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‘What is it, darling?’ Alexei taunted, the most fiendish smile curling the corners of his beautiful mouth. ‘Not enjoying this? It’s no fun having to beg, is it? No fun having to crawl to someone you’d much rather die than even talk to.’
Once more that searing gaze raked over her, from the top of Ria’s uncharacteristically controlled hair down to the neat, highly polished black shoes. It was a look that took her back ten years, forced her to remember how coldly he had regarded her before he had walked away and out of her life. For good, she had thought then.
‘And I should know, angel—I’ve been there, remember? I’ve been exactly where you are now—begged, pleaded—and walked away with nothing. Tell me, what is the price of betrayal these days? Is it still thirty pieces of silver? Of course you could try asking …’
ROYAL AND RUTHLESS
The power of the throne, the passion of a king!
Whether he is a playboy prince or a masterful king
he has always known his destiny:
Duty; first, last and always.
With millions at his fingertips
and the world at his command,
no one dare challenge this ruthless royal’s desire …
Until now.
In June 2013
Kate Walker brings you
A THRONE FOR THE TAKING
Look out for Caitlin Crew’s
A ROYAL WITHOUT RULES August 2013
About the Author
KATE WALKER was born in Nottinghamshire, but as she grew up in Yorkshire she has always felt that her roots are there. She met her husband at university, and originally worked as a children’s librarian, but after the birth of her son she returned to her old childhood love of writing. When she’s not working she divides her time between her family, their three cats, and her interests of embroidery, antiques, film and theatre—and, of course, reading.
You can visit Kate at www.kate-walker.com
Recent titles by the same author:
THE DEVIL AND MISS JONES
THE RETURN OF THE STRANGER
The Powerful and the Pure)
THE PROUD WIFE
THE GOOD GREEK WIFE?
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
A Throne for the Taking
Kate Walker
MILLS & BOON
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For the class of Fishghuard, February 2012. Thanks for such a fun and inspiring weekend.
CHAPTER ONE
HE WAS COMING. The sound of footsteps in the corridor outside told her that. Brisk, heavy footsteps, the sound of expensive leather soles on the marble floor.
A big man, moving fast and impatiently towards the room where she had been told to wait for him. A room that was not as she had expected, but then nothing had been as she had expected since she had started out on this campaign, least of all this man she hadn’t seen in so long. It had been more than ten years since she had spoken to him, but they would now be coming face to face in less than thirty seconds.
How was she going to handle this?
Ria adjusted her position in the smart leather chair, crossing one leg over the other then, rethinking, moving it back again so that her feet were neatly on the floor, placed precisely together in their elegant black courts, knees closed tight, her blue and green flowered dress stretched sleekly over them. Lifting her hand, she made to smooth back a non-existent wandering strand of dark auburn hair. Her style would be immaculate, she knew. She’d pulled her hair back tightly from her face so that there was nothing loose to get in a mess or distract her. Nothing to look frivolous or even carefree. That was not the image she’d aimed for.
She’d even fretted at the thought that her dress might be a little too casual and relaxed when she’d put it on, but the below knee length of the swirling skirt covered her almost as much as the tailored trousers she’d considered wearing, and the lightweight black linen jacket she’d pulled on over the top added a needed touch of formality that made her feel better.
The room she sat in was sleek and sophisticated with pale wood furniture. Far sleeker and much more luxurious than she had ever anticipated. One of the soft grey walls displayed a set of dramatic photographs, sharply framed. In black and white only, they were the sort of images that had made Alexei Sarova his reputation and his fortune. They were superb, stunning but— Ria frowned as she looked at them. They were bleak and somehow lonely. Photographs of landscapes, places, no people in them at all. He did sometimes photograph people—she knew that from the magazines she had read and the stunning images that had appeared in the articles—but none of those commissions were displayed here.
Outside the door, those determined, heavy footsteps slowed, then halted and she heard the murmur of voices through the thick wood, the deep, gravelly tones making it plain that the speaker was a man.
The man. The one she had come here to meet, to give him the message that might save her country from all-out civil war, and she had vowed that she was not leaving until she had done so. Even if the nerves in her stomach tied themselves into tight, painful knots at the thought and her restless fingers had started to beat an unsettled tattoo on the wooden arm of the chair.
‘No!’ Ria reproved herself aloud. ‘Stop it! Now!’
