Princess of Convenience. Marion Lennox

      ‘But your fiancée…’

      ‘Yes.’ His eyes were open again now, and behind their cool, appraising look she could see pain. And something else. Despair? Defeat? ‘But we move on.’

      ‘Edouard will stay with me,’ his mother said softly and Jess frowned at this strange twist in the conversation. ‘We will fight for him. We must.’

      Jess was lost. Edouard? Fighting?

      Was this yet another tragedy? She pulled her covers even higher, in a gesture of protection that was as crazy as it was unhelpful.

      ‘I’ve been lying here for too long,’ she managed and Louise smiled.

      ‘My dear, it’s been six days. You were concussed and you dislocated your shoulder. But Dr Briet says—and Raoul concurs—that you seem to have been suffering more than that. He says you seem exhausted. You were taken initially to the Vesey hospital but when it was clear that all you needed to do was to sleep, it seemed best to bring you here.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s not possible to keep the Press away anywhere else, and Raoul has been on hand if needed.’

      This was making less and less sense. ‘You’ve been very good,’ Jess managed, ‘in the face of your own tragedy.’ She hesitated, but there was more to be said. Edouard. The name had brought back a memory now, remembrance of news reports she’d read surely less than a month ago. ‘And it’s not just Sarah, is it?’

      ‘You can’t know…’ Louise started but Jess was too distressed to stop.

      ‘I’m remembering the deaths of the crown prince and his princess,’ Jess said. ‘And your grandson being orphaned. I heard of it back in Australia. I’d just…forgotten.’

      Of course. When her own world had collapsed, so had her ability to take in tragedies of those about her. But the deaths had been front-page news at home at a time when her world had been blank and meaningless, and it had been dreadful enough to haul her out of her pool of misery, into someone else’s.

      She remembered cringing inside. The prince and his princess, in a chalet high in the mountains. An avalanche? A storm? She couldn’t remember. But she remembered that the child was alive, unharmed, but with his parents both dead.

      The world had been captivated.

      Deep in her own personal tragedy, Jess had hardly taken it in. But now… She forced herself to think back to those half-remembered newspaper headlines. Rumours that it hadn’t been a storm that had killed them. That the storm had cut off access to the cabin and meant that normal checks couldn’t be made. The royal couple had escaped their minders and there’d been drugs.

      This was not her scene, she told herself fiercely. It was not her business.

      She looked up at Raoul and there was that look on his face that precluded questions—and how to ask a question like the ones that were forming in the back of her mind? She couldn’t. She didn’t need to. Thankfully.

      She was so tired.

      She lay back on her pillows and closed her eyes, allowing the exhaustion and distress to wash through.

      Unexpectedly Raoul stepped forward and lifted her hand. The gesture was a measure of comfort that was surprisingly successful. It was strong and reassuring and compelling. ‘Don’t distress yourself,’ he told her. ‘You mustn’t.’

      His touch warmed her more than she’d thought such a gesture could. It was unexpected, a gesture that he didn’t need to make. Maybe in the same circumstances she’d find it impossible to make this gesture herself, she thought. To touch the cause of more sadness…

      ‘Jess, you’re not to focus on this,’ he told her, his voice, like his touch, strong and warm and sure. ‘You’re here as our guest for as long as you need before you feel strong enough to face the world.’

      ‘I’m well now.’ She opened her eyes and he was close, she thought, dazed. Too close.

      ‘You’ve had a hell of a time,’ he told her. ‘And maybe not just this week?’

      It was a question. She swallowed. This man was wounded too, she thought.

      ‘We’re a pair,’ she whispered and there was a stillness.

      ‘I…’

      ‘I’ll leave you as soon as I can pack,’ she said wearily. ‘I’m fine. It was very good of you to let me stay this long.’

      ‘Jess, as soon as you leave this place you’ll be inundated,’ he said warningly. ‘The world’s Press want interviews. This tragedy has caught the attention of the international media and you won’t be left alone. Plus after six days in bed you’ll be as weak as a kitten. Stay here. Within the walls of this castle I can protect you. At least for the next few days. Outside…I’m afraid you’re alone.’

      Silence.

      Within the walls of this castle he’d protect her?

      It was crazy. She didn’t need protection.

      She couldn’t stay.

      Where could she go?

      Home?

      Home was where the heart was.

      She had no home.

      ‘Stay for a few more days.’ It was Louise, gently adding her urging to her son’s. ‘We feel so responsible. You have no idea what the Press will be like. You seem exhausted. Let us give you just a little time out.’

      Time out.

      It was an idea that was almost incredibly appealing. And it was the only thing she could think of to do. What else? Pick up the threads?

      What threads?

      She was bone-weary and she was faced with a choice. These pillows and the protection of castle walls for a few more days—or the scrutiny of the world’s Press. There was suddenly no choice. Especially as Raoul was smiling down at her like…like…

      She didn’t know. All she knew was that his smile warmed parts of her that desperately needed to be warmed. Stay? Of course she’d stay.

      She must.

      ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and she was rewarded by a widening of that killer smile.

      ‘Good.’ Raoul’s voice was strong again, commanding and sure. His eyes met hers, filled with warmth and pleasure that she’d decided to be sensible. ‘Join the world slowly again, no? Start with dinner tonight. With us.’

      ‘I…’

      ‘It’s very informal,’ Louise told her, guessing immediately the confusion such an invitation would cause. ‘Just my son and myself.’ She smiled, and her smile was ineffably sad. ‘And the odd servant or six.’

      ‘Have just Henri serve us tonight, Mama,’ Raoul told her. ‘Give the other servants the night off.’

      She nodded. ‘That would be lovely. If you don’t think it’s cowardly.’

      ‘Maybe we need to be cowardly,’ he told her. ‘Maybe we all do. For a while.’

      CHAPTER TWO

      JESS wallowed—that had to be the word for what one did in such a sumptuous bathtub—and thought about what she was about to experience.

      Dinner with the Prince Regent of Alp’Azuri…

      As a little girl she’d read the tale of Cinderella—of course she had—and she’d dreamed of princes. But now…

      Reality was very different, she thought. Real princes weren’t riding white chargers ready to whisk a woman away from the troubles of the world. Real princes came with tragedies of their own.

      It made the whole situation seem surreal, so much so that as she dried and dressed, slowly, in deference