The Ordinary Princess. Liz Fielding
to have made a break for freedom. Prince Alexander might have had something of a reputation as a young man, but he’d only been following a trail blazed by his older sister.
‘She not only looks like her mother, but has apparently inherited her laissez-faire attitude to personal behaviour,’ he admitted stiffly. ‘You have my sincerest apologies for the fright you’ve been given, Miss Varndell. My niece will make her own apologies in due course.’
Under normal circumstances two Miss Varndells were about as much as she could take before she begged to be called Laura. Outside, on the pavement, she might have begged. Inside, his formality made such a request unthinkable.
‘That’s not important. I’m just relieved that she’s not in danger.’ Then, ‘This security character—he’s not going to haul her out of the club, is he?’ She imagined how humiliated she’d feel under such circumstances. ‘It’ll only make her more resentful,’ she began. Then stopped. ‘I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.’
‘No, it isn’t.’ Then, with the faintest crease softening the corners of his eyes, ‘But if you’ll forgive me for saying so, it’s somewhat sexist of you to assume that her security officer is male.’
A crack in the ice? He was a lot more attractive when he smiled. Almost human.
‘Did you really think I’d send some uniformed heavy to barge in and drag her home?’ The smile deepened in response to her embarrassed flush. ‘There’s no need to answer that. I may be a monster—my niece certainly believes so—Miss Varndell, but I was once a young monster with my own problem with rules.’
‘But you’re still going to have her brought home.’
‘Certainly.’ Then, ‘You have some objection?’
‘It’s not my place to object. I just think that making a public spectacle of the girl isn’t likely to improve matters.’
‘You’re suggesting that with a proper chaperon she should be allowed to stay for a while?’
‘A chaperon? Heaven forbid! I’m sure she’d rather come home than submit to that,’ she said. Just to see how deep the crack went. ‘Poor girl.’
‘Scarcely that,’ he replied, abruptly losing the smile. Not very far, then.
‘There’s more than one way to experience poverty,’ she muttered, but not quietly enough, and his eyebrows rose with sufficient alacrity to indicate that he was unused to having his actions questioned. Especially since he clearly thought he was being incredibly relaxed about the whole matter.
‘You’re suggesting emotional impoverishment?’ he demanded.
‘I wouldn’t be that impertinent.’
‘Oh, I think you would.’
Cold, but perceptive. He didn’t wait for her to admit it, but picked up the telephone and spoke briefly into it before glancing back at her.
She’d been holding her breath, but his expression did not suggest he was about to have her bodily ejected. Yet.
‘So,’ he continued, as if there had been no interruption. ‘Enlighten me. What are you suggesting, Miss Varndell?’
Her mouth dried. Lecturing the man on the best way to raise his niece was not going to get her the prized interview. But it might get her some memorable quotes.
If she provoked him sufficiently she fancied she’d be able to name her price for the story. And Trevor McCarthy would have to stand in line.
‘Well?’ he demanded.
Well, why not? He’d asked for it, and the least she could do in return for his unwitting assistance in promoting her career was to give the Prince the benefit of her experience.
‘Young people need to test themselves against the world so that they can learn from their mistakes. Discover safe boundaries. Keeping them wrapped in cotton wool leaves them vulnerable.’ His face remained expressionless. No hint of that smile now. She swallowed nervously. ‘Later.’
‘You are speaking from personal experience?’
‘Well, I’m young,’ she hedged. Then realised that the Princess would probably think her well past it at twenty-four. ‘Well, youngish,’ she amended. ‘Young enough to remember being Katie’s age.’
Not that she’d had parents to restrict her movements. But school had been worse. You couldn’t have a row with an institution. And slamming doors was pointless. You didn’t get understanding. You just got a lecture on the subject of thoughtful behaviour, followed by a week of detention.
‘Well, thank you for your advice, but I’d rather my niece didn’t make her mistakes on my watch. She can return to Montorino to complete her education.’
‘That’s a little harsh, isn’t it? One mistake and she’s out?’
His mouth straightened into a hard line that warned her to have a care. Then, presumably because she was an outsider and could not be expected to understand this, he gave a curt bow of the head and, conceding the point, said, ‘Maybe it is harsh, but this family has provided the newsprint of Europe with more than enough scandal. I do not want a photograph of Katerina, under age and behaving badly, to appear in your newspapers,’ he said.
Her throat dried.
‘I suppose the British press is no worse than anywhere else, but they’d make the most of such a story,’ he continued.
‘Oh, yes. I see.’ He’d been speaking generally. It took a moment for her heartbeat to return to something approaching normal. ‘It’s, um, just as well there wasn’t a newspaper photographer lurking outside when she made a break for it, then.’
There was nothing in his expression to suggest that he had even noticed her sarcasm, but his upper lip was so stiff that any kind of expression would have been difficult.
‘That kind of photographer only lurks where there is likely to be something worth his time. If tonight’s escapade becomes public knowledge they’ll be stacked ten deep.’
‘It won’t become public knowledge, surely? Unless she makes a fuss when the leash is jerked.’
‘You’re suggesting that if I don’t jerk it no one will notice her?’
‘Well, she wasn’t wearing a tiara.’
‘You recognised her,’ he pointed out.
Oh, sugar. Think. Think. ‘Only because she was coming out of your official residence.’ Another raised brow queried how she knew that. ‘I’ve seen the flag,’ she said, which appeared to satisfy him. ‘I wouldn’t have recognised her if I’d seen her in the street.’
‘No?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘In black denim, and with a hair-do from hell, she didn’t look like anyone’s idea of a princess.’
‘Nevertheless, seventeen is a dangerous age,’ he declared with the confidence of a man who remembered just how dangerous it could be. ‘Which is why I am sending her home.’
‘It’s a dangerous age wherever you live,’ she replied. And, since she had nothing to lose, she added, ‘Or are the boys in Montorino different? A little less testosterone-driven?’ She met his cool stare, matched it, then, with measured insolence, added, ‘Sir?’
‘Not noticeably,’ he admitted after an epic pause. ‘But I can be certain that she’ll receive appropriate respect there.’
‘She’s seventeen! She doesn’t want respect. She wants to have fun—and you can’t keep her locked up in an enchanted tower for ever. Try it and she’ll escape with the first good-looking scoundrel with a head for heights—’ Too late, she remembered that his sister had done something very like that.
There was a tap on the door and, with the temperature