Princess in the Iron Mask

chapter SEVEN



‘WOW. BEING HEAD OF SECURITY must pay well.’

With the exception of Marianne, his housekeeper, Lucas had never had a woman in his home before. Now he knew why. It was a complete invasion of privacy and entirely too distracting. He’d rather camp with twenty men than one of Claudia.

‘Glass. Everywhere. I suddenly feel like a goldfish swimming around an enormous bowl,’ she said, with a quick tug on the sleeves of her jacket.

Ah, yes, Lucas mused, his mouth twisting. She preferred walls of steel to match the walls she’d built up inside herself. At first he’d thought the vulnerability was her cloak. He’d been wrong. It was her inner core. Everything was designed to fight off intruders like some high-tech alarm system. Together with her high intellect, it was unsurprising no one had managed to breach it.

Standing in the centre of the hundred-foot open-plan living area, he watched her absorb his life, the pit of his stomach weighted with lead. This was a mistake. He knew it. He didn’t want her here. Didn’t want any woman here. Especially not her. But what choice did he have? Dragging her to the palace would have been more barbaric than even he was capable of. And the panic, the terror, the vulnerability in her eyes—Dios, it got to him every time. At least here she was safe. From what haunting demons he had no idea. But he intended to find out.

‘The view is the most spectacular I’ve ever seen,’ she said, awe lending her voice a creamy note. She moved up close to the wide plate glass, looking towards the ocean, and sunlight gilded her in an angelic aura. He knew then she’d been in the dark too long.

She trailed her fingers along the polished black top of his baby grand and he could feel those very tips branding his skin, setting his blood on fire.

‘I’m not sure what I expected,’ she said, slowing to examine an original masterpiece taking centre stage on one of the few internal walls. ‘Beautiful brush strokes. I’m sure the National Gallery has one of these.’

With a tilt of her head she bestowed upon him her profile. The soft curve of her lip told him she knew all too well the value of the painting. But purchasing the portrait hadn’t been about money or investment or even the artist. It had everything to do with the subject.

‘What did you expect?’ he asked, unsure why he even cared for her opinion.

Swivelling on her low heels to face him, she gave a small smile, lifted at one side in a kind of embarrassment. ‘Probably some Americanised version of a bachelor pad. Huge TV, empty pizza boxes and...’ Colour warmed her cheeks rose-gold.

‘And?’

‘I was going to say a stash of Playboy magazines, but for all I know you have a girlfriend.’ Biting her lip, she lifted one foot, bent her ankle and scratched her opposite calf with the black peeptoe. ‘Which, come to think of it, is something I should’ve asked before I ki—’

Jumping in before the image engulfed him, he bit out, ‘I do not get involved with women, Claudia.’ He laid his commitment-free card face-up. For both their sakes. Lucas would not kiss her under this roof. Because if he did he would never stop.

Claudia pursed her lips, canted her head. ‘At all?’

‘No. Like you, I live for my work. I have neither the time nor the inclination for relationships.’

He had one-hour-stands with women who knew the rules. Claudia wouldn’t know what to do with a rulebook if it smacked her on the head—something that made him doubly wary of their current predicament.

‘Something else we have in common, then,’ she said.

‘I cannot think of any possible “something else”.’

‘You value your privacy. You don’t talk much about yourself.’

‘It is not necessary in my job.’ He was being sharp—overly so. But he needed her to understand. Just because she’d managed to wrangle herself a bed under his roof it didn’t mean she could burrow into his life. And to stop her from doing just that, Lucas was determined to focus on hers. When she finally decamped he’d make damn sure she held her head high, without the need for any of her façades.

‘Our agreement was one week. Seven days and seven nights you may stay. Your father was quite willing to allow you time to acclimatise.’ The relief in Henri’s voice had said it all. She was on Arunthian soil and that was what mattered. Lucas’s secluded estate rivalled Fort Knox, so they would be free from prying eyes.

No, the real problem was standing directly in front of him. One finger swirling around her pout, one hip tilted in that sexy pose that made his blood roar. Dios...

Hoping she would retire and leave him with some measure of peace, he said, ‘First thing tomorrow we visit your parents, and during the remaining time I will reintroduce you to your country.’

Eyes widening, her mouth worked. ‘Tomorrow?’

‘Sí. And then I will show you your real home.’ Once she became captivated by her heritage and discerned her true import the desire to do her duty would come, he was sure.

If what she said was true and she was uncomfortable around people he needed to fix it. Otherwise, come the end of the week, they would be back to square one and there was no way she could stay here for three weeks. He would go grey. And insane. The sooner she was confident in her abilities the sooner she would be gone from his life.

Gone. Ignoring the sharp blade driving through his gut, he forged on. He had to tear down her defences one by one, vanquish every fear. It was his job, he told himself, despite the claw at his conscience saying otherwise.

‘Firstly, do not concern yourself with the paparazzi or your personal safety. There was a time when Arunthia was plagued with villainy and the crime rate was high. Too high,’ he said, keeping his voice steady, betraying none of the emotion warring inside. ‘But not any more.’

Dark brows rose above stunned amber eyes. ‘Not since you took over, you mean?’

‘Exactamente. Welcome home, Just Claudia.’

* * *

The whoop, whoop of rotorblades echoed the thump of her anxious heart as they flew over the famed hunting grounds of her childhood residence. And when Arunthe Palace burst into view—standing atop a gigantic rock in dramatic cliff-edge splendour—it was as if the helicopter had been torn open beneath her feet and she was freefalling to earth.

Cream stone-walls, fanciful turrets with conical slate roofs, large spiralling towers firing into the sky like fireworks—a Disney-esque vision that was merely an illusion, a fairytale. For no happy endings could arise from this world of chilling austerity.

Despite all the years of fighting for her freedom she was finally here. Her parents had sent King Kong for Fay Wray and she’d never had a chance. And some sixth sense ran like a river of screams beneath her skin, warning her that now she’d returned she would never escape. Nonsense, Claudia. Breathe.

The military helicoptor touched down and she ordered her legs to stand tall, stay strong, even as she reached for her iron mask, admitting, if only to herself, that she would have done anything for Lucas to take her hand and hold it tightly in his. So she could absorb his awesome strength. No, Claudia. Self-reliant. Always self-reliant.

By the time they were ushered into her mother’s apartment, her stomach was alive with seething nausea, and the sickly scent of lavender hit her just as hard as the sight of Marysse Verbault.

Dressed in an elegant buttery skirt suit and a black chiffon blouse, with not one hair escaping her coiffed dark pleat, she oozed class and sophistication. Claudia pinched her fingers to stop herself from smoothing her own rumpled ‘dour’ appearance or tugging on the threadbare hem of her sleeve.

Then that voice—so cool, so calm—stroked her soul with fingers of ice. ‘Claudine. Finally. Let me look at you.’

A bolt of indignation shot down her spine and pinned her in place. At one time this woman hadn’t been able to bear to look at her. To touch her. Yet now her mother clasped her upper arms and Claudia foraged for the bravura to lock onto the amber eyes that were so like her own. Not only that, for one cataclysmic beat of her heart Claudia imagined her mother wanted to embrace her, and one tiny part of her—the little girl she had once been—wanted that so much. Craved to know she was wanted for herself, loved in some small way. But her mother merely examined every inch of her face, as if to check her daughter was well—well enough to parade in front of thousands.

‘I am very happy to see to you, Claudine. Look, Henri, our daughter is finally home.’

Resisting the urge to argue that London was her home, she waited for his words...then flinched when his imperious voice caromed around the room.

‘It is about time. Good job, Lucas.’

Claudia perfected a smile that cracked her heart and looked across the opulent expanse of the room to where Henri Verbault stood with Lucas in front of a large, ornate cherrywood desk, papers in hand. Age had amplified his autocratic demeanour even as his greying hair softened the contours of his face.

‘Good morning, Father.’

‘Buenos días, Claudine.’ Steel-grey determined eyes held hers, turning liquid with something like relief. Relief that she was well, or relief that she was back to pay her dues? Who knew? He turned his attention back to Lucas, her dismissal loud and true.

‘Sit down. Take tea.’

Her mother’s voice warmed just a touch as she perched on the edge of a Gustavian carver chair, one leg demurely tucked behind the other. And with one last longing look at the door Claudia eased down onto the gold-striped sofa opposite.

Staff came and went, and there was no mistaking the questions in their eyes as they surreptitiously glanced her way. The need to reach up, touch her face just to check, was so all-consuming, she trembled with the power of it. So she folded her hands atop her lap, so tightly her fingers wept. She could feel Lucas’s intense gaze—was he thinking the same as her mother? The same as everyone in this room? That she didn’t belong. That she looked out of place.

Suddenly her mother’s voice smashed through the thin veneer. ‘The ball is Saturday next, Claudine. I shall arrange for a selection of gowns to be delivered.’

Mask rigid, her mind screamed. You can dress me up like a china doll but lavish fripperies can never veil the woman I am inside. A woman as far away from being a princess as her mother was from having a heart.

Did she feel anything? Claudia wondered. Had this picture of perfection felt anything the day she’d said Claudia wasn’t beautiful any more? The day Claudia’s nightmares had been born, and the horror that had finally sentenced her to extradition? Maybe her mother didn’t remember the terrible things she’d said, done. But Claudia would. Until the end of time.

‘Then, once you are settled and back at the palace,’ her mother continued. ‘we can discuss the future.’

Slam went her defences as they locked into place and her head jerked upright. Future? Her future was in London, where she’d built her life. ‘I have three weeks’ leave, Mother. That is all.’

‘Let us not place time restrictions on ourselves. Now you are home it is important we get to know each other once again.’

Once again? She doubted if her mother even remembered her first steps, never mind her favourite book.

‘And we have a couple of weeks to do so,’ Claudia said, her tone sharp, slicing through the room. She’d fought for years and she was never giving up her freedom.

Unfazed, her mother went on. ‘Andalina also returns tomorrow, from New York, and Luciana flies in from Singapore the day after. It will be nice for you girls to come together.’ Her voice was laced with...pleasure? ‘Show our country a united front.’

Claudia crushed her lips. Oh, of course. The reason she’d been torn away from her job saving lives and curing pain was to play happy families. Yes, she wanted to see her sisters again, but how could she possibly compare to their scandalous, famed-for-their-beauty presence?

She couldn’t. It was impossible. She almost told her mother so. But then that red river of screaming returned to sluice beneath her skin. Because she could hear Lucas making his excuses to her father, declaring his intention to leave. And she knew.

Lucas was leaving her here. Either he didn’t want her with him or... Oh, God, had her father insisted she stay here?

‘Your Royal Highness?’

And there it was. Her title. Not Just Claudia.

Discreetly she inhaled a fortifying breath, perfected serenity and looked up to where Lucas stood beside her, an enigmatic hardness to his gorgeous face. Every delicious atom of his being oozed military man dominance—his duty to king and country was in his every powerful step. Her heart throbbed. Her mind yelled. Don’t do this, Lucas. Please don’t break your word to me. Not you.

Intense sapphire eyes bored into hers. ‘Come. It is time to leave.’

* * *

Lucas kept his stride short as they walked across the courtyard to the helipad. Not an easy feat for a man with extra-long legs, but he sensed Claudia was at the very edge of her limits. Even with her damn façade in place. Dios, his vision of a heart-warming reunion had just been exploded with a double-barrelled shotgun.

The sound of her feet scoring asphalt, as if she were about to trip in her haste, was a kick to his protective gut and he snagged Claudia’s arm, tugging her into a darkened corridor leading to the armoury.

‘Breathe, Claudia.’ Grasping her shoulders, he manoeuvred her to lean against the stone wall...then backed the hell away. Before he hauled her into his arms. The situation was already complex enough. But, Dios, she wanted him to. He knew from the way her eyes devoured his wide shoulders, his chest, even as she wrapped her own delicate hands around her body.

He clenched his fists so hard a spear of pain lanced up his forearms. ‘Why are you running?’

‘I’m not running anywhere,’ she said, still breathless. ‘We’re leaving...aren’t we?’

Lucas thrust his fingers through his hair. ‘Sí. After you calm down, speak to me.’

Closing her eyes, she gently banged her head on the stone wall—once, twice. ‘God, Lucas, what do you want from me. I came, didn’t I? Just like you wanted.’

‘No, just as your parents wanted.’ Yet there had been no embrace. No words of joy. Only duty. While he understood duty took priority over all else, pure empathy had torn through him as he’d watched her encounter such insouciance. After all she’d been through.

A humourless laugh slipped from her lips. ‘Oh, yes—except they want someone who doesn’t exist.’

Lucas frowned. ‘Explain this to me.’

‘I can’t be what they want,’ she said, her voice pitching with frustration. ‘Do I look like a princess of the realm to you? No. What if I embarrass them in front of the world? Make some pithy remark to the King of Salzerre? Look ridiculous in some frou-frou dress with no sleeves—?’

‘Look at me,’ he demanded.

When she did not obey he slid his fingers up her jaw, cupped her face and tilted it to look at him. He felt himself almost drowning in her amber eyes. Eyes that were now brimming with hurt.

‘No more excuses. You must believe in yourself. In what you are capable of. As I do.’

‘You...you do?’

‘Sí. Of course. Do you know what your people call you, Claudia? The Lost Princesa. How right they are—for still you are lost. When I saw Bailey I knew. You hide. You need to break free. Show them who you truly are inside. The rest will come.’

He could feel her pulse thrumming against the ball of his hand, her throat convulse.

‘Being back here—’ Her voice cracked on a whisper. ‘I’m twelve years old again. So sick. So cold.’

A giant fist punched him in the guts. ‘You have bad memories of being here.’ It made perfect sense, but there was more, he knew. Problem was, he was treading perilously close to quicksand. For her relationship with her parents, however awkward and frigid, was none of his business. Still, he was unwilling to watch her fall or unveil another damn façade.

‘You are sick no more, Claudia. While I am angry as hell that life has dealt you such a card, you have found your way. You have become an accomplished, intelligent woman in your own right. Be proud of this.’ With his thumbs he drew small circles on her soft cheeks, luring her in to believe him. Fighting the craving to kiss the sadness from her lips. ‘Be proud of your brave heart.’

‘I don’t feel brave,’ she whispered. ‘I feel lost. I know my role back home. I know my job. Here—I’m not one of them. I don’t know how to be.’

Lucas pulled back, his hands slipping from her face to rake around the back of his neck. ‘And do you think I did?’ he asked, aggravated by the tightness in his voice, yet determined to show her he understood. ‘I was not born to this world, Claudia. Far from it.’

Her lips parted on an indrawn breath. ‘But you’re perfectly at ease here.’

‘Sí. I too had to learn. And I found honour in doing so.’ He’d found more than honour. He’d found a way of life. One that had saved him from the dark side. Given him the strength to move on, to fight. ‘Fear has no place in your heart right now.’

Eyes firing with the first spark of that spirit he craved, she said, ‘I’m not scared. I—’ Her brow creased as she bit her lip. ‘Maybe I am. A little. But you said so yourself. I look dour. I can’t be elegant like her. Like my sisters. It’s impossible.’

Lucas raised one brow and gave her The Look. ‘And where is the woman who told me only yesterday that nothing is impossible?’

Lips curving sweetly, sadly, she said, ‘I have no idea.’

‘Then let us find her.’