MAID FOR A PRINCE: (Book 1) (Point St. Claire, where true love finds a way) (4 page)

Of course, he was right. They wouldn’t be stuck here if she hadn’t been in the wrong place at the wrong time. When she got back to the main island, she’d leave on the next boat out. If his subjects ever discovered the trouble she’d caused their prince, she’d be run out of town anyway.

Darius looked back and forth then made his decision. “This way,” he said, swinging down the left tunnel this time.

But before he’d taken two steps, the torch spat and threw sparks. The light flickered wildly and then blew completely out.

“Reach into my pocket,” he said. “Find the matches.”

Her heart thumping, Helene hurried to mold her palms over his lean hips and find his pocket. But after she scooped out the box, she froze. The torchlight was gone but she could see in the misted light. Then she saw it. Up ahead, a wedge of sunlight was slanting in from the ceiling like a greeting from the gods.

She almost threw her arms around him, she was so excited! Just in time, she remembered the figurine and stepped back. Knowing her luck, she’d probably bump it right out from under his arm.

They reached the spot and peered up. With natural light spilling on his face, Darius laughed. Helene laughed, too. She could have danced. Could have
cried
.

“It’s wide enough,” he said. “We can get out.” Then his expression hardened. “Except…”

“Except what?”

His gaze burned into hers. “I’ll lift you up. Then I’ll hand up the figurine. Put her aside somewhere safe, somewhere she can’t possibly fall. Find a vine or a strong branch and I’ll pull myself up.”

Helene did a double take. He trusted her with the figurine? Then again, he had no choice.

He set the figurine aside then locked his fingers together and knelt. “Put your foot in the net of my hands. I’ll hoist you up.”

She studied his thatched fingers, then the hole above and a thousand butterflies released in her stomach. Suddenly it looked so much higher.

Darius waited for Helene to step up before he bit by bit straightened. She was raised up until, finally, her head poked out into the outside world. But she was taking too long to get a grip and lever herself out. She was like a cat clamoring to escape from the lip of a well, which made keeping a good hold of her near impossible.

When her other foot balanced on his head, he called out. “Grab onto something.
Any
thing.”

“Almost…” She jiggled. “Almost there.”

Finally her weight lifted and she heaved herself completely out and into the sunshine. Now came the hard part.

“Are you all right?” he shouted up.

Her hair fell toward him at the same time her beaming face appeared over the opening. “Uh-huh.”

His gaze slid over to the figurine. Never in the history of his country had any hand other than a royal’s or chief aide’s touched her. But today was the day for traditions to be challenged. Collecting the figurine, he sent up a prayer then raised her high.

“Can you reach?” he called.

Helene dropped both arms down and wiggled her hands like a child begging for a toy. He remembered the bucket crashing to the ground and an image flashed through his mind—the figurine slipping through those buttery fingers, smashing into a thousand useless pieces—and his gut kicked so hard that he groaned.

“My leg’s wrapped around a vine,” she said. “I’m anchored. Lift her a little higher.”

He rounded up on his toes, stretched even more. Slender fingers wrapped around the stone head. When he was certain she had a good grip, he sent up another prayer and let go.

The figurine disappeared.

He blinked. Frowned. Waited.

“Helene?”

He heard birds outside and the distant lulling wash of waves, but from Helene, not a chirp. Then the grass around the opening shifted and her face popped into view again.

“I’ve got something rigged up.” She dropped a thick vine that uncoiled down into the cavity. “I’ll hang on here.”

“The figurine?”

“Lying beside a tree. She wants me to say she’s enjoying the sunshine.”

His grin was wry.
Enjoy it while it lasts
. He’d be a basket case until the goddess was locked away again.

“If this doesn’t work,” Helene said, “I’ll run and get that ladder from the stables.”

But he was already climbing, his movements swift and sure. Soon he was crawling out, filling his lungs. Fresh air had never smelled so good. The world had never looked so bright.

Crouched on his hands and knees, Darius laughed. On her knees beside him, Helene laughed too, so much that she toppled sideways. He half caught her and then they were rolling together on the ground. They’d escaped. Thank the heavens, they were alive!

By the time their laughter petered out, they lay side by side, face to face in the grass, with their chests pumping from exertion and relief. His arm had fallen over her waist. One long leg was carelessly thrown over his. The late afternoon sun streamed down, warming their skin, and her crystalline-blue eyes were so close that her pants for air brushed and teased his lips.

Out the corner of his eye, he spotted the figurine lying on her side, a reflection of how he and Helene also lay. Her stone eyes were sightless and yet they seemed to see so much.

As if she knew.

Irrespective of the trouble she’d caused, he wanted to bring Helene close again…much closer than he had in the depths of the cave.

Not happening.

Getting to his feet, Darius collected the figurine. He was inspecting her in the light when Helene got to her feet, too.

“You know, I think she’s smiling, too.”

A breeze lifted the sarong around and between her legs. A bikini top covered breasts. Mussed hair flowed, blue eyes shone, and every cell in his body demanded to touch her again.

He took his time studying the smudges on her brow and jaw and then, giving in to the urge, he smiled softly, reached across and cupped her cheek.

The man wanted her to stay.

The prince knew she needed to go.

“It’s been, what―maybe two hours since the cave in?” Helene asked as she followed Darius over a landscape that, given his stride, he knew very well. “Alexio should be here by now. Or maybe when he couldn’t find us, he decided to go back. Get help.”

“I’ll make the call when we get to the villa.”

Helene wasn’t sure what he meant. “When you left me by the stables, you did contact the palace, right? You told someone I needed to be picked up?” Taken away.

With his stride picking up more, he blew out a loud breath. “Don’t worry. You’ll be off this island soon enough.”

Unlike that moment of celebration after their escape, laughing and rolling around on the grass, this trek “home” was weirdly reserved. Understandable. In the short time they’d known each other, she’d nearly dropped a bucket on his head and had almost led him to his death. Now he only wanted to see the back of her. She didn’t want to cause any more hassles either. The sooner she was off this island, the better.

By the time they reached the villa, Helene was hungry, thirsty, and completely exhausted. She made it through the front door with barely enough energy to drag a gaze around. But her new surroundings were too beautiful to ignore.

High cool ceilings, an ornate spiral staircase and heavy wooden furniture welcomed her in. A bubbling indoor fountain, bougainvillea-laced trestles, and a lengthy cream and blue couch were a few paces away from a balcony. With the doors open, a warm breeze stirred the gossamer-light curtains.

“How old is this place?” she asked.

Darius stood before a massive gilt-framed entrance mirror, inspecting the figurine yet again.

“The foundations predate the start of the Roman Empire,” he said. “It’s been refurbished many times. Some of the original stonework is still in place.”

She swallowed against a dry throat. Questions later. Right now she was dying of thirst. “Do you have anything to drink? I’m bone dry.”

He looked over and his tense look melted with apology. After crossing to a bar, he paused and glanced around. Gingerly, he set the figurine on a massive wooden table. When he was certain she was steady, he saw to drinks.

They downed two glasses of water each before he filled goblets with wine. “I’ll leave you for a moment,” he said, and nodded at the figurine. “I need to put her away.”

In a vault, locked away for safekeeping? What a waste.

But, sure. None of her business.

Once he was gone, Helene drifted around the room. Like he’d said, much of the villa and its contents dated back years, in some instances centuries, but a lot of the touches were contemporary. A stereo and CD system. In an adjoining room, a laptop on a massive wooden desk.

A portrait of the Tierenias royal family hung on the main wall. The late king’s hand rested on his wife’s shoulder as she posed on an ornate chair with two teenage sons and a younger daughter clustered around. Darius had said that after his father had passed, his mother had died of a broken heart. When her father had died, Helene’s mom had become a nervous wreck, anxious about every little thing, especially where her only child was concerned.

Muscles aching, dragging her feet, Helene found a bathroom and washed up. With Darius still not  back, she drifted out onto the balcony.

Looking out over the ocean, she stretched her arms high and breathed in the heady scent of briny air while two wrens darted, chasing each other an arm’s length away.

“It’s like standing at the beginning of time,” she murmured, soaking up the glittering azure waters, the sun-drenched open space.

She thought about the figurine―the goddess―and her fate of being locked up forever. Obviously a block of stone had no feelings. Still, Helene couldn’t help but sympathize. Why exist if you couldn’t breathe and have all the freedom you could find?

She wandered back inside. Her untouched goblet waited, but wine would only make her eyelids droop more. She walked around a comfy-looking sofa and sat down. Setting an elbow on the armrest and her cheek in her palm, she settled in and yawned again.

Darius allowed himself time to admire the figurine and dwell upon their lucky escape before he carefully placed her in the vault. Now he would make that phone call and have his adventurous guest taken away. No more surprises or distractions.

He couldn’t afford it.

Still, for all the drama that seemed to surround her, he wasn’t angry. Or, at least, he wasn’t angry anymore. Helene Masters felt bad enough.

There was a phone extension in his bedroom, but he preferred to use his cell, which he’d left on the balcony before rushing off to find Helene. Moving through the main room, he stopped when he spotted his guest. Helene was passed out on the sofa—eyes closed, mouth open. Her breathing was deep and regular.

Asleep she looked as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. He pitied the poor guy who fell in love her. But, hell, he envied him as well. The man Helene Masters married was in for quite a ride.

As the palm holding up one cheek began to slide, Helene’s head lowered, coming to lie on her forearm hung over the armrest. Darius fetched a pillow and a light throw-over. After carefully slipping the pillow under her head and covering her with the blanket, he stood back and ran a hand through his hair. She was as peaceful as an angel and just as beautiful, in a lost puppy, bedraggled kind of way. But he wouldn’t put off the inevitable.

He needed to make that call.

Helene stretched and blinked open her eyes. Then she recognized the room, remembered the cave—the prince—and she cringed. She’d caused that poor man so much grief, and then she’d made herself right at home by falling asleep on his couch.

And where was Alexio, her ride out of here?

Sitting up, she pushed a throw-over aside and glanced around. A black satin sky, laced with stars, glittered back at her from beyond the open balcony doors. A corner lamp filtered soft yellow light over the space inside. She pushed back hair that had fallen over one eye. How long had she slept?

A noise came from behind her. Helene stood, spun around. Darius Vasily was sauntering toward her.

“I wondered when you might wake up,” he said, grinning. “You must be hungry.”

Her stomach answered with a rumbling growl. She shrugged. “Guess I am.”

He wore a white casual button-down and clean trousers. As he drew nearer, she inhaled delicious, freshly-soaped male. It only made her own sweat-and-dirt smell more obvious. She so needed a bath.

“Why did you let me sleep so long?” she asked.

“You weren’t causing any harm—for once.”

He grinned again, slow and slanted. This close—in this light—her breath was taken away. He was larger than life—sizzling with sex appeal and so comfortable in his own skin. Her fingers itched to graze the bristles on his jaw, the smooth sweep of his lips. Then he disappeared down a hallway—the one where he’d taken the figurine hours ago—and she let out that pent up breath.

A couple of minutes later, he was back carrying a plate of food. He set the plate on the table then pulled out a heavy chair. Grilled eggplant, zucchini, and potato filled with tomato and peppers. Her mouth began to water.

After taking a seat, he poured wine. Helene swallowed two mouthfuls and flinched. “Sorry. Greek wine must be an acquired taste.” The bouquet was pine but the taste reminded her a little of her turpentine.

He said that he’d already eaten a while ago, so she dug in, polishing off eggplant and potato while Darius sipped his wine and surveyed the silver-ribboned sea visible beyond the balcony. When she’d had her fill, she dabbed the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin and then glanced back down the hallway.

“Is your goddess safely tucked away?”

He gave her a knowing look. “Yes. She’s safe.”

“Next week you’ll be able to take her home. Before you know it, she’ll have worked her magic and you’ll be married with your very own happy little family.”

“A family. Yes.” He studied his wine. “I have every faith.”

She arched a brow. “Maybe you already have a girlfriend waiting in the wings?”

He shook his head then sat straighter. “Although there was a girl once, but she expected too much.”

“A new palace?”

“A kiss. I was eight and wise enough not to give in,” he smiled across at her, “even if she could bait a hook faster than any boy I’d known.”

“So you were the one who got away.”

As her grin softened, she glanced at the royal portrait and thought about lasting love and broken hearts.

“Your parents must have been very much in love.” Hers had been, too. When Darius didn’t reply, she gently prodded. “You said your mother died of a broken heart.”

“I meant that was how her death was reported by the media. Actually, she’d had an aneurism from birth. It was simply her time.”

Still sad, but not nearly as romantic.

She studied the portrait again. Everyone looked so happy.

“My mother was a princess from the Middle-East,” Darius went on. “When she and my father met at a state dinner, he decided they were well-suited. A marriage was arranged. Even before she became queen, she stole the hearts of the people. She was refined and gentle and always kind.”

“And your father?”

Darius’s chin went up. “He was a strong leader. Duty came first.”

From a child’s or wife’s point of view, Helene wasn’t sure that was such a good thing.

“Will you marry out of obligation, too?”

Sometimes she wondered whether that right someone for her was really out there. One thing she
did
know, though—she would never marry unless she was sure they would be happy together for the rest of their lives. Darius’s reply was good humored.

“You don’t need to concern yourself with my love life, Helene.”

“I only meant that marrying someone you weren’t in love with would be hard.”

“Not as hard as putting your country’s peace at risk.”

She remembered a story. “You’re talking about that rebellion all those years ago? A king married a commoner, right?”

“In history’s eyes, it wasn’t that long ago. Not only was she not of royal blood, she was rumored to be carrying another man’s child. Not a single image of her survived that time, but she was reputed to be extremely beautiful as well as shy or perhaps haughty. She rarely went out in public. After the child was born, gossip and anger spun out of control. The palace was attacked. People died.”

“Still—a hundred years ago…”

“More recently, my own uncle made a similar mistake. The woman he fell for had been married before.”

Helene deadpanned. “How shocking.”

He shrugged. “There were protests. Unrelenting. Even violent. Finally my uncle abdicated and my father, the younger brother, was forced to step up.”

But this was the twenty-first century. She was about to point out that even kings got a choice of how to marry these days, but Darius changed the subject.

“So, you have a degree. Which university?”

“North Rock, Maine. I majored in history.”

She prattled on about her studies and her friends, bookkeeper-slash-wannabe actress Billy Slade in particular. When she mentioned Billy’s ongoing search for an heirloom stolen almost a decade ago, Darius scowled and nodded. Jewels and other valuables had been taken or destroyed during that rebellion a hundred years ago. But before he got too deep into the story, he stifled a yawn and pushed wearily to his feet.

“You’ll need to excuse me. I’ve been up since dawn,” he said. “You’ll find suitable quarters down that hall.” He gestured to a separate hallway and said goodnight. 

Then, without a word about tomorrow, he disappeared again, and she was left alone in the soft yellow light with the family in that portrait peering down at her like a band of ghosts.

The next morning, arriving back at the villa from a walk, Darius found Helene in the kitchen. Oil, crushed walnuts, milk, sugar, and half a dozen other ingredients lined the counter. When she glanced up from beating eggs, he hid a grin at the pat of flour on her cheek.

She glanced down at the simple white shirt she wore that, given her height, served more as a dress. “I borrowed this from the wardrobe.”

He preferred her in a bikini and sarong, but best not tell her that.

“That room’s usually used by domestic help,” he said, strolling over. “You’d have found something different hanging in the closet if you’d stayed in my sister’s room. She’s a fan of jeans, the tattier the better.”

“Your sister and I would get along then.” She reached for a sifter. “Hope you’re hungry.”

When Darius had headed out this morning, he’d noticed the dishes were done and bits and pieces had been put away. Now Helene was cooking.

He crossed over. After looking over the ingredients, he nodded at the cake pan. “Karidopitda?”

“Gia, Alexio’s wife, taught me.” She added sugar, milk, and oil to the bowl.

“You’re a good cook?”

“I try.”

Earlier, Darius had spoken with his Aide. Helene’s story regarding college checked out. After finishing high school, she’d enrolled and had completed a degree, and not in journalism. Helene Masters wasn’t a reporter. She was an ordinary woman caught up in his sudden change of plans.