Prince of Montéz, Pregnant Mistress. Sabrina Philips
work on the paintings there, only return here when she’d completed them. The idea seemed almost idyllic without the threat of his presence.
‘If I stay for—for breakfast,’ she repeated, the concept still ludicrous to her. ‘You’ll be open to discussion about how I would wish such a project to be completed?’
‘Discussion? Of course.’
Cally did a mental calculation of whether she could afford one night in a French guesthouse, having presumed that she’d be back on a plane out of here this afternoon. She supposed that she had left that hotel in London a night earlier than planned…
‘What time would you have me return?’
‘I would have you here ready and waiting,’ he said, beckoning for her to keep up with his brusque steps out of the ballroom and into the hallway, where the man who had driven her here was waiting compliantly, head bowed. ‘This is Boyet. He will show you to your room and bring you dinner.’
And before she could argue the prince was gone.
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