He felt a pang of guilt when he recalled the conversation he’d had with Andres to set up the photo opportunity. It would be a far less intrusive photo than most of those he’d had taken with other women, so why did he feel so uncomfortable about it? And guilty...?
It didn’t help to ease his conscience when Leila looked at him then and he couldn’t read the expression on her face or in her eyes. It irritated him—as if she’d retreated behind a shield.
‘Do you think you’ll ever regain your throne in Isle Saint Croix?’
Alix blinked, jerked unceremoniously back to reality. Immediately he was suspicious—but then he felt ridiculous. She wasn’t some spy from Isle Saint Croix, sent to find out his movements.
Even so, Alix had kept his motivation secret for so long that he wasn’t about to bare his soul to anyone—even her.
He shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Perhaps some day. If the political situation improves enough for me to make a bid for the throne again... But there is a lot of anger still—at my father.’
Leila had turned more towards him now, and put her elbows on the table, resting her chin on one hand. The diaphanous robe she was wearing made it easy to see the outline of her perfect braless breasts and Alix was immediately distracted. He had to drag his mind out of a very carnal place.
‘What was he like?’
The question was softly, innocently asked, and yet it aroused an immediate sense of rage in Alix. He felt restless, and got up to stand at the nearby railing that protected the terrace and looked down over the lawns below.
He heard Leila shift in her seat. ‘I’m sorry. If you don’t want to talk about it...’
But he found that he did. Here in one of the quietest corners of the earth. With her.
He didn’t turn around. Tightly he said, ‘My father was corrupt—pure and simple. He grew up privileged and never had to ask for anything. It ruined him. His own father was a good ruler, but weak. He let my father run amok. By the time my father married my mother—who was an Italian princess from an ancient Venetian family line—he was out of control. The country was falling apart, but he didn’t notice the growing poverty or dissent. My mother didn’t endear herself to the people either. She spent more time gadding around the world than on the island—in Paris, or London, or New York.’
Alix turned around and leant back against the railing. He looked down into his wine glass and swirled the liquid. When he looked at Leila again she was rapt, eyes huge. It made something in Alix’s chest tight.
‘My father took mistresses—local girls, famous beauties, it made no difference. He had them in the castle whether my mother was there or not. I think her attitude was that once she’d given him his heir and a spare she could do what she wanted.’
Leila said softly, ‘You had a younger brother...?’
Alix nodded. ‘Yes—Max.’
He went on.
‘One day, both my parents were in residence—which was a rare enough occurrence. A young local girl was trying to see my father, holding a baby, crying. Her baby was ill and she needed help. She was claiming that it was his—which was quite probable. My father had his soldiers throw her and the baby out of the castle...’
Alix’s mouth twisted.
‘What he didn’t realise was that a mob had gathered outside, and when they saw this they attacked. Our own soldiers were soon colluding with the crowd and they turned on my father and mother. They shot my parents and my brother, but I got away.’
Alix deliberately skated over the worst of it—made it sound less horrific than it had been.
He drank the rest of his wine in one gulp.
Leila’s eyes shone with what looked suspiciously like tears. It had a profound effect on Alix.
‘Your brother...were you close to him?’
He nodded. ‘The closest. Everything I do now is to avenge his death and to make sure it’s not in vain.’
He knew instantly that he’d said too much when Leila frowned slightly. Clearly she was wondering how his living the life of a louche royal playboy tallied with avenging his brother’s untimely death.
She didn’t know, of course, of the charitable foundations he headed that supported the families of people who’d lost relatives in traumatic circumstances. Or the amount of times he’d gone on peace and reconciliation missions all over the world, observing how it was done so he’d be qualified to apply it to his own country when he returned.
Leila looked at Alix, so tall and brooding in the moonlight. Her heart ached for him—for the young boy he’d been, helpless, watching his own parents destroy their legacy—and taking his younger brother with them.
She thought of how she’d lied about her father being dead and it made her feel dishonest now, after he’d told her what had happened to him.
‘Alix,’ she began, ‘there’s something I should—’
But he cut Leila off as he moved, coming over to the table. He put his glass down. His eyes were blazing and she could see they’d dropped to her breasts, unfettered beneath her thin gown. Instantly heat sizzled in her veins and she forgot what she’d wanted to say.
‘I think we’ve talked enough for one evening. I want you, Leila.’ And then, almost as an afterthought, he said, ‘I need you.’
I need you. Those three words set Leila’s blood alight. She sensed that he needed to lose himself after telling her what he had. So she stood up, allowing him to see all of her, thinly veiled. He might have said he needed her, but she knew that this was about this.
And as Alix led her inside and up to the bedroom she reassured herself once again that that was fine.
* * *
‘Who would have thought you like to read American noir crime novels?’ Leila’s voice was teasing as she lay draped across Alix’s chest on a large sun lounger in his garden.
He lowered his book and looked at her, arching a brow. ‘And that you would like Matilde’s collection of historical romance novels covered with half-naked Neanderthals and long, flowing blonde hair?’
Leila giggled and ducked her head, and then looked up again. ‘It was my mother’s fault. She devoured them and led me astray from a young age.’
‘You must miss her.’
Leila unpeeled herself from Alix and sat up, pulling her knees to her chin and wrapping her arms around them. She looked out over the stunning view from their elevated height in the garden at the back of the house, where the pool was.
Quietly, Leila said, ‘I miss her, of course. It was always just the two of us.’
Leila was afraid to look at Alix in case he saw the emotion she was feeling. A mix of grief and happiness. And gratitude to be in this place. To be with this man and yet to know not to expect more. Even if her heart did give a little lurch at that.
Alix came up on one elbow beside her, his long half-naked body stretched out in her peripheral vision like a mouthwatering temptation.
‘The man you were with before—what did he do to you?’
Leila glanced at him. Damn. She’d forgotten that she’d mentioned Pierre, even in passing. She shrugged. ‘He was a mistake. I was naive.’
‘How?’
Leila bit her lip, and then said, ‘It was just after my mother died—I was vulnerable. He paid me attention. I believed him when he said he just wanted to get