Royals: Claimed By The Prince: The Heartbreaker Prince / Passion and the Prince / Prince of Secrets

The same honour that had made him push Amira into Hakim’s arms.

He was either a saint or an idiot!

Hannah gave a mental shrug and turned a slender shoulder, telling herself that it didn’t matter what he thought of her...she still wanted to hit him.

Or kiss him.

Dusting an invisible speck off her silk dress, she gave a faint smile and thought about slapping that expression of smug superiority off his hateful face.

‘Relax, we leave at twelve-thirty.’

Relax, no. But this was the best news she had had in several nightmare days.

‘Where are you off to?’ She didn’t care but it seemed polite to ask.

‘We.’

Her expression froze. ‘We? What are you talking about? There is no we!’

‘Please do not treat me to another bout of your histrionics. Behind closed doors there is no we.’ Lips twisted into a sardonic smile, he sat on the edge of the desk. ‘But in public we are a loving couple and you will show me respect.’

‘When you stop lying to me. You said we would not have to live together.’

‘You didn’t really believe that. I said what you wanted to hear. It seemed the kindest thing at the time.’

She let out a snort of sheer disbelief—was this man for real? ‘Perhaps I should thank you for kindly lying through your teeth.’

He glanced at the watch on his wrist, exposing the fine dark hairs on his arm as he flicked his cuff. ‘Quite clearly we have things to discuss,’ he conceded.

Hannah, who was breathing hard, flashed a bitter smile. ‘Discuss’ implied reasonable and flexible. It implied listening. ‘You think?’

He refused to recognise the irony in her voice. ‘Yes, I do think.’

‘You are giving me a time slot?’ She was married to a man she was expected to make an appointment to talk to? Now that really brought home how awful this entire situation was. She had walked into it with her eyes wide open and her brain in denial. The fact was that deep down she had never stopped being a person who believed in happy ever after, who believed that everything happened for a reason.

A spasm of irritation crossed his lean, hard features.

She shook her head and gave a laugh of sheer disbelief. ‘Or should that be granting me an audience?’ she wondered, letting her head tip forward as she performed a mocking curtsey.

The childish reaction made his jaw clench.

‘You’re used to people dropping everything when you require attention. But I’ve got a newsflash...’ He let the sentence hang, but the languid contempt in his voice made it easy to fill in the blanks as he glanced down at the stack of papers spread out on the inlaid table.

It wasn’t that she wanted to be important to him, but a little empathy—she’d have settled for civility—would have made him human. Instead he intended to map out just how insignificant she was in the scheme of things from the outset. Did he really think she didn’t know she was on the bottom rung of his priorities?

Hannah could feel the defensive ice forming on her features. ‘Sorry,’ she said coldly. ‘I’m still living in a world where people have marriages based on mutual respect, not mutual contempt! It was unrealistic of me, and it won’t happen again,’ she promised. ‘I won’t disturb you any longer. Have your people talk to my people and...’ The ice chips left her voice as it quivered... My people. I have no people. The total isolation of her position hit home for the first time.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

‘I need an hour.’

She opened her eyes and found he was looking right at her. Her stomach immediately went into a dive.

‘I could postpone this but I assumed you would prefer to arrive early at Brent.’

Her eyes flew wide. ‘Brent!’ She gave a shaky smile. ‘You’re taking me home?’

‘This is your home.’

Swallowing the hurt and annoyed with herself for leaping to conclusions, she lifted her chin and stared at him coldly. ‘This will never be my home.’

‘That, ma belle, is up to you. But your father wanted to hold a wedding party for us, and for your friends. I think it would only be polite for us to be there. I will have some breakfast sent up to your room.’

Jaw clenched at the dismissal, Hannah left the room with her head held high.

CHAPTER SEVEN (#ua2d0babc-7798-5876-989d-d90b07ae410c)

HER FATHER WAS there to greet them at the private airstrip where they landed, and Hannah was relieved he looked better than the previous day, almost his old self. She was sandwiched between the two men in the back seat of the limo and by the time they arrived at Brent Hall the effort of maintaining a reassuring pretence for her father’s sake had taken its toll, her persistent nagging headache showing signs of becoming a full-blown migraine.

‘I think I might go to my room, unless you want me to help.’ There was evidence of the preparations for tonight everywhere.

‘No, you have a rest. Good idea. Tonight is all under control. I got a new firm in and they seem excellent—they’re doing the lot. I have a few ideas I want to run past your husband.’ He glanced towards Kamel and joked, ‘Not much point having a financial genius in the family if you don’t make use of him, is there? I’m sure he’ll even write your thank-you letters.’

Hannah laughed and her father winked conspiratorially at her. ‘A family joke.’

And one that was at his daughter’s expense, thought Kamel, who had seen the flinch before the smile. How many times, he wondered, had she been on the receiving end of such jokes? For a man who cared deeply for his daughter, Charles Latimer seemed remarkably blind to her sensitivity.

‘I am aware of Hannah’s dyslexia. Is that the family joke?’

‘She told you?’ Hannah’s father looked startled.

‘She did. But even if she hadn’t I would have noticed how uncomfortable the family joke made her.’

Hannah’s father looked horrified by the suggestion. ‘It’s just that some of her mistakes have been so...’ His stammering explanation ground to a halt in the face of his new son-in-law’s fixed, unsmiling stare. ‘Hannah has a great sense of humour.’

‘I don’t.’

* * *

Instead of heading for her room, Hannah made her way down to the kitchens. But finding the place had been taken over by outside caterers, she made her way to Sarah’s private flat.

The cook was delighted to see her. So was Olive, the dog sitting in her basket, surrounded by her puppies, who licked Hannah’s hand and wagged her stumpy little tail.

Without being asked, Sarah produced some painkillers along with the coffee and cakes. ‘Now, tell me all about it.’

Hannah did—or at least the approved version. She stayed half an hour before she got up to leave.

‘Where are you going?’ Sarah called after her.