The Royal Wedding Collection. Robyn Donald

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      He frowned, explaining with surprising patience, ‘We’ll transfer the rest of your luggage from your car to this one. Then someone will drive yours to Auckland.’

      Feeling foolish, she muttered, ‘I was going to sell it in Christchurch,’ and rooted for the keys in her bag. She dropped them into his outstretched hand, noting that he wasn’t looking at her; his gaze was fixed on Michael.

      She took Michael’s warm little hand and coaxed, ‘Go back to sleep, darling.’

      Caelan stepped back and turned away. As she got in beside Michael and tucked the blankets around him more securely she was aware of the prince’s deep voice giving concise orders. The boot was opened, the bags put in and it slammed shut again, before the silence was punctuated by the sound of her car door closing. Its engine coughed into life and headlights probed the darkness as it turned down the drive in front of them.

      Caelan slid in behind the wheel of the hire car. Turning so that he could see her, he said negligently, ‘Try to stay awake until we get to Queenstown. You can sleep on the plane; there’s a bed in it as well as a cot for Michael.’

      In the dark cocoon that was the interior of the car she thought his eyes lingered on her face for a second before he turned back and the engine purred into life.

      Hot blood stung her skin. What had she done, letting herself be ambushed and captured like this? The prince took no prisoners; what did he have in mind for her?

      A tiredness more than physical, a weariness of the spirit, chilled her from the bones out. While Michael slid back into the sleep of the very young and secure, she stayed wide-eyed and tense until the luxurious car drove into the airport at Queenstown.

      But he didn’t drive towards the darkened terminal building. ‘Where are we going?’ she asked.

      ‘There’s a private plane waiting on the runway.’

      Well, of course, she thought wearily. As well as being cousin to the ruler of a principality, Caelan Bagaton was a tycoon, a billionaire, rich enough to afford his own country as well as a private jet.

      Oh, you fool, she thought painfully, you’re so far out of your depth here you might as well drown now and get it over and done with.

      They’d met when Gemma had almost run her over in one of Auckland’s summer storms, and, although her car was a miracle of design that Abby knew she’d never be able to aspire to, Gemma had insisted on taking her home.

      Their friendship had ripened rapidly; they’d gone clubbing together and spent other nights talking and listening to music; Gemma had invited her up to the beach house, although she had said, ‘But Caelan won’t be there.’

      Abby’s brows shot up. ‘So?’

      ‘Oh, just that quite a few of the girls I know try to use me to get to him. And even my friends fall in love with him and then get their hearts broken. He’s a big, bad wolf, my brother.’

      Well, he’d turned up at the beach, and Abby had found out for herself the truth of that assessment! Fortunately her year abroad working for a volunteer organisation was due to start the week after, so she hadn’t had time to brood about Gemma’s fabulous, arrogant, incredibly sexy brother.

      When she’d left for the Pacific Gemma had wept a little and promised to visit. Abby hadn’t expected her to; Palaweyo was a poor atoll, only the bounty of its huge lagoon saving it from third-world status, and few tourists came within a thousand miles. But months later Gemma had arrived, tense and oddly desperate, and during the long hot nights she’d confided a few details of her passionate affair with a gangly, laconic Australian mountain-climber, and his heroic death. Before she’d had time to grieve, she’d discovered that she was pregnant.

      Eerily, as though he could read her thoughts, Caelan said, ‘I believe Michael’s father was another Michael—Moncrieff, the mountaineer who died rescuing stranded climbers on Mount Everest.’

      Stunned, Abby swallowed. ‘Yes,’ she said thinly.

      ‘A decent man, but not her usual sort. Didn’t it occur to you that his relatives might have wanted to have contact with their grandchild?’

      ‘Gemma said he had none; he’d grown up in care.’

      Something about Caelan’s nod made her realise that he knew this. Of course he’d have had Gemma’s lover investigated. Suddenly loathing him and everything he stood for, she finished curtly, ‘Gemma said he was genuine gold all through.’

      Surprisingly Caelan didn’t dig further. ‘Why does Michael call you Abby? It would have been less obvious if he’d called you his mother.’

      ‘But I’m not his mother,’ she said quietly. ‘He knows his parents are dead. He doesn’t know what that means, of course, but he’s entitled to know who he is.’

      ‘But not about his mother’s family.’

      The lash of his sarcasm flicked across her skin like a whip; she was glad when he eased the car to a stop beside the sleek executive plane.

      Once in the aircraft, with Michael asleep in the luxurious bedroom, and the prince going through papers in a leather-upholstered armchair that somehow didn’t look incongruous with a seat belt, Abby stared through a window until the sky began to turn grey towards the east. Thoughts churned in her mind, going over and over old ground while she tried to work out how she could have avoided this.

      In the end she gave up; against the prince’s iron-clad determination she had no defence.

      The stark volcanic landscape of the central North Island unrolled beneath the plane as the sun tinted the distant clouds a radiant pink that swiftly turned to gold.

      Foolish to let an everyday miracle lift her heart, yet she wondered if the sunrise was some sort of omen, a pointer of hope. Perhaps she and the prince could work together for Michael’s sake; perhaps Caelan could find it in his cold heart to learn to love a small child.

      And perhaps not, she thought grimly, but staying with Michael was all she asked at the moment.

      As though her thoughts had woken him, she saw Michael peep cautiously through the door of the bedroom. He beamed at her before turning to examine his uncle.

      Caelan had noticed, of course; he put his papers down and said, ‘Good morning, Michael.’

      For a moment Michael looked apprehensive, but he was a friendly child and he essayed a tentative grin. Abby’s breath locked in her throat; she watched the formidable assurance of Caelan’s expression relax into a rare, compelling smile.

      Deep inside her something twisted, and a pang of excitement—hot and feverish and piercing—seized her so fiercely she almost gasped under its impact.

      ‘Do you want to go to the bathroom?’ his uncle asked.

      Michael thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘Yes. With Abby.’

      ‘Of course.’ An ice-blue, enigmatic gaze roamed Abby’s face. ‘When you’ve finished, breakfast will be ready.’

      Eyes wide and incredulous, Michael stared around the plane and demanded, ‘Where are we, Abby?’

      ‘We’re СКАЧАТЬ