Crowned: An Ordinary Girl. Natasha Oakley

Чтение книги онлайн.

      Seb let out his breath in one slow, steady stream, resisting the temptation to swear long and hard, as he watched Marianne walk away.

      That could have gone better. It had been a long, long time since anyone had made him look, or feel, quite so foolish. How many sentences had he managed to complete at the end there? Two? Maybe three?

      For a man who was famed for his ability to say the right thing in any social situation, that was unprecedented. As unprecedented as it was for anyone to speak to him without the due deference his position demanded. Thank heaven the foyer was deserted of everyone but his own people.

      Seb looked over his shoulder at his two bodyguards. ‘How much of that did you hear?’

      He saw Karl’s lips twitch. In any other man the expression would have counted as impassive, but in Karl it was laughter.

      Seb ran an exasperated hand through his closely cropped dark hair. ‘Try and forget it,’ he said, walking past them and further into the narrow reception area.

      It was an unnecessary instruction. Karl and Georg would never divulge anything about his personal life—not to the Press, not even to other members of their team. He’d do better to direct that selfsame instruction at himself—try and forget it. Concentrate on what had brought him here.

      But forget her?

      He pulled a wry smile. Now, that was easier said than done. If merely reading the name Marianne Chambers in print had pulled him up short, it was nothing compared to how it had felt to actually see her.

      Until that moment he hadn’t truly believed Professor Blackwell’s protégée would turn out to be the language student he’d met in France—but she’d been instantly recognisable. Casually dressed in blue jeans and white T-shirt she’d reminded him so much of the eighteen-year-old he’d known. He could never have expected that.

      And she’d been reading. Something had snapped inside him when he’d seen the flash of white as she’d flicked over the page. She’d always been reading. Anything and everything. Even that first time—when Nick had tried so hard to stop him going to speak to her.

      It was the only excuse he’d had for approaching her. If there’d been anyone within earshot…Seb pulled a hand through his hair. God only knew what the headlines would have looked like then.

      ‘Your Serene Highness—’

      Seb turned to see an agitated man scurrying towards him across the acres of rather dated carpet in the company of his private secretary.

      ‘—we’d no idea you’d arrived yet. I’d intended to have someone on watch for you and—’

      ‘It’s of no consequence. Mr…?’

      ‘Baverstock. Anthony Baverstock. I’m the manager here, Your Serene Highness.’

      ‘Baverstock,’ Seb repeated, extending his hand. ‘I sincerely appreciate the thought.’ He watched the pleased way Anthony Baverstock puffed out his cheeks and resigned himself to what experience had taught him would follow.

      ‘N-not at all, Your Serene Highness. At the Cowper Hotel we pride ourselves on our service. Professor Blackwell,’ the hotel manager continued with every indication that he would bore his friends and neighbours with his account of meeting royalty for the next thirty years, ‘is in the Balcony Room. If, Your Serene Highness, would be so good as to follow me…’

      Seb let his mind wander even while his mouth said everything that his late father would have wished. How many times had that amazing man cautioned him to remember that people who met him would remember the occasion as long as they lived?

      It was true, too. The letters of condolence his mother had received had been testament to that. More than several hundred had begun with ‘I met Prince Franz-Josef and he shook me by the hand…’

      Even eight years and as many months into his own tenure that responsibility still sat uncomfortably with him. But training was everything—and this had been his destiny since the hour of his birth. Inescapable. Even though there’d been times when he’d have gladly passed the responsibility to someone else.

      Viktoria, for example. His elder sister had always found her role in this colourful pageant easier to play. She loved the pomp and the sense of tradition. It suited her—and she was as comfortable with it as it chafed him.

      The Balcony Room on the first floor was clearly labelled. A black plaque with gold lettering hung on the door. Seb stood back and allowed the hotel manager to announce portentously, ‘His Serene Highness, the Prince of Andovaria.’

      Inside, the man he’d come to see was on his feet immediately. ‘Your Serene Highness…’

      Seb extended his hand as he walked into the room. ‘Professor Blackwell, I’m delighted you could spare me a moment of your time. I realise this is a busy time for you.’

      The older man shook his head, a twinkle of pure enthusiasm lighting the eyes behind his glasses. ‘Completely enjoyable. This conference is one of the highlights of my year.’

      ‘May I introduce my private secretary, Alois von Dietrich? I believe you’ve spoken.’

      The professor nodded. ‘Please, come and sit down,’ he said, indicating a group of four armchairs by the window, ‘but I meant what I said yesterday. I’m retiring at the end of the month.’

      Seb smiled. ‘I’m here in person to tempt you away from that decision.’

      ‘Don’t believe I’m not tempted,’ the professor said with a shake of his head, and his tone was so wistful that Seb was confident of success. ‘The twelfth and thirteenth centuries are my particular passion. My wife would have it it’s an unhealthy obsession.’

      ‘Which is exactly why I want you to come to Andovaria.’