Marion Lennox - Cinderella - Hired by the Prince / The Sheikh's Destiny - Cinderella - Hired by the Prince / The Sheikh's Destiny

He felt sick. A five-year-old child. To lose everything…

He’d been not much older than Philippe when he’d lost his own father.

It couldn’t matter. It shouldn’t be his problem. He didn’t even know the little boy…

‘I’ll take financial care of the child,’ Ramón said shortly. ‘But I can’t drop everything. I have twelve more weeks at sea and then I’m due in Bangladesh.’

‘Your team already knows you won’t be accompanying them this year,’ the lawyer told him flatly, leaving no room for argument. ‘And I’ve found an experienced yachtsman who’s prepared to sail the Marquita back to Cepheus for you. We can be on a flight tonight, and even that’s not soon enough.’ Then, as the lawyer noticed Ramón’s face—and Ramón was making no effort to disguise his fury—he added quickly, ‘There’s mounting hysteria over the mess your uncle and cousin left, and there’s massive disquiet about Carlos inheriting.’

‘As well there might be,’ Ramón growled, trying hard to stay calm. Ramón’s distant cousin was an indolent gamester, rotund, corrupt and inept. He’d faced the court more than once, but charges had been dropped, because of bribery? He wasn’t close enough to the throne to know.

‘He’s making noises that the throne should be his. Blustering threats against you and your aunt.’

‘Threats?’ And there it was again, the terror he’d been raised with. ‘Don’t go near the throne. Ever!’

‘If the people rise against the throne…’ the lawyer was saying.

‘Maybe that would be a good thing.’

‘Maybe it’d be a disaster,’ the man said, and proceeded to tell him why. At every word Ramón felt his world disintegrate. There was no getting around it—the country was in desperate need of a leader, of some sort of stability…of a Crown Prince.

‘So you see,’ the lawyer said at last, ‘you have to come. Go back to the boat, tell the woman—she’s your only crew?—what’s happening, pack your bags and we’ll head straight to the airport.’

And there was nothing left for him but to agree. To take his place in a palace that had cost his family everything.

‘Tomorrow,’ he said, feeling ill.

‘Tonight.’

‘I will spend tonight with Gianetta,’ Ramón growled, and the lawyer raised his brows.

‘Like that?’

‘Like nothing,’ Ramón snapped. ‘She deserves an explanation.’

‘It’s not as if you’re sacking her,’ the lawyer said. ‘I’ve only hired one man to replace you. She’ll still be needed. She can help bring the Marquita home and then you can pay her off.’

‘I’ve already paid her.’

‘Then there’s no problem.’ The lawyer rose and so did Ramón. ‘Tonight.’

‘Tomorrow,’ Ramón snapped and looked at the man’s face and managed a grim smile. ‘Consider it my first royal decree. Book the tickets for tomorrow’s flights.’

‘But…’

‘I will not argue,’ Ramón said. ‘I’ve a mind to wash my hands of the whole business and take Marquita straight back out to sea.’ Then, at the wash of undisguised distress on the lawyer’s face, he sighed and relented. ‘But, of course, I won’t,’ he said. ‘You know I won’t. I will return with you to Cepheus. I’ll do what I must to resolve this mess, I’ll face Carlos down, but you will give me one more night.’

SHE walked for four long hours, and then she found an Internet café and did some research. By the time she returned to the boat she was tired and hungry and her anger hadn’t abated one bit.

Ramón was the Crown Prince of Cepheus. What sort of dangerous mess had she walked into?

She’d slept with a prince?

Logically, it shouldn’t make one whit of difference that he was royal, but it did, and she felt used and stupid and very much like a star-struck teenager. All that was needed was the paparazzi. Images of headlines flashed through her head— Crown Prince of Cepheus Takes Stupid, Naive Australian Lover —and as she neared the boat she couldn’t help casting a furtive glance over her shoulder to check the thought had no foundation.

It didn’t—of course it didn’t. There was only Ramón, kneeling on the deck, calmly sealing the ends of new ropes.

He glanced up and saw her coming. He smiled a welcome, but she was too sick at heart to smile back.

For a few wonderful days she’d let herself believe this smile could be for her.

She felt besmirched.

‘I’ve just come back to get my things,’ she said flatly before he had a chance to speak.

‘You’re leaving?’ His eyes were calmly appraising.

‘Of course I’m leaving.’

‘To go where?’

‘I’ll see if I can get a temporary job here. As soon as I can get back to Australia I’ll organize some way of repaying the loan.’

‘There’s no need for you to repay…’

‘There’s every need,’ she flashed, wanting to stamp her foot; wanting, quite badly, to cry. ‘You think I want to be in your debt for one minute more than I must? I’ve read about you on the Internet now. It doesn’t matter whether anyone died or not. You were a prince already.’

‘Does that make a difference?’ he asked, still watchful, and his very calmness added to her distress.

‘Of course it does. I’ve been going to bed with a prince ,’ she wailed, and the couple on board their cruiser in the next berth choked on their lunch time Martinis.

But Ramón didn’t notice. He had eyes only for her. ‘You went to bed with me,’ he said softly. ‘Not with a prince.’

‘You are a prince.’

‘I’m just Ramón, Gianetta.’

‘Don’t Gianetta me,’ she snapped. ‘That’s your bedroom we slept in. Not the owner’s. Here I was thinking we were doing something illicit…’

‘Weren’t we?’ he demanded and a glint of humour returned to his dark eyes.

‘It was your bed all along,’ she wailed and then, finally, she made a grab at composure. The couple on the next boat were likely to lose their eyes; they were out on stalks. Dignity, she told herself desperately. Please.

‘So I own the boat,’ he said. ‘Yes, I’m a prince. What more do you know of me?’

‘Apparently very little,’ she said bitterly. ‘I seem to have told you my whole life story. It appears you’ve only told me about two minutes of yours. Apparently you’re wealthy, fabulously wealthy, and you’re royal. The Internet bio was sketchy, but you spend your time either on this boat or fronting some charity organisation.’

‘I do more than that.’

But she was past hearing. She was past wanting to hear. She felt humiliated to her socks, and one fact stood out above all the rest. She’d never really known him .

‘So when you saw me you thought here’s a little more charity,’ she threw at him, anger making her almost incoherent. ‘I’ll take this poverty-stricken, flour-streaked muffin-maker and show her a nice time.’

‘A flour-streaked muffin-maker?’ he said and, infuriatingly, the laughter was back. ‘I guess if you want to describe yourself as that…Okay, fine, I rescued the muffin-maker. And we did have a nice time. No?’

But she wasn’t going there. She was not being sucked into that smile ever again. ‘I’m leaving,’ she said, and she swung herself down onto the deck. She was heading below, but Ramón was before her, blocking her path.

‘Jenny, you’re still contracted to take my boat to Cepheus.’

‘You don’t need me…’

‘You signed a contract. Yesterday, as I remember—and it was you who wanted it signed before we came into port.’ His hands were on her shoulders, forcing her to meet his gaze, and her anger was suddenly matched with his. ‘So you’ve been on the Internet. Do you understand why I have to return?’