Читать книгу Theseus Discovers His Heir - Мишель Смарт, Michelle Smart - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

‘VISITORS TO THE palace often get lost, so I’ve arranged for a map to be left in your apartment,’ Theseus said as they climbed a narrow set of stairs.

‘A map? Seriously?’ She would remain civil if it killed her. Which it probably would.

So many emotions were running through her she didn’t know where one began and another ended.

He nodded, still steaming ahead. Her legs were working at a quick march to keep up with him as he turned into a dark corridor lit by tiny round ceiling lights.

‘The palace has five hundred and seventy-three rooms.’

‘Then I guess a map could come in handy,’ she conceded, for want of anything else to say.

‘There will not be time for you to explore the palace as you might like,’ he said. ‘However, we will do everything in our power to make your stay here as comfortable as it can be.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ she said, trying not to choke on her words.

‘Are you up to speed with the project?’

‘I read a good chunk of it on the plane,’ she confirmed tightly.

As the deadline for the biography’s completion was so tight, Fiona had been emailing each chapter as she’d finished it so they could be immediately edited. The editor working on it had spent the past six weeks or so with a distinctly frazzled look about her.

‘Fiona has completed the bulk of the biography, but there is still another twenty-five years of my grandfather’s life to be written about. I appreciate this must sound daunting, but you will find when you read through the research papers that there is much less complexity there than in his early years. Are you confident you can do this within the time constraints?’

‘I wouldn’t have accepted the job if I wasn’t.’ Fiona’s editor, who Jo was now working with, had assured her that the last three decades of King Astraeus’s life had been comparatively quiet after his early years.

But Jo had accepted the job before discovering who she would be working for and exactly who he was.

As she clung to the gold banister that lined the wall above a wide, cantilevered staircase that plunged them into another warren of passageways and corridors Jo remembered a trip to Buckingham Palace a few years back, and recalled how bright and airy it had seemed. The Agon Royal Palace matched Buckingham Palace for size, but it had a much darker, far greater gothic quality to it. It was a palace of secrets and intrigue.

Or was that just her rioting emotions making her read more into things? Her body had never felt so tight with nerves, while her brain had become a fog of hurt, anger, bewilderment and confusion.

‘I don’t remember you speaking Greek when we were on Illya,’ he said, casting her a curious, almost suspicious glance that made her heart shudder.

‘Everyone spoke English there,’ she replied in faultless Greek, staring pointedly ahead and praying the dim light bouncing off the dark hardwood flooring would hide the burn suddenly ravaging her skin.

‘That is true.’ He came to a halt by a door at the beginning of another wide corridor. He turned the handle and pushed it open. ‘This is your apartment for the duration of your stay. I’m going to visit my grandfather while you settle in—a maid will be with you shortly to unpack. Dimitris will come for you in an hour, and then we can sit down and discuss the project properly.’

And just like that he walked back down the corridor, leaving Jo staring at his retreating figure with a mixture of fury and incredibly lancing pain raging through her.

Was that it?

Was that all she was worth?

A woman he’s once been intimate with suddenly reappears in his life and he doesn’t even ask how she’s been? Not the slightest hint of curiosity?

The only real reference to their past had been a comment about her speaking his language.

He’d sought her out back then. It had been her comfort he’d needed that night. And now she wasn’t worth even a simple, How are you? or How have you been?

But then, she thought bitterly, it had all been a lie.

This man wasn’t Theo.

A soft cough behind her reminded her that Dimitris was still there. He handed her a set of keys, wished her a pleasant stay and left her alone to explore her apartment.

* * *

Theseus blew air out of his mouth, nodding an automatic greeting to a passing servant.

Joanne Brookes.

Or, as he’d known her five years ago, Jo.

Now, this was a complication he hadn’t anticipated. A most unwelcome complication.

Hers was a face from his past he’d never expected to see again, and certainly not in the palace, where a twist of fate had decreed she would spend ten days working closely with him.

She’d been there for him during the second worst night of his life, when he’d been forced to wait until the morning before he could leave the island of Illya and be taken to his seriously ill grandmother.

Jo had taken care of him. In more ways than one.

He remembered his surprise when he’d learned her age—twenty-one and fresh out of university. She’d looked much younger. She’d seemed younger than her years too.

He supposed that would now make her twenty-six. Strangely, she now seemed older than her years—not in her appearance, but in the way she held herself.

He experienced an awful sinking feeling as he remembered taking her number and making promises to call.

That sinking feeling deepened as he recalled his certainty after they’d had sex that she’d been a virgin.

She couldn’t have been. She would have told you. Who would give her virginity to a man who was effectively a stranger?

Irrelevant, he told himself sharply.

Illya and his entire sabbatical had been a different life, and it was one he could never return to.

He was Prince Theseus Kalliakis, second in line to the Agon throne. This was his life. The fact that the new biographer was a face from the best time of his life meant nothing.

Theo Patakis was dead and all his memories had gone with him.

* * *

‘This is where I’ll be working?’ Jo asked, hoping against hope that she was wrong.

She’d spent the past hour giving herself a good talking-to, reminding herself that anger didn’t achieve anything. Whatever the next ten days had in store, holding on to her fury would do nothing but give her an ulcer. But then Dimitris had collected her from the small but well-appointed apartment she’d been given and taken her to Theseus’s private offices, just across the corridor, and the fury had surged anew.

Her office was inside his private apartment and connected to his own office without so much as a doorway to separate them.

‘This is the office Fiona used.’ Theseus waved a hand at the sprawling fitted desks set against two walls to make an L shape. ‘Nobody has touched it since she was admitted into hospital.’

‘There’s a spare room in my apartment that will make a perfectly functional office.’

‘Fiona used that room when she first came here, but it proved problematic. The research papers I collated and my own notes only give the facts about my grandfather’s life. I want this biography to show the man behind the throne. As I know you’re aware, this project is going to be a surprise for my grandfather so any questions need to be directed to me. With the time constraints we’re working under it is better for me to be on hand for whatever you need.’

‘Whatever you feel is for the best.’

A black eyebrow rose at her tone but he nodded. ‘Are you happy with your apartment?’

‘It’s perfectly adequate.’

Apart from being in the same wing as his.

How was she going to be able to concentrate on anything whilst being in such close proximity to him? Her stomach was a tangle of knots, her heart was all twisted and aching...and her head burned as her son’s gorgeous little face swam before her eyes.

Toby deserved better than to have been conceived from a lie.

She knew nothing of this man other than the fact that he was a prince in a nation that revered its monarchy.

He was descended from warriors. He and his brothers had forged a reputation for being savvy businessmen. They’d also forged a reputation as ruthless. It didn’t pay to cross any of them.

Theseus was powerful.

Until she got to know this man she couldn’t even consider telling him about Toby. Not until she knew in her heart that he posed no threat to either of them.

‘Only “adequate”?’ he asked. ‘If there is anything you feel is lacking, or anything you want, you need only say. I want your head free of trivia so you can concentrate on getting the biography completed on time.’

‘I’ll be sure to remember that.’

‘Make sure you do. I have lived and breathed this project for many months. I will not have it derailed at the last hurdle.’

The threat in his voice was implicit.

Now she believed what Giles had told her when he’d begged her to take the job—if she failed Hamlin & Associates would lose their best client and likely their reputation in the process.

‘I have ten days to complete it,’ she replied tightly. ‘I will make the deadline.’

‘So long as we have an understanding, I suggest we don’t waste another minute.’

Where was the charmer she remembered from Illya? The man who had made every woman’s IQ plummet by just being in his presence?

She’d spent five years thinking about this man, four years living with a miniature version of him, and his presence in her life had been so great she’d been incapable of meeting anyone else. Once Toby had been born the secret dream she’d held of Theo—Theseus—calling her out of the blue with apologies that he’d lost his phone had died. As had the fantasy that she would tell him of their son and he would want to be involved in their lives.

Motherhood had brought out a pragmatism she hadn’t known existed inside her. Until precisely one day ago she hadn’t given up on her dream of finding him, but that wish had been purely for Toby’s sake. All she’d wanted for herself was to find the courage to move on. She’d accepted she’d been nothing but a one-night stand for him and had found peace with that idea. Or so she’d thought.

Because somehow that was the worst part of it. Her body still reacted to him in exactly the way it had on Illya, with a sick, almost helpless longing. If he looked closely enough he’d be able to see her heart beating beneath the smart black top she wore.

His indifference towards her cut like a scalpel slicing through flesh.

He couldn’t give a damn about her.

A swell of nausea rose in her and she knew she had to say something.

She couldn’t spend the next ten days with such an enormous elephant in the room, even if she was the only one who could see it.

Heart hammering, she plunged in. ‘Before I start work there’s something we need to talk about.’

He contemplated her with narrowed eyes that showed nothing but indifference.

‘I’m sorry,’ she continued, swallowing back the fear, ‘but if you want me focused I need to know why you let me and everyone else on Illya believe you were an engineer from Athens, travelling the world on the fruits of an inheritance, when you were really a prince from Agon.’

‘It hardly matters—it was five years ago,’ he said sardonically.

‘You lied to me and every person you met on Illya.’

You lied to him too, her conscience reminded her, and she felt her cheeks flame as she recalled how her one lie had been the most grievous of all, a remembrance that knocked back a little of her fury and allowed her to gain a touch of perspective.

Her lie had been the catalyst for everything.

He contemplated her a little longer before leaning back against the wall and folding his arms across his chest.

‘Let me tell you about life here on Agon,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Outsiders struggle to understand but Agonites revere my family and have done so for over eight hundred years, ever since my ancestor Ares Patakis led a successful rebellion against the Venetian invaders.’

‘Patakis?’ she repeated. ‘Is that where you got your assumed surname from?’

He nodded. ‘My family have held the throne since then by overwhelming popular consent. With my family at the helm we’ve repelled any other nation foolish enough to think it can invade us. To prevent any despotic behaviour down the years my ancestors introduced a senate, for the people to have a voice, but still they look to us—their royal family—for leadership.’

Theseus’s mind filtered to his father; the man who would have been king if a tragic car crash hadn’t killed him prematurely along with his wife, Theseus’s mother. Lelantos Kalliakis had been exactly the kind of man his ancestors had feared taking the throne and having absolute power. Yet, regardless of how debauched and narcissistic the man had been, the Agonites had mourned him as if a member of their own family had been killed. His sons, however, had only truly mourned their mother.

‘We live in a goldfish bowl. The people here look up to my family. They revere us. Children on this island learn to read with picture books depicting tales of my ancestors. I wanted to meet real people and explore the world as a normal person would. I was curious as to how people would react to me—the man, not the Prince. So, yes, I lied to you about my true identity, just as I lied to everyone else. And if I had my time again I would tell the same lies, because they gave me a freedom I hadn’t experienced before and will never experience again.’

The majority of this speech was one he had spouted numerous times, first to his grandfather, when he’d announced his intention to see the world, and then to his brothers, who’d seen his actions as a snub to the family name. After a lifetime of bad behaviour, when he’d effectively turned his back on protocol, taking off and renouncing the family name had been his most heinous crime of all. Even now he was still trying to make amends.

‘If I hurt your feelings I apologise,’ he added when she gave no response.

He didn’t owe Jo anything, but neither did he want working with her to be a trial. There wasn’t time to bring in anyone else to complete the biography and they’d already lost three precious days.

If getting her to soften towards him meant he had to eat a little humble pie, then so be it. He would accept it as penance for the greater good.

And, if he was being honest with himself, apologising went a little way towards easing the guilt that had been nibbling at his guts.

The only change in her demeanour was a deep breath and the clenching of her jaw. When she did speak it was through gritted teeth. ‘I don’t even know what to call you. Are you Theo or Theseus? Do I address you as Your Highness or Your Grace? Am I expected to curtsey to you?’

In the hazy realms of his memory lay the whisper of her shy smile and the memory of how her cheeks would turn as red as her hair whenever he spoke to her.

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her to call him Theo. Being Theo had been the best time of his life...

No. He would not let those memories spring free. He’d locked them away for a reason and they could damn well stay there.

‘You can call me Theseus. And no curtseying.’

Having people bow and scrape to him turned his stomach. All his life people had treated him with a reverence he’d done nothing to earn other than be born.

She nodded, biting her bottom lip. And what a gorgeous lip it was, he thought. How eminently kissable. He’d kissed that delectable mouth once...

‘I ask you to put your bad feelings towards me to one side so we can work together effectively. Can you do that?’

After a long pause she inclined her head and her long red hair fell forward. She brushed it back and tucked it behind her ears.

‘Do you remember the night those American travellers came into Marin’s Bar?’ she asked, in a voice that was definitely milder than the tone she’d used so far. ‘You were with the Scandinavians on the big round table...’

He raised a shoulder in a shrug, unsure of what day she was speaking of. He’d hit it off with a group of Scandinavian travellers on the ferry from Split to Illya and had spent the majority of his fortnight on the unspoilt island in their company. Marin’s Bar, which was two steps from the beach, had been the only place to go, but with its excellent beer, good food and a juke box that had pumped out classic tracks, it had engendered an easy, relaxed atmosphere.

Jo and her friends, whose names he didn’t think he’d ever known, had always been on the periphery—there but in the background, rather like wallpaper.

‘They were touching us up,’ she reminded him.

‘Ah.’

Now he remembered. The Americans—college graduates taking time out before joining the corporate world—had drunk far too much of the local liquor and had started harassing Jo and her friends. He remembered there had been something nasty about it, well beyond the usual banter one might expect in such an environment. He’d taken exception to it and had personally thrown the men out, then he had insisted Jo and her friends join him and his friends at their table.

And now her face did soften. Not completely—her cheeks were still clenched—but enough that her lips regained their plumpness. They almost curled into a smile.

‘You stepped in to help us,’ she said. ‘Whether you were there as a lie or not, in that one aspect it doesn’t matter. You did a good thing. I’ll try to hold on to that whenever I feel like stabbing you. How does that sound?’

A bubble of laughter was propelled up his throat, startling him. He quickly recovered.

‘I think that sounds like an excellent start.’

She rocked her head forward. ‘Good.’

‘But just in case you ever do feel like stabbing me I’ll be sure to hide all the sharp objects.’

The plump lips finally formed into a smile and something dark flickered in her eyes, but was gone before he could analyse it.

‘It’s a deal. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe this is the perfect cue for me to go back to my apartment and carry on reading Fiona’s work.’

‘Will you be ready to start writing in the morning?’

‘That’s very unlikely—I’m only two-thirds through and I still need to familiarise myself with the research papers. What I can promise is that I will have this biography completed by the deadline even if I have to kill myself doing it.’

She stepped out of the door, giving him a full view of her round bottom, perfectly displayed in the smart navy blue skirt she wore. What kind of underwear lay beneath...?

He blinked away the inappropriate thought.

Her underwear was none of his business.

But there was no denying the gauche young girl he’d known before had gone; in her place was a confident and, yes, a sexy woman.

It had been a long time since he’d considered a woman sexy or pondered over her underwear.

There was nothing wrong with admitting she had an allure about her. Thoughts and actions were different things. The days when he would already have been plotting her seduction were long gone. The Theseus who had put pleasure above duty had been banished.

The next woman he shared a bed with would be his wife.