The Disgraced Princess

by Robyn Donald

  Gerd trusted his judgement; the First Minister came from the mountains, where the legend that had bedevilled his ancestors for centuries had its strongest adherents.

  Before Gerd could speak the older man had added, ‘But with respect, sir, you need a wife. Further celebrations—a formal betrothal followed by a wedding and the birth of an heir as soon as possible—would almost certainly put an end to any plotting. Your plans for higher education should mean that the old legend will never have the hold over future generations that it has in the past.’

  Gerd said grimly, ‘At least we don’t have to worry about further problems from MegaCorp.’

  He’d seen to that, using his power in the financial world to clinically and without mercy ruin the men who’d so cynically played with other men’s lives.

  He glanced down at the woman beside him, lovely and eminently desirable, her wide blue eyes anxiously uplifted. Concern was in them and something else, something that disappeared so quickly he barely recognised it.

  Deep inside him a fierce instinct stirred. She was so young, but it wasn’t hero worship he’d caught in her gold-sprinkled eyes. If she was still longing for Kelt, it was a total waste of a life.

  And he suspected he could do something about it…

  Rosie could gather nothing from his impassive, gorgeous face. Repressing a quiver deep in the pit of her stomach, she demanded, ‘What do you mean, of course everything’s all right? I thought—’

  ‘Once the ringleaders of the insurrection were shown to be the pawns of a foreign company who wanted to take over the mines,’ he interrupted, ‘the fighting stopped. No one in Carathia wanted that.’

  ‘Of course they wouldn’t.’ The country’s prosperity was based to a large degree on carathite, a mineral necessary in electronics. ‘What happened to the people who started the rebellion?’

  Gerd looked ahead. A gleam from the setting sun caught his black head, summoning a lick of blue fire. For a few seconds Rosie allowed herself to examine his profile, hungrily taking in the bold, angular outline. A potent little thrill burnt through her. His mouth should have softened his features; instead, that top lip was buttressed by a firm lower one and the cleft square of his chin.

  He said calmly, ‘They are no longer in any position to cause further trouble.’

  This was Gerd as she’d never seen him before, his natural authority tinged with a ruthlessness that sent a chill scudding down her spine.

  He turned his head, and she flushed. His brows lifted slightly, but he said in a level voice, ‘Somehow I find it difficult to see you as an accountant.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘As a child you adored flowers. I always assumed you’d do something with them.’

  She gazed at him in astonishment. ‘I’m surprised you remember.’

  ‘I remember you being constantly scolded for picking flowers and arranging them,’ he said drily.

  ‘I grew out of that eventually. Well, I grew out of swiping them from the nearest garden! But actually, I’m seriously thinking of setting up in business as a florist as soon as I can.’

  He said thoughtfully, ‘You’ll need training, surely?’

  Briefly she detailed the experience she had, finishing, ‘I can run a shop. I have the financial knowledge, and I was left in sole charge often enough in my friend’s shop to know I can do it. I helped her with weddings, formal arrangements for exclusive dinner parties, the whole works. I can make a success of it.’

  ‘So how are you going to organise things financially?’

  She kept her gaze resolutely fixed in front, but from the corner of her eye she sensed him examining her face. ‘I’ll manage,’ she said coolly.

  ‘Alex?’

  ‘No.’ She hesitated, then said, ‘And before you ask, I’m not going to ask Kelt for backing, either.’

  ‘I refuse to believe your mother is happy about this.’

  He spoke neutrally, but she knew what he meant. ‘She’ll get used to it.’

  He said quietly, ‘You didn’t have much luck with your parents, did you.’ It wasn’t a question. ‘Your father didn’t live in the modern world.’

  ‘None of us had much luck,’ she returned, forcing a note of worldliness. ‘Yours died early—Alex’s mother too—and mine just weren’t interested in children. Still, we haven’t turned out badly. Perhaps that happy home life children are supposed to need so much is just a myth.’ She finished casually, ‘Like perfect love.’

  ‘Can you see Kelt and Hani together and believe either of those assumptions?’

  ‘No,’ she said instantly, ashamed of her cynicism. ‘They are the real thing.’

  Perhaps her envy showed in her voice because he asked rather distantly, ‘Is that what you’re looking for?’

  ‘Aren’t we all?’ she parried, wary now. She loosened fingers that had tightened on each other in her lap, and gazed resolutely at the streetscape outside. Perfect, eternal, all-absorbing romance was the elusive chimera her mother searched for, restlessly flitting from lover to lover, but never succeeding.

  Was Gerd hoping for that same eternal sense of fulfilment with Princess Serina?

  She could ask him, but the words refused to come, and the moment passed as the car turned into a narrow alley in the older part of the city.

  ‘Here we are,’ he said without emphasis.

  The vehicle drew up outside the heavy, ancient door of an equally ancient building. People turned to look when the security man, until then a silent presence beside the chauffeur, got out. A doorman moved across the pavement to open the car’s rear door.

  It was all done swiftly, discreetly, yet the smooth operation sent a chill down Rosie’s spine as she and Gerd went through the door and into the building. Her own life was so free, compared to Gerd’s.

  On the other hand, she thought with an effort at flippancy, she wasn’t rich enough to dine in places like this.

  As though he could read her mind, Gerd said, ‘This is the aristocratic quarter of town. In fact, right next door is the town house of the Dukes of Vamili.’

  Her brow wrinkled. ‘That’s Kelt’s title, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. It’s used for the second son of the ruler now, but before the title was taken over by our family the Duke of Vamili was the second-ranking man in the Grand Duchy, with almost regal power over about a third of Carathia. About two hundred years ago the then Duke led a rebellion against the Grand Duke, and died for his treachery. He had only one child, a daughter, who was married off to the second son of the Grand Duke. The Grand Duke then transferred the title and all the estates—to him.’

  ‘Poor woman,’ Rosie said crisply. ‘It doesn’t sound like a recipe for a happy marriage.’

  His smile was brief. ‘Strangely enough, it appears to have been. Of course, he might have been an excellent husband. And women, especially aristocratic women, of those days didn’t have such high expectations of marriage.’

  ‘Unlike modern women, who have the audacity to want happiness and fulfilment,’ Rosie returned sweetly, pacing up a wide sweep of shallow stairs.

  Gerd cocked an ironic brow. ‘Some seem to believe that both should come without any effort on their part.’

  Like my mother, Rosie thought sombrely. Chasing rainbows all her life…

  They were shown into a room that opened out through an arcade onto a stone terrace overlooking the great valley of Carathia.

  Rosie sighed in involuntary appreciation, walking across to grip the stone balustrade, still warm from the sun. ‘This is so beautiful, like a bowl half-filled with light.’

  Dusk was creeping across the valley, and in the growing pool of shadow all that could be seen were small golden pin points, brave challenges to the darkness. Eastwards she could pick out groves of trees, closely planted fields of some sort of grain, clusters of red-tiled villages, the shimmer of silver-gilt that was the river and every detail on the slopes of the mountains.

  Rosie felt eager and aware, her senses stirred and stimulated by t
he man standing beside her as he surveyed this part of his realm.

  Quietly she said, ‘I know there’s a lot more to Carathia than this valley, but it seems complete in itself.’

  ‘One of my ancestors called it a fair land set above,’ Gerd told her. ‘And yes, Carathia’s much bigger than the valley. The country wouldn’t be nearly so prosperous without the coastal strip. It gives us easy access to the rest of the world, and makes us a very popular tourism destination. Then there are the agricultural lands further north, and the mines—all important.’

  ‘But this is where the capital is, where the ruler lives; the heart of the country?’

  ‘Its heart and its soul,’ he said after a few moments. ‘This is where those original Greek soldiers fought and settled and took wives, and it’s always been the centre of power.’

  ‘You’re a real Carathian, aren’t you?’ she said quietly, wondering why this sudden realisation struck like a blow. ‘Kelt might be a Duke here, but he’s a Kiwi really—his heart belongs to New Zealand. You spent as much time in New Zealand as he did when you were younger, yet you’re Carathian.’

  ‘I knew from the time I was old enough to understand that this place was my destiny,’ he pointed out. As though bored with the topic, he turned. ‘Where would you like to sit? We can go inside, or they will set up a table for us out here.’

  ‘Out here,’ she said without hesitation. ‘I want to enjoy every moment of this lovely place while I can. At home it’s winter, and probably raining and a lot colder than this.’

  ‘It rains here too,’ he said, nodding to someone behind, ‘quite often in summer. If you want a real summer you should go down to the coast. Or out to the islands. They’re the true Mediterranean experience.’

  Rosie said simply, ‘I can’t think of anything more lovely, or more Carathian, than this.’

  She’d never see the fabled Adriatic coast of Carathia with its Greek and Roman ruins, the rows of vines across the white hills, the palms, the castles that defended each tiny sea-port, and the fishing boats with an eye painted on each bow for protection while they were out on the shimmering blue sea.

  She’d never come back.

  A waiter arrived bearing a silver tray and ice bucket; with ceremony he opened a bottle of champagne and poured out two glasses before presenting them.

  Behind him Rosie could see people laying a table. It appeared she and Gerd were going to be the only people eating here. A swift frisson of excitement swept up through her and she had to resist the temptation to take a tiny, nervous sip of wine.

  Gerd said, ‘Are you cold? If you’d rather change your mind and eat inside we’ll do that.’

  ‘No, it’s lovely here, perfect.’ But just in case he got the wrong idea she said demurely, ‘I’ve always wanted to dine in a mediaeval building with a handsome man and drink superb French champagne. It will be something to tell any grandchildren I might have. Will there be candles?’

  His smile was narrow and sharp. ‘Of course. Although it’s a Renaissance building, to be accurate.’ He held out his glass. ‘Very well, then, a toast. We’ll drink to your next visit here.’

  Their glasses kissed, then separated. Rosie drank, trying to fully appreciate a wine that was clearly something special.

  Common sense told her briskly that Gerd probably took French champagne as his due, and gave her the brash courage to say, ‘I suppose Carathia’s next big occasion will be the announcement of your engagement to Princess Serina.’

  ‘You shouldn’t believe everything you read in the media,’ he said in a tone that told her she was trespassing.

  Rosie’s reckless heart contracted. For once unable to speak, she sent him a glance through her lashes.

  Gerd’s expression was unreadable, the handsome face aloof. ‘She’s only your age; far too young for me.’

  The shameless flare of hope that had blazed fiercely for a few seconds died instantly. If the princess was too young for Gerd, so was she…

  So much for her brave decision to stop yearning for him!

  ‘Too young?’ she demanded rashly. ‘You’re only twelve years older than I am. Does the princess think you’re too old?’

  His mouth thinned. ‘We haven’t discussed it.’

  OK, stop right there! Although barely a muscle moved in his handsome face, he couldn’t have made it more plain that she’d over stepped the mark.

  ‘So you don’t think I’m too old for someone of your age?’ Gerd asked, a steely note in his voice.

  Embarrassed colour heated her skin. He couldn’t know how painful this conversation was for her, and it was entirely her own fault.

  Shrugging, she said, ‘It depends entirely on the person, surely?’

  ‘A very diplomatic answer,’ he mocked. ‘Restraint doesn’t suit you.’

  ‘I can be restrained when I want to,’ she said loftily, only to flush at his mocking glance. Talk about a childish rejoinder!

  ‘I’d noticed.’ When she stared warily at him, he elaborated, ‘Rosemary, you’ve always had beautiful manners and a kind heart. That’s not the issue. Would you, for example, think twice about marrying a man twelve years older than you?’

  ‘Not if I loved him.’ He’d never know just how bitter the words were on her tongue. Desperate to change the subject, she said lamely, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to pry.’ She paused, then admitted with a wry smile, ‘Actually, of course I did. You and she have been photographed together a lot recently.’

  ‘She and I know a lot of the same people. Gossip columnists are an over-ex citable lot,’ he said satirically. ‘I’m surprised you read that rubbish. For your information, the family will be the first to know if and when I decide to announce my engagement.’

  Clever Gerd. Although he hadn’t confirmed any plans to marry, he hadn’t denied them, either.

  ‘Fair enough,’ she said, pinning a smile to her lips. ‘But you can’t stop people from wondering. After all, you’re probably the world’s most eligible bachelor right now.’

  ‘And the Press has to sell newspapers and magazines,’ he said caustically, then carried the war into her territory. ‘Kelt tells me that Aunt Eva is doing her best to marry you off.’

  ‘Strangely enough when you consider the disaster her marriage was, that’s exactly what she’s up to, although it does seem her sole criterion for a good husband is the size of his bank balance.’ She gave him a cool glance. ‘So far I haven’t been tempted by the men she’s introduced to me.’

  Gerd looked down at her. The fading sun set shimmering little fires in her hair and sprinkled her perfect skin with gold dust. There had been no cynicism in her tone, merely rueful resignation.

  ‘So who is the current lover?’ he probed.

  As a child her face had been mobile, every emotion displayed for the world to read. Since then she’d learned control; the Rosemary he’d known, the girl he’d kissed, had been banished, her place taken by this glossy, self-assured woman.

  Her brows rose. ‘Mother’s?’

  ‘Yours. Anyone I know?’

  ‘Nobody at the moment,’ she said lightly, her expression giving nothing away.

  Frustration tightened Gerd’s lips. She was so young—far too young to be making any lifetime promises—but her soft, sensuously curved lips, the conscious awareness in her eyes, her sophistication, meant she was no stranger to passion.

  So? He’d known that ever since he’d kissed her. And if her ardent response hadn’t convinced him of it, seeing her in Kelt’s arms the next morning would have. The memory of those kisses he’d witnessed still burned like acid. Growing up in the care of a woman whose chaotic search for love had invariably ended in disillusion must have given Rosemary a distorted view of what a relationship could be between a man and a woman.

  Reining in a cold, baseless anger, Gerd wondered for possibly the thousandth time if it had been Kelt who’d taught her the full depths of her passion.

  He’d never mentioned them to his brother, not even a few hou
rs after their kiss, when Kelt had issued a veiled warning cloaked in friendly banter but making sure Gerd understood that he was watching out for Rosemary. Ashamed of the loss of control that had prompted his desire the previous night, Gerd had responded with an icy aloofness that had convinced Kelt he had no intention of breaking the girl’s heart.

  He’d seen very little of his brother since then. Partly, he admitted, because he hated the thought of Kelt being Rosemary’s first lover.

  If he had been, it hadn’t lasted long. Shortly after Gerd had returned to Carathia Hani had appeared, and Kelt had gone under like a drowning man.

  It would be bitterly ironic if he’d broken Rosemary’s heart, setting her on her mother’s path of short, futile relationships that had no chance of surviving.

  Was she still longing for Kelt? There had definitely been something in her eyes, in her voice, when she’d watched Kelt dance with Hani.

  His instinctive distaste was backed by another, much less civilised emotion. Jealousy…

  Gerd looked over her head. ‘The table’s ready for us,’ he said brusquely. ‘Come and sit down.’

  She gave him a curious glance, but responded with cool friendliness, just as she had all week, treating him like a much older brother. To his intense irritation she kept it up while they ordered and settled into a discussion about the parlous state of the planet. He admired her quick intelligence, but he missed the sparkling challenge he’d only glimpsed since she’d arrived in Carathia.

  Gerd despised himself for being both intrigued and disturbed. Over the past few days he hadn’t been able to stop himself noting the way other men had looked at her, responding to her subtle, understated sensuousness.

  His sharp, in voluntary reaction to those speculative glances had angered him. He’d had to stop himself from moving in to—to what?