Rich, Ruthless and Secretly Royal

by Robyn Donald

  ‘Thank you,’ he responded gravely.

  Feeling foolish and gushing, she asked, ‘Have you lived here all your life?’

  He didn’t look at her. ‘No.’ After a pause so slight she barely noticed he went on, ‘My mother wasn’t a New Zealander, and I spent quite a lot of time in her country. However, this is my home.’

  Another door opened further down, and a middle-aged man came through—her driver from the airport, carrying a large fish in a flax basket. He stopped abruptly.

  Absurdly cheered by a familiar face, Hani smiled at him, and said, ‘Hello, Mr Wellington. How nice to see you again.’

  ‘Nice to see you again too, Miss Court,’ he responded courteously, adding, ‘And my name is Arthur.’

  Kelt said, ‘Hannah thought you owned Kiwinui.’

  The older man looked a little taken aback. ‘There’s only one master here, Miss Court.’ His tone indicated she just might have committed sacrilege. He indicated the basket and said, ‘I hope you like fish.’

  Trying to ease the tension that knotted her nerves, she told him, ‘I love it.’

  ‘Good.’ He beamed at her. ‘This is snapper, freshly caught with my own fair hands today. But when you come next time I’ll make sure we have beef—I know it can be difficult to get good beef in some of the smaller islands in the Pacific Ocean.’

  ‘It is, and I’ll enjoy it enormously.’ Not that she planned to come again…

  He nodded and disappeared through another door, presumably into the kitchen.

  Kelt indicated a door further down the hall. ‘This way.’

  The room he took her into opened out onto a terrace; the sun had almost sunk beneath the ranges and the clouds were edged with gold and vivid raspberry and ruby highlights. Hani looked around her, insensibly relaxing in the gracious room, one wall a bank of French windows that opened out onto a terrace. Wide stone steps led down to a lawn surrounded by shrub and flower borders that blended into taller trees.

  ‘Oh, your garden is magnificent.’ She gazed across the expanse of stone flagging and took a deep breath, relishing the fresh, summery scent of new-mown grass. Nothing could have been a greater contrast to the school, set in a landscape scarred by its huge mine.

  Kelt must have picked up on her thoughts. ‘A little different from Tukuulu.’

  ‘A lot different.’ This was just an ordinary social occasion, so behave like a normal person, she told herself.

  Her appreciative smile faded a little when she met his hooded gaze, but she kept it pinned to her lips. ‘Unfortunately the mine is Tukuulu’s only source of income.’

  ‘It doesn’t look as though its owners care much about their neighbours,’ he said austerely.

  ‘I suppose you can’t blame them, but—well, most of the mine-workers’ children go to the school. You’d think they’d give it some support. That’s the problem with big conglomerates owned by people from overseas who have no personal interest in the people they’re employing.’

  She’d spoken a little heatedly, and he sent her another keen look. Curiosity drove her to ask, ‘Was it the first time you’d been to Tukuulu?’

  ‘Yes. Your principal’s been suggesting a visit to me for years but it’s never been convenient before.’

  Hani found it hard to imagine what Kelt had in common with the slightly older man who’d devoted his life to the school he ran on a shoestring.

  He went on, ‘He needs help, of course, and he’ll probably get it. He’s an expert at arm-twisting.’

  That might be so, but Kelt didn’t seem a man who’d yield to persuasion if he didn’t want to. ‘It’s just as well he is,’ she said crisply. ‘The Tukuuluan government is pushed for money, so the school doesn’t get much from them.’

  Nodding, Kelt asked, ‘Can I get you a drink? Wine? Something a little stronger? Or without alcohol?’

  ‘Wine, thank you, if you have a light white.’

  The wine he poured for her had a faint golden tinge, and the flavour was intense—a sensation-burst of freshness that almost persuaded her she was drinking champagne.

  In spite of—or perhaps because of, she thought mordantly—being so acutely aware of him, she enjoyed Kelt’s company. It was stimulating to match his incisive conversation, and a little to her surprise she discovered was he had a sense of humour. The half-hour or so before the meal went quickly.

  Yet she had the feeling she was being tested, that for him the innocuous conversation was motivated by something more than social politeness. His hard eyes were always hooded, and she found herself weighing her words before she spoke.

  That was worrying; she’d spent the past six years polishing a rather shallow, cheerful teacher persona that seemed to convince everyone she’d met.

  Except this man. This man she was fiercely, mindlessly attracted to.

  So, what was new? She’d felt lust before, and it had taken her into degradation and a never-ending fear that still kept her a prisoner in hiding.

  And although there seemed to be a vast difference between her response to Felipe and her host for the evening, it was still lust. Better by far to ignore it—to pretend that she wasn’t affected a bit by Kelt, that she didn’t notice every tiny thing about him from the boldly arrogant lines of his profile to the easy grace of his movements. Even the sight of his lean, tanned hands on the white tablecloth over dinner sent shuddery little stabs of excitement through her.

  Forget that night in Tukuulu. A cold shiver tightened her skin when she thought of what Felipe would do in the same situation. He’d take full advantage of her helplessness and vulnerability.

  Kelt hadn’t. And she had to respect him for that.

  Dinner was served in a conservatory. Intoxicating perfume from the clusters of soft, creamy-pink flowers on a potted frangipani drifted through the room; Hani had always loved the fragrance, but here it seemed imbued with sensuous overtones she’d never noticed before.

  But then, everything seemed suddenly more…more more, she thought, half-terrified at such foolishness. Colours seemed more luxurious, the food tasted sublime, and light gleamed off the glass and silverware with greater intensity. Just the sound of Kelt’s voice produced a blooming of inner heat, a kind of nervous anticipation mixed with an excitement.

  ‘Are you cold?’ he asked.

  ‘Not at all.’

  Leaning back in his chair, he surveyed her through slightly narrowed eyes. ‘You shivered.’

  He saw too much. She said stiffly, ‘It’s nothing. Just someone walking over my grave.’

  To her astonishment he leaned forward and covered her hand. His was large and warm and relentless; when shock jerked her backwards his fingers closed around hers, holding her still.

  ‘You are cold,’ he said, those eyes narrowing further so that he was watching her through a screen of long black lashes.

  Apprehension froze her into stillness. But he wasn’t like Felipe, and his touch didn’t repel her…

  She swallowed and said in a constricted voice, ‘I’m warm enough, thank you. Let me go.’

  Although he released his grip his hard gaze didn’t leave her face. ‘I’ll turn on some heat.’

  Her eyes widened. However, one glance at his face told her there was no double meaning to his words.

  ‘I don’t need it. I’m perfectly comfortable,’ she said curtly, her brows drawing together as she sent him a level glance that should have convinced him.

  His brows drew together and he got to his feet. ‘I’ll be back in a moment.’

  Before she could voice an objection he left the room.

  Hani swallowed again. He was the most infuriatingly autocratic man—and she didn’t want him watching her so closely that he noticed something as inconspicuous as the shiver that had started this. Some men were predators, hunters by nature, and although Kelt didn’t show any signs of that, neither had Felipe at first.

  Thrusting the vile memories back into the dark cupboard in her brain where she hid them, Hani waited tensely for Kelt
to come back.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE wrap Kelt brought into the conservatory matched the intense blue of lapis lazuli, and when he dropped it around Hani’s shoulders it settled like a warm, light cloud. ‘My cousin left it behind the last time she was here,’ he said without moving. ‘She won’t mind you wearing it—she’s the most generous person I know.’

  Horrified by something that felt treacherously like a spark of jealousy, Hani said, ‘I’ll write her a note to thank her for the use of it.’ Hairs lifted on the back of her neck, and she had to fight back an instinct to turn around and look up into his face.

  ‘No need,’ he said casually, walking away to sit down again. ‘I’ll tell her you were duly appreciative.’

  Hani picked up her knife and fork and applied herself to the food on her plate, exasperated to find that the warmth of the pashmina was very welcome.

  ‘Does Arthur cook all your meals?’ she asked into the silence.

  ‘He deals with dinner,’ Kelt told her. ‘I forage for myself when it comes to lunch and breakfast. As well as supervising the housekeeping and cooking, he likes to garden, and—as you discovered—he’s a great fisherman.’

  ‘He’s a brilliant cook. This meal is superb.’

  ‘Good. You need feeding up.’

  Startled, she said forthrightly, ‘That’s hardly tactful.’

  His answering smile was a masterpiece of irony. ‘I’m not noted for my tact. And clearly you’ve lost weight while you’ve been ill.’

  ‘I’m feeling much better,’ she said defensively.

  ‘You’re still looking fragile. When I agreed that you could stay at the bach I was told the chances of you having another attack were pretty remote. However, you still have that delicate look. I’d prefer you to stay here rather than at the bach.’

  He spoke as though he had the right to demand her agreement.

  Hani’s head came up and she stared incredulously at him. Fortunately her days of obeying men were over.

  Fighting back a bewildering mixture of emotions—outrage at his high-handedness mingled with an odd warmth because he seemed to care about her welfare—she said evenly, ‘That won’t be necessary. I carry my medication with me all the time now, so any attack will be stopped before it has time to start.’

  Although his expression didn’t alter, she sensed a hardening in his attitude. ‘Do you intend to stay inside the bach all the time?’

  ‘Of course not, but I won’t stray too far from it either.’

  He said bluntly, ‘No further than a hundred metres? Because that’s about how far you were from the party when I found you, and by then you were incapable of moving. If no one had come along you’d have collapsed under the coconut palm you were clinging to.’

  Her colour flared, but her eyes stayed steady when they met his. ‘The circumstances were unusual.’

  ‘In what way?’ Clearly he didn’t believe her.

  ‘I knew during the speeches that I was getting an attack, but I stayed because in Tukuulu leaving while someone is making a speech is a huge insult.’

  ‘Your cultural awareness does you credit.’ The sardonic inflection in his tone flicked her on the raw. ‘You must have realised you were letting yourself in for an attack of fever.’

  ‘It’s important to the Tukuuluans,’ she retorted.

  ‘Why didn’t you get someone to help you to your cottage and make sure you got some medication into you?’

  Lamely she admitted, ‘I wasn’t thinking straight by then. It won’t happen again. Normally I just take medication and go to bed. When I wake up I’m fine.’

  Heat burned across her cheekbones at the memory of waking and realising he’d changed her clothes. She didn’t dare look at him in case he realised what she was thinking—and suspect that occasionally she fantasised guiltily about his hands on her skin, his gaze on her body…

  He asked, ‘What happens if you delay taking the medication?’

  ‘I collapse, but the fever eventually passes,’ she told him reluctantly.

  ‘How long does that take?’

  She parried his critical gaze with a level one of her own. Sorely tempted to gloss over the truth, she admitted, ‘Quite some time.’

  ‘You’re being evasive.’

  Her indignant glance made no impression on him. Meeting the burnished sheen of his gaze, she said belligerently, ‘The first time I was in bed for almost a week.’

  ‘How soon after the first symptoms do you need to take the drug?’

  ‘The sooner the better.’

  ‘How long, Hannah?’

  Hani suspected that he’d continue interrogating her until she told him everything out of sheer exhaustion.

  ‘Oh, about ten, fifteen minutes,’ she flashed. ‘But you needn’t worry. I’m not going to collapse on the beach because—as I told you a few seconds ago—I take my medication with me all the time.’

  He frowned. ‘It’s not good enough. You’d be much better off here where someone can keep an eye on you.’

  For years Hani had managed to contain her naturally quick temper, but Kelt’s ultimatum set a fuse to it. ‘Have you any idea how arrogant you sound?’ she demanded before she could bite the words back. ‘You have no right—no right at all—to impose conditions on me. I can look after myself.’

  ‘I might believe that if I hadn’t seen the way you look after yourself,’ he countered, startled by a swift stir of sensual appetite.

  That serene façade she presented to the world was a sham, a mask to hide a much more animated personality. Her face was made for emotion—for laughter, for anger that came and went like summer lightning…for tenderness.

  How would she look in the throes of passion?

  His body responded with the now familiar need, hungry and reckless as wildfire. With lethal determination he reined it in, watching with half-closed eyes while she regained enough control to impose a rigid restraint over those mobile features. It was like watching a light being extinguished.

  ‘All right,’ she said shortly, ‘I actually started to go, but the elders came in before I could. But I do not need cosseting or constant watching or checking. Think about it—you’d hate it. Why should I be any different?’

  He lifted his brows, but said bluntly, ‘I accept that, but I’d be a lot happier if you’d check in each day—say, in the evening.’

  Would she recognise the classical negotiation gambit—make an outrageous demand, then offer a compromise? Kelt watched her face, almost sombre as she hesitated. What was she thinking?

  Looking up with open challenge in those sultry eyes she said, ‘And if I won’t?’

  He surveyed the lovely face opposite him, her sensuous mouth tightly controlled, and a rounded little chin held at an obstinate angle.

  And she called him arrogant, he thought with hard amusement. Who exactly was she, and why was her crystalline English accent occasionally gentled by a soft slurring that somehow managed to sound piercingly erotic?

  A woman of mystery in many ways—and obviously a fiercely independent one. He’d asked the principal about her background, and been surprised at how little his friend knew. She’d simply appeared one day at the school, offering to help in any way she could.

  ‘Usually people who wash up in Tukuulu are on the run from something,’ his friend had told him. ‘Alcohol or drugs or the law or the media, or a romantic break-up that’s convinced them their life is ruined. They think they can leave it all behind them and make a new start in the tropics, not realising that until they’ve faced it, everyone carries their past like a burden. People like that are no use to us.’

  ‘But Hannah Court is.’

  ‘Yes, we were lucky. She’s great with the children. When we realised she had a talent for teaching she took every extramural course she could, and now she’s a fully qualified infant teacher. Better still, she’s got a small income from somewhere, so she can manage on the pittance we pay.’

  ‘What nationality is she?’

&
nbsp; His friend had looked a little self-conscious. ‘I shouldn’t be discussing her with you, but I assume she’s English.’

  ‘And you know nothing of her past or her circumstances?’

  ‘She never speaks of them.’

  ‘So she’s a fugitive too.’

  That was greeted by a shrug. ‘Possibly. But she’s not encumbered by any obvious baggage. And she’s kept a low profile—no love affairs, no breakdowns, no binges. What matters to us is that she fits really well into the island culture and she’s turned into a good, conscientious teacher.’

  Naturally that was all that mattered to the principal of a struggling school in the tropics, Kelt thought dryly now. But it seemed a wicked waste for any woman as young and vibrant as Hannah Court to hide away from the world. No love affairs didn’t, of course, mean she wasn’t running from one that had gone wrong. But after six years surely she’d have got over such an experience.

  That leashed awareness in Kelt stirred into life again.

  He frowned, wondering why she intrigued him so much. Partly it was masculine interest—even with the pallor of illness she was lovely, her too slender body alluringly curved, and from the way she’d curled into him he suspected she was no inexperienced virgin. And although he’d learned to control his urges he had a normal man’s needs and hunger.

  But this wasn’t purely sexual.

  From the first, even when he’d been sure she was either drunk or stoned, he’d felt intensely protective towards her. What the hell was she hiding from?

  She’d blocked his every probe, either changing the subject or simply ignoring his questions, so she was hiding something—and that something had to be pretty shattering.

  Perhaps he should just let it go, but when he looked at her he sensed a life wasted, a sorrow so deep she couldn’t bear to face it.

  In Kelt’s experience, the best thing to do with pain was meet it head-on, accept it and deal with it, and then move on.

  Kelt made up his mind. He’d use kidnapping as a last resort if she refused to compromise. ‘If you won’t agree to check in, I’ll contact your principal.’

  Her lovely face set into lines of mutiny. Common sense—and a strong sense of self-preservation—warned him that Hannah Court’s past wasn’t his business, and that he’d be foolish to tangle himself in her affairs. But he wasn’t going to let her retreat to the bach without that promise.