‘It’s not your negligence. I climbed up here.’
He shook his head. ‘Anyone with an ounce of understanding would realise what temptation this ladder is to a woman who loves books. It’s asking for trouble.’
Something flickered in his eyes. She was sure he was laughing but his sympathetic expression couldn’t be faulted. ‘It was irresponsible to leave it here, just begging to be climbed.’
He conveniently ignored the fact that the ladder was fixed top and bottom to the rails placed around the walls.
‘You’re talking nonsense.’
His eyebrows arched and a flash of something that might have been approval lit his eyes.
‘Very probably,’ he murmured. ‘The tension must be getting to me. Heights can affect people like that, you know.’ His lips curved up in another one of those half-smiles that melted something vital inside her. ‘Take pity on my nerves and let me get you down from here.’
Tamsin opened her mouth to end his games. She refused to be the butt of his jokes. But before she could speak large hands pulled her towards him, warming her through several layers of clothing and jamming the words in her throat. For a moment panic threatened as she plunged forward, but an instant later she was draped over one solid shoulder. He clamped her close with his arm and then he was moving, descending the ladder with her firmly in his hold.
‘Put me down! Let me go, right now!’ She couldn’t believe he’d grabbed her.
‘Of course. In just a moment.’
To her horror Tamsin felt his deep voice rumble through his torso and hers.
Tamsin shut her eyes rather than look at the distant floor, or, more disturbingly, the intriguing sight of muscles bunching in the taut backside inches from her face.
But closing her eyes heightened other senses. She felt him against the length of her body, his strength undeniably exciting as ripples of movement teased her breasts and thighs. Disturbing warmth swirled languidly in the pit of her stomach.
She shouldn’t be enjoying this. She should be outraged. Or at least impervious. She should…
‘There.’ He lowered her into a chair and stepped back. ‘Safe and sound.’
His eyes weren’t laughing now. They were sober as he stared down at her. His mouth was a firm line, his brows tipped into a slight frown as if the joke had turned sour. His jaw clamped hard and she had the fleeting impression he was annoyed rather than amused.
Tamsin wanted desperately to conjure a witty quip. To redeem herself as clever and insouciant, taking the situation in her stride.
Instead she gazed helplessly, enmeshed in a web of unfamiliar reactions. Her breasts tingled from contact with him, her nipples puckering shamelessly. Her thighs were warm from his touch. Her gaze caught on his black hair, now slightly rumpled. Heat sizzled inside like a firecracker about to explode.
It wasn’t the sexy cavalry uniform that made him look so good, despite the gilt braiding that moulded his tapering torso, the cut of clothes that made him look every inch the fairy tale hero. What unnerved her was the flesh and blood man whose shadowed eyes glowed like an invitation to sin.
She tried to tell herself he was vain enough to have a uniform designed to enhance the incredible colour of his eyes. But the gravity of his expression when he wasn’t smiling told her he didn’t give a toss for his looks.
Tamsin’s breath sawed as he dropped to one knee and took her bare foot in his hand. Tremors rippled up her leg and she felt again that strange molten sensation pooling low in her belly.
She squirmed but he didn’t release her. Instead he fished something out of his pocket and slid it onto her foot. Soft, worn familiar leather. Her discarded shoe.
‘So, Cinderella. Why did you want to see me?’
Tamsin’s pulse faltered. For the last ten minutes she’d pretended he was a guest, even a member of staff. Yet deep inside she’d known who he was.
Prince Alaric. The man who held her career and her reputation in his hands.
Already she amused him. How he’d laugh if he knew that in ten minutes, without trying, he’d seduced one of Britain’s last dyed in the wool virgins to mindless longing.
Tamsin swallowed convulsively. She shot to her feet and stepped away, busying herself by stripping off her gloves and stuffing them in a pocket.
‘It’s about the archives I’m cataloguing and assessing for conservation.’ A cache of documents recently discovered when a castle cellar had been remodelled.
She turned. He stood by the chair, frowning in abstraction. Tamsin lifted her chin, breathing deep.
‘They include some unique and valuable papers.’
‘I’m sure they do.’ He nodded, his expression blandly polite. Obviously he had no interest in her efforts.
‘I have a copy of one with me.’ She reached for her briefcase, grateful for an excuse to look away from his hooded gaze.
‘Why don’t you just tell me about it?’
Cut to the chase, in other words.
He’d had plenty of time to dally, amusing himself at her expense, but none to spare for her work.
Disappointment curled through her, and annoyance.
‘One of the documents caught my attention. It’s a record of your family and Prince Raul’s.’ She paused, excitement at her find bubbling up despite her vexation.
‘There’s still work to be done on it.’ Tamsin paused, keeping her voice carefully even. ‘I’ve been translating from the Latin and, if it’s proved correct…’
‘Yes? If it’s proved correct?’
Tamsin hesitated, but there was no easy way to say it. Besides, he’d surely welcome the news.
‘If it’s genuine you’re not only Prince of Ruvingia, you’re also the next legitimate ruler of Maritz. Of the whole country. Not Prince Raul.’ She paused, watching his expression freeze.
‘It’s you who should be crowned king.’
Chapter Two
ALARIC’s body stiffened as her words sank in with terrible, nightmare clarity.
Him as ruler of Maritz!
The idea was appalling.
Raul was the crown prince. The one brought up from birth to rule. The one trained and ready to dedicate his life to his country.
Maritz needed him.
Or a man like Alaric’s brother, Felix.
Alaric wasn’t in the same mould. Even now he heard his father’s cool, clipped voice expressing endless displeasure and disappointment with his reckless second son.
Alaric’s lips twisted. How right the old man had been. Alaric couldn’t take responsibility for the country. Bad enough he’d stepped into Felix’s shoes as leader of a principality. Entrusting the wellbeing of the whole nation to his keeping would be disaster.
He, whose conscience was heavy with the weight of others’ lives! Who’d failed them so abysmally.
Horror crawled up his spine to clamp his shoulders. Ice froze his blood. Familiar faces swam in his vision, faces distorted with pain. The faces of those he’d failed. The face of his brother, eyes feverish as he berated Alaric for betraying him.
He couldn’t be king. It was unthinkable.
‘Is