Amber And The Rogue Prince. Элли Блейк
there in her bright yellow gumboots, her tank top clinging to her lovely body, her hair a wild, sexy mess. He jogged down the steps and headed down the hill, past the hammock, through the field of lavender to the small dead-end dirt road on which he’d parked his car.
The urge to look back was acute but he kept his cool. Because he had the feeling that it wouldn’t be the last he saw of Amber.
She might be done with him, but he wasn’t done with Serenity. For he did indeed have plans for his mother’s ancestral home—plans which had him excited for the first time since the debacle of the wedding that never was. He might even go so far as to say they excited him more than any other development he had ever actualised.
For Hugo was renowned for taking underused or overlooked tracts of land that others would deem too remote or too challenging, and turning them into stunning holiday playgrounds for diplomats, royalty, the rich and famous, and families alike. His series of Vallemontian resorts—including a palatial masterpiece tucked into the side of Mont Enchante and an award-winning titan overlooking Lake Glace—had been a revelation for the local economy, making him invaluable to his uncle in terms of commerce if not in terms of the line of succession.
But this one, this place...it would be all his.
When he reached the bottom of the lavender field he did look back, Amber’s shack and the rest of the commune relegated to glimpses of purple and red and orange obscured by copses of gum trees.
He’d keep the natural landscape as much as possible, but the caravans, tents and shanties would of course have to go to make way for the bungalows, tennis courts, lagoon-style pool and a peach grove where Amber’s shack now wobbled.
Hugo wasn’t some monstrous land baron. With the council’s help, he would assist them in their relocation. Help them find safer places to live.
And he would create something beautiful, something lasting, something personal to break the cycle of tragedy in his mother’s family.
He would make his very personal mark on the world without trading on his family name, a constant reminder of the top job for which he and his heirs would only ever be back-ups.
Amber would just have to lump it.
* * *
Serenity’s Town Hall was packed to the rafters, with people lining the walls and spilling out through the open doors. It was late enough that young ones would normally be home in bed, but nobody was missing this meeting, so they sat in messy rows on the floor at the front, making occasional mad dashes across the stage, followed by their harassed parents.
There was only one reason for the big turnout: the news had spread. Nothing this momentous had happened in Serenity since Anna had been swept away to an exotic foreign land.
Amber slumped on her bench in the third row, her legs jiggling, her thumbs dancing over her fingertips. There was a good portion of the commune lined up beside her, including Sunflower, who was humming happily despite the cacophony of white noise, and Johnno, who was staring out into space.
Only, Amber wasn’t here in the hope of spotting the exotic stranger. She’d seen enough of him already, from the scar above his right eyebrow to the birthmark on the base of his left big toe—and everything in between. She shifted on her seat and cleared her throat.
She was here in case the Hinterland House plans—whatever they might be—were on the agenda in the hope she could see with her own eyes as someone shouted it down. Then Hugo would leave and things could go back to normal. Or as normal as things ever got in Serenity.
Someone, but not her.
It hadn’t passed her by that her parents would have loved this kind of David and Goliath fight—though nobody would have mistaken them for David in their Gucci suits and Mercedes four-wheel drives. It made them great lawyers, but terrible parents.
How could they be expected to nurse a “difficult” baby when there was so much injustice to stamp down? Enough that Australia’s most infamous human rights lawyers put the care of their only child into the hands of daycare and night nannies from six weeks of age. Their work was far too important for them to abide the distraction.
The smack of a gavel split the silence and Amber flinched, reminded of the number of courtrooms she’d been in as a child. Well, she didn’t have the mental space to think about her parents today. Or ever, if at all possible. She sat taller, stopped her nervous fidgets and waited.
“Squeeze up,” called a voice as someone managed to squash into the end of Amber’s row, the rickety wooden bench wobbling as the crowd sardined. When she looked back to the stage, Councillor Paulina Pinkerton—the leader of the seven-member local council—and her cohorts trailed onto the stage then took their seats.
The gavel struck a second time. Amber flinched again. It was a conditioned response, like Pavlov’s ruddy dog. The twitters settled to a hush, chairs scratched against the wooden floor, a teenaged boy laughed. Somebody coughed. A baby started to fret. And the town of Serenity held its breath.
“Nice to see so many of you here today. I might choose to think it’s because you’ve heard around the traps how darned interesting our meetings are, but I fear there is some issue that has you all aflutter. So let’s get through the necessaries.”
The councilwoman swept through the minutes and old business with alacrity. Then she opened the floor.
“Any new business?”
The hum started up again. Whispers, murmurs, the shuffle of bottoms turning on seats. But nobody said a word.
“Fine. Next meeting will be...next Tuesday at—Ms Hartley? Did you have something to add?”
Amber blinked to hear her name being called from the councillors’ table, only to realise she was on her feet. Did she have something to add? No! Legally emancipated from her indifferent parents at sixteen in a legal battle that had become a national story in a slow news week, she’d spent her life living like dandelion fluff, flitting from place to place, not getting involved.
Until Serenity. Sunflower had taken one look at her empty backpack, her bedraggled state and offered the shack for a night, then another, and somehow she’d found herself stuck in this sweet place, with these kind people, none of whom had a clue what was about to befall them.
This place...it was her sanctuary. And she’d harboured the enemy—however unwittingly. She owed it to them to do whatever it took to protect them.
Damn him. Damn Hugo Prince Whatever-His-Name-Was and his whole crazy family for making her do this.
Amber scooted past the knees blocking her way down the bench. Once she had reached the small rostrum—a literal soapbox attached to a stand fashioned out of a fallen tree, which had been a gift to the town from Johnno, who was a pretty brilliant artist when he was in the right head-space—Amber squared her shoulders, looked each councilman and councilwoman in the eye and prayed her parents would never hear word of what she was about to do.
“Ms Hartley.” Councillor Pinkerton gave Amber an encouraging smile. “The floor is yours.”
“Thank you. I’ll get right to it. I have come to understand that the owners of Hinterland House are back and I believe that they have plans to develop the land. Firstly, I’d like to know if the latter is true, and, if so, I put forward a motion to stop it.”
Once she had started, the words poured out of her like water from a busted pipe. Energy surged through the crowd behind her like a snake. It was electric. And she hated it. Because the thrill of the fight was in her veins after all.
“Much of Serenity belongs to the Van Halprins, Ms Hartley, and, apart from the segments bequeathed to the township, they are within their rights to develop that land.”
“Into what?”
The councillor paused, clearly thinking through how much she was legally allowed to say, and legally allowed to hold back. “The plans as they are will be up for local consideration soon enough.