Illicit nights with the billionaire...

News of a tragic accident plunges Princess Amelie’s life into turmoil. To escape the swarming press, she takes her newly orphaned nephew and runs, seeking the protection of one man.

Lambis Evangelos desires Amelie beyond all reckoning, but refuses to taint her radiant beauty with the guilt of his past. For years he’s resisted his longing for her luscious body—until Amelie’s arrival at his doorstep draws him too close to her forbidden temptation...

His secluded Greek island is a refuge from the world. There, Amelie and Lambis have no choice—they must yield to their fiery, uncontrollable passion!

‘Why ask when clearly you don’t care?’

Amelie didn’t even turn to face him. Only the rigidity of her slim frame and the hands clenched at her sides revealed her tension. Lambis didn’t answer. To say he cared would be tantamount to inviting them to stay, and that he couldn’t do. Yet nor could he see her tension and not respond.

Damn the woman! She’d got under his skin once. He couldn’t let her do it again.

Suddenly she spun round, and the change in her was a punch to the solar plexus. Gone was the touch-me-not Princess, the haughty aristocrat. Everything about Amelie spoke of heat and passion. From her flashing eyes to the heightened colour accentuating those high cheekbones and the sweet bow of her mouth, deliciously plump as if she’d been biting it.

The effect was instant and incendiary—a symphony of want turned his body to hot, brazen metal. He’d wanted her before, too many times to count, but not like this—as if he’d incinerate if he didn’t reach out and touch her, taste those kissable lips and possess that poised, perfect body.

‘My nephew is required to speak. To accept his future role and swear an oath. If he doesn’t…’ Amelie paused and the colour faded from her cheeks. ‘If he can’t say the words another heir will be found.’

‘Couldn’t the law be changed?’

‘Not quickly enough.’

The Princess Seductions

Driven by duty—destined for desire!

A dynastic marriage is planned between Princess Amelie of St Galla and King Alexander of Bengaria. They are meant to be meeting for the first time—but Amelie has disappeared!

Someone must stand in until Amelie returns—and who better than her secret half-sister Cat Dubois?

But when Amelie embarks on a sizzling forbidden affair will she ever want to return?

Find out what happens in

His Majesty’s Temporary Bride

The Greek’s Forbidden Princess

Available now!

The Greek’s Forbidden Princess

Annie West

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love-lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at annie@annie-west.com or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Books by Annie West

Mills & Boon Modern Romance

The Flaw in Raffaele’s Revenge

The Princess Seductions

His Majesty’s Temporary Bride

Wedlocked!

The Desert King’s Captive Bride

Secret Heirs of Billionaires

The Desert King’s Secret Heir

Visit the Author Profile page

at millsandboon.co.uk for more titles.

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For Karen, who’s there through thick and thin. Thanks, mate!

And a big thank you to Efthalia for advising on the Greek.

Dear Reader,

The Greek’s Forbidden Princess is the second book in my The Princess Seductions duet, and yet it was the first of the two story ideas that came to me. It’s been in my head a long time, slowly percolating till the time was right to get it down in black and white.

In my teens I began a love affair with Greece—possibly from the day I picked up a very old edition of stories by Mary Stewart, which featured feisty women finding both peril and romance in the wild mountains of Greece. Strong heroes, passion (if rather understated, in keeping with the time they were written) and exotic locations—I was hooked! Since then I’ve had the chance to explore a little of the country and its culture and the fascination continues.

My brooding, powerful hero Lambis, who’s cut himself off from the chance of love, owes as much to that early reading as to the traditional Beauty and the Beast theme. But the story isn’t all about him. In fact it was Princess Amelie I thought of first. Caring, charming, hard-working and beautiful—she might have been too good to be true, except I learned immediately that this woman hides a world of hurt and thwarted hopes behind her serene expression. She loves and cares deeply, and will risk anything for those she loves—not only scandal, but heartbreak. So when it’s a toss-up between saving her orphaned nephew and begging for help from the man who rejected her… You can imagine what choice she makes!

I felt deeply for Amelie and Lambis. Their story moved me and I hope it moves you too. I hope, like me, you sigh with pleasure when you reach the final page.

With very best wishes,

Annie

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

The Princess Seductions

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Dear Reader

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘THEN KATALEVENO.’ I don’t understand. Amelie paused and tried again, working to keep her teeth from chattering as the temperature dropped another degree or six. ‘Kyrios Evangelos, parakalo.’ Mr Evangelos, please.

The intercom squawked into a burst of machine-gun-fast Greek. Amelie hadn’t a hope of understanding. She’d already used up her handful of phrases.

Clearly the woman inside the house had no patience for foreigners. Or language skills other than Greek. Amelie had already tried French, English, German and finally even Spanish and Russian.

But why should the housekeeper, if that was who she was, speak anything other than Greek? This estate was high in the mountain spine of northern Greece. Tourists headed for the beaches of the Aegean Sea or the ancient ruins. Amelie guessed only the most adventurous foreigners headed to this isolated, beautiful region.

Adventurous or desperate.

Amelie had never had a chance to be adventurous. But a twist of fate had turned her staid, predictable world on its head. Desperate was too mild a description for her situation.

‘Please. Parakalo,’ she began, hunching her shoulders against the icy wind, but the line went dead.

Amelie stared, disbelieving, into the security camera perched above the gates. The woman had hung up! She must have seen Amelie shivering in the unseasonable icy blast.

Amelie blinked, torn between indignation and curiosity. This was a first. Never before had she been ignored—no, not ignored...rejected.

Yet even as she thought it, she knew that was wrong.

She’d been rejected by the very man she’d come here to see. Once, when it had been just her happiness in question, she’d taken his rebuff with all the grace she’d spent a lifetime learning. This time, when it was Seb’s happiness, his future in question, Amelie refused to accept ‘no’.

Her mouth settled in a way her father had called obstinate. But her father had never been pleased, no matter how she tried, or how many of the family burdens she shouldered. Besides, he was dead and gone. Like Michel, her brother, and his wife, Irini.

A giant hand gripped her insides and twisted them till they burned. The ache welled high, clogging her chest, her throat, her whole being.

But Amelie wouldn’t let it conquer her. She blinked, refusing to let tears come. There’d been no time for tears since the accident for, of course, everyone relied on her to be strong. The burden might have broken her if she hadn’t spent years as the anchor for her family and everyone else. For as if grief wasn’t enough, the repercussions from Michel’s death were...complicated.

Amelie breathed deep, determined to focus on the positive. She still had Seb.

Her glance strayed to the nondescript hire car pulled over in front of the massive gates. There was no movement inside. Seb must still be asleep. Their journey from St Galla had exhausted him.

It had exhausted her. Amelie almost lifted a hand to her aching head—too much stress and too little sleep—but she was conscious of the security camera. She was watched from inside the house she couldn’t even see down its long drive.

A lifetime’s training in never revealing weakness kept her arm by her side and her chin up. If Lambis Evangelos and his lackeys thought she’d meekly run away...

Her lips turned up in a mirthless smile. They had no idea what despair could do. What she could do.

Slowly, shoulders back and hands swinging at her sides, she strolled to the car. She didn’t even flinch when the first snowflakes spattered her face.

It needed only that to put the seal on this horrible journey. The secretive trip to Athens on a friend’s boat in order to avoid the paparazzi. The press had mobbed her in St Galla and they’d been forced to slip out in the dead of night. The long journey, the crowds and bustle of Athens, then the stonewalling when she’d arrived at the Evangelos Enterprises office. Then the long, exhausting drive north.

She’d come this far. She refused to return home, defeated. There was too much at stake.

Opening the back door of the car, she slid in beside Seb. Sure enough, he was sleeping, a lock of blond hair flopping over his too-pale face. He looked vulnerable, curled up with his teddy under his chin.

Amelie’s heart turned over and love, fierce and fortifying, slammed into her. She shrugged out of her long coat and scooted over against him, draping it over the pair of them. He shifted, frowning in his sleep, opening his mouth as if to protest, but then subsided without so much as a whimper. Under the cashmere, Amelie wrapped her arm around him and hugged him close.

They’d hit a dead end and she was out of alternatives. She’d have to come up with another plan, but for now, she’d allow herself a tiny respite. Ten minutes’ rest before she revised her plan of action. With a sigh of exhaustion she closed her eyes.

Ten minutes...

* * *

A knocking woke her. She had that awful cotton wool taste in her mouth that told her she’d actually fallen asleep in broad daylight.

Except it wasn’t daylight. It was murky twilight and so chilly it was a wonder she’d slept.

Again that knocking, harder this time, and Amelie swung her head round. Through the side window she saw a dark shadow loom like a giant mountain bear. Her heart skidded against her ribs. Adrenaline pumped too hard, too fast, and she had to force down a moment’s primitive, instinctive fear.

Then she woke properly, remembering their predicament. If only it was merely wildlife she had to worry about!

She slid along the back seat, carefully tucking her coat around Seb, who, remarkably, still slept. The poor kid truly was running on empty.

As she put her hand on the handle, the massive form outside retreated, allowing her to open the door.

Instantly a blast of frigid air struck. Amelie gasped then forced herself out, shutting the door quickly to keep in the relative warmth. Fat snowflakes tickled her face. She sucked in a draught of oxygen that froze her throat and made all the tiny hairs on her body rise.

Except she suspected it wasn’t the cold air alone that did that. More likely it was reaction to the great, shaggy bear of a man standing just a pace away.

At least those profoundly broad shoulders blocked some of the wind. They were a perfect frame for a wickedly bold, dark face—straight black eyebrows, strong, too strong nose, high-cut cheekbones and a jaw that reminded her of the Acropolis’s uncompromising angles. It didn’t matter that his mouth was finely chiselled and full, for he didn’t smile. His mouth was grim, a perfect match for eyes as grey and dour as the mountain looming beyond him.

No welcome. No offer of assistance.

Amelie lifted her chin, the better to see him, refusing to be intimidated by that beetling brow or the aggressive bunch of his huge hands.

Or by the unwanted punch of pure feminine response to his aura of potent masculinity.

By sheer force of will she kept her arms at her sides instead of wrapping them around her freezing body. She’d stood firm against the worst St Galla could throw at her, not least her own father. She wasn’t about to fall in a heap because of a scowl.

No matter how much she wanted to turn tail and find some cosy hotel where she could curl up and be alone.

This isn’t about you, Amelie.

The reminder gave her strength. Her life had always been about others. Her forays into seeking personal happiness had been disastrous.

‘Kalimera.’ Good day.

He didn’t reply. Not by so much as a muscle twitch did his expression change, yet she had the impression that anger coiled tight within that imposing frame.

The only thing about him that moved was his hair, overlong and tousled by the whipping wind, jet black like his eyebrows, and if his expression was any indication, his heart.

How could a man so stern and unyielding make her pulse quicken and her knees go weak with excitement?

‘You’re blocking the gates.’

Biting back a retort she knew would win her no friends, Amelie smiled. It was the small public smile she sometimes felt she’d perfected before she could walk. The sort that wore well, no matter how tough the circumstances or how much she wished she was anywhere else.

‘So I am.’ Because parking here had been the only way to guarantee attention. Lambis Evangelos and his employees couldn’t drive in or out with her car parked across the entrance. ‘If you open the gates I’ll remedy that.’

He didn’t even bother to shake his head or, being Greek, to lift his chin in that supremely dismissive reverse nod that signified no.

Tiredness dragged at Amelie, and a building fury that she’d travelled so far, hiding from the press all the way, fearing someone would recognise them and destroy their anonymity, to be met by this. The blank annoyance of a man who didn’t give a damn.

Perhaps this last-ditch effort was doomed to fail.

Acid swirled through her insides and the metallic taste of defeat was bitter on her tongue. Amelie felt a tremor of despair begin deep in the pit of her belly and widened her stance, staking her right to be here.

At the movement something flickered in those deep-set eyes, but he said nothing.

So be it. He might be rugged up in a massive coat but Amelie wasn’t dressed for this unseasonably early snowstorm. Her clothes were chic rather than warm. The weather on the Mediterranean island of St Galla had been summery. The cool weather wouldn’t begin there for another couple of months and snow was rare.

Amelie turned to open the rear car door.

‘What are you doing?’ His voice was deep and resonant. She felt it circle her ribs then burrow low, making her insides soften.

Suddenly, gloriously, anger welled, burning bright in veins turned sluggish with cold and the prospect of defeat. She would not let this man with a voice like hot whisky, so at odds with those glacial eyes, turn her inside out.

‘Since a civil greeting is out of the question, I’m getting back in the car, where at least there’s some warmth.’

‘Stop.’ He stretched out one arm, his big, square hand just a hairsbreadth from hers. Then, abruptly, rejecting the idea of physical contact, he let it drop.

Somehow, more than anything, that hurt.

She didn’t want him to touch her. But that infinitesimal rejection felt like a tipping point. Amelie assured herself this foolishness was just the aftermath of a hellish time, of stress and trauma and worry.

‘Why? Do you have something to say that I want to hear?’ Her chin hiked up and to her amazement she caught sight of a tiny twist at the corner of that stern mouth. It was nothing like a smile, nothing so human. But it was something.

‘You shouldn’t be here.’

‘This is public property. I’ve every right to park here while I wait to be let in.’

Those long fingers twitched at his sides and Amelie wondered on a snared breath of icy air whether he fought the impulse to shake her or move her bodily.

‘There’s nothing for you here.’ He said it slowly, enunciating each word with a precise perfection that reminded her English wasn’t his native language.

‘I didn’t come for myself.’ Amelie kept her voice even, betraying none of the pain she repressed. She was a master at hiding emotion in public. She did it so well she wondered what it would be like to let go—to cry and complain and rail against the cruelty of fate. But that wasn’t her way. She didn’t know how.

One sleek eyebrow cocked high in silent interrogation.

‘I’ve brought my nephew.’

Silence. More of that absolute, unnerving stillness. Had he trained in being impenetrable? Or just in being unfeeling?

Surely even this dour man, who’d already made it clear she wasn’t welcome, had some kernel of softness for a little boy.

Slowly, as if not trusting her to dash past him and scale the huge gates, he bent and peered into the car. When he straightened his face was unchanged. Clearly little Seb’s presence made no difference. They could stay here in what appeared to be a full-scale snowstorm and there’d be no offer of shelter.

Amelie bit the inside of her cheek to prevent the indignant outburst jammed in her mouth.

The sensible thing would be to admit defeat, start the car and drive back to the nearest village, looking for accommodation. She’d do that. Soon.

But her hands shook too much to drive down that winding, slick road. Infuriated, with him and herself, she hauled open the rear door and moved to get in.

Instantly a vice clamped on her shoulder. A hot vice with fingers that dug into her flesh through her thin sweater. His heat after the stinging cold surely explained the rush of energy raying out from the spot.

Amelie turned, meeting that gunmetal stare head-on.

‘Don’t touch me.’

‘Or?’ This time both jet-black eyebrows rose.

‘Or I’ll bring a case of assault so fast your head will spin. And, in case you think I’m bluffing, let me warn you I’ve reached my limit.’

‘Even if it means inviting media attention?’

Because he knew—how could he not?—that she’d only made it this far by avoiding the media.

Carefully Amelie closed the door and turned fully to face him. He was so close he ate up her personal space. He was so big she’d feel crowded and intimidated if she weren’t past caring.

‘That’s one thing about reaching the end of your options. I don’t give a damn.’ She smiled and this time actually felt pleasure, for she saw the shadow of doubt in his stern face. He’d thought she’d be easier to bully.

‘I could call a reporter now. By nightfall we’d have a posse of them here, eager for developments.’ Amelie rested her hands on her hips, enjoying the fleeting sense of power that flooded her freezing body.

Yet still he didn’t take the bait.

She waited as the seconds ticked into a full minute and more. Still he didn’t move or give in.

Even if she followed through and made a formal complaint, or brought in the press, she’d be the one to lose. She and Seb.

They had lost.

She’d gambled against the odds with Seb’s future and failed. Now time was running out.

The enormity of it was a body slam, jarring her from head to toe. She had to stiffen her knees to stop from crumpling as she unravelled inside. All her hopes shattered and little Seb... No, she couldn’t think about it now, with this man watching her like a bird of prey spying on a mouse. She needed privacy when she finally crashed.

Whiplash fast, she shoved his hand off her shoulder and moved towards the driver’s door.

‘Where are you going?’

Amelie didn’t answer. This was probably the first time in her life she’d ignored a direct question. It should have felt liberating, but all she registered was choking misery.

She ripped open the driver’s door. They couldn’t stay here. If she was to get them safely back down the mountain they had to go now.

The sound of swearing stopped her. Low and soft, his rich voice turned even the tumble of foreign swear words into a stream of velvet heat.

‘Just tell me what you want, Princess.’

Amelie didn’t let herself flinch at his bitter use of her title. He said it as if they were strangers. Nor did she turn.

She didn’t want to see the steely face of Lambis Evangelos, the man who’d shattered her dreams and now held her hopes for little Seb in his brutally hard palm.

‘You.’ Her throat closed so it came out as a whisper. She swallowed and tried again. ‘I want you.’

CHAPTER TWO

I WANT YOU.

Hell and damnation.

Her words shouldn’t have any effect.

They didn’t. She’d just taken him by surprise. How had she managed it? Where was her retinue of officials and paparazzi?

More important—why did she want him?

There was nothing here for her. He’d made that plain three years ago. Besides, Amelie had pride; she wouldn’t come after him again.

Lambis scowled. The past was a place he refused to visit.

‘You’ll need to be more specific. What do you want me for?’

Lambis stared down at her slim form as she slowly turned, her hand white-knuckled on the door, her upswept blonde hair and stunning green eyes the only colour in the scene before him. Her whole body trembled from the wintry blast she refused to acknowledge. She wore pale trousers and a matching sweater that clung elegantly and expensively to her lithe frame but did nothing to keep out the cold.

His instinct on seeing her had been to tear off his coat and wrap it around her slender shoulders. But he’d resisted. Better to kill her hopes so she left immediately than let her believe she had a chance of staying.

‘Seb needs you. As you’d know if you bothered to check my messages.’

Messages he’d left unopened. Returning to St Galla for the funeral had been tougher than even he had imagined. He didn’t want reminders of the tragedy and his own guilt. Or of her.

‘Seb?’ How could the boy possibly need him?

Amelie’s mouth flattened. Her eyes had lost their brilliance. They looked opaque with pain, even though her body language was almost aggressive as she leaned into his space. That in itself was remarkable. Amelie was always poised, graceful and polite, the least aggressive person he knew.

Lambis was horrified to realise her eyes looked even more lifeless than on the day they’d buried her brother and sister-in-law. He hated that blankness.

‘You haven’t forgotten your godson, surely?’

As if on cue Lambis registered movement in the car. A hand palmed the rear window. A pale, tiny hand. Beside it was a sombre young face, golden hair tufted from sleep.

There was no smile of recognition. It was the numbed look of someone who didn’t expect a welcome and it cut like a blade to Lambis’s belly.

He hunkered beside the door, putting his face on a level with the boy’s. Those big eyes regarded him, unblinking. They looked even more desolate than his aunt’s, as if they’d never glowed with mischief or delight.

No four-year-old should look that way. But in the circumstances maybe it was inevitable.

Lambis forced his stiff lips into something like a smile. ‘Hey, Sébastien. How are you?’

Haunted eyes stared back through the glass. Sébastien said nothing. Nor did his face register emotion. Just that terrible blankness that stirred the frigid waters of Lambis’s soul.

Looking at Amelie, and now at Seb, reminded him suddenly of another snowy day on this mountain. The day all the warmth inside him had been snuffed out in a catastrophic blast of icy reality.

Lambis reached for the door, urgently needing to see that little face smile in recognition.

‘Don’t!’ Amelie’s voice was sharp as the crack of doom as she inserted herself between Lambis and the car. He found himself staring at a narrow waist and full breasts, her nipples budded enticingly beneath thin wool.

Lambis’s breath stalled as heat ignited in his gut. Unseen parts of him might have long since shrivelled and died, but he was still a man, and it had been too long since he’d had a woman.

Through the frosty scent of the thickening snow, he inhaled the gardenia perfume that always made him think of Amelie and sunny St Galla. He remembered how tempting they’d both been. How tough it had been to leave her.

‘Why not?’ His gaze strayed lower, over the feminine shape revealed by her fitted trousers, and a pulse quickened in his groin. Instantly he rose, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Amelie looked petite and far too fragile, despite the way her chin swung up as if daring him to test her.

‘Because I was wrong. I thought you’d help, but the last thing he needs is some fleeting pretend friendly contact with a man who’d bar his door to us. Especially in this.’ The tilt of her head indicated the falling snow.

A flake settled on her cheek, melting, but she didn’t seem to notice.

‘If you’ll step away from the car, we’ll be on our way.’ She folded her arms and her breasts rose, plump and inviting. Lambis yanked his gaze higher.

She wasn’t bluffing.

He should be relieved. He didn’t have the time or inclination to deal with their problems. He had a multinational business to run, people relying on him. He didn’t want Amelie here, stirring emotions, interrupting the smooth running of his life.

Yet he didn’t move.

Whatever the problem, Lambis wasn’t the man to solve it. He knew his limitations. In his profession it was vital to know your strengths and weaknesses, and those of others. Yet the anxiety he’d felt, seeing Sébastien’s staring face, made him hesitate.

She seemed ridiculously dainty to try facing him down. Dainty and shattered, though she tried to hide it.

Snow crunched under his boots as he turned. The gates were high, designed to keep the world out. Yet they swung open at the click of his electronic key.

‘You go first. I’ll follow you in my vehicle.’

* * *

Amelie gripped the wheel too hard as she drove slowly through the dusting of snow.

‘Isn’t this exciting, Seb? Snow!’ Her voice wobbled but she doubted her nephew noticed.

In the rear-view mirror she saw he was at least staring at the view, his expression unreadable. Was he even a tiny bit excited to see snow for the first time? To see Lambis, the man he used to follow like a puppy?

Amelie wrenched her mind to the private road winding around a spur of the mountain.

She couldn’t quite believe Lambis had let them enter. If it had been her alone she’d be driving back down to the village now. Lambis didn’t want her near. He never had.

Pride smarted at asking for his help. And something else, some tiny part of her that had wondered, even when all hope had fled.

Amelie’s breath caught when she saw the house. She’d expected something sleek, hard and impersonal, like Lambis. Instead she discovered a charming traditional mountain house. From the size she guessed it had been significantly extended, but it looked as if the mansion had always sat here, cupped by the mountain on three sides.

The ground floor rose organically from the mountain, its walls of stone. Above that rose another couple of floors, white-finished, and decorated with out-thrust balcony rooms overhanging the walls on wooden struts. They were decorated with intricate wooden carvings. Even the white plasterwork was beautifully decorated with what she guessed were traditional designs. The windows were large and the terracotta roof looked welcoming against the falling snow.

Amelie stopped the car, feeling as if she’d turned a wrong corner. This was the home of mega-wealthy Lambis Evangelos? The self-contained man who shunned sentiment?

She was staring when her door opened. There he was, his face stern. The wind stirred a glossy black curl at his collar and Amelie wondered what he was like when he relaxed. Once, long ago, she’d seen another side to him, when he was with her sister-in-law, Irini, for the two had been like brother and sister. Occasionally some of that tenderness he kept for Irini had rubbed off and he’d been enough to steal any woman’s breath. Especially one who’d been lonely so long.

Amelie blinked and stiffened. She hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours. That was why her mind drifted.

‘Do you need help?’

She shook her head. ‘Seb and I are fine, aren’t we, Seb?’ She looked in the rear-view mirror and met familiar green eyes. Was he excited? Scared?

Emotion swept through her and she shuddered.

‘Amelie?’ Lambis’s voice was like soft suede on raw skin. It still had the ability to make her feel. To want.

She felt it now, the buzz of energy in her lower body, the trip of her pulse. Damn! She was past this. She’d moved on, determined not to wallow in regret.

This had to be exhaustion creating phantom emotions.

‘Perhaps you could carry the luggage?’ She gave him one of her polite smiles, the sort she employed with boring diplomats or boorish industrialists.

For a second that cool stare locked with hers, making her wonder how much he read in her face. Then, with a curt nod, he was gone.

It took no time to bundle up Seb in warm clothes and usher him from the car to the house. Even the crunch of fresh snow beneath his feet barely made him pause and Amelie’s heart would have cracked if it weren’t already riven. Where was the little boy she’d loved for almost five years? A year ago he’d have been whooping with glee, investigating the unfamiliar icy white.

Now he let her hold his hand. He was wide-eyed but so self-contained it would have scared her if it hadn’t become almost normal. She had to find a way to help him.

A sturdy woman with iron-grey hair held the door open, expression inquisitive. This must be the woman who’d cut Amelie off as she’d pleaded to be let in. But, instead of disapproval, Amelie caught shock on the woman’s face as she appraised them, then a wide smile of welcome as she scooped Seb in out of the cold and Amelie with him.

‘This is Anna, my housekeeper.’ Lambis launched into a flurry of Greek that had the woman nodding and smiling. Amelie heard the name Sébastien and her own, then something that made the housekeeper’s head jerk up even as she dropped into a curtsey.

‘No, please.’ Amelie put out her hand in protest. ‘Tell her that’s not necessary.’

Then the implications of Lambis identifying her sank in. She swung around to find herself facing a massive black-clad chest. She froze, refusing to back up and reveal how daunting it was to be so close to all that brawny strength. His evocative scent, so earthy and male, curled around her.

‘There was no need to tell her who I am.’

His eyebrows lifted. ‘I respect Anna too much to lie.’

‘It’s not about lying. It’s about revealing only what needs to be revealed.’ The memory of the press pack outside the palace gates in St Galla, telephoto lenses trained on the windows and gardens, slammed into her. Bile rose. They’d been eager to snap the grieving Princess or ‘the tragic little King’, as they dubbed Seb. They’d even tried to bribe the palace employees.

Amelie, who’d lived all her life at the centre of public attention, had never felt so degraded. As if she and Seb weren’t real people but sideshow freaks that existed purely for the titillation of the viewing public.

‘Can you guarantee your staff won’t tell anyone we’re here?’

Lambis stiffened. His hard face became unforgiving granite, as if she’d questioned his integrity, not raised a valid concern.

‘You were the one who arrived uninvited and demanded entry. You’ll have to live with the consequences.’

Would Lambis really sell them out to the press? She didn’t want to believe it. Once she’d thought she knew him well enough to trust him with her life. But this was Seb’s life in question.

‘Answer the question, please.’

Lambis folded his arms across that massive chest, like some disapproving god of old passing judgement. It wouldn’t surprise her if he suddenly pitched a thunderbolt at her.

‘You’ve had my answer.’

Behind her Anna asked a question and Lambis responded, his tone so brusque and dismissive Seb edged up against Amelie, his teddy squeezed to his chest. Amelie put her hand on his shoulder.

It was the reminder she needed. It didn’t matter that she’d once thought Lambis Evangelos had a softer side, or that Irini, her sister-in-law, had said he was the best man alive, apart from her dear Michel. Nor did it matter that he had a reputation for integrity.

Amelie couldn’t take risks with her nephew. Despite what she’d threatened outside, Seb needed quiet, not paparazzi camped on the doorstep.

She’d thought they’d be safe with Lambis. He was the CEO of the world’s most successful international security firm. His private premises would be more secure, she suspected, even than the St Gallan royal palace. But the consequences if she and Seb had to run the gauntlet of the press whenever they stirred weren’t to be borne.

Amelie stroked her nephew’s soft hair, bending down as she spoke. ‘I’m sorry, mon lapin. I made a mistake coming—’

‘Don’t be absurd! You’re not up to driving back down the mountain tonight.’ The words were soft but the growl in that bass baritone was unmistakable.

Seb flinched and pressed his face into Amelie’s skirt, his arms wrapping round her thighs.

She stood unmoving, shocked by his first overt show of emotion in weeks. Something broke inside her as pity and protectiveness vied with a tiny pulse of hope. Heart welling, Amelie gathered him in. ‘It’s all right, mon lapin. Truly. Everything’s going to be fine.’

‘Sébastien?’ Lambis hunkered in front of the boy but didn’t touch. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m not angry, truly. You and your aunt are welcome here.’

Liar. He was furious. But Amelie had no sympathy to spare for the man staring at the little boy with all the wariness of someone facing a man-eating beast.

If the situation weren’t so dire she’d almost laugh. As if big, bad Lambis Evangelos, the man who organised protection for the world’s most eminent VIPs in some of the most dangerous places in the world, was scared of a child.

‘Seb?’ Amelie knelt and wrapped him close, inhaling the fresh scents of clean little boy and melted snow. ‘Don’t be afraid, darling. Everything will be all right. Lambis won’t hurt us. In fact—’ she lifted her head and glared at the man who hadn’t taken his eyes off Seb ‘—he’s sworn to protect you. Did you know that?’

Of course Seb said nothing and Amelie snuggled him tighter, rubbing her hands up and down his thin back.

‘Soon we’re going to have something to eat and then I think it will be time for Monsieur Bernhard—’

‘Monsieur Bernhard?’ Lambis’s eyes locked on hers, questioning. She didn’t bother to respond. If he couldn’t work out that Bernhard was a teddy bear, tough.

‘I think he’s getting sleepy. It’s almost his bedtime. Come on, mon lapin, come with Aunt Lili.’

She lifted him in her arms and rose, ignoring Lambis when he made to take Seb.

Did he think she wasn’t capable of caring for her nephew? Who did he think had been there through the long nights and lonely days since Michel and Irini died?

Anger threaded the aching grief inside her. Grief for her darling nephew, orphaned so young, and grief for herself.

She saw Lambis move deliberately to block the front door. The obstinate set of his jaw told her it would take a bulldozer to move him.

He didn’t want them here. Now he’d decided they couldn’t go. She wished he’d make up his mind!

Amelie would walk on hot coals if it would bring back the little boy she adored from the well of shock that had swallowed him. But she was fast running out of strength. Her head was reeling and there was a throb behind her eyes as she fought to stand tall.

Then she felt a touch on her elbow. It was the housekeeper, Anna, her expression concerned. Gently she raised her hand and stroked Seb’s golden hair as he pressed his face into Amelie’s collarbone.

‘Ela. Parakalo, ela.’ Come, please come. That much Greek Amelie understood.

She wavered for barely a second. Pride held no place here. She looked at the work-hardened fingers caressing Seb so tenderly and felt the fight drain out of her.

Amelie nodded. ‘Efharisto.’ Thank you.

For good or ill they were staying, at least for tonight.

Whether they’d found the safe haven, and the help they needed, only time would tell.

CHAPTER THREE

AMELIE STARED AT the darkness of the swirling night.

She’d got through the last couple of hours like an automaton. At last Seb was tucked up in bed, asleep.

It seemed disloyal to think it—for who could want to see a child in pain?—but surely the way he’d turned to her when they’d arrived, and again when he’d clung to her as she read to him, signified a change? Some lessening of the dreadful nothingness that gripped him?

Rubbing her forehead with weary fingers, Amelie tried to order her fogged thoughts.

She should sleep. She’d eaten the delicious soup and fresh bread Anna had provided, and taken a hot shower in the luxurious bathroom, feeling chilled bones warm.

But she was wired. There was too much to sort out.

Which meant facing Lambis Evangelos.

Sighing, she turned to her suitcase. She wanted to tug on a comfy sleep shirt and pretend she didn’t have to face the big, bad wolf tonight. But sleep would elude her till she did.

Ten minutes later, in trousers and a silky shirt of deep green that matched her eyes and boosted her flagging confidence, she checked that her subtle makeup hid the shadows of fatigue. With a few deft movements she twisted her long hair into a knot. Her earrings were simple pearl studs and she added a fine gold pendant of antique pearls, the only piece of jewellery her mother had given her.

Amelie closed her hand around the pendant, remembering her mother hugging her close, against all royal decorum, and whispering that now Amelie was twelve she was old enough to wear jewellery.

It was a talisman she wore when times got tough. Like when her mother died just months after that twelfth birthday.

Her mother had had the sweetest smile. A smile Michel and his son Seb had inherited. For a moment the ancient image wavered, replaced by Michel’s face, the glint in his eyes as he showed off his new speedboat, the charming smile as he invited Irini aboard for a quick spin.

Amelie slammed a steel door on the memory. She snapped open her eyes and deliberately set about cataloguing the beautiful room she’d been given. There was a chance, a slim one, that the place might give a clue to what made Lambis tick, for this was his retreat from the world.

Turning, she saw plain white walls, for the most part bare. Except for a tiny jewel of an icon that glowed richly on the far wall. Amelie wasn’t an expert but she recognised it was an original and very, very beautiful. Despite the stiff style of the traditional painting, the serenity and love on Mary’s face as she looked down at her baby stole Amelie’s breath. Here was love and a joy that made something swell hard in Amelie’s chest.

Swiftly she turned away, feeling raw, for she responded to the painting at a visceral level. It tugged at her own secret yearning.

But the important issue was why Lambis secreted this gorgeous piece in a guest room. Why not have it in his room where he’d see it often?

Amelie prowled the space, surveying the high timber ceiling with its ancient beams, the cosiness of intricately woven local rugs on the polished floor and a particularly exquisite one on another wall.

The bed was massive with crisp cotton sheets and a luxurious silk spread. In addition to a huge decorative cupboard was a vast modern walk-in wardrobe. An ancient timber chest carved with mermaids and some mythical beasts she didn’t recognise sat under one window, but in a discreet niche was a large screen that swung out to allow guests to watch television from the bed.

The room was an eclectic mix of charming old pieces and sleek functionality. The common thread was money. No expense had been spared to make a guest comfortable.

Which told her what? Lambis valued tradition but demanded modern convenience? He wanted guests to feel at home?

His reception told her he was more likely to bar the door to guests.

Or perhaps it was just she who was unwelcome.

The idea lodged hard and sharp in her chest. Surely he wasn’t so brutal with everyone?

Did he really believe she’d swallowed her pride and come here uninvited because she was needy for him?

Nausea snaked through her insides. Of course he had.

And when she’d told him Seb needed him?

He’d still wanted them to leave.

Despite what she’d once thought, the man had no heart. It was as simple as that.

* * *

Amelie found him in a sitting room, high-ceilinged and huge. Yet instead of being cold, that signature mix of old beauty and luxurious modern functionality made it feel comfortable.

Until Lambis turned and she read his aloof expression.

There’d been no thawing. Had she really expected it?

Because Anna had fussed over Amelie and little Seb like a hen with a couple of chicks didn’t mean the master of the house had changed his mind. Anna’s kindness contrasted starkly with Lambis’s brooding stare.

He said not a word as Amelie walked the length of the room, to the huge stone-lintelled fireplace with its bright flames and the dark man beside it.

His bold, handsome face was half-shadowed yet unreasonably, appallingly attractive. If you liked remote, harsh beauty. Amelie didn’t. Not any more.

Yet her heart skipped as some part that was all instinct and longing, not logic, stirred to life again.

How could he do that to her even now? Anxiety rippled through her. Amelie couldn’t let that happen again.

She stopped within the circle of warmth, feeling cold to the bone. The faint scent of fine brandy reached her nostrils and she spied a rounded glass on the mantelpiece. But Lambis didn’t think to offer her a drink. Presumably that was too much to expect.

The thought drove thoughts of a conciliatory approach from Amelie’s head. If she read him right, she and Seb would be on their way as soon as the snow eased. That would be soon. It was far too early for winter.

Amelie chose a chair by the fire and sank down onto it. She’d fight every step of the way but she was so worn out she’d do it from a position of comfort.

The silence lengthened from seconds to minutes but for once Amelie didn’t move to fill it. All her life she’d been the one to charm and please, to smooth ruffled feathers, to be diplomatic and gracious.

She was here to fight for her nephew’s future. She wouldn’t make small talk, pretending everything was okay.

‘Are you going to explain?’ he asked finally.

Amelie refused to flinch at that adamantine tone. ‘Have you checked the messages I left?’

‘I have, but they didn’t help. All I know is that this is to do with your nephew.’

Sébastien, she wanted to scream at him. Or Seb. You’ve called him both in your time. Since when had Lambis thought of him only as someone else’s nephew?

What had happened to the man who, however reluctantly, had been kind to a little boy who’d shadowed his every move when he stayed at the St Gallan palace? A little boy whose own father was often too busy with affairs of state for a little one to tag along.

‘I didn’t want to say more until I saw you.’ She lifted her chin and met his eyes. In the shadow beyond the fireplace it was hard to read them but they looked shuttered. As if he was determined not to let anyone in. ‘It’s confidential.’

He lifted one arm in a gesture that encompassed the building. ‘There’s no one else here but us.’

It was the invitation Amelie needed and yet the words jammed in her throat. She’d hoped for some speck of interest or concern. Was that too much to ask? Instead it was like talking to a stranger.

Surely even a stranger would be more receptive?

Amelie crossed her ankles and folded her hands in her lap, refusing to show hurt. Surely they’d parted friends?

‘Seb is adjusting to the loss of his parents.’ Not by so much as a tremor did she betray how she too struggled with that tragedy.

Lambis said nothing.

‘You saw how he was at the memorial service.’ She’d known something was wrong then but it was only since that the enormity of Seb’s condition had unfolded.

‘He seemed very controlled.’

She shook her head. ‘It looked like that. The press loved the photos of the brave little Prince saluting his parents’ coffins.’ Amelie dragged in a hasty breath as pain jabbed her breastbone. The rampant voyeurism of the press had been expected but still it rankled. ‘That wasn’t control; it was grief.’

Amelie had strenuously opposed taking a four-year-old to the funeral, but though she was now the most senior member of the family she’d been overruled. She wasn’t Regent yet, and might never be, if the Prime Minister had his way. St Gallan law still favoured male over female and until Seb was officially proclaimed heir to the throne, and she his Regent, she had no right to make decisions for him.

In fact, she’d broken a slew of laws taking him out of the country. Right now, that was immaterial. The important thing was Seb.

‘It hasn’t been long since they died.’

Amelie looked into that stern face and saw not a flicker of emotion. Even for Queen Irini, the woman who’d been like a sister to Lambis.

But then, wasn’t Amelie too suppressing a riot of pain? It was comforting to think that maybe, somewhere deep behind that inhumanly blank face, Lambis mourned too.

‘I know, but...it’s more than that.’ She paused as a chill of remembrance feathered her spine. No one had expected the King and Queen of St Galla, both in their mid-twenties and full of life, to die in a freak accident. Everyone had been numbed by it. Even now Amelie still woke every morning to that awful reality slamming into her seconds, sometimes whole minutes after she woke.

Amelie held Lambis’s gaze. ‘Seb saw it happen. He was going to get in the boat too.’ She paused and swallowed, the movement scratching a throat suddenly lined with sandpaper. ‘But Irini didn’t want him too excited before his nap. She handed him to me.’ One more deep breath and she went on. ‘Michel promised he’d take him for a ride the next day.’

Except there’d been no next day for Michel and his wife.

‘I know.’ Lambis’s deep voice resonated around her, tugging at something sharp and raw inside.

Of course he knew. She’d told him when he’d flown across for the funeral. Why was she going over it again?

Amelie blinked and looked at the fire. It was easier staring at the golden flames than holding his sombre gaze.

‘The point is, Seb’s reaction to their deaths is...worrying.’ She slanted a look at that chiselled face. Still no hint of understanding. ‘He hasn’t cried. He hasn’t spoken. Not since the accident.’

That had Lambis’s attention. He stiffened, his brows furrowing down in a V of concentration, or could it be concern?

‘Hasn’t spoken at all?’

‘Not a word. Not to anyone.’

It had been uncanny, the way little Seb had stayed silent through those first days. It had worried her then but there’d been so much to attend to, so many legal matters and royal duties, meetings and consultations, she’d let herself hope she was wrong and it would resolve itself.

‘He doesn’t talk or smile or cry. He doesn’t react.’ Just saying it sent a quiver through her. She’d never felt so helpless.

‘You’ve sought advice?’

‘Of course. The consensus is that he needs time, though no one knows how much. Time and to feel safe and loved.’ Her voice caught on the last word but she refused to look away. She wasn’t ashamed of her feelings for Seb.

It was only what she’d once felt for Lambis that embarrassed her.

‘Then give him time. Give him love. Be patient.’

It was what the experts had said, each of them studiously ignoring the flaw in that simple approach.

‘I can’t.’

* * *

‘What do you mean, you can’t?’ Lambis had never thought to hear such words from Amelie. They shocked him more than if she’d begun unbuttoning that slinky shirt and invited him to make free with that delectable body.

He scowled furiously.

He didn’t want her here.

He didn’t want to get involved.

The fact his mind couldn’t stop conjuring images of a sexy, pouting princess, eager for his touch, was flame to the last shreds of his patience.

‘Of course you can. It’s what you do!’

Despite her regal posture and renowned diplomatic skills, the woman was a walking advertisement for all those soft, feminine emotions. She’d raised her younger sibling after her mother’s death, since their father, more concerned with power and his own pleasure, had no interest in family life. She’d been the stable, loving centre of their family.

She’d warmly welcomed Irini, married at twenty and feeling out of her depth in royal red tape and a new country.

Lambis still had the letters full of Irini’s eager confidences. About how caring Amelie was. How easy to talk to. When others counselled against a royal marriage simply for the sake of an unborn child, Amelie had taken the young lovers’ cause and won the day.

For that alone he owed Amelie a debt.

He watched her stiffen, her spine so straight you could use it as a ruler. ‘It may be what I do, as you so dismissively put it, but I can’t this time.’

Lambis opened his mouth to explain he wasn’t being dismissive, then caught himself. Never explain. Never discuss emotions. From a safe distance he might admire Amelie’s loving nature and the way she shared herself with her family as well as her nation, but it wasn’t his way.

Not any more.

Now her hackles were up. He watched, fascinated and, yes, relieved, as colour tinted her too-pale face. Princess Amelie of St Galla was a stunning woman. The warmth of her personality had a way of insidiously wrapping itself around your insides till you could almost believe...

‘You can’t? Why not?’ His voice sounded as if it scraped over ground glass. Not surprising when his throat felt coated with shards.

‘It means, much as I want to, I won’t have a chance. Time’s running out for Sébastien and we can’t afford to wait for time to heal him. Besides—’ she averted her eyes to stare into the fire ‘—the palace is no place for him to recuperate. Everywhere he turns there are memories of his parents. He only has to look from his window to see the bay where they died.’

He heard it now, the faintest tremor in her voice. Behind the faultless display of calm, Amelie was hurting.

Once Lambis would have gone to her and—

What? Put his hand on her shoulder? Cuddled her close? Assured her everything would be okay?

He couldn’t do it. Not least because he knew touching this woman would be the biggest mistake of the decade. There was no knowing where he’d stop once he started.

More importantly, Lambis no longer believed in happy endings.

He couldn’t lie to her. He’d never been able to do that, though for a while he’d been tempted. When, years before, she’d looked at him with those beautiful, luminous eyes and suggested he might spend more time in St Galla, not for Irini’s sake, but for hers. He’d been tempted to let her believe he could be the man she wanted, just to bask in her adoration.

‘Then take him somewhere quiet. Somewhere he can rest.’

Her eyes met his and fire flashed in his blood. ‘Easier said than done. Everywhere we go are reporters.’

‘Yet I didn’t see the paparazzi outside my gates.’ The more he thought about it, the more remarkable it was. He, with his experience as a bodyguard and later, running the best of the best in close personal protection, knew how difficult it was for non-professionals to evade a determined press. Yet Amelie had brought her nephew from St Galla, an island near the coast of France and Italy, all the way to Greece without being followed.

How had she managed it? He wouldn’t have thought it possible for a woman who’d led a sheltered life behind palace walls.

‘For now.’ Her tone, like her face, was stony. ‘You know I can’t evade them long-term. We need somewhere safe and secure.’

Somewhere like this.

‘This is my home, not a safe haven.’ Not for anyone but himself.

‘You promised to protect Seb. I heard you tell Irini when she asked you to be his godfather.’

The mention of Irini was a lead weight dragging at his guilty conscience. Another life he’d failed to protect.

‘I’ll find you both a place you can hide away from the press till you return to St Galla. Somewhere suitable.’

Somewhere not here.

Amelie regarded him coolly. She didn’t raise an eyebrow or twitch a muscle, yet she made it clear his answer wasn’t enough. For the first time in their personal interactions she turned into Princess Amelie. A woman who held her own with heads of state and tough negotiators. A woman with generations of blue blood in her veins. A woman prepared to take him on in his own territory.

No one did that. For years now Lambis had given orders and they’d been obeyed. His advice was highly sought, his presence ditto.

Yet Amelie’s cool regard told him she expected more.

‘So you’ll find your godson a bolt-hole then wash your hands of him?’

Her words pierced his conscience. Or maybe it was what remained of his heart.

‘It’s for the best.’

She shook her head. ‘I truly believed you cared. I thought you a man of honour.’

She rose. His trained eye noticed the slight wobble in her legs. She fought emotion or exhaustion or both, determined not to let him see.

She was so valiant his respect for her soared. Even as he wished her and her demands to the very devil. For she was wrong. He wasn’t the man to help. He wasn’t the man she believed.

She spun on one heel, walking away.

It was what he wanted. Yet his gut hollowed.

‘You said time’s running out.’ The words jerked out before he was conscious of forming them. ‘What did you mean?’

‘Why ask when clearly you don’t care?’ She didn’t even turn to face him. Only the rigidity of her slim frame and the hands clenched at her sides revealed her tension.

Lambis didn’t answer. To say he cared would be tantamount to inviting them to stay, and that he couldn’t do. Yet nor could he see her tension and not respond.

Damn the woman! She’d got under his skin once. He couldn’t let her do it again.

Suddenly she spun round and the change in her was a punch to the solar plexus. Gone was the touch-me-not Princess, the haughty aristocrat. Everything about Amelie spoke of heat and passion. From her flashing eyes to the heightened colour accentuating those high cheekbones and the sweet bow of her mouth, deliciously plump as if she’d been biting it.

The effect was instant and incendiary—a symphony of want turned his body to hot, brazen metal. He’d wanted her before, too many times to count, but not like this—as if he’d incinerate if he didn’t reach out and touch her, taste those kissable lips and possess that poised, perfect body.

Her chin tilted as if she read his lust and was disgusted by it. Yet when she spoke Lambis realised she’d noticed nothing but the worries tormenting her.

‘Because he’s underage, Seb can’t be crowned King. Instead he’ll be officially proclaimed heir and a regent will be confirmed. The date for the proclamation ceremony has been set for his fifth birthday next month. Since he’s no longer an infant, on that day he must personally accept his new status.’

‘And?’

‘And he’s required to speak. To accept his future role and swear an oath. If he doesn’t—’ Amelie paused and the colour faded from her cheeks ‘—if he can’t say the words, another heir will be found.’

‘But in the circumstances—?’

Amelie’s mouth thinned. ‘The law of succession is specific. He must make the oath himself or be barred from the throne for ever.’

Lambis felt his brow furrow. ‘But he’s Michel and Irini’s only son.’

‘And the throne is his birthright. But that doesn’t matter. What matters under St Gallan law is establishing the next ruler as soon as possible. If it’s not Seb then I’m informed it will be a distant cousin, a man currently being investigated for fraud.’

Her words fell like blows. Irini’s son disinherited? It didn’t seem possible.

‘Couldn’t the law be changed?’

‘Not quickly enough for Seb.’

‘What about you?’ When she simply stared he continued. ‘Why not make you Queen if the next legitimate heir is so distant?’ After all, she’d carried much of the royal burden, both for her father, then later for her younger brother as he’d adapted to the role of King.

‘Women don’t inherit the St Gallan throne. That’s a male privilege.’ Her tone was dispassionate, but Lambis wondered what it was like, eldest child of a monarch, forced to make a career out of diplomacy and public service, knowing you were barred from taking the throne for ever.

‘I need to help Seb find his voice again, because that will mean he’s recovering. And because without it he’ll be denied what should rightfully be his.’ She wrapped her arms around herself and something clenched in Lambis’s chest. It was so rare for Amelie to reveal vulnerability. ‘I couldn’t live with myself knowing I’d failed Michel and Irini’s trust in me.’

Lambis reached for the brandy he’d nursed before she arrived. One swallow and it shot a heated trail through his chest and down to his belly.

Amelie’s talk of trust evoked the harsh remembrance of his responsibility to Irini. Lambis had failed his friend once, with dire consequences. If he failed her son...

‘Why bring him here? I’m not a psychologist or speech therapist.’

Her face changed at his words. The grimness turning down her mouth at the corners eased, as if she sensed him weakening.

‘He’s fascinated by you. You know how he followed you around every time you came to visit. He thinks the world of you.’

Her shoulders lifted in the smallest of shrugs as if she couldn’t fathom her nephew’s taste. Nor could Lambis.

‘I couldn’t think of anyone else he cared about so much that they might help him through this.’

Lambis shook his head so vehemently he felt the tickle of his hair on his neck and jaw.

‘I wouldn’t have the first idea how to help him.’

But that wasn’t what made Lambis’s chest ice over. It was the idea of anyone, especially that small boy, depending on him to save them.

What a fraud he was! Every day he managed arrangements to protect strangers, some of them in the most fraught environments, but he couldn’t protect those closest to him.

It was a cosmic joke. And the tragedy of it was it was no joke. It was all too real.

The consequences haunted him every day.

He looked back to find her eyes fixed on him as if trying to see into his soul. He wished her luck with that. He was pretty sure he no longer possessed one.

Carefully he put the empty glass on the mantelpiece. ‘I can’t do what you want.’

‘You won’t try?’ Her fine features paled, pared back by tension and disappointment.

‘I’m not the man to help Seb. I’m sorry.’

He thought her mouth would crumple, and pain, swift and sharp as a javelin, lanced his chest.

‘Then God help him.’ She swung around and strode away, heels clicking on the polished floor.

‘I’ll find a retreat for you both. Somewhere the press can’t bother you.’ It was the best he could do. His pride and his conscience howled that it was far too little. But he refused to raise false hope. He was no miracle worker. Better for Seb to spend quiet time with his aunt. Surely that was all the miracle he needed. ‘It will be sorted by tomorrow.’

Amelie didn’t even pause on her way out of the door.

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