has it all covered—and he can be quite charming when he wants to.”
Without another word, Mari bolted through the doors the liveried servant had opened for her. She slipped off the high, black, strappy heels that probably cost more than a month’s wages at home, and kept running. She turned right at the end of the hall, and right again, smiling at the servants in on the secret and whispering her thanks. From experience she knew that she got a lot further with people with a smile than an order. Great-Uncle Kyri always told her she could catch more flies with honey than vinegar.
She burst out into the cool night air with a sigh of relief—the car was there, just where Jazmine had said it would be, and there was a man leaning against the hood with a glass in his hand. Mari ran to the car and jerked the door open before he could move to open it for her. “Take me to the royal pier, please—as fast as you can.”
After a moment, the man said, in a tone of amusement, “Of course, my lady.” He hopped into the driver’s side. “The keys are in the ignition. Everything’s in place.”
“The King and Queen ordered the car to be ready for me,” Mari replied, trying hard to be pleasant while she was literally squirming. “The palace gates will open when we reach them.” She flicked a glance at the doors she’d left. Were they about to open? “I’d appreciate it if you’d lock the doors,” she said, mindful not to be imperious or cold. “Please,” she added again, turning to the rearview mirror to smile at the man. “Please, I really need to leave now.”
After a bare second of hesitation the man started the engine, gunned it, and let it go. Then they were at the gates, which opened smoothly for them. Mari sat twitching in the back seat, tossing constant glances over her shoulder—
Nothing yet, thank heaven, but he could come at any second. Charlie’s gentle, hands-off approach with Mikhail told her how delicate this situation was. It looked as if things might get ugly if she refused him again. Who’d ever have thought ordinary Mari Mitsialos could become entangled in international relations? But this was a kind of importance she’d give anything to not know! “Faster, oh, please go faster,” she pleaded, worst-case scenarios running riot through her head.
A smothered sound like a laugh met her desperate plea, but the limo moved through the gates. As Jazmine had stated they would, they swung closed behind the limo.
Flashes popped as the paparazzi assumed it was the bride and groom. She cringed away from the lights, covering her face; then they were through the thronged crowds. The boom gates and road spikes placed at the end of the private road, for royal safety in case of war, did the job on their pursuit, stopping the cars and bursting the tyres of the motorbikes. There’d be an official apology later, and talk of accidents, no doubt—and in the meantime the royal limo headed at breakneck speed for the royal pier.
CHAPTER TWO
AS HE drove for the royal pier, the note from the King and Queen of Hellenia lying open by his side, Lysander Marsalis wondered when would be the best time to tell her that he wasn’t really a chauffeur, but a duke, with distant ties to the royal family …
The eleventh Duke of Persolis since his brother’s retirement to a monastery a year ago, and a royal diplomat for the past decade, Sander was the current minder of the spoiled Royal Highness from whom the King’s cousin was currently bolting. He’d been sanctioned by both the King and Queen to discreetly take the girl out of a situation fraught with a hundred potential landmines in the way of international diplomacy.
At the very least he was going to lose his position in Chalnikan for acting against Mikhail’s interests—but having been given the orders by both Mikhail’s father and Charlie, what else could he do?
“Can’t we go any faster … please?”
A grin tugged at reluctant lips. The please, like all the others, had been so obviously tacked on as an afterthought. “Not without being arrested, miss.”
“Oh.” She slumped in her seat. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.”
The grin vanished. The girl … Mari … really was worried—and yet she took the time to be concerned about his position as well. She was a nice young woman, far too sweet and innocent for an infamous playboy prince only after some fun. “Not much longer, miss. In perhaps ten minutes we’ll arrive safely.”
Relief rose in her face like the morning sun, until all of her seemed to glow. “Oh, thank you. I must seem like a drama queen, but I really need to get away.”
In the space of ten minutes Sander had begun to feel as if he was living on a roller coaster. This girl really lived on her emotions. “Was the wedding so bad, miss?”
She rolled her eyes. “You have no idea.”
He strongly suspected the title “drama queen” wasn’t entirely incorrect. Mari Mitsialos, with her mercurial and vivid emotions rushing across her face like movie panels, was a refreshing change from the languid debutantes and elegantly bored nobles’ daughters paraded in royal company every year. Every thought and feeling showed on her face, like sunshine bursting through clouds. She was just … cute.
It was obvious she wasn’t born to privilege. In high-society circles one never snapped at underlings; one merely conveyed the impression that disobedience to the slightest whim wasn’t an option. But Mari had a cute little wobble in her voice that gave her away. Please, I need you to do what I want, because I’m so scared you won’t, and I’ll have no idea what to do then … With a little training, she could be—
“It’s all right, miss, no one’s following us,” Sander said in a soothing tone as he saw her twist around to stare through the rear window for at least the twelfth time.
“Ooooh … that’s good. Thank you.” The girl leaned back against the plush, butter-soft leather, and smiled into the rear vision mirror at him. “Honestly, you have no idea what it was like in there.”
The smile lit her face—in fact, it lit the entire car with inner sunshine. Despite her apparent addiction to italicising a word in almost every sentence, Mari Mitsialos was pretty, with long dark curls and sleepy eyes similar to her cousin the Princess Giulia—but when she smiled she was … well, dazzling.
That smile was lethal. Not that she had dimples or perfect teeth—he couldn’t put his finger on what it was. But whatever it was Mari had, she had it in spades. The It factor.
He’d known that from the day of Charlie and Jazmine’s wedding. Seeing her dancing at the reception, he’d known Mari was unusual. From a shadowed corner he’d watched her laugh and smile and charm every man between fifteen and ninety-five into adoration without even trying. She was … well, lovable.
All of which meant he’d kept a serious distance. Mari was a nice girl, not one for a few nights’ fun or discreet liaisons in designated places. And she was the King’s cousin.
He had to remember to keep his face stolid, like a servant, as he answered. “I’d have thought a royal wedding with this new royal family would be a lovely affair, miss. You’ve been to both weddings, if I remember rightly?”
He put a tiny hint of question into the observation, leaving the way free for her to talk if she wanted to. It was obvious she was bursting to say something, to relieve the pressure somehow. Unfortunately her immediate family seemed oblivious to Mikhail’s true intent, and pushed her into his
