Royal and Ruthless. Robyn Donald

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       CHAPTER FOUR

      WARINESS tightened Lexie’s skin. Unable to resist the temptation, she stole a look at Rafiq, colouring when she met greenstone eyes slightly narrowed against the sun and clinical in their detachment. A superstitious shiver ran through her—fierce, uncaged, almost desperate, forcing her to glance away hastily before those perceptive eyes homed in on her inner turmoil.

      What would it take to break through his iron control?

      More than she was prepared to risk, she thought bleakly. His air of authority wasn’t just a family heirloom handed down from hundreds of years of unquestioned rule. Sure, some of it might be due to the potent effect of strongly handsome features backed by wealth and power, but underpinning it was an indefinable aura of masculine competence.

      This man could make a woman ache with desire and scream her satisfaction in his arms.

      Lexie’s cup jangled musically in the saucer as she set both down, and her tone was a little too abrupt when she asked the first thing that came into her head. ‘How long have you ruled Moraze?’

      ‘For ten years,’ he said readily enough, adding, ‘Since I was twenty. My father died young.’

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly, turning her head to admire the crimson blossoms of a hibiscus close by.

      Rafiq’s gaze sharpened. Those clear-cut features might appear to reveal every emotion, but her silences were enigmatic.

      So her father was a sore point.

      Well, he admitted silently, if his sire had been notorious for his perfidy and cruelty, he too would avoid mentioning him.

      He waited before saying, ‘Life can be cruel. Tell me, what decided you to become a vet?’ And he watched her through half-closed lashes, noting the tiny, almost unnoticeable signs of her relaxation.

      She answered his question without hesitation. ‘I love animals, and I wanted to be able to do something for them.’

      ‘Very altruistic of you,’ he drawled, irritated by her pat answer.

      She flashed him a direct look, following it with a cool, ‘Of course, it pays well too.’

      ‘The training is long and very expensive, I believe.’

      ‘I managed,’ she returned, her level tone a contrast to the challenge in her eyes. ‘I was lucky—I had a regular holiday job, and my sister helped a lot.’

      Jacoba had worked as a model from the time she turned sixteen, determined to earn enough to care for their ill mother. Her extremely successful career had also helped with Lexie’s tuition and boarding fees.

      In spite of Jacoba’s insistence that it wasn’t necessary, Lexie was slowly reimbursing her. The past year’s leave of absence had meant a hiatus in her repayments, but she’d be able to start again when she got back home.

      No doubt Rafiq de Couteveille had swanned around enjoying himself with some easy option at college. Not for him the worry of sordid, boring things like where the next meal was coming from, or whether a good daughter would be staying at home to care for her mother rather than putting her own ambitions first.

      She enquired sweetly, ‘Where did you go to university?’

      ‘Oxford and Harvard,’ he said. ‘With some time at the Sorbonne.’ He added with a twist of his lips that revealed he’d guessed what she was thinking, ‘My father valued education highly.’

      ‘On Moraze as well as in his family?’ she asked even more sweetly, then wished she’d remained silent.

      Her urge to dig at his impervious facade was becoming reckless. And recklessness was something she didn’t do.

      In a level, unemphatic tone that managed to refute her snide insinuation, he said, ‘Of course. Moraze has an excellent school system, and my father set up a scholarship scheme that offers promising students access to the best overseas universities.’

      ‘Do you lose many to the lure of bigger, more sophisticated places?’

      ‘We might, if they weren’t bonded to come back here to work for five years; usually after that they’re incorporated back into the fabric of our society. If not, they are then free to leave to pursue those goals.’

      Lexie nodded, eyes widening as he got to his feet. Tall as she was, he towered over her so that she felt crowded. No, dominated, she thought, settling back into her chair and trying to look confident and at ease.

      ‘I must go now,’ he told her. ‘If you need anything at all, tell Cari.’

      An odd emptiness took her by surprise. ‘I’m very grateful for everybody’s kindness,’ she said, and tried to sound her usual practical self as she went on, ‘I assume I’ll get a bill from the hospital—’

      ‘No.’

      ‘But I have travel insurance—’

      ‘It isn’t relevant,’ he interrupted again, brows drawing together.

      Head held so high it made her neck ache, Lexie got to her feet. Was he implying that he’d pay for it? Rich and powerful he might be, but she was an independent woman. ‘Surely Moraze’s health system bills travel insurance companies? In an island that depends on tourists—’

      ‘We do not depend on tourists,’ he said. ‘We have an extremely good and progressive offshore banking system, and we have invested heavily in high-tech industries. Along with sugar, coffee and our gems, these are the pillars of our prosperity. Tourists are welcome, of course, but my government and I have taken note of the problems that come from too heavy a reliance on tourism.’

      She would not let that aristocratic authority intimidate her. Steadily, each word bitten out, she said, ‘Perhaps you would let me finish?’

      A black eyebrow climbed, and his reply was delivered with a cool, autocratic politeness that reminded her he was almost a king. ‘Of course. My apologies.’

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