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

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.’

Another knock on the door produced one of the maids, to tell her with a broad, significant smile that Prince Guy had arrived to take her riding.

‘Make sure you put on sunscreen,’ her mother said automatically, then laughed. ‘I know, I know—modern cosmetics have sunscreen in them. I suppose I’ll stop being an over protective mother when you marry. Really marry, I mean.’

The taut note in her voice made Lauren say steadily, ‘That’s not on the agenda at the moment.’

After a second’s hesitation Isabel returned, ‘I hope that when you meet a man you can love, you won’t let any considerations weigh on you but your chances of a happy life with him.’

Their eyes met. ‘When I meet him,’ Lauren said quietly, ‘I’ll let you know.’

Her mother nodded.

Guy was mounted on a chestnut gelding; he rode, Lauren thought for one dazzled moment, like a centaur, at home on the animal in a way she’d never achieve. As she came out into the sunlight a groom dismounted from another gelding with an amiable face and two white socks.

After greeting them both, Lauren swung into the saddle and spent the next few minutes concentrating on staying in the saddle. Guy monitored her carefully, riding close enough to help if things went wrong, and proffering only advice she needed.

She had never felt so safe, she thought despairingly.

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