The Accidental Heir. Susan Stephens

relative who lived in what was politely termed gentile poverty—which in reality translated into a bedsit, a kettle and the landlady’s cat. Regardless, the Royal Council insisted that she had the best claim.

      It was when they had said ‘Illegitimate, legitimate, it really doesn’t matter what kind of heir you give us’ that she had baulked. Didn’t matter? How could they say that something as important as a child didn’t matter? It would damn well matter to her. But that was a problem for another day.

      Today her goals were to get through this lecture with the hunky tutor and—hopefully—get her mind off his body and onto his body of work.

      He was still standing there staring at her with a somewhat confused look on his face.

      ‘Visual images?’ she prompted, glancing at the screen. ‘Don’t want to risk falling asleep.’ She was trying to be friendly and hide the alarming response her body was having to his physical presence alone.

      Still nothing.

      Mountain Man’s silence was beginning to seriously annoy her. ‘I brought a pile of books along.’ She gestured with her naked foot at the photographic essays on the coffee table. ‘You can use them to illustrate your talk, if you like?’

      That was it! She’d had enough.

      Standing and turning to face him directly, she was confronted by a glacial stare. ‘Don’t they teach you manners at princess school?’ he asked, finally breaking his silence.

      His voice was an uncompromising, husky growl. Had he invaded the palace with the sole intention of insulting her?

      ‘I beg your pardon?’ she trilled in her haughtiest tone.

      ‘You heard me, Princess Astrid.’

      ‘How dare you!’ Charging towards him, she raised her hand as if to slap him. ‘I can always get another tutor.’

      Snatching hold of her wrist, the man bowed mockingly over her hand. ‘Prince Karl of Thorberg at your service, Princess Astrid.’

      As she raised her other hand to push him away, he dragged her closer.