Crowned: An Ordinary Girl. Natasha Oakley

the idea of going to Andovaria. Even a simple task like fastening a seat belt was difficult for him now.

      ‘Done it,’ the professor said, sitting back in his seat more comfortably.

      She turned away and looked out of the window. Age-related macular degeneration. It had come on so suddenly, beginning with a slight blurriness and ending with no central vision at all. Sooner or later people would notice Peter couldn’t proofread his own material.

      And if he couldn’t cope with something in a clear typeface, how did he imagine he was going to do justice to something written in archaic German and eight hundred years old? He’d miss something vital—and the academic world he loved so much would swoop in for the kill.

      It was all such a complete mess.

      Familiar landmarks whizzed past as the driver unerringly took them down side-roads and round a complicated one-way system.

      The taxi slowed and pulled to a stop. ‘Here we are. The Randall.’

      Marianne looked up at one of London’s most prestigious hotels and felt…intimidated.

      All she had to do was look at the photographs, eat and leave. She could do that.

      Of course she could do that. This was a business meeting. There was nothing personal about it.

      Marianne’s eyes followed the tier upon tier of windows, familiar from the countless postcards produced for tourists.

      And this was where Seb, the real Seb, stayed when he was in London. In France they’d booked a room in whatever inexpensive chambre d’hôte they’d happened upon and sat on grass verges to eat warm baguettes they’d bought from the local boulangerie. So different.

      ‘That’ll be £16.70, love,’ the driver said, turning in his seat to look through the connecting glass.

      Marianne jerked round and her fingers fumbled for the zip of her purse. ‘P-please keep the change,’ she said, pulling out a twenty-pound note.

      It was only later, when she’d carefully tucked away the receipt in the side-pocket of her handbag and was standing on the pavement, that it occurred to her she should have let Peter settle the fare himself. She was so used to stepping in to do the tasks she knew he found difficult that it hadn’t occurred to her that she ought to let him fail this time. Perhaps that might have shown him how impossible a proposition this was?

      ‘This is something, isn’t it?’ the professor said gleefully, gesturing towards sleek BMWs that were so perfectly black they looked as if they’d been dipped in ink.

      Marianne managed a smile as men in distinctive livery opened every door between the pavement and the imposing entrance hall. From there on it got worse. Enormous chandeliers hung from the high ceilings and gilt bronze garlands twisted their way along endless cream walls. It was the kind of awe-inspiring space that made you want to speak in hushed whispers.

      ‘Professor Blackwell and Dr Chambers to see His Serene Highness the Prince of Andovaria,’ the professor said, pulling out a simple white card on which Seb had written something. ‘In the Oakland Suite.’

      Marianne half expected the slightly superior young man to raise his eyebrows in disbelief. Her dress, which had seemed so expensive just an hour ago, now didn’t seem quite expensive enough. She lifted her chin in determination not to be cowed by her surroundings. She’d enough of an ordeal ahead of her without falling apart simply by stepping through the door.

      ‘Of course, sir. This way.’

      More chandeliers. More bronze garlands twisting their way up and onwards. Marianne wasn’t sure which way to look first. The cream walls were punctuated with huge gilt mirrors and original oil paintings, while the fresh roses arranged on each of the antique tables looked so soft and so perfect they could have been made of velvet.

      She felt…overwhelmed. By pretty much everything. Even the lift moved as though it were floating. The doors opened and they stepped out into a space no less opulent than the one below. Marianne could feel her stomach churning as though a billion angry ants had been let loose.

      Seb. His name thumped inside her brain. She had to keep focusing on the fact that this man wasn’t Seb. Not her Seb. He was His Serene Highness the sovereign prince of Andovaria. He had nothing, absolutely nothing to do with her.

      After the briefest of knocks the door to the Oakland Suite swung open and they were ushered, past the bodyguards, into what was rather like a mini-apartment. And it seemed that it had its own hotel staff member to take care of it because they were passed into the care of another uniformed man, who took her wrap.

      Marianne felt disorientated and more cowed with every second that passed. Her chest felt tight and her breath seemed as though it were catching on cobwebs.

      ‘This way. His Serene Highness is expecting you.’

      Double doors opened onto a tastefully furnished sitting room. Three sets of glass doors lined one wall, each framed by heavy curtains complete with swags and tails, while to the far end there was a baby grand piano.

      ‘Isn’t this incredible?’ the professor said as soon as they were alone. He walked over to the glass doors, which had been flung open to make the most of the warm weather, and peered out. ‘There’s even some kind of terrace out here. Just incredible. Come and have a look.’

      But Marianne couldn’t move. She knew with absolute certainty that if she tried to walk anywhere her knees would buckle under her. Never, in her entire life, had she felt so…scared. But not just scared. She was also confused, angry and hurting.

      There was the muffled sound of voices and the soft click that indicated a door had shut.

      Seb? Her eyes stayed riveted on the connecting doorway.

      Any moment…

      Drawing on reserves she didn’t know she had, Marianne consciously relaxed her shoulders and lifted her chin. Seb mustn’t see how completely overwrought she was by this whole experience.

      The door opened and it crossed her mind to wonder whether she was about to faint for the first time in her life.

      ‘Professor Blackwell,’ Seb said, walking forward, hand outstretched. ‘I’m delighted you could join me this evening.’

      She’d never seen Seb in a dinner jacket. At least, not outside of a photograph. It was an inconsequential thought—and one she ought to be ashamed of—but nothing she’d seen in the various magazines had prepared her for the effect it was having on her.

      Pure sex appeal.

      Several years’ experience of various university dinners had left her wondering why men bothered, particularly if they went for ruffles and an over-tight cummerbund. But Seb just looked sexy.

      Seeing him this morning had been dreadful, but this felt so much worse. This time shock wasn’t protecting her from anything. She felt…raw.

      Vulnerable.

      And after everything she’d experienced she should have been completely immune to a playboy prince who’d simply decided, long ago, he didn’t want her any more.

      Her eyes took in every detail…because she couldn’t help it. The small indentation in the centre of his chin and the faint scar above his eyebrow she knew he’d got when he was seventeen and fallen off a scooter.

      And he seemed so much broader. More powerful than she remembered. Beneath his beautifully cut black jacket was a body entirely more muscled than the one she’d known so intimately. But—if she traced a finger down his left side until she reached a point two centimetres above his hip bone she would find the small oval-shaped birthmark she’d kissed….

      Marianne felt a tight pain in her chest and realised she needed to let go of the air she was holding in her lungs.

      This was a mistake. She wasn’t strong enough to do this. She saw the professor’s slight nod of the head and heard the murmured, ‘Your Serene Highness,