Читать книгу His Majesty's Temporary Bride - Annie West - Страница 11

PROLOGUE

CAT VAULTED OVER the low wall, her blood singing at the sheer joy of running parcours. Her breathing was fast but her movements measured as she and Paolo raced through the abandoned warehouse.

She vaulted, then made a tic-tac of her feet on a wall as she built momentum and leapt, grabbing the edge of an empty skylight. Swinging, Cat hauled herself up and over the edge. It was there Paolo passed her. She was fast and agile but he beat her hands-down in upper body strength.

With a whoop he was away, across the roof to clatter down an empty stairwell while she raced to draw close. Bounding off stairs, walls and a balustrade, she’d almost caught him when they reached the perimeter fence.

‘Mine today,’ he gasped.

Cat nodded, bracing hands on knees. Her ponytail swung over her shoulder as she breathed deep. ‘That passe muraille of yours was faultless.’

He grinned. ‘Something for you to aim for?’

She punched his arm. ‘Almost up to my standard.’

They headed for the exit. ‘Same time next week?’

‘I may have a job out of town. I’ll call.’

He nodded and unlocked his car. ‘You need a lift?’

Cat shook her head. ‘No. I’m heading to the gym.’ The outwardly dilapidated but excellent gym they used was around the corner. She wanted to check on the kids she’d been coaching after school. They were troubled teens, like she’d been. But they showed promise and while she was between jobs she enjoyed being with them.

She turned into the dog-leg alley shortcut, head full of teenagers and their prickly pride. Which was no excuse for the few seconds it took to scope danger. The shiny limo was out of place in this part of New York. But it was the tall guy with the bulge under his jacket, peeling away from the wall, she should have noticed instantly.

He moved fast as a professional. But so was she. When he reached for her she ducked, grabbed his wrist and used his forward momentum to crash him to the ground. Knee between his shoulder blades, she took his gun.

‘Ms Dubois!’

She turned, hearing the man beneath her groan as her knee swivelled. Standing in the doorway of the limo was a slim man in a dark suit, eyes wide.

‘Ms Dubois, please. I only want to talk.’ The air expelled from her lungs in a rush. Because the man didn’t speak English but the distinctive patois of her native tongue—a modified version of French. Alarm bells rang, leaving her more rather than less alert.

‘Who are you?’ She eased back, giving the guy beneath her room to breathe, keeping a hand locked on his wrist.

The man at the limo stepped closer. ‘I’m the St Gallan ambassador to the US. I’m here with a job offer. If I may show you my credentials?’ Slowly he approached and Cat read his ID. It was genuine.

Tucking the gun into her waistband, she rose. ‘If you want to talk, why send him?’ She gestured to the big man clambering to his feet.

The ambassador grimaced. ‘I was told you might not welcome an approach from St Galla and I needed to be sure you’d listen. His instructions were to bring you to the car so we could talk.’

His bodyguard straightened, rolling his shoulder to test it and nodded. ‘Tactical mistake. I knew you were one of us but I didn’t expect...’ He shrugged, then winced.

‘I’m not interested in a job in St Galla.’ She’d left her island home at eighteen after her mother’s funeral. The place held nothing for her after she lost the one person who’d ever loved her, the only one she’d loved.

The ambassador nodded. ‘There’s someone who could change your mind. The Prime Minister is waiting.’

Cat’s eyes darted to the limo’s tinted windows.

‘A long-distance call. Allow me to offer you the privacy of my car while you talk.’

Angry and confused, Cat was in no mood to comply. But curiosity won and she found herself alone in the vehicle, looking at a screen and the thin, clever face of the St Gallan Prime Minister, Monsieur Barthe. He looked shocked.

‘By God, you are like her! I saw the photos but...’

Cat’s skin crawled. That feeling of a thousand ants swarming. She hadn’t felt it in years but it was back with a vengeance, dredging a lifetime’s painful memories.

‘Who are you talking about?’ As if she didn’t know.

‘Princess Amelie.’ He shook his head. ‘The similarity is astonishing.’

Cat remained silent. She’d learned there was nothing she could say. As a kid, the taunts and snide accusations had grown unbearable. She’d tried turning the other cheek, ignoring them, even fighting back when the bullies got physical. All that had got her was more trouble. On the upside it led to an interest in martial arts that had eventually been her key to escape.

She set her jaw, hating the feeling of powerlessness after all these years and a continent of distance. It was as if ten years had vanished in an instant, all she’d achieved a mirage.

‘Ms Dubois, I have an important, confidential assignment for you.’

‘I’m always discreet.’ As a bodyguard to the famous it was a necessity. ‘But I’m not interested.’

‘This is for your country.’

Her country could go hang. She hadn’t been able to shake its dust soon enough. Her first eighteen years had been torment, defending herself and her mother’s reputation endlessly in public. Then at home, watching the man she’d had to call father grind her mother down.

‘I’m still not interested.’

‘Even though Lambis Evangelos recommended you?’

Lambis? He was the best in the business. His company ran the best in the business. They’d met in Chicago when she worked with Afra, the superstar singer. Cat had been pleased at his interest, his offer of an open door if ever she wanted work.

But to work in St Galla? She shuddered. ‘I suggest you find someone else.’

Shrewd eyes surveyed her. The next question would be why she wouldn’t return to her homeland. As if she’d share that with anyone. The only people who’d known the truth about her were dead. She wasn’t about to let anyone else in on her sordid secret.

‘There are plenty of other bodyguards.’ Though she prided herself that those who employed her asked for her again and again, particularly women who felt more comfortable with a female shadowing them.

His voice dropped. ‘We need your special...attributes. Mr Evangelos suggested you if we ever needed a body double for Princess Amelie.’

Cat sat back, pulse racing. ‘She’s in danger?’ Her voice was inexplicably husky. She’d never met the Princess yet still she felt a connection.

‘Not...danger. Though the situation is delicate.’

‘What situation?’

‘The Princess is...away.’ He paused as if choosing his words. ‘We’re not sure when she’ll return. Meantime it’s vital she appear at a small palace reception. This event must go ahead, for the nation and the Princess herself.’

Cat stared. ‘You want me to impersonate Princess Amelie? You can’t be serious!’ She’d grown up being compared with the Princess. The woman was charming, elegant, graceful, accomplished in ways Cat wasn’t. She wore jewels and formal gowns. Cat was allergic to high heels and had never worn a full-length dress in her life.

‘Deadly serious.’ His tone chilled her and again that shiver of preternatural connection, of anxiety, passed through her. ‘You wouldn’t have to face anyone who knows the Princess well. All you have to do is make an appearance, chat a little, then withdraw.’

‘It’s not possible.’

‘Not even for a very generous settlement?’ Monsieur Barthe named a sum that made her goggle.

‘You can’t be serious.’ Shock stretched her voice.

His mouth tightened. ‘Completely. Money is no object.’

Cat blinked. With that money she could achieve her dream. Bodyguard work had been good to her but she couldn’t do it for ever. Already she wondered how long her knee would hold up long-term. Last year she’d been injured saving Afra from a car driven by a crazed stalker. It had been a long slog to get back to something like her previous fitness.

Cat had no other qualifications, no career path. But working with kids, diverting their negative energy into physical endeavours and a positive outlook—that she could do. Developing a centre either in the wilderness or in a city gym devoted specifically to kids—she’d give so much to achieve that. For the kids and herself.

‘Half the money in advance and half on completion.’

She jerked her head up, meeting steely eyes that had read her momentary lapse.

Cat shook her head. ‘I might look superficially like her, but I’m no princess. Everyone would know.’

‘Not a problem. You’d stay at the palace in advance of the event to be tutored in everything you need to know.’ He paused, surveying her set features. ‘Look on it as your chance to see how the other half lives.’

Cat stared as the words insinuated themselves into her brain. How often in childhood had she wondered what it was like to be Amelie? To live the cosseted life of a rich, beloved child, adored by her father and the nation? It had been a fantasy she’d retreated to when reality grew unbearable. She’d put it behind her years ago, yet to her amazement shreds of that yearning still lingered.

‘I’ll double the fee.’

Cat goggled. The amount was ridiculously huge. What on earth was going on?

‘The Princess...is she safe?’ Again, that sixth sense niggle of concern.

‘I’m not in a position to say. But you’ll help her enormously by doing this.’

Cat didn’t need Princess Amelie’s gratitude. She could get by without the money, even though it represented more than she’d earn in the next several years. It shouldn’t matter if it brought her dream to reality.

Returning to the country of her birth would betray the vow she’d made at eighteen never to look back.

Yet something stopped her refusal. The possibility that Amelie genuinely needed her? Or that the bastard half-sister finally had a chance to discover what life would have been like if she’d been born legitimate? To experience the life she might have had?

No, it was far more than that. This wasn’t curiosity to see how the other half lived. It was a desire, deep down in her secret self, to connect with the family she’d never known. To find a way to meet her sibling. For years she’d told herself no good could come of connecting with her royal relations, yet still that yearning remained. To belong.

Cat cleared her throat, hating the tug of emotion turning her voice hoarse. Hating the neediness. She’d thought she’d conquered it years ago.

Maybe this is your chance to do that.

And still that snaking anxiety for the half-sister she’d never met. ‘Send me a contract to consider.’

His smile told her he knew he’d won. ‘You won’t regret it, Ms Dubois.’

She already did. But she had to do this and silence once and for all the voices of her murky past.