Crown Prince, Pregnant Bride. Kate Hardy

papers, all illustrated with his photograph, so no way could she claim she didn’t know who he was. ‘Your camera, please,’ he said, holding his hand out.

      ‘Afraid not,’ she said coolly. ‘I don’t let people touch the tools of my trade.’

      That surprised him. ‘You’re actually admitting you’re a paparazzo?’

      She scoffed. ‘Of course I’m not. Why would the paparazzi want to take pictures of you?’

      She had to be kidding. Did she really not know who he was? Did she live in some kind of bubble and avoid the news?

      ‘I don’t like my photograph being taken,’ he said carefully. ‘Besides, the estate isn’t open to the public until this afternoon. If you’ll kindly delete the file—and show me that you’ve deleted it—then I’ll be happy to help you find your way safely out of the grounds until the staff are ready to welcome visitors.’

      She looked at him and rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not doing any harm.’

      Lorenzo was used to people doing what he asked. The fact that she was being so stubborn about this when she was so clearly in the wrong annoyed him, and it was an effort for him to remain polite. Though he let his tone cool by twenty degrees. ‘Madam, I’m afraid the house and grounds simply aren’t open to visitors until this afternoon. Which means that right now you’re trespassing.’

      ‘Am I, now?’ Those sharp blue eyes were filled with insolence.

      ‘The file, please?’ he prompted.

      She rolled her eyes, took the camera strap from round her neck, changed the camera settings and showed the screen to him so that he could first of all see the photograph she’d taken, and then see her press the button to delete the file from her camera’s storage card. ‘OK. One deleted picture. Happy, now?’

      ‘Yes. Thank you.’

      ‘Right.’ She inclined her head. ‘Little tip from me: try smiling in future, sweetie. Because you catch an awful lot more flies with honey than you do with vinegar.’

      And then she simply walked away.

      Leaving Lorenzo feeling as if he was the one in the wrong.

      * * *

      The man was probably one of Gus’s friends; he looked as if he was about the same age as Lottie’s elder brother. And maybe he’d meant to be helpful; he’d clearly been trying to protect the family’s privacy. Indigo knew she should probably have explained to him that she was a family friend who happened to be working on the house’s restoration, not a trespassing tourist. Then again, it was none of his business what she was doing there, and his stick-in-the-mud attitude had annoyed her—especially when he’d accused her of being a paparazzo.

      She’d only taken his photograph because she’d seen him striding around the grounds, scowling, and he’d looked like a dark angel. Something she could’ve used for work. It had been a moment’s impulse. An expression on his face that had interested her. Attracted her. Made her wonder what he’d look like if he smiled.

      But the way he’d reacted to her taking that photograph, snarling about people taking his photo without permission... Anyone would think he was an A-list celeb on vacation instead of some dull City banker.

      What an idiot.

      Indigo rolled her eyes again and headed for the house. Right now, work was more important. They were taking the window out of the library today and setting it in the workroom Gus had put aside for her in Edensfield Hall. Indigo had already made a short video for the hall’s website to explain what was happening with the window, and she’d promised to write a daily blog with shots of the work in progress so the tourists could feel that they were part of the restoration process. And she didn’t mind people coming over and asking her questions while she was working. She loved sharing her passion for stained glass.

      And the stranger with the face of a fallen angel—well, he could do whatever he liked.

      * * *

      Lorenzo was still slightly out of sorts from his encounter with the paparazzo-who-claimed-she-wasn’t by the time he went downstairs for dinner. When he walked into the drawing room, he was shocked to see her there among the guests. Except this time she wasn’t wearing a shapeless black top and trousers: she was wearing a bright scarlet shift dress, shorter than anyone else’s in the room. And they were teamed with red shoes that were glossier, strappier and had a higher heel than anyone else’s in the room.

      Look at me, her outfit screamed.

      As if anyone would be able to draw their eyes away from her.

      Especially as her hair was no longer pulled back in the severe hairdo of this afternoon; now, it was loose and cascaded over her shoulders in a mass of ebony ringlets. All she needed was a floor-length green velvet and silk dress, and she would’ve been the perfect model for a Rossetti painting.

      Lorenzo was cross with himself for being so shallow; but at the same time the photographer was also one of the most beautiful women he’d ever met. He couldn’t help acting on the need to know who she was and what she was doing here.

      He just about managed a few polite words with Gus before drawling, ‘So who’s the girl in the red dress?’ and inclining his head over towards the trespasser, as if he wasn’t really that interested in the answer.

      ‘Who?’ Gus followed his glance and smiled. ‘Oh, that’s Indigo.’

      How could Gus be so cool and calm around her? Lorenzo wondered. The woman made him feel hot under the collar, and he hadn’t even spoken to her yet this evening.

      ‘A friend of the family?’ Lorenzo guessed.

      ‘She’s one of Lottie’s best friends from school.’

      Which was surprising; Indigo didn’t look as if she came from the same kind of titled background that Gus and his sister did.

      ‘Actually, she’s here on business, too; she’s restoring the stained glass in the library for us,’ Gus explained. ‘My mother’s asked her to work up some ideas for a new stained-glass window, so she’s been taking photographs of bits of the estate.’

      Which explained why she saw her camera as one of the tools of her trade. Lorenzo felt the colour wash into his face. ‘I see.’

      ‘What did you do, Lorenzo?’ Gus asked, looking amused.

      ‘I saw her taking photos this afternoon and I thought she was a trespasser. I, um, offered to help her find her way out of the grounds,’ Lorenzo admitted.

      Gus laughed. ‘I bet she gave you a flea in your ear. Our Indi’s pretty much a free spirit. And she really doesn’t like being ordered about.’

      He grimaced. ‘I think I’d better go and apologise.’

      ‘Good idea. Otherwise you might be in danger of getting an Indi Special.’

      ‘An Indi Special?’ Lorenzo asked, mystified.

      ‘Indi. Short for Indigo, not for independent. Though she’s that, too.’ Gus raised an eyebrow. ‘Let’s just say she’s an original. I’ll let Lottie introduce you.’ He caught his sister’s eye and beckoned her over. ‘Lottie, be a darling and introduce Lorenzo to Indi, will you?’

      ‘Sure. Have you two not met, yet?’ Lottie tucked her arm into Lorenzo’s and led him over to Indigo to introduce them. ‘Indi, this is Lorenzo Torelli, a very old friend of the family.’ She smiled. ‘Lorenzo, this is Indigo Moran, who’s just about the coolest person I know.’

      Indigo laughed. ‘That’s only because you live in a world full of stuffed shirts, Lottie. I’m perfectly normal.’

      Lorenzo looked at her and thought, no, you’re not in the slightest bit normal—there’s something different about you. Something special. ‘Gus said you were at school with Lottie,’ he said.

      ‘Until