Princess in the Iron Mask - By Victoria Parker Page 0,10

your conditions would land me in the unemployment line.’ Oh, she could beg Ryan Tate to give her time to find the money elsewhere, but it would be a useless pursuit. There was a reason he was known as a hard-ass among her colleagues. Ryan Tate would question her sanity. Tell her to swallow her damn pride and think of the bigger picture. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that. ‘Then again, you knew that, Lucas, didn’t you?’ she said bitterly.

His throat convulsed and after a few seconds he relaxed his stance and rolled his broad shoulders. The fact that he didn’t answer made her madder still.

‘Who on earth do you think you are?’ she said, her control slipping a notch. ‘You went to Tate’s office without even consulting me. Is this what I have to look forward to? A life of being coerced, controlled and dictated to?’

A light flashed in his intense stare before his face contorted with stunned incredulity. ‘Since when does three weeks equate to a lifetime?’

It might seem a measly three weeks to him, but what would they demand after that? It didn’t bear thinking about. ‘Since you’ve given me a taste of the new regime!’

Lucas scrubbed his palm over his mouth, his chest heaving. ‘Claudia,’ he growled, his hand dropping into a large fist by his side, ‘I am attempting to do my job, but your obdurate attitude leaves me with few options. Instead of focusing on how this happened, why not take some pleasure from what you will benefit from. Three and a half million pounds, to be precise.’

‘But at what cost to me?’ she asked. Then immediately bit her lip when the words echoed through the room.

‘Three weeks of your time. It is nothing,’ he said, with a savage slash of his hand.

A pitiful laugh broke through her thick throat. How wrong he was. Lucas had no idea of the personal price she’d pay. He was oblivious to her inner turmoil. But that didn’t excuse his behaviour in her eyes. She was dedicated to her job, but did she go around blackmailing people? No.

‘You speak of the strength of your dedication. Your work taking priority. Yet if that were true the money would make your decision in an instant. Or,’ he continued, his mouth twisting, ‘is it a case of you using your job as a convenient excuse?’

‘No!’ she cried.

Lucas’s head reared at her outburst and she winced inwardly.

‘No,’ she tried again—softer, quieter. But it was altogether too late. The hitch to his brow told her so. And to some extent he was right.

When the effects of her illness had waned in her late teens her parents had visited once, maybe twice. Other times they’d sent messengers, and for years she’d declined everything from a short vacation to a simple dinner on her own turf, using her work as an excuse. Avoiding her own parents because they’d hurt her, betrayed her, cast her aside. When she’d needed them the most. If she took the money this day she would be giving them the power to destroy her all over again. But you can keep your distance, Claudia. You’re adept at doing just that.

Three weeks of God knew what, in exchange for her funding.

Taking short ragged breaths to ease the pain in her lungs, she squeezed her eyes shut. In the space of two seconds her mind began its attack, assaulting her with a multitude of visions and images.

Arunthia—a world in which she’d been deemed unworthy and dispensable.

St Andrew’s Hospital—where she could make a real difference. And—oh, God—the children trying to smile through the pain, the misery. If she lost her job work on their case would scream to a halt. Claudia was their advocate. They needed her. Could she ever look at them in the face again, knowing she could have helped if only she’d faced her past?

Pain cracked through her mind and her eyes pinged open. Lucas was staring, his eyes curiously hot and heavy, fixed on her mouth where she tore at her bottom lip. Gooseflesh pimpled every inch of her skin and she shuddered ferociously. Why did he have to stare at her so much? It was as unnerving as it was confusing. Made her want to reach up. Touch. Check her skin. Bury her face in her hands. Hide. But she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

As if he’d caught himself, he scrubbed his hands over his face and combed his glorious hair back from his brow with long