Royals: His Hidden Secret

She’d never managed to.

Simone took a seat on the customer side of the bar, fully intending to study the wine-tasting list. She might have even managed to pay attention to the vintages on offer if Rafael hadn’t chosen that particular moment to peel his T-shirt from his body.

She tried to draw breath, tried to look away, but the latter was impossible and the former took determined effort. She found her breath, and then her voice. ‘Your back—’

He had his back towards her. He stilled, but he didn’t turn around.

‘Something against tattoos?’ he asked quietly.

‘No.’ Dear heaven, no. ‘It’s exquisite. But the words…’

Never look back.

He sluiced his face and arms; he took his sweet time before finally reaching for a nearby hand towel and turning to face her. ‘What about them?’

‘They just seem so…’ How could she explain the impact of those harsh, hard words carved into his skin, no matter how beautiful the pattern they made? ‘…Desolate. Surely some things are worth remembering?’ A young girl and a handsome older boy coaxing a tiny frog out of her boot and into the home she’d made for it. A first kiss sweeter than sunshine. A first love’s gentle caress. She sought his gaze and held it. ‘Aren’t they?’

He didn’t answer. Just looked away, picked up his clean T-shirt and pulled it on.

‘When did you get it?’ she asked next. She couldn’t seem to let go of the notion that he’d paid somebody to cut those words into his skin.

She didn’t think he was going to answer that question either, but then a parody of a smile stole across his lips, and his gaze met hers, mocking and bitter. ‘When I first came to Australia. Right after I left you.’

‘Hmm,’ she said finally, while deep down inside resentment began to build in response to the implication that his hurt, and the tattoo that went with it, were all her fault. ‘I just wept for six months, cursed you for six more, and kept my happy memories of you close. I still keep them close. It must be a gender thing.’

‘Maybe it’s a strength of feeling thing.’

‘Don’t count on it,’ she said tightly. How dared he turn his memory of her love for him into something weak and fleeting? How dared he paint her the villain? ‘You want to forget the past, Rafael? Fine. Go ahead. It’s your loss.’ Anger fuelled her feet as she stalked towards him. ‘You want to live for the present and look to the future? Fine. Here we are. Show me your bloody vineyard!’

‘Careful, Simone.’ His eyes had narrowed. A muscle worked in his jaw. ‘Swearing doesn’t become a lady.’

‘If you had any kind of memory left you’d remember that I often take exquisite pleasure in not behaving like a lady. Would you like a demonstration?’

‘What are you going to do, princess?’ They were toe to toe. Tension radiated from him in waves. ‘Hit me?’

‘Oh, no.’ Tempting as it was. ‘You got enough of that throughout your childhood, remember? Then again, you probably don’t. No, I was thinking of something a whole lot more subtle, by way of a demonstration.’ She put her hand to his chest, to his heart, before finally curving it round the back of his neck and pressing her lips to the strong curve of his jaw. Gently.

‘You think I didn’t love you,’ she murmured. Another kiss for that stubborn jaw, followed by the slow slide of her lips across to the edge of his mouth. ‘You think your feelings were the stronger and that you were the only one who was left desolate and grieving.’

She gave him time to move away, she did give him that.

His chest heaved and he drew a ragged breath. But he stayed right where he was.

‘You’re wrong,’ she whispered, and set her lips to his. Lord have mercy on her soul.

His lips were warm and firm. And closed. She touched the tip of her tongue to the crease in them and tasted salt. She felt the shudder that ripped through him, but his mouth stayed stubbornly closed to her. She started to pull away. Experiment over. Experiment failed.

And then his hand came up to cup her face, his lips opened beneath hers, a dam broke somewhere, and the world around her simply disappeared.

Reckless. She was so damned reckless. She always had been, especially when it came to making love. Rafe deepened the kiss, revelling in her abandoned response. The way her fingers curled into his hair, the way that greedy, generous mouth felt against his. Memories crashed down on him. He remembered that mouth, remembered marking her body with his mouth. He’d never forgotten.

Desire ate at him and she let him feed, encouraging his possession while her scent wrapped around him and clouded his thinking.

And then he closed his hands around her waist and dragged her against him as she wound her arms around his neck and all rational thought stopped. There was only heat and need, such a fierce and roiling need.

Simone’s lips clinging to his, her body so soft against his hardness, and an ache that wouldn’t be eased until he was buried inside her. His body burned for more. The ragged stitching holding his heart together threatened to unravel as he took and tasted as if it were his last drink before hell.

‘Remember me,’ she whispered. ‘Remember this.’

He heard the words. And the wound on his heart tore wide open.

He cursed savagely and dragged himself free of her. Of memories he didn’t want. Of a kiss he couldn’t handle. He cursed again and turned away. One step, and then another while he fought to master the desire that rode him and attempted to recover some of his sanity.

Back to the sink to fill his hands with rushing cold water from the tap so he could splash it on his face and his hair. His T-shirt stayed on. Old pain remained hidden but she knew it was there now and he cursed her for that insight. She should never have come here. She should have known to let sleeping beasts lie.

He reached for the towel and buried his face in it, before tossing it to the bench and turning to face her.

She looked shattered. Dishevelled. And beaten. Not at all the calmly composed mistress of the Duvalier champagne empire.

‘That really wasn’t a good idea, was it?’ she said shakily.

‘No.’

No, thought Simone bleakly.

‘Dammit, Simone,’ he said next, and his voice was tight and hard. ‘What the hell do you want from me? You asked for friendship, conditional or otherwise, and I’m doing my damnedest to deliver, but that wasn’t friendship! It was war.’

She knew it. She wished she’d never kissed him. She wished she’d never come. ‘You wanted war, soldier boy. From the moment you stepped from your truck,’ she said defiantly. ‘All I did was oblige you.’

‘I did not want war,’ he said bleakly. ‘I wanted…something else. God knows what exactly, but something that would satisfy Gabrielle and the children.’

Children? Bewilderment took the edge off her defiance and her shame, and she grabbed it for the lifeline it was. ‘What children?’

‘Gabrielle’s children.’

‘Gabrielle’s pregnant?’

‘No.’

She hadn’t been drinking. Swear to God, she hadn’t touched a drop. But she couldn’t for the life of her follow this conversation. ‘Do you think that some day we might manage a simple comprehensible conversation?’

‘Working on it, princess.’

‘Oh, I can tell.’

‘Stop,’ he said curtly. ‘I’m working on it. It would help a great deal if you worked on it too. Do you want us to be at loggerheads on Gabrielle and Luc’s wedding day?’

‘No, but—’

‘Zip.’ His hand signal repeated the order. ‘Neither do I. We’re starting again. Here and now. Do you still want to see the vineyard?’

‘Yes. But not if—’

‘Stop!’ he ordered, exasperation writ clearly on his features. ‘I swear you’ve become irritatingly argumentative in your old age.’

Old age? She was twenty-six. ‘Better that than an autocratic bore.’

He sent her a sinner’s smile. ‘You’re not bored.’

‘This is never going to work,’ she muttered as her body responded lovingly to that smile.

‘I knew you’d see it my way eventually,’ he said. ‘But for the sake of this wedding, let’s pretend there’s at least an outside chance that it might. Twenty minutes to tour the plant. Another twenty to show you the vines, after which I’ll take you up the hill and show you the view. An hour, at most, and during that time we shall attempt to find new common ground. How hard can it be?’

‘You’re right. We need to think positive,’ said Simone. ‘No touching. No talk of the past. No incendiary comments. No problem.’ She needed to stop thinking about that heart-wrenchingly beautiful tattoo. ‘Got any alcohol?’

‘Follow me.’

He showed her the crushing plant, the mixing, processing, and ageing vats—stainless steel and state-of-the-art, all of them. The bottling equipment was older and labour-intensive, but his volumes were small at the moment too. Doubtless he would trade up and it would be replaced when volumes grew.

The brand-new wine storage shed stood behind the processing one and if it lacked a little something by way of character when compared with the storage caves of Caverness, well, that was only to be expected. Temperature controlled and ruthlessly organised, his oak barrels stood in neat rows, pale as sand and also very new.

He noticed her frown and gave a Gallic shrug. Seasoned oak wine barrels were a rarity in Australia and the people who had them held them, he told her. They were impossible to import. He’d had to buy new.

He kept strictly to the topic of winemaking.

Simone aided his endeavour by asking technical questions.

Rafael gave technical answers and stayed at least three metres away from her at all times.

Apart from the hungry snake of desire in the pit of her stomach, her greedy eyes, and his warning glares, everything seemed to be going very well.

Only forty-nine and a half minutes to go.

They headed for Rafe’s work vehicle, a high-wheeled table-top truck and completely incompatible with a knee-baring sundress. Her dress rode up to high thigh as she settled into the passenger seat. Damn Gabrielle and her wardrobe suggestions. She knew she never should have listened to them. Rafael’s hands went to the steering wheel and stayed there. His knuckles turned white. His gaze turned black.

‘Fix it,’ he said tightly.

She fixed it.

Rafe drove. He wasn’t three metres away from her now. Simone battled the tension that came with enforced proximity and tried to think of questions that would make it go away and stay away, but she was running out of questions and Rafe’s answers were getting shorter. Yes, the trellising was his design. He’d wanted maximum sunlight, better air flow through the canopy and easier picking. Yes, the companion planting worked to keep pests away. The predatory ladybirds he released onto the vines also worked to keep pest numbers low.

Yes, he did eventually have to spray towards the end of the growing season. Yes, it wiped out his ladybirds. He released new ones straight after harvest.

Yes, the ducks were in residence in order to keep the grubs down.

No, they did not have names.

He showed her the dam and the wetlands below the vines. Half a dozen waterfowl and a pair of magnificent black swans had made the wetlands their home.

The swans didn’t have names either.

He drove up a steep dirt track to the top of a hill and showed her the lay of his land while the minutes ticked away, the silences grew longer, and the tension between them reached excruciatingly lofty heights.

‘What time is it?’ she said.

‘Four thirty-eight.’

Thirty-eight minutes in each other’s company without bloodshed was good. ‘You about ready to call it an hour?’

‘God, yes,’ he muttered gruffly, and that was that.

He stood staring at the view while she got in the truck and smoothed her skirt down her legs as far as it would go. ‘It’s all good,’ she said. ‘You can get in now,’ she added, and sent him a bright and guileless smile to deflect the glittering gaze he shot at her.

He got in. They started down the dirt track at speed. Rafe was clearly in a hurry to put an end to this tour. It wasn’t wimpish to cling to the door handle and start reciting the Lord’s Prayer, was it?

He shot her a glance, still glittering but this time tinged with amusement. He slowed down a fraction.

‘I got a letter today,’ he said.

Letters were good. Of course…it all depended what was in them. She eyeballed him cautiously.

‘It was from someone calling himself Etienne de Morsay. Apparently, he’s the head of some remote kingdom on the edge of the Pyrenees. Do you know of him?’

‘Yes.’ It was a startling enough statement and question to get her attention and chase pesky things like unwanted desire for dark angels bearing grudges into the shadows for a time. ‘He was one of my father’s school friends. We used to stay at his estate whenever my father took us to Spain. He was always very nice to Luc and me.’

Simone frowned, remembering the tightness in Luc’s expression upon seeing Etienne de Morsay at the Hammerschmidt auction. ‘He was also the one who bid against Luc for the Hammerschmidt vineyard. The one who pushed the price through the roof. What did he want?’

‘He wants me to work for him for three months and oversee the restoration of a vineyard on his estate. He’s done his homework. He knows a lot about what I’ve done here. I’m trying to figure out how he even knows about me.’

‘Not from me.’ Simone shook her head. ‘I haven’t had any real contact with Etienne in years. He came to Daddy’s funeral. He attended the Hammerschmidt auction. Luc spoke with him afterwards.’ From a distance they’d looked like jaguar and lion at war over the same prey. Gabrielle had been with them for a time, remembered Simone, but she’d cut out fast. ‘Maybe Luc mentioned you. Or maybe my father did, years ago. I don’t know how you turned up on his radar. What I do know is that this isn’t a small commission. It’s a very prestigious one with significant nonmonetary benefits attached. Etienne de Morsay is a very influential man. Restore his vineyard to glory and your reputation throughout Europe as a premiere vigneron will be assured.’

Rafael drummed his fingers on the steering wheel at her words. He said nothing for a while, just concentrated on the road ahead, and then finally he spoke again. ‘De Morsay says he’s in Sydney. He wants a meeting. And he wants to see the vineyard.’

‘It’s up to you, of course,’ she said delicately, not quite sure whether Rafael was asking for her advice or making a statement. ‘But I would be inclined to arrange that meeting.’

‘I will.’ Rafael slid her a sideways glance. ‘What’s it like, this little kingdom of his on the edge of the mountains?’

‘Maracey?’ said Simone. ‘It’s very rugged. A little bit wild.’

‘What’s its main industry? Its main source of income?’

‘Not grapes,’ said Simone. ‘Brokerage, I think. Maracey territory is neutral ground. A lot of unofficial politicking takes place there. Daddy once said that without de Morsay diplomacy, mainstream Europe would have given up on Spain decades ago.’

They’d made it back to the cellar door car park. Rafe slid his truck into place beside the hired Audi.

‘Thank you for the tour,’ she said politely.

‘Thank you for the information.’

They were being civil. He was not looking at her as if he wanted to bed her, strangle her or both. Clearly, it was time to leave.

‘So…I’ll see you at the wedding,’ she said as she got out of his truck and prepared to shut the door.

‘Looking forward to it,’ he said.

Liar. She didn’t say it aloud. Apparently she didn’t have to. The look Rafe sent her acknowledged how hard he was going to find playing groomsman to her bridesmaid.

‘Play your part, Simone, and I’ll play mine,’ he muttered. ‘That’s all I’m asking.’

‘Of course,’ she said with a bright smile that masked every last one of her tumultuous feelings towards this man, not the least being anger at his assumption that she needed to be told how to behave. ‘I’m all for a wedding-day truce. On one condition.’

His vivid blue gaze hardened. ‘I don’t do conditions.’

He’d do this one. Simone smiled again. ‘I’ll keep my peace with you during this wedding ceremony and reception, Rafael. I’ll do it willingly, and not for you. But afterwards…don’t expect my patience with your boorish behaviour to continue.’

He smiled tightly. ‘You’re not bored.’

She could be gentle with him, just this once. ‘Neither are you. Why is that, do you think?’

‘Shut the door, Simone.’

‘In a minute.’ There was something else he needed to know. Something he would already know, damn him, if only he’d let himself remember the past. ‘Gabrielle and Luc are wonderful together, Rafe. I want their wedding day to be perfect. I want their marriage to be a success. The demands of the Duvalier empire can be harsh and unforgiving but Luc and I are aware of that. We’ll see to it that those demands don’t crash down on Gabrielle all at once. We’ll take good care of her. On my life and Luc’s, we’ll protect her as you have.’

He nodded and looked away, his jaw set. ‘I know you will.’

She stepped back and slammed the passenger door shut. She didn’t bother raising her hand as he drove away.

He didn’t look back.

Chapter Four

GABRIELLE’S dinner fork clattered to her plate, lightly steamed carrot and snow pea still attached, as she stared at Rafael as if he’d grown horns and a tail.

‘Etienne de Morsay’s coming here?’ she said on a rising note of panic.

‘Yes.Tomorrow.’ Rafe studied his sister curiously from the opposite side of the dining table. ‘Is that a problem?’

‘Yes,’ she said tightly. ‘What does he want?’

‘He wants to look around the vineyard, and then he wants to discuss a vineyard restoration project he’d like me to oversee.’

‘Rafe, please…’ Gabrielle looked almost frightened. ‘You don’t want to work for this man. Cancel the meeting. Tell him he can’t come. Tell him you’ve too many wedding preparations to attend to!’

‘Everything’s done. Besides, apparently he’s a king. Can you cancel an audience with a king?’

‘You can do any damn thing you want,’ said Gabrielle fiercely. ‘You owe him nothing.’

‘Except an explanation,’ said Rafael dryly. ‘I’d like one too. What’s going on, Gabrielle? What do you have against me conducting business with this man?’

‘Nothing,’ she said quickly, as if only just realising how much her reaction would intrigue him. ‘Nothing, except that I’ve met the man, I don’t like him and I don’t think we should have anything to do with him.’ Gabrielle’s mouth set into a stubborn line. ‘He’s not an honest man.’

‘How so?’

‘Rafe, please!’ Gabrielle picked up her fork and Rafe watched in silence as her hand shook so badly that she had to put the fork back down. Bowing her head, she hid her trembling hand from his view. ‘I don’t want to go into it. Just…tell him not to come. It’s not a good time. The wedding’s in three days, Luc won’t be here for another two, and I just can’t cope with the thought of Etienne de Morsay right now. I can’t.’ Ashen-faced, she stared at him. ‘Please!’

‘All right. I’ll put him off until after the wedding. But then you’re going to tell me what this is all about.’

Gabrielle looked away, but not before Rafael had seen in her eyes a mixture of unbearable pain, stark fear, and defiance. Rafe knew that look. He’d seen it throughout their miserable childhood, in his own eyes, as well as in Gabrielle’s. He never thought he’d see it here. ‘Tell me what’s wrong,’ he said in the dialect of their youth, in the language of Caverness and all that went with it. ‘Tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it.’

‘But you can’t fix it.’ Gabrielle stood and placed her napkin on the table. ‘Not this time. No one can. Don’t let him come here, Rafael. I’m begging you.’

‘Shh.’ Dinner forgotten, he rose and enfolded his sister in his arms as he attempted to ease her distress. ‘Shh. It’s all right. I won’t let him come here. Just tell me why?’

‘I can’t.’ Her arms tightened around him and she sobbed as if her heart were breaking. ‘I can’t.’

The day of the wedding dawned silvery and clear and Simone thanked heaven for it as she eased the curtains from the sliding door and let the peace of early morning soothe her and chase away the remnants of her troubled sleep. Gabrielle had grown increasingly withdrawn and edgy in the days leading up to the wedding and nothing Simone had done had seemed to calm her down. It hadn’t been until Luc had arrived yesterday that Gabrielle had settled and regular bridal jitters had resumed. Simone could cope with the likes of those. What she didn’t like was knowing that something was wrong and not knowing what, and not being able to fix it.

She hated that.

Almost as much as she hated knowing that Rafael had once again been deliberately avoiding her these past few days and that her nerves were stretched almost as thin as Gabrielle’s because of it. Didn’t he know that familiarity bred contempt and that absence only made the want grow stronger?

Didn’t he know that seeing his hand in the wedding preparations all around her and not once seeing him was likely to drive her loopy? The tens of dozens of old roses that Inigo had taken delivery of yesterday and hidden in one of the cool rooms had been Rafael’s doing, Inigo had told her. As was the horse-drawn carriage that would take Simone and the blushing bride from the guest house to the lakeside gazebo where the ceremony would take place.

Didn’t Rafe know that a sit-down meal last night with just the four of them—Luc, Gaby, Rafe and her—would have done far more to ensure a smooth wedding day than Rafe spiriting Luc away to the vineyard last night and leaving her and Gabrielle to occupy guest-house rooms as per tradition? At least Luc and Gabrielle had spent most of yesterday together.

Simone had spent the day alone with only her thoughts for company.

They’d been decidedly dangerous thoughts.

Soon, Simone would call for coffee and then call to see if Gaby was awake and wanted her company, but for now she remained content to sit in her little guest-room courtyard, with the smell of night jasmine still lingering in the silvery dawn air.

She could do this.

No matter what Rafael’s mood today, or her own mood for that matter, she would do this. For the brother she adored. For Gabrielle with whom she’d shared so many childhood dreams. For her own sake, because she would never forgive herself if she made a mess of the bridesmaid duties bestowed upon her.

She could control her longing for Rafael today. She just had to do something to take the edge off her need beforehand, that was all. Maybe she should have booked a dawn skydive or gone for a quick swim in shark-infested waters. Maybe she still could. How far away was the beach? She padded inside and looked at the tourist leaflet on the bench. The beach was hours away and there was no promise of sharks.

Fine, then, she would just have to think rural. Horses. A spirited stallion with a burning desire to remain unbroken. A wild, beautiful, big-hearted beast who refused every normal rule of engagement and all you had to do was forget the rein and earn his trust and trust him not to hurt you in return. That was if he ever let you get close enough to him to try. But if he did let you close…if he did let you ride…the experience stayed with you for ever and ruined you for all other horses.

‘Bastard stallions,’ she muttered. ‘More trouble than they’re worth.’

She could be good, this day. She could do her duty as Gabrielle’s bridesmaid and her duty to the houses of Duvalier and Alexander both. One day. It wouldn’t kill her to behave for one more day.

Then she would go to war.

‘Your brother’s been pacing my kitchen since 6:00 a.m.,’ said Rafael, when Simone phoned the vineyard at Gabrielle’s urging, ostensibly to get an update on Luc’s frame of mind. ‘I cooked half a pig, a leg of cow and a dozen eggs and he barely managed a slice of Vegemite on toast. That’s gratitude for you.’