A Proposal from the Crown Prince Read online

  Duty, honour, service.

  He turned and smiled at Posy, pushing his sympathy for her to one side. ‘I’m afraid there’s a problem with the villa. It doesn’t look like your godmother was entitled to leave it to you after all.’

  * * *

  Duty, honour, service. They might be worthy but they weren’t particularly nice. The memory of the stricken look in Posy’s eyes when he’d explained the situation to her was very hard to shake—and even the very generous under the circumstances settlement he’d mentioned hadn’t lifted her spirits.

  ‘I can’t think. I need to, I need to talk to someone,’ she’d said, clutching the deeds and official settlement in her hands. ‘I’ll be in touch. You have to give me time—unless you’re planning to throw me out straight away?’

  He’d reassured her that she had all the time she needed—within reason. ‘But we do need an answer fast. The settlement offered is dependent on a swift, uncontested acceptance,’ he’d warned her and walked away, leaving her standing alone in the vast conservatory, the papers twisted in her hands.

  He had only just returned to the castle when he saw the same, harried-looking aide waiting for him, still teetering on the same uncomfortable heels, heels matched by the look on her face. She didn’t want to summon him as much as he didn’t want to be summoned. ‘Sir, Your Highness...’

  Nico supplied the rest. ‘My grandmother?’

  ‘Yes, if you would be so kind. She said it was of the utmost importance.’

  ‘Then it would be rude to keep her waiting. Thank you.’

  She managed a quick smile of relief before rushing away on whatever other errand his grandmother had devised. Nico paused. He really didn’t want to discuss Posy with his grandmother and she probably wanted to see him to elicit more information about the new owner of the villa. He needed a deflection and what better way to deflect a doting grandmother than with a potential bride? She’d sent him away with a terrifyingly thorough dossier on some of Europe’s most eligible young women for him to shortlist candidates from. Perfect.

  Ten minutes later and armed with his grandmother’s dossier, Nico tapped on her door once again. He expected the usual faint murmur and to let himself into the room. Instead the door was flung open and his grandmother stood there, eyes blazing and her usually pale cheeks flushed. ‘It’s unfortunate that you take after your grandfather in looks, but to take after him in actions too? Are you planning to bankrupt what’s left of the island’s economy while you’re at it?’

  Nico’s lips tightened. ‘Nice to see you as well, Grandmother, especially on your feet and so animated. Do you mind if I can come in so we can have this interesting discussion in private or would you like us to invite the TV station in and broadcast live to the nation, not just to the palace?’ He kept his voice as normal as possible but his grandmother took a chastened step backwards, leaving the way clear for him to walk into her room, closing the door firmly behind him as he did so.

  She wasn’t alone. Her private secretary was perched on the sofa, hands clasped and mouth pursed disapprovingly. Nico nodded in her direction. There was clearly not much point in turning on the famous charm. To his surprise Anna, the marketing consultant, was also sitting down; a tablet and a laptop lay on the table in front of her. She could barely meet his eye. What was going on? Had his uncle interfered already and shut down his plans?

  ‘It’s a little late to worry about broadcasting to the nation, Nico,’ his grandmother said peevishly. ‘After everything you said this morning as well.’

  Nico stared. ‘Would you mind just explaining what’s going on here?’

  Anna picked up the tablet and handed it over, still without meeting his eye or saying a word. Nico took it and touched the screen to bring it to life. He blinked. ‘What the hell?’

  ‘That’s not the worst of it.’ His grandmother sniffed. ‘Not all of them are pixelated.’

  ‘What?’ He stared at the screen in utter disbelief.

  Splash! screamed the headline. Prince Nico and mystery brunette steaming up the sea!

  Somehow the photographer had zoomed in to show Nico in the water facing Posy, their shoulders naked, the look on his face unmistakable. Lust. Interest. Desire. ‘Dammit.’

  ‘It gets worse,’ his grandmother said, snatching the tablet from him and swiping. She wasn’t exaggerating. Shots of them kissing on the beach, just a few pixels concealing their nudity. Then today, Posy at the door of the villa, her face set, watching him walk away. Lovers’ tiff? the shot was captioned.

  Nico turned away in disgust.

  ‘Ghouls.’

  ‘Yes—and you fed them,’ his grandmother retorted. ‘What were you thinking? No, don’t answer that. You clearly weren’t thinking. Who is she, Nico? Is she related to that woman?’

  ‘Not exactly. She is her goddaughter, though, and the current owner of the Villa Rosa. Look, Grandmother. This was last night, I had no idea who she was...’ He stopped. He wasn’t sure his explanation was making the situation any better.

  ‘It’s not so much who as where,’ his grandmother said tartly. ‘In the sea? On the beach. Where anyone can see?’

  Despite himself Nico’s mouth curved as he remembered the first sight of Posy on the beach, the unselfconscious way she’d danced, the smooth lines of her lithe body. He should be sorry but he couldn’t quite bring himself to regret much of the night before. ‘You said yourself everyone loves a reformed playboy,’ he said with a shrug. ‘You know how deserted it is up there. I didn’t see anyone when I arrived and, yes, I did check before deciding to go for a swim. It’s unfortunate and a gross invasion of what little privacy I have left but it’ll soon be forgotten.’

  Anna stood up, her mouth tense. ‘Nico, you’re supposed to be wooing your bride over the next few months.’

  His grandmother nodded. ‘What will people think when they see you strolling hand in hand on a beach with your intended? They’ll be wondering if you went skinny dipping and then rolled around in the sand, that’s what they’ll think. You said that we were supposed to be selling the island as a romantic destination, not an eighteen to thirties resort! Romance, Nico, not sex.’

  ‘The two aren’t mutually exclusive.’ He couldn’t help himself.

  ‘Nico!’

  Anna shifted her feet. ‘I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but I agree with His Royal Highness.’

  Nico turned to his grandmother. ‘See, Grandmamma, nothing to worry about. This will soon be yesterday’s news.’ His thoughts flew to Posy, her defeated look as he’d walked away. She was all alone in that villa, no one else around. Vulnerable.

  Anna interrupted his thoughts. ‘I’m sorry, I agree that romance and sex are not mutually exclusive, not that this will be quickly forgotten and I don’t think hastily bringing one of the other girls to the island and rushing into a relationship will serve as enough of a distraction. But if we could supersede these images with a whole host of positive others we control then we might be able to relegate them to a footnote.’

  Nico searched through the jargon to come up with a translation. New images? ‘What kind of others?’

  ‘What kind of girl is she?’

  Nico stared, bewildered. ‘Posy? In what way?’

  ‘Parents, money, lineage, education, history?’

  ‘I don’t know. We met last night, in the sea. We didn’t get round to swapping business cards.’

  ‘I’ll find out because right now she’s our best hope of turning this fiasco into a positive story, of taking back control and selling you, the island and this relationship as one positive package.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ his grandmother asked.

  ‘This wasn’t a one-night stand, it was an expression of love. Nico and this girl—Posy did you say her name was?—have been dating secretly for months but he didn’t want to impose the rigidity of
a royal relationship on her. But their love was too strong and she has come to the island to see how their relationship works in the public eye. Last night was supposed to be the last privacy you had before presenting her to your family, the island and therefore the world’s media. This way we can still play out the love story as we intended and salvage this situation.’

  His grandmother sat down, her face pale. ‘That woman’s heir? In my house?’

  ‘That’s part of the reason they had to keep the relationship secret. A Romeo and Juliet scenario. They knew you wouldn’t accept Posy.’ Anna sniffed. ‘That will never do. Does she have a middle name?’

  ‘She’s actually Rosalind. Posy is a nickname.’ Nico’s mind was racing. He had to get engaged to someone after all. At least he and Posy had attraction working for them. And, much as he usually laughed at his playboy image, these pictures had shaken him, the way the captions turned something beautiful into something sordid. A rush of protectiveness overwhelmed him—he was used to the media spotlight but Posy was an innocent. How would she manage when she was doorstepped and papped every time she set foot outside? How would she cope when every future friend or date had potentially seen such an intimate side of her? He couldn’t turn back the clock but he could make amends. He had accepted his life was now full of duty; he would start here and now. ‘Do you think this would work?’

  His grandmother grabbed his hand and the weakness of her clasp alarmed him. The righteous anger had disappeared and with it her sudden return to health. ‘Are you seriously considering this, Nico?’

  He patted her hand, the bones fragile beneath his palm. ‘I don’t know,’ he said slowly. ‘I need a convincing love story and if she agrees then this could be just what we’re looking for. If we play out an engagement over the next few months then these pictures will hopefully be forgotten, the tourism campaign ready to roll...’

  ‘Culminating in a royal wedding in the spring,’ Anna said enthusiastically.

  His grandmother paled. ‘The thought of a relative of that woman...’

  ‘She’s not a relative, not as far as I know. And the Romeo and Juliet idea could be powerful, you know. Drawn together but knew it couldn’t work because of family history. Let’s find out as much about Posy Marlowe as possible and we can convene later and make a final decision then. But if we are going to try and change the direction of this story we need to move fast. Time is running out.’

  And either way he needed to get back to the villa and get Posy out of there. He knew what it was like to be in the eye of a media storm and this one was definitely a Category Four.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ONE OF THE things Posy loved best about the villa was its isolation. The sole building in the beautiful national park, it was a complete contrast to her home in London. There she shared a tiny flat with two other dancers, living in a building crammed with studios and small flats, the paper-thin walls ensuring intimacy with all her neighbours. She stepped straight outside onto a grey pavement flanking a busy main road and walked through streets thronged with people to the tourist Mecca of Covent Garden. She was surrounded by noise and bustle and humanity twenty-four hours a day, the chorus of shouts, chatter, traffic, car alarms, sirens and music so consistent she barely heard it at all.

  Here she looked out across the sea on one side, the other had a view of distant mountains rising from the flower-filled meadows. The nearest village was at the edge of the park, a twenty-minute walk if she needed bread, milk or help but otherwise she was all alone, the waves crashing on the rocky shore below and the plaintive cries of the gulls the only sounds. There was no Internet, mobile signal was so patchy as to be non-existent and although the old-fashioned dial phone with its long curly cord still lived in the kitchen it had been discontinued years ago. The first few days she was here she’d liked that she was cut off from everyone and everything, that she couldn’t see her fellow dancers’ social media accounts full of excited chatter about classes and costumes and industry gossip.

  But today she couldn’t help being horribly aware of just how isolated she was. Just how alone she was.

  Posy picked up the document Nico had left and read it through for what must have been the fortieth time, but the dense legalese still made no sense. The document was in English, not the Italian spoken by most islanders, but it could have been written in Elvish for all the sense it made. Nico might be pushing for a quick decision and the money he’d mentioned dependent on her just walking away but, unworldly as her sisters called her, she wasn’t a total fool. She knew she needed advice. ‘You were always planning to sell anyway,’ she murmured. But that had been before. When she had a career that left her with no time to look after a villa a plane and ferry ride away. Now she had nothing except the villa she was suddenly loath to let it go.

  But even if she had some means of contacting the outside world who could she ask? All her friends were dancers, and her parents had only recently returned from a year travelling the world and were now fully occupied in their aviation business. And much as she loved them Posy had never run to them with her problems. It wasn’t that they wouldn’t have listened or cared—it was more she didn’t trust them to understand. Because as supportive as they had been of her dancing career, as proud as they were of her, her father still didn’t know a pas de chat from a chasse and her mother worried more about Posy’s lack of a love life than she did her lack of career progression.

  As for her sisters, Miranda was pregnant and Not to Be Worried, Miranda’s twin, Immi, had decided to emulate her parents and was also travelling with her new fiancé, Matt, and their eldest sister Portia was blissfully, disgustingly loved up with the gorgeous actor Javier Russo. And she was happy for them all. Goodness knew they deserved some good luck and love. It just made her even more alone, more apart from the family than usual.

  She scowled at the document as if it was responsible for all her troubles—which in a way it was.

  ‘Mrs Eveslade!’ Posy dropped the paper on the table in her excitement. How could she forget? She had a lawyer. Well, Sofia had had a solicitor who had taken care of all the probate and other legalese to do with Sofia’s will. Mostly she had sent Posy piles of paper Posy hadn’t got round to reading, a terrifying bill that was thankfully settled from the estate, tax documents and probate certificates and lots of other paperwork all piled up in a shoebox in the bedroom still called hers at her parents’ house.

  But one of things she remembered was the valuation and all the work associated with that. It had taken months before the villa was put into her name and she was sure that part of the delay had been because the solicitor had been establishing ownership and land boundaries and other things that she really should have paid more attention to. But, she distinctly remembered the solicitor saying how important it was to make sure it was all done properly, as if Posy had intended to sell it was better to make sure everything was in order at the outset. So if there was any discrepancy in land ownership or entitlement surely that should have been highlighted then?

  Either way she needed someone with more qualifications than a D in GCSE maths to double check Nico’s claim. She might decide to take the money and walk away or she might not, but she wasn’t going to be bullied into anything. Of course, that meant calling Mrs Eveslade, which wasn’t the easiest of propositions. Either she walked into the village and hoped that if she fed enough coins into the antiquated phone box she might manage an international call or she could charge up her phone and walk along the cliff top until she hit a sweet spot.

  She barely had any coins and she was pretty sure the island phone boxes didn’t accept anything as modern as credit cards. Sweet spot it was. If only the darn spot would stay in one place and not keep moving around like a restless spirit.

  Half an hour later, phone charged, Posy left the house by the small gate at the very back of the house. Hidden by a riot of clambering plants, it wasn’t an obvious wa
y in—which was probably the point. Sofia’s royal lover had installed several discreet entrances into the villa although the whole island and European media had known exactly what their relationship was. This door made it easy to slip away onto the coastal path and take the back way to the village or to the jetty without being seen. Or in Posy’s case it simply meant a scenic walk straight along the cliff path rather than tramping down the hot dusty road. Plus it was easier to lock the back door rather than wrestle with the imposing front door locks.

  It didn’t take long to skirt around the back of the house and join the cliff path on the other side, leading away from the village straight along the cliff tops and into the heart of the beautiful national park. The park was full of paths and trails perfect for hikers and climbers but Posy had seen very few during her stay and, although she appreciated the tranquillity, she couldn’t help but think it a shame that the island didn’t attract more tourists. It was so hospitable, the food wonderful and the climate sublime, to say nothing of the breathtaking scenery. It was just a little too off the beaten track to appeal to the masses—which was no doubt a good thing—but there was a happy medium between a trickle and a deluge and she knew plenty of adrenaline junkies who would have adored scaling the mountainous peaks towering in the distance or cycling up the foothills at top speed or walkers who would love the trails and paths.

  She switched her phone on and left it to power up as she walked slowly along the path. Below the waves purred rather than roared but summer was fast approaching its end and she knew the island in autumn and winter was a less forgiving place than the dreamy, sun-drenched summer idyll. Even if the villa was hers, did she really want to stay on year round? She turned, looking out over the green plains dotted with brightly coloured flowers and low trees leading inexorably to the craggy mountains, and breathed in air untinged by car fumes, cigarettes or cooking smells. There were worse places to be.