In the Royal's Bed. Marion Lennox

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      Terrific. Although Kelly was fighting really hard to blink back tears, she had no desire to have Rafael to buoy her spirits. In truth, the fact that she’d be travelling with Rafael was a downside—he made her feel disconcerted and vulnerable.

      And she’d miss this place so much… She was so close to breaking it was all she could do to walk those last few steps from the park gates to the waiting limousine. To where Rafael was waiting, holding the door wide for her.

      He was watching her with sympathy, she thought as she dashed her hand across her eyes with a fierce anger that was surely irrational. The last thing she needed was sympathy, but it shouldn’t make her angry.

      ‘Hey,’ he said as Matty reached him. He stooped down and hugged Matty hard and that had Kelly blinking all over again. Then he straightened and looked at Kelly. He was dressed formally—not in his dumb dress uniform but in a smart grey lounge suit. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked softly.

      ‘I’m fine.’ She gulped a couple of times and turned to help Pete, who was putting her luggage into the trunk. ‘Where’s… where’s your retinue?’

      ‘Retinue?’

      ‘Reporters. Cameramen.’

      ‘Thankfully my presence doesn’t warrant the type of paparazzi outriders Princess Di was burdened with,’ he said, smiling. ‘I’d imagine there’ll be photographers at the airport but that’s okay—we’ll be in the door, on the plane and out of here before they realize we have Matty.’ He hesitated as she hugged Pete goodbye. ‘Kelly, you’re sure you’re okay?’

      ‘I’m okay,’ she said, feeling sick. She dived past him into the car and slid across the vast leather interior of the limousine until she was as far away from his side as it was possible to be. Matty was on the opposite seat, but as Rafael climbed in after her he sidled across to Rafael and sat hard against him.

      Rafael tugged him close, which had Kelly unsettled all over again. Her son was being hugged by Rafael. Whatever decisions she’d made about the man, she still couldn’t entirely trust him. He was too damned good-looking. He was a prince. He was a de Boutaine!

      She crossed her arms and didn’t say anything. He was hugging her son. Her son! How could she catch up on five long years?

      ‘So you’ve decided to go casual,’ he said politely as the chauffeur drove the big car out on to the road.

      ‘What…what do you mean?’

      ‘It’s the first time I’ve seen you in civvies.’

      ‘You mean not in historical dress.’

      ‘Mmm.’

      ‘Is something wrong with what I’m wearing?’

      ‘You’ll be landing in Alp de Ciel like that?’ he asked gently. ‘Or do you intend to keep something separate from your luggage to change into?’

      ‘Why should I?’

      ‘I would have thought…’

      ‘Thought what?’

      ‘Maybe a little more formality?’

      ‘I’m fine like I am,’ she said, keeping her arms folded defensively across her breasts and glaring straight ahead.

      In truth she was making a statement. She’d stared at her wardrobe last night for almost an hour before she’d decided what to wear.

      For the last four years Kelly had worn almost exclusively historical costumes. However, there had been times when she’d been out doing research, when she had given presentations about the park, when she had attended awards dinners, when she’d had to wear normal clothes. Then she’d worn a standard business suit. Sensible.

      Once upon a time she’d loved clothes. She’d ached for them. When she was a child her parents had frowned on what they called frivolity. She’d been repressed to the point of cruelty, forced to wear her school uniform when it had been entirely inappropriate, given a meagre allowance that had been inadequate to buy anything but the basic necessities.

      She remembered the dress she’d bought with her first pay cheque. It was a sliver of scarlet, an almost indecently short crimson cocktail dress. She’d loved it.

      She’d worn it to dinner the first night she’d met Kass.

      Yeah, well, so much for fancy clothes. Like horses, clothes were something she didn’t let herself think about. Now she was wearing ancient jeans, an oversized, shapeless sweater that reached almost to her knees and her leather work boots. She’d tugged her hair into a knot with an elastic band. She was wearing no make-up.

      Yes, it was a statement and she didn’t care who heard it.

      ‘Mama packed most of her clothes into boxes and sent them to storage,’ Matty offered from the other seat.

      Rafael frowned. ‘I told you to pack them up for shipping.’

      ‘It’s no use shipping historical costumes overseas,’ Kelly said. ‘I’m bringing what I need.’

      ‘So did you send anything to the shipping company I told you about?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘So let me see,’ Rafael said faintly. ‘You’re moving to Alp de Ciel permanently. And you’ve got…one suitcase?’

      ‘It’s summer there right now. If it’s cold later on I may have to buy a couple of things. I assume there are still shops.’

      ‘There are shops,’ he said, eyeing her sweater with a certain amount of trepidation. ‘But there’ll be media meeting us off the plane. Do you have…a frock or something?’

      ‘A frock,’ she said, and her lips twitched at his obvious discomfort. ‘I don’t believe I do have a frock.’

      ‘You know what I mean. Something respectable.’

      ‘This is respectable.’

      ‘For bumming round the stables maybe. Not for meeting your people.’

      ‘Whose people?’

      ‘You’re a princess.’

      ‘In name only,’ she retorted. ‘I thought we agreed. You’re the centre of media attention. You wear your braid and your dress sword and I’ll wear my sweater and jeans.’

      ‘It’s not very pretty,’ Matty said, disapproving.

      ‘I don’t need to be pretty.’

      ‘No, but you are,’ Matty said, sounding upset. ‘And you’re my mama.’

      Oh, great. She hadn’t thought this one through. It was all very well planning to be plain Jane, speaking when spoken to, staying in the background, keeping herself small.

      But Matty was obviously disappointed.

      ‘You СКАЧАТЬ