Princess in the Iron Mask Read online

  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, s
till 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.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE NEXT MORNING, Claudia feast her eyes upon the orange groves lining the driveway leading from Lucas’s estate to the open road and nestled closer to the car door, depressing the window button with the tip of her finger.

  An intoxicating sweet scent drifted up her nose, filling her lungs until she never wanted to exhale.

  ‘I’d forgotten,’ she said. ‘The amazing smell of orange blossom.’

  It seemed to cling to her senses, stir something deep inside her...something long forgotten. A surreal feeling of peace washed over her—a sensation that didn’t make any sense.

  ‘It is heavier during spring when the trees are in full bloom. More decadent, I think.’

  Lucas’s deep masculine voice overwhelmed her and made her headier still, her pulse skipping.

  Tilting her head to peek skyward through the large gap in the blackened window, she closed her eyes, basking in the morning sun, wondering about the kind of man who proclaimed he didn’t feel and yet used the word decadent. The same man who is sheltering you from the storm. But that, she told herself, was Lucas doing his job. Keeping her in Arunthia to fulfil her duty. A role which had once again kept her eyes wide through the night. But when the dawn had come so had her vow. If Lucas believed she could pull it off and play princess for the night she would give it her best shot. If only to prove to herself that she could. That she wasn’t shackled by the past.

  Heavenly rays stroked through the clusters of fruit, the light speckling over her face. Shadows came and went, during which time she could just make out the tiny white flowers clinging to the bulbous dewy fruit.

  ‘Are they still Arunthia’s main export?’

  ‘Yes. Although as a country we are now richer from other timely investments. Mango, grapes, olives—that kind of thing.’ Leather creaked as he shifted on the seat beside her. ‘You are too hot, Claudia.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, tugging at the neckline of her long-sleeved tunic.

  ‘Close the window and the air-con will cool you.’

  ‘I need something cooler to wear.’

  Black was no good in this horrid heat. And close proximity to Lucas didn’t help. If she hadn’t been distinctly uncomfortable in her own skin before she was now.

  ‘I have already made an appointment for you at the boutique in town.’

  A moan slipped past her lips. Why, oh, why had she agreed to this? Come on, Claudia. We’re talking clothes, not strains of cholera.

  ‘Afterwards we will take a stroll. Today is market day, I believe.’

  Another moan. ‘Don’t feel the need to ease me in gently, will you, Lucas? This isn’t one of your military operations. At least allow me time to feel comfortable in full regalia before a full inspection.’

  ‘Dream on, Claudia.’

  Was he smiling? She didn’t dare look in case she melted.

  ‘The people will see you and you will dig deep for that inner radiance and that beautiful smile of yours.’

  She blinked. The scenery shuttered in and out of view. That was the second time he’d put her name and the word beautiful into one sentence. Wait a minute... Inner radiance? Was he high? Unable to resist looking at him for a second longer, she twisted at the waist and braced herself for the habitual hormone overload. It didn’t work. Utter waste of energy.

  Absorbing eighty percent of the oxygen and encompassing ninety-five percent of the space, Lucas was a modern-day gladiator. Leaning pensively on his wrist as he took particular interest in the opposite side of the road.

  With a quick glance to check that the privacy glass between themselves and Armande was firmly in place, she snapped back to him, ‘I think you need your eyes tested, Lucas.’

  Fist dropping to his lap, he turned and speared her with his don’t-mess-with-me look. ‘It is you who needs an eye-test, Claudia. Maybe then you would not wear reading glasses for long distance.’

  She gawped. Outright glared at him. ‘You’re beginning to scare me, do you know that?’

  He smiled. The brute actually smiled. And—oh, boy—her stomach flipped, then fluttered as if filled with white blossom bobbing on a breeze. It was a lopsided sinful smile that was loaded with bad-boy charisma. Just a hint of straight
pearly teeth and a dimple in one cheek. Licking her lips, she’d swear she could taste that gorgeous mouth of his.

  ‘A shield, in whatever form, only hides so much,’ he said, before shifting on his hip and reaching up to where her glasses sat visor-like atop her head. ‘You do not need them for visiting, for shopping, for the breathtaking scenery or as a hairband.’

  His husky voice... The slide of his fingers, abrasive on her scalp...

  ‘Do not deny people the pleasure of seeing your amber fire.’

  Amber fire?

  ‘How do you do it?’ she asked, a little breathless, a whole lot stunned. ‘You soak in every nuance. It’s really intimidating. Am I so easy to read?’

  ‘No. You have many layers and they are proving hard to strip away.’

  Strip? She wished to God he’d strip her right now—or take off his own clothes. She wasn’t picky. Against all logic she wanted to touch him. With one kiss he’d given her a taste of undiluted desire and like a potent drug she craved another shot.

  Thought vanished as he pulled her glasses free and the light scrape of his fingers brushed across her cheek. She focused on his eyes. Rich dark blue, hot and intense, pupils dilated.

  Claudia held onto the moment and the past forty-eight hours disappeared. She could feel him surrounding her—hard and fiercely passionate. The seductive pull of his mouth. What would his mouth feel like on her neck? Her breasts? Her stomach? What would he feel like deep like inside her?

  Something hot and sultry splashed through her midsection and she gripped the edge of the buttery leather seat with one hand and squeezed her thighs together. Oh, God, what was happening to her?

  Lucas broke the connection and closed the arms of her glasses in on themselves. Bereft, Claudia watched him plop the frames into the cubbyhole lining the door, delve into the inside pocket of his suave black jacket and pull out a platinum-encased pen. Lowering his eyes to the small table in front of him, where a sheaf of papers lay, he began to scrawl his signature, his long fingers stroking the silver column.

  Visions—vividly sensual and achingly explicit—poured into her mind. Where they came from she had no idea, but she couldn’t seem to stop them. Clenching her insides, she wriggled to ease the damp sensation between her legs and pulled at the small window button to douse the sweet bouquet of nature. Only to be ensnared in a whirlwind of musk-drenched pheromones.