Princess in the Iron Mask - By Victoria Parker Page 0,26

knowing he shouldn’t be intruding—that it was, as Claudia had said, private. And Bailey sounded very much like a young girl. Not a man. The rapid flush of relief was because she was safe, he was sure.

Claudia was perched on the edge of a small bed, blocking his view of the patient. Her jacket was gone, the sleeves of her shirt rolled high as she twisted her arm this way and that, seemingly allowing the girl to inspect her wrists. He remembered all the times she’d tugged at her clothes, and earlier when he’d grabbed her.

Stiffening his limbs, he fought the emotional throb of his body.

‘I wouldn’t want to kiss a boy anyway,’ Bailey said. ‘Clara in Bay Four said it’s like eating custard. I hate custard.’

‘Custard?’ Claudia repeated, and Lucas could hear the smile in her voice. He wished she wasn’t turned away from him so he could see the widening of her lush mouth for himself.

‘But maybe my dad would come...’

‘I know, darling,’ Claudia said softly, the affection in her voice strong, the rich, melodic tone unfamiliar to him. Yet somehow it had the power to unearth a long-buried memory and create a strange surge of longing. ‘I know,’ she repeated. ‘Look what I brought for you.’

Claudia bent from the waist, reaching into her bag on the floor, and his attention snapped to the child. Dios...

He stepped to the side in an instant, before she caught sight of him, unwilling to frighten her. His size tended to do just that and she was immensely frail. Frail? She was tiny.

‘Who’s that man, Claudia?’ the girl asked.

Damn. Lucas schooled his features, flexed his neck and relaxed his big body in an attempt to become as unthreatening as he possibly could. Then he turned to the open doorway, almost filling the narrow gap.

‘Good morning,’ he said.

The girl, Bailey, gaped openly, and Claudia shot to her feet. ‘Lucas. What are you doing here? Can’t I have one hour’s peace?’

‘Sí,’ he said. ‘Except it now happens to be one hour and twenty-three minutes.’ He turned to Bailey. ‘May I come in?’

‘No,’ Claudia said.

‘Okay,’ Bailey said.

‘Since this is your room, señorita, I shall take your answer,’ he said to the young girl, and was rewarded with a small tentative smile. One that lifted the heavy bruising from around her eyes and sent a fresh burst of emotion through his system.

Claudia fisted her small hands as if she wanted to punch him into next week, and stepped toward the bed in an entirely protective move. What the hell did she think he would do?

As he approached the bed Claudia moved closer still, practically smothering his view. And, like a warning flare illuminating the sky, light dawned. She was not only protecting the child, she was hiding her.

He tossed Claudia a quizzical look and she volleyed with a silent plea, mouthed, ‘Do not stare.’

Anger screamed through his innards, blending with affront, and he ground his jaw fiercely to prevent it pouring from his mouth. He’d always prided himself on being unreadable—he’d been trained by the best, after all—but the chastised look on Claudia’s face told him he’d failed to hide his fury in this instance. And he was inordinately pleased.

In one sweeping glance he’d gained several key pieces that made up the Princess Claudine Verbault conundrum. And when you’re older...your wrists will be just like mine...she’d said. This girl had the same condition that Claudia had suffered from in her youth. Lucas was looking at the past.

At enflamed wrists and elbows, painfully sore skin. At puffy eyes and purplish branding that spoke of bone-deep lethargy. And the way she barely moved from the bed, wincing as she tried to straighten her legs, told him she suffered serious muscle fatigue. Tiny hands tugged at the white sheet to drape over her slight frame. Hiding.

Pain banked in his chest. Through it all, the girl was very pretty, and he could see glimpses of the beautiful woman she would become. A woman who would replace the white sheet with a dour wardrobe.

Madre de Dios. His gut ached.

While he’d read brief notes on the illness, seeing it, looking at it for himself, was something else entirely. Much like visiting a bombsite—knowing the damage was already done, hoping for the best, but witnessing devastation that left soldiers numb for hours.

Clearing his thick, tight throat, he looked towards Claudia. ‘Would you like to make the introductions?’

Her deep amber eyes bored through his skull and he returned her glare, caught in that odd