Cinderella: Hired by the Prince

by Marion Lennox

  Gianetta…

  His arms tightened their hold and she curved closer in sleep. He smiled and kissed the top of her head. Her curls were so soft.

  Maybe he could sound her out about Bangladesh.

  Give it time, he told himself, startled by the direction his thoughts were taking him. You’ve known her for less than two weeks.

  Was it long enough?

  There was plenty of time after Auckland. It was pretty much perfect right now, he thought. Let’s not mess with perfection. He’d just hold this woman and hope that somehow the love he’d always told himself was an illusion might miraculously become real.

  Anything was possible.

  ‘How do you know he’ll sail straight to Auckland?’

  In the royal palace of Cepheus, Sofía was holding the telephone and staring into the middle distance, seeing not the magnificent suits of armour in the grand entrance but a vision of an elderly lawyer pacing anxiously on an unknown dock half a world away. She could understand his anxiety. Things in the palace were reaching crisis point.

  The little boy had gone into foster care yesterday. Philippe needed love, Sofía thought bleakly. His neglect here-all his physical needs met, but no love, little affection, just a series of disinterested nannies-seemed tantamount to child abuse, and the country knew of it. She’d found him lovely foster parents, but his leaving the palace was sending the wrong message to the population-as if Ramón himself didn’t care for the child.

  Did Ramón even know about him?

  ‘I don’t know for sure where the Prince will sail,’ the lawyer snapped. ‘But I can hope. He’ll want to restock fast to get around the Horn. It makes sense for him to come here.’

  ‘So you’ll wait.’

  ‘Of course I’ll wait. What else can I do?’

  ‘But there’s less than two weeks to go,’ Sofía wailed. ‘What if he’s delayed?’

  ‘Then we have catastrophe,’ the lawyer said heavily. ‘He has to get here. Then he has to get back to Cepheus and accept his new life.’

  ‘And the child?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter about the child.’

  Yes, it does, Sofía thought. Oh, Ramón, what are you facing?

  They sailed into Auckland Harbour just after dawn. Jenny stood in the bow, ready to jump across to shore with the lines, ready to help in any way she could with berthing the Marquita. Ramón was at the wheel. She glanced back at him and had a pang of misgivings.

  They hadn’t been near land for two weeks. Why did it feel as if the world was waiting to crowd in?

  How could it? Their plan was to restock and be gone again. Their idyll could continue.

  But they’d booked a berth with the harbour master. Ramón had spoken to the authorities an hour ago, and after that he’d looked worried.

  ‘Problem?’ she’d asked.

  ‘Someone’s looking for me.’

  ‘Debt collectors?’ she’d teased, but he hadn’t smiled.

  ‘I don’t have debts.’

  ‘Then who…?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, and his worry sounded as if it was increasing. ‘No one knows where I am.’

  ‘Conceivably the owner knows.’

  ‘What…?’ He caught himself. ‘I…yes. But he won’t be here. I can’t think…’

  That was all he’d said but she could see worry building.

  She turned and looked towards the dock. She’d looked at the plan the harbour master had faxed through and from here she could see the berth that had been allocated to them.

  There was someone standing on the dock, at the berth, as if waiting. A man in a suit.

  It must be the owner, she thought.

  She glanced back at Ramón and saw him flinch.

  ‘Rodriguez,’ he muttered, and in the calm of the early morning she heard him swear. ‘Trouble.’

  ‘Is he the boat’s owner?’

  ‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘He’s legal counsel to the Crown of Cepheus. I’ve met him once or twice when he had business with my grandmother. If he’s here… I hate to imagine what he wants of me.’

  Señor Rodriguez was beside himself. He had ten days to save a country. He glanced at his watch as the Marquita sailed slowly towards her berth, fretting as if every second left was vital.

  What useless display of skill was this, to sail into harbour when motoring would be faster? And why was the woman in the bow, rather than Ramón himself? He needed to talk to Ramón, now!

  The boat edged nearer. ‘Can you catch my line?’ the woman called, and he flinched and moved backward. He knew nothing about boats.

  But it seemed she could manage without him. She jumped lightly over a gap he thought was far too wide, landing neatly on the dock, then hauled the boat into position and made her fast as Ramón tugged down the last sail.

  ‘Good morning,’ the woman said politely, casting him a curious glance. And maybe she was justified in her curiosity. He was in his customary suit, which he acknowledged looked out of place here. The woman was in the uniform of the sea-faded shorts, a T-shirt and nothing else. She looked windblown and free. Momentarily, he was caught by how good she looked, but only for an instant. His attention returned to Ramón.

  ‘Señor Rodriguez,’ Ramón called to him, cautious and wary.

  ‘You remember me?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ramón said shortly. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ the lawyer said, speaking in the mix of French and Spanish that formed the Cepheus language. ‘As long as you come home.’

  ‘My home’s on the Marquita. You know that.’

  ‘Not any more it’s not,’ the lawyer said. ‘Your uncle and your cousin are dead. As of four weeks ago, you’re the Crown Prince of Cepheus.’

  There was silence. Jenny went on making all secure while Ramón stared at the man on the dock as if he’d spoken a foreign language.

  Which he had, but Jenny had been raised speaking Spanish like a native, and she’d picked up French at school. There were so many similarities in form she’d slipped into it effortlessly. Now… She’d missed the odd word but she understood what the lawyer had said.

  Or she thought she understood what he’d said.

  Crown Prince of Cepheus. Ramón.

  It might make linguistic sense. It didn’t make any other sort of sense.

  ‘My uncle’s dead?’ Ramón said at last, his voice without inflexion.

  ‘In a light plane crash four weeks ago. Your uncle, your cousin and your cousin’s wife, all killed. Only there’s worse. It seems your cousin wasn’t really married-he brought the woman he called his wife home and shocked his father and the country by declaring he was married, but now we’ve searched for proof, we’ve found none. So the child, Philippe, who stood to be heir, is illegitimate. You stand next in line. But if you’re not home in ten days then Carlos inherits.’

  ‘Carlos!’ The look of flat shock left Ramón’s face, replaced by anger, pure and savage. ‘You’re saying Carlos will inherit the throne?’

  ‘Not if you come home. You must see that’s the only way.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Think about it.’

  ‘I’ve thought.’

  ‘Leave the woman to tend the boat and come with me,’ Señor Rodriguez said urgently. ‘We need to speak privately.’

  ‘The woman’s name is Gianetta.’ Ramón’s anger seemed to be building. ‘I won’t leave her.’

  The man cast an uninterested glance at Jenny, as if she was of no import. Which, obviously, was the case. ‘Regardless, you must come.’

  ‘I can look after the boat,’ Jenny said, trying really hard to keep up. I won’t leave her. There was a declaration. But he obviously meant it for right now. Certainly not for tomorrow.

  Crown Prince of Cepheus?

  ‘There’s immigration…’ Ramón said.

  ‘I can sort my papers out,’ she said. ‘The harbour master’s office is just over there. You do what you have to do on the way to wherever you’re going. H
ave your discussion and then come back and tell me what’s happening.’

  ‘Jenny…’

  But she was starting to add things together in her head and she wasn’t liking them. Crown Prince of Cepheus.

  ‘I guess the Marquita would be your boat, then?’ she asked flatly, and she saw him flinch.

  ‘Yes, but…’

  She felt sick. ‘There you go,’ she managed, fighting for dignity. ‘The owner’s needs always come first. I’ll stow the sails and make all neat. Then I might go for a nice long walk and let off a little steam. I’ll see you later.’

  And Ramón cast her a glance where frustration, anger-and maybe even a touch of envy-were combined.

  ‘If you can…’

  ‘Of course I can,’ she said, almost cordially. ‘We’re on land again. I can stand on my own two feet.’

  There were complications everywhere, and all he could think of was Jenny. Gianetta. His woman.

  The flash of anger he’d seen when he’d confessed that he did indeed own the Marquita; the look of betrayal…

  She’d think he’d lied to her. She wouldn’t understand what else was going on, but the lie would be there, as if in flashing neon.

  Yes, he’d lied.

  He needed to concentrate on the lawyer.

  The throne of Cepheus was his.

  Up until now there’d never been a thought of him inheriting. Neither his uncle nor his cousin, Cristián, had ever invited Ramón near the palace. He knew the country had been in dread of Cristián becoming Crown Prince but there was nothing anyone could do about it. Cristián had solidified his inheritance by marrying and having a child. The boy must be what, five?

  For him to be proved illegitimate…

  ‘I can’t even remember the child’s name,’ he said across the lawyer’s stream of explanations, and the lawyer cast him a reproachful glance.

  ‘Philippe.’

  ‘How old?’

  ‘Five,’ he confirmed.

  ‘So what happens to Philippe?’

  ‘Nothing,’ the lawyer said. ‘He has no rights. With his parents dead, your aunt has organized foster care, and if you wish to make a financial settlement on him I imagine the country will be relieved. There’s a certain amount of anger…’

  ‘You mean my cousin didn’t make provision for his own son?’

  ‘Your cousin and your uncle spent every drop of their personal incomes on themselves, on gambling, on…on whatever they wished. The Crown itself, however, is very wealthy. You, with the fortune your grandmother left you and the Crown to take care of your every need, will be almost indecently rich. But the child has nothing.’

  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.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  S HE 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.’