A Royal Marriage of Convenience

By Royal Appointment

Marion Lennox

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE

‘ROSE-ANITRA, we have a surprise for you.’

Rose sighed. In her experience surprises from her in-laws were like surprises in a fairground ghost-train: ‘Surprise!’ followed by green slime—or worse. Rose had spent the evening on a windswept scree, delivering a calf which had taken one look at the outside world and elected to stay put. It had taken her hours to persuade it to change its mind. She’d been up before dawn and she hadn’t stopped since. More than anything else in the whole world, she wanted to go to bed.

There was also the issue of the letter. The stiff, formal communication had arrived, registered mail, in the midst of a bunch of condolence cards. She’d read it briefly, then had stuffed it in her overall pocket to try and make sense of later. She’d like to think about it now, but Rose knew better than to try and deflect her in-laws. So she perched on the edge of an overstuffed chair in their overheated sitting room, she clasped her hands obediently, and she braced herself.

‘It’s a wonderful surprise,’ Gladys said, but for once she sounded a bit nervous.

‘You’ll be really pleased,’ Bob said, and Rose cast him an uncertain glance. Ever since her husband Max had died two years ago, Rose suspected Bob empathised with her a little. But only a little. Not so much that he’d stand up to his wife.

‘You know, it’s the anniversary of Max’s death today,’ Gladys said, casting a quelling glance at her husband.

‘Of course.’ How could Rose have forgotten? Yes, she still grieved for the man she’d loved, but maybe it was a little over the top that her veterinary clinic had been filled with as many flowers today as it had been two years ago. Max had been a loved son of the village. His memory would be kept alive for ever.

‘We waited until now to tell you,’ Gladys said. ‘Because Max asked us to wait. He said we were to let you get the worst of your grieving over, for you couldn’t have coped with a child until now.’

‘I…What are you saying?’ Rose’s fingers clenched involuntarily into her palms. Of course she couldn’t have coped with a child. Not when she’d been fighting to earn her way though vet school. Not when she and Max had been battling his illness. And not now, when she was struggling to earn enough for this tiny vet clinic to support them all.

‘But now it’s time,’ Gladys said, and she smiled.

‘Time?’ Rose managed. ‘For what?’

‘It’s his sperm,’ Bob said, and the elderly man’s voice was eager. ‘It’s Max’s sperm, Rose. When he first got sick, years and years ago, he was naught but a lad, but they told us that the treatment might make him infertile. Even then we thought who’d inherit this life? Who’d take this place forward?’

Who indeed? But Rose wasn’t asking the question. She was staring at them in dawning horror.

‘So we had it frozen,’ Gladys said. ‘And we wanted it to be a surprise. It’s his two-year anniversary present. From Max to you. Now you can have his babies.’

Five hundred miles away in London, in the illustrious international law firm Goodman, Stern and Haddock, another surprise was being played out.

Nikolai de Montez, barrister-at-law, was staring at the elderly man across his desk in stunned silence.

He’d walked in five minutes before the scheduled appointment he’d made a week earlier, neatly dressed, stooped with age, and with hands that trembled. The card he’d handed over had said simply: ‘Erhard Fritz. Assistant to the Crown.’

‘My question is simple, really,’ Erhard said without preamble. ‘If it meant you were to inherit a throne, would you be prepared to marry?’

As partner in this internationally renowned law firm, Nick was accustomed to listening to all sorts of outrageous proposals, but this was one to take the breath away.

‘Would I be prepared to marry?’ he said now, really carefully, as if his words alone could make the situation explode. ‘May I ask…marry who?’

‘A woman called Rose McCray. You might know her as Rose-Anitra de Montez. She’s a veterinarian in Yorkshire, but it seems that she might also be first in line to the throne of Alp de Montez.’

How could she walk away? She couldn’t, but for the last two days Rose had felt like she was walking in a nightmare—-the nightmare that was the remains of her husband’s life.

Everywhere she went she was surrounded by memories. She woke and Max looked down on her from the framed photograph beside their wedding bed. Gladys had collapsed in hysterics when Rose had wanted to give away his clothes, so Max’s shirts and trousers still hung in the closet. Max’s coats still hung in the entrance hall, his boots still stood on the back porch. ‘I’ll not be forgetting our Max,’ she said fiercely when anyone challenged her.

Rose’s grief over the death of her husband had been as deep as it had been sincere, but now it was starting to overwhelm her. She felt like she was living in a perpetual shrine to Max—and now they wanted her to have Max’s child.

The request had been playing over and over in her head for the last two days—along with the contents of the letter. She was so weary she was about to fall over, but one truth was starting to emerge: this couldn’t go on. Max had been dead these two years. If there’d been the money she would have moved out to a place of her own, but her income paid the upkeep on this place. She couldn’t leave. Unless…Unless…

The proposal outlined in the letter was crazy, but so was this situation. The proposal was almost like a siren song. Alp de Montez…a country she loved. She lifted the photograph that had come with the letter, a picture of one Nikolai de Montez. He was long, lean and darkly handsome. His Mediterranean good looks were stunning.

He was about as different from Max as it was possible to get, she thought, reading the letter for the tenth time and then putting it firmly away. No. It was stupid. The letter was a lunacy, a crazy escape-clause with no guarantees that she wouldn’t be worse off.

This was Max’s community. She had to give it one last try, no matter how trapped she was feeling. If only they’d back off about the baby.

She walked into the sitting room, determined to say what had to be said. They were waiting for her. Bob was pouring her a sherry.

‘We’ve been thinking,’ Gladys said before she could say a word. ‘We’re so excited about the baby, but you need to hurry. There’s enough sperm for you to have more than one, and you’re almost thirty. If you don’t have a boy first, then we…’ She caught herself. ‘You’ll want another. Rose, we’ve made an appointment for you with the specialist in Newcastle tomorrow, and Bob’s arranged for a locum so you can go.’

‘That’s good,’ Rose said faintly, but she didn’t take the sherry. Gladys smiled her approval.

‘Good girl. I told Bob no alcohol. Not if you’re pregnant.’

‘I’m not pregnant yet.’

‘But you will be.’

‘No,’ Rose said faintly, and then more forcibly. ‘No. If you’ll excuse me…’ She took a deep breath. ‘It’s good that you’ve organised a locum. I need to go to London for a couple of days. I’ve received a letter.’

‘A letter?’

‘It came registered post to the surgery,’ she said, knowing full well that any post out of the ordinary that came via the private letter-box was likely to be steamed open. ‘You remember my family has royal connections?’

‘Yes,’ Gladys said, stiffening in disapproval.

‘It seems someone came here to see me a week ago,’ she said. ‘Someone from Alp de Montez. You told him I was away?’

‘I…’ Gladys looked at Bob and then she looked at the carpet. ‘He said he had a proposal for you,’ she muttered, defensive. ‘What would you be wanting with a proposal?’

Rose nodded. Two proposals in two weeks. The one facing her here made the other one seem mild in comparison.

But what Gladys had just said firmed things for her. If she agreed to have a child, a daughter would never be enough. If she finally had Max’s son, then the child would be a living memorial to Max. What crazy reason was that to bring a child into the world?

‘It seems I’m needed,’ she said, thinking it through as she spoke. ‘I mean…needed by someone other than you. By someone other than my dead husband’s family and his community. When I first read the letter I thought it was crazy, but it seems as if it’s not crazy after all. Or no more crazy than this. Either way, I’m going to find out. I’m going to London to see if I’ve inherited a crown.’

CHAPTER TWO

THE restaurant Nick had organised as a rendezvous was a good one. It was old-fashioned, full of oak wainscotting, linen table-cloths, and individual booths where people could talk without struggling to hear or worrying about being heard.

He walked in and Walter, the head waiter, met him with the familiarity of an old acquaintance. ‘Good evening, Mr de Montez.’ He looked at Nick’s casual Chinos and cord jacket and he smiled. ‘Well, well. Holiday mode tonight, then, sir?’

Holiday. Yeah, maybe this was his holiday. Nick hardly did holidays at all, so he might as well term this one. Oh, every now and then he’d fly back to Australia to see his foster mother, Ruby, with whom he kept in touch and phoned every Sunday without fail. He skied now and then with a few important clients, but mostly Nick lived to work. He was on holiday tonight because he’d donned casual clothes. That’d do him for while.

He was led over to the booth he generally used. Erhard was there already, and Nick appraised him more thoroughly as he rose to greet him. The old man looked thin, wiry and frail, with a shock of white hair and white bushy eyebrows. He was dressed in a deeply formal black suit.

‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you arrived,’ Nick said, and he looked ruefully down at his clothes, regretting he hadn’t opted for formal. ‘And I’m sorry for these.’

‘You think Rose-Anitra might be uncomfortable with formality?’ Erhard asked, smiling.

‘I did,’ he confessed. Some time in the last few days, as Erhard had talked him through the situation, he’d handed over a photograph of Rose, taken a month ago by a private investigator. Rose had been working—the shot had her leaning against a battered four-wheel-drive vehicle, talking to someone out of frame. She was wearing dirty brown dungarees, Wellingtons and a liberal spray of mud. She was pale faced, with the odd freckle or six, and the only colour about her was the deep, glossy auburn of the braid hanging down her back.

She was a good-looking woman in a ‘country hick’ sort of way, Nick had conceded. The women in his world were usually sophisticated chic. There was no way this woman could be described in those terms, but she’d looked sort of…cute. So when dressing tonight he’d decided formal gear might make her uneasy.

‘You may be underestimating her,’ Erhard said.

‘She’s a country vet.’

‘Yes. A trained veterinarian.’ Still the hint of reproof. ‘My sources say she’s a woman of considerable intelligence.’ And then he paused, for Walter was escorting someone to their table.

Rose-Anitra? The woman in the dungarees?

Nick could see the similarities, but only just. She was wearing a crimson, halter-necked dress, buttoned at the front from the below-knee hemline to a low-cut cleavage. The dress was cinched at the waist in a classic Marilyn Monroe style, showing her hourglass figure to perfection. Her hair was twisted into a casual knot, caught up with soft white ribands, and tiny tendrils were escaping every which way. She was wearing not much make-up—just enough to dust the freckles. Her lips were a soft rose, which should have clashed with her dress but didn’t.

She was wearing stilettos. Gorgeous red stilettos that made her legs look as if they went on for ever.

‘I believe I had it right,’ Erhard said softly to him, and chuckled and moved forward to greet their guest. ‘Mrs. McCray.’

‘Rose,’ she said and smiled, and her smile lit up the room. Her pert nose wrinkled a little. ‘I think I remember you. Monsieur Fritz—you were assistant to my uncle?’

‘I was,’ Erhard said, pleased. ‘Please, call me Erhard.’

‘Thank you,’ she said gravely. ‘It’s been almost fifteen years, but I do remember.’ She turned to Nick. ‘And you must be Nikolai? Monsieur de Montez.’

‘Nick.’

‘I don’t think I’ve met you.’

‘No.’

Walter was holding out her seat and Rose was sitting, which hid her legs. Which was almost a national tragedy, Nick decided. What was she about, disguising those legs in dungarees? He surveyed her with unabashed pleasure as Walter fussed about them, taking orders, offering champagne. ‘Yes, please,’ Rose said, and beamed. When the champagne arrived she put her nose right into the bubbles and closed her eyes, as if it was her first drink for a very long time.

‘You like champagne, then?’ Nick said, fascinated, and she sighed a blissful smile.

‘You have no idea. And it’s not even sherry.’ She had a couple more sips, then laid her glass back on the table with obvious reluctance.

‘We’re very pleased you were able to come,’ Erhard said gently, and looked at Nick. ‘Aren’t we, Nick?’

‘Yes,’ said Nick, feeling winded.

‘I’m sorry it took a while to contact me,’ Rose told them, glancing round the restaurant with real appreciation. ‘My family has an odd notion that I need protection.’

‘You don’t?’ Nick asked.

‘No,’ she said, and took another almost defiant sip of champagne. ‘Absolutely not. This is lovely.’

It was, Nick thought. She was.

‘Maybe it’d be best if I outline the situation,’ Erhard said, smiling faintly at Nick as if guessing his degree of confoundment. ‘Rose, I’m not sure how much you know.’

‘Not much at all,’ she admitted. ‘Only what you told me in the letter. The whole village seems to have been playing keepings off, from telling you I was away when you called, to refusing to pass on phone messages. If Ben at the post office hadn’t been a man of integrity I might never have heard from you at all.’

‘Why would they be worried about Erhard?’ Nick asked, puzzled.

‘My in-laws know I’m the daughter of minor royalty,’ she said. ‘My husband used to delight in it. But since he’s died anything that might take me away from the village has been regarded with suspicion. I gather Erhard came, looked dignified and spoke with an accent. That’d be enough to make them worry. My in-laws have a lot of influence, and they don’t like strangers. I’m sorry.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ Erhard said gently. He hesitated. ‘At least you’re here now, which means that you may be prepared to listen. It might sound preposterous…’

‘You don’t know what preposterous is,’ she said enigmatically. ‘Try me.’

Erhard nodded. It seemed he was prepared to do the talking, which left Nick free to, well, just look.

‘I’m not sure how much you know already,’ Erhard said. ‘I’ve talked the situation through with Nick this week, and I did outline this in the letter, but maybe I need to start at the beginning.’

‘Go ahead,’ Rose said, sipping some more champagne and smiling. It was an amazing smile. Stunning.

Nick was stunned.

Erhard cast him an amused glance. He was an astute man, was Erhard. The more Nick knew him, the more he respected him. Maybe he should look away from Rose. Maybe what he was thinking was showing in his face.

What the heck? Not to look would be criminal.

‘I’m not sure if you know the history of Alp de Montez,’ Erhard was saying, smiling between the pair of them. ‘Let me give you a thumb sketch. Back in the sixteenth century, a king had five sons. The boys grew up warring, and the old king thought he’d pre-empt trouble. He carved four countries from his border, and told his younger sons that the cost of their own principality was lifelong allegiance to their oldest brother.

‘But granting whole countries to warlike men is hardly a guarantee of wise rule. The princes and their descendants brought four wonderful countries to the brink of ruin.’

‘But two are recovering,’ Nick said, and Erhard nodded.

‘Yes. Two are moving towards democracy, albeit with their sovereigns still in place. Of the remaining two, Alp de Montez seems the worst off. The old Prince—your mutual grandfather—left control more and more in the hands of the tiny council running the place. The chief of council is Jacques St. Ives, and he’s had almost complete control for years. But the situation is dire. Taxes are through the roof. The country’s on the brink of bankruptcy, and people are leaving in the thousands.’

‘Where do you come into this?’ Nick asked curiously. He knew much of this, and not all of it was second hand. Several years ago, curious about the country where his mother had been raised, he’d spent a week touring the place. What he’d seen had horrified him.

‘I’ve been an aide to the old Prince for many years,’ Erhard said sadly. ‘As he lost his health, I watched the power shift to Jacques. And then there were the deaths,’

‘Deaths?’ Rose asked.

‘There have been many,’ Erhard told her. ‘The old Crown Prince died last year. He had four sons, and then a daughter. You’d think with five children there’d be someone to inherit, but, in order of succession, Gilen died young in a skiing accident, leaving no children. Gottfried died of a drug overdose when he was nineteen. Keifer drank himself to death, and Keifer’s only son Konrad died in a car crash two weeks ago. Rose, your father Eric died four years back, and Nick, your mother Zia, the youngest of the five children, is also dead. Which leaves three grandchildren. Eric’s daughters—you, Rose, and your sister Julianna—are now first and second in line for the throne. You, Nikolai, are third.’

‘Did you know all this?’ Nick asked Rose, and she shook her head.

‘I knew my father was dead, but I didn’t know any of the ascendancy stuff until I had Erhard’s letter. My mother and I left Alp de Montez when I was fifteen. Have you ever been there?’

‘I skied there once,’ Nick admitted.

‘Does that mean you can inherit the throne?’ she asked, smiling. ‘Because you skied there?’

‘It almost comes down to that,’ Erhard said, and Nick had to stop smiling at Rose for a minute and look serious. Which was really hard. He was starting to feel like a moonstruck teenager, and he’d only had half a beer. Maybe he’d better switch to mineral water like Erhard.

But, regardless of what he was feeling, Erhard was moving on. ‘We need a sovereign,’ he said. ‘The constitution of the Alp countries means no change can take place without the overarching approval of the Crown. I’d love to see the place as a democracy, but that’s only going to happen with royal approval.’

‘Which would be where we come in, I guess,’ Rose said. ‘Your letter said you needed me.’

‘Yes.’

‘But I’m not a real royal. Eric really wasn’t my father.’ She touched her flame-coloured hair and winced in rueful remembrance. ‘Surely you remember the fuss, Erhard? Eric called my mother a whore and kicked her out of the country.’

‘Not until you were fifteen. And you went with her,’ Erhard said softly.

‘There wasn’t a lot of choice.’ She shrugged. ‘My sister—my half-sister—wanted to stay in the palace, but my mother was being cut off with nothing. There wasn’t a lot of love lost between me and Julianna even then. My sister was jealous of me, and my father hated my hair. No. That’s putting it too nicely. My father hated me. I had no place there.’

‘He acknowledged you as his daughter until you were fifteen,’ Erhard said. ‘Yes, there was general consensus that you weren’t his, but the people felt sorry for your mother, and they loved you.’

‘And my grandfather wanted my mother in the castle,’ Rose said bluntly. ‘My grandfather didn’t care about the scandal which had produced me. He knew his son was a womaniser, and he knew my mother’s affair happened through loneliness. My mother was kind, in a family where kind was hard to get. It was only after Grandfather became so ill, and he wasn’t noticing, that my father was able to send her away.’

‘To nothing,’ Erhard said bleakly. ‘To no support.’

‘We didn’t care,’ Rose said, sounding defiant. ‘At least…it would have been nice at the end, but we got by.’

‘So you left the throne for Julianna.’

‘I didn’t,’ Rose said, sounding annoyed. ‘My mother and I assumed Keifer and then Konrad would inherit. We weren’t to know they’d die young.’

‘So you’ve never officially removed yourself from the succession?’

‘I didn’t think I had to. If I’m not real royalty…’

‘You are real royalty,’ Erhard said, emphatic. ‘You were born within a royal marriage.’

‘I have red hair. No one in my extended family has red hair. And my mother admitted—’

‘Your mother admitted nothing on paper.’

‘But DNA…’

‘If DNA testing were done, half the royal families of Europe would crumble,’ Erhard told her. ‘Your mother married young into a loveless marriage, but such things aren’t unusual. Your parents are dead. There’s no proof of anything.’

‘Julianna looks royal.’

‘You think?’ Erhard asked, with a wry smile. ‘There’s no proof of that either, and no one dare suggest DNA. So we turn to the lawyers. There’s an international jurisdiction—legal experts chosen for impartiality—set up by the four Alp principalities for just this eventuality. They decide who has best right to the crown. Rose, I told you in the letter, Julianna has married Jacques St. Ives and they’re making a solid play for the crown. Their justification is that Julianna is the only one of the three of you who lives in the country, and moreover she’s married to a citizen who cares about the place. You, Rose, walked away almost fifteen years ago. Regardless of your birth, your absence by choice sits as an implacable obstacle. The panel will decide in Julianna’s favour, unless they’re given an alternative.’

He hesitated. He looked as if he didn’t want to continue—but it had to be said, and they all knew it. ‘Rose, if there are questions about your parentage there are also questions about Julianna’s,’ he said softly. ‘Regardless of DNA testing, the panel acknowledge that. Your parents’ marriage was hardly happy. You remain the oldest. And behind you both there’s Nikolai, whose mother was definitely royal. I’ve thought and thought of this. The only way forward is for the two of you to present as one. Together you must outweigh Julianna’s claim. A married couple—the questioned first and the definite third in line—taking on the throne together.’

Whatever Erhard had said in his letter, Rose must have been forewarned, Nick thought, as she was showing no shock. The idea had stunned him, but she was reacting as if it was almost reasonable. She sat and stared at the bubbles in her glass for a while, letting things settle. She wasn’t a woman who needed to talk, he thought. The silence was almost comfortable.

‘A marriage of convenience,’ she said at last, as if the thing was worthy of consideration.

‘Yes.’

‘That’s what I thought you meant after I read the letter. I guess it’s why I came. It seemed that this way I might be able to help. But…’ She smiled up at Walter as he delivered their meals, and she nodded absolute affirmation when he offered her wine. ‘Are you sure Julianna and Jacques won’t make good rulers?’

‘I’m sure they won’t,’ Erhard said.

‘Don’t you know your sister?’ Nick asked, curious.

‘We were friends when we were little,’ she said, sounding suddenly forlorn. ‘Julianna was pretty and blonde and cute, and I was carrot-headed and pudgy. But despite that the old Prince liked me. He indulged me. He’d call me his little princess, and Julianna hated it. So did my father. It got so that I hated it too, and when it all blew up I was glad to go. I got to stay with my mother, my great-aunt and six crazy cats in London, while Julianna got to be a princess.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘So she got what she wanted. But she never answered my letters or returned my calls. It was like she and my father just wiped us. You say she’s married?’

‘Yes,’ Erhard said. ‘To Jacques, who wants control of the throne.’

‘I see.’ She gave herself an irritated shake. ‘I guess I expected no less. But how can I believe what you say of her intentions?’

‘I can verify them,’ Nick told her, feeling it was time he helped out. Erhard was looking so strained he looked like he might collapse. ‘I’ve spent the last week researching the place. Alp de Montez is in serious trouble, and it will take a sovereign to help. There’s never been the slightest interest in ruling the country properly from either Jacques, the presiding council, or from Julianna herself. Corruption is everywhere.’

‘Oh,’ Rose said in a small voice. She swallowed, and then suddenly seemed to make a conscious effort to shake off dreariness. ‘This food is wonderful.’

It was wonderful. Nick had chosen steak, and somewhat to his surprise Rose had too. He was accustomed to women ordering something like grilled fish with a salad—or just a salad—and then not eating most of it, but there was none of the dainty eater about Rose. She tucked into her steak with enjoyment. There was a bowl of roast potatoes to share, fragrant with rosemary, and she reached for the last one before he did.

‘Ladies first,’ she said, and she smiled at him again, and the odd warmth he was feeling intensified.

Erhard, who had been the one to settle on grilled fish, chuckled quietly at the pair of them. ‘This could be some match,’ he said.

Hey, hold on. Nick jerked back to the issue at hand. He needed to put his hormones to one side and concentrate. ‘We’re far from deciding here,’ he retorted. ‘The thing seems a fairy tale.’

‘None of us believe it’s impossible, or we wouldn’t be sitting here,’ Erhard said smoothly. ‘Rose thinks so too.’

‘Rose isn’t committing herself,’ Rose retorted. ‘I only said I’d meet him.’

‘And you have met him, and he makes you smile.’

‘Just because I beat him to the last potato. That’s hardly a basis for a marriage.’

‘Shared intelligence is a basis of a marriage,’ Erhard said calmly. ‘And shared compassion. Now I’ve met you both, I believe the thing might be possible.’

‘Is there really no other way?’ Nick said cautiously. But he wasn’t feeling cautious. Ever since Erhard had walked into his office, a bubble of excitement had been growing inside him that refused to be suppressed. At first it had been the idea of having some say in turning around the fate of a nation. But now…

He’d never thought of marriage. Why should it be suddenly immensely appealing?

‘Let’s get this straight,’ he said. ‘Why not just Rose?’

Erhard nodded. He’d obviously prepared his responses very carefully.

‘On the upside she’s first in line, and once upon a time the people loved her,’ he said. ‘The downside is that as soon as the old Prince was unable to react Eric shouted from the rooftops that Rose wasn’t his. Rose and her mother left the country fifteen years ago and never looked back.’

‘Why not just Julianna, then?’

‘On the upside, Julianna lives in the country and the people know her. But they don’t like her. Or they don’t like her husband, and Julianna does what her husband says. The inference that Rose isn’t royal must also taint Julianna’s claim. There’s no proof. And Rose is older.’

‘Why not just Nick, then?’ Rose demanded.

‘He’s an unknown,’ Erhard said flatly. ‘I didn’t know him myself until a week ago. He’s been to the country as a tourist, but nothing else. The people will never accept him.’

‘Maybe I could support Rose’s claim without marriage,’ Nick heard himself say, albeit reluctantly. There was a crazy voice in the back of his head saying ‘take her and run’. He suppressed it with an effort. He had to be sensible. ‘As someone in line myself, even if further away and the child of a royal daughter and not a son, I can surely add weight to Rose’s position?’

‘So can the President of our Council,’ Erhard said bluntly. ‘He supports Julianna. Julianna is a citizen of Alp de Montez, and she’s married to another citizen. Rose was a people’s favourite in the past. The press loved her, portraying her as a natural, friendly kid who always had a stray animal attached. But that knowledge of Rose has faded, and her father’s vitriolic denunciation of her stands in her way. It will take a huge factor to swing the thing in Rose’s favour. The only thing that will do it is your marriage.’

‘And you?’ Nick said, turning to Rose, puzzled. There was so much about this woman he didn’t understand. ‘You’d seriously consider marriage to gain a throne?’

She froze at that. She’d been smiling, but now her face stilled.

‘Whoa,’ she said. ‘Let’s not paint me a gold-digger.’

‘I never said…’

‘Yes, you did,’ she said bluntly. ‘So let’s get things clear. Erhard’s letter made me think. I’m not the least bit interested in playing the Crown Princess—-that was always Julianna’s preferred option—but there’s not so many times in your life that you’re presented with an option that just might be for the greater good.’

Then she smiled up at Walter, who was clearing the plates from the main course. ‘Do your puddings match your mains?’

‘They certainly do, miss,’ Walter said, and he beamed.

‘I’d like something rich and sticky.’

‘I believe we can accommodate that, miss.’ Walter was smiling down at her like an avuncular genie. It was as if she had him mesmerised. Well, why not? Nick thought. He was feeling pretty mesmerised himself.

‘Pudding for you, too?’ Walter said, beaming still, and Nick nodded before thinking about it.

What was he doing? He seldom had pudding. He had to get his mind back into gear. Now.

‘I don’t know the first thing about you,’ he said weakly to Rose as Walter headed off to fetch puddings for all. ‘How can we think about marriage?’

‘Are you worried?’ she asked. ‘I’m not an axe murderer. Nor a husband beater. Are you?’

He ignored the question. ‘Erhard says you’re widowed.’

‘Yes,’ she said in a voice that suddenly said ‘don’t go there’.

‘There’s no impediment to marriage,’ Erhard said, stepping into the breach.

‘Except that I don’t much want to be married,’ he said. Or he didn’t think he did. He hadn’t thought he did. There seemed to be two strands of thought here. The strand that he’d had before meeting Rose, and the post-Rose strand. Actually the ‘post-Rose’ was a really convoluted knot.

‘Neither do I,’ said Rose. ‘Isn’t that lucky? We wouldn’t need to stay married, would we, Erhard?’

‘Of course not,’ Erhard said. ‘This isn’t a happy-ever-after scenario I’m demanding of you. The idea is that you marry almost immediately. I’ll put the necessary paperwork in train, and then we present you to Alp de Montez as the Jacques-Julianna alternative. I’ve had private words with the committee. Nick, you stay in Alp de Montez for a few weeks, until things seem settled. Maybe a month. Then you use the excuse that you don’t want to give up your profession and return to London. Rose then stays in Alp de Montez until we can get things in train to get a decent government sorted. When affairs are under control, you can quietly divorce.’

‘You’d depend on Rose to get the affairs under control?’

‘You’re the international lawyer,’ Erhard said shrewdly. ‘I’m willing to wager you know exactly what can be done.’

He did. He’d been thinking about it all week. The chance to make a difference….

He’d never belonged. His mother, Zia, had left Alp de Montez as a troubled teenager. She’d ended up in Australia, addicted to drugs, pregnant with him. His childhood until he was eight had been a struggle to survive, lurching from fleeting intervals living with his increasingly erratic mother, to extended periods in a long string of foster homes.

Then Ruby had found him. She’d plucked him off the streets of Sydney, and from then on his base had been with Ruby and her tribe of foster sons. Ruby had given him security, but still he felt rootless.

At some really basic level Erhard’s proposition left him breathless. What had Rose said? An option ‘for the greater good’. It just might be the chance to make a difference.

He thought back to the frightened girl who’d been his mother. She’d want this. He knew she would. She’d been desperately homesick for Alp de Montez but there was no way her increasingly disgusted family would have funded her to go home.

He could go home on her behalf now. With this woman by his side.

Marriage. It wasn’t such a frightening thought if it was done for the right reasons. But were Rose’s reasons right? How could a woman like this want to marry a complete stranger?

She was his cousin.

No. She wasn’t even that, he thought. She was the product of his aunt-by-marriage’s affair with someone they knew nothing of.

It didn’t matter. She was gorgeous.

‘What about Julianna?’ he asked, looking for catches. ‘You can’t convince her to do the right thing?’

‘Julianna won’t speak to me,’ Erhard said.

‘But you?’ he asked Rose. ‘You’re her sister.’

‘She doesn’t speak to me either,’ Rose said sadly. ‘I know it’s dumb, but there it is.’

‘So this really is a serious proposition.’

‘It seems like it.’ She smiled ruefully into her empty wine-glass. ‘You know, I swore I’d never marry again.’

‘That’d be a waste.’

‘Says you, who’s never married at all,’ she retorted, suddenly sounding angry.

‘I’m sorry.’ But his thoughts were elsewhere. ‘I wouldn’t need to stay in Alp de Montez,’ he said slowly.

‘You would for a few weeks,’ Erhard said. ‘Could you use a holiday?’

A holiday. Strange concept. With Rose?

She really was the most extraordinary woman. Stunning.

‘Maybe I could,’ he said. ‘And you?’ he queried Rose. ‘How long would you have to be away from your vet practice?’

‘A year,’ Erhard said, answering for her. ‘At least. Maybe longer. I’m sorry, Rose, but it’d be more your commitment than Nick’s. You’d rule jointly, but it’s you who’s first in line. Unless anything happened to Julianna…’

‘Which isn’t going to happen,’ Rose said, and shivered. And then braced herself. ‘No matter. I’d have to close my doors anyway, and there are…reasons why that’s not such a terrible idea.’

‘I guess the idea of playing princess for a year would be fun,’ Nick ventured, and she frowned.

‘Now you’re being insulting,’ she retorted, and he paused.

Maybe he was.

There’s not so many times in your life that you’re presented with an option that just might be for the greater good.

She met his look with calm indifference, almost scorn. His gaze fell to her hands. Here was another difference—a huge difference—from the women he dated. This woman’s hands wouldn’t have looked out of place on a woman twenty years older. Work-worn hands, not something he saw a lot of.

But she was looking down at his hands, and he suddenly realised she knew exactly what he was thinking. His hands were those of an international lawyer. There was not a lot of work wear there.

If she was to have fun for a year, maybe there were reasons she deserved it, he thought. She’d lost a husband…

On the far side of the restaurant, a band struck up. It was a simple quartet, playing softly enough to not disturb the diners on this side of the restaurant. There was a small dance-floor, and a couple of diners rose and started dancing.

To Nick’s surprise Erhard rose. But not to dance.

‘No,’ he said as Nick rose as well. ‘I’m sorry.’ He sighed. ‘I’m not…completely well. If you’ll excuse me for a moment…’He looked across at the dance floor, almost wistfully. ‘Maybe you could dance while I’m away.’

‘I don’t—’ Nick started, but Erhard shook his head.

‘You do. My informants say you do. And so does Rose.’ He gave an uncertain smile at them both, but there was discomfort behind his eyes. ‘Excuse me. You go on.’ And he pressed his napkin to his lips and headed towards the rear of the restaurant.

Rose watched him go in concern. ‘He seems a nice man,’ she said. ‘He’s ill. I wonder what—’

‘He’s probably doing this to manipulate us,’ Nick retorted, and she smiled, but absently, still looking concerned.

‘I don’t think so. Even if he is, he’s doing it for the right reasons, and there is something wrong. I think.’

The silence stretched on. Behind them the band launched into a lively Latin-swing number.

Nick was already standing. He went to sit down again but then thought it seemed surly.

The woman before him was beautiful.

‘You don’t look like a country vet,’ he said, and he must have sounded accusing because she smiled again.

‘I’m not manipulating,’ she said gently. ‘I promise.’

But any woman who looked like she did tonight was making a statement, he thought, whether it was manipulative or not. And maybe his thoughts were transparent, because her smile gave way to a flash of anger.

‘Stop looking like that. I have the right to wear what I like.’

‘Of course you do.’

‘My husband bought this for me on our honeymoon,’ she said, still angry, and he stilled.

‘So it is a sort of statement.’

‘I guess it is.’

‘A statement that you’re available?’

The flash of anger stilled and her eyes were suddenly ice. ‘I don’t think I want to be married to you,’ she snapped. ‘Of all the boorish comments…If you wear a nice suit, is that an advertisement of availability as well?’

‘No,’ he said, horrified. He was suddenly way out of his depth. How could he have asked her such a question? As well as being insulting, he’d also hurt her. He could see it in the way she’d withdrawn.

‘Rose, I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I have no idea why I said that, but it was way out of line. Hell, marriage or not, we seem to have crossed some sort of barrier that’s launched me somewhere where I’m not sure of the rules any more. I know that’s no excuse. But please—I’m sorry.’

Her face softened—just a little. ‘It does seem crazy,’ she admitted. She glanced down at her dress ruefully. ‘But maybe this is some sort of a statement. Maybe that’s why you’ve made me angry. You know, this dress has sat in a camphor chest in my parents-in-law’s house for the last five years. It’s been like…well, I was locked up with it. Tonight I did wear it as a kind of declaration—not that I’m available, but that I’m free. If that makes sense.’ She shook her head. ‘No. It barely makes sense to me. But the last thing I want is more attachments. I’ve done family for life. I am free.’

‘Diving into the royal goldfish bowl of Alp de Montez is scarcely freeing yourself,’ he said cautiously.

‘It all depends on what your prison has been,’ she said. ‘Are you going to ask me to dance?’

‘I…’ What the hell? ‘Yes.’

‘Excellent,’ she said, and she smiled, rose and took his arm, altogether proprietary. It seemed as if he was forgiven. ‘If I’m going to get the camphor smell out of this dress then I need to swirl it round a bit.’

She didn’t smell of camphor.

Rose was an intuitive dancer, light and lovely on her feet. Nick had been taught the rudiments of dance by his determined little foster mother, and he’d always enjoyed it. With great music and a good partner one could almost lose oneself in dance.

But not tonight. He didn’t want to lose himself when he was dancing with Rose.

The Latin music gave way to a gentle waltz. Erhard had still not returned to their table so suddenly Nick was holding her close, steering her around the dance floor, feeling her body mould to his in perfect time with his steps, in perfect time with him.

And she didn’t smell of camphor. She smelled of Rose.

What was she doing? She’d brought this dress with her on a whim, walking out of the house feeling as if she’d betrayed everyone. She hadn’t been worried about what she was wearing. But as her mother-in-law’s weeping had increased, as her father-in-law had wrung his hands and said, ‘Rose, you can’t leave. We love you. You’re our daughter. What would Max think?’ she’d abandoned her distress as too hard and she’d let anger hold sway.

She’d lifted the lid of her camphor chest and had retrieved the dress and shoes that had lain there for what seemed almost a lifetime.

And then, before she’d closed the chest again, she’d taken Max’s photograph from her bedside table and put it where her dress had been.

And had closed the lid.

Then she’d walked out of the house. Free.

No, not free. Still guilt-ridden. Seemingly obligated in some weird way to a country she’d left with the royal family’s scorn following her.

But she wasn’t going back to Yorkshire except to finalise things. No family. No ties. Nick’s question as to her availability couldn’t have been more wrong. If ever anyone else told her they loved her then she’d run a mile.

But she was in this man’s arms.

Yes, and that was great, she told herself as she let him swirl her round the dance floor with an expertise that made her feel wonderful. Erhard’s long letter had filled her in on who Nick was. A loner who’d pulled himself up the hard way. A man whose intelligence was extraordinary. A man with an Aussie accent overlaying his smooth French-Italian native tongue, and a laid-back charm that could knock a girl sideways. Nick was a sophisticated international lawyer who’d come from a background even more dysfunctional than her own.

He was a man who knew where his boundaries were.

So it was fine. Yes, she could marry him to keep Alp de Montez safe, and she could keep her independence. It would finally make her free.

Please.

Five minutes later Erhard returned to the table. The musicians took a break. There was no reason to stay on the dance floor, but as Nick led her back to the table he was aware of a sharp stab of regret.

Only because he loved dancing, he thought. Only that.

Erhard was smiling, watching them weave their way through the tables to join him. The strain had eased from his face a little.

‘Two wonderful dancers,’ he said softly as they sat down again. ‘You see, this thing becomes possible.’ He settled back into his chair and took a long sip of water. ‘Well?’

Nick looked at Rose and found she was watching him. Intently.

It seemed a decision needed to be made. Now. Did that mean Rose had already decided?

‘You need to trust me,’ Erhard told him softly. ‘This is a big ask. We need to trust each other.’

‘It’s fine,’ Rose said, suddenly sounding impatient to move on. Sounding as if she was annoyed. ‘I’m willing to take a chance, so it’s up to you, Nick. If you don’t choose to take part, then say so now. Let Erhard go into damage control and see if there’s another solution.’

‘There’s no other solution,’ Erhard said flatly, and they both went back to watching him.

She’d flung her hat in the ring, just like that. She’d agreed to marry him after knowing him only a matter of hours.

His foundations were shaken, he thought, and it wasn’t just this crazy proposition that was shaking them. It was the way he’d felt, dancing with Rose. The way she’d felt…

He needed a cold shower, and then some good legal advice.

‘You’re holding a gun to my head,’ he snapped, and the old man shook his head.

‘That’s what we’re hoping to avoid. Guns.’

‘You’re serious?’

‘I’m serious,’ Erhard whispered, and the grey look flooded back. How ill was he?

‘So tell us,’ Rose said to Nick directly, with a sideways glance of concern towards Erhard. ‘Are you in or are you out?’

‘I need to do a little more research…’

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Research away. I spent a week on the internet myself. But if you come up with the conclusion I came up with—as you will—are you ready to have a go at fixing things?’

‘You’re seriously asking me to marry you?’

‘I thought you were asking me to marry you.’

‘I guess it’s mutual.’

‘Only I’ve said yes, and you haven’t,’ she said. ‘Go on. It might even be fun.’

‘I don’t do fun.’

‘Neither do I,’ she snapped. ‘Not for years. So we’re perfectly compatible. I’m willing to take a risk on the rest. What about you? Yes or no?’

And there it was. Not a gun pointing at his head, but just possibly a chance to make a difference.

Rose was waiting for him to come to a decision, her grey eyes calmly watchful.

Erhard was waiting too. Two people he instinctively trusted who were trying to do good.

So what was a man to say?

‘Yes,’ he said, and there was a moment’s stunned silence, and then they both beamed.

‘There it is, then,’ Rose said. ‘Proposal accepted. Congratulations to us all, and here comes pudding. Do you think I might have some more champagne?’

CHAPTER THREE

ROSE finished an excellent pudding, but it signalled that the night, for Rose at least, was over. She excused herself without waiting for coffee.

‘I was up before dawn, and I need to walk a bit before bed after all that champagne,’ she told them. ‘No, I don’t want company. I need head-space to plan the next few weeks. There’s so much I need to do. Finding someone to take care of a thousand square-miles of farm animals is the least of it.’

‘If there are no hitches then you can marry in four weeks,’ Erhard said. ‘Marrying in Alp de Montez is the wisest course. Can you be ready then?’

‘I’ll do my best,’ Rose said. She hesitated, and then she stooped and kissed the old man gently on the forehead. ‘You take care of yourself. Please. For me.’

And she left without another word.

Nick watched as she wove through the tables, smiling as a waiter paused to let her pass, smiling at the doorman as he opened the door for her, smiling as she went out into the night.

‘She’s some lady,’ Erhard said gently, and Nick came back to earth with a jolt.

‘Sorry. I was just thinking.’

‘She’s worth thinking about.’

‘I don’t…’

‘No, you don’t, do you?’ Erhard said. ‘I’ve had you thoroughly checked. The longest you’ve ever dated one woman is nine weeks.’

That took him aback. ‘You know that?’

‘The investigative agency I hired is very thorough.’

‘So you know all about me.’

‘It wouldn’t have been worth my while to approach you if I’d found you were another Jacques. But the reputation you have in legal circles is for integrity. You try to select cases where there’s moral imperative, as well as financial. Also, the woman who fostered you since you were small—Ruby—says that you’re honest, kind and trustworthy. As a reference I thought that was the best.’

‘How the hell did you get Ruby to talk about me?’ he demanded, and Erhard gave a small smile.

‘The investigative agency has an operative who enjoys macramé,’ he confessed. ‘She infiltrated your foster mother’s macramé group.’ His smile broadened at Nick’s astonishment. ‘Desperate times call for desperate measures. Ruby seemed to be the best person to give a character reference, but she’d never have answered an official request with such honesty.

‘As it was, she told our operative that you went through eight foster homes as your mother agonised whether she could keep you. That you grieved for your mother, even though she was…impossible. That once you joined Ruby and her family of foster sons you were fiercely loyal to every one of the family members. That you learned early to be a loner, but you were generous to a fault. There’s an Australian children’s home—Castle, at Dolphin Bay?—that you contribute to in any way you can. That if any of your foster brothers are in trouble you’re there before they ask.’ His smile deepened. ‘I read the report and I thought, yes, you’ll do.’

‘Ruby’s macramé group.’ He was still feeling winded. Rose was out the door now, and the room was dreary for her going. Well, then. Erhard and his ‘operatives’ had to be good for something. ‘Rose?’ he queried. ‘What did you find out about Rose?’

‘I’ve told you most of it.’

‘Tell me again,’ he growled. He hadn’t listened properly the first time. He hadn’t been as interested as he was now.

‘She’s had it hard too,’ Erhard said gently, with only a faint smile to tell he’d guessed at Nick’s reactions. ‘Maybe almost as hard as you. Her mother had rheumatoid arthritis and couldn’t work, and after she left the palace Eric simply ignored both of them. Rose worked her way through vet school. She met and married a fellow student—Max McCray. Max was an older student—he’d missed schooling because of time spent recovering from cancer. Max was the only son of a veterinarian in the Yorkshire Dales. Rose was embraced into Max’s family, and when Rose and Max graduated they took over the family veterinary practice. Then the disease recurred. Rose cared for Max devotedly—as well as running the vet practice—until Max’s death two years ago. She’s running it still.’

‘But she’s agreed to leave.’

‘You know, I suspect there’s almost an element of relief,’ Erhard said honestly. ‘The village she’s been living in is tiny, and she’s very much Max’s widow. Everywhere we asked we were told how wonderful Rose is, and how noble it is of her to carry on her husband’s work. There’s a large veterinary conglomerate based in a nearby town that would buy them out in a flash, but her parents-in-law won’t hear of it. So she’s stuck dealing with lots of farm work—horses and cattle—which her father-in-law and husband loved, but it’s hard physical work for one so slight. There’s also been a huge money problem. Max’s illness put her in debt, and she’d borrowed to put herself through vet school. Max had no family money.’

‘You know…’ He hesitated. ‘This isn’t a standard private-investigative report, but the firm I use is good—very good. Their brief is to compile character assessments of people in line for top jobs, so they give more than facts. Our investigator talked to one of the nurses who cared for Rose’s husband. The nurse’s assessment is that Rose is stuck in her husband’s life.’

‘But she is leaving.’

‘We’ve given her a huge moral imperative to leave,’ Erhard said. ‘A whole country depending on her instead of just a village. She can walk away without Max’s ghost dragging her back.’

‘So you’re expecting me to walk away from my profession like you’re expecting Rose to?’

‘No one’s expecting anything of you,’ Erhard said patiently. ‘Apart from a few weeks of your time and a name on a marriage document. There’s no need for you to stay in Alp de Montez. There’s no need for your life to change very much at all. Simply take a few weeks off work, marry Rose, wait until the fuss about the succession has died down and then take over your life again. Yes, you’ll be part of the royal couple, but apart from the coronation itself—and the wedding—your attendance is optional. Your interest is optional, and when Rose’s position is established you can divorce. Rose seems willing to put in the hard yards.’

‘You said she’s working too hard as it is,’ Nick said, frowning.

‘I’ll take care of her,’ Erhard said. ‘She won’t be delivering calves in icy paddocks at midnight.’

‘That’s what she’s doing now?’

‘That’s what she’s doing. Living with her parents-in-law. Stuck in the grief of her husband’s loss.’

There were so many facets of the woman, he thought. A cheeky imp. A beautiful, sophisticated woman. A magical dancer. A workhorse.

‘I guess I can,’ he said, and Erhard smiled.

‘There are worse women to marry than Rose,’ he said.

It seemed the thing was decided. By the time he turned up at work the next morning, Erhard had already initiated the first steps towards the royal wedding. Nick took a deep breath and quietly talked to the firm’s senior partners. To his relief, the partners saw nothing but benefit. Even Blake, Nick’s foster brother who also worked for the firm, was enthusiastic.

When Nick told him, Blake stared at his foster brother in amazement, and then quietly gone away and done the same research Nick had. Even to Blake the plan looked solid. ‘It’s your birthright, after all, and you’d be crazy not to,’ Blake told him. ‘There’s enough stability in the country for your marriage to be received with relief. You get in there and support Rose-Anitra for all you’re worth.’

‘But marriage…’ he said to Blake, and Blake grinned.

‘Yeah, well, maybe this is the only sort of marriage that can work for the likes of us,’ he’d said. ‘It’s not like you want a real marriage. Why not in name only?’

Why not? Because it wasn’t quite true.

Marriage, for Nick, had always seemed something others did. From the time he first remembered, it had been as if he was on the outside looking in. Happy families? How did you go about achieving that? He had six foster brothers and they’d all come from disasters—partnerships that had imploded. Even Ruby, his beloved foster mother, had suffered tragedy.

He’d dated many women—of course he had—but the step toward commitment had always seemed insurmountable. But this…

‘You’re only committing for a month, right?’ Blake asked.

‘The general idea is that we stay married for as long as we need to. Minimum a month. Once Rose is firmly entrenched, there’s no need for me to stay.’

‘But the thought of helping get the country on its feet again turns you on?’

‘It does, yeah,’ he admitted.

‘And the thought of being married to Rose?’

He grinned and didn’t answer. But the bubble of excitement was becoming a tidal wave. This was a challenge. It was potentially beneficial for a whole country. And he’d be marrying Rose. If it worked out…

See, there was the scary bit. For some dumb reason, that was the thing that gave him pause. The way he felt about her.

She was gorgeous. Her smile made him gasp. She felt…

She didn’t feel anything. What had she said? ‘The last thing I want is more attachments. I’ve done family for life. I am free’.

That should make him feel better about the whole deal. Instead, it only made him feel more uncertain.

The thought of taking on a country’s direction didn’t worry him. The thought of marrying Rose did. Or, it didn’t worry him as much as unsettle him. It made him feel like he was teetering on the edge of something he didn’t understand.

But Blake didn’t see that. No one did. He himself decided it was dumb, and as a week passed without seeing Rose he thought, okay, he was being a romantic fool. This was hardly a romantic wedding. It seemed more like a military operation, and he had to treat it as such.

Erhard was on the phone constantly, organising every tiny detail—when they’d arrive, when the wedding would take place, accommodation, transport, meetings with the council to take place as soon as the wedding was over, the ascendancy claim. The legal documents Erhard faxed for signature made even Nick’s eyes water.

What was Rose thinking? But he couldn’t know.

‘I have a mountain of organisation to get through before I leave,’ she’d told him in their one brief phone-call. ‘I’m dealing with mass hysteria here. You sort the legal stuff. I know it’s dumb, but I’ll sign whatever needs to be signed. I have to trust you on this, Nick. You and Erhard.’

A later phone call elicited a bit more background. Instead of Rose, his call was answered by her mother-in-law.

‘You have no right to do this,’ the woman hissed down the phone. ‘The whole town depends on her. She’s saying the district will have to join the vet co-operative in the next town. She says with the money they pay we’ll be well off, but we don’t want money. My poor son would turn in his grave. How dare that man tell her she has no choice? How dare…?’

She became almost venomous, and in the end Nick had put down the phone, and thought he could understand another of Rose’s conditions. She didn’t want any press release until she was out of the country.

Erhard agreed with that reluctantly, but Nick thought that was fine. The juggernaut that was royal ascension rolled on.

Then, in the last few days before he and Rose were due to fly out, Nick’s contact with Erhard had faltered. There was one stilted phone-call. ‘Nikolai, things are in place for you to take over. I need to fade into the background. Good luck to you and to Rose.’

He didn’t explain, but by the sound of his voice Nick thought that his health was probably a factor. Erhard had launched them, and was depending on them to take it from here.

Good luck to you and to Rose.

That caused another of those moments when panic seemed to overwhelm him. But there was no reason for panic. No logical reason.

A royal marriage of convenience. Why not?

So he went on planning for this strange wedding, and the world didn’t crash on his head.

But on that last day, when he walked out of his office before taking a month off, and he found the whole of the office decorated with bridal nonsense, he was forced to see this for the reality it was. It was Saturday. The office should have been deserted, but people had obviously come in especially. Obviously Blake and the partners had decided that today they’d break their silence. Champagne was flowing. The girls from the typing pool were handing round wedding-cake. Blake had found a picture of Rose in a local newspaper’s weddings column, detailing Rose’s wedding to Max years ago. Someone had blown her image up to banner size. Posters of a grainy, bridal Rose were plastered from one end of the office to another.

‘She’s gorgeous,’ everyone agreed, and even Rose, laughing down from every wall, seemed to concur.

Rose’s image unsettled him as nothing else could. This was a Rose without the care lines around her eyes. Rose before…life?

It felt weird that he could think of marrying this woman, he decided, trying to smile as he accepted congratulations. It even seemed dangerous. But he’d gone too far to back out now, and finally he escaped, under a shower of confetti and good-natured banter.

‘There goes the groom to collect his bride. Or the prince to collect his princess,’ they called after him, and he had to smile and concur.

‘You’ll be the second of Ruby’s foster sons to get leg-shackled,’ Blake said as he walked with his foster brother to the firm’s car-park. He and Blake had gone through a lot together. They’d come from similar dysfunctional backgrounds, ending up under Ruby’s care. They’d both been ambitious, and they’d made it through law school together. Nick had started work with this firm first, and Blake had followed the year after. They were about as close as brothers could be, which gave Blake the right to say what he liked. Which he intended to do right now.

‘You’re not looking happy,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Bridal jitters getting to you?’

‘You know this isn’t a real wedding,’ Nick growled, unnerved, but Blake smiled and shrugged.

‘You make the vows. It’s all the wedding the likes of us can do. What have you told Ruby?’

‘That I’ve agreed to be married for a month in order for Rose to ascend the throne. That it’s business only. That she needn’t worry about anything, and I’ll come over and pay her a visit when it’s all over.

‘And she said?’ Blake said cautiously.

‘She…um…sounded a little irate. I thought she might have phoned you.’

‘When did you tell her?’

‘This morning.’

‘You have to be kidding.’ He and Blake were pushing their way through a crowd of photographers on the pavement. The press had arrived seemingly out of nowhere. Someone must have told them what was happening, and they were now documenting every step. ‘She’ll probably have tried to phone me twenty times already.’

‘Just assure her it’s business,’ Nick said. ‘She shouldn’t worry about it. It’s nothing.’

‘Nothing.’ Blake stopped dead, his face a picture of incredulity. ‘You want me to explain to Ruby you’re marrying a princess but it’s nothing? I’d be lucky to get off with burst eardrums.’

‘Then don’t. Ruby’s agreed to do some babysitting for Pierce and his brood for a couple of weeks, so she won’t have time to think about it.’

‘They do have news services in Dolphin Bay,’ Blake said with asperity. ‘Australia’s not so far away as you’d think when it comes to royal weddings. I seem to remember they even have newspapers. You’re inviting guests to this wedding?’

‘Only dignitaries. You can tell Ruby that.’ He gave a rueful grin. ‘I tried, but she wouldn’t stop yelling.’

‘You’re seriously getting married without involving family?’

‘I don’t do family. You know that.’

‘Yeah, but does Ruby? She’ll be over here like a flash, taking Rose into the bosom of our peculiar family, finding out her sweater size, making a macramé spread for the marital bed, maybe even starting on a few booties.’

‘See, that’s what we don’t want,’ Nick said bluntly. ‘If I let Ruby near Rose, Rose would run like a scalded cat. This is business.’

‘A marriage made in heaven,’ Blake said wryly.

‘It’s the only sort Rose will consider,’ Nick told him, and didn’t notice when Blake gave him an odd look. They’d reached his car now. The photographers were still at it. Somehow they had to be ignored.

Problems needed to be ignored. Meanwhile he gripped his brother’s hand in a gesture of farewell. ‘Thanks, mate,’ he told him. ‘Keep my place here warm for me.’

‘You might not still want it,’ Blake said, still looking at him strangely.

‘Of course I will. This marriage is for a matter of weeks. That’s all it’s for. I’ll be back.’

‘Yeah,’ Blake said and shook his hand back. ‘Right. Just you be careful boyo, of marital threads as well as political ones.’

So what was the problem? Why did Blake sound dubious?

And where had those photographers come from? Surely they wouldn’t spread this news as far as Ruby in Dolphin Bay?

Maybe he should have given Ruby a few more details. Maybe even invited her to the wedding.

But Ruby at his wedding? She’d sob, he thought. She’d hug them both. She’d make it incredibly, intensely personal.

Which would scare Rose.

And him.

In the comparative privacy of his BMW, heading for his Kensington apartment to collect his baggage, Nick had time to think, and the more he thought the more he felt like he was heading into trouble. To hurt Ruby by not inviting her…

He couldn’t invite her. And he’d specified it was just business.

But it had his foot easing from the accelerator, thinking maybe even now it wasn’t too late to draw back.

His mobile phone rang. It answered automatically on the hands-free base. If it hadn’t, maybe he wouldn’t have answered. His need for solitude to get his head right was starting to be overwhelming. But the voice came on the other end of the line before he could prevent the connection. ‘Nick?’

‘Rose.’ She sounded as spooked as he was. ‘It’s good to hear from you,’ he managed.

‘There are photographers here,’ she said. ‘Everywhere. They arrived an hour ago and there’s more arriving by the minute. My mother-in-law’s weeping so hard she’s making herself ill. The phone’s ringing off the hook. I think…is this a disaster?’

So he wasn’t alone in feeling overwhelmed. ‘I guess it’s what we had to expect,’ he said cautiously, insensibly reassured that she was feeling the same as he was.

‘I hadn’t thought…’

‘Neither had I.’

‘It’s not too late to back out,’ she whispered.

‘Do you want to back out?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘It seemed so easy when it was just fantasy. But now…’

‘What would you do if you backed out?’ he asked.

There was a long silence. ‘Stay here, I guess,’ she said, sounding unsure.

‘You don’t want to stay there?’

‘No.’ That was unequivocal, at any rate. Then, ‘We did decide to do this for the right reasons, didn’t we, Nick?’

He had to be honest here. ‘Yes.’

‘It will make life better for the people of Alp de Montez?’

‘I think so,’ he said reluctantly. ‘My law firm is heavily geared to international disputes. We have people on the ground all over the world. The consensus is that we really can make a difference.’

‘We don’t have a choice then,’ she said heavily.

‘There is a choice, Rose,’ he said. He’d pulled up at traffic lights. They’d turned green, but he wasn’t shifting. There were horns blaring behind him but he thought, no, he had to concentrate. ‘You can walk away.’

‘I can’t walk away,’ she said. ‘Unless I have an alternative.’

‘You can stay where you are.’

‘That’s what I meant,’ she whispered. ‘Alp de Montez is my alternative.’

He didn’t understand. ‘Look, we can call the whole thing off.’

‘Do you want to?’

‘Hold on a minute,’ he told her, and moved forward before the motorists banked up behind him got out of their cars and thumped him. He steered into a bus stop and stopped. ‘Rose, this is up to you,’ he said gently. ‘You’re the one first in line. I’m the supporting role here.’

‘I guess.’ She took a ragged breath. ‘But you will support me?’

Five minutes ago he’d been thinking he couldn’t. But now…It was only for a month or so, and it would make a difference. Rose was taking this on for much, much longer.

If she was prepared to do it, how could he say no?

‘Of course I’ll support you,’ he said gently. ‘We’re in this together.’

‘For a month.’

‘And then I’ll be on the end of the phone. I won’t leave you isolated. We’ll set up supports.’

‘But you’ll stay involved?’

He took a deep breath. ‘Yes.’ Where had that come from? The Nikolai de Montez mantra was ‘never get involved’. But this was different. This was for a country.

This was for Rose.

‘Yes,’ he said again. ‘I’ll stay as involved as you want.’

‘Then I guess I can cope with the press,’ she said, still sounding shaky. ‘The plane’s due to pick me up in Newcastle at two. You swear you’ll be on it?’

What was a man to say to that? Despite misgivings. Despite Ruby.

‘Yes,’ he said, and he was committed.

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