The Prince's Forbidden Cinderella, page 9
She compressed her lips and clung to her defiance. ‘I have always wanted to travel.’
‘You really are a very bad liar, but shall we get back to my announcement? As things stand at the moment, when I die Freya is first in line to the throne, but should she have a male sibling he would take precedence.’
This man was so vitally alive, the most alive person she had ever met, to think of him not being around set off a discordant note of denial in her head.
‘Freya does talk a lot about a brother.’
‘You’re telling me I should hurry up? I think I have a few years left in me yet.’
His mercurial mood shifts made Kate feel constantly on edge, and his lazy mockery made her teeth clench. Ego was not an attractive thing even when justified, and his was. His sexual potency entered a room before he did!
* * *
‘The point is,’ Marco continued, picking up his original thread, ‘as things stand a younger brother would be heir.’
‘Primogeniture.’
‘Exactly, well, I have dragged the royal council kicking and screaming to the point where they are willing to sign off on the change. If they learned that Freya has anything they consider a handicap...’ he emphasised, forestalling her protest, ‘keeping in mind,’ he added drily, ‘that most of them have not changed their minds about anything since birth...they are so risk averse that some might consider that something as simple as red hair...’ his eyes came to rest on a rope of curls that lay against her neck ‘might set a dangerous precedent. You get my drift?’ he said, thinking of those ropes of russet gold against his skin as she sat above him.
She nodded. ‘Does Freya know?’
‘Not yet.’ Marco was unwilling to acknowledge he had not thought that far ahead. Had he worked so hard to gift his daughter something that he hadn’t considered her rejecting the gift? Maybe she wouldn’t want equality if equality meant her future was mapped out as his was.
‘Will she be at the ball when you do the big reveal?’
‘Freya!’ he exclaimed. ‘I don’t think that would be—’
* * *
‘Oh, she’d love it,’ Kate cut in, seeing the smile on her charge’s face if she could walk out beside her father. ‘She’d be so proud to walk in there with you. She should just put in an appearance, of course,’ she added hastily. ‘It’s not like she’d be there until the small hours...?’ Head tilted to one side, she looked at him appealingly.
‘Am I being manipulated, Kate?’
She shook her head, genuinely confused by the accusation. ‘Of course not. I just thought, if she hates the idea she can sit somewhere and watch with me.’
‘Sit and watch...’ he said slowly. ‘A delightful, if slightly Victorian image. I shall invite my daughter to the ball, but you will of course need to accompany her and whisk her away like a mini-Cinderella before the guests start misbehaving.’ If only, he thought. The formal occasions were suffocating not scandalous.
Kate could not hide her horror at the prospect. ‘But I couldn’t. I don’t...’
‘Consult with my mother on clothes, accessories and such—despite appearances she has a very good sense of fashion.’
‘The Queen? I couldn’t possibly...maybe Lady Rosa. She seemed...’
‘Charming? Oh, she is,’ he said with an edge to his voice. ‘But do not go to Lady Rosa.’
Despite the dismissal, Kate felt inclined to argue the prohibition. As mental images of the woman flashed into her head, she conceded that the woman was possibly not very stylish, certainly not as elegant as the pictures she’d seen of the Queen. Still, Lady Rosa was less regal but much more approachable than the actual monarch.
Kate was already dismissed, his fingers moving across one of the keyboards on his desk. ‘And do not use her as an intermediary to my mother,’ he added without looking up.
She shook her head in bewilderment even though he couldn’t see her. ‘But why not?’
He looked up then. ‘Because, Kate, Lady Rosa is my father’s mistress and there is a limit to civilised.’ At least for him there was.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘OH, YES, THAT ONE is perfect... Oh, but the bra will definitely have to go.’ The Queen turned to her granddaughter, who was dancing around in a pink ballerina dress. ‘Don’t you think so, Freya?’
The child paused to consider the subject, her expression so like her grandmother’s that for a moment Kate forgot she was stressed as hell by the whole process and laughed.
‘I think you’re right, Grandma...no bra. Oh, I think I’m beautiful,’ she added, swirling in front of the mirrors that covered one entire wall.
‘Oh, you are!’ both women exclaimed in unison and exchanged a smiling glance.
The Queen, despite her patrician looks, was possibly the least regal person Kate had ever met. She exuded a warmth, professed herself to be quite lazy and didn’t appear to be tuned into the palace gossip machine at all. She was definitely not Kate’s image of a wronged wife. She didn’t seem angry, bitter or downtrodden. She seemed a woman who was very comfortable in her own skin.
But behind the lazy facade she could be relentless when she made up her mind, which was why Kate was standing there in the most fantastic dress she had ever worn being told her bra would have to go.
She was not going to accept the dress. She was just humouring her royal companion.
‘I really don’t think... It’s beautiful but I don’t need a dress and I couldn’t possibly afford...’ Her voice trailed off as she glanced at her reflection in the wall of mirrors in the body-hugging, deceptively simple bias-cut slip of blue silk, and she sighed, admitting, ‘It is lovely.’
‘It is perfect, and the matter is settled. As for the cost, Marco is picking up the bill. This is a work-related expense.’
Kate’s husky laugh rang out. ‘He’ll be furious,’ she added, sobering.
‘This is his instruction, my dear,’ the Queen inserted gently.
Kate looked doubtful. He might have said dress, but he could not have meant a dress like this.
‘Now,’ the Queen added briskly. ‘Shoes. You have tiny feet,’ she observed, looking at the trainer-clad feet exposed as Kate lifted the hem of blue silk.
* * *
Half an hour later, the items wrapped in layers of tissue were packaged up and stacked, waiting to be carried to the waiting car.
‘We must do this more often,’ the older woman said, turning to Kate with her warm smile. ‘I can’t remember the last time I had such fun.’
Kate, who could not imagine another occasion when her role would involve picking out a designer evening dress and accessories, gave a non-committal cover-all grunt and smiled. She had, despite all her misgivings, enjoyed the day.
Outside on the wide tree-lined street, which housed a row of high-end designer shops to rival any capital city, the air was warm but not unpleasantly so. Kate inhaled the smell of the horse-chestnut blossoms and sneezed violently.
The allergy coming back to haunt her.
‘Are you all right?’
‘Fine,’ Kate assured the older woman. It seemed incomprehensible to her that the King should humiliate her the way he did by keeping a mistress that it transpired everyone knew about.
‘Freya is happy. I think that is down to you, so thank you.’
‘Not at all, it is my—’
‘Ah, duty... I know about duty, my dear.’ She touched Kate’s face, her expression wistful, or was Kate just imagining that because she felt sympathy for the woman’s position? She wasn’t sure. ‘I admit I cannot get excited about babies, but Freya is just becoming interesting, don’t you think? Marco, of course, was always interesting but so very...self-sufficient, even as a child.’
Kate, who didn’t have a clue how to respond to the information, just nodded.
‘Now we will take afternoon tea, unless you share Nanny Maeve’s disapproval of such indulgences...?’
‘I don’t.’
‘It’s fine,’ piped up Freya. ‘Kate has lovely teeth and it’s a celebration, we can have chocolate.’
‘Well, that is settled, then,’ her grandmother said, looking amused.
It was just left to Kate to follow meekly behind. The parcels were piled into a waiting car and the Queen announced they were going to walk to the tea shop.
The information that they were walking had created a flurry of activity as the security detail adapted, clearly not thrown by the Queen’s mercurial change of timetable.
The Queen watched with a benevolent smile as her security team swung into action. ‘This...they are Marco’s doing. I used to cycle around the city with no issues, but he is so overprotective, especially where Freya is concerned.’ Her glance went to the little girl, who was skipping along happily. ‘Understandable, but he means well. I was so happy, we all were, when he had someone to share his life with, and Belle always adored him. Such a tragedy and he never talks about it. But that is Marco’s way, strong and silent. Here we are.’
One of the security guards emerged from the café, his nod presumably conformation that it was safe for them to enter.
There was a perimeter of empty tables around the table they were led to.
‘I want a chocolate milkshake.’
‘It is always good to know what you want and go for it,’ the Queen said, requesting iced tea for herself. When asked Kate said iced tea would be nice.
‘Freya is the image of her mother. Belle was always a pretty child. It was such a wicked loss.’ She sighed. ‘For a long time after her death I feared for Marco. He shut himself off and...’ She shook her head. ‘He was in a dark place.’
‘I can’t begin to imagine what it would feel like,’ Kate reflected, watching Freya, who was slurping a milkshake noisily through a straw. ‘To make a new life with someone you love and then at the perfect moment everything falls apart...’
Did you ever recover from something like that? Or did you just go through the motions...functioning compared to living?
Recalling his comments about his future wife, she didn’t think that Marco had; his scars might be the invisible variety but the past was still impacting his life.
‘Everyone was distraught. Belle’s family—’ The Queen cleared her throat. ‘It was understandable, I suppose, people in pain hit out.’
‘Yes, Marco... Prince Marco,’ Kate corrected with a self-conscious blush, ‘did mention what happened.’
The Queen’s feathery brows lifted in surprise. ‘Did he?’ she said, an alert look sliding into her eyes. ‘My son is not known for sharing...and a lot falls on his shoulders. It has done from an early age. His marriage may have ended but I think that Marco is married to this land, this country... It makes me sad that he has no one to share the burden with now.’
Before Kate could think of how to respond to this flow of confidences, the Queen rose to her feet displaying an energy a woman half her age would envy as she announced it was time to leave.
As the security detail rose from the tables they occupied she pitched her voice loudly. ‘Actually, the cycling is good for these men. I have actually improved their stamina.’
Kate laughed, more confused than ever that a man who had a wife like this would choose to keep a mistress who, by any conventional standard, was far less attractive. And how did the Queen cope with the humiliation of everyone knowing about his mistress? The arrangement seemed crazier than ever to Kate.
She thought her own family was odd, but by comparison...
* * *
His mother had reported in her own inimitable way that she liked the new nanny. ‘So easy to talk to...don’t you think so, Marco?’
It was a given his mother would love Kate. His mother would have seen the good side in a serial killer, it was just the way she was, but her insistence was particularly vehement when she spoke of the English nanny.
‘Do not hurt her though, Marco. I think she is very empathic. It makes her vulnerable.’
Marco had no intention of hurting her, and he was here to see his daughter, not her disapproving nanny, who, when he’d entered, had been standing in the middle of the room, dancing with his daughter in something that was vaguely recognisable as a waltz.
‘Papa, I have a beautiful dress and I had chocolate milkshake with cream on top. I had a moustache! And I am learning to dance, see?’ Freya gave a wobbly twirl to illustrate the fact.
* * *
Watching, Kate found there was something endearing about the awkward way he ruffled the child’s hair. The fact he was making the effort made her throat ache with emotion.
‘It sounds like I missed a lot of fun,’ Marco observed, his eyes sliding to Kate, who had not moved since he’d entered. ‘Are you going to show me your dress, Freya?’
‘You want to see my dress?’
* * *
Her astonishment sent a slug of guilt through Marco, who found himself remembering the way he had sought his own father’s approval, how much an ‘Excellent’ or a pat on the head had meant to him.
‘Yes, I would.’
Freya’s eyes went to Kate, who nodded, and the child rushed off.
Kate walked over to her phone and switched off the music that had been playing in the background.
‘So you are a dance teacher too?’
She shrugged. ‘I took lessons for a while.’
‘Are you good?’
‘Not good enough.’
‘Are you going to show me your dress too?’
Kate flushed. ‘Your mother insisted. She thought—’
‘My mother thought right.’
‘She was very kind; she is so beautiful...’
‘And you are struggling with her unorthodox relationship with my father.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of—’
‘Everyone else does. My parents’ marriage had effectively ended years ago. The pressure to provide an heir took its toll. I suspect they were drifting and probably behind the scenes being encouraged towards separation.’
‘But they stayed together.’
‘Because then I happened, after they had given up hope. The only reason divorce would have been sanctioned was the need for an heir, but here I am. Do not look so sad. It is not an unhappy marriage, just different. He does love her, you know, but, as he is fond of saying, what the heart wants...’
‘Do you believe that?’
He looked at her before dropping into an armchair in an elegant heap. ‘I believe that love is used as an excuse for selfishness among other things. It’s been a long day. I could do with a drink.’
‘This is a nursery, so there is no bar, but all you have to do is click your fingers and you can have whatever you want, so I’m told.’
‘Is that a fact?’ he purred, looking at her mouth. The moment of crackling, stomach-quivering tension stretched until he broke it, rising with restless grace to his feet and dragging a hand across his dark hair. ‘Sorry, Nanny.’
* * *
Kate didn’t know what he was apologising for, but she was glad she was no longer subjected to that soul-stripping, truth-drug stare that made her want to tell him what a good kisser he was.
‘It doesn’t really matter what I believe, does it?’
She didn’t say anything even though he glanced her way as though expecting her to argue the point, making her think it was a point he had argued with himself over the years.
‘My mother believes that Rosa makes my father happy. Their relationship preceded that of my parents but there was never any question of him marrying Rosa. She came from the wrong sort of family. Back then those sorts of things mattered.’
‘And they don’t now?’
‘I don’t know what the world’s coming to. Non-virgins have even been known to marry into the family.
‘The bottom line is my parents are both lovely people and they have a relationship that works for them, but I don’t even pretend to understand.’
Freya came in at that moment, an explosion in pink, and as she glowed in response to her father’s suggestion she give him a twirl, feeling surplus, Kate made a tactful exit, leaving father and daughter together.
She was in her kitchen making a coffee when the door opened.
‘You should lock this. You need your privacy. You’re not on duty twenty-four-seven.’
Kate looked at the man whose six-feet-plus frame made the room suddenly very small and arched a brow. ‘Most people knock,’ she said pointedly. ‘And I have been told several times that my predecessor was a saint who hadn’t taken a holiday in ten years.’
‘Nanny Maeve was pretty much a fixture. People will get used to you. I think they have noticed you already.’
He was looking at her hair and Kate, who was used to people commenting on it, shrugged, thinking that noticing was not the same as accepting.
‘Look, I have read the literature and research you sent me and... I’ve spoken to the professor who has produced the research in the psychology department, and he has arranged an appointment in the education department at the university tomorrow for an assessment for Freya. There is apparently an ongoing research programme and he seemed keen to have Freya take part in it.’
‘And how do you feel about that?’
‘My daughter is not a guinea pig.’
She studied his rigid jaw and nodded without comment at this understandable response. ‘Oh, that’s great, well, I mean good that you are taking some action so quickly.’
‘And you can’t wait to be proved right.’
* * *
‘That is unfair!’ she exclaimed.
