Royals: Wed To The Prince: By Royal Command / The Princess and the Outlaw / The Prince's Secret Bride

Her tone revealed that she liked him. So did every other woman, Lauren thought with crisp cynicism as she walked into the coolness of the house and found her father waiting in a big drawing room decorated in a subdued palette of cream and ochre and the same silvery green as the olive leaves.

Nothing lushly tropical about this place!

‘Hello,’ she said and hugged him tightly. He returned it with vigour. Relieved, she pulled back and regarded him. ‘So now we know that you can travel by air without any problems,’ she observed severely, ‘you’ve no excuse to stay at home in future.’

He smiled at her. ‘It seems I need a nurse to keep an eye on me, but I got here in one piece. How are you, darling?’

‘A bit groggy from lack of sleep.’ Her rapid description of the exchange students’ antics made him laugh.

When she finished Guy said from behind, ‘I have an appointment in a few minutes, so I must leave now. I hope you enjoy your stay here.’

Flushing, Lauren remembered her manners. ‘I’ll come out with you.’

He stood back to let her through the door. Once it had closed behind them he said, ‘Walk in the garden with me for a few minutes.’

‘Why?’

His brow lifted. ‘Because it’s cooler than standing out on the gravel in the sun. Dacia is not as hot as Sant’Rosa or Valanu, but the sun will burn your white skin.’

Feeling foolish, she said, ‘Oh. Yes, all right.’

The garden, throbbing with cicadas, was certainly cooler. In the shade of a dark, dome-shaped tree, Guy remarked with disconcerting shrewdness, ‘Satisfied that your father hasn’t taken any harm from flying?’

She blinked back tears and gave him a strained smile. ‘He looks great. They both do. Guy—oh, in public, should I call you Your Highness?’

‘No,’ he said tersely, his voice quick and hard and cold.

‘I don’t want to break any rules,’ she said.

He showed his teeth in a smile that held little humour. ‘Between us,’ he said sardonically, ‘we’ve broken so many that it doesn’t matter. The first time you meet Luka, call him Your Royal Highness. After that it’s sir, until he tells you not to bother with formality. The same applies to Alexa, although she has a tendency to giggle when anyone calls her ma’am.’

He sounded fed up. Lauren said, ‘Thanks. In fact, thank you for everything. I imagine that between us we’ve made a huge mess of your schedule, and I’m sorry—’

He interrupted with curt impatience, ‘Don’t be foolish. Naturally I feel responsible for this situation; I shall do what I can to make it easier for you. Now go inside, have a meal, talk to your parents and go to bed as soon as it gets dark. Do you ride?’

She blinked. ‘Yes, I do. Well, Pony Club level.’

‘Then I’ll call for you after breakfast tomorrow morning with a suitable mount,’ he said and flicked her cheek with a casual finger. ‘Sleep well.’

‘No— Guy—that’s not a good idea.’

His black brows lifted. ‘What? Sleeping? I think it’s an excellent idea.’

The lazy, caressing note in his voice set fires smouldering deep inside her. Gritting her teeth, she said, ‘I don’t want to fuel more media furore. Shouldn’t we keep as far away from each other as possible in case the marriage has to be annulled?’

‘Discovering that the marriage might be valid hasn’t turned me into a serial rapist,’ he drawled in a voice like chipped ice.

Her eyes widened as she searched his hard face. ‘I know that, but—’

He cut her off with a total lack of finesse. Every word sharp-edged, he said, ‘My cousin Luka is as close to being an absolute ruler as you can get nowadays without aspiring to dictatorship. He’s slowly organising a democratic system of government—against the wishes of most of his subjects so far—but at the moment he can ban anyone he doesn’t want on the island, and if anyone does sneak in, he can see that they get shown politely off.’ He frowned, but his voice softened as he said, ‘Why do you think I brought you here?’

Lauren said doubtfully, ‘I hope you’re right,’ then made the mistake of smiling at him.

Her heart kicked into high gear when he smiled back. Experienced and wicked, that killer smile promised untold delights—delights that figured largely in her dreams each night, so that she woke hot and aching with frustration.

How long would it take for the Press to forget them? If she had to stay here for more than a week she’d be in real trouble…

He bent his head and kissed her cheek, a touch so light there was no reason for her bones to melt.

The heat in his eyes transformed into cynicism. ‘As for the Sant’Rosans, don’t worry about them. Believe me, they’re not in the habit of reading gossip columns. They’ve got more important concerns to worry about.’

He took her arm and steered her back to the house. At the door he said, ‘Get a good night’s rest. Shadows under your eyes don’t suit you.’

Towards morning Lauren opened her eyes, only slowly realising that she was staring at the tester of a massive four-poster bed. The fabric was arranged like the roof of a tent, fastened in the centre with a medallion carved in high relief.

A leopard.

She was in Dacia, and she was in love with a prince.

No, she was not in love—she was besotted, infatuated, in lust, smitten by the man, but never in love! As soon as she got back to work she’d see it for what it was—a temporary sexual bewitchment, so fierce it would burn out in the routine of ordinary life.

In other words, exactly what her mother had felt for the man she’d taken as a lover for one crazy week. Isabel had always loved Hugh Porter; when she’d come to her senses she’d gone back to him.

Lauren frowned and wondered why it was so hard to convince herself that all she felt for Guy was that temporary flash and dazzle.

Because he’d shown himself to be brave and chivalrous? Or something so simple as being able to make her laugh?

Whatever, she couldn’t let it affect her. Fairy stories were for children; she wasn’t a Sleeping Beauty and Guy was too tough and autocratic to be a fairy prince, and there’d be no happily-ever-after for them.

The bleak truth hurt, but not facing it would lead to greater pain; better to accept it, ignore the heartache and get on with her life. But oh, it would have been so much easier to deal with if she’d been able to go cold turkey. This stay on Dacia was going to be refined and subtle torture.

Thank heaven the media’s voracious appetite for stories soon burned out!

Yet she couldn’t regret meeting Guy. As for making love with him—the thought of never knowing that extreme pleasure made her shudder.

A wistful fantasy drifted across her mind; for a few minutes she indulged herself in the tormenting memories, but self-preservation forced the dangerously seductive images from her mind. Instead, she wondered what had happened to her laptop computer in Sant’Rosa; if she had it here she’d be able to contact Marc in the Seychelles. She should warn him that their relationship might become public knowledge. Besides, she’d like the benefit of his ability to cut concisely through to the heart of any matter.

Eventually she drifted off to sleep again, to wake with a thick head and a sombre mood.

In contrast, her father had never looked better across the breakfast table. Any pain, she thought with renewed determination when she ran upstairs to change into the jeans and cotton jersey she’d bought in New Zealand, would be endurable if it kept him safe.

A knock on the door heralded her mother. ‘You look much better,’ Isabel said with a smile that faded too quickly.

‘So does Dad.’

Her mother’s voice softened. ‘He loves this weather. In fact, he seems to have taken a great liking to Dacia itself. Darling, I’m so glad you’re here. I’ll never be able to thank the prince enough for rescuing you both times, from Sant’Rosa and then from those journalists.’ Her gaze lingered on Lauren’s face. ‘He was wonderful yesterday—just took over and organised us so smoothly onto the plane and over here. Your father likes him very much, and so do I. What do you think of him?’ she finished casually.

Lauren’s heart contracted. Infusing her tone with wry briskness, she said, ‘I’m very grateful to him, but he’s too much like Marc—inclined to take over.’