The Greek's Forbidden Princess

Except there’d been no next day for Michel and his wife.

‘I know.’ Lambis’s deep voice resonated around her, tugging at something sharp and raw inside.

Of course he knew. She’d told him when he’d flown across for the funeral. Why was she going over it again?

Amelie blinked and looked at the fire. It was easier staring at the golden flames than holding his sombre gaze.

‘The point is, Seb’s reaction to their deaths is...worrying.’ She slanted a look at that chiselled face. Still no hint of understanding. ‘He hasn’t cried. He hasn’t spoken. Not since the accident.’

That had Lambis’s attention. He stiffened, his brows furrowing down in a V of concentration, or could it be concern?

‘Hasn’t spoken at all?’

‘Not a word. Not to anyone.’

It had been uncanny, the way little Seb had stayed silent through those first days. It had worried her then but there’d been so much to attend to, so many legal matters and royal duties, meetings and consultations, she’d let herself hope she was wrong and it would resolve itself.

‘He doesn’t talk or smile or cry. He doesn’t react.’ Just saying it sent a quiver through her. She’d never felt so helpless.

‘You’ve sought advice?’

‘Of course. The consensus is that he needs time, though no one knows how much. Time and to feel safe and loved.’ Her voice caught on the last word but she refused to look away. She wasn’t ashamed of her feelings for Seb.

It was only what she’d once felt for Lambis that embarrassed her.

‘Then give him time. Give him love. Be patient.’

It was what the experts had said, each of them studiously ignoring the flaw in that simple approach.

‘I can’t.’

* * *

‘What do you mean, you can’t?’ Lambis had never thought to hear such words from Amelie. They shocked him more than if she’d begun unbuttoning that slinky shirt and invited him to make free with that delectable body.

He scowled furiously.

He didn’t want her here.

He didn’t want to get involved.

The fact his mind couldn’t stop conjuring images of a sexy, pouting princess, eager for his touch, was flame to the last shreds of his patience.

‘Of course you can. It’s what you do!’

Despite her regal posture and renowned diplomatic skills, the woman was a walking advertisement for all those soft, feminine emotions. She’d raised her younger sibling after her mother’s death, since their father, more concerned with power and his own pleasure, had no interest in family life. She’d been the stable, loving centre of their family.

She’d warmly welcomed Irini, married at twenty and feeling out of her depth in royal red tape and a new country.

Lambis still had the letters full of Irini’s eager confidences. About how caring Amelie was. How easy to talk to. When others counselled against a royal marriage simply for the sake of an unborn child, Amelie had taken the young lovers’ cause and won the day.

For that alone he owed Amelie a debt.

He watched her stiffen, her spine so straight you could use it as a ruler. ‘It may be what I do, as you so dismissively put it, but I can’t this time.’

Lambis opened his mouth to explain he wasn’t being dismissive, then caught himself. Never explain. Never discuss emotions. From a safe distance he might admire Amelie’s loving nature and the way she shared herself with her family as well as her nation, but it wasn’t his way.

Not any more.

Now her hackles were up. He watched, fascinated and, yes, relieved, as colour tinted her too-pale face. Princess Amelie of St Galla was a stunning woman. The warmth of her personality had a way of insidiously wrapping itself around your insides till you could almost believe...

‘You can’t? Why not?’ His voice sounded as if it scraped over ground glass. Not surprising when his throat felt coated with shards.

‘It means, much as I want to, I won’t have a chance. Time’s running out for Sébastien and we can’t afford to wait for time to heal him. Besides—’ she averted her eyes to stare into the fire ‘—the palace is no place for him to recuperate. Everywhere he turns there are memories of his parents. He only has to look from his window to see the bay where they died.’

He heard it now, the faintest tremor in her voice. Behind the faultless display of calm, Amelie was hurting.

Once Lambis would have gone to her and—

What? Put his hand on her shoulder? Cuddled her close? Assured her everything would be okay?

He couldn’t do it. Not least because he knew touching this woman would be the biggest mistake of the decade. There was no knowing where he’d stop once he started.

More importantly, Lambis no longer believed in happy endings.

He couldn’t lie to her. He’d never been able to do that, though for a while he’d been tempted. When, years before, she’d looked at him with those beautiful, luminous eyes and suggested he might spend more time in St Galla, not for Irini’s sake, but for hers. He’d been tempted to let her believe he could be the man she wanted, just to bask in her adoration.

‘Then take him somewhere quiet. Somewhere he can rest.’

Her eyes met his and fire flashed in his blood. ‘Easier said than done. Everywhere we go are reporters.’

‘Yet I didn’t see the paparazzi outside my gates.’ The more he thought about it, the more remarkable it was. He, with his experience as a bodyguard and later, running the best of the best in close personal protection, knew how difficult it was for non-professionals to evade a determined press. Yet Amelie had brought her nephew from St Galla, an island near the coast of France and Italy, all the way to Greece without being followed.

How had she managed it? He wouldn’t have thought it possible for a woman who’d led a sheltered life behind palace walls.

‘For now.’ Her tone, like her face, was stony. ‘You know I can’t evade them long-term. We need somewhere safe and secure.’

Somewhere like this.

‘This is my home, not a safe haven.’ Not for anyone but himself.

‘You promised to protect Seb. I heard you tell Irini when she asked you to be his godfather.’

The mention of Irini was a lead weight dragging at his guilty conscience. Another life he’d failed to protect.

‘I’ll find you both a place you can hide away from the press till you return to St Galla. Somewhere suitable.’

Somewhere not here.

Amelie regarded him coolly. She didn’t raise an eyebrow or twitch a muscle, yet she made it clear his answer wasn’t enough. For the first time in their personal interactions she turned into Princess Amelie. A woman who held her own with heads of state and tough negotiators. A woman with generations of blue blood in her veins. A woman prepared to take him on in his own territory.

No one did that. For years now Lambis had given orders and they’d been obeyed. His advice was highly sought, his presence ditto.

Yet Amelie’s cool regard told him she expected more.

‘So you’ll find your godson a bolt-hole then wash your hands of him?’

Her words pierced his conscience. Or maybe it was what remained of his heart.

‘It’s for the best.’

She shook her head. ‘I truly believed you cared. I thought you a man of honour.’

She rose. His trained eye noticed the slight wobble in her legs. She fought emotion or exhaustion or both, determined not to let him see.

She was so valiant his respect for her soared. Even as he wished her and her demands to the very devil. For she was wrong. He wasn’t the man to help. He wasn’t the man she believed.

She spun on one heel, walking away.

It was what he wanted. Yet his gut hollowed.

‘You said time’s running out.’ The words jerked out before he was conscious of forming them. ‘What did you mean?’

‘Why ask when clearly you don’t care?’ She didn’t even turn to face him. Only the rigidity of her slim frame and the hands clenched at her sides revealed her tension.

Lambis didn’t answer. To say he cared would be tantamount to inviting them to stay, and that he couldn’t do. Yet nor could he see her tension and not respond.

Damn the woman! She’d got under his skin once. He couldn’t let her do it again.

Suddenly she spun round and the change in her was a punch to the solar plexus. Gone was the touch-me-not Princess, the haughty aristocrat. Everything about Amelie spoke of heat and passion. From her flashing eyes to the heightened colour accentuating those high cheekbones and the sweet bow of her mouth, deliciously plump as if she’d been biting it.

The effect was instant and incendiary—a symphony of want turned his body to hot, brazen metal. He’d wanted her before, too many times to count, but not like this—as if he’d incinerate if he didn’t reach out and touch her, taste those kissable lips and possess that poised, perfect body.

Her chin tilted as if she read his lust and was disgusted by it. Yet when she spoke Lambis realised she’d noticed nothing but the worries tormenting her.

‘Because he’s underage, Seb can’t be crowned King. Instead he’ll be officially proclaimed heir and a regent will be confirmed. The date for the proclamation ceremony has been set for his fifth birthday next month. Since he’s no longer an infant, on that day he must personally accept his new status.’

‘And?’

‘And he’s required to speak. To accept his future role and swear an oath. If he doesn’t—’ Amelie paused and the colour faded from her cheeks ‘—if he can’t say the words, another heir will be found.’

‘But in the circumstances—?’

Amelie’s mouth thinned. ‘The law of succession is specific. He must make the oath himself or be barred from the throne for ever.’

Lambis felt his brow furrow. ‘But he’s Michel and Irini’s only son.’

‘And the throne is his birthright. But that doesn’t matter. What matters under St Gallan law is establishing the next ruler as soon as possible. If it’s not Seb then I’m informed it will be a distant cousin, a man currently being investigated for fraud.’

Her words fell like blows. Irini’s son disinherited? It didn’t seem possible.

‘Couldn’t the law be changed?’

‘Not quickly enough for Seb.’

‘What about you?’ When she simply stared he continued. ‘Why not make you Queen if the next legitimate heir is so distant?’ After all, she’d carried much of the royal burden, both for her father, then later for her younger brother as he’d adapted to the role of King.

‘Women don’t inherit the St Gallan throne. That’s a male privilege.’ Her tone was dispassionate, but Lambis wondered what it was like, eldest child of a monarch, forced to make a career out of diplomacy and public service, knowing you were barred from taking the throne for ever.

‘I need to help Seb find his voice again, because that will mean he’s recovering. And because without it he’ll be denied what should rightfully be his.’ She wrapped her arms around herself and something clenched in Lambis’s chest. It was so rare for Amelie to reveal vulnerability. ‘I couldn’t live with myself knowing I’d failed Michel and Irini’s trust in me.’

Lambis reached for the brandy he’d nursed before she arrived. One swallow and it shot a heated trail through his chest and down to his belly.

Amelie’s talk of trust evoked the harsh remembrance of his responsibility to Irini. Lambis had failed his friend once, with dire consequences. If he failed her son...

‘Why bring him here? I’m not a psychologist or speech therapist.’

Her face changed at his words. The grimness turning down her mouth at the corners eased, as if she sensed him weakening.

‘He’s fascinated by you. You know how he followed you around every time you came to visit. He thinks the world of you.’

Her shoulders lifted in the smallest of shrugs as if she couldn’t fathom her nephew’s taste. Nor could Lambis.

‘I couldn’t think of anyone else he cared about so much that they might help him through this.’

Lambis shook his head so vehemently he felt the tickle of his hair on his neck and jaw.

‘I wouldn’t have the first idea how to help him.’

But that wasn’t what made Lambis’s chest ice over. It was the idea of anyone, especially that small boy, depending on him to save them.

What a fraud he was! Every day he managed arrangements to protect strangers, some of them in the most fraught environments, but he couldn’t protect those closest to him.

It was a cosmic joke. And the tragedy of it was it was no joke. It was all too real.

The consequences haunted him every day.

He looked back to find her eyes fixed on him as if trying to see into his soul. He wished her luck with that. He was pretty sure he no longer possessed one.

Carefully he put the empty glass on the mantelpiece. ‘I can’t do what you want.’

‘You won’t try?’ Her fine features paled, pared back by tension and disappointment.

‘I’m not the man to help Seb. I’m sorry.’

He thought her mouth would crumple, and pain, swift and sharp as a javelin, lanced his chest.

‘Then God help him.’ She swung around and strode away, heels clicking on the polished floor.

‘I’ll find a retreat for you both. Somewhere the press can’t bother you.’ It was the best he could do. His pride and his conscience howled that it was far too little. But he refused to raise false hope. He was no miracle worker. Better for Seb to spend quiet time with his aunt. Surely that was all the miracle he needed. ‘It will be sorted by tomorrow.’

Amelie didn’t even pause on her way out of the door.

CHAPTER FOUR

LAMBIS TURNED FROM his computer, catching sight of figures outside.

Amelie and Sébastien, out so early that the snowy peak rising behind them glowed pink and orange.

Intrigued, he shoved his chair from the desk and moved to the window. They were an unlikely pair. The Princess wore waterproof boots that were too big for her and a bulky waterproof jacket he guessed was Anna’s. Seb’s clothes fitted better but the jacket was too long. Where had Anna found the gear?

Amelie led the boy across the pristine white of last night’s fall. Maybe they were out early because she knew the snow wouldn’t last. By this afternoon it would have disappeared. The forecast was for a return to warm weather. Not that they’d be here then.

He needed to get back to his messages. But he stayed where he was, watching.

Amelie talked, waving her arm enthusiastically. Seb said nothing and, though he walked beside her, his shoulders were slumped and his head drooped. He didn’t act like a kid enjoying the first snow of the season. No bounding across the white to leave footprints. He didn’t even bend to make a snowball, much less attempt a snowman.

As if reading Lambis’s thoughts, Amelie dropped to her knees and began scooping the white stuff together in a mound. Her face, pink with cold, was breath-stealingly beautiful. She smiled, talking as she worked, but there was a quality about her smile that spoke of strain.

She gestured, inviting the boy to join in, but he simply stood and watched.

The Princess’s expression froze for a second before she ducked her head, ostensibly concentrating on her task. When she looked up again her smile was as bright as ever.

Yet Lambis felt her pain. His chest clenched around the hurt. She was so stoic, so determined to persevere, even against what looked like hopeless odds.

Her words last evening had kept him awake all night, trying to fathom a way to help them. To help Irini’s child. To ensure Seb wasn’t deprived of his inheritance.

Lambis didn’t have what it took to get through to the boy. All he could do was lavish money on the problem and bring in the best specialists. But she’d already done that.

Which left him helpless and useless.

Lambis folded his arms across his chest, feeling the thunderous crash of his heart against his ribs. Frustration rose.

But that had always been his problem, hadn’t it?

He could look out for himself, he could keep total strangers safe but when it came to those close to him...

A shuddering breath seared his lungs as he fought the gathering blackness.

Outside in the bright light Amelie hid her fear behind that glorious smile.

As Lambis watched, something twisted and broke inside. His breath expelled in a huge rush and he found himself striding for the door.

* * *

‘When we’re done we’ll ask Anna if we can have a carrot for his nose. What do you think?’

Of course, Seb said nothing and Amelie was left to pretend she was having the time of her life, kneeling in the snow while her heart broke a little more.

She’d spent her life hiding feelings behind a charming smile but this was harder than anything she’d ever done. Each day, each hour, was more difficult than the last. She feared soon she wouldn’t be able to do it any more. But if she couldn’t be strong and reassuring for Seb, who would?

Movement caught her eye. It was Lambis, immensely tall and broad-shouldered, rounding the corner of the house. He wore boots, a black pullover and black jeans. With the golden light catching his bold, unsmiling features, he could have been the god of the mountain, marching down to see who’d invaded his territory.

Amelie’s heart gave a little leap and she looked away, concentrating on getting more snow for her rather pathetic snowman.

One day she wouldn’t feel this automatic spark of attraction, the infinitesimal catch to her breath when she saw him.

That day couldn’t come soon enough.

When she looked up Lambis had stopped. His attention wasn’t on her, but on Seb, and there was something about that hard, handsome face that made her still.

It wasn’t brooding anger or disapproval. It looked like desolation.

Amelie recognised it because it was how she’d felt when her mother died, and again after losing Michel and Irini. And this morning, waking to the knowledge there was no one to help her help Seb. That the chance of bringing him back from wherever he was, in time for the royal proclamation ceremony, was almost nil.

She looked at Lambis’s still face and fought to make sense of what she saw. He looked...haunted, his mouth a twist that tugged at something deep within.

Instinct urged her to go to him and find out what had triggered his anguish. To comfort him. But the memory of his words last night stopped her.

It’s what you do! That was what he’d said.

It was true. She was a nurturer, a carer, yet he’d made it sound like a terrible weakness.

She’d do anything for the people she loved. She’d supported her family and her people all her life. She believed in love. Yet the only times she’d reached out for love, she’d been rejected. Years ago the man she’d wanted to marry had abandoned her, frightened off by her father. The second time it had been this man, Lambis Evangelos, telling her he wanted nothing to do with her.

Well, he could whistle for sympathy. She was not wasting her emotions on him!

‘A snowman, eh? Not a bad effort considering there’s very little snow.’ His voice startled her. It held a hint of warmth that reminded her of the man she’d once believed she’d known, years ago in St Galla.

Amelie sucked in a breath of frigid air and let it out as Lambis hunkered beside her and added a clump of snow to her lopsided construction.

‘You’re out of practice, Princess. Obviously you don’t get enough snow on St Galla.’ He glanced at Seb, drawing him silently into the conversation, but didn’t wait for a response. Instead he reached out his long arms and gathered more snow in one scoop than she’d managed in four, adding it to the now rotund snowman.

And just like that the pent-up fury inside Amelie dissipated.

She couldn’t forgive Lambis his refusal to help. But for this moment he was an ally. For a few precious moments, she felt a weight lift from her shoulders as Lambis talked about the deep snows of winter. Lambis, the man who could be taciturn to the point of absolute silence.

Amelie sank back on her heels, brushing back a stray strand of hair with a horribly shaky hand. This morning she’d felt alarmingly close to breaking point, her emotions too near the surface. For weeks there’d been no one to share her worries about Seb except Enide, the elderly cousin who’d moved into the palace to support them when Michel and Irini died.

Dear Enide. She was the only one Amelie had trusted with the truth about this trip, though Enide didn’t know exactly where Amelie was so she didn’t have to lie if questioned. She was back in St Galla holding the fort, presiding over the few minor royal events that couldn’t be cancelled while Amelie and Seb took their ‘private holiday’. The major event, a gala celebration with the King of Bengaria, was being rescheduled to next month.

‘There, that’s better.’

Amelie watched in amazement as Lambis plucked two pebbles from the ground, uncovered by their scrapings, and pressed them into the snowman’s face, creating eyes.

Was this the same man who’d rejected her and Seb last night?

‘Very fetching,’ she murmured.

She glanced at her nephew. His attention was on the little, icy man they’d made. But there was no glow of appreciation or even interest in his expression. Just that blankness that terrified her.

Beside her Lambis rose to his vast, imposing height in one quick movement and Seb started. He didn’t precisely shrink back, but he stiffened. So did Lambis. Amelie felt the tension in his big frame, felt it in his utter stillness. Seb was nervous of Lambis, but Lambis was just as wary of him.

What had she expected? That Lambis would bond with the boy over a game in the snow and change his mind about helping?

Grumpy with herself because that was exactly what she’d hoped, Amelie got to her feet and shepherded Seb towards the house.

‘Come on, Seb. It’s breakfast time. I’m sure Anna’s got something nice for us to eat.’

Lambis’s voice followed them. ‘Then you can pack. I’ve organised a place for you to stay where you’ll be comfortable and private. Somewhere less wintry.’

He couldn’t wait to be rid of them, could he?

Amelie halted, hackles rising despite her attempt to stay calm. But it seemed she’d shed that ability last night.

What was it about Lambis Evangelos that made her feel so different? Unlike the controlled, careful woman she’d been for twenty-nine years? Every fine hair on her arms and the back of her neck prickled.

The man was immovable. She should walk away, not let him see how his rejection hurt.

Instead, Amelie discovered she really had reached breaking point. There was no other explanation for the instinct that made her, quick as thought, bend and scoop up a handful of snow. She packed it into a hard ball, then spun round and lobbed it straight at the tall figure behind her.

For the first time she could recall, Amelie had no thought for good manners or appropriate royal behaviour—things that had been drummed into her from birth. Only for the need to wipe the satisfaction off her tormentor’s face.

Snow exploded on his chin, showering him in white.

For a second, not quite believing she’d done it, Amelie stared, her eyes widening. Then, as he spat out snow, she couldn’t prevent the laugh that bubbled up and escaped her frozen lips. A laugh of shock and delight. If she’d aimed properly she couldn’t have done better. He looked as astonished as her.

Amazing how good that felt!

To act recklessly. To attack instead of taking her disappointment like a proper princess, always gracious and polite.

Amelie felt a rogue ripple of power through her chest and right down her spine. After the tension and worry of the last weeks it was marvellous.

She was still smiling when Lambis bent, shovelling up a massive handful of snow, shaping and throwing it all in one fluid movement.

It thudded into her arm, raised protectively in front of her face. Without stopping to consider where this would lead, Amelie scrabbled up another handful of snow, compacting it. She pitched it just as another massive snowball hit her shoulder, disintegrating in a starburst of white that blurred her vision.