Princess in the Iron Mask (11 page)

From the corner of her eye she watched him flex his neck, his wide chest heave.

‘We cannot always have what we desire, Claudia,’ he bit out.

‘Fine.’ She pinned her spine to the seat and pulled the cord on her belt to cinch the black strap nice and tight. ‘Refuel and take me home. Your mission is unaccomplished. Because I’m not getting off this plane.’

He raked his hands through his gorgeous sable hair and the silence stretched to a thick oppression. One she couldn’t seem to breathe through.

One of the male flight attendants swerved towards them and Lucas hollered, ‘Go the hell away.’ So loud Claudia flinched.

Waiting until the attendant had darted towards the cockpit and disappeared from sight, she turned back to Lucas. ‘Are you angry with me?’ Stupid question when she was hyper-aware of the dark power emanating from his body, pulsing through the air, humming over her skin. Perversely, she’d never felt so protected in her entire life.

‘Goddamn furious. You play a dangerous game with me, Claudia. I make the rules.
Comprende?
’

Oh, she understood perfectly. ‘So tell me the new rules and I’ll obey. Every single one.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘W
OW
.
B
EING
H
EAD
OF
S
ECURITY
must pay well.’

With the exception of Marianne, his housekeeper, Lucas had
never had a woman in his home before. Now he knew why. It was a complete
invasion of privacy and entirely too distracting. He’d rather camp with twenty
men than one of Claudia.

‘Glass. Everywhere. I suddenly feel like a goldfish swimming
around an enormous bowl,’ she said, with a quick tug on the sleeves of her
jacket.

Ah, yes, Lucas mused, his mouth twisting. She preferred walls
of steel to match the walls she’d built up inside herself. At first he’d thought
the vulnerability was her cloak. He’d been wrong. It was her inner core.
Everything was designed to fight off intruders like some high-tech alarm system.
Together with her high intellect, it was unsurprising no one had managed to
breach it.

Standing in the centre of the hundred-foot open-plan living
area, he watched her absorb his life, the pit of his stomach weighted with lead.
This was a mistake. He knew it. He didn’t want her here. Didn’t want any woman
here. Especially not her. But what choice did he have? Dragging her to the
palace would have been more barbaric than even he was capable of. And the panic,
the terror, the vulnerability in her eyes—
Dios,
it
got to him every time. At least here she was safe. From what haunting demons he
had no idea. But he intended to find out.

‘The view is the most spectacular I’ve ever seen,’ she said,
awe lending her voice a creamy note. She moved up close to the wide plate glass,
looking towards the ocean, and sunlight gilded her in an angelic aura. He knew
then she’d been in the dark too long.

She trailed her fingers along the polished black top of his
baby grand and he could feel those very tips branding his skin, setting his
blood on fire.

‘I’m not sure what I expected,’ she said, slowing to examine an
original masterpiece taking centre stage on one of the few internal walls.
‘Beautiful brush strokes. I’m sure the National Gallery has one of these.’

With a tilt of her head she bestowed upon him her profile. The
soft curve of her lip told him she knew all too well the value of the painting.
But purchasing the portrait hadn’t been about money or investment or even the
artist. It had everything to do with the subject.

‘What did you expect?’ he asked, unsure why he even cared for
her opinion.

Swivelling on her low heels to face him, she gave a small
smile, lifted at one side in a kind of embarrassment. ‘Probably some
Americanised version of a bachelor pad. Huge TV, empty pizza boxes and...’
Colour warmed her cheeks rose-gold.

‘And?’

‘I was going to say a stash of
Playboy
magazines, but for all I know you have a girlfriend.’ Biting
her lip, she lifted one foot, bent her ankle and scratched her opposite calf
with the black peeptoe. ‘Which, come to think of it, is something I should’ve
asked before I ki—’

Jumping in before the image engulfed him, he bit out, ‘I do not
get involved with women, Claudia.’ He laid his commitment-free card face-up. For
both their sakes. Lucas would
not
kiss her under
this roof. Because if he did he would never stop.

Claudia pursed her lips, canted her head. ‘At all?’

‘No. Like you, I live for my work. I have neither the time nor
the inclination for relationships.’

He had one-hour-stands with women who knew the rules. Claudia
wouldn’t know what to do with a rulebook if it smacked her on the head—something
that made him doubly wary of their current predicament.

‘Something else we have in common, then,’ she said.

‘I cannot think of any possible “something else”.’

‘You value your privacy. You don’t talk much about
yourself.’

‘It is not necessary in my job.’ He was being sharp—overly so.
But he needed her to understand. Just because she’d managed to wrangle herself a
bed under his roof it didn’t mean she could burrow into his life. And to stop
her from doing just that, Lucas was determined to focus on hers. When she
finally decamped he’d make damn sure she held her head high, without the need
for any of her façades.

‘Our agreement was one week. Seven days and seven nights you
may stay. Your father was quite willing to allow you time to acclimatise.’ The
relief in Henri’s voice had said it all. She was on Arunthian soil and that was
what mattered. Lucas’s secluded estate rivalled Fort Knox, so they would be free
from prying eyes.

No, the real problem was standing directly in front of him. One
finger swirling around her pout, one hip tilted in that sexy pose that made his
blood roar.
Dios...

Hoping she would retire and leave him with some measure of
peace, he said, ‘First thing tomorrow we visit your parents, and during the
remaining time I will reintroduce you to your country.’

Eyes widening, her mouth worked. ‘Tomorrow?’

‘
Sí.
And then I will show you your
real
home.’ Once she became captivated by her
heritage and discerned her true import the desire to do her duty would come, he
was sure.

If what she said was true and she was uncomfortable around
people he needed to fix it. Otherwise, come the end of the week, they would be
back to square one and there was no way she could stay here for
three
weeks. He would go grey. And insane. The sooner
she was confident in her abilities the sooner she would be gone from his
life.

Gone.
Ignoring the sharp blade
driving through his gut, he forged on. He had to tear down her defences one by
one, vanquish every fear. It was his job, he told himself, despite the claw at
his conscience saying otherwise.

‘Firstly, do
not
concern yourself
with the paparazzi or your personal safety. There was a time when Arunthia was
plagued with villainy and the crime rate was high. Too high,’ he said, keeping
his voice steady, betraying none of the emotion warring inside. ‘But not any
more.’

Dark brows rose above stunned amber eyes. ‘Not since you took
over, you mean?’

‘
Exactamente.
Welcome home,
Just Claudia.
’

* * *

The
whoop, whoop
of
rotorblades echoed the thump of her anxious heart as they flew over the famed
hunting grounds of her childhood residence. And when Arunthe Palace burst into
view—standing atop a gigantic rock in dramatic cliff-edge splendour—it was as if
the helicopter had been torn open beneath her feet and she was freefalling to
earth.

Cream stone-walls, fanciful turrets with conical slate roofs,
large spiralling towers firing into the sky like fireworks—a Disney-esque vision
that was merely an illusion, a fairytale. For no happy endings could arise from
this world of chilling austerity.

Despite all the years of fighting for her freedom she was
finally here. Her parents had sent King Kong for Fay Wray and she’d never had a
chance. And some sixth sense ran like a river of screams beneath her skin,
warning her that now she’d returned she would never escape.
Nonsense, Claudia. Breathe.

The military helicoptor touched down and she ordered her legs
to stand tall, stay strong, even as she reached for her iron mask, admitting, if
only to herself, that she would have done anything for Lucas to take her hand
and hold it tightly in his. So she could absorb his awesome strength.
No, Claudia. Self-reliant. Always self-reliant.

By the time they were ushered into her mother’s apartment, her
stomach was alive with seething nausea, and the sickly scent of lavender hit her
just as hard as the sight of Marysse Verbault.

Dressed in an elegant buttery skirt suit and a black chiffon
blouse, with not one hair escaping her coiffed dark pleat, she oozed class and
sophistication. Claudia pinched her fingers to stop herself from smoothing her
own rumpled
‘dour’
appearance or tugging on the
threadbare hem of her sleeve.

Then that voice—so cool, so calm—stroked her soul with fingers
of ice. ‘Claudine. Finally. Let me look at you.’

A bolt of indignation shot down her spine and pinned her in
place. At one time this woman hadn’t been able to bear to look at her. To touch
her. Yet now her mother clasped her upper arms and Claudia foraged for the
bravura to lock onto the amber eyes that were so like her own. Not only that,
for one cataclysmic beat of her heart Claudia imagined her mother wanted to
embrace her, and one tiny part of her—the little girl she had once been—wanted
that so much. Craved to know she was wanted for herself, loved in some small
way. But her mother merely examined every inch of her face, as if to check her
daughter was well—well enough to parade in front of thousands.

‘I am very happy to see to you, Claudine. Look, Henri, our
daughter is finally home.’

Resisting the urge to argue that
London
was her home, she waited for his words...then flinched when
his imperious voice caromed around the room.

‘It is about time. Good job, Lucas.’

Claudia perfected a smile that cracked her heart and looked
across the opulent expanse of the room to where Henri Verbault stood with Lucas
in front of a large, ornate cherrywood desk, papers in hand. Age had amplified
his autocratic demeanour even as his greying hair softened the contours of his
face.

‘Good morning, Father.’

‘
Buenos días,
Claudine.’ Steel-grey
determined eyes held hers, turning liquid with something like relief. Relief
that she was well, or relief that she was back to pay her dues? Who knew? He
turned his attention back to Lucas, her dismissal loud and true.

‘Sit down. Take tea.’

Her mother’s voice warmed just a touch as she perched on the
edge of a Gustavian carver chair, one leg demurely tucked behind the other. And
with one last longing look at the door Claudia eased down onto the gold-striped
sofa opposite.

Staff came and went, and there was no mistaking the questions
in their eyes as they surreptitiously glanced her way. The need to reach up,
touch her face just to check, was so all-consuming, she trembled with the power
of it. So she folded her hands atop her lap, so tightly her fingers wept. She
could feel Lucas’s intense gaze—was he thinking the same as her mother? The same
as everyone in this room? That she didn’t belong. That she looked out of
place.

Suddenly her mother’s voice smashed through the thin veneer.
‘The ball is Saturday next, Claudine. I shall arrange for a selection of gowns
to be delivered.’

Mask rigid, her mind screamed.
You can
dress me up like a china doll but lavish fripperies can never veil the woman
I am inside.
A woman as far away from being a princess as her mother
was from having a heart.

Did she feel anything? Claudia wondered. Had this picture of
perfection felt anything the day she’d said Claudia wasn’t beautiful any more?
The day Claudia’s nightmares had been born, and the horror that had finally
sentenced her to extradition? Maybe her mother didn’t remember the terrible
things she’d said, done. But Claudia would. Until the end of time.

‘Then, once you are settled and back at the palace,’ her mother
continued. ‘we can discuss the future.’

Slam
went her defences as they
locked into place and her head jerked upright. Future? Her future was in London,
where she’d built her life. ‘I have three weeks’ leave, Mother. That is
all.’

‘Let us not place time restrictions on ourselves. Now you are
home it is important we get to know each other once again.’

Once again?
She doubted if her
mother even remembered her first steps, never mind her favourite book.

‘And we have a couple of weeks to do so,’ Claudia said, her
tone sharp, slicing through the room. She’d fought for years and she was
never
giving up her freedom.

Unfazed, her mother went on. ‘Andalina also returns tomorrow,
from New York, and Luciana flies in from Singapore the day after. It will be
nice for you girls to come together.’ Her voice was laced with...
pleasure?
‘Show our country a united front.’

Claudia crushed her lips. Oh, of course. The reason she’d been
torn away from her job saving lives and curing pain was to play happy families.
Yes, she wanted to see her sisters again, but how could she possibly compare to
their scandalous, famed-for-their-beauty presence?

She couldn’t. It was impossible. She almost told her mother so.
But then that red river of screaming returned to sluice beneath her skin.
Because she could hear Lucas making his excuses to her father, declaring his
intention to leave. And she knew.

Lucas was leaving her here. Either he didn’t want her with him
or... Oh, God, had her father insisted she stay here?

‘Your Royal Highness?’

And there it was. Her title. Not
Just
Claudia.

Discreetly she inhaled a fortifying breath, perfected serenity
and looked up to where Lucas stood beside her, an enigmatic hardness to his
gorgeous face. Every delicious atom of his being oozed military man
dominance—his duty to king and country was in his every powerful step. Her heart
throbbed. Her mind yelled.
Don’t do this, Lucas. Please
don’t break your word to me. Not you.

Intense sapphire eyes bored into hers. ‘Come. It is time to
leave.’

* * *

Lucas kept his stride short as they walked across the
courtyard to the helipad. Not an easy feat for a man with extra-long legs, but
he sensed Claudia was at the very edge of her limits. Even with her damn façade
in place.
Dios,
his vision of a heart-warming
reunion had just been exploded with a double-barrelled shotgun.