Modern Romance March 2020 Books 5-8
- -
- 100%
- +
Marika’s answer was fractured and disjointed. ‘He’s called Leon—Leon Dukaris—and he’s a billionaire—Greek. He was in Karylya last summer, on business. He came to the summer opera gala that Mutti is patroness for. He was introduced to us—and Papa invited him to a garden party at the palace. Then he came to a reception and a dinner, too—I didn’t really pay any attention. It was a business affair with some of the ministers and other foreign investors. He was mostly talking to them and Papa. I… I don’t really know much more, except that when we arrived in London he got in touch with Papa and told him he would underwrite our expenses…’
Ellie was still staring. ‘But why? Why should this…this Leon Dukaris care about Papa? Let alone fork out for this place! If he wants to do business in Karylya it’s not Papa he should be making up to,’ she finished bitterly.
A tide of colour washed up her sister’s face, and something about Marika’s expression curdled Ellie’s blood.
‘Marika, what is it?’ she asked urgently.
Her sister was twisting her hands, a look of anguish in her face. ‘Oh, God, Lisi—there’s only one reason he’s paying for everything! He wants…’ She swallowed. ‘He wants to marry me!’
Ellie’s eyes widened in total disbelief. ‘Marry you? You can’t be serious!’
‘He’s making it obvious!’ Marika cried. ‘He’s been here several times, always very attentive to me. Way more than just being polite! I do my best to put him off, but I know Mutti is hoping I’ll encourage him. She’s worried sick about what’s going to happen to us now, and if he really wants to marry me—’
She broke off, her voice choking. Ellie’s dismay doubled. It was bad enough learning that her father was penniless, and that he was being bankrolled by some unknown Greek billionaire…but that her sister should believe the Greek billionaire wanted to marry her…?
Surely Marika was imagining it? Upset and overwrought as she so obviously was right now by the disaster that had befallen their family?
In a macabre attempt at humour, at a time when humour was absolutely impossible, Ellie heard herself blurt out, ‘Just please don’t tell me that this Leon Dukaris is some creepy, lecherous old man with a fat gut and piggy eyes!’
‘No, not exactly,’ Marika answered in a shaky voice. But then her eyes welled with tears. ‘Oh, Lisi, it doesn’t matter what he looks like or who he is!’ Her tears spilled over into open weeping. ‘I’m in love with someone else!’ she cried. ‘So I can’t marry Leon Dukaris! I just can’t!’
Leon vaulted from his limo, now drawn up in the entrance sweep of the Viscari St James, and strode into the lobby. It was time to visit the royal family again.
He had called upon the Grand Duke several times since his abrupt arrival in London two weeks ago—ostensibly to give him his assurance that all his expenses would be underwritten by himself for the duration of his stay, until such time as he had decided where to live out his exile and do whatever it was that former monarchs did when their countries no longer wanted them. But the real reason for his visits was quite different.
He was trying to decide whether he was truly going to go ahead with claiming a princess for his bride—the ultimate prize.
Thoughts played across his mind as the elevator doors to the penthouse floor slid shut. Was he simply being fanciful in even giving house room to the idea? It had come to him the previous summer, when he had been visiting Karylya on business, being invited to the palace, socialising with the royal family, meeting Princess Marika…
At the time he had given it no serious thought, but the idea had grown on him during the intervening months. The girl, though a brunette, and quiet in her manner, was very pretty, and if his own tastes actually ran to blondes—well, for the sake of a princess bride surely he could change his tastes…
Nor was she unintelligent, from what he could judge of her, and that was another key advantage. His features hardened momentarily. So was the crucial fact that, as a princess, she’d be perfectly open to the idea of marrying for practical reasons. Love—his mouth tightened—would not get to taint their marriage…
He snapped his mind away from his darkening thoughts. No, there was nothing to rule Princess Marika out of his consideration…and now that events had taken such a disastrous turn for the Karylyan royal family, from the princess’s point of view—and her parents’—there was every incentive for her to consider his proposal seriously.
If he were to make one, of course…
But should I?
That his suit would be favoured by her parents was obvious—what could be more desirable than a very wealthy son-in-law to keep on bankrolling their exile indefinitely? As for the princess herself… He knew without vanity that he was highly attractive to women—his life, even while he had still been in the process of making his huge fortune, had been filled with eager females demonstrating that undeniable fact to him. Now, in his thirties, he was done playing the field. He would be perfectly happy to settle down with one agreeable female and he would make the princess a good husband.
And theirs would be an honest marriage. He wouldn’t delude and deceive his bride with hypocritical declarations of undying love and endless mouthing of romantic flummery that meant nothing when the chips were down.
Leon’s dark eyes hardened with harsh memory. His father had made such endless declarations—Leon had grown up hearing him telling his mother how devoted he was to her, how much he loved her, how she meant the world to him, how she was the moon and the stars and all the other romantic verbiage he had lavished upon her.
It had counted for nothing.
When the Greek economy had crashed his father had taken off with another woman—conveniently wealthy—leaving his heartbroken wife and his teenage son to cope on their own. Abandoning them totally.
His mother had been devastated by the betrayal—Leon had been only angry. Deeply, bitterly angry. And contemptuous of the man who had abandoned them.
I will never be like him—never! I will never do to a woman what my father did to my mother! Because I will never tell a woman I love her. Because I will never fall in love. Because love doesn’t exist—only meaningless words that lie…and destroy.
The elevator glided to a halt, the doors sliding open, and Leon shook his dark memories from him. The miseries of his teenage years were gone and he would not be haunted by them. He had made his life on his own terms—and those were the terms he would make any marriage on. Terms that would never include what did not exist—would never include love…
His wife, when he married—whoever she was, princess or not—would get respect, regard, friendship and companionship.
And, of course, desire. That went without saying…
It was a word he should not have admitted into his thoughts at that moment. Because as he strode out of the elevator the door to the royal suite opened and a woman emerged.
Instinctively his eyes took her in, in one comprehensive sweep.
Tall, blonde, slender, with grey-blue eyes and her hair caught back in a ponytail. Not wearing any make-up. Her clothes non-descript—certainly not couture or designer. Yet that didn’t matter in the least. Because she was, without doubt, breathtakingly, stunningly beautiful… Instantly desirable.
He felt a rush of adrenaline quicken in his bloodstream.
Who is she?
He had never seen her before—no woman that stunning would have escaped his eye.
He realised she was gazing at him, stopped in her tracks just as he was. For a moment—an enjoyably adrenaline-fuelled moment—Leon allowed himself the pleasure of meeting her gaze full-on, letting her see just how pleasurable it was for him to look at her…
Then, abruptly, her eyes peeled away from his and he saw colour flare across her high-cut cheekbones. Dipping her head, she hurried forward, veering around him to dive into the waiting elevator behind him. He gave a low laugh. Whoever she was, if she had joined the entourage of the Grand Duke, in whatever capacity, he would at some point see her again. And that would suit him very well…
His thoughts cut out. Realisation slammed into him. Hell, no, it would not suit him to see the breathtaking blonde again!
Taking an incised breath, he strode forward again, heading for the door of the royal suite. The breathtaking blonde, whoever she was, could be no concern of his. He had a princess to woo…
CHAPTER TWO
ELLIE SLUMPED BACK against the wall of the elevator car, feeling weak. Her heart was thumping like a sledgehammer. Oh, sweet heaven, what had just happened?
She had issued from her father’s suite and, without the slightest warning that it was about to happen, had all but rushed right into the most devastating male she had ever set eyes on in her life…
Talk about tall, dark and handsome!
She felt weakness flush through her again, her heart-rate quicken. It had lasted only a handful of moments—a silent gasp from her, a sweep of night-dark eyes. That was all she’d needed to take in his Savile-Row-tailoring, his six-foot-plus height, broad shoulders and lean hips, his planed features… And those night-dark eyes, looking her over, liking what he was seeing, making no secret of it.
She shook her head angrily, as if to dissipate the after-burn on her retinas. Oh, what did it matter who that man had been? She had far more important things to think about.
Disbelief was still uppermost—surely her sister was just imagining what she’d told her? That some unknown Greek billionaire thought he could marry her? It was outrageous—just outrageous!
She’s upset, that’s all. Upset, shocked and distraught after what has happened.
And then she remembered what Marika had gone on to say.
‘I’m in love with someone else!’
Ellie heard her sister’s tearful voice as the elevator plummeted to ground level. And when she’d learned just who it was that Marika was in love with, her heart had sunk yet further.
A man Marika’s parents would never allow her to marry…
Leon was bowing over the Grand Duchess’s regally outstretched hand.
‘Herr Dukaris.’ She smiled with an air of stately graciousness, her Germanic accent courtesy of her long lineage of Austrian aristocracy.
‘Highness…’ Leon intoned dutifully, having already made a brief bow to the Grand Duke.
He himself did not stand on ceremony, but what was the point of paying the exorbitant bills of European royalty if he did not acknowledge royal protocol? After all, either they were royal, and marrying into their family would set the glittering seal on his worldly success, or they were simply penniless refugees in a turbulent world, seeking a new life in a less troubled spot.
His eyes went to the royal couple’s daughter. She looked drawn and anxious, and Leon could understand why. Two weeks ago she’d been a princess in a fairy-tale castle in a fairy-tale realm—now she was just a penniless young woman with no prospects other than those an accident of birth had conferred upon her.
Well, if he did marry her, her fortunes would be restored and she would smile again.
He let his gaze rest on the princess with a warmth he hoped she might find encouraging. She was, he acknowledged, very attractive in her own way, with soft features and dark eyes, dark hair and a tender mouth. Yet before he could stop himself memory flashed in his head of that fleeting encounter just now in the penthouse lobby. Now, if that stunning blonde had been the woman now sitting beside the graciously smiling Grand Duchess…
He tore his inappropriate thoughts away again, warming his smile for Princess Marika. But she remained stubbornly woebegone, as if his smiling alarmed her. He gave an inward frown. But then the Grand Duke was relating, with understandable schadenfreude, how the new regime in his homeland was having difficulty getting endorsement from other governments.
‘Perhaps when there has been an election, as promised?’ Leon ventured.
It was the wrong thing to say.
A snort came from the Grand Duke. ‘A stage-managed, propaganda-fuelled plebiscite in order to elect a dictator! That’s all it will be!’
Leon made no reply. Like too many small countries in that highly volatile area of Europe, Karylya was a complicated cocktail of historic rivalries that still ran deep, despite the duchy’s new prosperity as a financial hub for the emerging economies of the former Eastern Bloc. ‘The Luxembourg of Central Europe’—that was the way the country was usually described, which was why he’d visited the place last summer.
And thereby made the personal acquaintance of the royal family and the princess…
His eyes rested on her now, their expression veiled, his thoughts inward. Was he seriously thinking of marrying Princess Marika?
Again the image of that breathtaking blonde out in the lobby fleeted across his consciousness. How could he be considering marriage to one woman if he was still capable of having his attention caught by another one?
Wariness filled him suddenly. Though he would never declare love for a woman, he would never be disloyal to any woman he married. Not like his despised father.
Where his father was now, he had no idea—and he did not want to know. His boyish idealisation of his father, his wanting only to grow up like him, had crashed and burnt to ashes the day he’d deserted him and his mother. His father had put his own selfish interests first, abandoning his heartbroken wife, making a mockery of all those endless romantic declarations of eternal love—and abandoning his own son, betraying his paternal responsibility towards him. Thinking only of himself.
He dragged his thoughts back to the present. Whatever he decided to do now, he must not, out of decency, lead the princess or her parents to hope he would offer for her and then not.
I have to decide.
But to decide meant getting to know her better—and that, after all, was what he was doing here in the Grand Duke’s suite.
‘I was wondering, Highness,’ he said now, addressing Princess Marika’s mother, ‘knowing your love of the opera, whether you might permit me to invite you to Covent Garden tonight? It is very short notice, and I apologise, but Torelli is to sing Turandot—and I recall from last summer that you hold her in some admiration.’
‘Turandot!’ exclaimed the Grand Duchess promptly. She bestowed her gracious smile upon Leon. ‘How very kind. It will help to divert my daughter at this distressing time—will it not, Marika?’
The princess managed a smile, albeit a wan one.
‘Then I will make the arrangements,’ Leon said.
He would hardly get Princess Marika to himself, but it would be a start, and being seen conspicuously in public with the Karylyan royal family would begin the process of associating himself with them. And, of course, he added cynically, them with him.
Satisfied, he took his leave. Only as he headed back towards the elevator did he find himself wondering, yet again, just who that breathtaking blonde had been. And trying not to wonder whether he would ever see her again. Trying not to want to see her again…
Sternly he admonished himself.
I’m here to marry a princess—not have my head turned by another woman!
Like it or not, he had better remember that.
Ellie was hurrying again—this time into the foyer of Covent Garden’s Royal Opera House. It was difficult in high heels and a full-length gown. Unlike her mother, who relished no longer having to meet the formal dress codes required of her when she had been Grand Duchess, Ellie’s stepmother had insisted on evening dress tonight.
‘It was quite bad enough you arriving the way you did, dressed like some sort of servant! It’s out of the question that you should not remember your position from now on. Especially now.’
The Grand Duchess had said no more, but Ellie had got the message.
Especially now that her father had been deposed and sent into exile…
Well, she’d done her best this evening, but her couture wardrobe had not made it out of Karylya with her father, and all she’d had on hand at Malcolm’s London flat was the outfit she’d worn to the last TV awards bash she’d attended with her mother and stepfather.
Much to Ellie’s relief, her father had agreed she could stay there, since the suite at the Viscari was already crowded, and it would have required taking yet another room, running up yet another hefty bill.
The pale blue evening gown was perfectly respectable, but it was not couture, and since her Karylyan jewellery had also not made it out of the duchy and into exile, she was wearing only a pearl necklace of her mother’s. She’d dressed her hair simply, applied her make-up likewise, and she knew perfectly well that no one would take her for a princess just by looking at her.
No more than that man did in the penthouse lobby.
She pushed the memory out of her head. Pointless to remember it—pointless to think about the man. Even more pointless to remember her inability to tear her eyes from him… No, it was far more important to focus on this evening.
Marika’s text had elaborated on her stepmother’s summons.
Lisi—you must come! Leon Dukaris will be there. Please, please, please try and keep him away from me!
Ellie’s expression grew grimmer as she gained the almost deserted lobby. The performance was about to begin. She would do her very best to keep Marika’s unwanted suitor from her, but her thoughts were troubled all the same as she was hurriedly shown up to the Dress Circle. For all that the man her sister had fallen in love with was someone utterly impossible for her to marry, Ellie had nothing but sympathy for Marika.
Of course Marika wanted only to marry for love!
Just as I do—and always have done!
In this day and age, after all, even a princess was allowed to believe in marrying for love…
Her face clouded. It was all very well believing that, and all very well trying to protect her sister from an unwanted suitor—but this unknown billionaire was all that stood between her father and penury. It was a sobering and unwelcome thought…
The house lights were already dimming as she was shown into the box reserved for them, and as they dimmed she made out the regal figures of her father and stepmother, already seated, another masculine figure silhouetted beside them, and beside him the slight figure of her sister.
Marika turned a grateful glance on Ellie as she hurriedly sketched a cursory curtsy to the Grand Duchess, who had thrown her an admonitory stare at her late arrival, before sitting down on the nearest chair, just behind her sister.
Busying herself with easing her skirts as she sat down, she dipped her head to smooth the fabric, missing the turning of the head of the masculine figure beside her sister until she raised her eyes, just as the conductor lifted his baton and the curtain rose on the opening scene of Turandot. But as she did so Ellie froze. The breath stilled in her lungs and her lips parted in shock.
The man who’d turned his head to see who was arriving so late was the same man who’d been crossing the penthouse suite lobby that afternoon. The man she had not been able to tear her eyes from.
She gave an audible gasp—she was sure of it—and for the slightest second it seemed she met that dark gaze again, head-on. Then, still in shock, she twisted her head so that her eyes were doggedly on the stage below. But she was sure that colour had run up into her cheeks and her heartbeat had grown ragged—and not just from the rush of getting here!
This was the unknown Greek—the nouveau riche billionaire bankrolling her father and setting his sights on her sister?
Her own words to Marika that morning replayed in her head now, as the opening scene of the opera got underway below her.
Old, fat and piggy-eyed…
She wanted to give a semi-hysterical choke—dear Lord, she couldn’t have been further from the truth!
What had Marika said? She racked her brain to recall her sister’s reply to her dismayed exclamation.
‘Not exactly…’
The hysterical flutter came again—no, definitely ‘not exactly’!
In fact, he was whatever was the total and absolute opposite of her scathing description.
She felt a rush go through her that was nothing to do with her hurried arrival and everything to do with the man sitting just in front of her. Her heart thumping in her chest, she thanked heaven she had the duration of the first act of the opera to recover her composure. Time, more importantly, to dwell on what Marika had told her.
It doesn’t matter that he’s like every woman’s fantasy male—he can’t seriously think he can marry Marika just like that! She must be imagining it—she must!
But then why was Leon Dukaris bothering to pick up the sky-high tab for her father’s hotel bill? What did he think was in it for him by doing so?
Cold chilled through her veins. Her eyes rested on him now—on the broad back, the well-shaped head silhouetted against the bright lights of the stage, where the main characters were singing their hearts out, completely ignored by her right now, for there was a drama going on right here in this box that outweighed anything going on down there on the stage…
She could see he’d crossed one long leg over the other, in a kind of negligent pose, and from her angle behind him she could make out half his profile. Apparently he was focused on the stage, but she fancied he was not particularly riveted by the scene or the singing.
She could see a square-palmed hand resting on one powerful thigh, the other laxly holding a programme. There was something about the way he was sitting that made her realise his body was very slightly inclined towards her sister, as if to indicate a nascent intimacy with her, making himself at ease in her body space.
An ease that was being entirely repudiated by her sister.
Marika was, Ellie could see, sitting ramrod-straight, tension in every line of her slight body. With a tightening of her mouth, she dragged her eyes away from her sister and the man beside her, back down on to the stage—where, she realised with a belated start of realisation, a princess was vowing never to marry and her unwanted suitor was determined she should do just that…
It mustn’t happen—it just mustn’t!
The words formed in Ellie’s head and it was not the drama on the stage that she meant.
Leon let his gaze rest on the stage below, but all he was aware of was the woman sitting behind him. He still could not believe it. She was the breathtaking female who’d stopped him in his tracks that afternoon.
Who is she?
The question burned for an answer, but the best he could come up with, having taken her in at a single brief glance, was that she was some kind of lady-in-waiting. She’d dropped a curtsy to the Grand Duchess, who’d frowned at her, and the gown she was wearing was no couture number, like the duchess’s and the princess’s. So, yes…lady-in-waiting would be the most likely role, wouldn’t it?