by Margaret Way
“What was Princess Mary of Denmark before Prince Frederik met her? A girl just like you! The world has changed. You are cousin to a king, Mari. Didn’t Great-Uncle Kyri teach you the language, customs and manners, just as he did Charlie and Lia?”
“You are worthy of a king…or a future king,” her father had said, ending the conversation with the firm tone that told Mari argument was futile.
“You look beautiful, Mari,” Mikhail whispered in her ear, holding her a few inches too close for propriety. “Your dress shimmers over your lovely body until you look like a star.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” she replied with repellent demureness. As he pulled her against him, she froze so he had as little benefit as possible from the closeness.
“Still so cold?” he asked, with a mixture of the sulky boy and plaintive charmer she couldn’t find attractive. “Haven’t I given you enough gifts, spent enough time convincing you of my intentions towards you—only you, my sweet star?”
Intentions of what? she almost retorted, but what was the use? He’d only launch into enthusiastic rhetoric about how life would be for a royal lover: fame, wealth and a jet-setting lifestyle while it lasted, and a nice house in the place of her choosing when he ended it.
The look in those thick-lashed caramel eyes wasn’t caring; it was predatory. Though Mikhail was handsome, rich and royal, he didn’t like her; he enjoyed the chase, and the thrill of the win.
Though she’d told him at least ten times already, she said again, “I love my life in Sydney—and I’d rather be the bride of a common man than a royal mistress.” Mari said it with pride. She wasn’t asking him to marry her—God forbid! Mikhail’s wilful arrogance, spoiled tantrums and treating of the lower orders as if they were disposable had turned her off within two days of meeting him, and now all she felt was a weary revulsion.
Mikhail made a sound of indulgent contempt. “Of course you would. All women want to be a bride. Perhaps if you were titled, like your cousin…” He shrugged elegantly. “Face it, Mari, nobody but your parents expects you to be a virgin when you marry.” His eyes gleamed with predatory intent as his hand moved with intimate heat over her back, sliding down towards the curve of her bottom. “Being loved first by a prince will only enhance your chances of finding the right kind of man. Come to me, Mari,” he whispered in a voice like chocolate cream, layered with an exotic accent many women would find impossible to resist. “Your life will be blessed from your time with me.”
Mari looked at Mikhail and wondered why he still bothered. Even if Jazmine and Lia hadn’t told her—strictly on the QT, of course—about the way Mikhail treated any woman he didn’t consider his equal in station, and even if Charlie hadn’t also warned her that Mikhail refused to acknowledge any of his less important former lovers when they tried to pull the influence card, the simple truth was she didn’t feel anything for Mikhail, and that ended that.
“No,” she said, quiet but firm. “It’s not going to happen, Your Highness. Please try to find a more…agreeable woman.”
Mikhail’s face darkened. He’d taken her other rejections as a prelude, a challenge—but tonight this had to be her final answer. “You’re lying, Mari. I’ve seen the look in your eyes, heard the hesitation in your voice every time you’ve put me off.”
Mari stared at him in wonder. Only a man as self-assured as Mikhail could see her firm no just moments before as a “putting off”. What would it take to convince him?
After a struggle with his self-control, he went on with dark intimacy, “I can assure you that the King has no objections to my—”
Charlie didn’t object? That wasn’t what he’d told her…
The name made her turn her head. Charlie and Jazmine danced not far away, and she caught her cousin’s wife’s eye with a pleading glance.
Jazmine, who’d become the new Queen of Hellenia shortly after her marriage, whispered in her husband’s ear. Within seconds Charlie was saying, genially, “Mikhail, my friend, I know a wedding isn’t the best time for it, but your father called me this morning. He wishes us to speak on a matter of—” He glanced at Mari, and said apologetically, “Sorry, my beloved cousin, but it’s a matter of national security, and some delicacy.”
Filled with relief, Mari kissed Charlie’s cheek. “Of course. I’ll go speak with Jazmine.”
Even a prince had protocol to which he must bow. Commoner though he’d been all his life, Charlie was now a station above Mikhail; Hellenia had importance to his family in matters of state and trade in Europe. Mikhail forced a smile to his face. “Lead the way, Your Majesty,” he said formally, refusing to call him Charlie.
But perhaps Charlie hadn’t yet invited him to such friendly intimacy. For all his careless ways and Aussie upbringing, Charlie had walls and barriers of his own.
As Charlie led Mikhail out of the state banqueting room, Mari knew her freedom wouldn’t last long. She had five to ten minutes to escape before Mikhail or her family stopped her. She tossed Jazmine a grateful glance; the Queen winked at her, and tilted her head towards the royal exit. Mari’s eyes widened as Jazmine beckoned with a hand.
As she reached her, the Queen slipped her arm through Mari’s and led her to the royal exit. Once there she whispered, “Out through there, turn right and right again, and you’ll find a royal limousine waiting for you. Your things are packed and ready.” Jazmine pushed an envelope stamped with the royal insignia into Mari’s hand. “This note tells the driver—he’s waiting outside for you—to take you to the pier. Charlie’s arranged our smaller yacht for you to sail on for a few days—until Mikhail is safely under the parental thumb again.”
“What?” she gasped, too stunned to be polite.
“We might be new at the job, but we keep an eye on things,” Jazmine said softly, “and this situation has become rather delicate. I’ve known Mikhail too many years. There’s no way he’ll give up until you give him what he wants—or worse, he ends up creating a rupture between Hellenia and Chalnikan. It’s been difficult to keep him under control every time he’s come here before, but with Lia and me, our positions prevented him from going too far. Even Grandfather refused to think of him as a potential husband for either of us, prince of the blood though he is. I was hoping you could convince him it was useless, but obviously that isn’t going to happen.”
Mari found herself blushing again, but she was glad Jazmine hadn’t referred to her parents’ humiliating approval and interference.
Jazmine pressed her hand. “We hoped we could help you go quietly after the reception, to save everyone embarrassment, but it seems he’ll make a scene if he doesn’t have his way. He’s not used to losing.”
Mari had to hold back the tears—and the urge to hug a queen. “Thank you so much, Jazmine…you and Charlie both.”
Jazmine smiled. “Thank Lia too, when you can. Mikhail offered her an open marriage after she gave him a few sons. He said she could play around with Toby all she wanted after he had his heirs, and he’d have his women.”
Mari smiled and nodded. “Hug her for me, and say I’ll call her from home when she and Toby are back.”
Jazmine nodded. “Now, go—before he sees where you went. We’ve told the servants to tell Mikhail nothing of your whereabouts, and the palace gates are to close after you, but he can still order them to open if he sees you. And don’t worry about your family,” she added as Mari hesitated. “Charlie has it all covered—and he can be quite charming when he wants to.”
Without another word, Mari bolted through the doors the liveried servant had opened for her. She slipped off the high, black, strappy heels that probably cost more than a month’s wages at home, and kept running. She turned right at the end of the hall, and right again, smiling at the servants in on the secret and whispering her thanks. From experience she knew that she got a lot further with people with a smile than an order. Great-Uncle Kyri always told her she could catch more flies with honey than vinegar.
She burst out into the cool nig
ht air with a sigh of relief—the car was there, just where Jazmine had said it would be, and there was a man leaning against the hood with a glass in his hand. Mari ran to the car and jerked the door open before he could move to open it for her. “Take me to the royal pier, please—as fast as you can.”
After a moment, the man said, in a tone of amusement, “Of course, my lady.” He hopped into the driver’s side. “The keys are in the ignition. Everything’s in place.”
“The King and Queen ordered the car to be ready for me,” Mari replied, trying hard to be pleasant while she was literally squirming. “The palace gates will open when we reach them.” She flicked a glance at the doors she’d left. Were they about to open? “I’d appreciate it if you’d lock the doors,” she said, mindful not to be imperious or cold. “Please,” she added again, turning to the rearview mirror to smile at the man. “Please, I really need to leave now.”
After a bare second of hesitation the man started the engine, gunned it, and let it go. Then they were at the gates, which opened smoothly for them. Mari sat twitching in the back seat, tossing constant glances over her shoulder—
Nothing yet, thank heaven, but he could come at any second. Charlie’s gentle, hands-off approach with Mikhail told her how delicate this situation was. It looked as if things might get ugly if she refused him again. Who’d ever have thought ordinary Mari Mitsialos could become entangled in international relations? But this was a kind of importance she’d give anything to not know! “Faster, oh, please go faster,” she pleaded, worst-case scenarios running riot through her head.
A smothered sound like a laugh met her desperate plea, but the limo moved through the gates. As Jazmine had stated they would, they swung closed behind the limo.
Flashes popped as the paparazzi assumed it was the bride and groom. She cringed away from the lights, covering her face; then they were through the thronged crowds. The boom gates and road spikes placed at the end of the private road, for royal safety in case of war, did the job on their pursuit, stopping the cars and bursting the tyres of the motorbikes. There’d be an official apology later, and talk of accidents, no doubt—and in the meantime the royal limo headed at breakneck speed for the royal pier.
CHAPTER TWO
AS HE drove for the royal pier, the note from the King and Queen of Hellenia lying open by his side, Lysander Marsalis wondered when would be the best time to tell her that he wasn’t really a chauffeur, but a duke, with distant ties to the royal family…
The eleventh Duke of Persolis since his brother’s retirement to a monastery a year ago, and a royal diplomat for the past decade, Sander was the current minder of the spoiled Royal Highness from whom the King’s cousin was currently bolting. He’d been sanctioned by both the King and Queen to discreetly take the girl out of a situation fraught with a hundred potential landmines in the way of international diplomacy.
At the very least he was going to lose his position in Chalnikan for acting against Mikhail’s interests—but having been given the orders by both Mikhail’s father and Charlie, what else could he do?
“Can’t we go any faster…please?”
A grin tugged at reluctant lips. The please, like all the others, had been so obviously tacked on as an afterthought. “Not without being arrested, miss.”
“Oh.” She slumped in her seat. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”
The grin vanished. The girl…Mari…really was worried—and yet she took the time to be concerned about his position as well. She was a nice young woman, far too sweet and innocent for an infamous playboy prince only after some fun. “Not much longer, miss. In perhaps ten minutes we’ll arrive safely.”
Relief rose in her face like the morning sun, until all of her seemed to glow. “Oh, thank you. I must seem like a drama queen, but I really need to get away.”
In the space of ten minutes Sander had begun to feel as if he was living on a roller coaster. This girl really lived on her emotions. “Was the wedding so bad, miss?”
She rolled her eyes. “You have no idea.”
He strongly suspected the title “drama queen” wasn’t entirely incorrect. Mari Mitsialos, with her mercurial and vivid emotions rushing across her face like movie panels, was a refreshing change from the languid debutantes and elegantly bored nobles’ daughters paraded in royal company every year. Every thought and feeling showed on her face, like sunshine bursting through clouds. She was just…cute.
It was obvious she wasn’t born to privilege. In high-society circles one never snapped at underlings; one merely conveyed the impression that disobedience to the slightest whim wasn’t an option. But Mari had a cute little wobble in her voice that gave her away. Please, I need you to do what I want, because I’m so scared you won’t, and I’ll have no idea what to do then… With a little training, she could be—
“It’s all right, miss, no one’s following us,” Sander said in a soothing tone as he saw her twist around to stare through the rear window for at least the twelfth time.
“Ooooh…that’s good. Thank you.” The girl leaned back against the plush, butter-soft leather, and smiled into the rear vision mirror at him. “Honestly, you have no idea what it was like in there.”
The smile lit her face—in fact, it lit the entire car with inner sunshine. Despite her apparent addiction to italicising a word in almost every sentence, Mari Mitsialos was pretty, with long dark curls and sleepy eyes similar to her cousin the Princess Giulia—but when she smiled she was…well, dazzling.
That smile was lethal. Not that she had dimples or perfect teeth—he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. But whatever it was Mari had, she had it in spades. The It factor.
He’d known that from the day of Charlie and Jazmine’s wedding. Seeing her dancing at the reception, he’d known Mari was unusual. From a shadowed corner he’d watched her laugh and smile and charm every man between fifteen and ninety-five into adoration without even trying. She was…well, lovable.
All of which meant he’d kept a serious distance. Mari was a nice girl, not one for a few nights’ fun or discreet liaisons in designated places. And she was the King’s cousin.
He had to remember to keep his face stolid, like a servant, as he answered. “I’d have thought a royal wedding with this new royal family would be a lovely affair, miss. You’ve been to both weddings, if I remember rightly?”
He put a tiny hint of question into the observation, leaving the way free for her to talk if she wanted to. It was obvious she was bursting to say something, to relieve the pressure somehow. Unfortunately her immediate family seemed oblivious to Mikhail’s true intent, and pushed her into his arms at every opportunity. Poor girl… He’d noticed—
Don’t think about it, Sander. He had to keep the King and Queen of Hellenia on side. He needed to come out of this madcap experience with some kind of credibility, and that meant a strictly hands-off policy.
“Yes, I was at both weddings. I’m first cousin to both Charlie, um, King Kyriacos, and Lia, I mean Princess Giulia,” she replied, with a quiet touch of pride that made Sander squelch another smile. Well, why shouldn’t she be proud? From obscurity to the cousin of royalty was a leap in status most people could only dream of.
“The King, the Prince and Princess have brought a breath of fresh air to the nation,” he offered, to see what she’d say next.
“Yes—and it was needed, from what I can see.” Though she spoke without rancour, he felt a touch of defensiveness. She probably thought he was one of the old King’s supporters, wanting to keep the almost medieval status quo.
“Their knowledge of the common people seems to have reinvigorated the country. They’ve done a lot already in putting Lord Orakis at odds with the people,” he said.
“He can never return after the arson investigation. That was down to Toby—the new Prince. Toby’s one of the original good guys. He saved Lia’s life, years ago—and he risked his life in that burning building to prove Orakis’s guilt. He did that to save
Lia. He would do anything to make Lia happy—anything.”
Ah, there it was again, the tiny, wistful note. Sander knew then why Mikhail’s chase had been fruitless from the start. The extreme romance of the two royal weddings in the Hellenican royal family had infected many a woman around the world, but to be the cousin of the new royalty in love…well, why shouldn’t she hold out for real love and a wedding?
“They seem very happy in the pictures I’ve seen, miss.”
“They’ve always loved each other. The whole family have been waiting for them to get together for years.” The yearning grew in her voice, misted her milk-chocolate eyes, and her smile was…well, luminous—
Beep!
At the indignant honking behind, Sander pulled himself together and looked at the road ahead with fixed determination. He’d known the deal when he took on the position of the Prince’s Private Secretary. The King planned on abdicating as soon as Mikhail proved himself worthy. It was Sander’s job to get him to that destination on an express train. Taking Mari on a yacht was saving Mikhail from the worst faux pas he could make. It was not for personal pleasure, no matter how much he derived from merely looking at her.
He was on an excellent wicket with this job, and Charlie and Jazmine had offered him the ripe plum of being Hellenican Representative to the UN if he handled it right. No way was he about to risk his career, no matter how pretty or tempting Mari Mitsialos happened to be.
“Sorry about that, miss,” he said woodenly, and, after answering her reassurances with dogged politeness and no curiosity, he kept his gaze ahead with absolute determination.
Boy, they really have gorgeous chauffeurs here…
Despite his sudden Pinocchio face, Mari couldn’t help staring in the rear vision mirror at him. His eyes were almost as green as those she’d seen in the stained-glass windows at the church today, and they danced. His dimples seemed grooved from the deepest part of his skin, warming a mouth full and carved from Michelangelo’s imagination. Warm honey-brown skin, strong features, a voice of smooth, dark temptation, and an accent that was half-Mediterranean and half-Oxford—oh, what wasn’t to like? A Greek god sat in front of her, seemingly risen from the sea on Neptune’s trident. Oooh, to see him rise from the water, droplets of Mediterranean-Aegean running down his body…
