I could have been on my way back to England—deported. Ben imprisoned in that palace, never to see me again.
The horror of what had so nearly been consumed her.
Prince Rico had saved them.
Guilt stabbed at her again. He had saved them—and she had repaid him by chaining him to her.
‘Mummy?’
Ben was sitting up.
‘Is it getting-up time?’ he asked brightly. ‘Is Tio Rico here?’ He looked around expectantly, then, in a puzzled voice, ‘Where are we, Mummy? Have we gone back to the palace again?’
She shook her head. A steely hardness filled her.
‘No, darling. We’re not going back there.’ She threw back the bedclothes. ‘Come on, let’s find out where breakfast is. I’m starving.’
She looked around her. The room was large and airy, and filled with sunlight diffused through bleached wood Venetian blinds. The furniture was simple, but elegant, the walls white, the floor tiled. She found her spirits lifting.
Capo d’Angeli. She had heard of it vaguely, but nothing more. A place where rich people went, but not flash or sophisticated. Discreet and classy. An exclusive, luxury resort on the Italian coast where there were no hotels, only villas, with large private grounds, each nestled into its own place on the rocky promontory overlooking the sea.
Someone had brought up her suitcase. There was not a great deal in it—even less than she’d taken from Cornwall—but there was enough to serve. Ben fell with a cry of pleasure upon his teddy bear, as well as a clutch of his favourite engines.
It did not take long to dress, and when they were both ready Lizzy drew up the Venetian blinds. French windows were behind them, and a wide terrace, and beyond the terrace—
‘Mummy—the sea! It’s bluer than my paintbox. Much bluer than home.’
Lizzy opened the French windows and warm air flooded in like an embrace. Ben rushed out, clutching the stone balustrade and staring eagerly out over the tops of the pine trees set below, out to the cerulean sea beyond, sparkling in the morning light.
‘Do you think there’s a beach?’ he asked, his voice pitched with excitement.
‘Definitely a beach, Ben.’
The voice that answered him was not hers. It came from further down the terrace, where an ironwork table was set out under a large blue-striped parasol. The table was set with breakfast things, but Lizzy had no eyes for them. All she had eyes for was the man sitting in the pool of shade.
She felt her stomach clench. Oh, God, he just looked so fantastic. He was wearing a bathrobe, and its whiteness contrasted dramatically with the warm tan of his skin tones, the deep vee of the crossover revealing a smooth, hard surface that she flicked her eyes away from jerkily. Not that it did any good to look at any other part of him. His forearms were bare, too, the sleeves of the robe rolled up, and his damp hair was feathering in the warmth. As for his face—
She felt her stomach clench again. He was a ludicrously attractive male, and up to now she’d only seen him in formal attire. Seeing him like this, fresh from his shower, was…
Different.
Completely, utterly different.
And he seemed different too. The tension that had been in him throughout their time together at the safe house, culminating in the extreme emotion of their flight from the palace had gone. Disappeared.
Now he seemed…relaxed.
Carefree.
Ben was running forward. ‘Tio Rico, can we go down to the beach?’ he asked eagerly.
His uncle laughed. Lizzy’s stomach churned yet again. The laughter lit his face, indenting lines around his mouth, lifting his eyes, showing the white of his teeth. Making him look a hundred times more gorgeous. A hundred times sexier—
Oh, God, how am I going to cope with this?
Misery filled her, and with horrible self-conscious awkwardness she walked forward. As she approached, he got to his feet.
‘Buon giorno,’ he said. There was still a smile in his eyes. Left over from Ben, obviously.