A Royal Marriage Of Convenience

CHAPTER SIX

THERE had to be argument from their minders. Of course there did. There was a moment’s peace, before their escort of motor bikes reassembled, veered off the highway and roared after them. Then the head of the squad-Jean Dupeaux-came alongside their limousine and gestured angrily for the driver to pull over. Nick’s errant thoughts were dragged back to the here and now with a vicious jolt as the bike nosed sharply in front of the car, causing their driver to brake and veer onto the verge.

But not stop. The driver was starting to look as determined as, well, as determined as Rose.

The bike jerked back so it was driving alongside. Rose let down her window, put out her head and yelled, ‘Our driver’s following our instructions, Monsieur Dupeaux. We just want to see the river.’

‘You must pull over,’ Dupeaux shouted, and Rose smiled happily, waved and closed the window.

What was the Chief of Staff doing, riding motor bikes? Nick thought. And then, more nervously, what is going on here?

Dupeaux veered in front of the car again. The driver skilfully pulled out and overtook him.

What the outcome would have been if they’d had to go further Nick couldn’t tell, but they were already turning to where the cliffs along the river-bank formed what seemed almost a natural amphitheatre. Willows hung over the slow moving river. There were ruins of some ancient castle high on the cliffs. A few cars were parked under the trees, but mostly there were horses and carts. And people.

There was real poverty in this country, Nick thought. Horses and carts might look picturesque, but these weren’t men and women using their horses and carts for pleasure. These horses were workhorses, and every single man and woman-and even the adolescents-looked as if they’d spent a long, hard day in the fields. No luxury of going home to a long, hot bath and a change of clothes, but still they’d assembled to enjoy the evening.

The people turned as one at the arrival of the limousine, with its trailing queue of motor bikes. Their jaws dropped in astonishment.

And then displeasure. Nick saw the moment their surprise turned to resentment as they recognised the coat of arms on the limousine, as they realised what the outriders represented.

They shouldn’t be here, he thought, his astute mind working things through fast. If there was antagonism to royalty, how would they react to the surprise visit of two rank outsiders?

But, before he could stop her, Rose was out of the car. He climbed out afterwards, but was called back. ‘Sir!’ The driver sounded insistent. He was handing him a shabby leather-jacket.

‘I’ll get it back from you some time,’ he said diffidently. ‘Just don’t lose it.’ And then he smiled. ‘By the way, the lady said lose the tie.’

Lose the tie. Right. He hauled his tie off, undid a couple of buttons, shrugged on the jacket and rounded the car to join Rose.

‘Hi,’ she was saying as the people stared at her.

The uniformed motor-bike riders were coming in now, gathering in a cluster around the car. But they didn’t kill their engines. The noise was overpowering. And there were horses…

Nick saw the danger. ‘Kill the engines. Now!’ he ordered, but the damage had been done.

One of the horses-the one nearest the bikes-was shifting sideways in its traces, clearly panicked. It reared once and then grounded, backing. Its eyes were rolling, nostrils flaring.

There was a child in the cart behind it. No!

But Rose had seen. Closer than Nick, she could get there faster. She dumped Hoppy unceremoniously on the ground and strode swiftly forward to grab the horses bridle. She steadied it, then tugged it sideways, hauling its head around so it was forced to yield the force in its hindquarters.

Even Nick, who scarcely knew one end of a horse from another, could see this was an expert. In one swift movement she’d defused a potentially deadly situation.

‘Hush,’ she told the horse into the sudden stillness, speaking in the local dialect. ‘Quiet, now. Hush.’ Then, as the horse settled, she spoke to the people around them. ‘I’m sorry. I should have known there’d be horses here. I forgot the bikes would follow.’

As the child’s mother darted forward to retrieve her daughter from the cart, Rose took her time, soothing the big horse, scratching behind his ears, whispering reassurance, waiting until the flare of panic faded from his eyes. Nick could only watch, entranced. Every moment he spent with this woman meant he saw another facet of her. She was amazing. She took all the time she needed to settle the big animal, then handed the bridle over to his owner.

Hoppy pawed at her leg in some indignation. She picked him up and stroked him behind his ears as well.

She had the absolute attention of every person there.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she told the people around them. ‘Nick and I have just come from the airport. I’m not sure if you know, but I’m Rose-Anitra. I left here when I was fifteen, but I was never able to leave the palace grounds very much before then, so I don’t know you. This is my fiancé, Nikolai de Montez. Son of the old Prince’s daughter, Zia. We’ve been told that we stand to inherit the throne. We’re here to talk it through, and we want to meet some of the locals. Don’t we, Nick?’ She turned and smiled at him, and he walked forward until he was by her side. It was what she seemed to want.

Which suited him. This was a woman to be proud of.

A wife to be proud of?

Equal partners? The thought was suddenly seductive for all sorts of reasons.

‘I’m a veterinary surgeon,’ she told the assemblage, tucking her hand confidingly in Nick’s-a gesture of intimacy which jolted him still further. ‘So we should know better than to scare your animals. This was just a whim, to stop here.’

‘You have no business being here,’ Dupeaux shouted. ‘These people don’t want you.’

That might have been a foolish thing to say, Nick decided, watching the faces of the crowd around them. Rose looked a chit of a thing in her too-big jacket and holding her lame dog. She’d just quieted a massive horse. She had the advantage of looking a bit of a stray herself.

Dupeaux was big and uniformed and brusque. Authority personified. ‘Get back in the car, woman,’ he snapped, and there was a visible ripple of dissent. ‘Leave these people be. They don’t want you here.’

With one harsh order, this man had made Rose an underdog, and from all he’d seen so far Rose wasn’t anyone’s underdog.

‘Erhard Fritz told us that we were wanted here,’ Rose said gently but firmly, stating something that was out of her control. ‘Erhard said this country needed us.’

‘We don’t need royalty,’ someone shouted from the back of the crowd, and Rose faltered.

Time to lend a hand, Nick thought. He couldn’t stay being a complete wimp.

‘Rose and I never thought there was any need for us to be in this country,’ Nick said, loudly, urgently, speaking as Rose had spoken in the native tongue. ‘You know, we never thought we’d inherit the throne. We don’t understand what your problems are. But Erhard came to find us. He’s shown us what’s being done in your neighbouring countries-Alp d’Azur and Alp d’Estella. He says a sympathetic royalty could make that happen here. We could organise things so the country could self-rule as a democracy. Erhard’s convinced us to try. Of course, if we’re wrong, if we’re truly not wanted, then we’ll go.’

Silence. Not a man, woman or child moved.

Behind them, the troops shifted uneasily. These riders were the same men who’d greeted them at the airport. Rose had charmed them.

Here she’d done it again. Maybe.

Rose’s grip on his fingers tightened. It felt good, he thought. It felt…right.

‘What’s your dog’s name?’ a little boy called out from the front of the crowd, and Rose smiled.

‘He’s Hoppy. Because of his leg. He can hop better than any dog I know.’

‘He doesn’t look like a royal dog.’

‘I tried to get him to wear a tiara,’ Rose said, and grinned. ‘But Hoppy thought he looked like a sissy.’

Amazingly there was a ripple of laughter.

‘Can he play with my dog?’ the little boy asked. He motioned to a half-grown collie, thin and straggly but wagging its disreputable tail with the air of a dog expecting a good time.

‘Of course,’ Rose said, and put Hoppy down.

The two dogs eyed each other warily, and then proceeded to sniff the most important part of their anatomy.

The shock and sullen resentment of the crowd was turning to smiles.

‘Are you really a prince and princess?’ someone called.

‘We’re the son and daughter of the old Prince’s children,’ Nick replied. ‘We haven’t been in direct line to the throne, so until we come into succession we’ve no title. Rose-Anitra is first in line to the throne before her sister, Julianna, and I come after her. If our claim to the throne succeeds, then Rose would be Crown Princess and I’d be…’He hesitated. ‘You know, I’m not sure what I’d be.’

‘Mr Crown Prince?’ someone called, and there was more laughter.

‘Crown Consort,’ someone else called. ‘You’d be Crown Consort, and Earl de Montez as well. I think you already are. There’s no one else to inherit the title.’

‘What about Julianna’s husband?’ someone else called.

‘He’s not royal,’ someone else snapped. ‘No matter what airs he might give himself.’

‘Will you get back in the car?’ Dupeaux snapped, and he sounded furious. He took a step towards Rose which might or might not have been menacing, but suddenly Nick was standing in front of Rose. He wasn’t alone with his protective instincts. In a flash there were half a dozen burly men between Nick and the officer.

‘It’s you and your bullies who aren’t wanted here, Dupeaux,’ someone called to the officer in charge, and the man’s face darkened in fury.

‘Look, this is a private party,’ Nick said, speaking quickly, knowing he had to deflect confrontation. ‘Rose and I don’t have a right to be here unasked. We’ve ordered a couple of kegs of beer and a few other things, to make the evening a bit more fun for you. They’ll be here any minute, whether or not we stay. No matter. We just wanted to say hello. Now maybe we should leave.’

‘But we’d like you to stay. And you can share our picnic,’ someone called.

‘And ours.’

‘And mine.’

‘These men are our escort,’ Rose said, taking courage again, holding Nick’s hand tighter and smiling towards the men on bikes. ‘Can they stay too?’

‘No,’ Dupeaux snapped. ‘They’re on duty.’

‘Then isn’t it lucky we’re not?’ Rose said, and tugged Nick forward to where an elderly lady had unpacked her basket on a rug on the grass. ‘Are they chocolate éclairs? My favourite.’ She turned back to the officer and smiled her sweetest smile. ‘If you leave us the limousine, we’ll make our own way home. Thank you for escorting us so far.’

Dupeaux had no choice. There were a couple of hundred people gathered here, and more arriving every minute. To use force would escalate the situation in a way he might not be able to control. So he and his men disappeared in a roar of diesel engine that had the horses rearing again. Almost as soon as they’d gone, a battered truck turned into the clearing.

‘Two kegs of beer, crates of lemonade, and wine for the ladies,’ the man driving the truck said. ‘Pierre said you were ordering for a party so I took the liberty…’

‘Brilliant,’ Rose said, beaming. Only the way she was still holding tight to Nick’s hand let Nick know that underneath this outward show of bravado she was more nervous than he was. But she wasn’t letting on. ‘We have a party.’

And a party they had.

It would have been a good party anyway, Nick thought as the evening wore on. Anyone who could play any sort of instrument had been dragged into the toe-tappingly good band. The food seemed generous and plentiful-great home-cooking. The beer and lemonade and wine flowed plentifully. And Rose worked the crowd.

Actually, they both did. Nick had been in enough international situations to know how to make small-talk, to ask the right questions, to keep things flowing smoothly without treading on sensitivities. He’d been trained to do it. Rose did it naturally.

It almost felt as if he was back at work, Nick thought as he moved among the crowd, but there was a huge difference here. For whoever he spoke to in this gathering was trying desperately to find out about him, to gauge his interest as being genuine or not, and to discover whether Rose felt the same. He and Rose had spent so little time together that he could only hope they were now presenting a united front. They were forced apart-there were too many people wanting to talk to them to allow them to stay as a couple-but he was aware that people were talking easily to her, laughing with her, enjoying her presence.

As he was. She had style, he thought, the sort of style that couldn’t be taught. They’d had people come into the firm who’d lacked people skills, and no amount of training had given it to them. It required genuine interest in the person they were talking to. It could never be feigned.

‘She’s a lovely young woman,’ an elderly man said to him, and he realised that he’d turned to glance at Rose and maybe watched for longer than he’d intended. Well, why not? The farmer was watching her too, and his face showed he was as appreciative as Nick was.

‘She’s a damned sight more attractive than her sister,’ the old man said, and that brought Nick up with a start. There were factors here that he hadn’t yet met-threats? Their escort had disappeared. The powers that be would be uncomfortable with what was happening right now, he thought. What would they do?

‘Please…’ It was a young man, just arrived on a shabby motor-scooter. He had a camera slung around his neck. Beside him was an intense-looking young woman with pad and pencil.

‘We had a call,’ the young man said. ‘To say you were here.’

‘Lew and his friends run a newspaper,’ the old man said.

‘It’s supposed to be illegal,’ someone else said. ‘Only the government can’t shut it down because they don’t charge. It comes out as two or four pages every month.’

‘With things the government don’t want us to know,’ someone else added.

So he and Rose were interviewed, a professional, insightful interview that Nick realised was sympathetic to the people’s cause. The journalist wasn’t interested so much in Nick and Rose as what they intended to do. She was interested in them as a means to lessen the plight of the men and women around them.

As was everyone else. As the interview progressed, the crowd around them fell silent. Someone signalled the musicians to put aside their instruments. Every ear was tuned to what they were saying. As Nick outlined the changes in Alp d’Azur and Alp d’Estella-their neighbouring principalities-and their hopes that the same changes could be made here, there was a ripple of approval through the crowd.

Finally the reporter tucked her notebook in her jacket, smiling her approval. Interview over. Now for the photographs.

‘Dance,’ someone called. ‘That’ll make a great photograph.’

The musicians obediently struck up again, but not in the lively folk music they’d been playing. They played a slow waltz so the photographer would have time to focus.

Once more Rose was in his arms.

‘We’re doing okay,’ he murmured into her hair as he led her round the grassy makeshift dance-floor. No one else was dancing-all eyes were on them.

‘I know,’ she said, but she sounded uncomfortable.

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘I’m thinking…It feels weird.’

‘The whole situation?’

‘Dancing with you.’

He paused, lost his timing, made a recovery. The youth with the camera was moving around them, taking shots from all angles.

‘It feels okay to me,’ he said cautiously. ‘You’re not a bad dancer.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, but she didn’t smile.

‘So what’s weird?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You just said…’

‘I know what I said,’ she snapped, and concentrated on the dance for a little. But she didn’t need to concentrate.

‘Um…Rose?’

‘Yes?’ She sounded seriously annoyed.

‘I’m not sure what I’ve done wrong here.’

‘You haven’t done anything,’ she said crossly. ‘That’s the trouble.’

‘Right.’

‘It doesn’t make any sense to me either.’

‘No.’

There was a moment’s silence. Another circuit of the dance ground.

‘You’re very good,’ she said at last, stiffly, and he thought about that for a bit, aware that it behoved him to tread cautiously.

‘At dancing?’ he asked at last.

‘At this,’ she said. ‘At the political bit.’

‘I was thinking the same thing about you.’

‘No, but you’re smooth,’ she said. ‘You do it like a professional. I don’t know how much it means.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘It’s occurred to me that I’m not really sure who you are,’ she said. ‘You’re like a piece of veneered furniture, polished on the outside, but what’s underneath?’

‘Wormwood,’ he said promptly, and felt her smile.

‘I don’t think so. But you’re so…smooth.’

‘And that worries you?’

‘You see, I find you incredibly attractive,’ she said.

As dance conversation that was a real show-stopper. His feet faltered.

‘Do mind your steps,’ she said kindly. ‘The photographer’s documenting your every move.’

‘I’ve never been told before…’

‘That you’re incredibly attractive? I find that hard to believe.’

He was back in step now, and found himself smiling, responding to her laughter. ‘It’s a guy’s line.’

‘A pick-up line,’ she agreed. ‘That’s why I thought I ought to say it.’

‘You’re trying to pick me up?’

‘The opposite.’ They turned right by the youth with the camera, and she beamed into the lens. ‘It just occurred to me, then, watching you.’

‘Watching me dance?’

‘No, watching you talk to everyone. Watching you make people smile. Watching you make people believe that you’re sincere and that you have their best interests at heart.’

‘That’s a problem?’ he said cautiously, and she nodded.

‘Yes.’

‘You want to tell me why?’

‘Because I’m starting to believe you. And it doesn’t help that you dance so well.’

‘You want me to dance badly?’

‘I don’t know what I want. All I know is that we’re being forced to spend time together as a couple and it’s starting to scare me. And because you’ll be used to dating and I’m not…’

‘I’m losing the thread here,’ he said, and she looked exasperated. How they could be holding a personal conversation in the midst of such an audience was beyond him, but Rose was speaking to him as if they were completely alone. As if whatever she was talking about had to be said urgently. It had to be said now.

‘I met Max in second year of vet school. I was just turned twenty and my mother had just died. Max was my second-ever boyfriend. My first was a guy called Robert who I fell for because he had a really cool sportscar. But that’s it, my dating history, so brief you could write it on a postage stamp.’

‘I’m still not following,’ he said cautiously.

‘You don’t have to follow,’ she said, and sighed. ‘That’s it. I just want to make it clear that I’m not the least bit interested in a relationship, so even if I do laugh at anything you say, and even if I do find you attractive, then it’s up to you to call a halt. Use a bucket of cold water if necessary, but please, let’s not let this relationship go any further than it already has.’

‘No,’ he said blankly. ‘Right.’

‘Yeah, and I can tell you think I’m forward,’ she said. ‘Or scatty, which is just as bad. But I do need to say that I’m not the least bit interested in a relationship. I’m not saying never-that’d be extreme, and I might want to stick my toe in the water in later life. But not for at least five years. I want freedom. Absolute freedom.’

‘Just so I know,’ he said.

‘Yes.’

‘For my information.’

‘Yes.’

‘So no hitting on anyone, then?’

‘You can hit on anyone you like. Just not me.’

‘But we are getting married, right?’

‘Yes, but that’s got nothing to do with the rest of it. I’m sorry,’ she said, suddenly contrite. ‘I’m sure you don’t have the slightest intention of showing interest in me, so I sound really dumb and really gauche, and totally out of order. So I’ll shut up.’

‘Um…right.’

So what was that all about-the chemistry between them, the way she felt in his arms?

Was she feeling this too-almost overwhelmed?

Maybe it was a good thing to bring it out in the open, he thought cautiously. He didn’t want relationships either.

Did he?

They danced on, but they were now no longer alone. The cameraman had finished, and the makeshift dance-floor was filling as other couples joined them. The last of the light had faded, but lamps had been hung in the trees, making the setting incredibly beautiful-the warmth of the late-spring night, the rippling of the river, the moon rising over the cliffs.

Incredibly romantic.

He should dance with someone else, he thought as they danced on. It was a bad thing only to dance with Rose. It went against everything she’d just warned him about. But she felt so…

So indescribable.

It was okay to dance with her, he told himself almost fiercely. She hadn’t suggested changing partners. She wasn’t wanting a relationship, so he could relax. He could marry her with no fear that she’d cling, and he could hold her right now, just as he was doing, without her fearing that he was making a move. He could savour the soft, yielding curves of her body. He could smell the citrusy fragrance of her hair.

He could…lose himself?

But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. This was a weird interlude before reality raised its ugly head again-and here it was. Reality in the form of sirens, many sirens, the gentle lamplight overpowered by a score-maybe a hundred-vehicle lights.

Motorbikes and cars. A convoy.

Armed men.

The music and the dancing stopped. The men went swiftly to their horses, and the women ushered their children behind them, back to their individual modes of transport. Moving into protection mode.

A chauffeur climbed out of the leading car-a magnificent Rolls Royce-and ushered out its occupants. A man in a severe army-uniform. And a woman.

Julianna. There was enough about her to tell him this was Rose’s sister, but where Rose looked what she was-a country vet-Julianna was a blonde beauty, a city sophisticate.

Rose was still held loosely in his arms. They were standing in the midst of the abandoned dance area. He felt her stiffen as Julianna appeared.

‘It’s Julianna,’ she confirmed for his benefit only. ‘I’d guess this must be Jacques.’

The big guns. The opposition.

‘Let’s do this optimistically,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘This is your sister. Go and tell her how exciting all this is. Don’t pre-empt trouble by expecting it.’

But trouble was already with them. ‘Julianna,’ Rose said, smiling, taking his advice and moving forward with her hands outstretched in greeting. She was forcing a warmth Nick knew she was far from feeling.

Julianna didn’t smile. The woman was magnificently groomed, in cream linen-trousers, a cream silk-blouse mostly hidden by a luxurious fur jacket, and with magnificently groomed blonde hair caught into an elegant chignon. As Rose approached her, Julianna held out exquisitely manicured hands-not in welcome, but as if to ward her off.

‘You’re not welcome,’ she said flatly, and Nick thought she sounded worried. Frightened, even. ‘I don’t want you here.’

‘Erhard said we’re very welcome,’ Rose said, forcing her voice to stay light. ‘He said this country is in trouble and Nick and I can help.’

‘This is none of your business,’ Julianna snapped. ‘Our father didn’t want you here, and neither do I. Jacques says you’ve entered the country illegally.’

‘We entered this country on the royal jet.’

‘Which was appropriated by unprivileged persons,’ Julianna snapped. ‘Jacques says you need to go back where you came from.’

‘And me?’ Nick asked, and stepped forward to hold Rose gently by the arm in a gesture that was as protective as it was proprietary.

Jacques moved then, holding his wife’s arm in a similar gesture to Nick’s, but where Nick’s hold was gentle there was a hint of underlying violence in Jacques’ grip. He was a big man who looked accustomed to getting his own way, both within his own household and without.

‘Enough,’ Jacques said roughly. ‘The succession is already decided, and any attempt by you to come here is seen as an attempt to undermine the throne. We tried to stop the flight, but Erhard…’He shrugged. ‘No matter. His authority is at an end. My people will hold you in protective custody until we can arrange for your deportation.’

There was a shocked hush. The crowd drew a little bit closer, as if to better see what was happening. Two couples facing off-a big man in a uniform designed to intimidate, and his beautifully manicured wife. And Nick, without a tie, in the driver’s borrowed jacket, flushed from dancing. Rose in her faded jeans and a soft cotton shirt that was thread-bare from too many washes. Her hair escaping from her braid. A princess?

Deportation…

‘You have no right to hold us in protective custody,’ Nick said lightly, but with a hint of underlying strength. ‘My papers are in order, as are those of Rose. There’s no reason to hold us.’

‘Hey, maybe it’s just my sister’s way of being polite,’ Rose said, standing so close to him she seemed to be using his body as support. ‘Julianna,’ she said, forcing her voice to stay light. ‘It’s great to see you. Julianna’s my sister,’ she told the assemblage, as if she was proud of the fact. ‘Does protective custody mean you’re promising to look after us, Julianna?’

‘I…’ Julianna looked astounded. ‘You…’

‘You’re taking us to the palace?’ Rose asked.

‘Would protective custody mean a palace?’ Nick asked.

‘It might,’ Rose said. ‘Protection doesn’t mean dungeons.’

‘There’s dungeons in the palace,’ someone called.

‘Your sister surely wouldn’t put us in a dungeon?’ Nick said, forcing his words to sound lightly amused. ‘That’s hardly a family thing.’

‘We’re not a very close family,’ Rose said, sounding dubious.

‘Look, failing to send Christmas cards hardly deserves dungeons,’ Nick said. ‘Does it, Julianna?’

‘I’m the Princess Julianna,’ Julianna said, but she sounded worried.

‘And I’m going to be your brother-in-law,’ Nick said, sounding astonished. ‘Surely we don’t have to be formal in the family? You don’t want to call your sister Princess Rose-Anitra, do you? Which you’d have to if we wanted to be formal, as she’s just as much a princess as you are. Maybe even more as she’s the Crown Princess.’

Whatever Julianna and Jacques had expected, it wasn’t this. The conversation included the crowd. There were cameras, and the journalist was taking furious notes. The journalist was backing into the crowd as she wrote, and the crowd was closing in around her, cutting her off from sight.

The photographer was still shooting, and there were a few other cameras in view as well. This was being documented, whether Jacques willed it or not.

And Jacques didn’t like it one bit. ‘This is a fiasco,’ he yelled, staring round him in impotent fury.

‘No, it’s a picnic,’ Rose said, clinging to Nick’s hand proprietorially. ‘These people have been really welcoming. But if you have other plans for us…’

‘Take them,’ Jacques growled, and the uniformed men moved in, surrounding them as if ready to seize them-or stop them escaping.

‘Hey, we’re coming, Julianna,’ Rose said, still sounding amused. ‘There’s no need for your men to make an effort on our behalf. Coming, Nick? I think we’re expected to go in that car.’

And before anyone could stop her she’d tugged Nick forward and slid into the Rolls Royce.

Nick slid in beside her. He was bemused, but his mind worked fast, and he was totally appreciative of what she’d done. With one swift movement she’d given Jacques and Julianna an invidious choice. They could haul Rose and Nick bodily from their car and toss them into one of the black cars that had been following-where they’d been clearly intended to go.

They could join them in the Rolls, intensifying the impression of family.

Or they could use one of the black cars themselves.

Nick sank into the soft leather of the Rolls, looked out and saw indecision on Jacques’ face. And fury.

This was no game. They were playing for huge stakes here. Did Rose have any idea what she’d just done?

The stakes were upped about a millionfold. Jacques was being forced to state his case right now. Should he treat them as undignified prisoners, when Rose had just reminded the crowd that Julianna was her sister? Should he treat them as equals by climbing into the car with them? Or should he follow calmly behind?

Jacques looked apoplectic.

‘Come,’ Julianna said uncertainly, and tugged her husband forward towards the Rolls.

‘No,’ Jacques said, and sneered, slapping his wife’s hand away. ‘Let them go. Take them straight to the palace, as they said. Let them have their delusions of grandeur before they leave this place for ever.’

And he slammed the Rolls’ door after Nick.

‘Hoppy,’ Rose said urgently, realising too late that her dog was still outside the car. ‘Please…Hoppy!’ she yelled.

‘Take them away,’ Jacques growled, and then, as Hoppy dived forward from where he’d been snoozing after a surfeit of sausages, Jacques drew back his booted leg and kicked him. Hard.

‘Drive,’ he yelled, and the car moved forward.

‘You realise we’re in trouble,’ Nick said. They’d driven in silence for three minutes, and it seemed he was the first to have found his voice again.

‘Hoppy’s in trouble,’ Rose whispered, sounding close to tears. ‘He kicked him.’

‘Yes, but he’s okay.’ He’d twisted and seen as they’d left the clearing. ‘The little boy with the collie pup was picking him up.’

‘He was alright?’

‘Yes,’ he said, although he couldn’t be sure.

‘He hates us,’ Rose said in a small voice, and all the bravado had gone. All of a sudden she looked small and vulnerable, and…afraid? No, not afraid. Just sad. ‘They both do. Julianna’s my sister, and they both do.’

‘I’m not sure that Julianna does. Jacques, yes, for what you represent.’

‘Which is?’

‘A threat to his future.’

‘You think we should go home now?’

He smiled but it was a tiny smile. What had they got themselves into?

There was no friendly driver here. Their driver was in the same uniform as Jacques, albeit with less bars on his sleeve. He looked grim and businesslike, and there was no way they could talk to him through the sealed glass-partition.

The car was speeding northward into the city. Nick glanced behind them to see a stream of official cars. Black ones. There were outriders on motorcycles.

‘Yorkshire’s looking good,’ he confessed, but at that Rose firmed and looked behind them and out at the outriders, and she set her face.

‘No. No, it doesn’t.’

‘Hell, how bad was it?’

‘You ever delivered a calf in a sleet storm in Yorkshire in February?’

‘Um…no.’

‘Dungeons are okay,’ she said. She took a deep breath. ‘They’re a sight better than being a breeding mare.’

‘A breeding mare?’

‘Never mind,’ she said flatly. ‘That which doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.’

‘My foster mother used to say that about toothache,’ he muttered. ‘And I’m dead scared that what’s in front of us isn’t toothache.’

‘Hey, you’re not supposed to scare me,’ she said, still subdued but trying to sound indignant. ‘You’re the diplomat. Talk your way out of this.’

‘I’m not exactly sure that’s possible,’ he said. ‘I can’t talk us out of this Rolls. Let’s see where they put us next before we test my talking powers.’

She subsided back against the leather cushions. Her behavior back at the river had been brilliant, he thought. Yes, he was supposed to be the diplomat, but her diplomacy-and sheer effrontery in staring her sister and brother-in-law down-had been amazing.

But she was paying for it now. Reaction was starting to set in. Her face had paled, and when he glanced at her hands he saw she was clenching them together to stop them shaking.

He swore and moved across and tugged her against him.

She froze. ‘We…We’re not play-acting now,’ she muttered.

‘You mean I don’t have to act like your husband? No,’ he said grimly. ‘But I do have to act like we’re two people in trouble and I should have known something like this would happen.’

‘How should you have known?’

‘I’m a big boy. I just gave Erhard the benefit of the doubt-he said there wouldn’t be major problems, and I-’

‘Of course there would be major problems,’ she said, astounded. ‘We’re trying to wrest the throne.’ Then she paused. ‘But you aren’t thinking major problems in the way I’m thinking major problems, are you? Major problems to me are being escorted to the airport and told to leave.’

‘I guess there are more major problems than that.’

‘Like imprisonment.’

‘Yes.’

She didn’t relax, but he felt her body edge closer to his, gaining comfort in the nearness of him. As indeed he was gaining comfort from her.

‘You think someone will look after Hoppy?’ she whispered in a small voice.

‘Of course they will.’

‘Not Jacques’ men.’

‘No, but there were people sympathetic to our cause. I’m sure they’ll take care of him.’

‘But he’s been kicked.’

‘He’ll be okay,’ he muttered, and found his fingers had clenched into fists. To kick this woman’s dog…

And his reaction was for Hoppy too, he thought with a start. How had that happened?

Early in life Nick had learned to be independent. His foster brothers were like him-taught early to be loners. Ruby, their foster mother, had done everything in her power to teach them to love, and maybe they did love her. But to extend that loving…

Nick had never really thought of it until he’d met Rose, and here he was realising that after only hours’ acquaintance he’d go to quite some trouble to make sure Hoppy was safe. For Hoppy’s sake. Just for the way the dumb dog had wriggled his tail in ecstasy when dinner had arrived on the plane. Then, as he’d realised the two plates were meant for Rose and Nick, he’d transformed, crouching low on his haunches, covering his nose with his front paws and then looking mournfully over-a lost orphan dog who no one had fed for the last month but far too polite to ask…Until Griswold had brought him his own steak.

‘You’re smiling,’ Rose said, staring at him, and he brought himself back to the present with a start. They were being hauled off to goodness knew where and he was thinking about a dog.

‘I was thinking that if anyone can survive Hoppy will.’

‘Yeah,’ she agreed, and managed a rueful smile in return. ‘I guess.’

‘I’m sure of it.’

‘You think maybe we should worry about us first?’

‘Maybe it’d be sensible.’ She was huddled against him and he welcomed her warmth. He wanted to hug her closer, hold her tight, but he wasn’t sure how she’d take it. He thought back to the words she’d spoken while they’d been dancing. No more relationships.

Like him. So they were fine.

‘So you’re thinking, maybe, firing squad at dawn?’ she asked, in a tone that said she suspected the direction his thoughts were taking and it was time he got back to matters of import. Like firing squads. Right.

But at least he could reassure her there. ‘Rose, they can’t,’ he said, quelling the sudden urge to kiss her lightly-just as a reassurance. But she was withdrawing, moving slightly away from him as she regained control, and so must he.

‘These people aren’t criminals,’ he told her. ‘The people in charge here are out for their own gain, but to bankrupt the country and leave themselves nowhere to run would defeat their purpose. Every member of the Council has homes in places like the south of France, or Capri or, well, places where they can enjoy swanning round with their wealth. If we were to disappear without trace, they’d be international criminals.’

She thought that through. ‘You checked?’

‘I checked,’ he said. ‘And I do work for a huge international law-firm. I’m not too keen on the assassination bit, but opinion was unanimous that we’d be safe. So let’s not worry, and see where they take us.’

‘To the palace?’ she said, trying to sound hopeful.

‘Five-star luxury coming up,’ he said, and grinned. ‘Let’s count on it.’