Princess in the Iron Mask - By Victoria Parker Page 0,6

cleanliness punched his gut, gripped and twisted with a hard fist. Sweat bubbled on his upper lip and he turned to pace, exorcising the demons. How could she stand being cooped in this cage? The violent need to escape pumped pure adrenaline through his system, and he clamped his jaw hard enough to crack a molar.

Shrugging off the discomfort, disgusted at his own weakness, he veered towards her. ‘You may live in a free country but you were born to another and you have responsibilities to uphold. You will always have your work. But right now your family needs to take precedence. Three weeks at the most and then you may return. That is all they ask of you.’

‘All they ask?’ she flared. ‘Why should I do anything for them?’

Lucas scrubbed at his nape, smacked with the need to butt his head against a brick wall. ‘Your selfishness is astounding. Do you not feel one iota—?’

‘I have responsibilities here, Mr Garcia. Petri dishes full of them,’ she said, her arm outstretched, pointing to a wall where a bank of shelves held a legion of chemical equipment, jars and small plastic dishes of what looked like goop.

He raised a dark brow in her direction, only to be faced with one ink-smudged palm. The slight quiver of her long fingers betrayed her heightened state of anxiety.

‘I don’t expect you to understand what I do here,’ she said waspishly and somewhat degradingly.

Lucas allowed the insult to slide, since he understood perfectly what her job entailed. If she thought him beneath her level of intelligence he was not only unperturbed—for it would be a cold day in hell before he valued the opinion of one so selfish and irresponsible—but his apparent ignorance would only serve to work in his favour later on. While he understood her motivations, her priorities were clearly misaligned.

‘So,’ she said, tearing her spectacles off her face, flaying him with amber fire. ‘You can stop pacing like a caged animal, trying to figure out your next move. I’ve seen them all and I’m immune.’

Lucas clenched his teeth to avoid his jaw dropping to the floor. Incredible! She fought as a warrior. He’d never seen anything like it. Or felt anything like it. Because his entire body seethed with the need to haul her into his arms and kiss her pert, insolent mouth.

He scoured her face. Flawless apricot skin, huge distinctive amber eyes begging him for something he couldn’t place. Understanding? Or to be left in peace?

Lucas could give her neither.

Failure was not in his vocabulary. He’d built his life, its very foundations, on honour, duty and protection. Not even an act of providence would steer him off his chosen path. Nor the most beautiful self-centred woman he’d ever laid eyes on.

Damage limitation was futile.

It was time to change tactics and up the pressure.

Because, come nightfall, Claudia would be returning to Arunthia.

CHAPTER TWO

IT MIGHT HAVE been nanny number four who’d told her not to play with fire, Claudia reflected as she took a tentative step back. But for the life of her she couldn’t remember the woman who had screamed the warning never to provoke animals. Such a shame she hadn’t listened and taken the same diligent approach to her safety as she had to her reading materials.

Standing no more than five feet away, Lucas locked his fierce blue eyes on her. Blatant intent slashed colour on his high chiselled cheekbones and her heart thumped against her ribcage. Without a doubt he would throw her over his shoulder and haul her out of here given half the chance.

Ignoring the ridiculous frisson of excitement that thought evoked, she focused on what was quickly becoming one of the most surreal days of her life.

Lucas, this dark, devastating brute, was by moral nature a carbon copy of her parents. Only thinking of their beloved country, of duty and responsibility. Uncaring of Claudia’s desires or, more importantly, her needs.

Why should she do anything for them? What had they ever done for her, apart from abandoning her in a foreign country? Twelve years old and so sick she could barely walk. So unsightly they’d secreted her away. The loss of everything and everyone she’d ever known had soaked her pillow at night. So frightened. So very alone.

Throat swelling with the sting of past hurts, she swerved back to the workbench and fumbled with the paper disarray for fear he’d see too much.

‘I would like you to leave, Mr Garcia,’ she said, the sheet in her hand quivering