Читать книгу The Royal House Of Karedes: Two Kingdoms (Books 1-3) - Сандра Мартон - Страница 13

IT’S ME, Mama, Maria said.

And then no one said anything.

For an eternity? For a few seconds? Alex couldn’t be sure. The only certainty was that he’d made one hell of a mistaken assumption.

And he’d mortified Maria. The proof was in the rigidity of her posture, the angle of her head. This place, this depressing setting, this woman making absolutely no move toward her daughter, were not things she’d wanted him to see.

So what? he asked himself coldly. Wasn’t it his intention to humiliate Maria Santos? This was just one more way to do it.

But even as he thought that he found himself moving closer to her, putting his hand lightly on her shoulder in a gesture of unspoken support.

The woman in the doorway spoke first. Her words were not those of a loving mother, delighted to see her child. They were, instead, accusatory.

“Do you have any idea how late it is, Maria? I was on my way to bed.”

He saw the color rise in Maria’s face. His hand tightened on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Mama. I should have phoned first—”

“And who is this with you? Why have you brought a man to my home?”

“Forgive me, Mrs. Santos,” Alex said pleasantly. He gave Maria what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then stepped forward. “It’s my fault, entirely. I’m afraid I was in such a hurry to get things done that the lateness of the hour never occurred to me.”

“And you are …?”

“I am Alexandros Karedes. Prince Alexandros Karedes.”

The Santos woman’s eyebrows rose.

“Prince?”

“From the kingdom of Aristo. Perhaps you’ve heard of it,” he said politely, knowing she would have. You could not read a magazine or see a television program about the rich and famous without hearing of places like Dubai, Monaco and Aristo.

“And you know my daughter?”

“Indeed. In fact, Maria and I are going to be spending the next few weeks together.”

Maria gave him a look that should have turned him to stone. “The prince means we’ll be working together.”

“Maria is making my mother’s birthday gift.”

Luz raised her dark eyebrows. “Maria? Is this what you meant when I called you a little while ago?”

Alex looked at Maria. She glared even as color rose in her cheeks. It had been her mother on the phone, not her lover. Why did that please him? Whether she had a lover or not didn’t matter. She would be his for the next four weeks. Who gave a damn if she came home to Joaquin when the month ended?

“Sí, Mama, it was.”

He could almost see Luz mulling that over. Finally, she stepped aside and motioned them forward. “Come inside. I don’t want to bother the neighbors.”

Maria looked like a wild animal who wanted to escape a trap, but she jerked her head in assent and moved past him into the apartment.

The entry foyer was big; it led down two steps into a living room that must have been elegant in its day but now was dimly lit and depressing. Luz made no offer of coffee or tea; she took a chair and when Maria hovered uncertainly, Alex took her elbow. He felt her stiffen, knew she wanted to jerk free but she let him draw her down beside him on a small, sagging, blanket-covered sofa.

“You see,” Alex said pleasantly, “my mother—”

“She is the queen?”

“Queen Tia. Yes. Her sixtieth birthday is next month, and—”

He launched into an explanation of the planned celebration. The state dinner in the palace. The ball that would follow. The presentation of Maria’s necklace to the queen at precisely midnight, followed by fireworks. The fact that Maria was accompanying him to Aristo so she could consult personally with the queen and with him, should questions arise about the design of the piece.

“You mean, my daughter will leave New York?”

“Yes,” Alex said politely, “but I can assure you—”

“Well, if it doesn’t worry her to leave me all alone, who am I to complain? I am not well, Your Highness. Perhaps Maria has mentioned it.”

“You’re fine, Mama. Your doctors say—”

“What do doctors know?” Luz crossed herself. “We can only pray for the best. Besides, I suppose you’re determined to live out this fantasy of yours.”

Alex could see a vein throb in Maria’s temple.

“Could we please have this discussion another time?” she said, but Luz ignored her.

“Do you have children, Prince Alexandros?”

“I’m not married, Mrs. Santos,” Alex said politely, though being polite was growing difficult.

“Well, when you do, you’ll understand that a mother’s sole concern is for her child’s welfare. Maria’s cousin, Angela—”

“I’m sure the prince isn’t interested in Angela.”

“Angela is a wonderful girl. She has an excellent position with an insurance company. She’s offered many, many times to arrange for Maria to have an interview there. Why, only this evening, I told Maria of Angela’s promotion. She’ll be earning thirty thousand dollars a year!” Luz leaned toward her daughter. “And I didn’t get the chance to tell you the rest. Angela’s engaged. To her supervisor, can you imagine? She has done so well for herself. It’s hard to believe you and she graduated high school at the same time.”

The sofa was small. Maria’s thigh was against his. Alex could feel her trembling. With anger? With despair? Not that it mattered to him…

“We had different goals,” Maria said carefully. “Angela went straight to work. I went to college.”

“And quit.”

“I didn’t quit, I changed schools. I went to the Fashion Institute of Technology.” A touch of pride edged her words. “It was not easy to get in.”

Luz made a face. “Such foolishness! Two years spent studying what? Drawing? Making geegaws? And meanwhile, your cousin, Angela, was—”

The hell with this, Alex thought, and he clasped Maria’s hand. She tried to tug it away but he threaded his fingers through hers.

“Maria,” he said smoothly, “I think it’s time we told your mother the truth.”

Her eyes went dark and wild. “Alex. Alex, please—”

“I admire your modesty, glyka mou,” he said softly, “but surely your mother should know the details—of this commission.”

Maria let out a breath. Luz shrugged her shoulders.

“I know them already, Prince Alexandros. My daughter entered a contest and lost. She’s won it now because the real winner backed out.”

“You make it sound as if Maria entered a sweepstakes, Mrs. Santos,” Alex said with a smile that barely softened the tightly spoken words. “In fact, fifty of the world’s most prestigious jewelry designers submitted sketches for my father’s perusal. He and his ministers narrowed the field to three but the final selection was the king’s.” He paused. “He chose an excellent entry—but from the start, Maria’s design was the queen’s choice.”

Maria’s eyes lit. “Was it?” she said softly.

Alex nodded. What was the harm in telling her the truth?

“The necklace your daughter creates will be photographed by every major magazine. It will be featured on television news on virtually every continent. And when the queen’s birthday celebration ends, it will be displayed alongside the Crowns of Aristo and Adamas, two of the most famous royal crowns in the world.”

Luz seemed to take it all in. Then she nodded and looked at Maria.

“This is a fine opportunity, mia hija.”

“Sí, Mama. I know it is.”

“You must not squander it. Such good fortune may not come your way again.”

Alex glanced at Maria. She had a stiff smile pinned to her lips. He couldn’t blame her. Not that her feelings meant anything to him, but couldn’t her mother work up a little enthusiasm? His own mother had always been loving. Not the way mothers were loving in the books he’d read when he was growing up, or even in the ways he’d observed when he spent an occasional holiday weekend with a friend from boarding school.

Tia had not tousled his hair or kissed his scraped knees; she had not tucked him in at night or sat with him at breakfast in the morning. He’d longed for those things as a kid but he’d understood. She was the queen. His father was the king. His parents had grave responsibilities; from his earliest years on, he’d been groomed to respect that.

But Tia had applauded his every academic achievement and sports trophy. Even Aegeus, who had always treated his children, especially his sons, with cool removal, would have offered a word of praise at news as important as this.

“This was more than good fortune,” he said coolly. Maria looked at him in surprise. Hell, he’d surprised himself. “Your daughter’s talent is the reason she won the commission.”

Maria’s counterfeit smile had given way to one that was soft and sweet. He wanted to cup her face with his hand, taste that sweetness, kiss her not as he had before but gently, tenderly…

A muscle knotted in his jaw.

“It’s time we left,” he said brusquely, and rose to his feet.

It had stopped snowing; the street was clear and a plow truck disappearing just ahead, red lights blinking, was the reason.

Hans popped from the driver’s seat of the big limo and swept the rear door open. Maria stepped in; Alex followed her.

“Where to, sir?”

What was that sound? Was Maria—was she crying?

“Sir? To the airport?”

Alex forced his attention to his driver, then dug his BlackBerry from his pocket. There was one text message. It was from his pilot and it was brief and to the point.

“Runways are open. Flight plan has been filed.”

“The airport,” he said briskly, and settled back in the seat.

The big car moved swiftly through the streets. Maria said nothing; her face was turned to the window. If she’d been weeping, she seemed to have stopped.

Alex cleared his throat.

“I forgot to leave my phone number for your mother. I’ll have my secretary call her with it first thing tomorrow. Is there anyone else you wish to notify?”

She shook her head.

“Not even—” He paused. Don’t, he told himself, but the need to say it was the same as the need to touch an aching tooth, even though you knew it was a mistake. “Not even your friend, Joaquin?”

She swung toward him. “He is my friend,” she said fiercely, “despite what you think. And I have my own cell phone, thank you very much. I don’t need you or your secretary to do it for me.”

“You needn’t bite my head off. I just—I just wondered if, perhaps—”

“Look, you did one decent thing tonight, Your Highness. You—you tried to defend me to my mother. I suppose I owe you my thanks for that. Just don’t—don’t spoil it.”

“I didn’t defend you. I spoke the truth. My mother loved your design.” He hesitated. “Frankly, I agreed with her that it was the best. Why should that be a secret?”

She lifted her chin and looked directly at him. They had just pulled up to a traffic light. The red glow lit her lovely face with color and yes, she had been crying. The delicate skin under her eyes was swollen.

“If it isn’t a secret, why didn’t you tell me right away?”

Alex felt a quick stab of guilt, but why should he? Maria had not been honest with him, and her lie of omission had been far greater than his.

“I told you what you needed to know,” he said coldly. “There was no reason to tell you anything more.”

She gave a little laugh. “Such diplomatic words, Alexandros. Why, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a—” Her face turned white.

“Maria?”

“Tell the driver to pull over.”

“What is it?”

“I’m going to be—”

Alex lowered the privacy screen and jerked his thumb toward the curb. Hans steered to it and pulled up, Alex threw his door open and Maria shot past him. He was right on her heels; he caught her by the shoulders as she bent over and was viciously ill.

“Go away,” she gasped. “I don’t want you to—”

Another spasm shook her. He could feel the violence of it and his hands clasped her more tightly. When she was done, she stood straight, her back still to him, her body racked with tremors.

“Maria,” he said softly. “Are you okay?”

She nodded. “I’m fine.”

She wasn’t. Her voice was thready and the trembling had increased. Alex cursed and turned her toward him. She stood with her head down.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. Flu, I think. Everyone has it.”

God, she looked so fragile. Not silly, lost in that enormous and ugly jacket, but terribly, heartbreakingly delicate.

He dug a handkerchief from his pocket and held it toward her. She shook her head.

“Not your handkerchief. I’ll soil it.”

“Damn it, Maria,” he said, and put his hand under her chin, lifted her face and dabbed her lips carefully with the snowy-white linen.

She was still shaking.

Alex lifted her in his arms. “No,” she said, but he ignored her, ducked his head, carried her inside the car, settled her close against him and pressed the intercom button.

Hans answered immediately. “Sir?”

“Turn up the heat,” Alex said crisply. “And take us to the nearest hospital.

“No,” Maria said, even more emphatically. “I don’t want to go to a hospital.”

“You need a doctor.”

“For heaven’s sake, I was sick. Sick, that’s all. Flu. Or maybe something I ate.”

“You look like you don’t eat enough,” Alex said, more sharply than he’d intended but it was true. Holding her in his arms, he’d realized she was as light as the proverbial feather.

“I am fine. I don’t need to be coddled.”

Yes, he thought, she did—but he knew that edge in her voice by now, just as he knew the proud angle of her head.

“Okay. Great. No coddling. Hans?”

“Sir?”

“The airport.”

The intercom light blinked off. Maria stared straight ahead, wrapped in mortification. Of all things to happen. To get sick in front of this man. To have him insist on staying with her. To have him wipe her face and now to be sitting within the circle of his arm…

“I am perfectly capable of sitting on my own,” she said coolly.

He let her move away. From the corner of her eye, she could see him opening a mahogany compartment built into the side of the car. Taking something from it. A bottle of water. A big white linen napkin.

“Look at me,” he said as he poured the water on the napkin.

She looked. Their eyes met. What was in his? Pity? Damn it, she didn’t want his pity. She didn’t want anything from him.

Carefully, he began to wash her face. She jerked back. He sighed, cupped the back of her head and went right on washing.

It felt wonderful.

When he was done, she gave him a jerky nod. “Thank you,” she said stiffly and turned away but, once again, she could see what he was doing from the corner of her eye. Putting the water and napkin back in the compartment. Taking out another bottle, this one filled with an amber liquid. Taking out a crystal tumbler. Opening the bottle, pouring the liquid into the glass…

“Drink this.”

She swung toward him. Bad idea. Everything began to spin. The interior of the car, Alex’s face. The glass he was holding toward her.

“Damn it,” he said, reaching for her, “you’re as white as a sheet.”

“I’m—I’m okay. I’m not going to be sick again. I’m just a little woozy …”

Alex’s arms swept around her. “Don’t,” she said, but she was speaking into the hard wall of his chest as he lifted her into his lap.

He was warm. Strong. He smelled of snow and cold and of the clean male scent she remembered, had never forgotten.

“Let go of me,” she said, and hated how her voice shook but the truth was, she felt awful. Not sick to her stomach anymore, just cold and shaky and awful.

“Stop arguing with everything I say and drink this.”

His tone was gruff but he held her with care. Well, of course. He certainly didn’t want to risk having her throw up all over his magnificent automobile.

The glass was at her mouth.

“What is it?”

“Poison,” he said, but when she looked up at him, he was smiling. “It’s brandy.”

“I don’t—”

“Yes. I know. You don’t need brandy. Well, I do.” He took a drink from the glass, then brought it to her lips again. “For once, just do as I ask without giving me a tough time, okay?”

The brandy smelled wonderful. She thought of how it would feel, warm and soothing, and of how his mouth had touched the rim of the glass…

It was safer to think about doing as he’d commanded.

She did, and knew she’d been right. The brandy was warm and comforting. So was the man who held her. The thought, unbidden, unexpected, set her heart racing and she pushed the glass away.

“That’s enough. And you can let go of me. I’m perfectly fine.”

He answered by gathering her closer. “It’s late,” he said brusquely. “And I’ve had a long day. I think you have, too. So stop fighting me, Maria. You’re cold and shaky and I’m not at all convinced you don’t need a doctor.”

“I already said I didn’t.”

“Then do as you’re told. Finish the brandy, put your head against my shoulder and maybe, just maybe, I’ll believe you.”

“You’re a—a martinet,” she said bitterly. “Did anyone ever tell you that?”

It was such an old-fashioned word that it made him laugh.

“I’ve been called a lot of things by a lot of women, glyka mou, but that is a first.” He sank back in the seat; she had no choice but to sink back with him. “Now close your eyes and rest. We’ll be at the airport soon.”

Rest? She’d won a competition that had been the goal of the world’s best jewelry designers—and handed her life over to one of the world’s most gorgeous, sexiest men. How could she possibly rest? Surely, the man holding her had his choice of women, a different one every night if he wished, and yet he wanted her…

Her lashes drooped.

She couldn’t rest. Or sleep. Or…

Maria sighed, burrowed closer against him, and tumbled into sleep.

Alex felt the tension leave her. He looked down, saw the dark shadow of her lashes against the sculpted curve of her cheek.

The woman was impossible. Argumentative. Prickly. Sharp-tongued.

She was also beautiful and fragile and…

And, he reminded himself, she was a manipulative liar. The sooner he had her in his bed, the better. She would not spin lies to him there; he would not permit it. He would make love to her until she sobbed his name, until her need for him was real, and that would happen as soon as he had her, alone, on his plane.

But when they reached it, he carried a still-sleeping Maria through the big cabin, to the privacy of his bedroom. Sat her on the edge of the bed. Took off her jacket and her boots. Took off his jacket and soggy shoes, as well.

Her eyelids fluttered but did not lift. “Alexandros?” she murmured.

She had called him that the night they’d made love. That was the only name he’d given her, just ‘Alexandros’. “Alex, if you prefer,” he’d added, but not the rest.

Not that she’d needed it, he thought grimly. She had known his identity; she had targeted him.

“Wake up,” he said coldly as he lay her back against the pillows. She didn’t. He looked at her again. Even in sleep, she looked exhausted. And incredibly lovely.

He lay down next to her. Drew the cashmere throw from the foot of the bed over them both. Maria sighed in her sleep and turned toward him. What else could he do except gather her into his arms?