‘We have arrived, Your Highness.’ The words, spoken in careful English, came again from the driver.
He’d drawn the car to a whisper-quiet halt and now held the door open for them to alight. Rikardo would get out first, of course, because he was, after all, a prince.
A burst of something a little too close to hysteria rose inside Mel’s breast.
‘Thank you, Artor, and also for speaking in English for the benefit of our guest.’ Rikardo helped Mel from the car. He glanced down into her face. ‘I know you may be nervous but once we get inside I will take you to our suite of rooms and you can relax and not feel so pressured.’
‘S-straight to the rooms? We won’t see anyone?’ Well, of course they would see people. They were seeing people right now. And what did he mean by their suite? ‘Can we talk when we get there? Please!’
‘Yes, we will talk. It shouldn’t be necessary at this late stage, but we will discuss whatever is concerning you.’ He seemed every inch the royal as he said this, and rather forbidding.
Mel’s stomach sank even further. She hadn’t meant for this to happen. She hadn’t meant to do anything other than take a taxi to the airport. She had to hope it would be relatively easy to fix the mistake that had been made.
Rik whisked her up an awe-inspiring set of steps that led to a pair of equally stunning studded doors. As they approached the doors were thrown open, as though someone had been watching from within.
They would have been, wouldn’t they? Mel glanced up, and up again, and still couldn’t see the ending of the outside of this enormous palace. Parts of it were lit, other parts melted into the surrounding darkness. It looked as though it had been birthed here at the dawn of time. Mel shivered as the cold began to register, and then Prince Rik’s hand was at her back to propel her the final steps forward and inside.
Voices welcomed their prince. Members of the royal retinue of staff stood to attention while others stepped forward to take the prince’s coat, and Mel’s wrap.
How silly to feel as though the small of her back physically held the imprint of the prince’s fingers. Yet if he hadn’t been supporting her Mel might have fainted from the combination of anxiety and feeling overwhelmed by the opulence.
The area they entered was large, reaching up three levels with ornate cornicing and inlaid life-sized portraits of royal family members fixed into the walls. A bronze statue stood to one side on a raised dais. Creams and gold and red filled the foyer with warm resplendence. It would be real gold worth more than an entire jewellery store.
‘Welcome to the palace.’ Rik leaned closer to speak quietly into Mel’s ear.
‘Thank you. That is …‘ Mel’s breath caught in her throat as she became suddenly very aware of his closeness.
She’d laid her head on his shoulder, had slept the hours of the flight away inhaling the scent of his cologne. On some level of consciousness, Mel knew the pace of his breathing, knew how it felt to have him sleep with his ear tucked against the top of her head. The feel of the cloth of his suit coat against her arm, his body warmth reaching her through the fabric.
For a moment consciousness and subconscious memory, nearness and scent and whatever else it was that had made her aware of him even initially through a fog of medication, filled Mel. She forgot the vital need to explain to him that he’d made a mistake and she had, too. She forgot everything but his nearness, and the uneven beat of her heart.
And then Prince Rikardo of Braston spoke again, softly, for her ears only.
‘Thank you for agreeing to help me fulfil my father’s demands and yet maintain my freedom … by temporarily marrying me.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘THERE’S been a terrible mistake.’ Rik’s bride-to-be paced the sitting room of his personal suite. Tension edged her words. One hand gestured. ‘ I don’t belong here. I’m not the right girl. Look at all this, and I’m—’
‘You won’t be staying here all that long.’ Not for ever. A few months … Rik tried to understand her unease. She’d been fully willing to enter into this arrangement. Why suffer a bout of cold feet about it now? She’d stepped into his suite, taken one glance around and had launched into speech.
‘This is an interlude,’ he said, ‘nothing more.’ And one they’d agreed upon, even if she hadn’t yet signed the official contract. Rik’s aide had the paperwork in a safe place, but it was ready and waiting, and Nicolette had made it clear that she was, too. So what had changed?
She drew a shuddery breath. ‘This is gilt and gold and deep red velvet drapes and priceless original artworks and cornices in enormous entryways that take my breath away. This is more than a rabbit hole and a golden pumpkin coach and a few other fables meshed together. This is—’ Her brown-eyed gaze locked with his and she said hotly as though it were the basis of evil: ‘You’re a prince!’
‘My royal status is no surprise to you.’ What did surprise Rik was how attractive he found the sparkle in her eyes as indignation warred with guilt and concern on her lovely face. He’d never responded this way to Nicolette. He didn’t want to now. This was a business arrangement. His lack of attraction to Nicolette was one of the reasons he’d chosen her. It would be easy to end their marriage and walk away.
So no more thoughts such as those about her, Rik!
‘But it is a surprise. I mean, it wouldn’t be if I’d already read about you in a magazine or something and I certainly completely believe you.’ Shaking fingers tucked her hair behind her ear.
She didn’t even sound like the woman he remembered. She sounded more concerned somehow, and almost a little naïve.
A frown started on his brow. He’d put down her openness, the blurting of a secret or two to him when he collected her, to the influence of the allergy medication. But that had worn off now. Suspicion, a sense of something not right, formed deep in his gut. He took a step towards her, studied her face more closely and wished he had taken more notice of Nicolette’s features years ago. Those freckles on her nose—? ‘Why do you seem different?’
‘Because I’m not who you think I am,’ she blurted, and drew a sharp breath. Silence reigned for a few seconds as she seemed to gather herself together and then she squared her shoulders. ‘My full name is Nicole Melanie Watson.’
‘Nicole …‘
‘Yes.’ She rushed on. ‘I’m known as Melanie and have been since I went to live with my aunt, uncle, and cousin Nicolette when I was eight years old. Nicolette would fit right in here. I’ve tried to figure this out since I woke up in your private jet and realised I wasn’t at Sydney airport about to get off a plane there and go find a hostel to stay in while I searched for work because I could no longer stay—’
She broke off abruptly.
Sydney airport? Hostel? Search for work? There was something else about her statement, too, but Rik lost the thought as he focused on the most immediate concerns.
‘I am not certain I understand you.’ His tone as he delivered this statement was formal—his way of throwing up his guard. ‘Are you trying to tell me—?’
‘I think you meant to collect Nicolette and you got me by mistake. I don’t see what else could have happened. When you said my name before, I thought you said Nicole, not Nicolette. I thought I must have given my full name when I ordered the taxi.’
‘If what you say is correct …‘ Rik’s eyes narrowed. Could this be true? That he’d collected the wrong woman? ‘I haven’t seen Nicolette for a number of years, just a photo sent over the Internet. I thought when I collected you that you’d changed