Читать книгу Passion, Purity and the Prince - Annie West - Страница 7

ALARIC’s body stiffened as her words sank in with terrible, nightmare clarity.

Him as ruler of Maritz!

The idea was appalling.

Raul was the crown prince. The one brought up from birth to rule. The one trained and ready to dedicate his life to his country.

Maritz needed him.

Or a man like Alaric’s brother, Felix.

Alaric wasn’t in the same mould. Even now he heard his father’s cool, clipped voice expressing endless displeasure and disappointment with his reckless second son.

Alaric’s lips twisted. How right the old man had been. Alaric couldn’t take responsibility for the country. Bad enough he’d stepped into Felix’s shoes as leader of a principality. Entrusting the wellbeing of the whole nation to his keeping would be disaster.

He, whose conscience was heavy with the weight of others’ lives! Who’d failed them so abysmally.

Horror crawled up his spine to clamp his shoulders. Ice froze his blood. Familiar faces swam in his vision, faces distorted with pain. The faces of those he’d failed. The face of his brother, eyes feverish as he berated Alaric for betraying him.

He couldn’t be king. It was unthinkable.

‘Is this a joke?’ The words shot out, harsh in the silence.

‘Of course not!’

No. One look at her frown and her stunned eyes made that clear. Tamsin Connors wasn’t kidding.

He’d never seen a more serious, buttoned-up woman. From her tense lips to her heavy-framed glasses and scraped-back hair, she was the image of no-nonsense spinsterhood.

Except for that body.

Hard to believe she’d felt so warm and lithely curved. Or that holding her he’d known a curious desire to strip away that fashion crime of an outfit and explore her scented femininity. A desire completely dormant in the face of so many blatant sexual invitations from tonight’s beauties!

Beneath her bag lady clothes Tamsin Connors was only in her mid-twenties. When she forgot to prim them her lips were surprisingly luscious. He looked into her frowning face and knew he was avoiding the issue. The impossible issue of him being king!

‘What exactly is in these papers?’ His voice sounded rusty, as if his vocal cords had seized up.

‘They’re old records by a cleric called Tomas. He detailed royal history, especially births, deaths and marriages.’ She shifted, leaning imperceptibly closer.

Did he imagine her fresh sunshine scent, warm in a room chilled with the remembrance of death?

With an effort he dragged his focus back to her.

‘Take a seat, please, and explain.’ He gestured to one of the armchairs by the fire then took one for himself.

‘According to Tomas there was intermarriage between your family and Prince Raul’s.’

Alaric nodded. ‘That was common practice.’ Power was guarded through alliances with other aristocratic families.

‘At one stage there was a gap in the direct line to the Maritzian throne. The crown couldn’t pass from father to son as the king’s son had died.’

Her words flayed a raw spot deep inside him. A familiar glacial chill burned Alaric’s gut. The knowledge he was a usurper in a better man’s shoes.

That he was responsible for his brother’s death.

‘There were two contenders for the throne. One from Prince Raul’s family and…’ Her words slowed as she registered his expression. Some of her enthusiasm faded.

‘And one from mine?’

She shifted as if uncomfortable, but continued.

Two rival princes from different branches of intertwined families. A will from the old king designating one, the eldest by some weeks, as his successor. A tragic ‘accident’ leading to the accession of the alternate heir and a desperate decision by the dead prince’s widow to send her newborn son to safety far away. The suppression of the old king’s will and a rewriting of birth dates to shore up the new monarch’s claim to the throne.

It was a tale of treachery and the ruthless pursuit of power. But in his country’s turbulent history, definitely possible.

How was it possible she’d found such a contentious document?

The likelihood was staggeringly remote. For centuries historians had plotted the family trees of the royal families in each of the neighbouring principalities.

Yet her earnestness, her straight-backed confidence caught his attention.

Obviously she’d found something. This woman was no one’s fool, despite her up-tight demeanour. He remembered reading her CV when she had been recommended for the job of assessing and preserving the archives. Multiple qualifications. Glowing references. Her first degree in her teens and a formidable amount of experience since then.

It was tempting to believe this was a mistake, that she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. Yet she didn’t strike him as a woman prone to taking risks.

‘You’re not pleased?’ she ventured, her brows puckering. ‘I know it’s a shock but—’

‘But you thought I’d be thrilled to become king?’ His words were clipped as he strove to suppress a surge of unfamiliar panic. He had to fight the rising nausea that clogged his throat.

He shook his head. ‘I’m loyal to my cousin, Dr Connors. He will make the sort of king our country needs.’

Alaric succeeding in his place would be a nightmare made real.

Hell! The timing couldn’t be worse. The country needed stability. If this was true…

‘Who else have you told?’ Alaric found himself on his feet, towering above her with his hands clamped on her chair arms. She shrank back as he leaned close.

In the flickering firelight she looked suddenly vulnerable and very young.

The pounding thud of his heartbeat slowed and he straightened, giving her space.

No need to intimidate the woman. Yet.

‘I haven’t told anyone.’ Wide eyes stared at him from behind those ugly glasses and a twist of something like awareness coiled in his belly. ‘I had to tell you first.’

The tension banding his chest eased and he breathed deep. ‘Good. You did the right thing.’

Tentatively she smiled and he felt a tremor of guilt at having scared her. Even now one hand pressed to her breast as if her heart raced. He followed the rapid rise and fall of her chest. An unexpected trickle of fire threaded his belly as he recalled her feminine softness against him.

‘When I get the test results back we’ll know if the papers are what they seem to be.’

‘Results?’ He stilled. ‘What tests are these?’

‘There are several,’ she said slowly, her expression wary. Alaric thrust his hand through his hair, fighting the impulse to demand she explain instantly.

Instead he took another deliberate step away from her and laid his forearm along the mantelpiece. Immediately the tension in her slim frame eased.

‘Would you care to enlighten me?’

She blinked and blushed and for a moment Alaric was sidetracked by the softening of her lips as they formed an O of surprise. She looked charmingly female and innocently flustered in a way that threatened to distract him.

An instant later she was brisk and businesslike. ‘I’ve sent pages for testing. We need to know if the parchment is as old as it appears. That it’s not a modern forgery.’

She’d sent papers away? Who had them now? This got worse and worse.

‘Plus the style of the text is unusual. I’ve sent copies of some pages to a colleague for verification.’

‘Who gave you permission to do this?’ His voice was calm, low, but with the razor edge honed on emergency decisions made under fire.

She jerked her head up, her body stiffening.

‘I was told when I started that, so long as the usual precautions were taken, testing of documents found in the archives was allowed.’

‘If you’re right these aren’t just any documents!’ His hands fisted. Had she no notion of the powder keg she may have uncovered?

‘That’s why I was particularly careful.’ She shot to her feet, hands clasped before her; chin lifted as she met his gaze. ‘None of the pages I sent for testing were, by themselves, sensitive.’ She paused then continued with slow emphasis. ‘I realise this information must be kept confidential until it’s confirmed. I followed the protocols set out when I took on the job.’

Alaric let out a slow breath. ‘And if someone put those pages together?’

‘No.’ She shook her head then paused, frowning. ‘It’s not possible.’ Yet she didn’t look so certain.

Alaric determined to get his hands on the pages as soon as possible.

‘It would have been better to keep this in house.’ Even if it turned out this was a mistake, rumour could destabilise a delicate situation.

Fine eyebrows arched high on her pale forehead.

‘Ruvingia doesn’t have the capacity “in house” to run such tests.’ She paused and he watched her drag in quick breaths, obviously battling strong emotion.

‘I apologise if I’ve overstepped the mark.’ Her tone said he was being unreasonable. ‘I would have checked with you earlier but it’s been hard getting an appointment.’

Touché. Meeting to discuss the royal archives hadn’t been on his priorities.

‘How long before you get the results?’

She launched into detail of how the document would be authenticated, her face growing animated. All the while he was busy reckoning the risks posed by this discovery. The need to verify her findings and keep the situation under wraps.

Yet he found himself watching her closely as she shed that shell of spiky reserve. There was a fire in her that had been lacking before. Or had it been hidden behind her starchy demeanour?

Despite the gravity of the situation, something in Alaric that was all male, functioning at the most primitive level, stirred.

Behind her dowdy appearance he sensed heat and passion in this woman.

He’d always been attracted by passion.

Alaric wrenched his mind back to the problem at hand.

‘A short wait, then, before the results come through. In the meantime, who has access to this chronicle?’

‘Only me. The assistant from your national museum is working on other material.’

‘Good. We’ll keep it that way.’ Alaric would personally arrange for it to be kept under lock and key.

‘I’m also keeping my eyes open for other papers that might confirm or disprove what I’ve found. There’s still a lot to investigate.’

There could be more? Even if this document conveniently disappeared there might be others?

Damn. A simple solution had been tempting. An accident to destroy the evidence and remove the problem. Yet it would only make precautions around the remaining documents tighter and subsequent accidents more suspicious.

Self-knowledge warred with duty. The former told him the country would be better off in his cousin Raul’s hands. The latter urged Alaric to face his responsibility no matter how unpalatable.

He speared a hand through his hair and paced, his belly churning. In thirty years he’d never shirked his duty, no matter how painful.

He’d warn Raul. They’d develop a contingency plan and make a discreet enquiry of the royal genealogist, a historian known for his expertise and discretion. Alaric needed to know if this far-fetched story was even possible.

Genuine or not, the papers were dynamite. If spare copies existed, and if Tamsin Connors was the innocent, earnest professional she appeared, he needed her onside.

If she was what she appeared.

Was it possible forged papers had been planted for her to find and disrupt Raul’s coronation? Unlikely. Yet how convenient she’d found them after just a couple of weeks.

Too convenient?

He narrowed his gaze, taking in her heavy-framed glasses and appalling clothes. The way her gaze continually slipped away from his.

His gut tightened at the idea she was hiding something. A link to those stirring discontent? It was preposterous, but so was this situation.

He’d get to the bottom of it soon.

Meanwhile Tamsin Connors had his undivided attention.

‘Of course, I understand,’ Tamsin murmured into the phone.

She should be disappointed by the news she’d received. She was disappointed, but she was distracted by the man prowling the confines of the workroom. His long stride gave an impression of controlled impatience, at odds with his meticulous interest in every detail.

Intently she watched every move, miserably aware Prince Alaric didn’t need a splendid uniform to show off his physique. In dark trousers, plain T-shirt and a jacket, he was compelling in the afternoon light.

Until last night she hadn’t known she had a weakness for tall broad-shouldered men who looked like they could take on the world. For men whose eyes laughed one minute and clouded with grim emotion the next as if he saw things no man should.

She’d thought she preferred men driven by academic pursuits, preferably fresh faced and blond, like Patrick. Not sizzling with barely suppressed physical energy.

How wrong she’d been.

Her skin drew tight, every nerve end buzzing, as he paced.

‘Thank you for calling. I appreciate it.’ Carefully she put the phone down.

‘A problem?’ He approached, eyes watchful.

Tamsin dragged in a breath and placed her hands on the desk. She’d prayed her reaction last night had been an aberration. But seeing him in the flesh again scotched every hope that she’d imagined her response to his potent masculinity. His vitality, that sense of power and capability, were as fascinating as his stunning looks.

With his black hair, midnight-blue eyes, high-cut cheekbones and strong nose, he looked every inch the powerful aristocrat. Yet his mouth was that of a seducer: warm, provocative and sensual.

Tamsin blinked. Where had that come from?

‘Dr Connors?’

‘Sorry. I was…thinking.’ Frantically she tried to focus. ‘I’ve just heard the date test will be delayed.’

He frowned and she hurried on. ‘I’d hoped for an early result on the age of the parchment but it will take longer than I’d hoped.’

The reasons she’d just been given were plausible. But the embarrassed way Patrick’s assistant repeated herself made Tamsin suspicious.

Wasn’t it enough Patrick had stolen the job that was by rights Tamsin’s? He’d been the first man to show any interest in her, cruelly using her naïve crush to string her along. All those extra hours she’d put in helping him and he’d passed her work off as his own. He’d been promoted on the basis of it then dumped her unceremoniously. Pride had stopped her revealing his duplicity and her own lack of judgement. Instead she’d withdrawn even further into herself, nursing a bruised heart and vowing never to risk it again so readily.

Was he low enough to stymie this project, too?

Once it would never have occurred to her. Now she wondered if the whisper she’d heard was right and he saw her as a professional threat.

Would he really let ego get in the way of scientific research? The idea sickened her. How had she not seen his true character?

‘They’re returning the papers?’ The prince’s eyes sparked indigo fire and she watched, fascinated.

‘Not yet. Hopefully it won’t be a long delay.’

Tamsin watched his mouth compress. He was impatient. Despite what he’d said last night, he must be excited at the possibility of becoming king. Who wouldn’t be?

‘These are the rest of the newly found documents?’ He gestured to the storage down one side of the long room.

‘A lot of them. Some of the less fragile ones we’ve left until we can assess them properly.’

‘Yet there may be more sensitive papers among them?’

‘Possibly. But not many people would be able to read them. Even with my expertise, some of the texts are hard to decipher. It’s time consuming and difficult.’

‘That doesn’t matter. We need secure storage for them all.’ He strode restlessly down the room, assessing the set-up. Despite her intentions she followed every step, drinking in the sight of his powerful body. ‘I want you to calculate exactly what you need and tell me today. They’ll be locked with access only on my approval.’

Tamsin shook her head. ‘It’s not just a matter of space, it’s about a properly regulated environment and—’

‘I understand. Just let me know and it will be done.’

‘It will be expensive.’

The prince waved a dismissive hand. He was notoriously wealthy. Money was no object now his self-interest was engaged.

Tamsin strove to stifle a pang of disappointment, recalling how her work had been virtually ignored earlier. She supposed his proprietorial attitude was justified. After all they were talking about proof of kingship. And if it meant proper care for the archives, all the better.

She stood. ‘In the meantime, could I have the text to work on? I’ll translate some more this evening.’

Late last night, after hearing her news, the prince had insisted on accompanying her here to see the original document. Then, without warning, and despite her protest, he’d taken it away. It worried her that he didn’t fully appreciate how fragile it was.

‘Certainly.’ He glanced at his watch, obviously eager to be elsewhere. ‘But not today—it’s late.’

‘But—’

He crossed the room to stand close, too close. She felt his heat, inhaled the spicy clean scent of his skin and wished she were still sitting.

‘But nothing. I gather you’ve done little except work since you arrived. By your own admission this is taxing work.’ He looked down at her with eyes that sparkled and a tremor rippled down her legs. Desperately she locked her knees, standing straighter.

‘I’m not a slave driver and I don’t want you making yourself ill working all hours.’

‘But I want to!’ What else did she have to do with her evenings?

He shook his head. ‘Not tonight.’ He turned and headed for the door, pausing on the threshold. ‘If you could send me those storage requirements…’

‘I’ll see to it straight away.’

He inclined his head and left. Tamsin stood, swaying slightly and staring at the place where he’d been.

She’d hoped to spark his interest with her discovery. She hadn’t thought to be sidelined in the process.

Sternly she told herself that wasn’t what he’d done. She was allowing her experiences with one deceitful, good looking man to colour her judgement.

It was good of Prince Alaric to be concerned for her welfare. It was sensible that he took an interest in storing the documents properly.

So why did it feel like she was being outmanoeuvred?

Mid-evening Alaric headed for the gym on the far side of the castle compound. He needed to work off this pent up energy. His sleep patterns were shot anyway, but last night Tamsin Connors had obliterated any chance of rest.

The genealogist had warned today that proving or disproving a claim to the throne took time. Alaric wanted it sorted, and preferably disproved, now. It went against the grain to wait, dependent on forces beyond his control.

Plus, infuriatingly, his investigators had turned up little on the Englishwoman.

Surely no one had such a straightforward past? They’d reported on her academic achievements, her reputation for hard work and a little on her quiet childhood with elderly parents. But nothing about boyfriends. Any friends for that matter. Only an unconfirmed hint of some affair with a colleague.

In other circumstances he’d take her at face value: a quiet, dedicated professional. But he couldn’t take chances. Not till he knew she was what she seemed.

She seemed too innocent to be believed.

He slowed as he passed the viewing level for the squash court. Lights were on and he paused to see which of the staff were playing.

There was only one. A woman, lithe and agile as she smashed the ball around the court in robust practice.

Alaric frowned, momentarily unable to place her. She lunged, twisting, to chase a low ball and for a moment her breasts strained against her oversized T-shirt. An instant later she pivoted on long legs with an agility he couldn’t help but applaud.

His eyes lingered on the shapely length of those legs below baggy shorts. A sizzle of lazy heat ignited inside and he smiled appreciatively.

There was an age old remedy for insomnia, one he used regularly. A pretty woman and—

She spun round and a spike of heat drove through Alaric’s torso, shearing off his breath.

He tensed instantaneously, hormones in overdrive.

It was Tamsin Connors. Yet not.

He should have guessed it was her, in those ill-fitting outfits. Yet she looked so different.

His mouth dried as he registered the amount of bare skin on view. Skin flushed pink and enticing from exertion. She really did have the most delicious legs. When that shirt twisted he realised her breasts were fuller than he’d guessed in her granny clothes. Her hair was soft around her face, escaping a glossy ponytail that swung like a sexy invitation to touch every time she moved. She breathed hard through her mouth, her lips not primmed any more, but surprisingly lush. Her eyes glittered—

Her eyes! No glasses.

Suspicion flared as he saw her face unmarred by ugly glasses. Maybe she wore contact lenses? But why hide the rest of the time behind disfiguring frames?

Had she tried to disguise herself? She’d done a remarkable job, concealing the desirable woman beneath a drab exterior and prickly professionalism.

Why? What had she to hide?

It was as if she deliberately tried to look like an absent-minded academic, absorbed in books rather than the world around her. She seemed too honest and serious to deceive. Yet instinct niggled, convincing him this was deliberate camouflage.

Alaric catapulted down the nearby stairs. On a bench beside the door to the court were an ugly cardigan and a case for glasses.

He flipped the latter open and held the glasses up to his face. Realisation corkscrewed through him and he swore under his breath. They gave only minuscule magnification.

Why did she wear them?

This time suspicion was a sharp, insistent jab. She was a stranger, in disguise. What a coincidence that she’d uncovered papers that could shatter the peace of the nation.

Tamsin Connors wasn’t what she seemed. Was she part of a plot? An innocent dupe?

He’d just put the glasses down when she emerged.

Her thickly lashed eyes widened to bright dazzling amber, snaring his breath despite his anger. Amazing what those glasses had obscured. Her lips rounded in a soft pout of surprise and instantly fire exploded in his belly.

Slowly she approached.

Conflicting messages bombarded his brain. Caution. Distrust. Curiosity. Lust. Definitely lust.

His jaw hardened as he reined in that surge of hunger. This was no time to let his libido override his brain.

One thing was for certain. He wasn’t going to let Tamsin Connors out of his sight till he got to the bottom of this. Already a plan formed in his head.

He smiled slowly in anticipation.

He and Dr Connors were about to become much more intimately acquainted.