Crowned: The Palace Nanny
Marion Lennox

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Table of Contents

Cover Page

Title Page

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Christmas Treats

Copyright

Marion Lennox is a country girl, born on an Australian dairy farm. She moved on—mostly because the cows just weren’t interested in her stories! Married to a ‘very special doctor’, Marion writes Mills & Boon® Romance as well as Medical™ Romances. (She used a different name for each category for a while—if you’re looking for her past Mills & Boon® Romances, search for author Trisha David as well.) She’s now had over 75 romance novels accepted for publication.

In her non-writing life Marion cares for kids, cats, dogs, chooks and goldfish. She travels, and she fights her rampant garden (she’s losing) and her house dust (she’s lost). Having spun in circles for the first part of her life, she’s now stepped back from her ‘other’ career, which was teaching statistics at her local university. Finally she’s reprioritised her life, figured out what’s important, and discovered the joys of deep baths, romance and chocolate. Preferably all at the same time!

CHAPTER ONE

DR ELSA LANGHAM disappeared after a car accident four years ago. Mrs Elsa Murdoch took her place.

The invitation had been sitting on the table all day, a taunting reminder of her past.

The International Coral Society invites Dr Elsa Langham, foremost authority on Coral: Alcyonacea, to submit a paper at this year’s symposium in Hawaii.

The ICS hadn’t kept up with her change in direction. Eight-year-old Zoe was asleep in the next room, totally dependent on her, and Dr Elsa Langham was no longer an acclaimed authority on anything.

She read the invitation one last time, sighed and finally dumped it in the bin.

‘I don’t know why they’re still sending me invitations,’ she told the skinny black cat slinking out from under her chair. ‘I’m Mrs Elsa Murdoch, a mother to Zoe, an occasional student of starfish to keep my scientific hand in, and my cats need feeding.’

She rose and took a bowl of cat food to the back garden. The little cat followed, deeply suspicious but seduced by the smell of supper.

Four more cats were waiting. Elsa explained the terms of their tenancy as she did every night, fed them, then ignored five feline glares as she locked them up for the night. They knew the deal, but they didn’t have to like it.

‘At least you guys go free every morning,’ she told them. ‘You can do what you want during the day.’

And so could she, she told herself. She could take Zoe to the beach. She could study starfish. She could be Mrs Elsa Murdoch.

Until a miracle happens, she thought to herself, pausing to look up at the night sky. Not that I need a miracle. I really love Zoe, I don’t mind starfish and I’m incredibly lucky to be alive. It’s just…I wouldn’t mind a bit of magic. Like a rainbow of coral to appear in our cove. Or Prince Charming to wave his wand and take away my debts and Zoe’s scars.

Enough. The cats weren’t interested in wishes, and neither was anyone else. She smiled ruefully into the night, turned her back on her disgruntled cats and went inside. She needed to fix a blocked sink.

Where was Prince Charming when you needed him?

The little boy would live.

Prince Stefanos Antoniadis—Dr Steve to his patients—walked out of Theatre savouring a combination of triumph and exhaustion. He’d won.

The boy’s mother—a worn-looking woman with no English, but with a smile wide enough to cut through any language barrier—hugged him and cried, and Stefanos hugged her back and felt his exhaustion disappear.

He felt fantastic.

He walked into the scrub room, sorely tempted to punch the air in triumph—and then stopped dead.

This wasn’t fantastic. This was trouble.

Two months ago, King Giorgos of the Diamond Isles had died without an heir. Next in line to the throne of the Mediterranean island of Khryseis was Stefanos’s cousin, Christos. The only problem was, no one could find Christos. Worse, if Christos couldn’t be found, the throne belonged to Stefanos—who wanted the crown like a hole in the head.

In desperation he’d employed a friend who moved in diplomatic circles and whose discretion he trusted absolutely to search internationally for Christos. That his friend was here to tell him the news in person meant there must be a major problem.

‘They told me you’ve been opening a kid’s skull, chopping bits out and sticking it back together,’ his friend said with easy good humour. ‘How hard’s that? Seven hours…‘

‘I get paid by the hour,’ Stefanos said, grasping his friend’s hand. But he couldn’t make himself smile. ‘What news?’

‘From your point of view?’ As an investigator this man was the best, and he knew the issues involved. ‘You’re not Crown Prince of Khryseis.’

‘Not!’ He closed his eyes. The relief was almost overwhelming.

It hadn’t always been like this. As a boy, Stefanos had even dreamed of inheriting the throne that his almost pathologically shy cousin swore he didn’t want.

But that was in the past. King Giorgos was bound to have sons, and if not…Christos would just have to wear it. Almost twenty years ago, Stefanos had moved to the States to pursue a medical career. His dream since then had been to perfect and teach surgical techniques, so wounds such as the ones he’d treated today could be repaired in hospitals less specialised than this one, anywhere in the world. ‘So you’ve finally found Christos?’ he asked, feeling the weight of the world lift from his shoulders.

‘Sort of,’ his friend said, but there was something in his face which made Stefanos’s jubilation fade. His expression said that whatever was coming wasn’t good.

‘Christos is dead, Steve,’ the man said gently. ‘In a car accident in Australia, four years ago. That’s why you haven’t been able to find him.’

‘Dead.’ He stared at his friend in horror. ‘Christos? My cousin. Why? How?’

‘You know he left the island soon after you? Apparently he and his mother emigrated to Australia. Neither of them kept in touch. It seems his mother held his funeral with no fuss, and contacted no one back on Khryseis. Three months after he died, so did she.’

‘Dear God.’

‘It’s the worst of news,’ his friend said. He hesitated. ‘But there’s more.’

Stefanos knew it. He was replaying their conversation in his head. His friend’s first words had been, ‘You’re not Crown Prince of Khryseis.’

Christos had been first in line to the throne, followed by Stefanos. But Christos was dead. Therefore it had to be Stefanos. Unless…

‘There’s a child,’ his friend told him.

‘A child,’ he said numbly.

‘A little girl. Christos married, but his wife was killed in the same accident. Their child survived. She was four when her parents were killed. She’s now eight.’

Stefanos didn’t respond. He was staring at his friend, but he was seeing nothing.

He was working on groundbreaking surgical techniques. His work here was vital.

A child.

‘Her name’s Zoe,’ his friend said. ‘She’s still living in Australia with a woman called Mrs Elsa Murdoch, who seems to be employed as her nanny. But, Steve…’

‘Yes?’ But he already knew what was coming.

‘Christos’s death means the child takes the Crown,’ he said gently. ‘Zoe’s now the Crown Princess of Khryseis. That means you’re Prince Regent.’

Stefanos still didn’t answer. There was a chasm opening before him—a gaping void where his career used to be. He could only listen while his friend told him what he’d learned.

‘I’ve done some preliminary checks. From what I gather of the island’s constitution, you’ll be in charge until Zoe’s twenty-five. The island’s rule, and the consequent care of your cousin as Crown Princess, lies squarely on your shoulders. Now…do you want me to find an address for this woman called Elsa?’

CHAPTER TWO

ROYALTY was standing on Elsa’s beach.

Sunlight was shimmering from the surface of a turquoise sea. The tide was at its lowest for months. Their beach was a mass of rock pools and there were specimens everywhere.

They’d swum far out to the buoy marking the end of shallow water and a pod of dolphins had nosed in to check them out. They’d dived for starfish. They’d floated lazily in the shallows; floating eased the nagging ache in Elsa’s hip as nothing else could. Finally they’d made each other crowns out of seaweed pods, and now Queen Elsa and her consort, Princess Zoe, were marching back to the house for lunch and a nap.

To find royalty waiting for them. Royalty without seaweed.

For a moment Elsa thought she’d been out in the sun too long. The man was dressed like a prince from one of Zoe’s picture books. His uniform was black as night, tailored to perfection. His slickfitting suit was adorned with crimson epaulettes, tassels, braid and medals. His jacket and the top collar of his shirt were unbuttoned, but for some reason that made him look even more princely.

A prince trying to look casual?

Uh-oh. Her hand flew to her seaweed crown and she tugged it off as icy tendrils of fear crept round her heart.

Royalty was fantasy. Not real. Zoe’s father had always been afraid of it, but his stories had seemed so far-fetched that Elsa had deemed them ludicrous.

‘Look,’ Zoe said, puzzled, and the eight-year-old’s hand clutched hers. Zoe had only been four when her parents died, but maybe she remembered enough of her father’s paranoia to worry.

Or maybe the sight of someone dressed as a prince on a Queensland beach was enough to worry anyone.

‘I can see him,’ Elsa said. ‘Wow. Do you think he’s escaped from your Sleeping Beauty book?’

‘He’s gorgeous,’ Zoe said, relaxing a little as Elsa deliberately made light of it.

‘He must be hot,’ Elsa said cautiously.

‘Do you think he came in a carriage like in Cinderella?’

‘If he did, I hope it has air-conditioning,’ Elsa retorted and Zoe giggled.

Good. Great. Zoe giggling was far more important than any prince watching them from the sand dunes.

She would not let anything interfere with that giggle.

‘Maybe he’s looking for us,’ Zoe said, worry returning. ‘Maybe he’s from Khryseis.’

‘Maybe he is.’ Neither of them had ever been to Khryseis, but the fabulous Mediterranean island was part of Zoe’s heritage—home to the father who’d been killed when she was four. According to the Internet, Khryseis was an island paradise in the Mediterranean, ruled up until now by a King who was as corrupt as he was vindictive. Zoe’s father, Christos, had spoken occasionally of the old King’s malice. Now those stories came flooding back, and Elsa’s fears increased accordingly.

The man—the prince?—was walking down the sandy track towards them, tall, tanned and dropdead gorgeous. Elsa stopped and put down her pail. She held Zoe’s hand tighter.

A lesser mortal might look ridiculous in this situation but, despite his uniform, this man looked to be in charge of his world. Strongly built, aquiline features, dark hooded eyes. Cool, authoritative and calm.

And then he smiled. The combination of uniform, body and smile was enough to knock a girl’s socks off. If she had any socks that was, she thought, humour reasserting itself as she decided it was ridiculous to be afraid. She wiggled her toes deep into the sand, feeling the need to ground herself.

Oh, but that smile…

Down, she told herself fiercely. Hormonal response was exactly what wasn’t wanted right now. Act cool.

She met the man’s gaze and deliberately made herself match his smile. Or almost match it. Her smile was carefully that of someone passing a stranger. His smile, on the other hand, was friendly. His gaze dropped to Zoe—and his smile died. That always happened. No one could stop that initial reaction.

Instinctively Elsa tugged Zoe closer but Zoe was already there. They braced together, waiting for the usual response. Try as she might, she couldn’t protect Zoe from strangers. Her own scars were more easily hidden, but Zoe’s were still all too obvious.

But this wasn’t a normal response. ‘Zoe,’ the man said softly, on a long drawn-out note of discovery. And pleasure. ‘You surely must be Zoe. You look just like your father.’

Neither of them knew what to say to that. They stood in the brilliant sunlight while Elsa tried to think straight.

She felt foolish, and that was dumb. She was wearing shorts and an old shirt, and she’d swum in what she was wearing. Her sun-bleached hair had been tied in a ponytail this morning, but her curls had escaped while she swam. She was coated in sand and salt, and her nose was starting to peel.

Ditto for Zoe.

They were at the beach in Australia. They were appropriately dressed, she thought, struggling for defiance. Whereas this man…

‘I’m sorry I’m in uniform,’ he said, as if guessing her thoughts. ‘I know it looks crazy, but I’ve pulled in some favours trying to find you. Those favours had to be repaid in the form of attending a civic reception as soon as I landed. I left as soon as I could, but the media’s staked out my hotel. If I’d stopped to change they might well have followed me here. I don’t want Zoe to be inundated by the press yet.’

Whoa. There was way too much in that last statement to take in. First of all…Was he really royal? What was she supposed to do? Bow?

Not on your life.

‘So…who are you?’ she managed, and Zoe said nothing.

‘I’m Stefanos. Prince Regent of Khryseis. Zoe, your grandfather and my grandfather were brothers. Your father and I were cousins. I guess that makes us cousins of sorts too.’

Cousins. That was almost enough to make her knees give way. Zoe had relations?

This man’s voice had the resonance of a Greek accent, not strong but unmistakable. That wasn’t enough to confirm anything.

‘Christos didn’t have any cousins,’ she said, which was maybe dumb—what would she know? ‘Or…he always said there was no one. So did his mother.’

‘And I didn’t know they’d died,’ he said gently. ‘Zoe, I’m so sorry. I knew your father and I knew your grandmother, and I loved them both. I’m very sorry I didn’t keep in touch. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you so obviously needed me.’

Elsa was starting to shake. She so didn’t want to be shaking when Zoe was holding her hand, but it was happening regardless.

She was all Zoe had. And—she might as well admit it—for the last four years Zoe was all she’d had.

‘You can’t have her.’ It was said before she had a chance to think, before her head even engaged. It was pure panic and it was infectious. Zoe froze.

‘I’m not going with you,’ she whispered, and then her voice rose in panic to match Elsa’s. ‘I’m not, I’m not.’ And she buried her face against Elsa and sobbed her terror. Elsa swung her up into her arms and held. The little girl was clutching her as if she were drowning.

And Stefanos…or whoever he was…was staring at them both in bemusement. She looked at him over Zoe’s head and found his expression was almost quizzical.

‘Good one,’ he said dryly. ‘You don’t think you might be overreacting just a little?’

She probably was, she conceded, hugging Zoe tighter, but there was no room for humour here.

‘You think we might be a bit over the top?’ she managed. ‘Prince Charming on a Queensland beach.’ She looked past him and saw a limousine—a Bentley, no less, with a chauffeur to boot. Overreaction? She didn’t think so. ‘You’re frightening Zoe. You’re frightening me.’

‘I didn’t come to frighten you.’

‘So why did you come?’ She heard herself then, realising she was sounding hysterical. She knew Zoe’s father had come from Khryseis. She knew he’d been part of the royal family. What could be more natural than a distant relative, here on official business, dropping in to see Zoe?

But then there was his statement…I’ve pulled in some favours trying to find you. He’d deliberately come searching for Zoe.

Prince Regent…That made him Prince in charge while someone was incapacitated. The old King?

Or when someone was a child.

No.

‘Zoe, hush,’ she said, catching her breath, deciding someone had to be mature and it might as well be her. ‘I was silly to panic. Stefanos isn’t here to take you away.’ She glared over Zoe’s head, as much to tell him, Don’t you dare say anything different. ‘He comes from the island where your papa grew up. I’m sorry I reacted like I did. I was very rude and very silly. I think it’s time to dry our eyes and meet him properly.’

Zoe hiccuped on a sob, but there’d been worse things than this to frighten Zoe in her short life, and she was one brave little girl. She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and turned within Elsa’s arms to face him.

She was a whippet of a child, far too thin, and far too small. The endless operations had taken their toll. It was taking time and painstaking rehabilitation to build her up to anywhere near normal.

‘Maybe we both should say sorry and a proper hello,’ Elsa said ruefully, and Zoe swallowed manfully and put a thin hand out in greeting. Clinging to Elsa with the other.

‘Hello,’ she whispered.

‘Hello,’ Stefanos said and took her hand with all the courtesy of one royal official meeting another. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Zoe. I’ve come halfway round the world to meet you.’

And then he turned his attention to Elsa. ‘And you must be Mrs Murdoch.’

‘She’s Elsa,’ Zoe corrected him.

‘Elsa, then, if that’s okay with Elsa,’ Stefanos said, meeting her gaze steadily. She had no hand free left to shake and she was glad of it. This man was unsettling enough without touch.

So…She didn’t know where to go from here. Did you invite a prince home for a cup of tea? Or for a twelve course luncheon?

‘You live here?’ he asked, his tone still gentle. There was only one place in sight. Her bungalow—a tired, rundown shack. ‘Is this place yours?’

‘Yes.’

‘Can I come in and talk to you?’

‘Your chauffeur…’

‘Would it be too much trouble to ask if you could ring for a taxi to take me back into town when we’ve spoken? I don’t like to keep my chauffeur waiting.’

‘There’s no taxi service out here.’

‘Oh.’

Now what? What was a woman to say when a prince didn’t want to keep his chauffeur waiting? She needed an instruction manual. Maybe she was still verging on the hysterical.

She gave herself a swift mental shake. ‘I’m sorry. A taxi won’t come out here but we have a car. It’ll only take us fifteen minutes to run you back into town. I’m not normally so…so inhospitable. It’s the uniform.’

‘I expect it might be,’ he said and smiled, and there it was again, that smile—a girl could die and go to heaven in that smile. ‘I don’t want to put you to trouble.’

‘If you can cope with a simple sandwich, you’re welcome to lunch,’ she managed. ‘And…of course we’ll drive you into town. After all, you’re Christos’s cousin.’

‘So I can’t be all bad?’ It was a teasing question and she flushed.

‘I loved Christos,’ she said, almost defensively. ‘And I loved Amy. Zoe’s mama and papa were my closest friends.’ She managed a shaky smile. ‘For their sake…you’re welcome.’

The house was saggy and battered and desperately in need of a paint. A couple of weatherboards had crumbled under the front window and a piece of plywood had been tacked in place to fill the gap. The whole place looked as if it could blow over in the next breeze. Only the garden, fabulous and overgrown, looked as if it was holding the place together.

Stefanos hardly noticed the garden. All he noticed was the woman in front of him.

She was…stunning. Stunning in every sense of the word, he thought. Natural, graceful, free.

Free was maybe a dumb adjective but it was the thought that came to mind. She was wearing nothing but shorts and a faded white blouse, its top three buttons undone so he had a glimpse of beautiful cleavage. Her long slim legs seemed to go on for ever, finally ending in bare feet, tanned and sand coated. This woman lived in bare feet, he thought, and a shiver went through him that he couldn’t identify. Was it weird to think bare sandy toes were incredibly sexy? If it was, then count him weird.

But it wasn’t just her toes. It wasn’t just her body.

Her face was tanned, with wide intelligent eyes, a smattering of freckles and a full generous mouth with a lovely smile. Breathtakingly lovely. Her honey-blonde hair was sun-kissed, bleached to almost translucence by the sun. There was no way those streaks were artificial, for there was nothing artificial about this woman. She wore not a hint of make-up, except the remains of a smear of white suncream over her nose, and her riot of damp, salt-and-sand-laden curls looked as if they hadn’t seen a comb for a week.

Quite simply, he’d never seen a woman so beautiful.

‘Are you coming in?’ Elsa was standing on the veranda, looking at him with the beginnings of amusement. Probably because he was standing with his mouth open.

‘Is this a holiday shack?’ he managed, forcing his focus to the house—though it was almost impossible to force his focus anywhere but her. The information he’d been given said she lived here. Surely not.

‘No,’ she said shortly, amusement fading. ‘It’s our home. I promise it’s clean enough inside so you won’t get your uniform dirty.’

‘I didn’t mean…’

‘No.’ She relented and forced another of her lovely smiles. ‘I know you didn’t. I’m sorry.’

He came up the veranda steps. Zoe had already disappeared inside, and he heard the sound of running water.

‘Zoe gets first turn at the shower while I make lunch,’ Elsa explained. ‘Then she sets the table while I shower.’

It was said almost defiantly. Like—don’t mess with the order of things. She was afraid, he thought.

But…This woman was Zoe’s nanny. She was being paid out of Zoe’s estate. He’d worried when he’d read that—a stranger making money out of a child.

Now he wasn’t so sure. This wasn’t a normal nanny-child relationship. Even after knowing them only five minutes, he knew it.

And the fear? She’d be wanting reassurance that he wouldn’t take Zoe away. He couldn’t give it. He watched her face and he knew his silence was being assessed for what it was.

Why hadn’t he found more out about her? His information was that Zoe’s parents had died in a car crash four years ago. Since then Zoe had been living with a woman who was being paid out of her parents’ estate—an estate consisting mostly of Christos’s life insurance.

That information had him hoping things could be handled simply. He could take Zoe back to Khryseis and employ a lovely, warm nanny over there to care for her. Maybe this could even be seen as a rescue mission.

This woman, sunburned, freckled and barefoot, standing with her arms folded across her breasts in a stance of pure defence, said it wasn’t simple at all. Mrs Elsa Murdoch was not your normal nanny.

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.’

And she walked deliberately inside and let the screen door bang closed after her.

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