Lottie chewed at the left side of her lower lip. She had a brunch party planned … strictly speaking she couldn’t even call it a party. She hadn’t planned on copious amounts of alcohol. She wasn’t sure if she could cope with a bunch of out-of-control girlfriends of her sister’s running amok so she’d kept things … well, sedate.
Madeleine reached for a fat buttery croissant and then pulled her hand back and sighed. ‘How do you keep your figure so trim? I’ve put on five pounds since I got engaged. At this rate I’m going to need a shoehorn to get into my wedding dress.’
‘At least you’ve got boobs,’ Lottie said with a despairing look at her own flat chest.
‘You just need a decent push-up bra. Speaking of lingerie … would you be a honey and choose my wedding night finery for me?’
Lottie frowned. ‘Why would you want me to do that for you? Isn’t that something you should be doing?’
Her sister smiled a twinkling smile. ‘I thought it would be good for you to do it. With help, of course.’
Help?
Help!
Lottie’s gaze went to paper-thin slits.
‘Whose help?’
Madeleine reached out again and this time took the croissant from the basket and tore it into bite-size pieces. ‘I’ve asked Lucca to help you. He wants to go to Monte Carlo on Wednesday on some private errand of his. I didn’t ask him the details. I got the feeling he didn’t want to talk about it. He’s a bit of a dark horse, don’t you think?’ She didn’t wait for a reply but continued. ‘I thought it would be a good opportunity for you to go with him. You haven’t been off the island in ages and with him as an escort you won’t have to bother with having your own security guard.’
‘I’m not going anywhere with him!’
Madeleine finished chewing her mouthful of croissant before asking, ‘Why ever not?’
‘How can you ask that? I hate him! He’s a disreputable rake.’
‘What? Are you frightened he might make a move on you or something?’ She picked up another morsel of croissant and popped it into her mouth and chewed. Swallowed. ‘You should be so lucky.’
Lottie pushed her chin up in a gesture of female pride. ‘As it happens he did make a move on me.’
Madeleine’s eyes rounded with interest.
‘Do tell.’
‘He kissed me.’
‘And?’
‘He propositioned me.’
Madeleine dropped the piece of croissant she was holding, her eyes as big as the plate she was using. ‘What did you do?’
Lottie gave a little toss of her head. ‘I arranged to meet him and then I stood him up.’
Her sister sat back in her chair with a musing smile. ‘Well, well, well.’
‘Don’t get any funny ideas. He’s the last man on earth I’d ever consider having a fling with. He’s got no morals. He’s a man slut, that’s what he is. He doesn’t stay with women long enough to remember their names. You should have seen the girl he had waiting on him down on the beach. She was fawning all over him as if he was some sort of sex god. It was nauseating.’
‘Listen to you.’ Madeleine laughed. ‘There’s nothing wrong with having a little fling if someone takes your fancy. It’s about time you put yourself out there again. Lucca Chatsfield would be quite a fabulous scalp to hang on your belt. I bet there are things he could show you in the bedroom that would make your hair stand up on end.’
Lottie glowered. ‘That man is nothing but a thorough nuisance. I can’t think why you agreed to such a harebrained scheme to bring him here to meddle with my plans. He’s going to ruin everything, I just know it.’
Madeleine gave her a teasing smile as she reached for another croissant. ‘I think you like him.’
Lottie sprang up from the table. ‘I hate him! I detest him! I swear to God if he was here now I would say it to his face.’
‘Save it, ma chérie.’ Madeleine wiped her fingers on a starched napkin. ‘You can tell him at dinner.’
‘Dinner?’ Her heart gave a sudden lurch. ‘Don’t tell him me you’ve invited him to dine with us. That’s taking things way too far.’
‘Not with us.’ Madeleine said. ‘You and him. Alone.’
‘What?’
‘You can consult him about the hens’ night. I’ve planned a private dinner for you both in the Green Room.’
Lottie gaped at her sister. ‘Why are you doing this? Have you gone completely mad?’
‘He’s fun loving and dashing.’
‘He’s an outrageous flirt and an arrogant devil!’
‘I know.’ Madeleine smiled again. ‘Don’t you just love that about him?’
A palace official led Lucca to a private room in the west wing of the palace. It was decorated in various shades of green with a background of cream with trimmings of gold. A small antique dining table had been set up in front of the large bay of windows that overlooked the palace gardens, and a bowl of full-headed creamy roses was on a brass-inlaid cabinet nearby, their peppery, clove-like scent filling the room. There were two deeply cushioned sofas facing each other in the middle of the room in a cream brocade fabric with an array of scatter cushions. A cherry-wood glass-fronted bookcase was against one wall with a small writing desk and chair set in front of it with a quaint lamp that was casting an incandescent glow over the room. It was a comfortable room rather than a formal one. It reminded him of a sitting room/library in a stately manor in the English countryside, not unlike his family home, Chatsfield House, in Buckinghamshire.
Thinking about home—why did he persist in calling it home when it had never been anything like one?—always made him antsy. He’d spent far too many years of his childhood yearning for a home and family like that of his schoolmates. Chatsfield House was one of the most beautiful houses in the English countryside but no one could ever call it a home. It had no heart. No warmth. No soul. And as for family … well, with his older siblings and his younger one with issues of their own and a father who sought refuge in a bottle, it was hardly what anyone could describe as a happy family life.
The official poured Lucca a drink and informed him the princess would be with him shortly before bowing politely and leaving.
He checked his phone to see he had missed a call from Orsino. He’d yet to talk to him about Giatrakos and was faintly curious to see how the Greek had attempted to co-op his brother. It was hard enough to get hold of his twin at the best of times, considering he was usually halfway up a mountain, or saving starving children in some godforsaken place, so how on earth Christos had contacted him was anyone’s guess. When Lucca dialled Orsino’s number there was no answer—typical—so he left a brief message without saying much about his situation.
Ten minutes later Lucca had paced the floor so many times he was sure he’d left a foot-deep trench in the soft carpet. Was this another game of Lottie’s? He didn’t like the tables being turned on him. He was the one who played and won. If Lottie thought she could manipulate him to walk out before the time was up she was in for a big surprise. Nothing and no one was going to make him relinquish his goal. No one.
He turned when he heard a light footstep at the door. Lottie was standing there looking very composed but he noticed she was