Never Gamble with a Caffarelli. Melanie Milburne

The more senior of the two officials spoke. Angelique could almost picture him giving a brisk nod towards her hidey-hole. ‘Check the bedroom closet.’

      ‘Are you joking?’ Remy coughed out a laugh. ‘Do you really think I would do something as clichéd as that?’

      The mirrored door slid back on its tracks. Angelique raised her right hand and gave a little fingertip wave. ‘Surprise!’

      * * *

      Remy could not believe his eyes. He blinked to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. That could not be Angelique Marchand in his closet.

      He opened his eyes and looked again.

      It was.

      ‘What the hell are you doing?’ He glared at her so fiercely his eyes ached. ‘What are the hell are you doing in my room? In my closet?’

      She stepped out of the closet as if she was stepping out on to one of the catwalks she frequented all over Europe. She moved like a sinuous cat, all legs, arms, high, pert breasts and pouting full-lipped mouth. Her distinctive grey-blue eyes gave him a reproving look. ‘That’s not a very nice welcome, Remy. I thought you had better manners than that.’

      Remy had never thought he had a temper until he’d had to deal with Angelique. He could feel his rage building up inside him like a cauldron on the boil. No one made him angrier than she did. She was willful, spoilt and a little too determined to get her own way. Did she have no sense of protocol or politeness? What the hell was she doing here? And in his room?

      Did she have any idea of the trouble she could get him into?

      She had made him look like a liar. Trust was everything in a place like Dharbiri. He might be a friend of the Crown Prince but flouting the rules out here was a definite no-no, friend or foe.

      He could be deported.

      Charged.

      The blood suddenly ran ice-cold in his veins.

      Flogged.

      ‘You had better have a very good explanation for why you’re in my room,’ he said through gritted teeth.

      She swept her thick, wavy, glossy black mane of hair over one slim shoulder. ‘I came to see you about my house. You have to give it back.’ She nailed him with a look that was diamond-hard. ‘I’m not leaving your side until you sign me over the deeds to Tarrantloch.’

      ‘Monsieur Caffarelli,’ the older official spoke in a stern ‘don’t mess with me’ tone. ‘Would you please verify if this young woman is personally known or related to you? If not we will have her immediately evicted and the authorities will deal with her accordingly.’

      Deal with her? Remy didn’t like the sound of that. As much as he hated Angelique, he could not stand by and see her come to any harm. He took a deep breath and put on his best ‘let’s be cool about this’ smile. ‘I’m afraid there’s been a little mix-up. I had no idea my fiancée was going to surprise me by turn—’

      ‘Your fiancée?’ Angelique and the senior official spoke in unison.

      Remy gave the official a conciliatory smile. ‘We’ve been trying to keep our engagement a secret. The press make such of fuss of this stuff at home.’ He gave a Gallic shrug. ‘You know how it is.’

      The official straightened his shoulders, his expression as formal as a drill sergeant. ‘This young woman may well be your fiancée, but it is against the laws of our land for her to be alone with you without a chaperone.’

      ‘So, we’ll get a chaperone,’ Remy said. ‘She won’t be with me long in any case, will you, ma chérie?’

      Angelique’s eyes narrowed to hairpin slits but her voice had a false sort of sing-song quality to it that grated on Remy’s already overstretched nerves. ‘Only for as long as it takes, mon trésor.’

      The official puffed himself up to his not considerable height. ‘Due to the circumstances of your fiancée’s...ahem...surprise visit, neither of you will be permitted to leave the province until you are legally married.’

      ‘Married?’ Angelique had joined Remy in a choked gasp of horror.

      ‘You’re joking?’ Angelique gaped at the official with wide shocked eyes. ‘You have to be joking!’

      ‘He’s not joking,’ Remy muttered just low enough for her to hear it. ‘Go along with it. Try and keep cool.’

      Keep cool? Who was he kidding? He didn’t feel cool. He’d never had to think so fast on his feet in his life. Pretending she was his fiancée had just popped into his head. And it still might not be enough to get them over the line.

      ‘I’m not marrying you!’ She flashed him a livid, blue-lightning look. ‘I’d rather die!’

      ‘Yes, well, you just might get that choice,’ he said. ‘We’re not in France, Italy or England right now. Didn’t you check out the Smart Traveller website before you came?’

      Her throat rose and fell. ‘I didn’t think. I just...’

      ‘Not thinking is something you do remarkably well.’ Remy gave her a dressing-down look. ‘You’ve made a lifetime’s work of it.’

      Her small hands clenched into tight fists and her eyes gave him another deadly glare. ‘I thought you were best friends with the Crown Prince. Can’t he do something?’

      ‘Afraid not.’ Remy had already had this debate with his friend during university. ‘The royal family have a lot of power but not enough to overrule laws of the elder tribesmen of the province.’

      ‘But that’s ridiculous!’

      Remy gave her a cautionary look. ‘If you’re going to stand there spluttering insults like a Roman candle firecracker, I’m not going to lay down my life for you.’

      She opened and closed her mouth, seemingly lost for words. Not that it would last. He knew how quick and sharp her tongue could be. She always tried to get the last word.

      He was the only person in her life who wouldn’t let her have it.

      ‘Monsieur Caffarelli?’ The official stepped forward. ‘We must leave now to make the necessary arrangements to conduct the ceremony first thing in the morning. We will arrange alternative accommodation for your fiancée. You will understand that she is not permitted to spend the night in your room.’

      ‘But of course.’ Remy gave him another charming smile. I don’t want her here in any case. ‘I understand completely. I sincerely apologise for my fiancée’s impulsive behaviour. She is a little wilful and headstrong at times, but once we are married she will soon learn to toe the line. I’ll make absolutely sure of it.’

      Remy smiled to himself when he saw the two red-hot spots of colour pooling in Angelique’s cheeks. She was standing rock-steady but he knew her well enough to know she was beyond livid with him. He could see it in her stormy eyes and in the clenched posture of her jaw. Too bad they had to have a chaperone. He would have quite liked to see what that anger looked like when it was finally unleashed.

      Angelique turned to look at the senior official, her expression now meek and demure, those thick, impossibly long eyelashes batting up and down for good measure. ‘Please may I have a private word with my, er, fiancé? Perhaps you could chaperone us from the lounge. We’ll leave the door open here. Would that be acceptable?’

      The official gave a formal nod and indicated with a jerk of his head for his sidekick to follow him out to the lounge area.

      Remy got the full, fiery force of Angelique’s gaze as she swung around to face him once the officials had gone. ‘There’s no point glaring at me like that,’ he said before she could let fly. ‘You’re the one who brought this about.’

      She visibly shook with rage. It reminded him of the shuddering of a small two-stroke engine on the back of a dingy.