Stepping into the Prince's World (9 page)

BOOK: Stepping into the Prince's World
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‘No.'

‘So the uniform...?'

‘Probably needs to be returned—though it does have a few rips. My last pay might be docked.'

‘I thought you were AWOL.'

‘I'm not. I'm on indefinite leave until I can be discharged. That's why I was out in the boat. I had a last talk to my commanding officer and then went down to the harbour to think things through.'

‘So they might not even be worried about you?'

‘They'll be worried.'

She nodded, surveying his face. There was a long silence.

‘You're not happy about leaving the army?' she said and he shrugged.

‘No.'

‘But you're safe?'

‘Yes.'

‘You don't want to be safe?'

‘It's time I went home.'

‘Because...?'

‘My grandfather's in his eighties and he's getting frail. My grandmother worries. They need help.' How simplistic a way was
that
of saying what was facing him?

‘Oh, Raoul...'

The wind caught her hair, making her curls toss across her face. She brushed them away with impatience, as if the way it impeded her view of him was important. She was watching his face. She was asking questions she wasn't voicing.

‘It's tearing you in two to leave the army,' she said softly, and there was nothing to say to that but the truth.

‘Yes.'

‘What will you do?' she asked at last, and he shook his head.

‘I'm not sure yet. There will be things...that have to be done.'

‘Things you don't want to think about?'

‘Maybe.'

‘Like me when I leave this island.'

‘The army's been good to me,' he said. ‘This island hasn't been all that good to
you
.'

‘Hey, it's taught me rock-climbing skills. It can't be all bad.' She smiled at him—a gentle smile that somehow had all the understanding in the world in it. ‘Maybe we're alike,' she said. ‘Maybe we just need to figure where our place is in the world and settle. Stop fighting to be something we're not.'

‘Like you...'

‘A corporate lawyer? Rising above my station? I don't think so. As I said, I'm thinking of getting my job back doing legal assistance, working for the socially disadvantaged. I fit there.'

‘That sounds bitter.'

‘It's not meant to be.' She took a deep breath and turned to face out to sea. ‘I know I'm not socially disadvantaged any more,' she said. ‘But I also know where I don't fit. I tried to take a big step from my background and failed. I know where my boundaries are.'

‘So if someone asked you to take a huge step...?' Why had he asked that? But he had. It was somehow out there—hanging.

‘Like what?' She looked at him curiously. ‘Like Don offering me this job? That was pretty crazy.'

‘I don't know. Something adventurous. Something fun. All jobs don't have crevices waiting for you to fall into.'

‘No,' she said thoughtfully. ‘They don't. But it behoves a woman to look for crevices. It behoves a woman to be careful.'

And she turned and leaped lightly to the next rock.

He stood watching her for a moment, thinking of crevices.

Thinking of the royal family of Marétal.

Thinking that Claire Tremaine would think—like him—that royal life might well be one huge crevice.

CHAPTER SEVEN

T
HE
SEALS
WERE
AMAZING
—once you got over the smell. Claire had been there often enough not to be blown away by the aroma, but she watched Raoul's reaction and grinned.

It was a rocky inlet, far too dangerous to swim in or beach a boat, but the seals loved it. The rocks were covered by a mass of seals, mostly pups, basking in the weak afternoon sunlight or bobbing in the sea. A couple of massive bull seals were sitting at either end of the cove, watching over the nursery with brooding power.

‘Those guys fight a lot,' she told Raoul. ‘They think they're great, but when they're busy fighting I've seen younger males pop in and take advantage. Power doesn't always outweigh brains.'

‘You've noticed that?' He shook his head and went back to screwing up his nose at the stink. ‘You'd have thought these guys would have sorted a sewerage system.'

‘Maybe they don't have a sense of smell. Trust an ex-soldier to go all sensitive on me. Next time we'll pack some air freshener. But come and see.'

This was her favourite place on the island. Her favourite thing to do. The young seals were being joyous, tumbling in and out of the water, practising their diving, sleek and beautiful under the translucent sea and bouncing and boisterous on the rocks. The best vantage place was further round—a rocky outcrop where she could see straight down into the depths. She wanted to take Raoul's hand and tug him to where she intended to stand, but she managed to hold herself back.

She had no right to tug him anywhere, she thought. He was being sensible and she must be, too.

She thought suddenly of the young bull seals, charging in when their elders were fighting, taking their fill of the females and then leaving. That was what men did, she reminded herself.

But not Raoul. Raoul was different?

Or not different. Just...kind? Not leading her anywhere he didn't intend to follow?

So she didn't take his hand. She headed up to the outcrop herself and willed him to follow. As, of course, he did.

Despite his sense, he was a young bull at heart, she told herself, but she couldn't quite believe it. He was so like her. He was a soldier, a kid with no parents, a man with courage and with strength.

Maybe she could turn and touch his face...

‘What's happening?' Raoul asked sharply, and she hauled her attention from thinking about Raoul to the surface of the water.

All the seals were suddenly gone. The water, filled moments ago with tumbling pups, was suddenly clear.

And as they stared a crimson smear bloomed up to the surface. A silver-grey mass swirled underneath and then was gone.

Even the seals out on the rocks stilled. The world seemed to hold its breath.

‘Shark,' Raoul said, and his hand slid into hers.

Shark.

She watched the crimson stain spread on the water. She thought of the seal pup, its life over almost before it had begun.

She thought of Raoul in the water two days ago and shuddered.

‘You don't swim while you're alone here?' Raoul asked, almost casually, and she shook her head.

‘No.'

‘I mean...not on this whole island?'

‘Only...only when I'm pulling dumb sailors out of trouble.'

‘Have you seen this happen before?' His tone was still casual.

‘I...yes.' Of course she had. Seal breeding areas were a natural feeding ground for sharks.

‘The island's not very big. So there are sharks...
everywhere
?'

‘Obviously not where
you
fell in,' she retorted, trying to make her tone light.

‘But you knew...?'

‘No biggie. My lasagne will be cooked. You want to go back and have dinner?'

‘Half my kingdom,' he said, and now he'd forgotten to be casual. His voice was thick with passion. ‘It's yours. My life... You swam into these waters to give me that.'

‘Seeing as you've already spent more than half your kingdom, drinking Don's wine and smashing your friend's boat, that's not much of an offer.'

‘Whatever it is, I mean it. Claire...'

‘No biggie,' she said again. ‘Leave it, Raoul. I might even have done the same for Felicity.

‘You're kidding?'

‘Well, I might have swum slower,' she admitted. ‘I might not have minded if her toes had been a bit nibbled. But, yeah, I'm pretty certain I would have had to do it for Felicity. Not that I'd have enjoyed it.'

‘Like you enjoyed rescuing me?'

She gave him a long, assessing look and she grinned. ‘I did,' she admitted. ‘There are aspects of rescuing you that I enjoyed very much indeed. But I'm putting them on the back burner. You've decreed we be sensible, and sensible we shall be. Home to lasagne, soldier, and then bed. Alone.'

* * *

They ate lasagne and Raoul's truly excellent
tarte tatin
. They watched
National Velvet
and
The Sting
. They were excellent movies. They had trouble paying them the attention they deserved, but they had staying power.

At some time during one of the movies they edged together on the settee. There was only one blanket, and the snacks had to be within reach of both of them. It was only sensible to stay close.

The movies came to an end and they followed them with a nature documentary. Birds in Africa. Raoul thought he should abandon the television and head to his separate bed, but he didn't want to break the moment, and it seemed neither did Claire.

So they both pretended the birds were riveting. She was leaning against his shoulder, nestled against him. His chin was on her curls. She fitted into the curve of his arm.

She felt...
right
.

And he had to tell her.

Somehow he'd found himself with someone who must surely be the most wonderful woman in the world. Though that was a crazy thought, he decided. There must be other wonderful women.

But he'd met many women. His grandmother had pushed many at him, many had launched themselves at him, and he'd even pursued some himself.

None came near this woman. None made him feel like this.

But he'd been acting on a lie. Oh, he'd
told
no lies, but this relationship was moving fast, moving hard, moving to places he'd never been before and it was based on trust.

Claire thought he was a soldier. Claire thought he was a kid with no parents.

That much was true.

Claire thought his background wasn't so different from hers, and he'd let her think that.

He sat with Claire nestled against him and let things drift. He was savouring the feel of her, the silence, the peace of this place. He knew what was waiting for him in the outside world. The palace would be frantic. There'd be a worldwide hunt. The media would go nuts when he reappeared.

He'd like to hurl the SOS stones from the plateau and stay here forever, holding this woman in his arms. But his responsibilities were unavoidable. He'd walked from the barracks and climbed on board
Rosebud
because he'd felt overwhelmed by the responsibilities facing him, and those responsibilities hadn't disappeared.

His country needed him.

And Claire?

She had him confused. The armour he'd so carefully constructed didn't seem to be working against her.

He was a loner. He had to walk away from her—a plane might arrive tomorrow—but when he left he didn't want her to think these few days had been a lie.

She needed honesty.

He touched her cheek and she stirred and smiled—a smile that was so intimate it almost tore his heart.

He knew he made her smile. She made
him
smile.

‘Claire...?'

‘Mmm...'

All he wanted was to take her into his arms, make love to her and block out the outside world. Put it off. Take every moment of this time and let Claire find out when finally she must.

But
must
was now if she was ever to trust him.

‘Claire,' he said softly, and traced her cheek with his forefinger. ‘Let me tell you who I really am.'

* * *

Royal
.

The word was drumming a savage beat all through her body.

Royal.

She should have known.

How
could
she have known? She couldn't possibly. It wasn't as if he'd come out of the surf wearing a crown or something.

She choked on a sound that might have been laughter but wasn't. Raoul's hold on her tightened, but he didn't say anything. After telling her he was simply holding her, waiting for her to take it in.

And Raoul holding her was part of the dream, too.

This whole thing had been a dream.

Hauling a soldier out of the water, the deadly peril, the lifesaving stuff, being carried up to the house, her shoulder being righted, the care, the comfort and then the kiss. The beginnings of love? That was what it had felt like, she acknowledged, but of course it had been an illusion. A two-day fantasy that had culminated in the greatest fantasy of all.

A prince!

She felt very close to hysterics and her thoughts were all over the place. It was frogs who were supposed to turn into princes. Not gorgeous half-drowned soldiers who were perfect just the way they were.

‘I never should have kissed you,' she managed, because she had to say something. Somehow she had to move forward from this moment.

‘Because...?'

‘Because then you'd still be a frog. And I liked my frog.' She took a deep breath and pushed herself up. She sat and looked at him in the firelight. He gazed calmly back—her soldier, the man she'd felt seeping into her heart, the man she'd thought was within her orbit.

‘If we're talking fairytales...'

‘
Cinderella
's another one,' she said. ‘And I never understood that story. She got to change rags for tiaras, but everyone would always know there were rags underneath.'

‘You're not in rags. And tiaras aren't compulsory.'

And suddenly the conversation had changed. It was all about them. It was all about a future neither had even dared to consider until this moment. A nebulous, embryonic future which suddenly seemed terrifying.

‘I shouldn't believe you,' she said at last. ‘Why
do
I believe you?'

‘Because in telling you I risk losing you,' he said.

He wasn't moving. He was leaning back on Marigold's sumptuous cushions, watching her, giving her the space she didn't want but desperately needed.

‘And the last thing in the world I want to do is lose you.'

‘You never had me.'

‘No,' he told her. ‘But, Claire...I'm starting to think that what we have might be...possible...'

And she snorted. How did she feel? Humiliated, she thought. And lost. As if she'd lost something she'd never had.

‘After two days?' she managed. ‘I don't think so.'

‘It's true. If I hadn't told you then you'd be still lying in my arms, and that's all I want. But I had to tell you some time. Claire, does it have to make a difference?'

‘A difference to what?' Although she knew.

‘A difference to me seeing you again, off the island. A difference to taking this friendship further.'

‘You're kidding me, right? A kid from Kunamungle? A baby with no known father? A kid brought up on the wrong side of the tracks—and even though Kunamungle's small, believe me, there
is
a wrong side of the tracks? A woman who couldn't even get accepted in a legal firm? A lawyer with no background, no money, no aspirations, and now with the stigma of fraud hanging over her head? You're telling me you're heir to the throne of Marétal and asking if it makes a difference to a possible friendship?
Yes
, Your Highness...'

‘Don't call me that.'

‘Yes, Your Highness, it
does
make a difference.'

‘Why?' he said evenly. ‘Claire, nothing has changed. I still feel—'

‘It doesn't matter how you feel,' she snapped. ‘Haven't I always known that? It doesn't matter how you feel or what you want or what you hope for. It's what you
are
that matters.'

* * *

The night was too long. The house was too big. Their bedrooms were too far apart and Raoul knew he had to leave her be. Claire had retired to a place he couldn't reach, and after breakfast the next morning—another silent breakfast—she headed off for a long walk with Rocky.

‘If a plane comes I'll come back,' she told him. ‘Otherwise I could be some time.'

‘Like Oates of the Antarctic, heading out into the snow for the last time?'

‘Hardly,' she snapped. ‘I'm not about to die in the snow because of one prince.'

And she stomped off towards the cliffs.

He was left thinking that he really wanted to go with her. But he had deceived her. The least he could do was give her space. This would probably be their last day together. Surely a plane would come soon. Followed by a chopper to take him off the island. Followed by the rest of his life.

It was his last day with Claire and she'd left.

He couldn't blame her. Swapping roles, he might have walked himself, he thought. And then he really thought about it. If he'd been a soldier and only a soldier, and she'd been heiress to a throne, how would he have reacted?

He wouldn't have walked. He'd have run.

Even if it had been Claire?

Maybe.

He didn't do ties, and royalty would have terrified him too.

Maybe Claire was right, he conceded.
Cinderella
was a sexist fantasy. Put a woman in a beautiful gown, give her a tiara and a palace and expect her to live happily ever after? It wouldn't work for him—although the gown and tiara analogy had to change—so why would it work for Claire?

BOOK: Stepping into the Prince's World
3.66Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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