Princess in the Iron Mask - By Victoria Parker Page 0,18

he said, palm outstretched.

She dug into her pocket, rummaging. Out came a tissue, a pencil, a small notepad. All of which she stuffed in her free hand. ‘I know I picked them up. I know I did.’

Raking his hair back from his face, he took a moment to rein in his anxiety. And in that instant an arrow of ice speared up his nape and his head snapped upright.

Traffic weaved around his parked car—a black hatchback, a red coupe—and beyond, on the opposite side of the street, there was a small Italian restaurant, a run-down clothes store, a church. And, parked directly in front, a large white pick-up.

‘Get in the car.’

‘What?’ she said, delving into her other pocket.

‘Now!’

‘Do you have to be so impatient? I’m telling you the rotten key is in here somewhere.’

Lucas gripped her arm, ignored the pocket paraphernalia clattering to the pavement, marched her round the car, opened the door and pushed her inside.

‘Lucas, really,’ she said, poking her head out. ‘What is wrong with you?’

Palm flat on top of her head, he pressed her back into the car, slammed the door, ate the tarmac in five quick paces and folded his frame into the seat beside her. ‘Buckle up.’

‘No. I need to go inside,’ she said, exasperated, pointing at the red brick façade of her grotty flat. ‘I don’t have any—’

‘Claudia, I do not care what you want. We are being watched, and I need to get you out of here.’

‘Watched?’ she repeated, in a high-pitched squeak as her hand crept up her chest and wrapped around the base of her throat. ‘But that’s impossible. No one knows me.’

Yesterday that might have been true, but when the Arunthian King disclosed his intent to gather the royal family for the event of the decade things changed. Lucas had known that. Which was why he’d flown into a military base. Why he hadn’t ordered chauffeur-driven cars. When the King’s three daughters were dotted around the globe, and in particular when one had been missing for well over a decade, interest was ripe. Claudia was spoken of in hushed tones, and in all his years working for the King he’d never been told her exact whereabouts. Until now. He didn’t envy her the scrutiny she’d be placed under when they returned. Only the best guards would be selected to watch over her, and Lucas would ensure he chose men with eyes in the back of their heads—for she was nothing but reckless obstinacy.

His mind flitting through the options, he took one last glance at the white pick-up truck.

‘Unless...’ she said.

Lucas pulled out into the lane of traffic, feeling her eyes burning into the side of his face. He knew what was coming—could feel the initial flare of her wrath. Perversely, it began to stoke the fires he’d managed to douse.

‘Oh, my God,’ she said, elbows bent, fingers pressing into her temples like one of those telepaths harnessing their brain power. ‘You know what, Lucas? I’ve known of your existence for three hours and already my life has gone to the dogs. There’s only one reason for someone to take a sudden interest in me. You’ve blown my cover!’

Lucas slapped the indicator and gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles ached. Dios, how had this happened? For the first time in his career he’d failed to do his job. First by almost kissing her and second by putting her in jeopardy. Within five seconds of their meeting he’d lost control of his carnal appetites and his instincts were sloth-like. How long had the pick-up truck been standing there? While he, the Head of Security, had had her hard up against a car, ready to devour her mouth and anything else he could reach.

‘I cannot see how,’ he said, vexed as he attempted to find an explanation for this strange phenomenon. ‘Do you think me so inept I would announce my arrival in the country to the press?’

‘How do I know if you’re any good at your job? So far I’ve been blackmailed, shouted at and suffered a good soaking.’

Good point.

From the corner of his eye he watched her yank her glasses from atop her head and rub the lenses on her coat. Her sodden coat.

‘Great. Now I don’t even have a tissue because you—’ She took a deep breath and tossed the thick frames into the footwell. ‘Anyway, how do you know...?’ He heard her audible gulp. ‘That they were press.’

‘I only suspect,’ he said, knowing his hunch was enough.