The Royal Wedding Collection. Robyn Donald

      Too afraid to be cautious, she accepted bitter defeat. ‘I—yes.’ Indeed, it had always worried her that Michael was being deprived of what was left of his family.

      Caelan nodded. ‘We can negotiate everything else when you’re a little less emotional,’ he said, his mouth compressing into a straight line. When she didn’t answer or move he said, ‘Make up your mind, Abby. Are you coming with me, or staying here?’

       CHAPTER THREE

      NUMBLY Abby stared at Caelan, reading his ruthless will in his face, in the uncompromising authority of his tone. Anger was defeated by desolation; she didn’t dare trust him, but what other choice did she have?

      Impatiently the prince broke into her racing thoughts. ‘I’m offering you a chance to stay in Michael’s life. Turn it down and I won’t give you another.’

      ‘You can’t do that,’ she croaked. ‘I’ve looked after him since he was a baby. Any court in New Zealand would grant me custody—’

      ‘It is a remote possibility,’ he conceded crisply. ‘But would the justice system also protect him from any criminal who might see him as money in the bank?’

      He paused to let that sink in. Her powerlessness burned like fire inside her, eating away at her will-power and courage. ‘I can’t believe that that sort of thing would happen here.’

      ‘He won’t always be in New Zealand. I have to travel; he’ll come with me.’

      ‘But—’

      ‘I thought you despised my father for allowing Gemma to be banished to her nursery?’

      Pain sliced through her. ‘I—yes.’

      With cool dispassion, Caelan inclined his black head. ‘The simplest way to deal with this is for you both to come to live with me.’

      Stunned, unable to believe that she’d heard him correctly, she stared at him. ‘I don’t want to live with you and I’m certain you don’t want me anywhere around you.’

      ‘True, but I’m a pragmatic man.’ His voice was textured by unfaltering confidence. ‘It’s not negotiable, Abby. That is, if you want to be with Michael.’

      Pride brought up her chin, veiled her eyes with thick lashes to hide the bleak shock of his blunt statement. Fighting to salvage what she could from her surrender, she said, ‘We don’t need to share a house. We—Michael and I—could live in Auckland, and I wouldn’t deny you access to him. Michael needs a man in his life.’

      The prince surveyed her with a narrow smile. ‘How do I know you won’t pack your bags and sneak off?’

      ‘If I gave you my word—’

      ‘Why should I trust you?’

      The words rang in her ears like iron on stone, cold and hard and relentless. Thrusting his hands into his trouser pockets he sauntered over to the window and looked out at the night. Against the pale luminosity of starshine he was a lean, dominant silhouette.

      Abby dragged in a slow, difficult breath, aching with a sense of loss, of defeat and pain, with the knowledge of wasted years that were gone for ever and a future that would never happen. She had no other choice; losing Michael would tear her heart to shreds, and for his sake she had to endure whatever this cold, judgmental aristocrat decided to dish out.

      Over his shoulder, he said, ‘You’ve got ten seconds to make up your mind.’

      Anger revived her, giving her a spurious energy that helped her say woodenly, ‘It won’t work.’

      ‘Don’t look at me with those huge, horrified eyes,’ he said, his negligent tone as much an insult as his careless survey of her. ‘You’ll be quite safe.’

      Colour burned up through her skin. He thought she was afraid for her virtue, and his tone made it clear that she didn’t attract him in the least. Humiliated, she snapped, ‘I suppose if we move into your house you’ll insist on a nanny, and after Michael’s got accustomed to her you’ll force me to leave.’

      ‘You sound like an actor in a Victorian melodrama. There won’t be a nanny unless you want one.’ Mockery laced his voice as he turned and examined her, his smile as lethal as a sword-blade. When she remained silent he added, ‘I assume you do want the best for Michael?’

      ‘You know I do,’ she whispered, frightened by the forbidden excitement that gripped her. ‘But not if it means living in the same house as you.’

      He shrugged negligently, obviously not in the least affected by her swift, harsh rejection. ‘But you’ll do it—for his sake.’ He watched her white face with cruel detachment. ‘We’ll make it legal with a cast-iron contract, and if you behave yourself and concentrate on Michael’s welfare, there’ll even be a cut-off date—say, when he finishes secondary education. In return I’ll pay an allowance that will keep you in clothes that suit you and let you grow out your hair. Dying it must have been the ultimate sacrifice.’

      ‘It didn’t worry me in the least,’ she said flatly.

      Clearly he didn’t believe her, because her words produced another cold, enigmatic smile. ‘Hard to believe, Abby. And you might as well take off those spectacles too. I know they’re not necessary.’

      Slowly Abby removed the rimless frames, blinking as the light burned into her eyes. She felt stripped of everything she’d tried to hide, nakedly exposed to Caelan Bagaton’s hard, penetrating gaze.

      He said tersely, ‘Gemma might have been right when she told you that I don’t do love well, but I do understand how to protect my own. Although I failed to save Gemma, I can make sure that her son doesn’t die before his time.’

      Abby hesitated, but something about his tone in the final sentence made her say with quiet intensity, ‘No one could have saved Gemma, not even you. The cyclone wasn’t supposed to come anywhere near Palaweyo, but at the last moment it turned and roared down on us out of a cloudless sky. We didn’t have time to get out—in fact, we only just had time to gather everyone in the hospital. Gemma wouldn’t want you to feel that you’d failed her.’

      ‘She died before her time; that sounds like failure to me. So what’s your decision?’ His voice was icily detached. ‘I don’t intend to spend all night in this cold, musty room while you dither. Either accept my terms and live in my house with Michael, or forget about him and get on with your life.’

      In an agony of indecision, Abby bit her lip. Chilly air seeped across her skin, and the soft noises of the old cottage settling down for the night, usually familiar and comforting, had become tinged with menace.

      With the prince’s harsh words echoing in her ears, she accepted she had no choice. While surrender was bitter, accepting his ultimatum would afford Michael more security than she could ever offer him.

      From behind her Caelan said in a voice edged with cynicism, ‘After all, it’s a win/win situation. I get my nephew. Michael will be with the only mother he knows. And you can emerge from the melodramatic shadows you’ve been skulking in, wash the dye out of your hair and buy a whole new wardrobe in the right colours. The Abby I remember dressed to play up her hair and eyes and skin, but the outfit you’re wearing now makes you look as though you’ve got acute jaundice.’

      That stung, even though her clothes had been carefully selected to strip the colour from her skin. Bought from the cheapest racks, they couldn’t have been more different from the tailored trousers that showed off Caelan’s long, heavily muscled legs, or the jersey he wore, its lustrous shine revealing that it was made from merino wool.

      ‘And what’s in it for you?’ she asked bluntly.

      He gave her an ironic glance. ‘The knowledge that my nephew isn’t hungry and has the position and