‘I didn’t. We had tutors at the Palace.’
So he would have been cut off from the outside world—in the same way that he now seemed to have cut himself off from the island itself.
Lucy sneaked a glance at him. His dark profile was hard and noncommittal as the gates opened and the car swept through onto a vast forecourt which was studded with beautiful statues and bright with tropical flowers.
‘Do your brothers mind me coming?’ she asked him hesitantly.
There wasn’t a flicker of reaction on his face. Nico had been interested—rather too interested, in Guido’s opinion—and had quizzed him about actually bringing a woman with him to Mardivino until Guido had set him straight. He had told his younger brother that Lucy was his lover—nothing more and nothing less. ‘Don’t start writing hearts and flowers,’ he had said wryly. ‘Just because you’ve fallen in love yourself.’
Gianferro had been a diff
erent matter altogether—stating flatly that it was unthinkable for Guido to bring a woman to the Palace if she was merely a casual consort.
There had been a hot-headed exchange about this use of terminology, with Guido telling Gianferro that he was a modern, urban man who didn’t go along with such a derogatory description of a woman.
Gianferro had gone to great pains to try to explain himself. ‘I am not trying to insult this…Lucy,’ he had said exasperatedly. ‘But while you may consider yourself a “modern, urban man” you are still a prince. I am afraid that I cannot countenance the idea of you cohabiting with her on Mardivino.’
Knowing that he held all the cards, Guido had responded coolly. ‘Then I shall not come.’
‘That is unthinkable!’
‘Precisely.’
It didn’t matter how much Gianferro raged, on this Guido had been adamant—not only would he be bringing Lucy, but he wanted them to share a suite of rooms at the Palace.
‘I am not going to behave like a seventeen-year-old schoolboy!’ he had stormed. ‘Sneaking into her room late at night.’
‘Think of your birthright!’ his brother had retorted.
‘I do—constantly! I have chosen to live my life by my own rules, and I am asking you to respect that.’
He looked now into Lucy’s honey-coloured eyes and gave a thin smile. ‘No,’ he said lightly. ‘My brothers do not mind you coming.’
He supposed that some people might have called this a distortion of the truth, but in his world he would prefer to define it as diplomacy. Sometimes it was better all round if you told people what they wanted to hear.
The luxury car purred to a halt and various servants appeared from within the ornate doors of the Palace. As Lucy stepped out of the car, to feel the sun beating down on her bare head, the feeling of being in a dream was stronger than ever.
Guido was speaking to one of the servants in low and rapid French, while others were removing their baggage and taking it inside. He turned to her and his black eyes glittered.
‘Shall we go to our rooms?’ he suggested casually. ‘You might wish to change.’ His eyes glittered. ‘And my brother Gianferro would like to meet you before we go down to dinner.’
It was not a question, Lucy realised, it was an order—subtly and charmingly couched, but an order nonetheless. As much as Guido might declare that he had left his Royal life behind, it was ingrained in his psyche, running as deep as an underground river. You couldn’t escape your upbringing—leave it behind and forget it—simply because you wanted to.
On Mardivino he would inevitably be the Prince, and as his lover Lucy had her own part to play. So play the part, she told herself, but don’t let the barriers slip—not by a fraction.
She remembered what Gary, her house-mate, had told her before she left: ‘Everyone will love you! Just be yourself, darling!’. But what did that actually mean? That she should let rip with her feelings? Not in this case, no. She suspected that it was more a case of being natural and easy-going—in other words being the perfect guest. She would go along with everything and drink in the experience of a lifetime.
‘Sounds wonderful,’ she agreed equably.
Guido took her to their suite via a maze of wide marble corridors, hung with spectacular oil paintings, and then through an inner courtyard which was cool and scented, with a fountain sprinkling water which sounded like music.
He stood watching her for a moment as she sucked in a deep breath of wonder, for it was impossible not to be awed by such beauty.
‘You like it,’ he observed.
Lucy turned to face him, seeing the shuttered look in his black eyes. ‘Don’t you?’
He shrugged. ‘I grew up here. You always look at things differently from the inside. And memories change how you view something.’