Книга - Amber And The Rogue Prince

Amber And The Rogue Prince
Ally Blake


One summer with the prince… One scandalous consequence!Betrayed at the altar, Prince Hugo escapes to Australia and finds solace with the unconventional Amber Hartley. However, Hugo gets more than he bargained for as brave and sassy Amber is everything a princess shouldn’t be – not to mention she has a secret that could shock the nation!







One summer with the prince...

One scandalous consequence!

In this The Royals of Vallemont story, Prince Hugo goes rogue after being betrayed at the altar. He escapes to Australia and finds solace with unconventional Amber Hartley. Brave and sassy, she’s everything his princess shouldn’t be. Although he expected her fiery response to discovering he’s royalty, he didn’t imagine his deception would hurt her deeply. But Amber has her own bombshell—she’s pregnant with his royal baby!


Australian author ALLY BLAKE loves reading and strong coffee, porch swings and dappled sunshine, beautiful notebooks and soft, dark pencils. Her inquisitive, rumbunctious, spectacular children are her exquisite delight. And she adores writing love stories so much she’d write them even if nobody read them. No wonder, then, having sold over four million copies of her romance novels worldwide, Ally is living her bliss. Find out more about Ally’s books at www.allyblake.com (http://www.allyblake.com).


Also by Ally Blake (#u354e2bf3-7b71-52fc-bb19-6cef6c86e202)

Millionaire to the Rescue

Falling for the Rebel Heir

Hired: The Boss’s Bride

Dating the Rebel Tycoon

Millionaire Dad’s SOS

The Royals of Vallemont miniseries

Rescuing the Royal Runaway Bride

Amber and the Rogue Prince

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Amber and the Rogue Prince

Ally Blake






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07770-5

AMBER AND THE ROGUE PRINCE

© 2018 Ally Blake

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For all the women dreaming about their next chapters.

And Bec, who leapt into hers with enthusiasm, fortitude, grace, humour and style, taking her first steps alongside me, and naming Ned the dog along the way.


Contents

Cover (#ue7ec51ff-5ad8-5df2-8b34-c92862b48e96)

Back Cover Text (#uf47991c8-e546-5945-ae6f-de54f12c97c2)

About the Author (#uef881718-4704-51e9-a3e7-401ad82ab5b9)

Booklist (#u8b6366fa-daeb-5ace-967b-14e004c04543)

Title Page (#uc303d86e-9b2a-5e11-92f6-48da69902e84)

Copyright (#u18b1cd81-20c3-579e-be23-9aea167f2d84)

Dedication (#u18167d23-590c-5dc3-acca-5320fb370db7)

CHAPTER ONE (#u15dc9ab6-9607-54e7-99d9-4a97e3330983)

CHAPTER TWO (#u52de412f-efef-5171-9861-4f17803292b2)

CHAPTER THREE (#uaee709a3-95b8-5239-95ee-c09deac36b10)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


CHAPTER ONE (#u354e2bf3-7b71-52fc-bb19-6cef6c86e202)

AMBER PLONKED HERSELF onto the rickety stairs out front of the shack hovering on the edge of Serenity Hill. Stretching her arms over her head, she blinked sleepily at the view.

A misty glow slithered over the acres of wild lavender carpeting the hillside. The first hint of morning sun peeked between the hilly mounds beyond, creating a starburst of gold on the horizon and making silhouettes of the willows meandering along the banks of Serenity Creek below.

“Could do with some rain,” said Amber. “That said, can’t we always?”

Ned stared fondly up at her from his mismatched eyes. She gave the mottled fur behind his good ear a thorough rub.

Then, nabbing her bright yellow gumboots, Amber tugged them on over faded pyjama bottoms. She rubbed a smudge of mud from one of the bees that Sunflower—who lived in the bright purple caravan up on the hill—had painted on them for her. Then she twirled her heavy hair into a low bun and ducked her head into her fencing-style veil. Last came elasticised gloves, then, finally ready, she pushed herself to her feet.

“You ready?”

Ned answered with a wag of his tail.

“Then let’s do this.”

But Amber only made it down one more step before she spied Sunflower hustling down the hill behind the shack towards her.

With her fluffy strawberry-blonde hair and pixie face, her feet bare beneath her long paisley skirt, Sunflower looked as if she’d fallen to earth on a sunbeam. But like everyone in Serenity she’d come in search of sanctuary.

Amber pulled off her veil and tucked it under her arm before wiping the dislodged strands of hair from her eyes. Not used to seeing anyone else out and about this early, Amber called out, “Everything okay?”

Sunflower waved a hand while she caught her breath. “I have news.”

“For you to be out from under your blanket this early it must be pretty good news.”

The look Sunflower shot her was thick with meaning.

“Not so good, then.”

Sunflower shielded her face against the rising sun and said, “I’m actually not sure. The news is they’ve opened up the Big House.”

Amber glanced up the hill, even though Hinterland House—the big, deserted, Tuscan-style villa that everyone in the area simply referred to as the Big House—was perched too far over the other side to be seen.

“Grim mentioned seeing smoke coming from the chimney a couple of weeks back. But considering Grim lives in a cloud of smoke, I ignored it. Then Daphne claimed she saw sheets on the clothesline and I began to wonder. Last night, when he was taking one of his wanders, my Johnno saw a fancy black car barrelling up the drive and pulling into the garage.” She paused for effect, then announced, “It seems the family is back.”

“What family? The way the place was always kept so well-tended I’d figured it was a tax write-off for some overseas conglomerate.”

“Oh, no,” said Sunflower, her eyes now dancing. “It belongs to the Van Halprins. A family as famous for their money and power as their terrible bad luck. As the story goes, they all died off, in one tragic manner after another, until only one remained—the youngest daughter, Anna, who was very beautiful. Twenty-one and all alone in that big house—the townspeople feared what might become of her. Then, in a fairy-tale ending, she married a prince from some far-off land and the place has been barren ever since.”

“And now this fairy-tale princess is back?”

Sunflower shook her head, her eyes sparking. “The person my Johnno saw driving the car was a man. City haircut. Deadly handsome. They say it’s him.”

Amber knew she was meant to say, Him who? but her throat had gone dry. Her earlier frisson of concern now bore the hallmarks of fully fledged anxiety: sweaty palms; ringing in her ears; a strong desire to run inside and bar the door.

But the door to her shack was barely holding onto its hinges as it was, so what would be the point?

Oblivious, sweet Sunflower went on. “It has to be Anna’s son! Anna’s royal son. Prince Alessandro Giordano himself.”

Not one to follow that kind of thing, Amber didn’t know Prince Alessandro from Prince Charming.

Only, she had an awful feeling she did.

“Don’t you see?” Sunflower went on. “As heir to the Van Halprin estate, Prince Alessandro owns Hinterland House, which means he also owns pretty much every bit of land you can see. From one side of the hill to the other, from the river to the township. Including the land you and I are standing on.”

Amber found she had to swallow before asking, “Whoa. Back up a little. I assumed the commune owned this land. Or that the township simply let them stay.” So deeply grateful had she been for a place to stay, she’d never thought to ask. “Are you saying that this Prince owns Serenity Hill?”

Sunflower nodded slowly. “And there are more rumours.”

There were always rumours. Especially in a town this size. Having had parents whose chief personality trait was “being deeply involved”, Amber had developed a sincere lack of interest in knowing other people’s business.

Sunflower said, “Apparently a man fitting that description—tall, citified, handsome, and with an accent—has been seen meeting with the town council. And the only reason for an outsider to meet with the council is—”

“Town planning.”

The wind had picked up, creating eerie paths through the field of lavender. And despite the sun lifting into the air, Amber shivered. She wriggled her toes in her gumboots in order to keep the blood flowing.

Unlike some of the old-timers living in tents, wigwams, caravans and Kombi vans up the hill, Amber was a relative newcomer to Serenity. But, while her history of the area was sketchy, her experience with the law was sharp and clear.

“The commune has been occupying this land for years. Decades, right? Long enough to build structures. To hook in plumbing. Electricity. To have signs pointing the way. It’s even noted as a point of interest on the tourist map. Surely that gives us rights.”

Sunflower blinked. “Rights?”

Before Amber could take the thought further, something banged inside her shack. Both women turned to see what it was. Amber took a subtle step back up onto the porch.

“Probably Ned demanding breakfast.”

Sunflower backed away. “Of course. I’m off to spread the news to the rest of the morning folk. See what else we can unearth. Feel free to fill everyone in yourself. Fire-pit meeting tonight. At sunset.”

Another bang came from inside Amber’s shack. She took another step nearer her front door. Said, “You bet. See you then. I’d better check on Ned.”

Of course, at that moment Ned came running out of the fields below, purple flowers caught in his fur.

Amber madly ushered Ned inside the shack, then yanked the door shut behind her before leaning against it, holding the doorknob tight.

In the quiet her heart thumped against her ribs.

All she had to do was lean forward to see past the cupboard-cum-kitchen wall and into her small bedroom. To spot the crumpled sheets. The colourful crocheted blanket kicked into a pile on the floor.

And the masculine shape of the stranger in her bed.

A chop of sun-kissed hair slid over one eye. Broad shoulders lifted and fell as he breathed. The profile cast against her pillow was achingly handsome. Even now. Even with the indignation building inside of her.

To think, she’d only slipped out from under the warm, heavy weight of his arm ten minutes before, smiling at what a deep sleeper he was. And the reason why.

He’d said his name was Hugo. And she’d believed him.

That particular something in his eyes—directness, authority, unflappability—had allowed her the rare luxury of taking everything he’d said at face value. No doubt the foreign accent had helped too. Not only was it devastatingly sexy, but it also meant he was a tourist, just passing through. There was no point worrying too much about details when their dalliance was only ever going to be short-term.

And yet, it sounded like the man she’d just indulged in a clandestine three-week affair with was none other than Prince Alessandro Giordano—and he was also known as the owner of the land on which she and her friends lived illegally!

Three weeks earlier...

Amber breathed in the scent of lavender as she looked out over Serenity Hill.

There had been a chill in the air that morning. Like the blast of an open fridge door on a hot summer’s day.

It was the sign she had been waiting for. Time to harvest her bumper honey crop for the year. Collect at the right time and the honey would be ripe, sweet, in its prime. Leave it much longer and the colony would start eating the wares or moving it lower into the hive, making it near impossible to collect.

By late afternoon there was no need for the smoker. Warmth had settled over the valley and crept up onto the hills, meaning the honey would be warm, running easily, and the bees would be calm.

Dolled up in her veil, overalls and gloves, gumboots slapping against the stairs, she realised Ned was not at her side. No point whistling for him—he was nearly deaf.

She tipped up onto her toes to see if she could spy his fluffy tail cutting through the field. No luck. Maybe he’d headed up the hill to visit the others. But that wasn’t like him. They knew better than to feed him scraps. Amber had made it clear that he was her responsibility, nobody else’s. That in taking him on she wouldn’t put undue pressure on the commune’s resources.

About to give up and head off alone, she saw him by the pair of trees down the hill, watching the hammock slung between them with great interest.

As Amber neared she realised why.

A stranger in fact was lying therein. Asleep.

Not just a stranger...a man. A long man. Longer than the hammock, his big feet poking out of the end. His T-shirt had twisted to cling to a sculpted chest. The bottom edge lifted to reveal a tanned stomach, and a dark arrow of hair leading to...jeans that left little to the imagination.

Even in sleep he was riveting. Deep-set eyes beneath dashing, slashing brows, and overlong hair that fell across a brow furrowed as if he was dreaming important dreams. The rest of his face was rough-hewn, but handsome with it—a stubble-shadowed jaw and cheeks that appeared carved from rock. A veritable modern-day Viking.

Not from around here, or she’d have noticed. A tourist, then. Not the seasonal fruit-picking kind. Or the type who came to Serenity looking for enlightenment. Or absolution. His clothes were too nice. His aura too crisp. But people didn’t just happen to pass through Serenity. They came with a purpose. So what was his?

Her gaze running over every inch of him as if she was committing him to memory, Amber realised with excruciating discomfort just how long she’d been living in this patch of pretty wilderness dotted with leisurely artisans and gentle hippies, none of whom had made her nerves twang. Not like this.

She swallowed the thirst pooling in her cheeks and reached out for Ned.

Ned looked at her with his contented face.

“What are you grinning at?”

Forgetting the fact that in all likelihood the stranger was not as deaf as Ned, Amber hadn’t thought to lower her voice.

The stranger sprang to sitting as if he were spring-loaded. His feet hit the ground, his hands gripping the edges of the hammock, the muscles of his arms bunching as the hammock threatened to swing out from under him.

He was even bigger sitting up. Well over six feet. Strong with it. Yet Amber felt compelled to stay. To watch. To wait.

A few beats later, the stranger shook his hair from his eyes before palming the heels of his hands deep into the sockets. With a heavy breath he dropped his hands, opened his eyes, took one look at Amber and leapt out of the hammock so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet.

A string of words poured from his mouth. Italian? French? Who cared? It was the sexiest sound Amber had ever heard. Raw and deep, it scraped against her insides like a long, slow, rough-tongued lick.

Ned loved it too, what little he could hear of it. He bounded to his feet and ran around in a circle, barking at the sky.

The stranger looked over his shoulder, then back at Amber. He looked down at Ned, then back at her again. This time his gaze caught. And stayed. A beat slunk by in which deep breaths were hard to come by.

Then, in lightly accented English, “Please tell me you come in peace.”

She reached up and slowly pulled her bee-keeping hat and veil from her head. As usual, the mesh caught on her hair, pulling long blonde strands free of her bun until it fell over her face in a wispy curtain. She tried wiping them away but the heavy glove made it next to impossible.

In the end, she threw her veil to the ground, slid off both gloves and threw them down too. Feeling overheated, she unzipped her overalls, pulling them down to her hips, the arms flapping about her thighs. She fixed her tank top, pushed her hair back off her face, and—hands on hips—stared the stranger down.

The effect somewhat lessened when Ned saw his chance and went for her gloves. He managed to get both, but dropped one about a metre away as he took off into the lavender with the score in his delighted teeth.

Not that the stranger seemed to notice. His eyes never left hers. In fact, they had warmed, distinctly, the edge of a very fine mouth tilting at one side as he took her in.

Flustered, Amber pressed her shoulders back, angled her chin at him and said, “I might ask the same of you.”

“Me?” He stretched his arms overhead, once again revealing his flat, tanned belly, and Amber gritted her teeth as she looked determinedly anywhere else. “I am all about the peace.”

“Well, next time keep your peace far from my hammock. Capiche?”

“If I said I really needed a nap at the exact moment I came upon it, would that help?” One side of his mouth kicked up, and her tummy tumbled over on itself in response.

“What do you think?” she deadpanned.

“I think perhaps not,” he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. It was a little rumpled from sleep on one side. He wore it well.

He took a step her way, and Amber took an equal step back, which was ridiculous. If she screamed, a dozen hippies would rush down the hill to check on her. Well, maybe not rush. Amble with intent.

She pressed her gumboots into the ground. It wasn’t concern for her safety that had her on edge. It was concern for her hazy judgement.

He stepped sideways, picked up the glove Ned had dropped and ran his thumb over the honeycomb stitching. “How about if I said I tripped and fell into the hammock, knocking myself out?”

“I’d think you were an idiot.”

A smile tugging at the corner of that mouth, he looked out over the lavender, all the while taking a step closer to her. “Then here’s the unvarnished truth: a wicked witch lured me here with a peach. I took one bite and fell into a deep sleep.”

As punctuation, he held out her glove. Naturally, she reached out to take it. Only he did not let go, capturing her gaze right along with it.

His eyes were a deep, intelligent hazel, his mouth on the constant verge of a smile. The fact that his nose appeared to have been broken at some time only added to his stunning good looks.

“It was an apple,” said Amber, her voice breaking on the last syllable.

“Hmm?” he said, gently letting the glove go.

“Sleeping Beauty was felled by an apple.”

Again with the devastating half-smile. “Wasn’t that Eve with the apple? Tempting poor Adam.”

“Forbidden fruit. No mention of an apple, specifically.”

“Right. I stand corrected.”

At some point in the past few minutes, the sun had begun to set, stretching shadows over the stranger’s arresting face.

But it was the words that had her transfixed. The locals were so earnest she couldn’t remember the last time she’d indulged in spicy banter. It felt good. Really good. Like slipping into a freshly made bed after a long day on her feet.

“Who are you?” she asked, the desire to know far too obvious in her tone.

He held out a hand. “Hugo. And you are?”

Feeling as if she was about to step off a cliff, she took his hand. His fingers were long and strong. His grip dry and warm. The tingle that zapped up her arm had her shaking once and letting go.

“Amber.”

“It’s a very great pleasure to meet you, Amber.”

“I’ll bet.”

At that he laughed.

The sound tumbling about inside her belly made her feel empty. Hungry. She breathed through it. “Wicked witch or no, this is private property, so you’d best get moving on. It doesn’t get fully dark for another hour. If you walk with pace you’ll make it to the village in time. There you’ll find somewhere else to sleep.”

The man slid his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, going nowhere.

Amber crossed her arms and shook her head at the guy. But he only smiled back, the directness in his eyes telling her she wasn’t the only one having an “interested at first sight” moment. She rolled her eyes, turned on her heel and beckoned to him over her shoulder.

“Come on, then, Hugo. This way.”


CHAPTER TWO (#u354e2bf3-7b71-52fc-bb19-6cef6c86e202)

HUGO TWISTED AND STRETCHED, enjoying the creaks and cracks of muscles well-used.

Still half-asleep, he couldn’t be sure if the images skirting the edges of his brain were real, or the remnants of a very good dream. Then slowly, like drops of mercury melting together, he recalled slippery limbs sliding over each other. Warmth easing towards heat. Sighs, laughter, a gasp.

No dream. Just Amber.

A bump to the bed echoed through him, as if it wasn’t the first.

He dragged his eyes open, battling the sharp morning sunshine, to find Amber no longer tucked into his side. Instead, she stood by the other side of her bed, glaring at him.

And he found himself riding a wave of déjà vu.

The first time he’d laid eyes on her she’d worn the white veiled hat and the long, chunky gloves, the bulky overalls and those wild yellow boots. She’d looked like something from a nineteen-fifties space comic. Then she’d stripped down in front of him, all sun-browned shoulders, wildly tangled lashes over whisky-brown bedroom eyes, full lips, her long hair a halo of honeyed gold falling halfway down her back.

The difference this time: her lips were pursed. Her hands white-knuckled on her hips. And her narrowed eyes shot daggers his way.

That didn’t stop him from weighing up the likelihood of dragging her back to bed. He deemed the chances slim.

Brought up never to readily surrender the advantage of position, Hugo sat up, the sheet dragging with him. His feet curled as they hit the rough wooden floor. Then he pulled himself to standing.

Amber’s gaze flickered to his bare chest and she sucked in a sharp breath. The chances looked slightly more promising.

But then her arm lifted, one pointed finger aimed towards her front door, and she said, “Get out.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said, get out. Do you not understand what that means? Were you raised by wolves?”

“Nannies. Mostly.”

“Of course you were. Get out of my bed. Get out of my shack. Now.”

Hugo ran both hands over his face, hard and fast. Better to be fully awake for this. “Start at the beginning. You’re not making any sense.”

“Then look at my face. Look deep into my eyes so that you see I am serious. I want you to get out.”

Well, this was new. Her voice rose with each word, rare emotion tinging her words. She was genuinely upset.

“I will go. Of course. If that’s what you want. Look, I’m already out of your bed.” The sheet at his hips slipped as he reached up to scratch his chest.

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, which alleviated his concern, at least a little.

“In the spirit of fair play, I deserve to know why. What has changed in the world since you fell asleep while trying to convince me that honey was better than peanut butter?”

Her hand dropped, just a fraction. Then she regrouped, pointing her finger towards the door with renewed conviction. “Nothing has changed. Not a single thing. Apart from the fact that I now know who you really are.”

Time stood still for the merest fraction of a second, but when it resumed, everything seemed to sit a little off from where it had before.

He nodded, dropped the sheet back onto the bed and ambled over to the metal chair in the corner to gather his clothes. His underwear was nowhere to be seen, and, not about to go searching, he went commando, pulling on his jeans, taking care with the fly.

He’d known their liaison would end. They both had. That had been the underlying beauty of it.

In the first few days it had been diverting, watching things unfold from a safe mental distance. Distance was his usual state of being and Amber had seemed glad of it. The guiltless pleasure, the ease of transaction, the lack of desire on both sides to pry deeper than what the other might like for lunch had led to a beautifully contained affair.

Somehow, in all the hazy sunshine, with the cicadas a constant background hum, the clear edges of their association had begun to blur...until he’d found reasons to come to her earlier, to stay longer. They’d fallen into a rhythm of days lit bright and nights lost to exquisite, immoderate pleasure and murmured nothings in the dark.

As he pushed one arm through his shirt, then the other, he no longer felt distant. The dissatisfaction he felt was real.

But only a fool would have expected the halcyon days to remain that way—like a bug trapped in amber. So to speak. And Hugo was no fool.

“Is that it?” Amber’s words hit his back like bullets. “You don’t have anything to say for yourself?”

He patted his jeans pockets in search of his wallet, phone, keys—then remembered he didn’t carry any. Not here. So he snapped the top button before looking up at her. “What would you like me to say, Amber?”

“I don’t know, that I’m acting crazy? That I’ve been duped—by someone other than you, I mean. That it’s not true.”

She looked so incorruptible, like a force of nature. But something he’d learned in his month in this part of the world—nobody came to Serenity without a good reason. Or a bad one.

He opened his mouth to call her on it, but he stopped himself in time.

He’d never known someone to wear their absoluteness like a badge of honour the way she did. The moment she’d decided to let him into her house she’d decided to let him into her bed. No coquettish equivocation. Only firm decision.

This was the first time he’d seen it waver. Enough for him to take heed. To hold out his hands in conciliation. “I never lied to you, Amber. I am Hugo to my friends, my closest family.”

“To everyone else?”

“I am Prince Alessandro Hugo Giordano, sixth in line to the principality of Vallemont.”

The quiet that followed his statement wasn’t new. The rare times Hugo found himself in a conversation with someone who wasn’t aware of who he was, what he was worth, and who his relatives were, it was clear when the penny dropped.

Though this might have been the first time he was half-dressed when that realisation occurred, he thought ruefully.

A hippy beekeeper on the Central Coast of Australia had not been in the plan, meaning it was taking him a little longer to decide upon the appropriate protocol with which to navigate this moment.

Meanwhile, Amber’s nostrils flared, fury dancing behind her bedroom eyes. He imagined she was finding it hard not to climb over the bed and tackle him. As unmoved by convention as she was, she could do it too.

For a man whose entire life had been ruled by ritual, no wonder she’d been impossible to resist.

“Wait,” he said. “Fifth. I’m fifth in line. My uncle’s recently abdicated all rights and moved to California to produce movies. Not that it matters. I am a prince in name only. I will never rule.”

She blinked and it was enough to snap her from her red haze. “I don’t give a flying hoot if you are set to be Master of the Universe. Don’t even think about turning us out on our ears.”

“Excuse me?”

“These people are special. The community needs this place. The commune is Serenity’s heart. If you mess with that you will kill it dead.”

That was what had her so het up? Not who he was, but the plans he had for this land?

What the hell had she found out? And how? This wasn’t his first rodeo. He’d been discreet. Painstakingly so. Who had talked?

He did up a couple of quick buttons on his shirt before re-rolling the sleeves to his elbows. Then he moved slowly around the bed, hands out, palms up.

“Amber, until this point in time, we have been having a nice time together. I’d go so far as to say very nice. With that in mind, I suggest we sit down, have a cup of coffee and discuss any concerns you might have.”

He could still fix this.

“I don’t want to discuss anything with you. I just want you to tell me, right here, right now, if the rumours are true.”

“Which rumours might they be, exactly?”

“That you have been meeting with the local town council. Discussing plans...development plans that may or may not put the commune in danger.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

Emotion flickered behind her eyes. Deep, frantic, fierce. “Yes,” she managed. “It would be a terrible thing.”

“Look at this place, Amber. It’s falling down around your ears.”

“Not every home has to be a castle.”

Touché. “And yet if you have the chance to sleep somewhere that doesn’t whistle, drip, or threaten to fall down the hill every time you step onto the porch, it’s worth considering.”

“My sleeping arrangements are none of your business.”

“They became my business when I began sleeping here too.”

“Lucky for you that is not a problem you’ll have to face again.”

Hugo breathed out hard, while emotion darted and flashed behind her big brown eyes. With the tension sparking in the air between them, it was all he could do to keep from going to her and letting the slow burn of her fill the empty places inside.

“Tell me, right now, if we have made incorrect assumptions. Are you planning on developing the land? Should we be concerned?”

A muscle ticked beneath his eye. And she took it for the admission it was.

Amber slumped onto the corner of the bed, her face falling into her hands. “This can’t be happening.”

“I hope you understand that until anything is concrete I can’t discuss the details.”

She looked up at him, beseeching. “Understand? I don’t understand any of this. Like why, if you are so offended by my home, you kept coming back. Was I reconnaissance? Were you hoping to create an ally in your devious plans?”

“Of course not, Amber.” Hugo’s stomach dropped and he came around the bed, crouching before her. “Amber, you know why I came back. And back. And back. For the same reason you took me in.”

He lifted a hand and closed it around hers. Her soft brown eyes begged him to stop. Heat sat high and pink on her cheeks. Her wild waves of hair caught on a breeze coming through one of the many cracks in the woebegone shack in which she lived.

Then her fingers softened as she curled them into his.

A moment later, she whipped her hand away and gave him a shove that had him rocking onto his backside with a thump that shook the foundations, raining dust over his head as she scrambled over him and into clear space.

As he cleared the dust from his hair, his eyes, Hugo wondered how his life had come to this.

The downward spiral had begun several months earlier when he’d agreed to his uncle’s sovereign command to enter into a marriage of convenience. His former fiancée—and long-time best friend—Sadie, had come to her senses and fled before they’d said I do, bringing about a PR nightmare for the royal family...and freedom for Hugo. The fact that he would likely have gone through with it had been a wake-up call. What had he been thinking? Where was his moral compass? Not that that should be much of a shock—he was his father’s son after all.

Afterwards he’d needed to get away. Clear his head. Recalibrate. He’d never have imagined that would lead him away from a life of luxury to camping out in a small, lumpy bed in a country town in the middle of nowhere, Australia, tangled up with a woman he barely knew.

He’d not hidden his position on purpose, she’d simply never asked. Their affair had been lived in the moment, fulfilling basic needs of hunger and sleep and sex while talking about everything from Game of Thrones to Eastern philosophy...but nothing truly personal. His family had not come up. Nor, for that matter, had hers. He’d been so grateful to avoid talking about his own that he had given no thought as to why she might also be glad of it. Perhaps he was not the only one for whom that question opened Pandora’s box. Either way, after a while, the privacy had felt like a true luxury.

“I need you to leave, Hugo,” said Amber, yanking him back to the present, only this time she added, “Please.”

It was enough for Hugo to push to standing. He looked around the small, dilapidated room, but he’d left nothing behind bar the impression of his head on the pillow. It didn’t seem like enough.

Too late to rectify that now, he turned to walk out.

“Wait,” she called, grabbing him by the arm. Before he even had the chance to feel relief she pressed past him and headed out onto her wonky porch, causing the area around her shack to tremble in response.

Ned nuzzled against his hand. And Hugo lost his fingers in the dog’s soft fur, taking a moment to work out a burr.

“All clear,” Amber called.

“Wouldn’t want your friends to know you’ve been harbouring the enemy.”

She glanced back at him, the morning sun turning her hair to gold, her eyes to fire. When she saw Ned at his side her mouth pursed. “Away,” she called. But Ned didn’t move, whether because of his deafness or his obstinacy. She clicked her fingers and with a harumph the dog jogged to her side.

He joined them on the porch. The old wood creaked and groaned. A handmade wooden wind chime pealed prettily in the morning breeze.

“Is that why you came to Serenity?”

Now, there was a question. One she might have thought to ask at any point during the last few weeks if she’d had a care to know anything at all about the man she’d been sleeping with. “You really want to know what I came to Serenity hoping to find?”

She only nodded mutely.

“Absolution. How about you?”

She snapped her mouth shut tight.

He raised an eyebrow. Now, what do you have to say about that?

Nothing, it seemed. He’d finally managed to render Amber speechless.

With that, Hugo left her there in her bright yellow gumboots, her tank top clinging to her lovely body, her hair a wild, sexy mess. He jogged down the steps and headed down the hill, past the hammock, through the field of lavender to the small dead-end dirt road on which he’d parked his car.

The urge to look back was acute but he kept his cool. Because he had the feeling that it wouldn’t be the last he saw of Amber.

She might be done with him, but he wasn’t done with Serenity. For he did indeed have plans for his mother’s ancestral home—plans which had him excited for the first time since the debacle of the wedding that never was. He might even go so far as to say they excited him more than any other development he had ever actualised.

For Hugo was renowned for taking underused or overlooked tracts of land that others would deem too remote or too challenging, and turning them into stunning holiday playgrounds for diplomats, royalty, the rich and famous, and families alike. His series of Vallemontian resorts—including a palatial masterpiece tucked into the side of Mont Enchante and an award-winning titan overlooking Lake Glace—had been a revelation for the local economy, making him invaluable to his uncle in terms of commerce if not in terms of the line of succession.

But this one, this place...it would be all his.

When he reached the bottom of the lavender field he did look back, Amber’s shack and the rest of the commune relegated to glimpses of purple and red and orange obscured by copses of gum trees.

He’d keep the natural landscape as much as possible, but the caravans, tents and shanties would of course have to go to make way for the bungalows, tennis courts, lagoon-style pool and a peach grove where Amber’s shack now wobbled.

Hugo wasn’t some monstrous land baron. With the council’s help, he would assist them in their relocation. Help them find safer places to live.

And he would create something beautiful, something lasting, something personal to break the cycle of tragedy in his mother’s family.

He would make his very personal mark on the world without trading on his family name, a constant reminder of the top job for which he and his heirs would only ever be back-ups.

Amber would just have to lump it.

* * *

Serenity’s Town Hall was packed to the rafters, with people lining the walls and spilling out through the open doors. It was late enough that young ones would normally be home in bed, but nobody was missing this meeting, so they sat in messy rows on the floor at the front, making occasional mad dashes across the stage, followed by their harassed parents.

There was only one reason for the big turnout: the news had spread. Nothing this momentous had happened in Serenity since Anna had been swept away to an exotic foreign land.

Amber slumped on her bench in the third row, her legs jiggling, her thumbs dancing over her fingertips. There was a good portion of the commune lined up beside her, including Sunflower, who was humming happily despite the cacophony of white noise, and Johnno, who was staring out into space.

Only, Amber wasn’t here in the hope of spotting the exotic stranger. She’d seen enough of him already, from the scar above his right eyebrow to the birthmark on the base of his left big toe—and everything in between. She shifted on her seat and cleared her throat.

She was here in case the Hinterland House plans—whatever they might be—were on the agenda in the hope she could see with her own eyes as someone shouted it down. Then Hugo would leave and things could go back to normal. Or as normal as things ever got in Serenity.

Someone, but not her.

It hadn’t passed her by that her parents would have loved this kind of David and Goliath fight—though nobody would have mistaken them for David in their Gucci suits and Mercedes four-wheel drives. It made them great lawyers, but terrible parents.

How could they be expected to nurse a “difficult” baby when there was so much injustice to stamp down? Enough that Australia’s most infamous human rights lawyers put the care of their only child into the hands of daycare and night nannies from six weeks of age. Their work was far too important for them to abide the distraction.

The smack of a gavel split the silence and Amber flinched, reminded of the number of courtrooms she’d been in as a child. Well, she didn’t have the mental space to think about her parents today. Or ever, if at all possible. She sat taller, stopped her nervous fidgets and waited.

“Squeeze up,” called a voice as someone managed to squash into the end of Amber’s row, the rickety wooden bench wobbling as the crowd sardined. When she looked back to the stage, Councillor Paulina Pinkerton—the leader of the seven-member local council—and her cohorts trailed onto the stage then took their seats.

The gavel struck a second time. Amber flinched again. It was a conditioned response, like Pavlov’s ruddy dog. The twitters settled to a hush, chairs scratched against the wooden floor, a teenaged boy laughed. Somebody coughed. A baby started to fret. And the town of Serenity held its breath.

“Nice to see so many of you here today. I might choose to think it’s because you’ve heard around the traps how darned interesting our meetings are, but I fear there is some issue that has you all aflutter. So let’s get through the necessaries.”

The councilwoman swept through the minutes and old business with alacrity. Then she opened the floor.

“Any new business?”

The hum started up again. Whispers, murmurs, the shuffle of bottoms turning on seats. But nobody said a word.

“Fine. Next meeting will be...next Tuesday at—Ms Hartley? Did you have something to add?”

Amber blinked to hear her name being called from the councillors’ table, only to realise she was on her feet. Did she have something to add? No! Legally emancipated from her indifferent parents at sixteen in a legal battle that had become a national story in a slow news week, she’d spent her life living like dandelion fluff, flitting from place to place, not getting involved.

Until Serenity. Sunflower had taken one look at her empty backpack, her bedraggled state and offered the shack for a night, then another, and somehow she’d found herself stuck in this sweet place, with these kind people, none of whom had a clue what was about to befall them.

This place...it was her sanctuary. And she’d harboured the enemy—however unwittingly. She owed it to them to do whatever it took to protect them.

Damn him. Damn Hugo Prince Whatever-His-Name-Was and his whole crazy family for making her do this.

Amber scooted past the knees blocking her way down the bench. Once she had reached the small rostrum—a literal soapbox attached to a stand fashioned out of a fallen tree, which had been a gift to the town from Johnno, who was a pretty brilliant artist when he was in the right head-space—Amber squared her shoulders, looked each councilman and councilwoman in the eye and prayed her parents would never hear word of what she was about to do.

“Ms Hartley.” Councillor Pinkerton gave Amber an encouraging smile. “The floor is yours.”

“Thank you. I’ll get right to it. I have come to understand that the owners of Hinterland House are back and I believe that they have plans to develop the land. Firstly, I’d like to know if the latter is true, and, if so, I put forward a motion to stop it.”

Once she had started, the words poured out of her like water from a busted pipe. Energy surged through the crowd behind her like a snake. It was electric. And she hated it. Because the thrill of the fight was in her veins after all.

“Much of Serenity belongs to the Van Halprins, Ms Hartley, and, apart from the segments bequeathed to the township, they are within their rights to develop that land.”

“Into what?”

The councillor paused, clearly thinking through how much she was legally allowed to say, and legally allowed to hold back. “The plans as they are will be up for local consideration soon enough. The Prince plans to build a resort.”

Whispers broke out all over the room.

Amber breathed out hard. Sunflower’s rumours were one thing, Hugo’s indefinite admissions another. But having Councillor Pinkerton admit to as much had Amber feeling sick to the stomach. In fact, she had to breathe for a few seconds in order to keep her stomach from turning over completely.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw Johnno grinning serenely back at her; found Sunflower watching her like a proud sister. Her gaze landed on another dozen members of their collective community—all of whom had come to Serenity in search of acceptance and kindness and peace.

Where would people like them, people like her, go if they had to move on?

She turned back to the front, her heart pumping so hard it seemed to be trying to escape her chest. The room was so still now, even the fretting baby had quieted, meaning her voice made it all the way to the rear of the room and out into the halls, hitting every ear as she said, “I ask that Council accept the inclusive community living on Serenity Hill has been in residence long enough to legally remain. I cry adverse possession.”

The murmurs began in earnest. Most asking what the heck adverse possession was.

“For those who do not know the legalese,” said Councillor Pinkerton into her microphone, “Ms Hartley is claiming squatter’s rights.”

At that, the town hall exploded as a hundred conversations began at once. Cheers came from some corners, jeers from others. The fretting baby began to cry in earnest.

The gavel smacked against the wooden table, quieting the crowd somewhat. And this time it rang through Amber like an old bell. Sweet and familiar and pure.

“Thank you, Ms Hartley. Your position has been noted. Does anyone else have anything to say on the matter?”

Amber glanced over her shoulder to find movement at the back of the hall.

A man had stepped into the aisle, a man with overlong hair swept away from his striking face and dark hazel eyes that locked onto Amber. She didn’t realise her lungs had stopped functioning until her chest began to ache.

Hugo. But not the Hugo she knew. Not the man in the worn jeans and button-downs who was happy rolling on the ground with Ned, watching her collect honey, or sitting on her stairs staring towards the horizon chewing on a blade of grass.

This was Hugo the Prince. His stark jaw was clean-shaven and he looked dashing in a slick three-piece suit with such bearing, composure and self-assurance he was barely human. Behind him stood a big, hulking bald man in black, watching over him like a hawk.

She hoped no one noticed how hard she clenched her fists.

“Your Highness, good evening, sir,” said Councillor Pinkerton, the friendly note of her voice making it clear it was not the first time she’d set eyes on the man.

Hugo’s deep voice rang out across the room. “If I may?”

Councillor Pinkerton waved a hurry-up hand. “Up you come, then. State your name for the record. And your purpose.”

While Amber had had to climb over a tangle of legs to get to the lectern, the crowd parted for Hugo like the Red Sea.

He slowed as he neared, his head cocking ever so slightly in a private hello.

Amber hated the way her cheeks warmed at the sight of him, her heart thumping against her ribs as if giving the death throes of remembered desire. Nevertheless, she held her ground, waiting until the last moment to give up her position. Then, with an exaggerated bow from the waist, she swooshed out an arm, giving him the floor as she backed away.

Laughter coursed through the crowd.

Hugo’s smile eased back, just a fraction. Enough for Amber to know she’d scored a hit.

All’s fair, she thought, in love and war. And this was war.

“Councillor Pinkerton,” he said, “Council members, good people of Serenity. I thank you for this opportunity to introduce myself to this community.”

His hand went to his heart on the last few words, and Amber rolled her eyes.

But the crowd? They were hooked. Straining forward so as not to miss a word spoken in that deep, hypnotic, lilting voice. And he was ramping up the accent. Big time. Playing the dashing foreigner card for all it was worth.

“It has taken me far too long to return to the home of my mother’s family, but in the days I have spent wandering the hills and vales your home has come to hold a special place in my heart. And I cannot wait to tell my friends and family about this gem of a place. To invite them here to meet all of you good people. To give the world a taste of Serenity.”

Amber rolled her eyes again. But when she looked out over the crowd she saw even members of the commune listening with interest. Including Sunflower, who looked entranced. And then came a smattering of delighted applause.

Enough. Amber marched back up to the rostrum and gave Hugo a shove with her hip, ignoring the wave of heat that rocked through her at his touch. She grabbed the microphone so roughly that the feedback quieted the room.

“Really?” she said, her voice echoing darkly around the room. “A taste of Serenity...? It’s like a cheesy brochure.”

Hugo laughed. And she knew she had surprised him. He licked his lips, swallowing it back, but the light of it lingered in his eyes.

“He,” said Amber, pointing an accusing finger towards the Prince, “is not one of us. His words might be pretty but his plans are not. And I can’t stand to—”

Something lodged in her throat then. Something that felt a lot like a swell of deep emotion, the kind that preceded tears.

Come on! She wasn’t a crier! She breathed out hard. And managed to keep her cool.

“It would be a grave injustice to see Serenity lost under the overwhelming influx of tourism that would come by way of a resort. I hope, I believe, that you are with me on this point: Serenity’s future must be allowed to evolve as it always has—organically.”

If Hugo’s words had been met with happy claps, Amber’s were met with a standing ovation, and a cheer that all but lifted the roof off the place.

The gavel banged several times before Councillor Pinkerton regained control. “Assuming that’s all the new business, we will keep further discussion to next week’s town meeting. Date and time as mentioned earlier. Meeting adjourned.”

With that, Councillor Pinkerton and the others made their way back behind their private closed door, leaving the people of Serenity to ease off their numb backsides, stretch their arms and talk excitedly amongst themselves.

Hugo stepped in and took Amber’s elbow. Gently. Respectfully. But that didn’t stop the sparks of heat from travelling up her arm and making a mess of her synapses as he tilted his head to murmur near her ear.

“You can’t possibly believe I want Serenity to suffer.”

“You have no idea what I believe. You don’t know me at all.”

His eyes didn’t move but she imagined them sliding up and down her body as a slow smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You have a short memory, Ms Hartley. Or perhaps selective would be a better description.”

“You want words? I can think of so many words to describe you right now, Your Highness. We could go on like this all night long.”

Hugo’s eyes darkened. And yep, she’d heard it too. Dragon fire gathered behind Amber’s teeth as conflict and desire swirled through her like a maelstrom. But behind it all, the need to protect her town, her people, herself.

“Game on,” said Hugo as he was swallowed by the crowd.

Bring it on, Amber thought as she crossed her arms and backed away. Bring. It. On.


CHAPTER THREE (#u354e2bf3-7b71-52fc-bb19-6cef6c86e202)

HUGO TUGGED HIS cap lower over his eyes and hunched into his shoulders as he made his way up a gravel path winding through the quaint market town of Serenity. The kind of place where business hours varied daily and where as many animals sat behind counters as people.

Prospero—the bodyguard Hugo’s uncle had insisted upon—was not happy about it. He did not like being in the open. Or moving slowly. Or places with tall buildings. Or cars with open windows. He particularly didn’t like the fact that Hugo had ditched him in Vallemont a couple of months before and had only just made contact again, requesting his presence, now that he had been outed.

But for all the big guy’s efforts at keeping Hugo safe, Hugo blamed him for the sideways glances and double-takes. The size of a telephone box, dressed in head-to-toe black, a clean-shaven head and Men in Black sunglasses, he looked like a soccer hooligan on steroids.

Otherwise there was no way the locals would make the connection between the guy in the ripped jeans, Yankees cap and skateboard shoes and the Prince in the three-piece suit from the meeting the night before.

Though it wouldn’t take long for that to change. There was no doubt the story of Hugo’s public life was being shared and spread.

A prince, fifth in line to the throne of the principality of Vallemont. An Australian mother, a father who had died when his son was fifteen, having infamously run his car off a cliff with his young mistress at the wheel. Now he was the black sheep: independently wealthy and single.

The official palace statement was that Hugo was back at work, but after the wedding debacle he’d needed to escape. Eventually he’d found himself in Serenity. Where his mother had been born.

Days had dissolved into nights, a blur of time and quiet and nothingness; of exploring the empty, echoing house which seemed uninspired by his presence as if he too were a ghost.

Until he’d walked over the other side of the hill and found a hammock strung between two trees in the shade. He’d sat down, kicked off his shoes and fallen asleep.

Upon waking, he’d looked into a pair of whisky-brown eyes. And seen colour for the first time in as long as he could rightly remember.

“Alessandro!”

Hugo followed his name to find Councillor Pinkerton sitting at a colourful wrought-iron table inside a place calling itself “Tansy’s Tea Room”, which looked like a middle-eastern opium den.

She waved him in and, since he needed her support to be granted planning permission for his resort, he entered, leaving Prospero at the door with a, “Stay. Good boy.”

“Sit,” said the councillor. “Have some tea. You look tired. A man as rich and good-looking as you should never look tired. It gives the rest of us nothing to aspire to.” She clicked her fingers, called out, “A top-up on my ‘Just Do It’, and a ‘Resurrection’ for my friend, please.”

“Should I be afraid?” he asked.

“It’s just tea. Mostly chamomile. I’m on your side.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m on Ms Hartley’s side too.”

“I see.”

“Do you?”

“You want what is best for Serenity.”

“I do.”

“Councillor?”

“Paulina, please.”

“Paulina. Before the town meeting last night, your council had seemed extremely positive about my proposal.”

“They were.”

“And now? Is a green light still assured, or are we now leaning towards...khaki?”

The councillor smiled. “I can see that the resort would be good for us. An influx of tourists means an influx of the kind of money which cannot be sneezed at for a town of our size. But Ms Hartley had a point. The beauty of Serenity is its way of living. The openness, the quiet, the kindness and, most of all, the community. We are self-sufficient in the most important ways, in a great part thanks to the commune.”

“I would have thought the presence of a commune has negative connotations in this day and age.”

“Which is why we call it an ‘Inclusive Community’ on the brochures.”

Two pots of tea landed on their table, slopping towards the rims as the unsteady table rocked.

Paulina poured. “So how is your mother?”

Hugo stilled at the unexpected turn of conversation. “My mother?”

“Anna. Yes. I knew her, you know. Before.” She waggled her fingers as if about to go back in time. “We were good mates, in fact. Went through school together, met boys together. So how is she?”

Hugo went to say Fine, but something about this woman, her bluntness, the intelligence in her eyes, the fact she’d known Hugo’s mother in the before, had him saying, “I think she’s lonely.”

“Hmm. She is remarried, no?”

“Yes.”

“To a French businessman, I hear?”

“An importer, yes. He travels a great deal.”

“Ah.” The councillor nodded again. “Handsome though, I expect. Your father was a very handsome man. I might even go so far as to say, devastatingly so. Add the Giordano charm and...” Paulina pursed her lips and blew out a long, slow stream of air.

“So I have heard.”

Paulina’s eyes hardened. Then she slapped herself on the hand. “Sorry. Insensitive.”

Hugo waved a hand, releasing her of any apology.

His father had been charming, famously so. His mother was only one of the women who’d loved him for it. The mistress who’d been driving the car that had killed him was another.

“I was there the day they met. Your mother and father. Would you care to hear the tale?”

Since Hinterland House, with its air of quiet slumber, had not yet given up any secrets, he found he cared a great deal.

“Your father was ostensibly in Australia to see the reef and the rock and forge relationships on behalf of his little-known country—but mostly to watch sports and try his fair share of our local beers. He came to our small corner to pick peaches. Your mother and I were working at the orchard that summer, handing out lemonade to the tourists. I remember so many long-limbed Germans, sweet-talking French, Americans full of bravado. And there was your father—the brooding Prince.

“A good girl, your mother. Seriously shy, she ignored his flirtation, which was a good part of why he kept it up. He could have offered diamonds, played up his natural charisma, but he was cleverer than that. He brought her hand-picked wild flowers, notes scratched into sheaves of paper bark, the very best peach he picked every day. It took three days. When she fell, she fell hard. And I was glad to see his adoration didn’t diminish for having her. They were so very much in love.

“He left for Sydney a week later. A week after that he came back for her with a ring and a proposal. And I never saw her again.”

Paulina smiled. “I was sorry to hear of his passing, not only for your mother’s sake. How old were you?”

“Fifteen,” Hugo said without having to think about it. His headmaster had been the one to inform him, having been instructed by his uncle to wait until after the funeral. A decision had been made not to send Hugo home to keep him away from the scandal.

“Ah. A trying period in the life of a boy, at the best of times.”

Hugo merely nodded.

“Ah,” said the councillor, looking over Hugo’s shoulder, a smile creasing the edges of her eyes as someone approached their table.

Hugo knew who it was before a word was said. The wild energy snapping at the air behind him disturbed the hairs on the back of his neck.

He let his voice travel as he said, “Now, Paulina, about that woman who stood up in front of the council last night—shall I buy the bag of lime and shovel or simply pay you back?”

The councillor’s eyes widened in surprise before a smile creased her face. “Good morning, Ms Hartley.”

A beat, then, “Good morning, Councillor Pinkerton.”

“Paulina, please.”

Hugo pressed back his chair and stood. Amber wore a short summer dress that hung from her tanned shoulders by thin ribbons tied at her shoulders. A battered pork-pie hat sat atop her head, leaving her long honey-blonde hair to hang in waves over one shoulder.

But it was the eyes that got him every time. They were devastating. Fierce, wanton bedroom eyes that could lay civilisations to waste.

“Well, if it isn’t my worthy adversary,” he said.

Amber tilted her chin and looked only at Hugo’s companion. “I’m so glad to have run into you, Paulina. I was hoping to have a word.”

“Any time. Won’t you join us?”

Amber’s chin lifted. “Considering the subject, I don’t think that’s wise.”

“I think quite the opposite. Did the two of you manage to meet properly last night?”

Hugo looked to Amber with a smile, allowing her to respond.

She gaped like a fish out of water before saying, slowly, “We did not meet last night.”

“Then allow me. Amber, this is Prince Alessandro Giordano of Vallemont. Prince Alessandro, this is our supplier of all things sweet and honeyed, Amber Hartley.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” Hugo held out a hand. Amber’s face was a concerto of emotion as she fought against the need to play nice, at least in front of others, so she didn’t look like an ass.

Finally, Amber’s eyes turned his way. “Prince Alessandro, was it?”

He nodded. “My friends call me Hugo.”

“How nice for them.” Then she took his hand, grabbed a hunk of skirt and curtseyed. Deeply. “Your Highness.”

Until that moment Hugo hadn’t realised a curtsey could be ironic. Laughter knocked against his windpipe, desperate to escape. Only years of maintaining a neutral countenance in affairs of state made it possible to swallow it down.

“Amber, sit,” said Paulina. “I insist. Talk to the man. Work out your grievances. At least attempt to come up with a workable plan, for your sake and for the sake of the town. If you can’t, well, you can tick ‘having tea with a prince’ off your bucket list.”

Councillor Pinkerton pushed back her chair and stood. Hugo reached for his wallet.

“No,” said the older woman. “My treat. Wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’d bribed me with a pot of tea, now, would we?”

Then she held out her hand, offering the seat to Amber.

“No,” said Amber, waving both hands to make it clear she meant it. “Thank you. But I couldn’t.”

“Your loss,” said the councillor. Then, at the door she called, “She’s got mettle, this one. Might take more than a peach.”

Hugo’s laugh left his throat before he even felt it coming. Then he ran a hand up the back of his neck, settling the hairs that were still on edge.

Amber continued to glare.

“Please join me. At the very least so that I don’t have to stand here all day.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Prince Alessandro? Get some paparazzi shots of us hanging together so as to muddy the waters regarding my side of the case.”

“It’s Hugo. Paparazzi a fixture here in downtown Serenity?”

“Well, no. But now word is out that you are here I’m sure it won’t be long.”

Hugo was sure of it too, meaning his blissful few weeks of anonymity truly were over. And the time to get the plans put to bed was ticking down.

“I’m going to sit,” he said. “The chair is yours if you want it.”

Amber glanced around, found the table beside his was empty, and sat there instead. With her back to him.

She turned her head ever so slightly. “This isn’t the first time for you, is it?”

“Hmm? I didn’t catch that with you sitting all the way over there.” First time for what? he wondered. Drinking tea that smelled like feet? Or locking horns with a stubborn woman he couldn’t get out of his head? “First time for what?”

“Tearing the heart and soul out of a town and turning it into some fancy, homogenised getaway for the idle rich.”

“Ah. I probably won’t use that as the tagline of any future advertising, but yes, I have experience in this area. This will be my...seventh such resort.” A beat, then, “Have you been Googling me, Amber?”

Her shoulders rolled. “It was a stab in the dark. The only semi-decent Wi-Fi around here is at Herb’s Shiatsu Parlour. You can go grey waiting for a picture to load.”

“But at least you’d feel relaxed while doing so.”

Her mouth twitched before she turned her back on him again. He spotted the edge of the dandelion tattoo that curled delicately over her shoulder blade. He remembered the slight rise of it as he’d run a thumb over the area once. The way her muscles reacted, contracting under his touch.

“I’ve come up against people like you before,” she said, “privileged, successful, glowing with an aura that says don’t worry, I’ve done this before, you’re in good hands. But just because you think you’re in the right, doesn’t mean that you are.”

“I could say the same for you.”

“I live in a shack, Your Highness. I collect and sell honey for a living. You and are I are not on the same playing field. But the biggest difference is that, while you think you are in the right, I know I am.”

Hugo could have argued relativism till the cows came home. In fact, if they’d been rugged up in her bed, limbs curled around one another, it might even have been fun.

“What were you telling Councillor Pinkerton about me?” Amber asked, and Hugo gave up pretending he could focus on anything else while she was near.

He pushed his tea aside and turned back to face her. “Until the moment you arrived your name did not come up.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Are you a subject of much chatter around these parts?”

A pause. “No. Maybe. At one time. I was a newcomer too once.”

“The councillor and I weren’t talking about my plans at all. It turns out she knew my mother. And my father.”

Talk of family? Talk of something personal? He half expected Amber to leap over the table and bolt. But her head turned a little further, giving Hugo a view of her profile. Full lips, neat nose, and a fine jaw disappearing into swathes of golden hair. When she lowered her eyes he was hit with the memory of her sleeping; hands curled under her ear, lips softly parted, lashes creating smudges of shadow against her cheeks.

She asked, “Was that a surprise?”

“It was. A good one, though.”

She turned a fraction more on her chair, until her eyes found his. Big, brazen pools of whisky that he knew, from experience, darkened with desire and brightened when she laughed. “Prince Alessandro—”

“Don’t do that.” Hugo’s voice dropped so that only she could hear. “Amber, I am still the same man you found sleeping in your hammock and took into your home. Into your bed. I am still Hugo.”

Amber’s throat worked as she swallowed. “Ah. But that’s the name your friends call you. And I am not your friend.”

“You could be.” Hugo called upon years of royal conditioning to keep his messier emotions at bay, to keep himself apart. He leant towards her, close enough to see the creases now furrowing her brow, the single freckle on her neck, the way her lashes tangled as they curled. “I’d like it very much if you were.”

Her chest rose and fell as her eyes darted between his. She licked her lips then glanced away. “You have history here, I understand that. But you’re not the only one. Think on that as you sit in your big house, poring over your Machiavellian scheme to destroy this community.”

“You paint quite the picture. You must have spent a great deal of time imagining what I’ve been up to since you threw me out.”

Pink raced up her cheeks as her jaw clenched. “I can assure you, Prince Alessandro, the amount of time I have spent wondering about you is entirely proportional to my desire to figure out how to make you walk away for good.”

“Hmm,” he said, not believing it for a second. The deep breaths, the darkness in her eyes—she was still as aware of him as he was of her. As much as she might want to switch off the fascination they had in one another, it was still alive and well.

“Amber?”

Amber blinked several times before they both turned towards a man with raging red hair gelled into painful-looking spikes. “Tansy. Hi. Sorry, I’m taking up a table. I...”

Amber stopped when she realised that was clearly not Tansy’s concern. For Tansy was staring at Hugo as if he were an alien who’d landed a spaceship inside his shop. And behind him Tansy had amassed a small crowd, a veritable sea of tie-dye and hemp.

“Is this...?” said Tansy. “Is he...?”

“Why, yes,” said Amber, her voice nice and loud. “Tansy, this is Prince Alessandro Giordano, the man who is planning on stripping our hill bare.”

Tansy shoved a hand between them. “So pleased to meet you, Your Highness.”

“Hugo, please. My friends call me Hugo.”

When the shake was done, Tansy’s heavily tattooed hands fluttered to his heart. “A prince. In my tea room. I honestly don’t know what to say.”

“How about Get out?” said Amber as she hopped out of the seat and melted into the crowd. “How about Leave our village be? How about We don’t want your type here?”

Hugo saw Prospero begin to head inside, clearly not liking the growing crowd. Hugo stayed him with a shake of the head.

“Will you be King?” asked a woman twirling her hair and looking at him as if he were a hot lunch.

Hugo searched the crowd until he saw Amber’s profile. She was whispering to someone in the back, no doubt working them to her favour.

“No,” said Hugo. “Vallemont is a principality, not a kingdom. It is protected and overseen by a royal family, the head of which is my uncle, the Sovereign Prince. There are several people between me and the crown.”

A ripple of disappointment swept through the small crowd.

Hugo bit back a laugh. He heard that. But since his chance at a possible shot at the crown had been ripped away from him at the age of fifteen, he’d had to find other uses for himself. Building resorts gave his life meaning.

“Now, who here loves a lagoon? Tennis courts? Who thinks this town could do with a yoga studio?”

He no longer kept looking for Amber, but he could feel her glaring at him just fine.

* * *

Dying sunlight poured tracks of gold over the stone floor of the tiny little shopfront in Serenity she had inherited along with the beehives when she’d first arrived in town.





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