Emily's Innocence. India Grey

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СКАЧАТЬ practised smiles not quite hiding the tension in their eyes. ‘The calm before the cat-fight,’ read the caption beneath the picture. Looking into their familiar faces Emily realised that she was smiling, even though her heart felt like it was being prised open with a pickaxe, but her smile faded as her gaze moved to a picture of her father standing next to a familiar and distinguished English actress. She was a long-time friend of the family, but noticing the way Oscar’s hand was looped lightly round her waist Emily suddenly found herself wondering if she’d ever been more than that…

      The shadows gathered at the corners of her mind, the dark shapes slipping through the trees.

      Hating herself for her cynicism and suspicion, hating her father for planting it in her mind, she glanced quickly away, to the next photograph.

      And froze.

      She tried to tear her gaze away. Really, she did. She didn’t want to keep looking helplessly into the slanting golden eyes that stared straight out at her from the page, or remember how it had felt to have them looking back at her for real. Moving over her body. Glittering with amusement and delicious wickedness…

      ‘Prince Luis Cordoba of Santosa arrives at the party,’ said the text beneath the picture. ‘But will the newly reformed playboy prince be able to withstand the temptation of the wild and wayward Balfour girls?’

      At that moment the train juddered to a halt and dazedly Emily realised she’d reached her stop. She sprang to her feet, bundling the paper up. For a split second she considered leaving it on the seat, but instead found herself tucking it under her arm as she got off the train.

      Because she hated the thought of a stranger picking it up and poring over the sordid details of her family’s disgrace, she told herself as she walked briskly towards the stairs. Not because she wanted to read any more about Luis Cordoba, or gaze longer at the photograph of him looking brooding and beautiful in black tie, for goodness’ sake.

      Of course not.

      Why would she? He was dangerous, and Emily didn’t like danger. She had no interest in him whatsoever—a fact which she’d made perfectly clear at last year’s ball.

      And just to prove it to herself again now, she dropped the paper into the first bin she passed at the entrance to the station. And she allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction as she walked purposefully away.

      ‘Where in hell’s name are we, exactly?’

      Luis gazed moodily out of the blacked-out window as his car nosed its way slowly through the traffic-clogged outer reaches of London. At least he assumed they were still in London, though the dingy rows of scruffy houses bore little resemblance to the elegant city he was familiar with.

      His private secretary consulted his clipboard. ‘I believe it’s a place called Larchfield Park, sir,’ he said gravely. ‘It’s an area with a high proportion of unemployed residents, and significant problems with drug abuse, gang violence and gun and knife crime.’

      ‘How charming,’ Luis drawled, leaning back against the soft leather upholstery with a twisted smile. ‘Tomás, may I suggest that if you ever leave your job in the royal household you don’t apply for a position as a holiday rep. If I’d wanted to die I could have simply crashed my helicopter into the nearest cliff in Santosa.’

      Tomás didn’t smile. ‘Sir, please let me reassure you that the car is fully armoured. You’re in no danger. Since the crown prince’s death we’ve increased security by—’

      ‘I know,’ Luis interrupted wearily. ‘I was joking. Forget it.’

      He closed his eyes. His hangover, held at bay all day by a combination of strong painkillers and stronger coffee, was threatening to make a comeback, hammering at his temples with depressing persistence. He had only himself to blame, of course…

      But then he was used to that.

      Anyway, he thought bleakly, given that his behaviour for the past ten months had been completely exemplary, he could just about forgive himself one minor lapse at the Balfour Charity Ball. Especially since no high-profile models had been involved. No married women. No women at all, in fact. His vow to Rico was intact. It had just been him and a rather too plentiful supply of Oscar Balfour’s excellent champagne.

      It was all so different from last year.

      He looked out of the window, not seeing the evening sunlight slanting onto the graffiti-daubed walls, the litter-strewn streets, but a pair of blue eyes—Balfour blue, people called it—and remembering the way their clear, cornflower-coloured depths had darkened when he’d kissed her. With shock, and with desire perhaps, but also with…

       Deus.

      He felt a stab of self-disgust as he pushed the memory away. Perhaps it was just as well Oscar’s youngest daughter hadn’t been there last night. Emily Balfour had been every bit as beautiful as her older sisters—a fact which had initially distracted him from her quite astonishing lack of experience. If he’d known how green she was he would have taken it more slowly, taken more time to draw out the tremulous passion he had sensed beneath her rigidly polite veneer. But hindsight was a wonderful thing. Last year, if he’d known a lot of things that now seemed all too bloody obvious, his life would look very different.

      ‘We’re here, sir.’

      Tomás’s voice interrupted his thoughts and Luis realised the car had pulled into a sort of compound surrounded by high wire-mesh fencing. It was now coming to a standstill outside a shabby-looking single-storey building that had clearly seen better days.

      His security team had arrived ahead of them and were attempting to be discreet as they patrolled the perimeter of the compound, while a guard stood in the doorway and talked into a microphone headset. A small crowd of gangly youths in hooded sweatshirts had gathered on the other side of the fence.

      Luis sighed inwardly.

      ‘Remind me what we’re here for again?’

      ‘Well, sir, it’s a dance group of—’

      Luis groaned and held up his hands. ‘OK, you can stop right there, unless the next part of that sentence was going to be “eighteen-year-old exotic belly dancers”.’

      ‘No, sir.’ Tomás consulted his clipboard again. ‘It’s mixed programme. This is a local youth centre, which provides a number of different sports and dance classes for children aged from four to sixteen. Tonight we’re here to watch a performance of tap, jazz, street dance and ballet.’

      ‘Ballet?’ Luis repeated scathingly, ‘Meu Deus. I take it this is all part of the master plan to reinvent me as sincere, high-minded patron of the arts.’

      ‘The press office did think this kind of involvement with children’s community arts would be a useful way of highlighting a more sensitive side to your character, yes, sir.’

      Despair and frustration closed in on Luis, surrounding him as palpably as the high wire fence against which the youths were gathering outside. ‘In that case you’d better nudge me when it’s time to clap,’ he said wearily. ‘And wake me up if I start to snore.’

      Emily turned the corner from the tube station and hurried in the direction of the community centre. She was late. Across the road a cherry tree in full blossom was like a ghostly СКАЧАТЬ