Stepping into the Prince's World (11 page)

‘No one can miss my SOS,' Raoul told her. ‘And if you
don't
go outside we'll have people thinking you might be wounded. I didn't have enough rocks to write a detailed explanation of the problem underneath. Claire, we need to be seen. Together. I assume they know you're usually alone here? They'll see us. The wreckage from
Rosebud
on the beach is self-explanatory. Let's go.'

So he led her outside, and they stood on Marigold's Italian terrace, and Claire waved and Raoul stood silently by her side.

He seemed grim.

And as she waved for the first time it struck her. What he was asking of her was huge, but what he was facing himself was even bigger. He'd been in the army for fifteen years—a rugged life, dangerous, challenging, but obviously something he felt deeply about. He was back in his army uniform now, having decided he wouldn't risk facing the world in Don's gear. But it was more than that, she thought. In his army gear he knew who he was.

She glanced at the set lines on his face and thought again of the reasons he'd walked down to his friend's boat and set out to sea.

This was an ending for him. And end of being who he wanted to be.

The start of his royal life.

‘You'll be brilliant,' she said, and he looked down at her, startled.

‘What...?'

‘As a prince. You'll be amazing. Look at you now—you've had three days lying around here and you could have...I don't know...rested on your laurels, played the royal Prince, ordered me around like anything...'

‘As if I would.'

‘Exactly,' she said. ‘Instead you taught me how to make
tarte tatin
, and if nothing else ever comes of this then I thank you. You've assessed this whole situation. You came over all bossy when you told me I need to leave. But more...you thought of the legal assistance thing—and, Raoul, I know that's partly for us, but it's also for your country. You're thinking of what it needs. If you start that way you'll be brilliant. I know you will.'

‘Not unless...' And then he stopped. ‘No. I won't blackmail you.'

‘Excellent,' she said as the plane swooped low, did a one-eighty-degree turn and swooped again, right over the centre of the island where Raoul's SOS stood out like a beacon. ‘Because we both have enough pressure on us already. All we can do is face forward and get on with it.'

CHAPTER NINE

T
HREE
WEEKS
LATER
, in an apartment in Marétal's secure legal precinct, she woke where she wanted to spend the rest of her life.

She woke in Raoul's arms.

‘Let me not move.' She murmured the words to herself, not daring to whisper, hardly daring to breathe. ‘Let me hold this fantasy as truth.'

For this
was
a fantasy. This was where Cinderella could have her fairytale, she thought. In the arms of her Prince.

No. She wasn't in the arms of her Prince. She was in the arms of the man she loved.

And almost as she thought it Raoul woke, and the arms that had held her even in sleep tightened. Her body was spooned against his. Her skin was against his. The sensation was almost unbearably erotic. The sensation was pure...fantasy.

‘I can't believe it's only weeks since I first kissed you,' he murmured into her hair. ‘It feels like months. Or years.'

They'd been businesslike, as planned, even though it had almost killed them. But they'd had to be. They'd travelled back to Marétal together, but as soon as their plane had landed Raoul had been absorbed back into the royal family.

Claire was being treated as an honoured guest. The story was that she'd rescued him and he'd been fortunate enough to persuade this skilled lawyer to take an outsider's look at the country's legal system.

There'd been mutterings from the legal fraternity—‘Why do we need such an overview?'—but she was young and non-threatening and the royal sanction was enough to keep the peace.

There'd been more than murmurs from the media—of course there had:
Prince trapped on remote island with glamorous Australian lawyer
. But Raoul had organised her clothes to be couriered from Sydney. She'd taken pains to appear in the prim clothes she customarily wore for work.

There'd been a lavish dinner held by the royal family to thank her formally for her heroism, and Raoul had sat by her side, but she'd deliberately dressed plainly, with little make-up and her hair arranged in a severe knot. Raoul had been charmingly attentive, but he'd carefully been charmingly attentive to the woman on his other side too, and the rumours had faded.

The media would have killed to listen in on the phone calls Raoul made to her every night, the calls she held out for, but the apartment he'd organised for her was in a secure part of the legal district where privacy was paramount.

‘If I so much as smile at you in the way I want to smile at you you'll be overwhelmed,' Raoul had told her, and she'd agreed.

This was the plan. She was here to do a job—wasn't she? Nothing more. And Raoul's calls... They were those of a friend.

Except she knew in her heart they were much more. She should stop them, she thought, but she couldn't bear to.

And the calls were a mere fraction of her day. For the rest of the time she could tell herself they weren't important. She'd buried herself in the work she was here to do, and somewhat to her surprise had found it incredibly interesting. There
was
a need. She could do something useful. Paths had been opened to her through Raoul, and through the interest in her background. She'd learned a lot, fast.

What she'd also learned was how constricted Raoul's life was. He could go nowhere without the eyes of the world following.

But finally, last night, Raoul's promise to keep his distance had cracked. A plain black Jeep had driven up to her apartment and paused for maybe five seconds, no longer. A soldier had stepped out and he'd been inside her apartment before the Jeep had disappeared from sight.

If anyone had been watching—which they probably hadn't, because interest had died down—they'd simply have seen a shadow, and that shadow had disappeared so fast they could never have photographed it.

The shadow had finally risked coming.

And Claire should have greeted him formally, as a friend—no, as an employer—but it had been three long weeks, and the phone calls had become more and more the centre of her day.

And, sensible or not, she'd walked straight into his arms and stayed.

The shadow was now holding her. He was running his lovely hands over the smoothness of her belly. He was kissing the nape of her neck. He was sending the most erotic of messages to every nerve-ending in her body.

Raoul. Her fantasy lover.

Her Prince.

‘How long can you stay?' she whispered to him now. She scarcely dared to breathe the question but it had to be asked. This night had been so unwise but it would have to stop. Was this all there was? One night of passion, maybe two, before she returned to Australia?

It had to be—she knew that.

Because she needed to return. She'd known that from day one, when she'd seen the sea of photographers pointing their cameras at her. Raoul was royalty and he lived in the media glare, and even if she was ever deemed suitable for him she had no wish to join him.

Except for the way he held her.

Except for the way she felt about him.

Except for now.

Last night... It had been as if two halves had found their whole. She'd walked into his arms and she'd felt complete in a way she'd never felt before.

Raoul had warned her he was coming and she'd made dinner. Dinner had been forgotten.

Dinner had turned into all night.

Dinner had turned into perfect.

‘I'm taking all day,' he murmured into her hair, holding her closer. ‘Imperatives be damned. You can't believe how much I've missed you. Holding you feels like it's making something in me complete. My Claire. My heart.'

‘I can't be your Claire, Raoul. It's taken you three weeks to find an opportunity to come.'

She didn't say it as a reproach. It was simply fact. She'd learned by now how much his country needed him. But he wanted to explain.

He rolled over, propping himself above her so he could look down into her eyes. ‘Claire, you know why. You didn't want to come to this country as my lover. Neither of us wanted that. We had to let the media interest die. But we can't go on this way. Maybe it's time to let the world know what's between us.'

He kissed her then, lightly on the lips. Or he meant to. His kiss deepened, and when it was done he pulled back and the smile was gone from his eyes.

‘I want you,' he told her. ‘I've never wanted a woman as I've wanted you. I've never needed a woman. Claire, every time we talk I'm falling deeper and deeper in love with you. My days have been a nightmare, a jumble of pressing needs, but every night I've called you, and that's what holds me together. Claire, I know it's early. I know I said you're free to go—and you are. But if you could bear to stay for longer... If you could bear to be seen by my side...'

And the world stilled.

She loved him. She knew she did. Their time on the island had been the embryo of their loving. The flight back to Marétal had made it grow. The long calls every night... The sight of him in the newspapers, discussing the needs of his country, shouldering a responsibility she knew was far too heavy for one man...

But to announce their love to the world? To let the media in?

‘You could face that?' She said it as a breathless whisper and he smiled then—that smile that did her head in, the smile that wanted her to agree to anything he suggested.

Anything? Such as walking out onto the balcony and shouting to the world that they were lovers?

Staying with Raoul seemed right. But the rest... It did her head in.

‘Still too soon?' he asked, sounding rueful. ‘Claire, I've known you for less than a month and yet I'm sure.'

‘But...' she managed, and he sighed and closed his eyes, almost as if he was in pain.

‘But,'
he agreed. ‘I live in a goldfish bowl. It's a privileged goldfish bowl, but that's what it is.'

‘You're doing your best to improve your bowl,' she told him, striving for lightness.

Striving to keep the underlying question at bay. Or the underlying answer. The answer she knew she'd have to give.

‘The news is full of reports of the discussions you've been having with your grandparents and parliament,' she told him. ‘They say you're dragging Marétal into the twenty-first century. You want parliament to have more power. You want the people to have more say. And yet the Queen is arguing.'

‘My grandparents have held the rule of this country for fifty years,' he told her, following her lead, maybe realising how much she needed to play for time. ‘They've wanted me to share that rule. It's come to the crunch now, though—they
need
me to share rather than
want
me to. I hadn't realised quite how frail my grandfather is and how much my grandmother depends on him. So they need me. But I've told them that if I'm to inherit the throne I'll do it on my terms. Or walk away.'

‘
Could
you walk away?'

He'd hugged her around so they were face to face on the pillows—the most intimate of positions. His nose was four inches from her nose. His hands still held her waist. They were talking of something as mundane as...inheriting a throne.

‘If they won't agree then I might not have a choice,' he told her. He sighed. ‘She's fighting me every inch of the way. Even security for the ball... Our security service is tiny, but it should
be
there. She refuses to have officers in the ballroom. But with so many dignitaries from so many places how can we check? The ball is for my grandparents and she insists on having her way.'

‘And if she keeps insisting?' She couldn't help it, a tiny flicker of hope kindled and flared. If he could abandon the throne... If he could just be what he once had been... Raoul. Soldier. Sailor.

Lover.

‘I don't know,' he said bleakly. ‘I'm trying to think of a path but there's no one else to take it on. I have no cousins, and the constitution states that the country reverts to being a republic if the throne has no heir.'

‘Is that a problem?'

‘After so many years under a monarchy parliament's weak. Anything could happen.'

‘So you're stuck?'

‘I think I am.'

The flicker of hope faded. Raoul smoothed her face with his beautiful hands and kissed her on the eyelids.

‘Don't look so sad,
ma mie
.' He hesitated. ‘Is it possible...?' He drew back a little so he could look directly into her eyes. ‘Is it possible that you've already decided you can't be with me?'

How to make him see...? ‘Raoul, you know I'd stay—but three weeks...and this is the first time...'

‘Because of caution. With no caution I'd have had you in my bed every night.'

‘And have the whole world looking down on me?'

‘Is that courage speaking?' An edge of anger came into his voice. ‘Are you
so
afraid of what people will think?'

‘Your grandmother made it quite clear... My dog...'

He managed a smile at that. The Queen had asked Claire to be brought to her straight from the airport. Rocky had just been released from his crate. The royal couple had been on the palace steps to greet their heir's saviour.

‘It was me who dropped the leash,' Raoul said ruefully. ‘After twenty-four hours in a cage he did what any dog would do. She'll warm to him.'

‘He's not remotely pedigree. Like me.'

‘What's the reverse of a snob? Someone who's proud of her convict ancestors? That should be you.
I'm
proud of your ancestors,' he told her. ‘They produced
you
.'

She managed to smile, but the knot of pain within was killing her. The thought of what he was asking was huge. To stand beside him in the glare of publicity... To pretend to be something she could never be...

‘Raoul, I can't do this. I need to go home.'

His smile faded.

‘I know you do,' he said softly. ‘I did know, even from the start, that asking such a thing of you was grossly unfair. I think I've always known what your answer would be. In your place my answer would be the same.'

He sighed then, and kissed her once more, his lovely hands caressing her body, making every sense cry out that here was her place. But it wasn't. It never could be.

‘Don't be sad.' He kissed her eyelids again, and maybe there was the beginning of tears there for him to kiss. ‘Let's pretend. Grant ourselves a little more time for fantasy. The ball is on Friday. You need to come to the palace to be fitted for a ball gown. I'm being fitted for my own uniform today. So—a fantasy afternoon with swords and tassels and tiaras and lace. Can you have fun with me? My grandparents are in the country, so we'll have the place to ourselves.' He grimaced. ‘Well, that's if you don't count a hundred-odd staff, but we pay them well to be discreet. And afterwards...a picnic in the palace grounds? Out of sight of prying lenses? Rocky's more than welcome. What do you say, my Claire? A day of fantasy and fun before we accept reality?'

How should she respond? She glanced across the room to where her severe black jacket hung on the back of a chair—her legal uniform, her life after this time-out.

Her time with Raoul.

‘We should end it now,' she whispered, because she had to. Because how was it fair on Raoul to keep him loving her one minute longer?

‘Do you want to?' he asked, and his hands caressed her body, and he touched her lips and smiled. ‘Now?'

‘Raoul...'

‘Another week,' he told her.

‘Of one-night stands?'

‘I'll take what you give me, my love,' he told her. ‘Because the rest of my life is a very long time.'

* * *

So there were undertones of impending sadness and inevitability, but at some time during the next few hours Claire gave herself up to the idea of enjoying this short sweet time, taking what she could and walking away with memories.