Cinderella: Hired by the Prince / The Sheikh's Destiny. Marion Lennox

last, my love. I will need to move on.’

      ‘Of course you will,’ she whispered, but she only said it because it was the sensible, dignified thing to say. A girl had some pride.

      Move on?

      She never wanted to move on. If her world could stay on this boat, with this man, for ever, she wasn’t arguing at all.

      She slept and Ramón held her in his arms and tried to think of the future.

      He didn’t have to think. Not yet. It was three months before he was due to leave the boat and return to Bangladesh.

      Three months before he needed to tell Jenny the truth.

      She could stay with the boat, he thought, if she wanted to. He always employed someone to stay on board while he was away. She could take that role.

      Only that meant Jenny would be in Cepheus while he was in Bangladesh.

      He’d told her he needed to move on. It was the truth.

      Maybe she could come with him.

      The idea hit and stayed. His team always had volunteers to act as manual labour. Would Jenny enjoy the physical demands of construction, of helping make life bearable for those who had nothing?

      Maybe she would.

      What was he thinking? He’d never considered taking a woman to Bangladesh. He’d never considered that leaving a woman behind seemed unthinkable.

      Gianetta…

      His arms tightened their hold and she curved closer in sleep. He smiled and kissed the top of her head. Her curls were so soft.

      Maybe he could sound her out about Bangladesh.

      Give it time, he told himself, startled by the direction his thoughts were taking him. You’ve known her for less than two weeks.

      Was it long enough?

      There was plenty of time after Auckland. It was pretty much perfect right now, he thought. Let’s not mess with perfection. He’d just hold this woman and hope that somehow the love he’d always told himself was an illusion might miraculously become real.

      Anything was possible.

      ‘How do you know he’ll sail straight to Auckland?’

      In the royal palace of Cepheus, Sofía was holding the telephone and staring into the middle distance, seeing not the magnificent suits of armour in the grand entrance but a vision of an elderly lawyer pacing anxiously on an unknown dock half a world away. She could understand his anxiety. Things in the palace were reaching crisis point.

      The little boy had gone into foster care yesterday. Philippe needed love, Sofía thought bleakly. His neglect here—all his physical needs met, but no love, little affection, just a series of disinterested nannies—seemed tantamount to child abuse, and the country knew of it. She’d found him lovely foster parents, but his leaving the palace was sending the wrong message to the population—as if Ramón himself didn’t care for the child.

      Did Ramón even know about him?

      ‘I don’t know for sure where the Prince will sail,’ the lawyer snapped. ‘But I can hope. He’ll want to restock fast to get around the Horn. It makes sense for him to come here.’

      ‘So you’ll wait.’

      ‘Of course I’ll wait. What else can I do?’

      ‘But there’s less than two weeks to go,’ Sofía wailed. ‘What if he’s delayed?’

      ‘Then we have catastrophe,’ the lawyer said heavily. ‘He has to get here. Then he has to get back to Cepheus and accept his new life.’

      ‘And the child?’

      ‘It doesn’t matter about the child.’

      Yes, it does, Sofía thought. Oh, Ramón, what are you facing?

      They sailed into Auckland Harbour just after dawn. Jenny stood in the bow, ready to jump across to shore with the lines, ready to help in any way she could with berthing the Marquita. Ramón was at the wheel. She glanced back at him and had a pang of misgivings.

      They hadn’t been near land for two weeks. Why did it feel as if the world was waiting to crowd in?

      How could it? Their plan was to restock and be gone again. Their idyll could continue.

      But they’d booked a berth with the harbour master. Ramón had spoken to the authorities an hour ago, and after that he’d looked worried.

      ‘Problem?’ she’d asked.

      ‘Someone’s looking for me.’

      ‘Debt collectors?’ she’d teased, but he hadn’t smiled.

      ‘I don’t have debts.’

      ‘Then who…?’

      ‘I don’t know,’ he said, and his worry sounded as if it was increasing. ‘No one knows where I am.’

      ‘Conceivably the owner knows.’

      ‘What…?’ He caught himself. ‘I…yes. But he won’t be here. I can’t think…’

      That was all he’d said but she could see worry building.

      She turned and looked towards the dock. She’d looked at the plan the harbour master had faxed through and from here she could see the berth that had been allocated to them.

      There was someone standing on the dock, at the berth, as if waiting. A man in a suit.

      It must be the owner, she thought.

      She glanced back at Ramón and saw him flinch.

      ‘Rodriguez,’ he muttered, and in the calm of the early morning she heard him swear. ‘Trouble.’

      ‘Is he the boat’s owner?’

      ‘No,’ he said shortly. ‘He’s legal counsel to the Crown of Cepheus. I’ve met him once or twice when he had business with my grandmother. If he’s here…I hate to imagine what he wants of me.’

      Señor Rodriguez was beside himself. He had ten days to save a country. He glanced at his watch as the Marquita sailed slowly towards her berth, fretting as if every second left was vital.

      What useless display of skill was this, to sail into harbour when motoring would be faster? And why was the woman in the bow, rather than Ramón himself? He needed to talk to Ramón, now!

      The boat edged nearer. ‘Can you catch my line?’ the woman called, and he flinched and moved backward. He knew nothing about boats.

      But it seemed she could manage without him. She jumped lightly over a gap he thought was far too wide, landing neatly on the dock, then hauled the boat into position and made her fast as Ramón tugged down the last sail.

      ‘Good morning,’ the woman said politely, casting him a curious glance. And maybe she was justified in her curiosity. He was in his customary suit, which he acknowledged looked out of place here. The woman was in the uniform of the sea—faded shorts, a T-shirt and nothing else. She looked windblown and free. Momentarily, he was caught by how good she looked, but only for an instant. His attention returned to Ramón.

      ‘Señor Rodriguez,’ Ramón called to him, cautious and wary.

      ‘You remember me?’

      ‘Yes,’ Ramón said shortly. ‘What’s wrong?’

      ‘Nothing’s wrong,’ the lawyer said, speaking in the mix of French and Spanish that formed the Cepheus language. ‘As long as you come home.’

      ‘My home’s on the Marquita. You know that.’

      ‘Not any more it’s not,’ the lawyer said. ‘Your uncle and your cousin are dead. As of four weeks ago, you’re the