Passion, Purity and the Prince

by Annie West

  ‘Tamsin. Have you heard a word I’ve said?’

  ‘I don’t want to hear!’ She stumbled to the window, arms wrapped tight around her middle.

  ‘Bringing me here was a ploy, wasn’t it?’ She stared dry eyed across the snow as cold facts solidified in her shocked brain. ‘No wonder the pantry was well stocked. You planned to keep me here, out of harm’s way.’

  Bitterness scalded her throat. He’d succeeded. For days she’d delighted in the mirage Alaric had created. She’d barely given a thought to her work.

  He’d been so sure of her. Had it been a lark, or an unpalatable duty, seducing her?

  Tamsin’s breath hissed as another piece of the picture slotted into place. The man at the sleigh, handing Alaric an envelope before they left. Alaric’s dismissal of her concerns about a change in weather.

  ‘You knew heavy snow was forecast.’ She didn’t turn. She couldn’t face him. Not when the knowledge of her naivety filled her and every breath lanced pain. ‘Didn’t you? You wanted me cut off here.’

  ‘I knew,’ he answered at last, his words dropping like stones into an endless icy pool.

  No apology. No regret.

  She squeezed her eyes shut. What they’d shared meant nothing. Nothing to him but expediency.

  It must have galled him to go to such lengths. No wonder he’d been disappointed the first time in that big bed. She hadn’t even possessed the skills to please him.

  Had he closed his eyes when they’d made love—no, when they’d had sex—and thought of another woman? Someone gorgeous and alluring?

  How had she thought, even for one moment, that she’d snared the interest of Alaric, Prince of Ruvingia? Tamsin cringed inside but she kept her spine straight.

  ‘You’re an excellent actor.’ She ignored the tremor in her voice and stared at the gorgeous alpine vista. ‘You had me convinced. Congratulations.’

  ‘Tamsin, it wasn’t like that. Not all of it. To start with, yes, I wondered about you. About the way you hid behind that spinster look. About the odds of you finding such a document so conveniently.’

  ‘It wasn’t convenient!’ She’d spent long hours working in the archives. And all the time he’d thought she’d lied.

  ‘But later it wasn’t about the papers, Tamsin.’ His voice was nearer, as if he’d followed her to the window. ‘It was about how you made me feel. And how you felt.’

  ‘How I felt?’ Her fury boiled over and she swung round. ‘Are you saying I asked you to dupe me? That I invited you to make a fool of me?’ As she spoke the final, fragile shell of happiness round her heart crumbled.

  She’d believed. She’d actually believed in him! How many times before she finally learned her lesson? Was she so imbued with romantic fantasy that she was doomed to fall again and again for men’s lies?

  Even as she thought it she realised that wasn’t possible. She’d survived Patrick’s deception but this was far worse. She’d fallen in love with Alaric.

  Now she hated him too.

  ‘I’ll tell you how this feels, Your Highness. It feels like hell! There was no excuse for what you did. None!’

  ‘Tamsin, you have to listen. That’s not really why I brought you here.’

  She backed away from his outstretched hand as if it were poisoned.

  ‘Not really?’ Her voice dripped sarcasm. ‘So the phone tap wasn’t real? And the goons patrolling the grounds to make sure I didn’t meet anyone in secret?’ She flung an accusatory hand towards the papers on the floor. ‘And the investigator’s report—I suppose that was make-believe?’

  Did she imagine he stiffened as each accusation lashed like a whip? Or that his face paled beneath its tan?

  No! She could afford no sympathy for this man. Already it felt as if she bled from an unseen wound. The sort of injury that would never heal.

  ‘You know what hurts most?’ She stood rigidly straight. ‘That you discovered how Patrick used me and decided to try the same tactic yourself. And that I fell for it.’

  His brow puckered in a marvellous show of apparent innocence. ‘I don’t follow you.’

  ‘Your report didn’t detail that juicy titbit?’ She’d skimmed the text, unable to take in every word. ‘I don’t believe you.’ She sucked air to her lungs.

  ‘Patrick set out to make me fall for him. He conned me into helping him manage his workload till I found him passing off my work as his. Using it to get a promotion at my expense. When he got it he dumped me and took up with a sexy blonde who knew how to please a man.’ She almost gagged, remembering Patrick’s satisfaction as he’d said that.

  ‘And now you, you…’ She blinked dry, scratchy eyes. ‘I can’t believe I fell for it again. That I actually believed you were attracted to me.’

  She couldn’t go on. Bile rose in her throat and her stomach churned queasily. Being sick in front of Alaric would be the final humiliation.

  Tamsin stumbled to the door, thrusting aside his hand, ignoring his call for her to stop as pain, nausea and despair took hold.

  The cold seeped into Alaric’s bones as he stood, staring at the library’s empty fireplace. It wasn’t the chill air that froze his half-dressed body. It was the memory of Tamsin’s distress. The pain he had caused.

  Guilt flexed its claws, raking his belly. Lacerating the peace he’d discovered these past days with Tamsin.

  Seeing her anguish, hearing her desperate attempt to keep her voice steady, Alaric had wanted to gather her close and comfort her. Force her to accept his embrace. Accustomed as he was to causing pain, he couldn’t bear this.

  Letting her leave had been the ultimate test of endurance when every instinct roared for him to go to her.

  Yet he had to give her time alone. Enough to calm a little so she’d listen.

  She felt betrayed by him.

  He turned to pace, unable to remain inactive. If only he’d known her history with the Englishman! How much more damage had Alaric done to her bruised self-esteem?

  She thought he’d used her for his own ends too.

  But it hadn’t been like that.

  Yes, he’d been selfish. He’d seduced an innocent. But his motives, though not pure, hadn’t been as despicable as the Englishman’s. Her work had been a catalyst for intimacy. Yet it had also provided a convenient excuse. How much easier to explain away his fascination with a drably dressed bookworm than admit she intrigued him? That he wanted her in ways he’d never wanted anyone? Ways that had as much to do with emotions as with sexual gratification?

  Air punched from his lungs as an unseen blow pummelled his solar plexus.

  Emotions.

  He’d spent so long distancing himself from intimacy except the sort he found in the beds of accommodating women. It was a shock to realise how much he felt for Tamsin. How much he cared. He’d thought it impossible, but it was true.

  Instantly fear rose. Its familiar, hoary hand clenched his heart and iced his blood. No matter how he fought he couldn’t blot out the voice in his soul.

  He tainted everyone he touched.

  He should never have allowed himself near Tamsin, so bright and generous and trusting.

  His darkness spread like a miasma, infecting everyone he cared for. Now it had soiled that brief bright moment of delight. It had engulfed Tamsin too. He’d let her down.

  But how to look into her bright eyes and listen to her soft, serious tones and not give in to temptation? For all his inner darkness, he was a man, not a machine. Resisting her innocent sweetness, her tart asperity and her zest for living had been impossible.

  He’d craved an end to the darkness and he’d got that from her. No wonder he’d been insatiable, unable to bear her out of his sight. Before her his smiles and banter had carefully masked bleak emptiness. She’d filled that void with light and warmth.

  Alaric recalled her soft murmurings as she’d listened to his story. Instead of shunning him when she’d heard what he’d done she’d called him ‘darling’ as naturally as if it might even be true.
The sound of it had lodged somewhere near his heart and he’d cherished it.

  He’d be damned if he’d give that up.

  Twenty minutes since he’d let her walk away. A sensitive man might wait longer before confronting her. But his need was too urgent. He strode from the room.

  The turret bedroom was empty. Alaric refused to think of it as their room, though the hint of her scent and the sight of rumpled sheets hit him in the chest like a ton of bricks. Setting his jaw, he searched the other rooms. Empty.

  Fear ratcheted up in his belly.

  It was only as he paused by a window that he realised where she’d gone. Her tracks led to the cliff where he’d given her a climbing lesson.

  His heart almost failed as he remembered telling her that was the quickest way to the castle. It was an easy climb if you were experienced, but for a novice…

  He’d hurt her so badly she’d rather face the mountain than him?

  Alaric was no stranger to anguish but as he raced downstairs his torment was worse than anything he’d known.

  If anything happened to her…

  The cold numbed Tamsin’s hands as she trudged through the snow. She’d forgotten her gloves in her haste but she wouldn’t return for them. Not yet. Not till she’d found the strength to face Alaric without crumbling in a heap.

  The nausea had eased a little but the pain was so raw, so sharp, she could barely breathe.

  She shoved her hands in her anorak pockets and averted her eyes from the place where he’d taught her to climb. He’d been so tender and patient.

  A sham!

  Quickening her step she passed the small cliff and came to the base of a steep mountain slope. She’d have no trouble retracing her steps but for now she wanted solitude.

  If she could she’d run away and never face him again.

  The thought made her stumble to a halt.

  She’d run across Europe rather than face Patrick. She’d spent years hiding herself rather than risk the chance of rejection. She’d thought there was strength in independence. But she hadn’t been independent. She’d been a coward.

  If she were truly the new, independent woman she’d been so proud of the night of the ball, she’d face Alaric.

  She was furious and hurt by how he’d used her. But almost as bad was knowing she’d made the same mistake again. Fooled twice by manipulative men. Only this time her mistake was irredeemable. She’d fallen for Alaric, heart and soul. Despite his ruthless actions he was so much more than the flawed man he thought himself.

  Something, an awareness, made her turn. An hour ago the sight of Alaric chasing her through the snow would have thrilled her, a precursor to some new lovers’ game.

  Now it was despair she felt, for even knowing how he’d used her, her heart leapt at the sight of him. Her blood roared in her ears. Would she always react to him like this?

  ‘Run!’ He was so near she saw his eyes blaze fire.

  For a moment she saw stark fear in those glittering depths, then his hands closed on her and she was running, stumbling, carried by the force of his charging body. He kept her on her feet, urging her, tugging her at an impossible speed through the snow.

  It was only as he spoke again that she realised the whispering roar wasn’t her blood. She saw his lips move but the sound was obliterated by the thunder of tonnes of snow and rock falling off the mountain.

  Avalanche! She read his lips but it was his urgent hands, his grim expression, that gave her strength to run.

  Ahead a curve in the line of the mountain promised safety. They couldn’t possibly make it. Then with a tremendous shove at her back Alaric propelled her forward.

  She sprawled, hands over head as snow and scree dropped around her. The thud of the avalanche reverberated through the valley, snapping her teeth together. But the fall here on the periphery of the slide was relatively light.

  Finally it was over. Gingerly she moved, burrowing her way up, grateful for the sight of sky above. She dragged in a deep breath scented with pine and ice and adrenaline.

  Without Alaric she would have been buried under the massive fall. She turned to thank him.

  To find only a huge tumbled mass of ice and boulders.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘THE prince is being released from hospital.’ Tamsin’s colleague gave her a sidelong glance. ‘He’ll be back at the castle soon.’

  ‘That’s excellent news.’ Tamsin pinned on the cool, professional smile she’d perfected. It concealed the fluttery reaction in her stomach at the mention of her employer, her ex-lover. The man she dreamt of every night. ‘I didn’t think he’d be out so soon.’

  After fracturing his collarbone, a leg and an arm, as well as sustaining concussion, the pundits had said Alaric would be under medical supervision far longer.

  ‘Apparently the doctors didn’t want to release him but he refused to stay any longer.’

  Tamsin nodded, remembering Alaric’s determination and strength. He had so little regard for himself he’d probably ignored medical warnings. A twinge of worry stabbed her. Would he be all right?

  She still got chills thinking of those long minutes as she’d scrabbled beneath the debris to the seemingly lifeless form she’d finally found. Her heart had plunged into freefall as she’d searched for a pulse.

  In that moment it didn’t matter how he’d used her, how he’d cold-bloodedly taken her into his bed. All that mattered was that she loved him and he might die.

  It had felt like her life blood oozing across the snow.

  The metallic taste of fear filled her mouth as memory consumed her. Her helplessness, till she’d found Alaric’s mobile phone and, miracle of miracles, discovered it still functioned. She’d felt only a desperate satisfaction that, despite what he’d led her to believe, there was perfect phone reception. Within twenty minutes medical staff had arrived by helicopter.

  ‘Perhaps he’ll visit the archives to see how we’re getting on.’ No missing her colleague’s arch tone of enquiry. Not surprising given Alaric’s previous impromptu visits.

  But he’d only come because he didn’t trust her.

  Had he fretted all those weeks in hospital, wondering if she’d talked of what she’d found? The surveillance seemed to have stopped. She’d lost the claustrophobic sense of being watched.

  ‘I suspect the prince has more important things to do.’

  Even she had heard the speculation about Crown Prince Raul’s delay in finalising his coronation, and how much time he spent closeted with his injured cousin. No doubt they were organising for Alaric to be crowned when he recovered.

  He’d make an excellent monarch. Stoically she ignored the fact that his coronation would hammer the final nail in the coffin of her wishful dreams. Dreams that even his actions hadn’t quite managed to stifle.

  Tamsin looked at her watch. ‘Time to pack up, don’t you think?’ She ignored her companion’s curious look. For well over a month she’d faced down blatant interest about her relationship with Alaric.

  Only when she was alone in the room did she slump in her chair, her heart pounding at the thought of Alaric here, in the castle again.

  His pain still haunted her. Her heart ached for him and all he’d been through. Once she’d believed she could help him. As if she…

  She bit her lip. She’d done with fantasy.

  These past weeks had been a hell of worry about Alaric and constant scrutiny from the curious. Yet she’d endured. She’d put up with the gossip and completed the initial period of her contract, determined to fulfil her obligation.

  Did her resolve stretch to seeing him again?

  Tamsin shot to her feet, too edgy to sit. They’d find someone to replace her when she didn’t renew her contract. Patrick perhaps. Strangely she felt no qualms about the idea of him here in what had been her territory.

  She wouldn’t return to Britain. But there’d been that offer last year of a job in Berlin, and a hint about work in Rome. She’d delayed following up either opportu
nity. Her lips twisted as she realised it was because in her heart she wanted to be close to Alaric.

  Pathetic! There was nothing to stay for. The sooner she moved on the better. Starting with a weekend in Berlin or Rome. Either would do.

  Would it be easier to heal a broken heart in new surroundings?

  Out of nowhere pain surged, cramping her body and stealing the air from her lungs. It took a full minute to catch her breath and move again.

  Tamsin refused to acknowledge the fear that nothing would heal what ailed her. She felt a terrible certainty that the love she still felt for Alaric, despite everything, would never be ‘healed’.

  ‘The answer is still no.’ Alaric hobbled across the hospital room. He set his mouth against the pain when he moved too fast. ‘I won’t do it. That’s final.’

  ‘Do you think I liked the idea of an arranged marriage, either?’ Raul sounded weary. They’d been over this time and again. ‘It’s your duty, Alaric. If you accept the crown then you accept the responsibilities that go with it.’

  ‘Don’t talk to me of duty!’ Alaric’s clenched fist connected with the wall but he barely felt the impact. ‘I don’t want this, any of it. I’m only accepting the crown because, like you, I’ve been brought up to do my duty.’

  Strange how things had changed since the accident. His fear of failure had dimmed. He no longer got that sick feeling in his belly at the thought of ruling the nation. He could face the idea of leadership again with equanimity, though being monarch wasn’t his choice.

  In hospital he’d had plenty of time to think. To his surprise he’d realised how much he’d enjoyed the work he’d begun in Ruvingia. It had been satisfying solving problems and organising innovative community renewal. He’d like to follow through the improvements they’d begun in his own principality.

  But as king he couldn’t be so hands on. His life would be all protocol and diplomacy.

  At least he knew now he could face what was required of him.

  What had changed? Even the nightmares had receded a little. Because he’d broken the curse of good luck that had seen him emerge unscathed from tragedy? Because he’d shattered his body and almost lost his life, proving his mortality? No, it couldn’t be that simple.