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Instinctively Elsa tugged Zoe closer but Zoe was already there. They braced together, waiting for the usual response. Try as she might, she couldn’t protect Zoe from strangers. Her own scars were more easily hidden, but Zoe’s were still all too obvious.
But this wasn’t a normal response. ‘Zoe,’ the man said softly, on a long drawn-out note of discovery. And pleasure. ‘You surely must be Zoe. You look just like your father.’
Neither of them knew what to say to that. They stood in the brilliant sunlight while Elsa tried to think straight.
She felt foolish, and that was dumb. She was wearing shorts and an old shirt, and she’d swum in what she was wearing. Her sun-bleached hair had been tied in a ponytail this morning, but her curls had escaped while she swam. She was coated in sand and salt, and her nose was starting to peel.
Ditto for Zoe.
They were at the beach in Australia. They were appropriately dressed, she thought, struggling for defiance. Whereas this man…
‘I’m sorry I’m in uniform,’ he said, as if guessing her thoughts. ‘I know it looks crazy, but I’ve pulled in some favours trying to find you. Those favours had to be repaid in the form of attending a civic reception as soon as I landed. I left as soon as I could, but the media’s staked out my hotel. If I’d stopped to change they might well have followed me here. I don’t want Zoe to be inundated by the press yet.’
Whoa. There was way too much in that last statement to take in. First of all…Was he really royal? What was she supposed to do? Bow?
Not on your life.
‘So…who are you?’ she managed, and Zoe said nothing.
‘I’m Stefanos. Prince Regent of Khryseis. Zoe, your grandfather and my grandfather were brothers. Your father and I were cousins. I guess that makes us cousins of sorts too.’
Cousins. That was almost enough to make her knees give way. Zoe had relations?
This man’s voice had the resonance of a Greek accent, not strong but unmistakable. That wasn’t enough to confirm anything.
‘Christos didn’t have any cousins,’ she said, which was maybe dumb—what would she know? ‘Or…he always said there was no one. So did his mother.’
‘And I didn’t know they’d died,’ he said gently. ‘Zoe, I’m so sorry. I knew your father and I knew your grandmother, and I loved them both. I’m very sorry I didn’t keep in touch. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here when you so obviously needed me.’
Elsa was starting to shake. She so didn’t want to be shaking when Zoe was holding her hand, but it was happening regardless.
She was all Zoe had. And—she might as well admit it—for the last four years Zoe was all she’d had.
‘You can’t have her.’ It was said before she had a chance to think, before her head even engaged. It was pure panic and it was infectious. Zoe froze.
‘I’m not going with you,’ she whispered, and then her voice rose in panic to match Elsa’s. ‘I’m not, I’m not.’ And she buried her face against Elsa and sobbed her terror. Elsa swung her up into her arms and held. The little girl was clutching her as if she were drowning.
And Stefanos…or whoever he was…was staring at them both in bemusement. She looked at him over Zoe’s head and found his expression was almost quizzical.
‘Good one,’ he said dryly. ‘You don’t think you might be overreacting just a little?’
She probably was, she conceded, hugging Zoe tighter, but there was no room for humour here.
‘You think we might be a bit over the top?’ she managed. ‘Prince Charming on a Queensland beach.’ She looked past him and saw a limousine—a Bentley, no less, with a chauffeur to boot. Overreaction? She didn’t think so. ‘You’re frightening Zoe. You’re frightening me.’
‘I didn’t come to frighten you.’
‘So why did you come?’ She heard herself then, realising she was sounding hysterical. She knew Zoe’s father had come from Khryseis. She knew he’d been part of the royal family. What could be more natural than a distant relative, here on official business, dropping in to see Zoe?
But then there was his statement…I’ve pulled in some favours trying to find you. He’d deliberately come searching for Zoe.
Prince Regent…That made him Prince in charge while someone was incapacitated. The old King?
Or when someone was a child.
No.
‘Zoe, hush,’ she said, catching her breath, deciding someone had to be mature and it might as well be her. ‘I was silly to panic. Stefanos isn’t here to take you away.’ She glared over Zoe’s head, as much to tell him, Don’t you dare say anything different. ‘He comes from the island where your papa grew up. I’m sorry I reacted like I did. I was very rude and very silly. I think it’s time to dry our eyes and meet him properly.’
Zoe hiccuped on a sob, but there’d been worse things than this to frighten Zoe in her short life, and she was one brave little girl. She sniffed and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and turned within Elsa’s arms to face him.
She was a whippet of a child, far too thin, and far too small. The endless operations had taken their toll. It was taking time and painstaking rehabilitation to build her up to anywhere near normal.
‘Maybe we both should say sorry and a proper hello,’ Elsa said ruefully, and Zoe swallowed manfully and put a thin hand out in greeting. Clinging to Elsa with the other.
‘Hello,’ she whispered.
‘Hello,’ Stefanos said and took her hand with all the courtesy of one royal official meeting another. ‘I’m very pleased to meet you, Zoe. I’ve come halfway round the world to meet you.’
And then he turned his attention to Elsa. ‘And you must be Mrs Murdoch.’
‘She’s Elsa,’ Zoe corrected him.
‘Elsa, then, if that’s okay with Elsa,’ Stefanos said, meeting her gaze steadily. She had no hand free left to shake and she was glad of it. This man was unsettling enough without touch.
So…She didn’t know where to go from here. Did you invite a prince home for a cup of tea? Or for a twelve course luncheon?
‘You live here?’ he asked, his tone still gentle. There was only one place in sight. Her bungalow—a tired, rundown shack. ‘Is this place yours?’
‘Yes.’
‘Can I come in and talk to you?’
‘Your chauffeur…’
‘Would it be too much trouble to ask if you could ring for a taxi to take me back into town when we’ve spoken? I don’t like to keep my chauffeur waiting.’
‘There’s no taxi service out here.’
‘Oh.’
Now what? What was a woman to say when a prince didn’t want to keep his chauffeur waiting? She needed an instruction manual. Maybe she was still verging on the hysterical.
She gave herself a swift mental shake. ‘I’m sorry. A taxi won’t come out here but we have a car. It’ll only take us fifteen minutes to run you back into town. I’m not normally so…so inhospitable. It’s the uniform.’
‘I expect it might be,’ he said and smiled, and there it was again, that smile—a girl could die and go to heaven in that smile. ‘I don’t want to put you to trouble.’
‘If you can cope with a simple sandwich, you’re welcome to lunch,’ she managed. ‘And…of course we’ll drive you into town. After all, you’re Christos’s cousin.’
‘So I can’t be all bad?’ It was a teasing question and she flushed.
‘I loved Christos,’ she said, almost defensively. ‘And I loved Amy. Zoe’s mama and papa were my closest friends.’ She managed a shaky smile. ‘For their sake…you’re welcome.’
The house was saggy and battered and desperately in need of a paint. A couple of weatherboards had crumbled under the front window and a piece of plywood had been tacked in place to fill the gap. The whole place looked as if it could blow over in the next breeze. Only the garden, fabulous and overgrown, looked as if it was holding the place together.
Stefanos hardly noticed the garden. All he noticed was the woman in front of him.
She was…stunning. Stunning in every sense of the word, he thought. Natural, graceful, free.
Free was maybe a dumb adjective but it was the thought that came to mind. She was wearing nothing but shorts and a faded white blouse, its top three buttons undone so he had a glimpse of beautiful cleavage. Her long slim legs seemed to go on for ever, finally ending in bare feet, tanned and sand coated. This woman lived in bare feet, he thought, and a shiver went through him that he couldn’t identify. Was it weird to think bare sandy toes were incredibly sexy? If it was, then count him weird.
But it wasn’t just her toes. It wasn’t just her body.
Her face was tanned, with wide intelligent eyes, a smattering of freckles and a full generous mouth with a lovely smile. Breathtakingly lovely. Her honey-blonde hair was sun-kissed, bleached to almost translucence by the sun. There was no way those streaks were artificial, for there was nothing artificial about this woman. She wore not a hint of make-up, except the remains of a smear of white suncream over her nose, and her riot of damp, salt-and-sand-laden curls looked as if they hadn’t seen a comb for a week.
Quite simply, he’d never seen a woman so beautiful.
‘Are you coming in?’ Elsa was standing on the veranda, looking at him with the beginnings of amusement. Probably because he was standing with his mouth open.
‘Is this a holiday shack?’ he managed, forcing his focus to the house—though it was almost impossible to force his focus anywhere but her. The information he’d been given said she lived here. Surely not.
‘No,’ she said shortly, amusement fading. ‘It’s our home. I promise it’s clean enough inside so you won’t get your uniform dirty.’
‘I didn’t mean…’
‘No.’ She relented and forced another of her lovely smiles. ‘I know you didn’t. I’m sorry.’
He came up the veranda steps. Zoe had already disappeared inside, and he heard the sound of running water.
‘Zoe gets first turn at the shower while I make lunch,’ Elsa explained. ‘Then she sets the table while I shower.’
It was said almost defiantly. Like—don’t mess with the order of things. She was afraid, he thought.
But…This woman was Zoe’s nanny. She was being paid out of Zoe’s estate. He’d worried when he’d read that—a stranger making money out of a child.
Now he wasn’t so sure. This wasn’t a normal nanny-child relationship. Even after knowing them only five minutes, he knew it.
And the fear? She’d be wanting reassurance that he wouldn’t take Zoe away. He couldn’t give it. He watched her face and he knew his silence was being assessed for what it was.
Why hadn’t he found more out about her? His information was that Zoe’s parents had died in a car crash four years ago. Since then Zoe had been living with a woman who was being paid out of her parents’ estate—an estate consisting mostly of Christos’s life insurance.
That information had him hoping things could be handled simply. He could take Zoe back to Khryseis and employ a lovely, warm nanny over there to care for her. Maybe this could even be seen as a rescue mission.
This woman, sunburned, freckled and barefoot, standing with her arms folded across her breasts in a stance of pure defence, said it wasn’t simple at all. Mrs Elsa Murdoch was not your normal nanny.
And…Christos and Amy had been her best friends?
‘I’m not here to harm Zoe,’ he said mildly.
‘No.’ That was a dumb statement, he conceded. As if she was expecting him to beat the child.
‘I just want what’s best for her.’
‘Good,’ she said brusquely. ‘You might be able to help me. There are a couple of things I could use some advice over.’
That wasn’t what he meant. They both knew it.
‘Did you know Zoe’s the new Crown Princess of Khryseis?’ he asked, and she froze.
‘The what?’
‘The Crown Princess of Khryseis.’
‘I heard you. I don’t know what you mean.’
‘I think you do,’ he said softly. ‘Your face when I said it…’
‘Doesn’t mean a thing,’ she whispered. ‘I’m tired, confused and hungry, and your uniform is doing my head in. Come in and sit down while I make lunch and take a shower. But if you say one word—one word—of this Crown Princess thing to Zoe before we’ve discussed it fully, you’ll be off my property so fast you’ll leave your gold tassels behind. Got it?’
‘Um…got it,’ he said.
‘Right,’ she said and turned and marched inside, leaving him to follow if he felt like it. Or go away if he felt like it.
Her body language said the second option was the one she favoured.
The moment he got inside he took his jacket off. He pulled off his tie, undid the next two buttons of his shirt and rolled up his sleeves.
It was a casual gesture of making himself at home and it rendered her almost speechless.
Outside he’d seemed large. Inside, tossing his jacket on the settee, rolling up his sleeves, taking a slow visual sweep of her kitchen-living room, he seemed much larger. It was as if he was filling the room, the space not taken up with his sheer physical size overwhelmed by his sheer masculinity.
He was six one or six two, she thought. Not huge. Just…male. And more good-looking than was proper. And way too sexy.
Sexy. Where had that word come from? She shoved it away in near panic.
‘This is great,’ he said, and she fought for composure and tried to see the house as he saw it.
It was tumbledown. Of course it was. There was no way she could afford to fix the big things. One day in the not too distant future Zoe might be able to go to school and she could take a proper job again and earn some money. But meanwhile they made do.
‘Where did you get this stuff?’ he asked, gesturing to the room in general. ‘It’s amazing.’
‘Most of it we found or we made.’
He gazed around at the eclectic mix of brightly coloured cushions and faded crimson curtains, the colourful knotted rugs on the floor, lobster pots hanging from the ceiling with shells threaded through to make them look like proper decorations, a fishing net strung across the length of one wall, filled with old buoys and huge seashells. There were worn pottery jugs filled with flowers from the garden; bird of paradise plants, crimson and deep green.
‘You found all this?’ he demanded.
‘I used to have an apartment at the university,’ she told him. ‘Small. My parents left me this place and I came here at weekends. I’m a marine biologist and we…I used the cottage as an occasional base for research. Zoe’s parents were what you might call itinerant. They had a camper van and most of what they owned was destroyed in the accident. So Zoe and I scrounged what we could find, we made a bit and we filled the rest by beachcombing.’ She met his gaze full on, defying him to deny her next assertion. ‘Zoe and I are the best beachcombers in the world.’
