Nicolas took the steps two at a time, his ceremonial sword clasped in his hand. He was already undoing the stiff collar of the red military jacket as he walked through the door of his suite.
‘Courtauld!’
He need not have yelled. His aide was already there, his hand outstretched to take the jewelled sword.
‘Please have my car brought round.’ Nicolas walked through the study towards his bedroom. ‘I shall be driving myself.’
‘It’s waiting, sir. And I have taken the liberty of packing a few things.’ Courtauld walked two steps behind him, ready to take custody of the jacket, with its array of medals and ribbons. A leather bag, already packed, was sitting on the trunk at the end of the bed.
Nicolas stopped. Was it that obvious what he was about to do? Of course it was, and he really didn’t care. ‘Thank you, Courtauld,’ he said.
Courtauld didn’t reply. He simply continued picking up after his prince, as Nicolas divested himself of his uniform and changed into casual slacks and shirt.
‘I shan’t need you to accompany me,’ Nicolas added. ‘Please take care of any appointments for the next few days.’
‘Of course.’
Nicolas reached for the leather bag, knowing it would scandalise his aide that the prince should carry his own luggage. He was out the door, once more touching only every second step as he made his escape. A dark sedan was parked at the foot of the steps. Thomas Lawry was leaning against the driver’s door, his arms folded and a firm expression on his face.
‘Not this time, Thomas,’ Nicolas said. ‘I’m going to the lodge and I shan’t need you.’
‘Excuse me, sir, but you aren’t going anywhere without me.’
‘Thomas.’ Nicolas dropped the bag onto the gravel near the rear of the car. ‘Are we going to argue about this?’
‘No, sir. We are not. After recent incidents, I am coming, and that is the end of it.’ The bodyguard’s voice was a symphony in determination.
‘But, Thomas, this isn’t London. I shall be perfectly safe.’
‘Yes, sir, you will. I’ll see to that.’
Nicolas could have strangled him. Would he never get on the road? The service this morning had lasted more than an hour. He suspected it would have been longer, but organisers had been concerned for his mother and brother. Queen Charlotte had improved during the week she’d been home. Nicolas had rarely left her side, and had taken as much of her load as he could.
His brother had flown back two days ago. He was still very weak, but had insisted on being part of the service. He’d walked with his family down the aisle of the cathedral, although had avoided the reception that followed. Queen Charlotte had remained at the reception only for a short time, before returning to her rooms. Nicolas had played the role of host. But at last his formal duties were over, and he could return to the country estate, where Lauren had been this past week, working on his portrait. The problem was that now his bodyguard was standing in his way.
‘Sir,’ Thomas said, ‘I know where you are going. And I think I know why. I shall accompany you, and you can rely on me to be … discreet.’
He could. Thomas Lawry was more than a bodyguard. He knew more about Nicolas than almost anyone. The suggestion that he was a friend would have shocked the sergeant, but it wasn’t far from the truth.
‘All right, Thomas. But I’m driving.’
‘No, sir. I am.’ Thomas moved to the back of the car and, taking the keys from his pocket, he lifted the boot and dropped Nicolas’s bag inside.
Short of grappling for the keys, there was nothing Nicolas could do. He moved to the passenger-side door. Thomas was there ahead of him and held it open. Nicolas got inside.
* * *
Lauren stood looking at the painting. After a solid week of little sleep and almost non-stop work, the portrait was complete. It was good. Very, very good. The best thing she had ever done. She could submit it to the curator of the royal collection with pride. The painting was worth hanging on the walls of the palace, deserving of a place in the portrait gallery, rather than being consigned to some back corridor with paintings considered not quite good enough for display. It might even hang near the lovely portrait of the Princess Sophia – who had loved and been loved by the artist who painted her.
Now she had to let go. Walking away was always the hardest thing for her to do, and in this case it was harder than ever before. This time she was leaving not just her painting, but also the subject. In such a short time, Nick had filled her life – with joy and anger and fear and emotions so strong they sometimes frightened her. Without him her life would seem empty. Deep in her heart a tiny hope flickered, but she would not acknowledge it. That was for fairy tales. She had lived her Cinderella moment and it was a memory she would always treasure. This wasn’t her world. That fact had been proven to her over and over again. Now she must return to reality.
Lauren put down her brush and palette. She wiped her hands on a cloth and turned away from the painting. Long before the oil was properly dry, she would be gone.
She closed the studio door behind her and looked around. With her task complete, she had no purpose here. Nothing to do. No reason to stay. Nor could she just leave. For a start, she had no transport; more importantly, though, she had told Nicolas she would stay. She would not break her word. Nor could she leave without seeing him one more time, even if it was just to say goodbye.
In the meantime, she needed to restore herself. Her heart and soul had gone into that painting and she felt utterly drained. She needed peace and solitude to find herself again. She needed to breathe crisp air free of the taint of paint and varnish. She needed to be surrounded by living things.
Lauren found her way to a door that opened onto the gardens. To her left, manicured lawns and brilliant flower beds lined smooth paths, with benches offering rest. That wasn’t what she wanted. Instead she turned towards a long sweep of lawn that led down to a copse of deep green trees. She would be sheltered from prying eyes under those protective branches, and there might even be a stream.
She walked quickly across the lawn. The sun shone brightly above, the blue arc of the sky broken here and there by clouds. They looked like storm clouds, which might explain the strange electric feeling in the air. Or perhaps it was her. Lauren felt unable to contain the energy stirring in her limbs. The sward in front of her was too inviting, and she started to run, revelling in the exertion. Faster and faster she went, her sneakers flying across the grass. She opened her mouth, taking great gulps of the crisp air, free of city smog and dust.
Almost at the trees, Lauren slowed to a walk and halted just before stepping into their shadow. She turned her face to the sun, her eyes shut tight, and flung her arms wide, as if welcoming the sun’s rays, shaking her head to feel the air moving against her skin. Then she stepped into the welcoming shade.
* * *
‘Stop the car.’
‘Sir?’
‘Just stop the car,’ Nicolas ordered.
The big sedan slid quickly to a stop. Sergeant Lawry looked about in time to catch a glimpse of a slight figure disappearing under the trees. Nicolas was already out of the car.
‘Sir …’ Lawry was also on his feet, moving as if to stop the prince.
‘No. Thomas. This time I am going alone.’
The bodyguard stopped. After a moment’s hesitation, he nodded. Nicolas didn’t wait to see if Lawry got back in the car; he was already running across the lawn, his eyes fixed on the place where Lauren had vanished. He knew without conscious thought that Lawry would alert the lodge security services. But that didn’t matter. All he wanted was to be with Lauren.
By the time Nicolas reached the trees, Lauren had vanished into the cool darkness. He recognised this place. He and Edouard had played in the grove as children, but he hadn’t been here for some years. There was a path ahead, faint and slightly overgrown. Nicolas followed it, as he knew Lauren would have. He didn’t hurry. There was no need to hurry. She was just ahead of him. He wouldn’t lose her. Not now.
He found her in the clearing at the far edge of the copse, where a high stone wall marked the boundary of his sanctuary. She had slipped off her running shoes, and stood barefoot in the glade, her toes curling into the green softness of the moss and grass. The sun was shining on her upturned face, and a gentle wind lifted her hair in a shining multi-coloured halo.
Nicolas stopped in the shadow of a tree, spellbound. She was a wild spirit. A forest nymph and the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
As he watched, a sharp gust of wind raced through the glade. The sun vanished as a jolt of lightning lit the treetops. A second later came the low, thunderous rumble of the approaching storm. The wind grabbed Lauren’s white shirt, pulling it tight around her body as she faced the elements, her arms spread wide in welcome. Her eyes tightly closed, she raised her face as the first soft drops of rain fell. Her laughter echoed among the trees as she opened her mouth to taste the sparkling drops.
Nicolas stepped out of the shadows.
‘Lauren.’
The word was little more than a whisper, but she heard him. She opened her eyes and turned to face him, showing no surprise that he should be there.
* * *
In a few strides he was standing in front of her. The wind whipped around them, cocooning them in a world entirely their own. He reached out one hand to run his fingers through the brilliantly coloured strands of her hair as they danced in the wind. The light rain was still falling, the first drops now running down his cheek. Lauren ran a fingertip along his strong jaw, catching the drops of water. As she did, he turned his face, his lips closing around her fingertip to taste the moisture there.
He reached up to clasp her wrist, turning her hand to run his lips and the tip of his tongue over the soft skin of her palm. She slid her hand down his neck and onto his chest. Her hand hovered over his heart as if to feel it beating. Both his hands were in her hair now as he cupped her face and turned it up to his. The rain caressed her cheeks as she looked into his deep blue eyes and knew she was where she belonged.
The kiss was long and slow; the taste of raindrops and the touch of an autumn breeze. It was the sweet softness of mossy ground; the strength of the earth and the essence of all living things.
When at last they stepped apart, they both became aware of the cold rain streaming over them. Nicolas grabbed Lauren’s hand and dragged her back under the shelter of the trees. She was laughing as she ran under the boughs, laughter that he caught with his kisses. He pushed her back against a tree and looked down at her. They were both dripping wet, their clothes clinging to their bodies.
Lauren reached up and began to undo the buttons of Nicolas’s shirt. Under the wringing-wet cloth, his skin was warm as her fingers trailed over the dark hair, outlining the hard nipples. He caught his breath and grabbed her hand. Pinning her to the tree with his whole body, he kissed her again, a strong passionate kiss with the promise of even more to come. Caught between the rough strength of the tree and the ardour of her lover, Lauren kissed him back with a fervour that matched his own.
A loud crash of thunder pulled them apart. The storm was upon them with a fury. Lightning flashed. The deafening thunder followed almost immediately.
‘We’ve got to get out of here.’ Nicolas had to yell to make himself heard.
Lauren nodded. She pointed into the clearing, where her shoes lay in the sodden grass.
‘Wait!’ Nicolas darted out into the driving rain and was back in an instant carrying the shoes. He waited impatiently while Lauren slipped her feet into them. ‘With all that lightning, it’s not safe here. We have to get back to the house. Come on! That way.’
He pushed Lauren in front of him and she began to run, weaving through the storm-tossed trees, following a path she could barely see. Several times she would have fallen but Nicolas was right there, his hand reaching to steady her. She was breathing heavily when at last they emerged from under the trees. The rain was heavier in the open, a solid grey wall that almost hid the house from view.
‘Are you all right?’
She nodded, too winded to speak.
‘Run as fast as you can. I’ll be right here with you.’
Lauren ran. The driving rain filled her eyes, blurring her vision. The wind threatened to topple her at every step. But she wasn’t afraid. She could hear Nicolas at her side.
They were almost at the bottom of the grand staircase when the front doors were thrown open. Thomas Lawry emerged from the house. He caught Lauren halfway up the stairs and almost carried her the rest of the way. Nicolas followed him and slammed the big doors shut. After the violence of the storm the house seemed very quiet, except for sound of two people gasping with exertion.
‘Lauren, are you all right?’ Nicolas was the first to catch his breath.
‘I’m fine,’ she gasped back. Then she shivered.
‘You’re cold.’ Nicolas’s voice was thick with concern. ‘You need a hot bath. Thomas, find the housekeeper.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Lawry vanished down the hallway.
‘Come on. Upstairs.’ Nicolas had his arm around her shoulders.
‘Nick … I …’ Lauren didn’t want to go.
‘Don’t make me carry you,’ Nicolas replied, then chuckled at the look on her face. He put his arms around her shoulders and guided her firmly up the stairs.
The housekeeper had arrived at Lauren’s room before them. The door was open, and as they entered they could hear the sound of a running tap in the bathroom. A couple of large towels lay on the bed.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Nicolas said. ‘I need to dry off too.’
Lauren put a hand out, as if to stop him leaving.
He stepped close and spoke softly. ‘Later, my love.’ His eyes held hers for a few seconds; then he turned and left the room, closing the door gently behind him.
The bath was deep and warm, covered with a thick layer of bubbles and faintly scented with flowers. Lauren lay back with her eyes closed, luxuriating in the soft warmth. She moved her arms gently, enjoying the soft caress of the water as it moved over her skin. Her whole body tingled with the warmth and the softness and the anticipation.
Tonight.
Her whole life had been leading to this moment. To this man whom she loved with her heart and her soul and … soon … her body.
How her world had changed in such a short time. Only a few weeks ago she had looked at press reports of Nicolas’s conquests and despised him for his licentious behaviour and his arrogance. Now she knew better. She knew how the media could distort the most innocent facts. Nick was not the man they portrayed, any more than she was the woman they had hounded. Tonight, all that was in the past. The future was what mattered, and that tiny spark of hope was now a deep certainty that she and Nicolas would be together.
At last Lauren opened her eyes. A bath could only last so long! There was no reason to hurry, but nor did she want to linger too long. He would be waiting. Lauren stepped out of the bath and wrapped herself in a large soft white towel. She stepped forward and looked at herself in the mirror. She was almost surprised to see that she looked exactly as she had that morning. There was nothing in her face to show the momentous change that had taken place in her life since then.
Lauren ran her fingers through her damp hair. It was still multi-coloured. Things had happened so fast since her appearance at the hairdressing competition, she hadn’t even thought about changing it. Well, it was time she did. Perhaps she might return to her natural blonde. But Nick had liked the blue. She hugged that memory to herself as she went in search of dry clothes in the bedroom she’d been using for the past week.
Lauren sifted through the big chest of drawers, wishing the underwear she had put there was sexy, not simply clean and serviceable. She had never been big on lacy underwear but that was probably about to change. The big cupboard, she knew, was almost empty. She hadn’t had time to think about clothes when she hastily packed in her flat. Most of the stuff she’d brought was for painting. Jeans and T-shirts in various states of paint-spattered disrepair. Most – but not all.
Lauren took her bag out of the closet. She remembered throwing in … There it was. She pulled a short black skirt and a red silk top from the bag and shook them out. As outfits went, it wasn’t exactly sexy, but it was the best she had. And compared to some of the outfits Nick had seen her in, it wouldn’t look too bad. Well, not if it was ironed.
Lauren threw on some jeans and a T-shirt. Tucking the skirt and blouse under her arms, she set off in search of the housekeeper. Lauren knew she could simply call someone else to iron the outfit for her. But she didn’t feel comfortable doing that. Quite apart from that, this night was going to be special. She wanted to make the effort herself.
Lauren headed in the general direction of the kitchen which she had scouted out late one night when working late had given her an appetite. She trotted down a narrow staircase and into a hallway, turning towards the rear of the house. Voices were coming from a door to her left. Thinking this might be the place to find the housekeeper, Lauren tapped on the door and entered.
As expected, Lauren found herself in a staff sitting room. Three young women, presumably maids or kitchen staff, were watching a large television set.
‘Miss Phelps!’ One of the girls leaped to her feet. ‘Can I help you?’ She signalled to one of her companions to turn off the television. The girl got to her feet immediately, but before she could hit the button, a name caught Lauren’s attention.
‘… Lauren Phelps, the artist commissioned to paint the prince’s portrait.’
With a sudden horrible feeling of déjà vu, Lauren looked at the screen. The speaker was a host she had seen before.
‘Now, it seems that despite earlier palace denials, she is doing more than just painting Naughty Nick. These pictures were posted on the internet about an hour ago.’
The screen changed. The almost leering smile of the presenter was replaced with a woodland scene. Two figures embraced in a clearing.
‘No.’ Lauren collapsed into the nearest chair, her eyes glued to the screen.
A second image followed. Then a third. The photographer had zoomed in and there was no doubting the intent of either of the two people in that image. Lauren’s heart was pounding as if she had run a marathon. She wanted to just sink into the couch and hide.
‘… just hours after attending the cathedral service to give thanks for Queen Charlotte’s escape from the London blast, her youngest son was back to his old tricks …’
Lauren was dimly aware of the sound of people leaving the room. Leaving her alone with her humiliation.
‘New information has come to light about Lauren. Before attending art school, she worked as a waitress. She grew up in …’
The door behind her opened. Nicolas crossed the room in a few strides and hit the television controls. The screen faded to black, leaving a shocked silence.
‘I am so sorry.’ He sat down beside her.
Lauren shook her head slowly. ‘They took something that was … important to me and made it cheap.’
‘I know. If I could stop them, I would. But I can’t.’
Lauren expected to feel angry. Or even afraid. But she wasn’t. Not any longer.
‘I know that. But I also know that I don’t want to live like this.’
‘Lauren, if we came out. Went public with our relationship …’
‘It would get worse. I could live with that. But I’m not thinking about me.’
His forehead creased. He was holding her hands tightly and Lauren’s heart broke as she realised what she had to do. She struggled to find the right words.
‘There’s a lot about me you don’t know.’
‘I don’t care about …’
‘Please. Nick. Just let me tell you this. My mother raised me by herself. It wasn’t easy being a single mother, but she worked two jobs to pay for me to get to art school.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’
‘No, there’s not. I am so proud of her. But my father. That’s a different story. I’ve only ever seen him once. When I was at school.’
The images she had tried so hard to forget began to form in Lauren’s head again. She stared blankly at the dark television screen, not wanting to see the look on Nick’s face as he learned the truth about her.
‘It’s a good thing that he and my mother weren’t married. He was sent to jail before I was born. He was a thief, breaking into houses and stealing anything of value. The last time there was someone home. My father beat that woman. He almost killed her. And when they finally caught him, he was imprisoned for ten years. That time.’
‘Lauren …’
‘When he got out, he found us.’ She spoke quickly. If she stopped now she would never finish this. And Nick had to know everything. ‘When I got home from school, I found Mum. He had beaten her too and taken her money and her car. I called the police. When they caught him, he was sent back to prison. For a very long time we lived in fear that he would be released, or escape and come back again.’
‘Lauren, you don’t have to be afraid. I can protect you and your mother.’
‘I’m not afraid. He’s going to be in prison for a very long time.’
Nicolas squeezed her hands. ‘I am sorry.’
‘I’m not. That’s a horrible thing to say, isn’t it? But I’m not sorry at all. He was a stranger to me and all I cared about was that my mother was safe.’
Lauren took a deep breath. The words had come more easily than she’d expected, because she knew Nick would understand. But she wasn’t so sure he would understand, or accept, what she was about to say. She risked a quick glance at his face – so filled with love and concern. She looked away again before her resolve broke.
‘I’m leaving, Nick.’
‘What do you mean … leaving?’
‘I can’t do this. I can’t be part of your life.’
‘No. Don’t think that. You are not responsible for who your father was. You are not responsible for what he did.’
‘I know that. But if I stay, the media will find all this. They’ll drag it back all over the front pages.’
Nicolas didn’t try to deny it. ‘I know you don’t want to hurt your mother, but …’
He stopped speaking as Lauren shook her head. ‘It’s not my mother I am thinking of. Or me. We’ve lived with this all our lives. It’s you and your family.’
‘We can …’
‘No. You can’t.’ At last Lauren could face him; her resolve was firm. Nothing, not even the pain she saw in Nick’s face, would dissuade her now. ‘That night when the bomb went off and in the days after, I loved you so much for your bravery. You did what was right for your family. For your country. Your mother did too, despite her injures and despite her fear for Edouard. I admire her so much. I can’t drag her and you and all your family into this. I’m not right for you. I don’t belong here. I have to go.’
‘You are right for me. I love you, Lauren. You must know that.’
‘You can’t love me. You are a prince and doing your duty is one of the things I love about you. I won’t hurt you or your family, Nick. I won’t do it.’
Her heart was breaking. She reached out to place the palm of her hand on his cheek and look one final time at his face. Those brilliant blue eyes were bright with something very like tears. She loved him even more at that moment than she had ever thought possible.
‘Don’t try to stop me. Please. I’m not as strong as you. If I don’t leave now …’ She got to her feet. ‘The painting is finished. It’s yours. Do whatever you want with it. I have to go.’ The pain grew stronger with every second she stood there, watching the confusion on his face. Lauren turned and ran from the room.
She ran up the stairs, fighting back the tears every step of the way. Don’t start crying. Just don’t, she told herself. Wait until you are safely home. Just hold on for a little bit longer. Once back in her room, she gathered her belongings. In just a few minutes everything was back inside her small bag. The clothes the housekeeper had taken to dry could stay. She didn’t care. She just had to get out.
She was sitting on the bed, doing up some sandals, the only other footwear she possessed, when she became aware that Nick was standing in the open doorway. In his hands he held the skirt and blouse she had dropped, unnoticed, in the staff room. He came into the room and held them out.
‘Thank you.’ Lauren took them from his outstretched hands. Their eyes met for a second.
‘Is there anything I can say or do that will make you stay?’
Lauren thought she might well die of the pain coursing through her. ‘Can you change the life you were born into?’
‘No.’
‘Nor can I.’
Lauren picked up her bag. She moved to stand in front of him, and looked long and hard at his face, trying to burn it into her memory for the years ahead. ‘I am sorry.’ She stepped past him into the hallway. ‘Will you arrange a car for me please,’ she said without turning around.
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you.’ Lauren walked rapidly towards the stairs.
* * *
Nicolas stood staring at the open door, trying to understand why his world had come crashing down around him. He crossed the hallway to his own suite and picked up the phone.
‘Thomas,’ he said when he heard the familiar answer. ‘Please take Miss Phelps home, or anywhere else she wants to go.’
‘Yes, sir.’ Years of practice allowed Thomas to keep the surprise out of his voice. Or did the whole staff already know what was happening?
‘It’s quite likely the paparazzi will be looking for Miss Phelps. They will be coming here.’
‘I will talk to security, sir.’
‘Just make sure she gets safely away. And be sure there’s no problem outside her flat.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Nicolas hung up. There was nothing else he could do for her.
He walked to the window, which overlooked the driveway. In the distance, he could see the wooded copse where just a short time ago he had known such joy. His life had stretched before him full of wonderment. Now it had all turned to dust. A few minutes passed and then a big black sedan moved slowly down the drive. He couldn’t bear to watch her go.
Nicolas left his room, his steps taking him towards Lauren’s studio. Even when she wasn’t there, her studio always seemed filled with her essence. It was her sanctuary, just as this estate had always been his. Perhaps he would find some comfort there. He reached out to open the door then paused. The portrait was finished. He couldn’t bring himself to look at it. He didn’t want to look into the face of a man who was a coward.
He would go back to the city. His sanctuary was lost to him.