by Robyn Donald
‘I’ve got the same face as my grandmother,’ she said dryly. ‘I don’t think I’d get in. Anyway, I don’t have the courage—or feel the need so badly that I’d break the law to do it.’
‘Does your brother feel the same way?’
Alex watched the expression flee from her face; not a muscle moved, but he felt her resistance as palpably as though she’d shouted it at him.
‘I think so,’ she said remotely, turning her head so that he couldn’t see her face.
He settled back into his seat. Whether or not she knew about Doran’s plotting, she was worried about him. Which probably—no, possibly, Alex corrected himself—meant she did know. Perhaps, in spite of her apparent resignation to her fate, she did crave being a princess of Montevel, in fact as well as in title. He toyed with the idea of asking her directly, but decided against it.
She turned back, and his gut tightened in spontaneous homage. However hard he tried to rationalise his reaction to Serina—and he’d tried damned hard for a fair amount of the previous night—the moment her fingertips had caressed his cheek, such hunger had clamoured through him that he’d forgotten all those excellent reasons for not getting too emotionally involved with her.
Kissing her had been a revelation.
And watching young Gilberte kiss her cheeks had been like a call to arms, a primitive response that negated his understanding that it was nothing more than a greeting between friends. For a moment he’d had to rein in an urge to knock the man away from Serina.
His body clenched. Ruthlessly, he pushed the memory to the back of his mind. Gerd needed information—information he wouldn’t get if Alex let his rampant hormones fog his usually logical mind.
Had Serina decided to deflect his interest by pre tending to be interested in him?
Two, he thought succinctly, could play at that game.
And if he hurt her?
She might be hurt, he conceded, hardening his resolve, but if her brother went ahead with his plans she’d grieve in finitely more, because it was highly unlikely Doran would survive a foray into Montevel.
Alex made up his mind.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE plane began to descend. Serina swallowed, looking down at a large valley with two small rivers winding through it. They joined to make a lake-like estuary separated from the sea by a gold and amber sandbank. Green and lush, the valley looked remote, like some enchanted place cut off from the rest of the world.
Intrigued, she leaned forward and watched the ground rush to meet them as they banked over another range of hills towards a small airfield. Several private planes were lined up outside a hangar, and she noted two helicopters to one side, as well as a quite large parking area outside another building.
Not exactly the back of beyond, as her nanny used to say.
From beside her, Alex said, ‘Ohinga,’ pointing to a coastal village tucked away beside another, much bigger river, its banks lined with trees. ‘Our nearest shopping centre.’
Catching the shimmer of water beneath foliage, Serina said in surprise, ‘Those trees seem to be growing in the water.’
‘They’re man groves. They prefer brackish water like tidal rivers and estuaries.’
Mangroves? Serina digested this as the engines changed pitch and they slanted down towards the runway. The excitement she’d been controlling ever since she arrived in New Zealand began to bubble, mixed with a trace of apprehension.
It was sheer overheated fantasy to feel that Alex’s searing kisses had pushed her into unknown territory and changed her life for ever. She wasn’t the sort of person such dramatic, unlikely experiences happened to—and they were only kisses, for heaven’s sake. Not exactly a novelty!
But if his kisses could do that, what would she feel if he touched her even more intimately?
Heat suffused her as her body reacted to that highly subversive thought with brazen excitement.
Even with her eyes fixed onto the scene below, she could sense him beside her—as though he’d imprinted on her at some cellular level, made an indelible impression she’d never be rid of, for ever a part of her…
Oh, calm down and stop being an idiot, she told herself trenchantly. He’s very sexy, very sure of himself, very experienced and he kisses like a god, but he’s just a man.
Once they were safely down she swallowed hard, cast a glance his way and managed to say staidly, ‘I thought man groves were tropical trees.’
‘They are, but New Zealand has the furthermost south of all man groves. They grow along estuaries in the northern half of the North Island.’
‘I wonder how they got here?’ Mangroves were safe. If she concentrated on them she wouldn’t be tempted to allow her eyes to linger on his formidably masculine features. ‘I know the seeds float, but there’s a lot of sea between here and the tropics.’
He smiled. Serina’s treacherous heart somersaulted.
‘One suggestion is that seeds could have drifted across from Australia, but I believe the latest theory is that New Zealand and New Caledonia were once connected by a ridge of land or possibly a chain of islands, so the man groves could have island-hopped south.’
Serina wrinkled her brow, feverishly trying to recollect where New Caledonia was.
‘A large island well to the north and west of us,’ Alex provided helpfully.
She nodded as the mental image of the map clicked into place. ‘Colonised by France?’
‘Yes, and still proudly French.’
Don’t look at him—think trees. ‘So the man groves would have had to adapt to a colder climate here?’
‘Unless they came south during a warmer era and adapted as it slowly got cooler.’
‘Fascinating.’ But she couldn’t think of anything further to say about man groves. Now what? she thought desperately.
His expression revealed a certain wry amusement. ‘I doubt if many people other than botanists would agree.’
That made her sound like some nerd.
Fortunately, the pilot announced their arrival and everyone stood, the bustle of disembarking saving her the necessity of having to reply.
OK, so nerd she was. That had to be an advance on considering her just another effete aristocrat trading on a title to earn a living.
Anyway, she thought stoutly, I don’t care what he thinks. And knew she lied.
Again, a car was waiting for them on the ground but, instead of a well-dressed businessman, this driver was a woman a few years older than Serina, clad in jeans and a woollen jersey that didn’t hide any of her admirable assets.
‘Hi, Alex,’ she greeted him cheerfully. ‘Good trip?’
To Serina’s surprise, Alex bent his head and dropped a swift kiss on her cheek before saying, ‘Serina, this is Lindy Harcourt, who manages Haruru’s finances for me. Lindy, Princess Serina of Montevel.’
‘Just Serina, thank you,’ Serina emphasised, and held out her hand. ‘How do you do, Lindy.’
Lindy’s grip was strong. ‘Oh, good, I was wondering if I’d have to call you Your Highness.’
‘Not if you want me to answer,’ Serina said forth-rightly.
The other woman bestowed a smile on Serina that held no more than a hint of speculation. ‘That’s all right, then.’ She glanced down at Serina’s suitcase. Clearly she’d expected more because she commented, ‘I needn’t have brought the Land Rover, after all.’
Which made a foolishly sensitive Serina wonder if Alex’s female visitors usually arrived with a vast wardrobe. Assuming she’d have no need for them, she’d sent most of her formal clothes back to Nice.
Too late now, she decided pragmatically, shrugging off the thought.
Alex picked up his and Serina’s bag and headed through the small arrivals area. She was intrigued when various people there nodded to him; clearly he was liked, but an element of respect in their attitudes impressed her. These people, like the guests at the wine launch, instinctively recognised his formidable strength.
Out in the car park, A
lex said to Lindy, ‘The keys, please.’
‘Oh, sorry.’ She handed them over and once the vehicle was unlocked slipped into the back seat.
Alex swung the bags into the boot, then held open the door to the front passenger seat and Serina got in, wondering about Lindy Harcourt. There was an easy camaraderie about her interaction with Alex that spoke of something more than simple friendship.
To her shock, Serina realised she was prickly as a cat, tense and smouldering with a completely unrealistic jealousy. The kisses they’d exchanged didn’t give her any claim on Alex.
As he set the Land Rover into motion Lindy leaned forward and asked, ‘So how did Rosie’s wedding go?’
‘Very well,’ Alex said briefly.
Lindy’s laugh held a note of amused resignation that should have soothed Serina’s feelings. ‘And that’s all you’re going to say about it, I suppose. Serina, you’ll have to tell me everything.’
‘I’d be glad to,’ Serina said. She added, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so completely happy.’
‘Rosie does radiance very well,’ Lindy said.
Serina bristled. It seemed an odd thing to say in front of Rosie’s brother. ‘She looked utterly exquisite and yes, very happy, but I was actually referring to Gerd. They made a magnificent couple.’
Surely that would put an end to any conjecture about whether or not her heart was broken. Almost certainly she was being absurdly—and uncharacteristically—oversensitive; nobody here could possibly be interested in gossip from half the world away!
Her eyes drifted to Alex’s hands, lean and competent on the wheel as he manoeuvred the Land Rover onto the road. Adrenalin tore through her, clouding her brain and fuelling a nerve-racking increase in heart rate.
She twisted to look out of the side window. How could a glimpse of his hands do that? It was almost indecent.
Valiantly, she kept her eyes fixed on the countryside sliding past them—lush green pastures backed by ranges tinged a soft silver-blue as they disappeared into the distance.
Trees, she thought, remembering the man groves.
She swallowed and said briskly, ‘What are those trees? The ones so shamelessly flaunting their autumn leaves? I didn’t expect autumn colour here—I had the impression the climate was almost subtropical.’
‘Not quite—warm temperate is the official classification,’ Alex told her, turning off the bitumen onto a narrow road that immediately began to twist its way up into the hills. ‘Which means we can ripen certain sorts of bananas here. The liquid ambers you noticed are some of the few that do colour up in the north, along with persimmons and Japanese maples.’
From the back Lindy asked, ‘Are you interested in gardening, Serina?’
‘Very,’ Serina told her.
‘The Princess writes a column for one of the European glossies,’ Alex said. He sent a sideways glance at Serina. ‘Although it’s more about gardens than gardening, I assume.’
Keeping her voice cool, she said, ‘Yes.’
Lindy said, ‘Then you’ll love staying with Alex. His garden is magnificent.’
‘I’m looking forward to seeing it,’ Serina responded.
The narrow road became a drive, winding down a hill through vast trees. Noting a fantastic oak that would have been several hundred years old in Europe, she realised that northern hemi sphere trees must grow much more rapidly in Northland.
And Lindy was absolutely correct—they were magnificent. A great buttressed mound of foliage caught her attention and she twisted in her seat as they passed by it.
‘A Moreton Bay fig from Queensland in Australia,’ Alex told her. He slanted a glance her way. ‘Unfortunately, the fruit isn’t edible.’
‘Sad,’ she returned lightly. ‘I love figs. Oh!’
She leaned forward to examine a clump of jade-green trees that turned into one massive tree.
‘Puriri,’ Alex said. ‘They’re actually a bush tree, but they don’t seem to mind living in paddocks.’
‘If they were any happier they might take over the country,’ Serina said, amusement colouring her tone.
And then they drove through a grove of different trees and up to a house set in a great sweep of lawns. ‘Oh,’ Serina breathed on a long exhalation.
Alex’s home was glorious. He stopped the vehicle in a gravelled fore court and, while Serina was still gazing at the long façade of the big house, Lindy came round and opened the front passenger door for her.
Feeling awkward, Serina said, ‘Thank you,’ and stepped out onto the gravel.
Alex collected the bags from the boot. Putting them on the gravel, he said, ‘Thank you, Lindy—I’ll see you later.’
Lindy’s smile remained firmly in place, but a certain stiffness about the set of her shoulders made Serina wonder again at their relationship.
‘No problems,’ the other woman said cheerfully. She bestowed that determined smile on Serina. ‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay here.’
Once she was out of earshot, Alex said, ‘Welcome to my home, Serina.’
‘It’s amazing,’ she told him. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.’ His friends lived in a sophisticated modern house—Alex’s home was clearly a relic of the colonial period.
‘High Victoriana,’ he explained easily. ‘It was built in the late nineteenth century for an Anglo-Indian who exported horses from here to India. Verandas were fashionable then, and he rather went overboard on them.’ He bent to pick up their bags.
‘I can carry mine,’ Serina said, reaching for it. Their hands collided and she jerked back.
Alex straightened with both bags. Eyes gleaming, he said, ‘My touch isn’t poisonous.’
‘I know that,’ she blurted, for once unable to think straight. She added, ‘Neither is mine.’
They measured glances for a moment and reckless excitement welled up inside her in a warm, heady flood.
Alex said deliberately, ‘Lindy is the daughter of the woman who used to be our house keeper. She’s dead now, but Lindy and I more or less grew up together until I was sent away to school. In many ways she’s as much of a sister to me as Rosie.’
He was telling her that Lindy meant nothing to him—well, nothing emotional, Serina amended.
Actually, he probably meant nothing emotional in a sexual way, because he was clearly fond of the other woman.
In spite of her efforts, Serina found she couldn’t be adult and sophisticated about Alex and the way she felt. The sensations coursing through her suffered a far-from-subtle transmutation into a rising tide of anticipation.
Trying to quell it, she asked, ‘How old were you then?’
‘Seven.’ He headed up the steps and onto the stone-floored veranda.
Horrified, Serina followed. She’d heard of small English children being sent off to school, but she had no idea New Zealanders did the same. Before she could formulate some meaningless comment, Alex looked down at her.
‘After my mother died, my father married again. His new wife found a noisy, grubby, resentful child too much to handle, so off I went to school. Which is why Rosie and I have a rather distant relationship for siblings—we only spent time together in the holidays.’
Serina ached for the child he’d been, a small boy sent away from the only home he’d known, away from his play mates, from his father and the house keeper—and the little sister—who’d been the only constants in his life.
She said, ‘I’m so glad my parents waited until Doran and I were in our teens before they banished us to school.’
He opened the front door. ‘I think Rosie had the worst of it. I settled into school quite well, but when Rosie was born her mother discovered she was no more maternal with her than she had been with me. And since my father, an archaeologist, was rarely here, Lindy’s mother was the only reliable motherly figure Rosie ever really had. And then she died when Rosie was eight.’
Serina’s heart was touched anew. Her parents’ marriage hadn’t been a
comfortable one, but at least they’d been there for her and Doran. ‘I had no idea. Still, she’s got Gerd now, and I can tell he adores her just as much as she loves him.’
She wondered then if Alex might think she was hinting about being someone like that for him. Nonsense, she thought stoutly. You’re being ridiculous again!
Alex said calmly, ‘Yes, I believe they’ll make each other happy.’
The wide, high-ceilinged hall was superbly furnished with antiques, mostly English from the Georgian period. A superb wooden staircase, exquisitely carved in some golden wood, wound its way up to another floor.
‘Your bedroom is here,’ Alex said once they’d climbed it, and opened a door, standing back to let her go in.
The room was big and airy, dominated by a wide bed. French windows led out onto another wide veranda; beneath and beyond it stretched lawns and a haze of flowers and palms against a back ground of those splendid trees.
After a quick glance around, Serina smiled. ‘I can see why you decided on this room for me. You’re determined to make sure I learn something about New Zealand’s plants, aren’t you?’
‘My grandmother was a botanical artist,’ he told her as she walked across to examine a series of exquisite watercolours. ‘These are some of hers.’
‘She was an exceptionally good one,’ Serina said seriously. She peered at the signature, and said in a hushed voice, ‘Oh—Freda Matthews! She’s acknowledged as one of the greatest botanical artists of the twentieth century. And she’s your grandmother!’
It was foolish to feel that somehow this forged a fragile link between them, but she couldn’t hide the pleasure that the slight connection gave her.
‘She died before I was born so I never knew her.’ He dropped her bag onto a low stool.
‘She left a superb legacy,’ Serina said earnestly, examining each image with intent appreciation.
‘Thank you. I think.’
His voice was grave but a note in it caught her attention. She turned her head, caught a betraying glint of amusement in his eyes and laughed up at him, her tension easing. ‘Oh, you and Rosie as well, of course!’
