you in Valanu.’

Lauren bit back the rash words threatening to tumble from her tongue but couldn’t stop herself from snapping, ‘I thought I knew who you were.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said softly, ‘I should ask you the real question.’

‘Which is?’ Although her voice was crisp with hauteur, she knew the moment she said the words that they should never have been spoken.

‘Why did you offer yourself to me in Valanu?’

Humiliation burned in her throat. Without thinking she flashed, ‘I felt sorry for you.’

His eyelashes drooped and for a frightening second she flinched at the very real menace she saw in the hooded eyes.

But when he said, ‘You have a charming—and very effective—way of feeling sorry for men,’ his voice was insultingly indifferent. ‘Not that it matters. The title is completely irrelevant—apart from affection for my cousins and the islanders, I have only sentimental ties to Dacia. Prince Luka has a very promising four-year-old son, and the prospect of another arriving before the end of the year, so Dacia is well set up without me, a situation I’m more than happy with.’

‘Lucky you,’ she said, her voice as wooden as her expression. ‘All of the deference and no responsibility.’

He shrugged. ‘I assume you’re blaming me for the Press frenzy at the airport.’

She said quietly, ‘No. You could have told me who you were when you came to New Zealand to warn me the marriage might be valid, but I suppose there was always the chance that I might have charged you a handsome sum for a quick divorce.’

‘I can deal with blackmailers,’ he said on a ruthless note. ‘Perhaps I should have told you, but it seems pretentious to announce that I’m a prince to people who couldn’t care less.’

‘I suppose it is.’

‘As for the media—’ His voice hardened even more. ‘Yes, if I hadn’t been who I am I doubt very much if there’d have been any reporters to meet you in London. I’m sorry you got caught up in it, but I’m not answerable for people who like to season their breakfasts with highly suspect gossip about princes and pop stars and sportsmen.’

‘Of course you’re not,’ she said in a toneless voice, feeling small and petty.

He covered her rigid hands with his warm, strong one. ‘But knowing who I am wouldn’t have made any difference on Sant’Rosa—you’d have married me if I’d had to hold a pistol to your head.’