Princess In The Iron Mask. Victoria Parker

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      ‘Well, Mr Garcia,’ she said, her voice firming together with her backbone, until she stood at her full height and he was almost bowled over by her stature and regal bearing. ‘If my parents sent you, no doubt you have a message for me.’ Her tone—now cold enough to reawaken the memory of frostbite—delivered the final blow. ‘Consider it delivered.’

      And if that wasn’t a sharp swift kick out through the door, he didn’t know what was.

      What the…?

      Realisation hit him square between the eyes, easing the tightness in his chest. Her façade was an illusion. An ingenious cloaking device to ensure she was hidden within a society who knew nothing of her real identity. For her resemblance to the Verbault line was astounding.

      Grateful for the reminder of the real reason he was here, and of how beauty was only skin-deep, Lucas clenched his fists until spears of pain lanced up his forearms. Needing the dull ache winding through his body to regain control.

      ‘You would be correct on the first count,’ he said. ‘Your parents have many things to say to you.’ They were so anxious they had written countless letters over the last two months, begging for her return to Arunthia. Letters she had ignored. ‘But this time, I assure you, their words will be spoken.’

      Had she honestly thought she could ignore her family for ever? He’d been astounded to learn of her defiance. Such blatant disregard for her parents and the country of her birth.

      The woman had no honour.

      Treading lightly, as if flirting with a minefield, Lucas considered his next move. ‘My apologies, Your Royal Highness.’ No matter what he thought of her character she was above him in station, and he purposefully used her title, intent on her reaction. Her pale face remained impassive, which only served to prove his point. ‘As I mentioned, my name is Lucas Garcia and I am the Head of National Security for Arunthia.’

      ‘Congratulations. I’m very happy for you,’ she drawled, raising one perfect dark brow.

      Mesmerised, he watched the residual skittishness fade to be replaced with an emotion bordering on acerbity.

      Twenty-four hours ago this was the woman he’d expected. This he could deal with.

      ‘Your sentiment is appreciated,’ he said, his silky tone forced for maximum impact.

      Claudia focused those stunning eyes on him, her full mouth a moue as she sized him up. Lucas returned her glare, caught in an odd battle of wills, determined not to give an inch. It would be exceptionally easy to stand and look at her all day. If it were a power-play she desired he’d be a worthy opponent.

      ‘How are my doting parents?’ she asked overly sweetly, veering away, breaking the spell.

      Before satisfaction could swell his gut, she began to shuffle around the table, shifting files from one place to another as she scoured the surface.

      ‘King Henri and Queen Marysse wish to see you,’ he said, somewhat distracted, his curiosity mounting as she searched the desk.

      With a breathy little satisfied sigh that quite frankly belonged in the bedroom she reached over a paper mountain. Her lab coat moulded to her curvaceous bottom, the hem riding upward, giving Lucas a tantalising glimpse of sculpted ankles and sleek, toned calves. Swallowing hard, he whipped his gaze back up, just in time to see her pushing those huge ugly spectacles up her nose.

      Swaying between the need to rip them back off or glue them in place, he cursed under his breath. Dios, he was not meant to feel anything. And the only thing he needed from her was to damn well comply.

      ‘Well, I’ve no wish to see them,’ she said.

      Lucas kept his tone modulated, easy. ‘That is unfortunate. They desire your hasty return to Arunthia. I have been commissioned to escort you home.’

      She slammed her hands onto lush, rounded hips and her eyes fired darts full of ire. ‘Mr Garcia, I’m not an express shipment. If it’s haste you desire the door is directly behind you. Furthermore, if I wanted a vacation in Arunthia I’m quite capable of getting there myself. I don’t require an escort.’

      Lucas hitched a brow. He knew exactly what she required. A damn good—

      ‘More importantly, I can’t leave England right now.’

      ‘Do you not wish to see your family? Reacquaint yourself with the country of your birth?’ he asked, trying a little guilt on for size.

      ‘Not particularly,’ she replied, a hint of pink dusting her sculpted cheekbones.

      Was she lying or embarrassed by her callous disregard? The notion began to appease him—until her arms fell listlessly to her sides and she bit down hard on her bottom lip. A drop of blood pooled on the plump surface and she sucked the flesh. Grimaced.

      Miss Verbault was either into self-punishment or underneath her chosen façade lay an emotional maelstrom. Lucas decided to go on the first theory. If she had any conscience she would have returned home months ago.

      ‘If they’re that desperate to see me, why aren’t they here?’

      ‘Unfortunately they are incapacitated at present.’

      ‘They usually are incapacitated, Mr Garcia,’ she said, rubbing her brow with the tips of her fingers.

      His head reared. ‘Naturally. They do rule a small country. Something I’m sure is a time-consuming vocation.’ What did she want? Weekly trips? How narrow-minded could one person be?

      ‘Oh, I’ve noticed. For twenty-eight years, believe me, I’ve noticed,’ she said, now rubbing harder, almost punishing. As very well she should.

      Any other woman would be overjoyed to have even a small taste of the privileged life she rejected. To be royalty and live in pure luxury was, for most, an impossible dream. Dios, for some, placing food upon the table or returning to their loved ones at all was an impossible dream.

      The woman was a conundrum. You’re not here to crack the code, Garcia. Just do your job and get the hell out.

      Lucas flexed his neck and battled on. He hadn’t forged his way through the ranks by falling at the first hurdle or being a passive negotiator. Then again, he was adept at dealing with men. Not tall, striking, obstinate females.

      Ordering his voice to remain civil, Lucas persisted. ‘Regardless of their responsibilities, they look forward to your visit.’

      A heavy sigh poured from her mouth. ‘Oh, I’m sure. The question is, what do they want from me?’

      A growl rumbled up his chest. ‘They merely want to see their daughter.’ He avoided the topic of an Anniversary Ball, celebrating her parents’ fifty years of marriage, as had been suggested. Apparently she was uncomfortable at such gatherings. It was more likely she couldn’t bear to leave her precious lab. Even Lucas could see it was the personal white fortress of an ice maiden.

      ‘I’ll arrange a conference call,’ she said.

      ‘In. Person.’

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