by Annie West
‘Perhaps. But he’s responded to you. He’s always responded to you.’
As she had. From the first moment Irini had introduced her to the imposing man whose rare, incredibly sexy smiles set her heart pounding.
‘I’m a novelty.’
‘More than that.’ It was the essence of the man before her. A man she’d always believed honourable and strong, genuine when so many around her weren’t. Hadn’t she believed in him enough to uproot Seb and bring him all the way to Greece?
On the thought Amelie busied herself with her meal. Despite everything she’d told herself, despite him not wanting her, the wanting inside her hadn’t died at all.
What a terrible time to realise she still had a weakness for the man!
‘The fact is...’ she squashed the feeling she was being disloyal ‘...Seb has needed a father figure for a long time. My brother Michel was a doting dad but there was a lot of pressure when he inherited the crown. He wasn’t able to be with Seb a lot.’ She paused and made herself taste some of the delicious fish before continuing.
‘There’s been a power struggle since my father’s death between progressives wanting to update our constitution and the way St Galla runs, and more conservative elements.’ Her mouth tightened as she thought of the current Prime Minister, Monsieur Barthe, who’d stymied Michel whenever he tried to introduce reforms.
‘Irini mentioned something about it.’
Of course. Her sister-in-law had counted Lambis as one of her closest friends.
‘Michel worked long hours and, because he was young, and people were used to my father’s ways, not his, he had to work doubly hard at persuading parliament on key issues.’ Her brother’s impatience for change hadn’t sat well with some of the country’s powerbrokers. ‘Seb didn’t see as much of him, or Irini, as they wanted.’
‘So you filled in for them.’ He said it as if he already knew how it had been.
‘Irini and Michel did the best they could. But it was natural they’d want some time alone together too. It was rare enough, given the demands on their time.’
‘And the demands on yours?’ Lambis’s flinty tone made her look up, catching a spark of something she couldn’t read in those deep-set eyes.
Amelie frowned. ‘Only the usual.’
‘That’s not the way I remember it.’ His eyes locked with hers and she couldn’t look away. ‘You were always there, ready with advice for the pair of them when they needed it, seeing to so many of the official royal functions, ready to lend a hand with Sébastien—’
Amelie’s cutlery clattered onto her plate. ‘Are you saying I interfered?’ She’d done her best to step back from her previous role as royal hostess when her father died and Michel inherited. She’d wanted the younger couple to take their rightful places.
‘No. I’m saying your own workload was enormous. You took on a lot of Irini’s responsibilities as well as your own, plus advised your brother. I saw it for myself. Irini confessed she felt she wasn’t pulling her weight.’
Poor Irini. Amelie’s heart squeezed. ‘It’s not an easy thing to become royal. Besides, she was sick through her pregnancy. She did the best she could.’
‘I know.’ His face was set. ‘I just wish she’d learned to say no to your brother more often.’
Pain lanced Amelie and she slid a palm over her ribs, trying to hold it in. He had to be thinking of the day they’d died. Irini had been reluctant to go in the new speedboat but had given in when Michel smiled. He could charm anyone with that smile.
‘It was an accident.’ She sat straighter in her seat and reached for her fork. ‘Not Michel’s fault.’ Even the coroner had confirmed it. ‘No one could have predicted it.’
Lambis surveyed her from under straight black eyebrows, his expression unreadable. ‘As you say. An accident.’
Amelie reached for her glass and searched for an easier topic of conversation. Anything to banish those thoughts of ‘if only’ that taunted her when she thought of the accident.
‘How did you come to build on this island? Is it where you grew up?’
For a moment longer Lambis seemed caught in the past. Then his mouth curled up in a hint of a smile and Amelie felt her insides flutter.
‘Actually, it’s here because of another accident. Irini’s father grew up on this island, before he left to make his fortune.’
‘Really? I had no idea. Irini didn’t mention it.’
‘She lived mostly on the mainland. But the old man built a villa right here on the bay, for holidays.’
‘You bought it from him?’
Lambis shook his head then lifted his wine glass to his lips. Amelie watched his throat muscles work as he swallowed, fascinated that something so simple should feel so intimate.
‘He gave it to me, along with a loan that allowed me to start my business. It’s because of him I’ve got what I have today.’
‘I don’t understand. I thought you worked for him.’
‘That’s right. My father was his head of security and my mother was housekeeper in the Athens house. That’s how I knew Irini. We grew up in the same house and were close, despite the age difference.’
Amelie took another forkful of her meal, nodding. ‘But why did her father give you this place?’
Lambis turned his attention to his own meal. ‘When I left school I worked for him as a bodyguard. I was here on the island one night when a fire broke out. There was a fault with the fire prevention system which meant the smoke alarms didn’t sound and the sprinklers came on late. By the time I got Irini’s father and the others out, the damage was irreparable.’
‘You got them all out?’
Amelie watched him flex his hand, his gaze on a long scar running up to his wrist that she’d wondered about.
‘It was simple enough once they woke. The danger was they’d succumb to the smoke.’
Amelie suspected his role hadn’t been quite so simple, especially given that the scar looked like an old burn, but Lambis wasn’t the sort to brag.
‘Unfortunately the villa burned to the ground.’
‘But Irini’s father was so grateful he gave you the property?’
‘He did. He didn’t want to rebuild here, and chose an island closer to Athens for that. But he supported me when I wanted to start out on my own. For that I’m grateful.’
‘So you grew up in Athens?’ She’d expected to find him in the capital, not in the rugged mountains to the north.
‘There and wherever his family moved. But for holidays my parents and I went to the mountains.’ He looked up, snaring her gaze. ‘They came from a village near the house you stayed in.’
‘So you made that your permanent home?’
Emotion rippled across his face so swiftly Amelie couldn’t read it, yet she was left feeling she’d missed something. Those eyes, almost warm before, now held emptiness.
‘Lambis?’
He lifted his glass, taking his time to sip the fine white wine. ‘I live there part-time. I have homes in a number of places.’
Amelie opened her mouth to probe then stopped. Having Lambis share so much of his past was more than she’d expected. The change in him, from the dismissive man she’d met in the mountains to tonight’s host, was remarkable.
Was it because of his feelings for Seb? Or was there more to this change?
‘Tell me about this proclamation ceremony. Can’t someone else speak for Seb? Accept the crown on his behalf?’
No wonder Lambis was phenomenally successful. He always cut straight to the key issue.
‘His Regent will do most of the talking but all the experts agree—’ and she’d consulted them all ‘—that Seb has to speak too, proving he understands and accepts.’ Was it foolish to believe it might be possible after all? The change in Seb today was dramatic, though he still wasn’t talking.
‘His Regent? That would be you?’
He really did have an uncanny knack for zeroing in on problems!
Amelie took anothe
r bite of her meal, chewing slowly before responding. Even now, Monsieur Barthe’s position on this infuriated her. Hearing the Prime Minister voice his doubts had been a slap to the face.
‘Ideally, yes.’
‘But?’ She saw his eyes narrow as if sensing her bottled-up anger. Surely she wasn’t so easily read? But Lambis was an expert at that. It was an uncanny knack he’d used more than once to protect those in his care, according to Irini.
Amelie tore her gaze away to the straw-coloured wine in her glass.
‘I’m the best person for the role and, I’d have thought, the only suitable one.’
‘Of course you are. You’re his aunt. You have a strong loving bond. Plus you were your father’s right hand, and your brother’s. You’re the expert on what it takes to rule St Galla.’
Silently she nodded and eased back in her seat.
‘That’s a very enlightened view. Some people seem to think because I’m female I’m just...decorative, merely a hostess.’ Despite the fact many of St Galla’s recent reforms had been designed by her. Even when her father had been alive it had mainly been Amelie doing the hard work behind the scenes. Her father didn’t have the patience.
‘Whoever thinks that doesn’t know you.’
Something in Lambis’s voice yanked her head up. He meant it. She read admiration in those steely eyes.
Amelie blinked, unprepared for the flood of delight that washed through her.
Oh, this isn’t good. Not good at all.
She lifted her glass and took a small sip, buying time. Lambis’s approval shouldn’t matter and yet... She put the glass down, telling herself it was natural to be pleased she had someone on her side, though it made no material difference to the tussle for power back in St Galla.
‘Thank you, Lambis.’
‘It’s the truth.’ He paused and she sensed his sharp scrutiny, even though she busied herself with her meal. ‘Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’
Amelie’s instinctive response was to gloss over her troubles. Life as a royal meant keeping them to herself, never looking to others for sympathy. While the St Gallan royal family was extremely popular, Amelie had no illusions. They led lives of privilege, despite the demands placed on them.
‘Amelie?’ His voice dropped, softening, and she felt something melt inside. Her caution?
What did it matter? There could be no harm in telling Lambis. He was the most circumspect person she knew.
‘The Prime Minister, Monsieur Barthe, has made it clear he has concerns about a woman being Seb’s Regent, especially a single woman.’ She swallowed the knot of fury blocking her throat. ‘He believes Seb’s Regent should be a man or, failing that, he’d accept a princess of St Galla as Regent on condition she’s married to a suitable man.’
Amelie’s teeth clenched at the memory of his superior attitude and the misogynistic things he’d said, attempting to dictate her future and her nephew’s. Then she looked up, startled, as she heard a stream of soft, rapid Greek.
‘Sorry? What did you say?’
Lambis shook his head, his dark locks like glossy jet against his golden olive skin. ‘Nothing for your ears, Princess.’ His solid jaw was clamped as tight as hers felt. ‘This man, Barthe, is a fool! He couldn’t ask for anyone better for the role.’
Amelie felt the corners of her mouth tickle in a hint of a smile. It was nothing to the gush of heat through her taut body at Lambis’s support.
‘What’s the guy’s problem? Does he want to marry you himself?’
She couldn’t help it. A choked laugh escaped. ‘Hardly. He’s sixty if he’s a day.’
Lambis’s straight eyebrows rose. ‘And? It wouldn’t be the first time an older man fell for a younger, beautiful woman.’
Amelie had been called beautiful, usually by a gushing press. It didn’t mean anything, especially to someone whose father had been quick to point out defects in her demeanour, appearance or behaviour. Yes, she had even features and a healthy body but a lot of what passed for beauty was window dressing—jewellery, expensive clothes, makeup and a level of confidence.
Why did Lambis’s casual reference to her as beautiful set the blood zinging in her veins? She even felt it scorch her cheeks!
‘Our Prime Minister is already married, to a very quiet, respectable woman, who, I suspect, is a very obedient wife. Besides—’ Amelie’s mouth tightened ‘—he’s already suggested he’d be willing to act as Seb’s Regent.’
‘The devil he did!’ Lambis’s scowl was ferocious but for once not in the least intimidating, since his anger was on her behalf, and Seb’s.
Was she really so lonely that Lambis’s support, and his good opinion, made such a difference?
‘The man wants power for himself.’
‘Absolutely. He’s always been a schemer but lately he’s interfered in things that don’t concern him.’ Like pestering her to marry King Alex of Bengaria, even beginning discussions with the Bengarians before consulting her.
That rankled. Amelie had signalled some time ago that she’d agree to consider an arranged royal marriage, if she and her prospective bridegroom were compatible. She wanted a family and her attempts so far to find true love had been disastrous. A dynastic match might be the answer. But, since her brother’s death, the Prime Minister kept pushing her to commit. As if she’d give her word to marry a man she’d never met! What century did they think it was?
‘What right has Barthe to dictate the next Regent?’ Lambis’s words broke into her thoughts. ‘Surely he hasn’t got the power to move you out of the equation?’
Amelie shrugged and sat back, giving up the pretence of eating. ‘That’s just it. I can’t say for certain. I can say that he has a significant majority in parliament and a female Regent would be a first in St Galla. The country’s views on the monarchy are still rather old-fashioned.’
‘But your people love you! They always have.’
Amelie’s mouth curled up at one corner. Strangely, it was reassuring to discover that Lambis, after all, wasn’t infallible. She was so used to seeing him as supremely self-contained, competent and successful.
‘Yes, I’m popular. But this isn’t something the people will decide. There’s a royal privy council, primarily politicians, who make the final decision. The majority older men, and a lot of them belong to Barthe’s side of politics.’
‘So you’ll simply let him force your hand?’
‘It won’t be simple at all. I intend to fight for Seb’s right to the throne, and my right to be Regent. The idea of him brought up by Monsieur Barthe or one of his cronies doesn’t bear thinking about.’
Suddenly it was all too much. Not just grief for her loss, and fear for Seb’s wellbeing, but all the other pressures too.
‘Thank you for the meal, Lambis. It was exquisite.’ Carefully she folded her napkin and placed it on the table beside her plate. Then she moved her chair back. ‘But I’m afraid I’ve lost my appetite.’ Amelie gave him a small polite smile. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I think it’s best if I go to my room now.’
She was on her feet and turning away when she heard the scratch of his chair on the paving.
‘Wait, don’t go.’ A big hand closed around her upper arm.
For a millisecond Amelie’s jagged nerves eased at the reassurance of that touch. Till she heard Lambis’s hiss of indrawn breath and his hand dropped away.
Amelie stood, blinking at the view of garden lights and the dark bay beyond, telling herself it didn’t matter. Truly. She’d had plenty of time to accept he didn’t want her.
But that instant reaction told her more. It told her she actually repelled him.
What was wrong with her? Twice in her life she’d reached out to a man, believing they shared something special. Twice she’d been pushed away.
She blinked again, horrified by this curious stasis gripping her. She couldn’t lift her feet. It was all she could do to repress the wild tumble of emotions churning inside.
‘Why, Lam
bis? What is it about me?’
She hadn’t intended the words. Heaven knew she’d worked for years to put on a bland, unconcerned face on the few occasions she and Lambis had met since that fateful summer. Pride dictated she say nothing, just accept she was flawed in some way that made her attractive from a distance, to the adoring crowds and the press, but not up close. Not to a man she cared about.
‘What do you mean?’
Amelie counted to five, telling herself to forget this and walk away. She had enough to contend with without opening up this too. Yet how could she fix whatever was wrong with her, if she didn’t know the problem? Was she doomed for ever to repel rather than attract?
On a spurt of defiant courage she spun on her heel. He stood close behind her. So close she had to hike up her chin to meet his unreadable gaze.
‘Why don’t you want to touch me? It’s not that you’re afraid I’ll misinterpret and think you’ve changed your mind about...us.’ She swallowed hard but kept going, determined to have this out. ‘What is it about me that’s so...’ she waved a hand, searching for the word ‘...wrong?’
‘Wrong?’ His brow wrinkled. ‘There’s nothing wrong with you, Amelie.’
Yet she read strain in the tendons of his neck that stood proud. In the flare of his nostrils and the pulse racing at his temple. Amelie looked down and saw his hands bunched into fists.
‘Isn’t there?’ She lifted her hand and lightly touched his cheek. Silky heat and just a touch of abrasiveness met the pads of her fingertips.
She’d wondered how it would feel to touch him.
But his instant step back told her everything she needed to know.
‘Actually, don’t bother answering.’ She’d been wrong. She didn’t need to know the answer. Tonight, with so many other insurmountable problems, she didn’t have strength to wrestle with another.
She was turning when his arm shot out, barring her way. Again, he didn’t touch her, yet it felt as if the air between them snapped and sizzled with electricity. How she deluded herself.
‘You want to know why I don’t touch you?’ His voice sounded different, raw and hard. ‘It’s because I don’t dare.’
