Princess Of Convenience

CHAPTER ONE

SHE should be driving on this side of the road. Surely?

This was the most fabulous autoroute in Alp’Azuri. The road spiralled around snow-capped mountains, with the sea crashing hundreds of feet below. Every twist in the road seemed to reveal postcard magic. Medieval castles, ancient fishing villages, lush pastures dotted with long-haired goats and alpacas-every sight was seemingly designed to take the breath away.

The twist she’d just taken had given her a fleeting glimpse of the home of the Alp’Azuri royal family. Made of glistening white stone, with turrets, towers and battlements and set high on the crags overlooking the sea, the castle looked as if it had been taken straight out of a fairy tale.

Two years ago Jessica Devlin would have been entranced. But now she was concentrating on reaching the next of her suppliers-concentrating on not thinking about the empty passenger seat-concentrating simply on staying on the right side of the road.

She was sure she was on the right side of the road.

The autoroute consisted of blind bends winding around the mountain. As she drove, Jess caught sight of the road looping above and below.

The road above was the worry. Was she imagining it?

She drove cautiously around the next bend and caught a glimpse of a blue, open-topped sports car. The car was two curves above. Coming fast.

Driving against the cliff edge.

Her side.

Surely it should be on the other side?

She braked hard, turning her car onto a slight verge between cliff and road. The bend ahead was blind. If the car ahead came round on the wrong side…

It had to be her imagination. She was basing this fear on a flash of blue, now out of sight.

Maybe the driver ahead had better vision of the road than she did. She was being too cautious.

But she still felt the first claws of fear. Too much had happened in her life to trust that the worst wouldn’t happen now. Thus Jess was almost stopped when the blue car swept around the bend. Travelling far, far too fast.

On her side of the road.

She was as far onto the verge as she could be without melting into the cliff. There was nowhere she could go.

‘No.’ She put her hands out, blindly. ‘No.’

No one heard.

Today was meant to have been his wedding day. Instead…it made a great day for a funeral.

‘Do you suppose she meant to do it?’ Lionel, Archduke of Alp’Azuri, looked at the flag-draped coffin with distaste. He was supposed to be supporting his great-nephew in his grief, but neither man could summon much energy for strong emotion.

There’d been too much grief in the past few weeks for another death to destroy them.

‘What, kill herself?’ Raoul, Lionel’s great-nephew, didn’t even try to sound devastated. He sounded furious, which was exactly how he felt. ‘Sarah? You have to be kidding.’

This was crazy, he decided. What on earth was he doing here, playing the wounded lover at the funeral of his fiancée?

But he knew his duty. Raoul, Prince Regent of Alp’Azuri for at least another six days, stood at rigid attention while his fiancée was committed for burial, but all he felt was distaste.

‘She had what she wanted,’ he told his uncle, and there was no way he could disguise his anger. ‘She was drunk, Lionel, and it was only because the woman she hit was an incredibly careful driver that she didn’t manage to take someone else with her.’

‘But why?’ Lionel was clearly at a loss.

‘She had her girlfriends here for a pre-bridal lunch. Then she decided to drive down to Vesey to meet her lover. Her lover! Six days before the wedding, with every camera in the country trained on her. Do you know what her blood alcohol content was?’

‘Raoul, look distraught,’ his uncle hissed. ‘The cameras are on you.’

‘I’m suffering in stoic agony,’ Raoul said grimly. ‘All the papers say so. Just as well she crashed before she met her latest interest.’

‘Hell, Raoul…’

‘You want me to be sympathetic?’ Raoul demanded. ‘Oh, you know I didn’t want her dead but I never wanted to marry her. She might have been a distant cousin but I hardly knew her. This was your idea. Of all the stupid…’

‘I thought she’d be OK,’ Lionel said, and if the cameras were on his face now they would certainly see distress. ‘Sarah was brought up to royalty. She knew what was expected of her. She could handle the media.’

‘So well that she managed to disguise the fact that she had a lover she intended keeping. How long would the marriage have lasted before the media found out?’

Lionel hesitated. ‘I suspect that Sarah didn’t think you’d care.’

‘You know I wouldn’t. But the media is a different matter.’

‘They understood. It was a marriage of convenience. Such things have been happening in royal families forever, and every person in this country wants you to marry.’ Lionel grimaced. ‘Except your cousin, Marcel. Why you’ve held out for so long before marrying… Hell, Raoul, it puts us in an appalling position.’

‘Not me,’ Raoul said grimly. ‘I’ve done enough. I’m out of here.’

‘Which leaves your nephew-and your country-where?’ Lionel cast a nervous glance at Sarah’s family, who seemed to be arguing over whose flower arrangement would take precedence. ‘In the hands of yet another like your brother-another government puppet. The only thing that could have saved us was this marriage.’ His grimace grew more pronounced. ‘Look at that. Her family are like vultures.’

‘They are vultures. They wanted this marriage because of the money.’ Raoul glanced at his once prospective in-laws with the air of a man who’d seen his destiny and escaped by a hair’s breadth. ‘That was all Sarah wanted. Money and power and prestige. She would have screwed this principality.’

‘But not as much as our prime minister and Marcel.’ Lionel sounded morose. ‘So it was a mistake. But now…’

Raoul stared grimly at the coffin. ‘I’ve done as much as I can. You’ll have to take over. Exert some influence over Marcel.’

His uncle forgot about looking bereft and just looked appalled. ‘Me? You have to be joking. I’m seventy-seven, Raoul, and Marcel hasn’t listened to me for forty years. You know he and his wife don’t want the boy. Sure, anyone who takes on the prince regent role has to be married, but married or not, Marcel and Marguerite are no more fit to be parents than…well, than your brother and his wife. Begging your pardon, Raoul.’

‘You don’t have to beg my pardon. Jean-Paul was a dissolute fool, just like my father.’

‘Your father was my nephew.’

‘Then you knew how inexcusable his conduct was,’ Raoul said savagely. ‘And what he left of the royal family were exactly the same. Jean-Paul, Cherie and Sarah. My brother, his wife and my cousin. Now they’re all dead, two from taking pure heroin instead of the normal dope they’ve been living on for years, and one from drunken speeding on her way to meet a lover. And now Sarah’s death means that Marcel takes control. God help this country and God help the crown prince. But there’s nothing more I can do now, Lionel. I want out.’

‘Your mother-’

‘My mother is the reason I agreed to marry Sarah. She wants the child.’ He hesitated. ‘But there’s nothing more I can do. She can’t have him.’

‘No,’ Lionel said reflectively and turned to where the dignitaries were attempting to reason with Sarah’s family. ‘It looks like Marcel will take him, and you know Marcel is a government puppet. They’ll never let your mother have access.’

‘I can’t help that,’ Raoul said roughly. ‘I’ve done my best.’

‘Choosing Sarah wasn’t your best.’

‘Lionel…’

‘OK, I helped choose. I concede she wasn’t a great choice but you hardly gave us time. Now we’ve got six days.’

‘To find a bride so I can stay on as Prince Regent? You have to be kidding.’

‘If she’d just waited to kill herself until the week after the wedding rather than the week before…’ Lionel sighed. ‘But she didn’t. We’re in a mess, boy.’

‘We are at that.’ Raoul grimaced and then put a hand on his uncle’s shoulder, as if gaining support and strength from his elder. He almost visibly braced himself.

‘Enough. I’m going to put my flowers on Sarah’s coffin.’

‘Because you want to?’

‘Because her mother and her father and her ex-husband and two of her lovers are all out there threatening to kill each other if I don’t,’ he said grimly. ‘It’s time for a man to take a stand. I’ll put flowers on Sarah’s grave, I’ll do the best I can to see my mother has access to her grandson and then I’m going back to my medicine in Africa. Where I belong. This royalty business is for someone else. I resign.’

For the first two days after the accident Jessica was asked no questions. Concussion, shock and the anaesthetic she was given for a dislocated shoulder were enough to send her drifting into a space no one could reach.

After that she was aware of questions being softly asked. Not too many, but essentials for all that. The questions were asked first in English, and then as those around her realised she spoke their language, in the soft and lilting mix of French and Italian used throughout Alp’Azuri.

Who was she?

That was easy. ‘Jessica Devlin.’

Where was she from? Her passport said Australia. Was that right?

‘Yes. I’m Australian.’

Who did she want them to contact?

‘No one. Unless I’m dead, in which case my cousin, Cordelia, but don’t you dare let her know where I am if there’s the slightest chance that I might live. Please.’

After that they backed off a bit-these gentle people who nursed her. Who were they? She didn’t ask.

There was a woman with elegant clothes and silver hair and a worried look that seemed to be more worried every time she saw her. There was a silver-haired old gentleman who deferred to the lady. He called her ma’am and carried in trays and he also looked worried.

Who else? Two nurses-one at night, one during the day, and a doctor who patted her hand and said, ‘You’ll be fine, my dear. You’re young and you’re strong.’

Of course. She was young and strong.

The doctor asked the hardest question and that was the only one that she had real trouble making herself answer. When the nurses and the others were gone the doctor touched her gently on the hand and asked, ‘Girl, your child. Your family. I have to know. There was no sign of anyone else in the car. There’s no wedding ring on your finger, but there are signs on your body that tell me you’ve had a child. There wasn’t a little one in the car, was there?’ His face stilled as he prepared for the worst. ‘No one else went over the cliff?’

She fought to answer that. Fought to say the words. But they had to be said to stop this kindly old doctor panicking more. He had no need to fear the worst. The worst had already happened.

‘I only have… I’ve only had the one child and he’s dead. Back in Australia. Before I came here.’

There was a pause. Then, ‘Maybe you’re not so young after all,’ he murmured. ‘My dear.’

But her eyes had closed and he let her be. He didn’t intrude. None of them did. They let her lie in this luxurious bed draped in crimson velvet and gold tassels, sinking into a mattress that felt like clouds, and they let her sleep.

She’d hardly slept since Dom died, she thought drearily in one of her tiny lucid moments. It was as if her body was now screaming at her that it had to catch up.

She slept and slept and slept.

On day six-or was it day seven?-she opened her eyes and for the first time she really looked around her. Until now she’d simply accepted this bed, this room, the astounding view through her casement windows as the next in a series of events fate was throwing at her. She’d been out of control for so long that she’d ceased asking questions.

Now, though, sunlight was streaming in over sumptuous furnishings and she gave herself up to astonishment. This was no hospital.

The nurses were no longer here. Now there was only this fairy-tale bedroom and an elderly lady, sitting by the window gazing out at the morning.

Was she crying?

‘What’s wrong?’ Jess asked and the lady turned, sadness replaced by concern in an instant.

‘Oh, my dear. It’s not you who should be asking that.’

Jess gazed cautiously around her. She’d been awake but not awake. In some dream world. Taking the time out she so desperately needed. ‘I guess I should have been asking questions before now,’ she tried. ‘Like…where am I?’

‘This is the royal palace of Alp’Azuri.’

‘Right.’ Jess let that sink in for a while. Alp’Azuri. She knew she was in Alp’Azuri. This tiny country was famous all over the world for its fabulous weavers and she’d come here because…

Because of fabric and yarns. She thought about it, remembering a long-ago conversation with her cousin, Cordelia. ‘You take the trip, dear. Research your suppliers on the ground. It’ll take your mind off things best forgotten.’

Things best forgotten. Dominic?

This wasn’t the time to be thinking of Dom.

‘Um…why am I in the royal palace instead of a hospital?’ she asked, and grief washed back over the older woman’s face.

‘Do you remember the accident?’

‘I…’ Jess swallowed. She did remember. The sports car coming fast. Unbelievably fast. It was right in front of her and all she could do was put up her hand and say…

‘No.’

Then as the lady winced, thinking she’d have to start at the beginning, she corrected herself. ‘I do remember a little. I remember a blue sports car on the wrong side of the road. At least I think it was on the wrong side.’

‘That was Sarah’s car,’ the lady said. ‘Lady Sarah Veerharch was my son’s fiancée.’

Jess swallowed. There was something about the lady’s face that made her not want to go on, but she had to. Even though she already knew the answer. Was. The woman had said was. ‘I… Sarah was…killed?’ How had she made herself say it? And to her horror the woman was nodding.

‘She was killed instantly. Her car glanced off yours-the fact that you were able to stop before the cars hit apparently saved your life-but Sarah slewed off the cliff and into the sea.’

‘No.’

‘I’m sorry, my dear, but yes.’

Jess’s eyes closed in anguish. So much death. It followed her everywhere. Dominic, and now this…

Concentrate on practicalities, she told herself fiercely. If you think about death you’ll go quietly crazy.

‘So why am I in a royal palace?’ she asked and the lady’s face grew grave.

‘This is my home. Mine, my son’s and my grandson’s. For…for now. There’s such media coverage-such interest. Dr Briet thought that, seeing your injuries were relatively minor, you’d be better off here where we could protect you from the worst of it.’

‘Such media coverage.’ Jess’s face had lost whatever colour it had. ‘Lady Sarah… Your future daughter-in-law. Your son’s the…’

‘Raoul is the Prince Regent of Alp’Azuri,’ his mother told her. ‘At least… Well, for now he is. I’m Louise d’Apergenet. My son is Raoul Louis d’Apergenet, second in line to the crown. He is… He was to succeed to his position as regent on the occasion of his marriage. Which was to have been yesterday.’

‘And I’ve killed his bride.’ Jess’s voice subsided to an appalled whisper.

‘Sarah killed herself. You had nothing to do with it.’

The strong male voice startled them both. Jess’s gaze flew to the open door.

She hadn’t seen this man before. Nurses, doctor, servants…this man fitted none of these categories.

He was…royal?

Royalty was her first impression and maybe it wouldn’t have been her first impression if she wasn’t sitting under a velvet draped canopy in a fairy-tale castle. He was wearing light chinos, a dark polo shirt and faded loafers. These were casual clothes, but there was nothing casual about this man.

Tall, dark, superbly muscled, the man’s strongly-boned face was lean, appearing almost sculpted. His eyes were hawk-like and shadowed, revealing nothing. But indefinable or not, the aura of power he exuded was unmistakable.

Was he really a prince? His skin was weathered to a deep bronze, his eyes were creased as if accustomed to a too-harsh sun and there was a long, hairline scar running the length of his jaw. And his hands… These were no prince’s hands. They’d worked hard.

There was no trace of easy living on this man’s frame. Jess stared up at him, stunned. Even a little afraid?

But then he smiled-and the fear evaporated, just like that.

You couldn’t fear a man with a smile like this.

‘Good morning,’ he said softly. ‘You must be Jessica. How are you feeling?’

‘I… Yes. I’m Jessica and I’m fine.’ Unconsciously her hands tugged her bedcovers to her chin, in a naïve gesture of defence. Why? He didn’t make her feel afraid, she thought. He just made her feel-small? Young? In her flimsy cotton nightgown, with her short crop of chestnut curls tousled from sleep and her freckled face devoid of make-up, she felt about twelve.

‘I’m Raoul,’ he told her.

She’d guessed. ‘Y…Your Highness.’

‘Raoul.’ His voice firmed, and there was even a tinge of anger, as if he was repudiating something he found offensive.

‘Jessica’s been fretting about Sarah’s death,’ his mother told him. ‘I’ve told her she’s not to blame herself.’

‘How can you blame yourself?’ Raoul was speaking in English. His voice was strong and deep, and only faintly tinged with the accent of his native country.

Where did he fit in? How did this family fit into the government of this place? Jess thought, trying desperately to remember what she’d learned of this country before she came here. Not much. Her trip this time been more an excuse to get away than to learn about another culture, and her only other visit here had been fleeting and had ended in disaster.

But she knew a little. Alp’Azuri was a principality, a tiny country edged by the sea. There’d been some recent tragedy, she thought, remembering flashes of international news in the past few weeks. A dissolute prince and his princess found dead. A tiny crown prince, orphaned.

Where did that leave Raoul?

‘I’ll not have you blaming yourself for Sarah’s death,’ Raoul was saying, and she blinked, trying to haul herself back to reality. To now.

‘Um…’

‘Sarah killed herself.’ Raoul’s voice was stern, sure of what had to be said. ‘Oh, not intentionally. We’re sure of that. But she’d been drinking. She was driving too fast on the wrong side of the road and the police say the only reason you weren’t killed also was because you were being incredibly cautious. Somehow, miraculously, you managed to avoid a double tragedy.’

‘But if I hadn’t been there…’

‘Then she might have hit someone else further down. Maybe with even worse consequences.’ He shook his head. ‘If it had been a family…’ He closed his eyes, as if to shut out a tragedy that could have been. ‘We’re all grateful that you were there, Jessica, and that you somehow prevented what could have been a lot, lot worse.’

‘But your fiancée…’

‘Yes.’ His eyes were open again now, and behind their cool, appraising look she could see pain. And something else. Despair? Defeat? ‘But we move on.’

‘Edouard will stay with me,’ his mother said softly and Jess frowned at this strange twist in the conversation. ‘We will fight for him. We must.’

Jess was lost. Edouard? Fighting?

Was this yet another tragedy? She pulled her covers even higher, in a gesture of protection that was as crazy as it was unhelpful.

‘I’ve been lying here for too long,’ she managed and Louise smiled.

‘My dear, it’s been six days. You were concussed and you dislocated your shoulder. But Dr Briet says-and Raoul concurs-that you seem to have been suffering more than that. He says you seem exhausted. You were taken initially to the Vesey hospital but when it was clear that all you needed to do was to sleep, it seemed best to bring you here.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s not possible to keep the Press away anywhere else, and Raoul has been on hand if needed.’

This was making less and less sense. ‘You’ve been very good,’ Jess managed, ‘in the face of your own tragedy.’ She hesitated, but there was more to be said. Edouard. The name had brought back a memory now, remembrance of news reports she’d read surely less than a month ago. ‘And it’s not just Sarah, is it?’

‘You can’t know…’ Louise started but Jess was too distressed to stop.

‘I’m remembering the deaths of the crown prince and his princess,’ Jess said. ‘And your grandson being orphaned. I heard of it back in Australia. I’d just…forgotten.’

Of course. When her own world had collapsed, so had her ability to take in tragedies of those about her. But the deaths had been front-page news at home at a time when her world had been blank and meaningless, and it had been dreadful enough to haul her out of her pool of misery, into someone else’s.

She remembered cringing inside. The prince and his princess, in a chalet high in the mountains. An avalanche? A storm? She couldn’t remember. But she remembered that the child was alive, unharmed, but with his parents both dead.

The world had been captivated.

Deep in her own personal tragedy, Jess had hardly taken it in. But now… She forced herself to think back to those half-remembered newspaper headlines. Rumours that it hadn’t been a storm that had killed them. That the storm had cut off access to the cabin and meant that normal checks couldn’t be made. The royal couple had escaped their minders and there’d been drugs.

This was not her scene, she told herself fiercely. It was not her business.

She looked up at Raoul and there was that look on his face that precluded questions-and how to ask a question like the ones that were forming in the back of her mind? She couldn’t. She didn’t need to. Thankfully.

She was so tired.

She lay back on her pillows and closed her eyes, allowing the exhaustion and distress to wash through.

Unexpectedly Raoul stepped forward and lifted her hand. The gesture was a measure of comfort that was surprisingly successful. It was strong and reassuring and compelling. ‘Don’t distress yourself,’ he told her. ‘You mustn’t.’

His touch warmed her more than she’d thought such a gesture could. It was unexpected, a gesture that he didn’t need to make. Maybe in the same circumstances she’d find it impossible to make this gesture herself, she thought. To touch the cause of more sadness…

‘Jess, you’re not to focus on this,’ he told her, his voice, like his touch, strong and warm and sure. ‘You’re here as our guest for as long as you need before you feel strong enough to face the world.’

‘I’m well now.’ She opened her eyes and he was close, she thought, dazed. Too close.

‘You’ve had a hell of a time,’ he told her. ‘And maybe not just this week?’

It was a question. She swallowed. This man was wounded too, she thought.

‘We’re a pair,’ she whispered and there was a stillness.

‘I…’

‘I’ll leave you as soon as I can pack,’ she said wearily. ‘I’m fine. It was very good of you to let me stay this long.’

‘Jess, as soon as you leave this place you’ll be inundated,’ he said warningly. ‘The world’s Press want interviews. This tragedy has caught the attention of the international media and you won’t be left alone. Plus after six days in bed you’ll be as weak as a kitten. Stay here. Within the walls of this castle I can protect you. At least for the next few days. Outside…I’m afraid you’re alone.’

Silence.

Within the walls of this castle he’d protect her?

It was crazy. She didn’t need protection.

She couldn’t stay.

Where could she go?

Home?

Home was where the heart was.

She had no home.

‘Stay for a few more days.’ It was Louise, gently adding her urging to her son’s. ‘We feel so responsible. You have no idea what the Press will be like. You seem exhausted. Let us give you just a little time out.’

Time out.

It was an idea that was almost incredibly appealing. And it was the only thing she could think of to do. What else? Pick up the threads?

What threads?

She was bone-weary and she was faced with a choice. These pillows and the protection of castle walls for a few more days-or the scrutiny of the world’s Press. There was suddenly no choice. Especially as Raoul was smiling down at her like…like…

She didn’t know. All she knew was that his smile warmed parts of her that desperately needed to be warmed. Stay? Of course she’d stay.

She must.

‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and she was rewarded by a widening of that killer smile.

‘Good.’ Raoul’s voice was strong again, commanding and sure. His eyes met hers, filled with warmth and pleasure that she’d decided to be sensible. ‘Join the world slowly again, no? Start with dinner tonight. With us.’

‘I…’

‘It’s very informal,’ Louise told her, guessing immediately the confusion such an invitation would cause. ‘Just my son and myself.’ She smiled, and her smile was ineffably sad. ‘And the odd servant or six.’

‘Have just Henri serve us tonight, Mama,’ Raoul told her. ‘Give the other servants the night off.’

She nodded. ‘That would be lovely. If you don’t think it’s cowardly.’

‘Maybe we need to be cowardly,’ he told her. ‘Maybe we all do. For a while.’