As Prince Magnus escorted the beautiful but apparently mute woman down the rest of the red carpet, he found himself unusually tempted to accept Eric Westerly’s token of apology. This woman might not speak English, but he’d find a way to explain his refusal once they were inside. She wasn’t the first woman to be offered up to appease him, and she likely wouldn’t be the last. It was a practice Magnus found repulsive. He would say as much to Westerly after the idiot visited Finn in the hospital.
His mother had been the heart of his family. Although she’d been gone for more than a decade, she’d ingrained in Magnus a deep respect for women. They were the backbones of civilized society. Which was why men viciously tried to control them or reduce them to nothing more than a gift to another man. Weak men were threatened by the power of change a good woman could wield.
His father’s legacy had begun as a tribute to his wife while she was alive, yet had sadly only come together after her death. The high number of women graduating from his country’s universities was evidence that his mother continued to make a difference. Women were remarkable when given a chance to be.
He glanced at the woman on his arm. She hadn’t come from nowhere. Somewhere she had a mother and a father. Did they worry about her? With a nudge in the right direction, would she return to them? He’d give her name to Jules. He handled the philanthropic side of their business. He’d have connections to agencies that could offer this woman options other than the life she’d somehow fallen into.
For now, he would handle the situation with discretion. Without knowing Westerly’s arrangement with her, he had no way of assessing if refusing her services would endanger her.
As soon as they were inside the building, he led her off to one side of the room. “Do you speak English?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered huskily.
“If you wish, you may be my escort for the premiere. I will make it appear that you please me. No one need know what I am about to say to you.”
Her eyebrows shot up, but she remained silent.
Magnus took out a business card and wrote his friend’s cell phone number on it. He handed it to her. She accepted it as if she’d never seen a business card before. It was hard not to feel sorry for her. “Call that number. Jules Mansfield is a good man. He’ll help you leave here if you wish to. He can set you up with a job and whatever else you need to start again. The choice is yours, but you have a choice if you want one.”
“I don’t understand.”
Westerly had good taste when it came to women. Despite the truth of her situation, this woman had an air of innocence that was appealing. Looking into her eyes, Magnus felt a reluctant attraction to her. He reminded himself he was a healthy male responding as any man in his prime would. However, what he felt in that moment didn’t matter any more than it mattered in any other part of his life.
One of the photographers had asked if he intended to marry Princess Isabella. Her parents were pushing for the union. So far he hadn’t refused that offer, although it was not his first choice. Marrying her would secure relations with her bordering country, but his mother had loved his father, and Magnus was reluctant to settle for less than a woman who adored him. Princess Isabella was quite in love with herself. Thankfully that was not his immediate concern. The confused woman before him was. He chose his words with care, attempting to make his point without insulting her.
“No matter what brought you here, you are not trapped in this lifestyle. Call the number on the card, and you will receive safe passage and assistance.”
“I’m sorry? Passage?” Her delicious little mouth rounded, challenging his moral stance.
Could such sweetness be an act, or had Westerly sent him a novice? His heart pounded in his chest, and his cock twitched to attention. For her sake, he needed to put distance between them. “I cannot accept your services this evening. Call the number on the card.”
“My services?” Her mouth snapped shut, her chin rose, and her eyes narrowed. “You don’t know me. Why would you think I would be offering you anything?”
Fuck, she’s hot.
If I’d met her any other way, she’d be mine tonight.
He traced the length of her beautiful neck with the back of his hand. “Don’t let your pride stop you from making that call. Trust me, I’m tempted. You’re beautiful, but you deserve better than this.”
“Don’t touch me.” She whipped herself back from his touch, and her hands settled on her hips, an act that pushed her breasts forward and nearly out of the slip of a gown she wore. “I don’t know who you think I am, but what you’re implying is disgusting.”
He could have accepted her claim and left her, but he didn’t. He had offered such help to women in the past. Some had accepted. Some had not. He’d always been able to walk away with a clear conscience. This was different.
He didn’t like the idea that leaving her there might mean she’d end the night with another man. Still, this was a novel attraction better not pandered to. He had no problem filling his nights with less complicated women—women who, like him, sought sex without emotional entanglements. This had the potential of being messy and full of drama.
Yet he couldn’t look away. Each angry breath she inhaled outlined her nipples against the thin material of her gown. He imagined picking her up, tossing her over his shoulder, and taking her somewhere where he could spend the night exploring every inch of her sweet body. “Disgusting isn’t how I’d describe it—simply ill advised. Take comfort in the knowledge that I would love nothing more than to spend the night with you, but I wouldn’t feel right about it.”
“What you shouldn’t feel right about is talking to anyone the way you do.” Her slap took him completely by surprise. His head jerked back, and he instinctively grabbed her by the arm, hauling her closer.
“I’m trying to help you.” Mind and body warred—offering his protection even as his cock throbbed with need for her.
“I don’t need help.” She attempted to pull her arm free from him, but after failing, raised her other hand as if she might slap him again. He caught that hand easily. He gentled his hold on her and told himself that the right thing to do was to take her out of there and ensure she found her way to a better place.
“What’s going on?” a male voice asked from beside them.
Still holding on to the woman’s arm, Magnus turned and found himself face-to-face with the very man he’d come to meet. Eric Westerly was his height, with an impressive build, but Magnus dismissed him as soft. Everything he’d read about Westerly spoke of a privileged upbringing before fame on the big screen. Magnus had little respect for a man who’d never had to fight for anything. He had even less respect for him now that he knew he was the type to gift a woman to someone. “Your friend and I are merely having a conversation.”
“Take your hand off her,” Westerly said between clenched teeth.
A surge of possessiveness swept through Magnus again. Was she from Westerly’s private stock? Had he had her? If so, it was for the last time. There was no way Magnus would hand her back to him. “Too late to change your mind, I’ve already accepted your offer.”
“My offer?” Westerly asked, his expression hardening. “Get your hand off my sister.”
Magnus’s head whipped around. “You’re his sister?” His hold on her went slack, and she pulled herself free then.
“Rachelle Westerly.” She smoothed her hands down the sides of her dress as if trying to wipe his touch off. “I would have told you my name, but you were too busy trying to save me from a life of prostitution.”
Magnus smiled as he realized what this meant. She was not some unfortunate woman being served up against her will. He didn’t have to deny how she made him feel. Spending a few days in London suddenly held more appeal.