Princess in the Iron Mask Page 2

  His name. His deep, devastating voice. His fierce, powerful demeanour.

  ‘My parents sent you,’ Claudia breathed in a tremulous whisper.

  No, no, no. She couldn’t go back to Arunthia. Not now. Maybe never. It was a place she was only willing to visit in her imagination during moments of agonising loneliness. If only to reassure herself she was better off on her own.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, with a cool remoteness that made her shudder and remember all at once. For her childhood years had been made up of her parents’ haughty detachment and hostile impatience.

  It was their impatience that had condemned her, because Claudia had been an enigma no doctor could diagnose. Their detachment had sentenced her to extradition because she was an embarrassment—she’d been swept off to England, placed under the care of tutors, governesses and an army of paediatric specialists while her so-called loving parents forgot she’d ever existed.

  They had betrayed her in the most unforgivable way.

  The ache in her chest crawled up her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut.

  It didn’t take a brainiac to decipher their message. This man said it all. They wanted something and this time they were deadly serious. Just fight, Claudia. You’ve done it before and you can do it again.

  She just wasn’t entirely sure she had the strength.

  Exhaustion pulsed through her weak leg muscles and her hand shot out to grip the edge of the desk as she begged her body to stand tall. Come on, Claudia, fight. They don’t need you. They didn’t want the imperfect child you were. Don’t give them the chance to hurt you again.

  Memories gushed like a riptide, flooding her psyche with such speed they threatened to break through the dam and obliterate her every defence.

  Within the blink of an eye Claudia’s day veered from bad to apocalyptic.

  * * *

  Lucas recognised shock when he saw it, and for the first time in his adult life the same emotion coursed through his veins, hot and unfathomable. While it blanched her exquisite flawless face, and widened her huge cat-like amber eyes, it completely severed his vocal cords from his brain.

  Sans hideous spectacles, with wispy damp ebony curls framing her oval face, Claudia Thyssen was much like her mother. But where Marysse Verbault was strength personified, her daughter appeared almost...frail. The sight of her bending forward, her small hand pushing into her flat stomach, resurrected a dark tonnage of guilt that sat on his chest like an armoured tank.

  Vulnerable. Undoubtedly timid. Traits he associated with the cold sweat of nightmares.

  Yet his internal reaction to this woman was the complete opposite of chilling. The instant thrash of desire was so strong it knifed him in the gut.

  She radiated supreme intellect, and Lucas would be the first to admit he preferred his women to be like uncomplicated candy. Covered from neck to calf in a frumpy lab coat, Claudia was more geek than glamour puss. So why did the mere sight of her raise his body temperature, thicken his blood?

  Lucas frowned as his lethargic pulse slowed his every reaction and his mentally prepared speech drifted to the melamine floor in tatters.

  Dios, why the bland exterior? She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Even the Queen’s striking beauty paled in comparison to her second-born.

  ‘Well, Mr Garcia,’ she said, her voice firming together with her backbone, until she stood at her full height and he was almost bowled over by her stature and regal bearing. ‘If my parents sent you, no doubt you have a message for me.’ Her tone—now cold enough to reawaken the memory of frostbite—delivered the final blow. ‘Consider it delivered.’

  And if that wasn’t a sharp swift kick out through the door, he didn’t know what was.

  What the...?

  Realisation hit him square between the eyes, easing the tightness in his chest. Her façade was an illusion. An ingenious cloaking device to ensure she was hidden within a society who knew nothing of her real identity. For her resemblance to the Verbault line was astounding.

  Grateful for the reminder of the real reason he was here, and of how beauty was only skin-deep, Lucas clenched his fists until spears of pain lanced up his forearms. Needing the dull ache winding through his body to regain control.

  ‘You would be correct on the first count,’ he said. ‘Your parents have many things to say to you.’ They were so anxious they had written countless letters over the last two months, begging for her return to Arunthia. Letters she had ignored. ‘But this time, I assure you, their words will be spoken.’

  Had she honestly thought she could ignore her family for ever? He’d been astounded to learn of her defiance. Such blatant disregard for her parents and the country of her birth.

  The woman had no honour.

  Treading lightly, as if flirting with a minefield, Lucas considered his next move. ‘My apologies, Your Royal Highness.’ No matter what he thought of her character she was above him in station, and he purposefully used her title, intent on her reaction. Her pale face remained impassive, which only served to prove his point. ‘As I mentioned, my name is Lucas Garcia and I am the Head of National Security for Arunthia.’

  ‘Congratulations. I’m very happy for you,’ she drawled, raising one perfect dark brow.

  Mesmerised, he watched the residual skittishness fade to be replaced with an emotion bordering on acerbity.

  Twenty-four hours ago this was the woman he’d expected. This he could deal with.

  ‘Your sentiment is appreciated,’ he said, his silky tone forced for maximum impact.

  Claudia focused those stunning eyes on him, her full mouth a moue as she sized him up. Lucas returned her glare, caught in an odd battle of wills, determined not to give an inch. It would be exceptionally easy to stand and look at her all day. If it were a power-play she desired he’d be a worthy opponent.

  ‘How are my doting parents?’ she asked overly sweetly, veering away, breaking the spell.

  Before satisfaction could swell his gut, she began to shuffle around the table, shifting files from one place to another as she scoured the surface.

  ‘King Henri and Queen Marysse wish to see you,’ he said, somewhat distracted, his curiosity mounting as she searched the desk.

  With a breathy little satisfied sigh that quite frankly belonged in the bedroom she reached over a paper mountain. Her lab coat moulded to her curvaceous bottom, the hem riding upward, giving Lucas a tantalising glimpse of sculpted ankles and sleek, toned calves. Swallowing hard, he whipped his gaze back up, just in time to see her pushing those huge ugly spectacles up her nose.

  Swaying between the need to rip them back off or glue them in place, he cursed under his breath. Dios, he was not meant to feel anything. And the only thing he needed from her was to damn well comply.

  ‘Well, I’ve no wish to see them,’ she said.

  Lucas kept his tone modulated, easy. ‘That is unfortunate. They desire your hasty return to Arunthia. I have been commissioned to escort you home.’

  She slammed her hands onto lush, rounded hips and her eyes fired darts full of ire. ‘Mr Garcia, I’m not an express shipment. If it’s haste you desire the door is directly behind you. Furthermore, if I wanted a vacation in Arunthia I’m quite capable of getting there myself. I don’t require an escort.’

  Lucas hitched a brow. He knew exactly what she required. A damn good—

  ‘More importantly, I can’t leave England right now.’

  ‘Do you not wish to see your family? Reacquaint yourself with the country of your birth?’ he asked, trying a little guilt on for size.

  ‘Not particularly,’ she replied, a hint of pink dusting her sculpted cheekbones.

  Was she lying or embarrassed by her callous disregard? The notion began to appease him—until her arms fell listlessly to her sides and she bit down hard on her bottom lip. A drop of blood pooled on the plump surface and she sucked the flesh. Grimaced.

  Miss Verbault was either into self-punishment or underneath her chosen façade lay an
emotional maelstrom. Lucas decided to go on the first theory. If she had any conscience she would have returned home months ago.

  ‘If they’re that desperate to see me, why aren’t they here?’

  ‘Unfortunately they are incapacitated at present.’

  ‘They usually are incapacitated, Mr Garcia,’ she said, rubbing her brow with the tips of her fingers.

  His head reared. ‘Naturally. They do rule a small country. Something I’m sure is a time-consuming vocation.’ What did she want? Weekly trips? How narrow-minded could one person be?

  ‘Oh, I’ve noticed. For twenty-eight years, believe me, I’ve noticed,’ she said, now rubbing harder, almost punishing. As very well she should.

  Any other woman would be overjoyed to have even a small taste of the privileged life she rejected. To be royalty and live in pure luxury was, for most, an impossible dream. Dios, for some, placing food upon the table or returning to their loved ones at all was an impossible dream.

  The woman was a conundrum. You’re not here to crack the code, Garcia. Just do your job and get the hell out.

  Lucas flexed his neck and battled on. He hadn’t forged his way through the ranks by falling at the first hurdle or being a passive negotiator. Then again, he was adept at dealing with men. Not tall, striking, obstinate females.

  Ordering his voice to remain civil, Lucas persisted. ‘Regardless of their responsibilities, they look forward to your visit.’

  A heavy sigh poured from her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sure. The question is, what do they want from me?’

  A growl rumbled up his chest. ‘They merely want to see their daughter.’ He avoided the topic of an Anniversary Ball, celebrating her parents’ fifty years of marriage, as had been suggested. Apparently she was uncomfortable at such gatherings. It was more likely she couldn’t bear to leave her precious lab. Even Lucas could see it was the personal white fortress of an ice maiden.

  ‘I’ll arrange a conference call,’ she said.

  ‘In. Person.’

  She snorted. Actually snorted. The most unladylike sound he’d ever heard. Dios, he’d met camels with more grace.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ Turning back to the desk, she began to stack files. Then unstack them. Yanking at the cuffs of her lab coat every so often. His eyes narrowed on her small wrists. She was either cold or the habit was a nervous tic.

  ‘Why now? Their timing is impeccable.’

  ‘You seem to be an intelligent woman. Did you honestly think you could ignore your family for ever?’ Could she not have mustered the decency to return one note from over half a dozen letters?

  ‘Hoped would be more like it.’ She swivelled on her heels to face him. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Garcia, but your journey has been wasted. I’ve no intention of leaving here, with you or anyone.’

  Crossing her arms tightly over her chest, she stood mutinous. His eyes dipped of their own accord, his pulse hitting one-fifty at the sight. Her pose had tightened the shapeless lab coat, offering him a hint of her rounded hip, cinching her small waist and enhancing the lush fullness of her breasts.

  Blood hot as Arunthian lava seared through his veins.

  ‘I’m afraid you have no choice,’ he bit out, furious at his inappropriate physical reaction. ‘Responsibility and duty outweigh personal desires.’

  Claudia’s luscious mouth dropped open and a fleeting image of those full lips pressing into his chest gave him momentary pause. His imagination flamed and he could practically feel her softness sliding against his strength. The heaviness of her breasts as he cupped the soft globes.

  Primal lust hit with devastating impact. Sweat trickled down his spine. Torrid heat surged south. His groin pulsed once, twice, and hardened within seconds. Holy...

  Lucas flexed his neck until he heard a soft click. What the hell was wrong with him? Nothing that an hour with a woman wouldn’t fix. Any woman bar this one. Preferably a blonde. With blue eyes.

  Dios, when was the last time he’d engaged in no-strings self-indulgence? Months? Years? No wonder he was in such a damn state. Working night and day had obviously begun to take its toll.

  Claudia’s sudden laughter crashed into his train of thought. A dark, hollow sound designed to chill the air.

  ‘How wonderfully droll. I live in a free country, Mr Garcia, what are you going to do? Carry me out of here?’ Laughter died on her tongue as her hand snaked up her chest to curl around her delicate throat.

  The temptation to replace her hand with his made his palms itch. To caress or throttle—he’d yet to decide.

  The air crackled with sweltry tension and Lucas raised one dark brow...

  Claudia took a tentative step back. ‘You wouldn’t dare.’

  No, he wouldn’t, but she didn’t know that. Dios, he was no animal. Although he’d witnessed many in his lifetime.

  Suddenly his thoughts locked as his brain malfunctioned and an image flashed in his mind’s eye. Nostrils flaring, he hauled air into his lungs and shut down the defect.

  He searched for a retort. ‘I would far rather you walked.’

  She shook her head slowly. ‘Not going to happen. Listen, just tell them I’ll think about it, okay?’

  Lucas smiled, although he imagined it was more of a smirk. What she asked of him was not only unthinkable but impossible. He was not going home empty-handed.

  ‘I have to finish my work, Mr Garcia.’

  Ah. He’d wondered how long it would take before she dropped the topic of her profession into the equation. The obvious chink in her armour.

  ‘It’s very important,’ she said.

  So was the country she belonged to. Lucas glanced around her workspace, troubled by the stark environment. After spending ten minutes under the harsh flood of lighting he already felt like a lab rat.

  Control began to slip once more and he closed his eyes, breathed deeply...only to inhale a strange blend of clinical sanitation and elements of her work. Bleached cleanliness punched his gut, gripped and twisted with a hard fist. Sweat bubbled on his upper lip and he turned to pace, exorcising the demons. How could she stand being cooped in this cage? The violent need to escape pumped pure adrenaline through his system, and he clamped his jaw hard enough to crack a molar.

  Shrugging off the discomfort, disgusted at his own weakness, he veered towards her. ‘You may live in a free country but you were born to another and you have responsibilities to uphold. You will always have your work. But right now your family needs to take precedence. Three weeks at the most and then you may return. That is all they ask of you.’

  ‘All they ask?’ she flared. ‘Why should I do anything for them?’

  Lucas scrubbed at his nape, smacked with the need to butt his head against a brick wall. ‘Your selfishness is astounding. Do you not feel one iota—?’

  ‘I have responsibilities here, Mr Garcia. Petri dishes full of them,’ she said, her arm outstretched, pointing to a wall where a bank of shelves held a legion of chemical equipment, jars and small plastic dishes of what looked like goop.

  He raised a dark brow in her direction, only to be faced with one ink-smudged palm. The slight quiver of her long fingers betrayed her heightened state of anxiety.

  ‘I don’t expect you to understand what I do here,’ she said waspishly and somewhat degradingly.

  Lucas allowed the insult to slide, since he understood perfectly what her job entailed. If she thought him beneath her level of intelligence he was not only unperturbed—for it would be a cold day in hell before he valued the opinion of one so selfish and irresponsible—but his apparent ignorance would only serve to work in his favour later on. While he understood her motivations, her priorities were clearly misaligned.

  ‘So,’ she said, tearing her spectacles off her face, flaying him with amber fire. ‘You can stop pacing like a caged animal, trying to figure out your next move. I’ve seen them all and I’m immune.’

  Lucas clenched his teeth to avoid his jaw dropping to the floor. Incredible! She fought as a warrior. He’d ne
ver seen anything like it. Or felt anything like it. Because his entire body seethed with the need to haul her into his arms and kiss her pert, insolent mouth.

  He scoured her face. Flawless apricot skin, huge distinctive amber eyes begging him for something he couldn’t place. Understanding? Or to be left in peace?

  Lucas could give her neither.

  Failure was not in his vocabulary. He’d built his life, its very foundations, on honour, duty and protection. Not even an act of providence would steer him off his chosen path. Nor the most beautiful self-centred woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

  Damage limitation was futile.

  It was time to change tactics and up the pressure.

  Because, come nightfall, Claudia would be returning to Arunthia.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IT MIGHT HAVE been nanny number four who’d told her not to play with fire, Claudia reflected as she took a tentative step back. But for the life of her she couldn’t remember the woman who had screamed the warning never to provoke animals. Such a shame she hadn’t listened and taken the same diligent approach to her safety as she had to her reading materials.

  Standing no more than five feet away, Lucas locked his fierce blue eyes on her. Blatant intent slashed colour on his high chiselled cheekbones and her heart thumped against her ribcage. Without a doubt he would throw her over his shoulder and haul her out of here given half the chance.

  Ignoring the ridiculous frisson of excitement that thought evoked, she focused on what was quickly becoming one of the most surreal days of her life.

  Lucas, this dark, devastating brute, was by moral nature a carbon copy of her parents. Only thinking of their beloved country, of duty and responsibility. Uncaring of Claudia’s desires or, more importantly, her needs.

  Why should she do anything for them? What had they ever done for her, apart from abandoning her in a foreign country? Twelve years old and so sick she could barely walk. So unsightly they’d secreted her away. The loss of everything and everyone she’d ever known had soaked her pillow at night. So frightened. So very alone.