MAID FOR A PRINCE: (Book 1) (Point St. Claire, where true love finds a way) (8 page)

“Was your mother worried you’d run off for good?”

“She was worried I’d make the same mistake she made.”

“What mistake was that?”

She hesitated. But if he wanted to know… “She got pregnant.” 

The tweezers pulled back. The splinter came out at the same time Darius eyed her. After two beats, he moved off the bed then studied the tweezers in his hand. “I’ll get rid of this.”

It was an hour before he returned. When he eased carefully into his side of the bed, Helene was curled up facing the other way. She didn’t fall asleep until dawn.

She watched him stir to wakefulness, stretching those big arms high before rolling over. Instinctively, he brought her near. His chest rumbled while a hot palm wove down her back, over her behind, then up again until, eyes still closed, he cupped her nape and his mouth, hinting at a smile, claimed hers.

This had been their ritual these past few mornings, but this was different. This was their last day at the villa. The last time they would lie together in this bed.

As doves cooed from the nest built outside an orchard facing window, Darius slowly broke their kiss. His drowsy gaze roamed her face before, brows knitting, he brushed hair away from her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in that husky after-dreams voice that she loved.

“Just listening to the birds,” she said. And wondering when that boat will come…how I’ll say goodbye. 

He looked at her more deeply. It wouldn’t have been difficult to read her thoughts.

“This isn’t over. You’re staying with me when we get back, remember?” He brought her closer and growled. “I’m not ready to let you sail out of my life just yet.”

When the pad of his thumb slid over her lower lip, Helene leaned in and let his mouth slant over hers again.

“I have a trip to take next week,” he said after his lips had left hers. “An overnight stay in Paris. A friend’s getting married. Want to come?”

An overnight stay in Paris with Darius? It sounded like a dream. “Will there be evening gowns involved? I have a limited wardrobe.”

“Let me take care of that.”

She melted as his hand skimmed over her shoulder and halfway down her back. “You must get amazing invitations like that all the time,” she said with her eyes closed as she brushed her cheek over his.

“Not out of the blue like this one. It’s the reason I pushed my stay here forward.”

“Sounds like your friend fell very hard and very fast.”

“Seems so.”

Helene didn’t miss the note of hesitation in his voice. Was his friend the impulsive type? Did Darius disapprove of the fiancée? Perhaps he was rattled by the speed of that announcement. Had he assumed “baby on the way?”

Beyond the window, two sets of wings flapped at the same time his cell phone rang. He grabbed the phone off the side-table. Reading the message, he exhaled deeply.

“Our boat will be here in two hours,” he said.

Helene swept a gaze around the room. That soon? “I thought we’d have a little longer.” At least until after lunch.

When she tried to shift, the muscled arm draped over her waist kept her still, and his nose came close to play with hers.

“We don’t need to rush,” he murmured.

When he pressed her close, and his touch began to trail over her dips and curves, thoughts of the boat drifted from Helene’s mind.

“I love waking up with you,” he murmured against her lips. “I love how you feel, how you smell, how you taste.” His words were warm and deep against her ear. “I really don’t want to leave this place.”

Helene groaned.

Oh God, neither did she.

They were on the balcony enjoying a final cup of coffee when Darius spotted the boat heading their way. Setting the cup aside, he found his feet.

“They’ll be here soon. I’ll pack up the figurine.”

Helene hadn’t asked about the logistics of transporting the goddess to the main island. She only knew that no one other than Darius, his uncle, Yanni Kostas, and she were certain the figurine actually existed. One day she hoped Darius would move outside of tradition enough to share the figurine with the world. Until then she would keep his secret.

Returning from her quarters with a packed knapsack and the old pages she’d found, she saw movement in the study. Kneeling on the floor, Darius was opening a briefcase-type container. A moment later, he lifted the figurine down into the molded case. Before closing the lid, he gave the goddess one last look. So did Helene.

Joining her in the main room, Darius cupped and nuzzled her cheek. “All packed?” he asked.

“Do you think I could bring these along?” She showed him the sheets of paper. “I thought Tahlia might like them.”

“Sure.” He nodded toward the study and that monstrous oak desk. “Should be some folders in there. You don’t want the wind ripping those out of your hand on the sail back. I’ll meet you at the front door in five.”

Standing at the desk, she slid open the first drawer. Stationery. The second drawer held old documents. The third drawer contained a stash of personal cards secured by a perishing rubber band. The fourth and final drawer was empty except for some unused writing blocks. No folders, but if she slid the old pages into the middle of a writing block, her gift to Tahlia should be protected. When she heaped them out onto the floor, though, the base of the drawer seemed to spring back a little. She pushed down on the drawer’s base again. Ever so slightly, it bobbed back up.

From the main room, Darius called out. “You almost ready?”

“Be right there,” she called back.

After bobbing the base again, she tried to pry her nails in either side to lever the base out. No luck. Biting her lip, she made a fist and, hoping the base would dislodge, lightly gaveled her hand against the timber. She did it a second time, a third.

“Helene,” Darius called out, “we need to go.”

She leaned back on her heels. Whether she’d been onto something or not, she was out of time. But halfway up, an idea struck. With her legs spread either side of those drawers, she gripped the strip of slim panel nearest the floor and tugged.

The panel popped off and she fell onto her back.

Springing onto hands and knees, she checked the cavity. Inside laid a dozen pages of the same vintage as the first she’d found. Before Darius could call again, Helene gathered them up, slid them between the pages of the writing block and headed out.

An amazing sixty-foot sailboat was docked at the pier in an adjacent bay. The crew looked like the epitome of masters of the sea. Each man acknowledged Darius with a deep bow then a bright smile. But when they clapped eyes on Helene and her grubby, pint-sized knapsack, their expressions darkened.

As she moved forward, with the writing block pressed to her chest, Helene’s skin began to crawl. Had the crew been briefed to expect another passenger? Then they’d most likely know she’d been hired to care for domestic needs.

But Darius didn’t treat her like a maid. While he didn’t show any overt signs of affection, he made certain she stood beside him and personally helped her aboard. Holding his oversized briefcase in one hand, he escorted her to one side of the boat.

Feeling numerous pairs of eyes upon her, she tried her best to appear unaffected as the vessel slid out onto a sun-jeweled sea. While she drank in her final glimpse of paradise and slid the block into the front compartment of her knapsack, beside her Darius pointed out a pod of dolphins.

“It’s a good omen,” he told her.

She murmured, “If you say so.”

Ahead of the bow, a dolphin leapt so high and far it seemed to fly. His dark hair ruffling in the wind, Darius gave her a thoughtful look.

“Nervous?”

“A little.”
A lot.

He tugged her close. “My sister will adore you.”

Too soon, the smudge on the horizon became an island and then the blue and slate roofs patterning the rocky hillsides came into focus. As the dolphins guided them into the bay, a crowd congregated on the dock also took shape.

Her face cool from the salty breeze and back warmed by the sun, Helene clutched the rail as they cruised into port while a collective cheer wafted over the teal-ribboned sea to meet them. Along the narrow cobblestone streets, people of all ages were on the move, eager to welcome their sovereign home from his important time away. And as the boat docked and Darius waved to the gathering crowd, more cheers filled the air and hats flew.

When the gangplank lowered, Darius turned to her. “Wait here. I’ll have someone come get you.”

Rather than give her a kiss, he squeezed her arm and, before she could respond, he was off and heading down that gangplank. As he stopped on the dock before the crowd, a uniformed guard advanced to cover his back. A middle-aged man—bald with wire-framed glasses and a tailored white suit—appeared. With a discreet move, he relieved Darius of the case and its precious cargo. Yanni Kostas, Helene decided— Darius’s right-hand man.

Darius spoke in Yanni’s ear and the older man flicked a covert glance her way. The two men exchanged more words. Finally Darius nodded, the man moved off, and an elderly woman came forward to hold her monarch’s hand. Next, a girl, perhaps eight and dressed in her Sunday best, offered a bouquet of wild flowers. Others came forward, too, but while excitement undulated over the crowd, no one overstepped their mark. There was no hint of a crush. 

Helene noticed a woman in the crowd—a tourist or possibly a backpacker like herself. The woman’s focus was fixed upon Darius as she angled this way and that snapping off endless shots. For an instant, Helene imagined
she
was that woman, just part of the crowd enjoying the moment rather than the person waiting well back and feeling way out of her depth.

From her vantage point, Helene watched a magnificent ceremonial carriage weave down from Sangros Hill. As the clop of hooves grew louder, the crowd parted, and the carriage reined in close to Darius. With another wave to the crowd, he ascended the open carriage step and made himself comfortable behind the uniformed driver.

When Darius was well on his way back up the hill and to the palace, the crowd gradually dispersed. Helene, however, stood frozen. Darius had asked her to wait. He’d said someone would fetch her. Who? When? Perhaps he’d meant Alexio, although she hadn’t spotted her friend or his family in the crowd.

Now, with everyone returning to their business, she felt strangely out of place—invisible—as if she were standing on the other, darker side of a giant gilded mirror.

The man in the tailored white suit made his way up the gangplank with Darius’s case in hand. He stopped to speak briefly with the crew before crossing over to where she stood. With a thin-lipped smile, he introduced himself.

“I’m Prince Vasily’s Chief Aide, Yanni Kostas. He asked that I escort you to the palace. We’ll leave shortly. Tradition decrees the prince’s carriage must be at the top of the hill before anyone follows.” Shifting the spectacles higher upon his long nose, he glanced around. “Do you have luggage?”

Breathing a little easier knowing that Vasily hadn’t forgotten her—well, of course he hadn’t—she gestured to the knapsack nestled between her feet. With those protected pages resting in the front compartment, more than ever she didn’t want to misplace it.

“I’m good,” she said. “Thanks.” 

He gave that non-committal smile again. “A carriage is waiting.”

Following the man down the gangplank, Helene evaluated her guide. Obviously he was an intelligent person of high standing. And while Yanni Kostas was reserved, he wasn’t exactly cold. Darius trusted him and, right now, she felt as if she needed a friend.

While chestnut horses hitched to a closed carriage were brought over, she noticed some locals eyeing them. Then Mr. Kostas opened the carriage door, and they settled inside with her knapsack beside her and that case and its precious cargo beside him. As they pulled out of the city and the horses started their climb up the hill, she broke the silence.

“When I left the States,” she said, “I never dreamed my vacation would end like this.”

He nodded cordially. “Most unexpected.”

“My friends won’t believe it.”

Brown eyes behind their round glasses smiled. “You’ll need to send photos.”

As the carriage bumped along, quiet descended again. Helene gazed out the window, taking in the retreating view of the city before she asked the question burning on her lips. 

“So you know about the arrangement between Darius and me?”

His head cocked. “Arrangement?”

“I wasn’t sure about protocol in a situation like this—an outsider rocking up and moving in. But Darius seemed to think…”

Her words faded as her throat closed up. Mr. Kostas’s tanned forehead had drawn into a concertina of deep wrinkles and, behind those lenses, his brown eyes flashed and then narrowed.

“What do you mean…arrangement?”

He didn’t know? “Darius invited me to stay at the palace for a couple of weeks.”

Kostas’s tense expression melted. He even chuckled, a quiet low sound as he peered out the window again. “In that case,” he said, “protocol is covered.”

She wasn’t so sure. “For a minute, I thought you were going to throw a bag over my head and toss me in the bay.”

“I misunderstood. I thought you were suggesting something else entirely.”

“Suggesting what?”

“A much longer stay.”

“How long?”

“It’s of no consequence.”

She persisted. “Then there’s no harm in saying.”

Giving in, he tipped forward as if he feared being overheard. “I thought you’d implied something more permanent.”

She only stared. Meaning what? Like
marriage?

She coughed out a laugh. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Of course not. I know the prince better than that.” He looked out the window again. “
Much
better.”

As the carriage passed through grand garnished gates, Helene’s palm covered her belly. She’d been nervous about coming back to officially stay with Darius. Now she wondered if she simply ought to make an excuse and get out before things got any more complicated. 

What had possessed him?

Darius had gone over that question in his mind the entire carriage ride from the dock. As the horses pulled up in the palace forecourt now, he admonished himself again.

He was expected to greet the crowd and travel up Sangros Hill alone. But until the last moment he’d wanted to escort Helene at least as far as the end of the gangplank. He had warred with himself over the issue the entire boat trip back, but in the end, he had to concede that such an unprecedented, unexpected move would stir a public pot or two.

At the last minute, he’d chosen the path of least resistance, although he cringed at the idea of seeing Helene’s face when she finally showed up here with Yanni. She’d been nervous during the trip back. Had been uncertain when he’d left her standing on the deck. Now she’d be confused. And hurt.

He’d bent the rules by having her stay with him in the villa. He’d yielded and released the figurine from the protection of a safe. With the possibility—no matter how slight—of her having conceived, he’d decided to bring her back until all uncertainty could be cleared. On that matter he had no choice. He couldn’t risk the possible mother of his child disappearing, only to show up again in five or ten years’ time.

But to flout an unknown woman’s presence under the people’s noses in these circumstances? That he could not do. Still…

He should have warned her.

A footman opened the carriage door and Darius swung down, the soles of his shoes hitting the ground with a slap. As the driver jumped down, too, Vasily’s mind locked upon yet another matter that needed a delicate hand.

The dark-haired twenty-one-year old, always vigilant where his horses were concerned, crouched down to inspect a lead horse’s hoof. Darius wasn’t surprised Otis had been the one to collect him from the dock. The boy was neither a coward nor a slouch. He was never disrespectful. As Darius had told Helene, he’d always liked Otis. He was a hard worker who was polite and knowledgeable. None of that meant one of his staff should take advantage of a minor.

Okay, Tahlia was eighteen, not strictly a minor, but she was still naive as only a teenage girl with a head full of romantic notions could be. Helene had said he couldn’t keep his sister from being who she wanted to be. Perhaps, but neither could he stand by and watch Tahlia set aside this crucial stage of her education to chase a boy around a stall. If she went away to England for even a couple of months, the embers smoldering between the pair would surely cool. His father would have agreed. Tahlia didn’t need the distraction and, given the follies of young love, that’s all Otis was destined to be.

Otis had set down the hoof and was feeling around the horse’s knee when a sandy-colored canine bullet shot out from the western gardens. Darius relaxed. This was always the best part of coming home.

He’d had Ajax since he was a pup, a gift from his father. A dog truly was a man’s best friend, and his Cretan Hound was as true as they came. This lightning dash would end when Ajax came to a skidding halt at his master’s feet. Only when Darius snapped his fingers would Ajax leap up and enjoy a good ruffle of his coat and ears.

At the sight of Otis, however, the dog made an unexpected detour. Otis had finished checking the knee and was finding his feet when Ajax shot straight up and onto the groom’s chest, almost knocking him over. Otis only laughed—an easy, youthful sound. He scratched the dog’s ears, as Darius had done so many times, while Ajax’s curl of a tail wagged so hard it threatened to Frisbee off.

Too late, Otis flicked a guarded look over a shoulder. The men’s eyes locked, and the younger man urged the dog down. As Ajax continued on to Darius, Otis’s mouth opened as if to explain but then closed again. Darius knew that Ajax kept Tahlia company when he wasn’t around. Which meant nowadays Ajax would keep Otis company, too. Otis drew himself up tall, bowed, then swung up onto the bench behind the horses. With a click of his tongue and snap of the reins, he drove the ceremonial carriage away.

With a tight jaw, Darius looked down. Ajax sat, obedient at his feet. Sensing other eyes upon him, Darius glanced toward the terrace. A number of staff were waiting for him to greet them, too.

He was interrupted when a second carriage rolled through the gates and down the long, paved drive. With Ajax beside him, Darius drew himself up tall and waited. As soon as the carriage stopped, he opened the door himself. Yanni alighted first and, with a nod, departed off with the case.

Next came Helene, silky hair shaken out from beneath her cap. Her expression was unreadable, but the press of her lips indicated something other than calm. Darius took her hands.

“You’ve met my Chief Aide.”

“We had a chat,” she said. “Actually, we spoke about you.”

Darius inhaled deeply. “You’re upset,” he said.

“A little.” Her hands slipped out from his. “A lot.”

“It’s tradition that I greet the crowd and ride in an open carriage on my own up the hill.” The back of his hand brushed hers. “I should have told you.”

“That would’ve helped.”

He eyed the staff. Out of earshot, everyone still waited patiently. “I had to do what was expected,” he said. “I apologize.”

Her mouth tugged to one side, as if she were forcing herself to give it some thought. “I’ll get over it, I suppose.” After a moment, she shrugged and shifted her feet. “Guess I’m over it now.”

Smiling, he went to slide the knapsack off her shoulder, but she insisted on carrying it. He escorted her to the broad stone steps that led to the terrace. Midway up, he stopped to address the house staff.