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And…Christos and Amy had been her best friends?
‘I’m not here to harm Zoe,’ he said mildly.
‘No.’ That was a dumb statement, he conceded. As if she was expecting him to beat the child.
‘I just want what’s best for her.’
‘Good,’ she said brusquely. ‘You might be able to help me. There are a couple of things I could use some advice over.’
That wasn’t what he meant. They both knew it.
‘Did you know Zoe’s the new Crown Princess of Khryseis?’ he asked, and she froze.
‘The what?’
‘The Crown Princess of Khryseis.’
‘I heard you. I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I think you do,’ he said softly. ‘Your face when I said it…’
‘Doesn’t mean a thing,’ she whispered. ‘I’m tired, confused and hungry, and your uniform is doing my head in. Come in and sit down while I make lunch and take a shower. But if you say one word—one word—of this Crown Princess thing to Zoe before we’ve discussed it fully, you’ll be off my property so fast you’ll leave your gold tassels behind. Got it?’
‘Um…got it,’ he said.
‘Right,’ she said and turned and marched inside, leaving him to follow if he felt like it. Or go away if he felt like it.
Her body language said the second option was the one she favoured.
The moment he got inside he took his jacket off. He pulled off his tie, undid the next two buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves.
It was a casual gesture of making himself at home and it rendered her almost speechless.
Outside he’d seemed large. Inside, tossing his jacket on the settee, rolling up his sleeves, taking a slow visual sweep of her kitchen-living room, he seemed much larger. It was as if he was filling the room, the space not taken up with his sheer physical size overwhelmed by his sheer masculinity.
He was six one or six two, she thought. Not huge. Just…male. And more good-looking than was proper. And way too sexy.
Sexy. Where had that word come from? She shoved it away in near panic.
‘This is great,’ he said, and she fought for composure and tried to see the house as he saw it.
It was tumbledown. Of course it was. There was no way she could afford to fix the big things. One day in the not too distant future Zoe might be able to go to school and she could take a proper job again and earn some money. But meanwhile they made do.
‘Where did you get this stuff?’ he asked, gesturing to the room in general. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘Most of it we found or we made.’
He gazed around at the eclectic mix of brightly coloured cushions and faded crimson curtains, the colourful knotted rugs on the floor, lobster pots hanging from the ceiling with shells threaded through to make them look like proper decorations, a fishing net strung across the length of one wall, filled with old buoys and huge seashells. There were worn pottery jugs filled with flowers from the garden; bird of paradise plants, crimson and deep green.
‘You found all this?’ he demanded.
‘I used to have an apartment at the university,’ she told him. ‘Small. My parents left me this place and I came here at weekends. I’m a marine biologist and we…I used the cottage as an occasional base for research. Zoe’s parents were what you might call itinerant. They had a camper van and most of what they owned was destroyed in the accident. So Zoe and I scrounged what we could find, we made a bit and we filled the rest by beachcombing.’ She met his gaze full on, defying him to deny her next assertion. ‘Zoe and I are the best beachcombers in the world.’
‘I can see you are,’ he said. He paused. ‘You’re a marine biologist?’
‘Yes.’ She faltered and tried for a recovery. ‘Very part-time until Zoe goes to school.’
‘Zoe doesn’t go to school?’
‘I home-school her here at the moment.’
‘So meanwhile you’re living off Christos’s life insurance.’
She’d opened the refrigerator and was lifting out salad ingredients. She froze.
She didn’t turn around. She couldn’t. If she had he might have got lettuce square in the middle of his face. What was he suggesting?
‘That’s right,’ she said stiffly. ‘I’m ripping Zoe off for every cent I can get.’
‘I didn’t mean…’
‘I’m very sure you did mean.’ Finally she turned, carefully placing the lettuce out of throwing range. ‘What is it you want of us, Mr Whoever-The-Hell-You-Are, because there’s no way I’m calling you Prince. I don’t know why you’re here but don’t you dare imply I’m acting dishonestly. Don’t you dare.’
‘I already did,’ he said, holding his hands up as if in surrender. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘So am I.’
The door swung open. Zoe appeared, looking wary. The little girl was in clean T-shirt and shorts. Her hair was a tangle of dark, wet curls. She was far too thin, Elsa thought, trying to see her dispassionately through Stefanos’s eyes.
She was so scarred. The burns had been to almost fifty per cent of her body, and twenty per cent of those had been full thickness. She’d had graft after graft. Thankfully her face was almost untouched but her skinny little legs looked almost like patchwork. Her left arm still needed work—her left hand was missing its little finger—and there was deep scarring under her chin.
She’d protect this child with her life, she thought, but protection could only go so far. This man was part of Zoe’s real family. She had to back off a little.
‘Okay, it’s my turn for the shower, poppet,’ she said, trying to make her voice normal.
‘You sounded angry,’ she said, doubtful.
‘I’m crabby ‘cos I’m hungry.’ She tugged Zoe to her in a swift hug. ‘I’ll have a shower in world record time. Can you set the table and talk to…Stefanos. He’s your papa’s cousin. He knows all about Khryseis. Maybe he could show you exactly where he lives on the Internet. We have pictures of Khryseis bookmarked.’
And, with a final warning glance at Stefanos, she whisked herself away. She didn’t want to leave at all. She wanted to bring Zoe into the bathroom with her. She wanted to defend her with everything she had.
Zoe, Crown Princess?
Zoe had far too much to deal with already. If Stefanos wanted to take on part of Zoe’s life, then he had to contend with her. Zoe’s life was her life. She’d sworn that to Zoe’s mother, and she wasn’t backing down on it now.
She couldn’t. She was so afraid…
CHAPTER THREE
ZOE set the table while he watched her. The little girl was watching him out of the corner of her eye, not meeting his gaze directly. Table done, she turned to a corner desk holding a computer. The machine looked like something out of the Dark Ages, big, cumbersome and ugly. She checked the Internet, waiting until the Khryseis information downloaded—seemingly by slowboat from China.
But finally the websites in Khryseis were on the screen. By the look of the bookmarks, she and Elsa spent a lot of time browsing them.
He tentatively showed her where he lived on the island—or where he’d lived as a child. She reacted with silent politeness.
He checked the other bookmarks for the island. They were marine sites, he saw. Research articles about the island.
Worth noting.
‘So you and Elsa spend a lot of time studying…fish?’ he ventured and got a scornful look for his pains.
‘Echinoderms.’
Right. Good. What the hell were echinoderms?
And then Elsa was back. Same uniform as before—shorts and faded shirt. She was tugging her curls back into a ponytail. Still she wore no make-up, and without the suncream her freckles were more pronounced. Her nose was peeling and her feet were still bare.
She walked with a slight limp, he noted, but it was very slight. A twisted ankle, maybe? But that was a side issue. He wasn’t about to focus on an ankle when he was looking at the whole package.
She was so different from the women in the circles he moved in that her appearance left him stunned. Awed, even.
He’d implied she was dishonest. There was nothing in this place, in her dress, in anything in this house, that said she was taking advantage of Zoe. His investigator had shown him Christos’s financial affairs. If they were both living totally on Christos’s life insurance…
‘How much outside work do you do?’ he said, carefully neutral, and Elsa pulled up short.
‘You mean how much of my obviously fabulous riches are derived from honest toil and how much by stealing from orphans?’
He had to smile. And, to his relief, she returned a wry smile herself, as if she was ordering herself to relax.
‘I’m not accusing you in any sense of the word,’ he assured her. ‘What’s in front of my eyes is Zoe, in need of your care, and you, providing that care. Christos’s life insurance wouldn’t come close to paying for your combined expenses.’
‘You don’t know the half of it.’
‘So tell me.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, but Christos never spoke of you, as a cousin or as a friend. As far as I know, neither Christos nor his mother ever wanted to have anything to do with anyone from Khryseis. How can my finances have anything to do with you?’
‘I do want to help.’
‘Is that right?’ she said neutrally. She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. Look, can we eat? I can’t think while I’m hungry and after a morning on the beach I could eat a horse.’
She almost did. There was cold meat and salad, and freshly baked bread which she tipped from an ancient bread-maker. She cut doorstop slices of bread and made sandwiches. She poured tumblers of home-made lemonade, sat herself down, checked Zoe had what she needed—the sandwich she’d made for Zoe was much smaller, almost delicate in comparison to the ones she’d made for herself and for him—and then proceeded to eat.
She ate two doorstop sandwiches and drank three tumblers of lemonade, while Zoe ate half a sandwich and Elsa prodded her to eat more.
‘Those legs are never going to get strong if they’re hollow,’ she teased, and Zoe gave her a shy smile, threw Stefanos a scared glance and nibbled a bit more.
She was trying to eat. He could see that. Was his presence scaring her?
The idea of frightening this child was appalling. The whole situation was appalling. He was starting to have serious qualms about whether his idea of Zoe’s future was possible.
Except it must be. He had to get this child back to Khryseis. Oh, but her little body…
It didn’t take his medical qualifications to realise how badly this child was damaged. The report he’d read had told him that four years ago Christos, his wife and their four-year-old daughter had been involved in a major car accident. Christos had died instantly. Amy, his wife, had died almost two weeks later and Zoe, their child, had been orphaned. No details.
There was a story behind every story, he thought, and suddenly he had a flash of what must have happened. A camper van crashing. A fire. A death, a woman so badly burned she died two weeks later, and a child. A child burned like her mother.
He knew enough about burns to understand you didn’t get these type of scars without months—years—of medical treatment. Without considerable pain.
He’d arrived here thinking he had an orphaned eight-year-old on his hands. On his hands. She’d seemed like one more responsibility to add to his list. Her nanny was listed as one Mrs Elsa Murdoch. He’d had visions of a matronly employee, taking care of a school-aged child in return for cash.
His preconceptions had been so far from the mark that he felt dizzy.
Despite the man-sized sandwich on his plate, he wasn’t eating. The official reception had been midmorning, there’d been canapés, and he’d been watched to see which ones he ate, which chef he’d offend. So he’d eaten far more than he wanted. Elsa’s doorstop sandwich was good, but he felt free to leave the second half uneaten. He had a feeling Elsa wasn’t a woman who was precious about her cooking.
Actually…was this cooking? He stared down at his sandwich and thought of the delicacies he’d been offered since he’d taken over the throne—and he grinned.
‘So what’s funny?’ Elsa demanded, and he looked up and found she was watching him. Once more she was wearing her assessing expression. He found it penetrating…and disturbing. He didn’t like to be read, but he had a feeling that in Elsa Murdoch he’d found someone who could do just that.
‘I’ve had an overload of royal food,’ he told her. ‘This is great.’
‘So you wouldn’t be eating…why?’
‘I’m full of canapés.’
‘I can see that about you,’ she said. ‘A canapé snacker. Can I have your sandwich, then?’
He handed it over and watched in astonishment as she ate. Where was she putting it? There wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on her. She looked…just about perfect.
Where had that description come from? He thought of the glamorous women he’d had in his life, how appalled they’d be if they could hear the perfect adjective applied to this woman, and once more he couldn’t help smiling.
‘Yep, we’re a world away from your world,’ she said brusquely.
What the…? ‘Will you stop that?’
‘What?’ she asked, all innocence.
‘Mind reading.’
‘Not if it works. It’s fun.’ She rose and started clearing dishes. He noted the limp again but, almost as he noted it, it ceased. Zoe was visibly wilting. ‘Zoe, poppet, you go take a nap. Unless…’ She paused. ‘Unless Stefanos wants us to drive him into town now.’
‘I need to talk to you,’ he said.
‘There you go,’ she said equably. ‘I mind read that too. So, Zoe, pop into bed and we’ll take Stefanos home when you wake up.’
‘You won’t get angry again?’ Zoe asked her, casting an anxious look across at him.
And he got that too. This child’s mental state was fragile. She did not need angry voices. She did not need anyone arguing about her future.
This place was perfect for an injured child to heal, he thought. A tropical paradise.
He had another paradise for her, though. He watched with concern as Elsa kissed her soundly, promised her no anger and sent her off to bed.
There was no choice. He just had to make this…nanny…accept it.
She washed.
He wiped.
She protested, but he was on the back foot already—the idea of watching while she worked would make the chasm deeper.
They didn’t speak. Maybe the idea of having a prince doing her wiping was intimidating, he thought wryly, and here it was again. Her response before he could voice his thought.
‘An apron beats tassels for this job any day. I need a camera,’ she said, handing him a sudsy breadboard to wipe. ‘No one will believe this.’
‘Aren’t you supposed to rinse off the suds?’
‘You’re criticising my washing? I’m more than happy to let you do both.’
‘I’m more than happy to do both.’
She paused. She set down her dishcloth and turned to face him, wiping her sudsy hands on the sides of her shorts.
She looked anxious again. And territorial.
And really, really cute.
‘Why the limp?’ he asked and she glanced at him as if he was intruding where he wasn’t wanted.
‘It’s hardly a limp. I’m fine. Next question?’
‘Where’s Mr Murdoch?’ he asked, and her face grew another emotion.
‘What?’ she said dangerously.
Uh-oh. But he couldn’t take the question back. It hung between them, waiting for an answer.
‘My researchers said Zoe’s nanny was a Mrs Elsa Murdoch.’
‘Ms,’ she said and glared.
‘So never a Mrs?’
‘What’s that to do with the price of eggs?’
‘It’s merely a polite question.’
‘Polite. Okay.’ She even managed a…polite…smile. ‘So where’s your Princess?’
‘Sorry?’
‘I’m Mrs so there has to be a Mr. I believe I’m simply reversing your question. Is there a matching Princess?’
‘Why would you want to know that?’
‘Exactly,’ she said, and smiled—a smile that confounded him as she turned back to her washing. Only there was nothing left to wash. She let the water out and wiped the sink with care. She waited for him to dry the last glass, then wiped his part of the sink as well, as if it was vital that not a speck of anything remained.
This woman confounded him—but he had to focus on their future. He must.
‘Zoe’s needed back on Khryseis,’ he said, and Elsa’s hand stilled mid-wipe. She couldn’t disguise the fear sweeping over her face.
‘She stays here.’
‘I believe I’m her nearest living relative,’ he said mildly. ‘As such I can challenge your guardianship.’
She didn’t move. Her hand seemed suddenly to be locked on the sink. She was staring downward as if there was something riveting in its depths.
‘Oh…’ He couldn’t mistake the distress on her face. ‘No!’
But it had to be said. Like it or not, the stakes were too high to allow emotion to hold sway.
‘I’m her cousin,’ he said, gently but as firm as he needed to be. ‘It’s obvious you’re struggling to care for her. I can…’
‘You can’t.’ She whirled to face him at that. Her voice was low enough not to disturb Zoe, but loud enough to make him feel her fury. And her fear. ‘She’s been with me for four years. I’m her godmother and her guardian. Her mother was my best friend and I promised Amy I’d care for her. Her father was a colleague and I loved him too. You…did you know any of them?’
‘I knew Christos.’
‘Yeah, close family,’ she mocked. ‘He never mentioned you. Not once. He said royalty on Khryseis was a shambles, the King was concerned only with himself, the King controlled all three of the Diamond Isles and the original royal families of each island were helpless. Christos was frightened of the royal family. He came here to escape what he saw as persecution. He hated them.’
Okay, he thought. Stick to facts. Get over this patch of ground as fast as possible and move on.
‘King Giorgos gave Christos a dreadful time,’ he told her, keeping his voice as neutral as he could. ‘Christos and his mother left Khryseis when he was seventeen. Did he tell you he was first in line to the crown of Khryseis’s original royal family?’
‘No.’
‘He was. That’s why Giorgos made life hell for him. He made life hard enough for me and I was only second in line. So we both left and made our lives overseas, but when Giorgos died…’
‘Giorgos is dead?’
‘Without an heir. So Christos should be Crown Prince. It’s taken weeks to get this far. To find he was dead. No one on Khryseis knew he’d died.’
‘His mother wasn’t well when her son died.’ He could see facts and emotions swirling, fighting for space as she took in his words. ‘I guess…I imagined it was up to her to tell others if she wanted. But she was frail already, and her son’s death made things…Well, she died three months later.’
‘So Zoe lost her grandmother as well.’
Her eyes flew to his. She hadn’t expected that response, he thought, and wondered what she had expected.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you for recognising that. It did make things much harder.’
‘So then you stepped in.’
‘There was no one else.’
‘And now we have a mess,’ he said, choosing his words with care. ‘Yes, Christos hated the royal family, but it was King Giorgos he feared and Giorgos’s line is finished. The three Diamond Isles have splintered into three principalities. As Christos’s only child, Zoe’s the new Crown Princess of Khryseis. She’ll inherit full sovereign power when she’s twenty-five but until then, like it or not, I’m Prince Regent. Whether I want that power or not, the island’s desperate for change. The infrastructure’s appalling but I only have power for change if Zoe lives on Khryseis for at least three months of every year. Otherwise the power stays with an island council that’s as impotent as it is corrupt. Elsa, she has to come home.’
She didn’t say a word.
She was a really self-contained woman, he thought. He’d shaken her out of her containment but he’d done it with fear of losing Zoe. She had her self-containment back now, and he had no idea what was going in her head. He wouldn’t be privy to it until she decided to speak again.
She poured two tumblers of water. She walked outside—not limping now, he thought, and found he was relieved. He could cope with an injured child—but not an incapacitated nanny as well. There were two ancient deckchairs on the porch. She sank into one of them and left it to him to decide whether to sit on the other.
The chairs were old and stained and the one left vacant looked to be covered in cat fur.
His trousers were jet-black with a slash of crimson up the side. Ceremonial uniform.
‘It brushes off,’ she said wryly, not looking at him. Gazing out through the palms to the sea beyond.
He sat.
‘You have a cat?’ he asked, feeling his way.
‘Five,’ she said, and as he looked around she shook her head.
‘They won’t come near when you’re here. They’re feral cats. Cats are a huge problem up here—they decimate the wildlife. Only Zoe loves them. So we’ve caught every one we can. If they’re at all approachable we have them neutered. We feed them really well at dusk and again in the morning. We lock them up overnight where we feed them—in the little enclosure behind the house. That way they don’t need to kill wildlife to eat. Apart from our new little black one, they’re fat and lazy, and if you weren’t here they’d be lined up here snoozing their day away.’
‘You can afford to feed five cats?’
Mistake. Once again she froze. ‘You’re inordinately interested in my financial affairs,’ she said flatly. ‘Can you tell me why they’re you’re business?’
‘You’re spending Zoe’s money.’
‘And you’re responsible for Zoe how? You didn’t even know she existed.’
‘Now I do know, she’s family.’
‘Good, then,’ she said. ‘Go talk to Zoe’s lawyers. They’ll tell you we put her money in a trust fund and I take out only what’s absolutely necessary for us to live.’
‘And the cats?’
She sighed. ‘We catch fish,’ she said. ‘I cook the heads and innards with rice. That’s my cat food for the week. So yes, I waste rice and some fish heads on our cats. Shoot me now.’
‘I’m not criticising.’
‘You are,’ she said bluntly. ‘You said I’m struggling to care for her. Tell me in what way I’m struggling?’
‘Look at this place,’ he said before he could stop himself—and her simmering anger exploded.
‘I’m looking. I can’t see a palace, if that’s what you mean. I can’t see surround-sound theatre rooms and dishwashers and air-conditioning. I can’t see wall to wall carpet and granite bench tops. So how does Zoe need those?’
‘It’s falling down.’
‘So if it falls down I’ll rebuild. We have isolation, which Zoe needs until she gets her confidence back. We have our own private beach. We have my work—yes, I’m still doing research and I’m being paid a stipend which goes towards Zoe’s medical costs, but…’
‘You’re paying Zoe’s medical costs?’
‘Your investigator didn’t go very far if he didn’t find that out. Her parents hadn’t taken out medical insurance,’ she said. ‘In this country the basics are covered but there have been so many small things. The last lot of plastic surgery was on her shoulder. The surgeon was wonderful—that’s why we used him—but he only operates on private patients so we had to pay.’
‘You had to pay.’
‘Whatever.’
‘You can’t keep doing that.’
‘Try and stop me,’ she said, carefully neutral again. She’d obviously decided it was important to keep a rein on her temper.
‘Where does that leave you?’
‘Where I am.’
‘Stuck in the middle of nowhere, with a damaged child.’
She put her drink carefully down on the packing case that served as their outdoor table. She rose.
‘You know, I’m not enjoying myself here and I have work to do. I correct assignments online and I try to do it while Zoe’s asleep. When she wakes we’ll drive you back into town. But meanwhile…Meanwhile you go take a walk on the beach, calculate cat food costs, do whatever you want, I don’t care. I believe any further dialogue should be through our lawyers.’