Captured by the Billionaire: Brooding Billionaire, Impoverished Princess

‘The Princess writes a column for one of the European glossies,’Alex said. He sent a sideways glance at Serina. ‘Although it’s more about gardens than gardening, I assume.’

Keeping her voice cool, she said, ‘Yes.’

Lindy said, ‘Then you’ll love staying with Alex. His garden is magnificent.’

‘I’m looking forward to seeing it,’ Serina responded.

The narrow road became a drive, winding down a hill through vast trees. Noting a fantastic oak that would have been several hundred years old in Europe, she realised that northern hemisphere trees must grow much more rapidly in Northland.

And Lindy was absolutely correct—they were magnificent. A great buttressed mound of foliage caught her attention and she twisted in her seat as they passed by it.

‘A Moreton Bay fig from Queensland in Australia,’ Alex told her. He slanted a glance her way. ‘Unfortunately, the fruit isn’t edible.’

‘Sad,’ she returned lightly. ‘I love figs. Oh!’

She leaned forward to examine a clump of jade-green trees that turned into one massive tree.

‘Puriri,’ Alex said. ‘They’re actually a bush tree, but they don’t seem to mind living in paddocks.’

‘If they were any happier they might take over the country,’ Serina said, amusement colouring her tone.

And then they drove through a grove of different trees and up to a house set in a great sweep of lawns. ‘Oh,’ Serina breathed on a long exhalation.

Alex’s home was glorious. He stopped the vehicle in a gravelled forecourt and, while Serina was still gazing at the long façade of the big house, Lindy came round and opened the front passenger door for her.

Feeling awkward, Serina said, ‘Thank you,’ and stepped out onto the gravel.

Alex collected the bags from the boot. Putting them on the gravel, he said, ‘Thank you, Lindy—I’ll see you later.’

Lindy’s smile remained firmly in place, but a certain stiffness about the set of her shoulders made Serina wonder again at their relationship.

‘No problems,’ the other woman said cheerfully. She bestowed that determined smile on Serina. ‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy your stay here.’

Once she was out of earshot, Alex said, ‘Welcome to my home, Serina.’

‘It’s amazing,’ she told him. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it.’ His friends lived in a sophisticated modern house—Alex’s home was clearly a relic of the colonial period.

‘High Victoriana,’ he explained easily. ‘It was built in the late nineteenth century for an Anglo-Indian who exported horses from here to India. Verandas were fashionable then, and he rather went overboard on them.’ He bent to pick up their bags.

‘I can carry mine,’ Serina said, reaching for it. Their hands collided and she jerked back.

Alex straightened with both bags. Eyes gleaming, he said, ‘My touch isn’t poisonous.’

‘I know that,’ she blurted, for once unable to think straight. She added, ‘Neither is mine.’

They measured glances for a moment and reckless excitement welled up inside her in a warm, heady flood.

Alex said deliberately, ‘Lindy is the daughter of the woman who used to be our housekeeper. She’s dead now, but Lindy and I more or less grew up together until I was sent away to school. In many ways she’s as much of a sister to me as Rosie.’

He was telling her that Lindy meant nothing to him—well, nothing emotional, Serina amended.

Actually, he probably meant nothing emotional in a sexual way, because he was clearly fond of the other woman.

In spite of her efforts, Serina found she couldn’t be adult and sophisticated about Alex and the way she felt. The sensations coursing through her suffered a far-from-subtle transmutation into a rising tide of anticipation.

Trying to quell it, she asked, ‘How old were you then?’

‘Seven.’ He headed up the steps and onto the stone-floored veranda.

Horrified, Serina followed. She’d heard of small English children being sent off to school, but she had no idea New Zealanders did the same. Before she could formulate some meaningless comment, Alex looked down at her.

‘After my mother died, my father married again. His new wife found a noisy, grubby, resentful child too much to handle, so off I went to school. Which is why Rosie and I have a rather distant relationship for sib-lings—we only spent time together in the holidays.’

Serina ached for the child he’d been, a small boy sent away from the only home he’d known, away from his playmates, from his father and the housekeeper—and the little sister—who’d been the only constants in his life.

She said, ‘I’m so glad my parents waited until Doran and I were in our teens before they banished us to school.’

He opened the front door. ‘I think Rosie had the worst of it. I settled into school quite well, but when Rosie was born her mother discovered she was no more maternal with her than she had been with me. And since my father, an archaeologist, was rarely here, Lindy’s mother was the only reliable motherly figure Rosie ever really had. And then she died when Rosie was eight.’

Serina’s heart was touched anew. Her parents’ marriage hadn’t been a comfortable one, but at least they’d been there for her and Doran. ‘I had no idea. Still, she’s got Gerd now, and I can tell he adores her just as much as she loves him.’

She wondered then if Alex might think she was hinting about being someone like that for him. Nonsense, she thought stoutly. You’re being ridiculous again!

Alex said calmly, ‘Yes, I believe they’ll make each other happy.’

The wide, high-ceilinged hall was superbly furnished with antiques, mostly English from the Georgian period. A superb wooden staircase, exquisitely carved in some golden wood, wound its way up to another floor.

‘Your bedroom is here,’Alex said once they’d climbed it, and opened a door, standing back to let her go in.

The room was big and airy, dominated by a wide bed. French windows led out onto another wide veranda; beneath and beyond it stretched lawns and a haze of flowers and palms against a background of those splendid trees.

After a quick glance around, Serina smiled. ‘I can see why you decided on this room for me. You’re determined to make sure I learn something about New Zealand’s plants, aren’t you?’

‘My grandmother was a botanical artist,’ he told her as she walked across to examine a series of exquisite watercolours. ‘These are some of hers.’

‘She was an exceptionally good one,’ Serina said seriously. She peered at the signature, and said in a hushed voice, ‘Oh—Freda Matthews! She’s acknowledged as one of the greatest botanical artists of the twentieth century. And she’s your grandmother!’

It was foolish to feel that somehow this forged a fragile link between them, but she couldn’t hide the pleasure that the slight connection gave her.

‘She died before I was born so I never knew her.’ He dropped her bag onto a low stool.

‘She left a superb legacy,’ Serina said earnestly, examining each image with intent appreciation.

‘Thank you. I think.’

His voice was grave but a note in it caught her attention. She turned her head, caught a betraying glint of amusement in his eyes and laughed up at him, her tension easing. ‘Oh, you and Rosie as well, of course!’

‘There’s that little catch of laughter again. Do you know how infectious it is?’