Cinderella: Hired by the Prince

CHAPTER FOUR

ONE moment she was gazing out at the horizon, catching the last shimmer of the whale’s wake on the translucence of the sea. The next she was being kissed as she’d never been kissed in her life.

His hands were lifting her, pulling her hard in against him so her feet barely touched the deck. His body felt rock-hard, the muscled strength he’d just displayed still at work, only now directed straight at her. Straight with her.

The emotions of the rescue were all around her. He was wet and wild and wonderful. She was soaking as well, and the dripping fabric of his shirt and hers meant their bodies seemed to cling and melt.

It felt right. It felt meant. It felt as if there was no room or sense to argue.

His mouth met hers again, his arms tightening around her so she was locked hard against him. He was so close she could feel the rapid beat of his heart. Her breasts were crushed against his chest, her face had tilted instinctively, her mouth was caught…

Caught? Merged, more like. Two parts of a whole finding their home.

He tugged her tighter, tighter still against him, moulding her lips against his. She was hard against him, closer, closer, feeling him, tasting him, wanting him…

To be a part of him seemed suddenly as natural, as right, as breathing. To be kissed by this man was an extension of what had just happened.

Or maybe it was more than that. Maybe it was an extension of the whole of the last week.

Maybe she’d wanted this from the moment she’d seen him.

Either way, she certainly wasn’t objecting now. She heard herself give a tiny moan, almost a whimper, which was stupid because she didn’t feel the least like whimpering. She felt like shouting, Yes!

His mouth was demanding, his tongue was searching for an entry, his arms holding her so tightly now he must surely bruise. But he couldn’t hold her tight enough. She was holding him right back, desperate that she not be lowered, desperate that this miraculous contact not be lost.

He felt so good. He felt as if he was meant to be right here in her arms. That she’d been destined for this moment for ever and it had taken this long to find him.

He hadn’t shaved this morning. She could feel the stubble on his jaw, she could almost taste it. There was salt on his face-of course there was, he’d been practically submerged, over and over. He smelled of salt and sea, and of pure testosterone.

He tasted of Ramón.

‘Ramón.’ She heard herself whisper his name, or maybe it was in her heart, for how could she possibly whisper when he was kissing as if he was a man starved for a woman, starved of this woman? She knew so clearly what was happening, and she accepted it with elation. This woman was who he wanted and he’d take her, he wanted her, she was his and he was claiming his own.

Like the whale rolling joyously in the sea, she thought, dazed and almost delirious, this was nature; it was right, it was meant.

She was in his arms and she wasn’t letting go.

Ramón.

‘Gianetta…’ His voice was ragged with heat and desire. Somehow he dragged himself back from her and held her at arm’s length. ‘Gianetta, mia…’

‘If you’re asking if I want you, then the answer’s yes,’ she said huskily, and almost laughed at the look of blazing heat that came straight back at her. His eyes were almost black, gleaming with tenderness and want and passion. But something else. He wouldn’t take her yet. His eyes were searching.

‘I’ll take no woman against her will,’ he growled.

‘You think…you think this is against my will?’ she whispered, as the blaze of desire became almost white-hot and she pressed herself against him, forcing him to see how much this was not the case.

‘Gianetta,’ he sighed, and there was laughter now as well as wonder and desire. Before she could respond he had her in his arms, held high, cradled against him, almost triumphant.

‘You don’t think maybe we should set the automatic pilot or something?’ she murmured. ‘We’ll drift.’

‘The radar will tell us if we’re about to hit something big,’ he said, his dark eyes gleaming. ‘But it can’t pick up things like jellyfish, so there’s a risk. You want to risk death by jellyfish and come to my bed while we wait, my Gianetta?’

And what was a girl to say to an invitation like that?

‘Yes, please,’ she said simply and he kissed her and he held her tight and carried her down below.

To his bed. To his arms. To his pleasure.

‘She left port six days ago, heading for New Zealand.’

The lawyer stared at the boat builder in consternation. ‘You’re sure? The Marquita?’

‘That’s the one. The guy skippering her-Ramón, I think he said his name was-had her in dry dock here for a couple of days, checking the hull, but she sailed out on the morning tide on Monday. Took the best cook in the bay with him, too. Half the locals are after his blood. He’d better look after our Jenny.’

But the lawyer wasn’t interested in Ramón’s staff. He stood on the dock and stared out towards the harbour entrance as if he could see the Marquita sailing away.

‘You’re sure he was heading for Auckland?’

‘I am. You’re Spanish, right?’

‘Cepheus country,’ the lawyer said sharply. ‘Not Spain. But no matter. How long would it take the Marquita to get to Auckland?’

‘Coupla weeks,’ the boat builder told him. ‘Can’t see him hurrying. I wouldn’t hurry if I had a boat like the Marquita and Jenny aboard.’

‘So if I go to Auckland…’

‘I guess you’d meet him. If it’s urgent.’

‘It’s urgent,’ the lawyer said grimly. ‘You have no idea how urgent.’

There was no urgency about the Marquita. If she took a year to reach Auckland it was too soon for Jenny.

Happiness was right now.

They could travel faster, but that would mean sitting by the wheel hour after hour, setting the sails to catch the slightest wind shift, being sailors.

Instead of being lovers.

She’d never felt like this. She’d melted against Ramón’s body the morning of the whales and she felt as if she’d melted permanently. She’d shape shifted, from the Jenny she once knew to the Gianetta Ramón loved.

For that was what it felt like. Loved. For the first time in her life she felt truly beautiful, truly desirable-and it wasn’t just for her body.

Yes, he made love to her, over and over, wonderful love-making that made her cry out in delight.

But more.

He wanted to know all about her.

He tugged blankets up on the deck. They lay in the sun and they solved the problems of the world. They watched dolphins surf in their wake. They fished. They compared toes to see whose little toe bent the most.

That might be ridiculous but there was serious stuff, too. Ramón now knew all about her parents, her life, her baby. She told him everything about Matty, she showed him pictures and he examined each of them with the air of a man being granted a privilege.

When Matty was smiling, Ramón smiled. She watched this big man respond to her baby’s smile and she felt her heart twist in a way she’d never thought possible.

He let the boom net down off the rear deck, and they surfed behind the boat, and when the wind came up it felt as if they were flying. They worked the sails as a team, setting them so finely that they caught up on time lost when they were below, lost in each other’s bodies.

He touched her and her body reacted with fire.

Don’t fall in love. Don’t fall in love. It was a mantra she said over and over in her head, but she knew it was hopeless. She was hopelessly lost.

It wouldn’t last. Like Kieran, this man was a nomad, a sailor of no fixed address, going where the wind took him.

He talked little about himself. She knew there’d been tragedy, the sister he’d loved, parents he’d lost, pain to make him shy from emotional entanglement.

Well, maybe she’d learned that lesson, too. So savour the moment, she told herself. For now it was wonderful. Each morning she woke in Ramón’s arms and she thought: Ramón had employed her for a year! When they got back to Europe conceivably the owner would join them. She could go back to being crew. But Ramón would be crew as well, and the nights were long, and owners never stayed aboard their boats for ever.

‘Tell me about the guy who owns this boat,’ she said, two days out of Auckland and she watched a shadow cross Ramón’s face. She was starting to know him so well-she watched him when he didn’t know it-his strongly boned, aquiline face, his hooded eyes, the smile lines, the weather lines from years at sea.

What had suddenly caused the shadow?

‘He’s rich,’ he said shortly. ‘He trusts me. What else do you need to know?’

‘Well, whether he likes muffins, for a start,’ she said, with something approaching asperity, which was a bit difficult as she happened to be entwined in Ramón’s arms as she spoke and asperity was a bit hard to manage. Breathless was more like it.

‘He loves muffins,’ Ramón said.

‘He’ll be used to richer food than I can cook. Do you usually employ someone with special training?’

‘He eats my cooking.’

‘Really?’ She frowned and sat up in bed, tugging the sheet after her. She’d seen enough of Ramón’s culinary skills to know what an extraordinary statement this was. ‘He’s rich and he eats your cooking?’

‘As I said, he’ll love your muffins.’

‘So when will you next see him?’

‘Back in Europe,’ Ramón said, and sighed. ‘He’ll have to surface then, but not now. Not yet. There’s three months before we have to face the world. Do you think we can be happy for three months, cariño?’ And he tugged her back down to him.

‘If you keep calling me cariño,’ she whispered. ‘Are we really being paid for this?’

He chuckled but then his smile faded once more. ‘You know it can’t last, my love. I will need to move on.’

‘Of course you will,’ she whispered, but she only said it because it was the sensible, dignified thing to say. A girl had some pride.

Move on?

She never wanted to move on. If her world could stay on this boat, with this man, for ever, she wasn’t arguing at all.

She slept and Ramón held her in his arms and tried to think of the future.

He didn’t have to think. Not yet. It was three months before he was due to leave the boat and return to Bangladesh.

Three months before he needed to tell Jenny the truth.

She could stay with the boat, he thought, if she wanted to. He always employed someone to stay on board while he was away. She could take that role.

Only that meant Jenny would be in Cepheus while he was in Bangladesh.

He’d told her he needed to move on. It was the truth.

Maybe she could come with him.

The idea hit and stayed. His team always had volunteers to act as manual labour. Would Jenny enjoy the physical demands of construction, of helping make life bearable for those who had nothing?

Maybe she would.

What was he thinking? He’d never considered taking a woman to Bangladesh. He’d never considered that leaving a woman behind seemed unthinkable.

Gianetta…

His arms tightened their hold and she curved closer in sleep. He smiled and kissed the top of her head. Her curls were so soft.

Maybe he could sound her out about Bangladesh.

Give it time, he told himself, startled by the direction his thoughts were taking him. You’ve known her for less than two weeks.

Was it long enough?

There was plenty of time after Auckland. It was pretty much perfect right now, he thought. Let’s not mess with perfection. He’d just hold this woman and hope that somehow the love he’d always told himself was an illusion might miraculously become real.

Anything was possible.

‘How do you know he’ll sail straight to Auckland?’

In the royal palace of Cepheus, Sofía was holding the telephone and staring into the middle distance, seeing not the magnificent suits of armour in the grand entrance but a vision of an elderly lawyer pacing anxiously on an unknown dock half a world away. She could understand his anxiety. Things in the palace were reaching crisis point.

The little boy had gone into foster care yesterday. Philippe needed love, Sofía thought bleakly. His neglect here-all his physical needs met, but no love, little affection, just a series of disinterested nannies-seemed tantamount to child abuse, and the country knew of it. She’d found him lovely foster parents, but his leaving the palace was sending the wrong message to the population-as if Ramón himself didn’t care for the child.

Did Ramón even know about him?

‘I don’t know for sure where the Prince will sail,’ the lawyer snapped. ‘But I can hope. He’ll want to restock fast to get around the Horn. It makes sense for him to come here.’

‘So you’ll wait.’

‘Of course I’ll wait. What else can I do?’

‘But there’s less than two weeks to go,’ Sofía wailed. ‘What if he’s delayed?’

‘Then we have catastrophe,’ the lawyer said heavily. ‘He has to get here. Then he has to get back to Cepheus and accept his new life.’

‘And the child?’

‘It doesn’t matter about the child.’

Yes, it does, Sofía thought. Oh, Ramón, what are you facing?

They sailed into Auckland Harbour just after dawn. Jenny stood in the bow, ready to jump across to shore with the lines, ready to help in any way she could with berthing the Marquita. Ramón was at the wheel. She glanced back at him and had a pang of misgivings.

They hadn’t been near land for two weeks. Why did it feel as if the world was waiting to crowd in?

How could it? Their plan was to restock and be gone again. Their idyll could continue.

But they’d booked a berth with the harbour master. Ramón had spoken to the authorities an hour ago, and after that he’d looked worried.

‘Problem?’ she’d asked.

‘Someone’s looking for me.’

‘Debt collectors?’ she’d teased, but he hadn’t smiled.

‘I don’t have debts.’

‘Then who…?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said, and his worry sounded as if it was increasing. ‘No one knows where I am.’

‘Conceivably the owner knows.’

‘What…?’ He caught himself. ‘I…yes. But he won’t be here. I can’t think…’

That was all he’d said but she could see worry building.

She turned and looked towards the dock. She’d looked at the plan the harbour master had faxed through and from here she could see the berth that had been allocated to them.

There was someone standing on the dock, at the berth, as if waiting. A man in a suit.

It must be the owner, she thought.

She glanced back at Ramón and saw him flinch.

‘Rodriguez,’ he muttered, and in the calm of the early morning she heard him swear. ‘Trouble.’

‘Is he the boat’s owner?’

‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘He’s legal counsel to the Crown of Cepheus. I’ve met him once or twice when he had business with my grandmother. If he’s here… I hate to imagine what he wants of me.’

Señor Rodriguez was beside himself. He had ten days to save a country. He glanced at his watch as the Marquita sailed slowly towards her berth, fretting as if every second left was vital.

What useless display of skill was this, to sail into harbour when motoring would be faster? And why was the woman in the bow, rather than Ramón himself? He needed to talk to Ramón, now!

The boat edged nearer. ‘Can you catch my line?’ the woman called, and he flinched and moved backward. He knew nothing about boats.

But it seemed she could manage without him. She jumped lightly over a gap he thought was far too wide, landing neatly on the dock, then hauled the boat into position and made her fast as Ramón tugged down the last sail.

‘Good morning,’ the woman said politely, casting him a curious glance. And maybe she was justified in her curiosity. He was in his customary suit, which he acknowledged looked out of place here. The woman was in the uniform of the sea-faded shorts, a T-shirt and nothing else. She looked windblown and free. Momentarily, he was caught by how good she looked, but only for an instant. His attention returned to Ramón.

‘Señor Rodriguez,’ Ramón called to him, cautious and wary.

‘You remember me?’

‘Yes,’ Ramón said shortly. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ the lawyer said, speaking in the mix of French and Spanish that formed the Cepheus language. ‘As long as you come home.’

‘My home’s on the Marquita. You know that.’

‘Not any more it’s not,’ the lawyer said. ‘Your uncle and your cousin are dead. As of four weeks ago, you’re the Crown Prince of Cepheus.’

There was silence. Jenny went on making all secure while Ramón stared at the man on the dock as if he’d spoken a foreign language.

Which he had, but Jenny had been raised speaking Spanish like a native, and she’d picked up French at school. There were so many similarities in form she’d slipped into it effortlessly. Now… She’d missed the odd word but she understood what the lawyer had said.

Or she thought she understood what he’d said.

Crown Prince of Cepheus. Ramón.

It might make linguistic sense. It didn’t make any other sort of sense.

‘My uncle’s dead?’ Ramón said at last, his voice without inflexion.

‘In a light plane crash four weeks ago. Your uncle, your cousin and your cousin’s wife, all killed. Only there’s worse. It seems your cousin wasn’t really married-he brought the woman he called his wife home and shocked his father and the country by declaring he was married, but now we’ve searched for proof, we’ve found none. So the child, Philippe, who stood to be heir, is illegitimate. You stand next in line. But if you’re not home in ten days then Carlos inherits.’

‘Carlos!’ The look of flat shock left Ramón’s face, replaced by anger, pure and savage. ‘You’re saying Carlos will inherit the throne?’

‘Not if you come home. You must see that’s the only way.’

‘No!’

‘Think about it.’

‘I’ve thought.’

‘Leave the woman to tend the boat and come with me,’ Señor Rodriguez said urgently. ‘We need to speak privately.’

‘The woman’s name is Gianetta.’ Ramón’s anger seemed to be building. ‘I won’t leave her.’

The man cast an uninterested glance at Jenny, as if she was of no import. Which, obviously, was the case. ‘Regardless, you must come.’

‘I can look after the boat,’ Jenny said, trying really hard to keep up. I won’t leave her. There was a declaration. But he obviously meant it for right now. Certainly not for tomorrow.

Crown Prince of Cepheus?

‘There’s immigration…’ Ramón said.

‘I can sort my papers out,’ she said. ‘The harbour master’s office is just over there. You do what you have to do on the way to wherever you’re going. Have your discussion and then come back and tell me what’s happening.’

‘Jenny…’

But she was starting to add things together in her head and she wasn’t liking them. Crown Prince of Cepheus.

‘I guess the Marquita would be your boat, then?’ she asked flatly, and she saw him flinch.

‘Yes, but…’

She felt sick. ‘There you go,’ she managed, fighting for dignity. ‘The owner’s needs always come first. I’ll stow the sails and make all neat. Then I might go for a nice long walk and let off a little steam. I’ll see you later.’

And Ramón cast her a glance where frustration, anger-and maybe even a touch of envy-were combined.

‘If you can…’

‘Of course I can,’ she said, almost cordially. ‘We’re on land again. I can stand on my own two feet.’

There were complications everywhere, and all he could think of was Jenny. Gianetta. His woman.

The flash of anger he’d seen when he’d confessed that he did indeed own the Marquita; the look of betrayal…

She’d think he’d lied to her. She wouldn’t understand what else was going on, but the lie would be there, as if in flashing neon.

Yes, he’d lied.

He needed to concentrate on the lawyer.

The throne of Cepheus was his.

Up until now there’d never been a thought of him inheriting. Neither his uncle nor his cousin, Cristián, had ever invited Ramón near the palace. He knew the country had been in dread of Cristián becoming Crown Prince but there was nothing anyone could do about it. Cristián had solidified his inheritance by marrying and having a child. The boy must be what, five?

For him to be proved illegitimate…

‘I can’t even remember the child’s name,’ he said across the lawyer’s stream of explanations, and the lawyer cast him a reproachful glance.

‘Philippe.’

‘How old?’

‘Five,’ he confirmed.

‘So what happens to Philippe?’

‘Nothing,’ the lawyer said. ‘He has no rights. With his parents dead, your aunt has organized foster care, and if you wish to make a financial settlement on him I imagine the country will be relieved. There’s a certain amount of anger…’

‘You mean my cousin didn’t make provision for his own son?’

‘Your cousin and your uncle spent every drop of their personal incomes on themselves, on gambling, on…on whatever they wished. The Crown itself, however, is very wealthy. You, with the fortune your grandmother left you and the Crown to take care of your every need, will be almost indecently rich. But the child has nothing.’

He felt sick. A five-year-old child. To lose everything…

He’d been not much older than Philippe when he’d lost his own father.

It couldn’t matter. It shouldn’t be his problem. He didn’t even know the little boy…

‘I’ll take financial care of the child,’ Ramón said shortly. ‘But I can’t drop everything. I have twelve more weeks at sea and then I’m due in Bangladesh.’

‘Your team already knows you won’t be accompanying them this year,’ the lawyer told him flatly, leaving no room for argument. ‘And I’ve found an experienced yachtsman who’s prepared to sail the Marquita back to Cepheus for you. We can be on a flight tonight, and even that’s not soon enough.’ Then, as the lawyer noticed Ramón’s face-and Ramón was making no effort to disguise his fury-he added quickly, ‘There’s mounting hysteria over the mess your uncle and cousin left, and there’s massive disquiet about Carlos inheriting.’

‘As well there might be,’ Ramón growled, trying hard to stay calm. Ramón’s distant cousin was an indolent gamester, rotund, corrupt and inept. He’d faced the court more than once, but charges had been dropped, because of bribery? He wasn’t close enough to the throne to know.

‘He’s making noises that the throne should be his. Blustering threats against you and your aunt.’

‘Threats?’ And there it was again, the terror he’d been raised with. ‘Don’t go near the throne. Ever!’

‘If the people rise against the throne…’ the lawyer was saying.

‘Maybe that would be a good thing.’

‘Maybe it’d be a disaster,’ the man said, and proceeded to tell him why. At every word Ramón felt his world disintegrate. There was no getting around it-the country was in desperate need of a leader, of some sort of stability…of a Crown Prince.

‘So you see,’ the lawyer said at last, ‘you have to come. Go back to the boat, tell the woman-she’s your only crew?-what’s happening, pack your bags and we’ll head straight to the airport.’

And there was nothing left for him but to agree. To take his place in a palace that had cost his family everything.

‘Tomorrow,’ he said, feeling ill.

‘Tonight.’

‘I will spend tonight with Gianetta,’ Ramón growled, and the lawyer raised his brows.

‘Like that?’

‘Like nothing,’ Ramón snapped. ‘She deserves an explanation.’

‘It’s not as if you’re sacking her,’ the lawyer said. ‘I’ve only hired one man to replace you. She’ll still be needed. She can help bring the Marquita home and then you can pay her off.’

‘I’ve already paid her.’

‘Then there’s no problem.’ The lawyer rose and so did Ramón. ‘Tonight.’

‘Tomorrow,’ Ramón snapped and looked at the man’s face and managed a grim smile. ‘Consider it my first royal decree. Book the tickets for tomorrow’s flights.’

‘But…’

‘I will not argue,’ Ramón said. ‘I’ve a mind to wash my hands of the whole business and take Marquita straight back out to sea.’ Then, at the wash of undisguised distress on the lawyer’s face, he sighed and relented. ‘But, of course, I won’t,’ he said. ‘You know I won’t. I will return with you to Cepheus. I’ll do what I must to resolve this mess, I’ll face Carlos down, but you will give me one more night.’