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Too Ordinary for the Duke?
Melissa James



About Melissa James
MELISSA JAMES is a mother of three, living in a beach suburb in New South Wales, Australia. A former nurse, waitress, shop assistant, perfume and chocolate demonstrator – among other things – she believes in taking on new jobs for the fun experience. She’ll try anything at least once, to see what it feels like – a fact that scares her family on regular occasions. She fell into writing by accident, when her husband brought home an article stating how much a famous romance author earned, and she thought, I can do that! She can be found most mornings walking and swimming at her local beach with her husband or every afternoon running around to her kids’ sporting hobbies, while dreaming of flying, scuba diving, belaying down a cave or over a cliff – anywhere her characters are at the time!
Look for an exciting new novel fromMelissa James, One Small Miracle, available inMills & Boon
Romance in April 2010.


Too Ordinary for
the Duke?
Melissa James


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

CHAPTER ONE
Summer Palace, Orakidis City, Hellenia
The Wedding of Her Royal Highness Princess Giulia to His Grace Tobias, Grand Duke of Malascos
THIS day—this past year, in fact—was enough to make a girl believe in fairy tales. Was she, Mari Mitsialos, a bridesmaid at a royal wedding? Was she really cousin to a king and a princess royal?
Life took weird turns sometimes … but what a good weird this was! Both her cousins, living in the backblocks of Sydney a year ago, were ecstatically married to the people of their dreams—but Charlie was a king, and Lia was a princess royal!
What did that make her? Kind of a halfway to royalty, halfway past nowhere person—and she couldn’t decide which was better.
Mari smiled when Toby, or the new Grand Duke as he was known in the family, dipped Lia in the Viennese Waltz they’d chosen for their wedding dance. The devoted love she’d always suspected Toby felt for Lia fairly blazed from those summer-blue eyes. And as for Lia, she could barely leave her husband’s side long enough to “do the pretty-polite”, as Charlie called it, with all the nobles and royalty of Europe who attended her wedding.
It was still so strange to even be here, let alone be the cousin and bridesmaid of a princess royal—but even her dreamer’s heart couldn’t fool her. Mari had been born on the ordinary side of the family—the Greek side. Aunty Katina had been a girl from the mountains outside Athens who had boarded a boat for Australia forty years ago, and met Uncle Arthur at a Greek party in Marrickville, Sydney.
She and Uncle Arthur had died in a car crash, never knowing their titles, never knowing Uncle Arthur had, through the destruction of the royal Marandis line of Hellenia, become the heir to a kingdom. Charlie and Lia hadn’t known their true identities until a year ago. Great-Uncle Kyri and Great-Aunt Giulia had never told a soul about their big secret: Uncle Kyri had been a Grand Duke, who’d disappeared from royal life to marry the royal nanny.
But oh, how Great-Uncle Kyri had organised his grandchildren’s lives—even from beyond the grave! He’d taught them the language, customs and culture of Hellenia—even the royal dances—and instilled in them a deep sense of duty, so that when they’d found out their true identities and Hellenia’s need, they’d barely hesitated before making the hard decision to stay for ever and rebuild the shattered nation.
In his will, Great-Uncle Kyri had left Toby, Charlie’s best friend and Great-Uncle Kyri’s adopted son, a duchy and two hundred and fifty million euros—and, more importantly, he had given Lia the man she loved, and Toby the bride of his heart.
Mari sighed in her brother Stavros’s arms as they danced beside the bride and groom. If she’d been born on the other side of the family, on Uncle Arthur’s side, what would she be? To be so close to a life most people could only dream of entering, yet locked behind the permanent barrier of her birth, felt—weird.
Weird described it to a T … but even she, the family dreamer, had no idea if she’d want to be royal. She’d seen both sides of life here, through the eyes of the media and adoring fans who couldn’t buy enough magazines about the new royals, and she honestly didn’t know if she could take a life filled with intrusions—
“I’d like to dance with your sister, if I may.”
A beautifully cultured yet imperious voice broke into Mari’s reverie, and she realised the bridal waltz was done; people were changing partners.
She didn’t need to look around to know who was speaking. She knew the voice of His Royal Highness Prince Mikhail of the small Euro-Asian border kingdom of Chalnikan too well. She’d met him five months before, when he had been Charlie’s groomsman, and she’d been hearing his voice regularly since she’d returned to Hellenia to become Lia’s bridesmaid. She’d had his gifts, his notes, heard his calls—and all the messages were variations on the same theme. Come and live with me and be my lover.
How romantic it all sounded … a prince focussing his attentions on her, an ordinary girl … and maybe she’d find it romantic if only he’d meant come and be my bride—not come to my bed for as long as I find you convenient.
Question: how could most young girls’ fantasy—having the undivided romantic attentions of a handsome young prince—turn into a nightmare?
Answer: if the said prince was an unlikeable, arrogant snob who’d tried to charm Jazmine and Lia, both princesses royal at the time, into marriage. But with Mari he’d only wanted a little fun during his seven days off the parental leash—in her bed.
And how could Stavros, the most protective of brothers, who’d chased away more men than she could count since she’d turned fourteen, now step back with that look of silent awe?
“What am I supposed to say? He’s a prince, Mari,” Stavros had protested when she’d asked him to protect her.
As she allowed His Spoiled Highness to take her in his arms, her parents beamed. In their eyes, if Charlie could marry a princess and Lia could become one, there was no reason a prince of the blood couldn’t fall in love with Mari.
“Weren’t you crowned Princess of the Festival four times running?” her dad had demanded the first time she’d tried to tell her parents that Mikhail’s intentions could never be honourable to her, a commoner.
“Princess of a Greek festival in Marrickville isn’t quite the title a real prince looks for in a wife, Dad,” Mari had sighed. “And the voting was rigged. Uncle Harry was the president, and Petros’s dad was on the board, too.”
The entire family knew Stavros’s best friend Petros still held a torch for Mari. He’d proposed every year at the Festival since Mari’s first win. Her parents had encouraged her to think about it.
At least until Mikhail came along. Even her mother seemed to have waved aside the lifelong belief that marrying a non-Greek was tantamount to heresy the moment she’d looked into Mikhail’s melting caramel eyes—or, more strictly, the moment she’d learned his title.
“What was Princess Mary of Denmark before Prince Frederik met her? A girl just like you! The world has changed. You are cousin to a king, Mari. Didn’t Great-Uncle Kyri teach you the language, customs and manners, just as he did Charlie and Lia?”
“You are worthy of a king … or a future king,” her father had said, ending the conversation with the firm tone that told Mari argument was futile.
“You look beautiful, Mari,” Mikhail whispered in her ear, holding her a few inches too close for propriety. “Your dress shimmers over your lovely body until you look like a star.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” she replied with repellent demureness. As he pulled her against him, she froze so he had as little benefit as possible from the closeness.
“Still so cold?” he asked, with a mixture of the sulky boy and plaintive charmer she couldn’t find attractive. “Haven’t I given you enough gifts, spent enough time convincing you of my intentions towards you—only you, my sweet star?”
Intentions of what? she almost retorted, but what was the use? He’d only launch into enthusiastic rhetoric about how life would be for a royal lover: fame, wealth and a jet-setting lifestyle while it lasted, and a nice house in the place of her choosing when he ended it.
The look in those thick-lashed caramel eyes wasn’t caring; it was predatory. Though Mikhail was handsome, rich and royal, he didn’t like her; he enjoyed the chase, and the thrill of the win.
Though she’d told him at least ten times already, she said again, “I love my life in Sydney—and I’d rather be the bride of a common man than a royal mistress.” Mari said it with pride. She wasn’t asking him to marry her—God forbid! Mikhail’s wilful arrogance, spoiled tantrums and treating of the lower orders as if they were disposable had turned her off within two days of meeting him, and now all she felt was a weary revulsion.
Mikhail made a sound of indulgent contempt. “Of course you would. All women want to be a bride. Perhaps if you were titled, like your cousin …” He shrugged elegantly. “Face it, Mari, nobody but your parents expects you to be a virgin when you marry.” His eyes gleamed with predatory intent as his hand moved with intimate heat over her back, sliding down towards the curve of her bottom. “Being loved first by a prince will only enhance your chances of finding the right kind of man. Come to me, Mari,” he whispered in a voice like chocolate cream, layered with an exotic accent many women would find impossible to resist. “Your life will be blessed from your time with me.”
Mari looked at Mikhail and wondered why he still bothered. Even if Jazmine and Lia hadn’t told her—strictly on the QT, of course—about the way Mikhail treated any woman he didn’t consider his equal in station, and even if Charlie hadn’t also warned her that Mikhail refused to acknowledge any of his less important former lovers when they tried to pull the influence card, the simple truth was she didn’t feel anything for Mikhail, and that ended that.
“No,” she said, quiet but firm. “It’s not going to happen, Your Highness. Please try to find a more … agreeable woman.”
Mikhail’s face darkened. He’d taken her other rejections as a prelude, a challenge—but tonight this had to be her final answer. “You’re lying, Mari. I’ve seen the look in your eyes, heard the hesitation in your voice every time you’ve put me off.”
Mari stared at him in wonder. Only a man as self-assured as Mikhail could see her firm no just moments before as a “putting off”. What would it take to convince him?
After a struggle with his self-control, he went on with dark intimacy, “I can assure you that the King has no objections to my—”
Charlie didn’t object? That wasn’t what he’d told her …
The name made her turn her head. Charlie and Jazmine danced not far away, and she caught her cousin’s wife’s eye with a pleading glance.
Jazmine, who’d become the new Queen of Hellenia shortly after her marriage, whispered in her husband’s ear. Within seconds Charlie was saying, genially, “Mikhail, my friend, I know a wedding isn’t the best time for it, but your father called me this morning. He wishes us to speak on a matter of—” He glanced at Mari, and said apologetically, “Sorry, my beloved cousin, but it’s a matter of national security, and some delicacy.”
Filled with relief, Mari kissed Charlie’s cheek. “Of course. I’ll go speak with Jazmine.”
Even a prince had protocol to which he must bow. Commoner though he’d been all his life, Charlie was now a station above Mikhail; Hellenia had importance to his family in matters of state and trade in Europe. Mikhail forced a smile to his face. “Lead the way, Your Majesty,” he said formally, refusing to call him Charlie.
But perhaps Charlie hadn’t yet invited him to such friendly intimacy. For all his careless ways and Aussie upbringing, Charlie had walls and barriers of his own.
As Charlie led Mikhail out of the state banqueting room, Mari knew her freedom wouldn’t last long. She had five to ten minutes to escape before Mikhail or her family stopped her. She tossed Jazmine a grateful glance; the Queen winked at her, and tilted her head towards the royal exit. Mari’s eyes widened as Jazmine beckoned with a hand.
As she reached her, the Queen slipped her arm through Mari’s and led her to the royal exit. Once there she whispered, “Out through there, turn right and right again, and you’ll find a royal limousine waiting for you. Your things are packed and ready.” Jazmine pushed an envelope stamped with the royal insignia into Mari’s hand. “This note tells the driver—he’s waiting outside for you—to take you to the pier. Charlie’s arranged our smaller yacht for you to sail on for a few days—until Mikhail is safely under the parental thumb again.”
“What?” she gasped, too stunned to be polite.
“We might be new at the job, but we keep an eye on things,” Jazmine said softly, “and this situation has become rather delicate. I’ve known Mikhail too many years. There’s no way he’ll give up until you give him what he wants—or worse, he ends up creating a rupture between Hellenia and Chalnikan. It’s been difficult to keep him under control every time he’s come here before, but with Lia and me, our positions prevented him from going too far. Even Grandfather refused to think of him as a potential husband for either of us, prince of the blood though he is. I was hoping you could convince him it was useless, but obviously that isn’t going to happen.”
Mari found herself blushing again, but she was glad Jazmine hadn’t referred to her parents’ humiliating approval and interference.
Jazmine pressed her hand. “We hoped we could help you go quietly after the reception, to save everyone embarrassment, but it seems he’ll make a scene if he doesn’t have his way. He’s not used to losing.”
Mari had to hold back the tears—and the urge to hug a queen. “Thank you so much, Jazmine … you and Charlie both.”
Jazmine smiled. “Thank Lia too, when you can. Mikhail offered her an open marriage after she gave him a few sons. He said she could play around with Toby all she wanted after he had his heirs, and he’d have his women.”
Mari smiled and nodded. “Hug her for me, and say I’ll call her from home when she and Toby are back.”
Jazmine nodded. “Now, go—before he sees where you went. We’ve told the servants to tell Mikhail nothing of your whereabouts, and the palace gates are to close after you, but he can still order them to open if he sees you. And don’t worry about your family,” she added as Mari hesitated. “Charlie 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 arms at every opportunity. Poor girl … He’d noticed—
Don’t think about it, Sander. He had to keep the King and Queen of Hellenia on side. He needed to come out of this madcap experience with some kind of credibility, and that meant a strictly hands-off policy.
“Yes, I was at both weddings. I’m first cousin to both Charlie, um, King Kyriacos, and Lia, I mean Princess Giulia,” she replied, with a quiet touch of pride that made Sander squelch another smile. Well, why shouldn’t she be proud? From obscurity to the cousin of royalty was a leap in status most people could only dream of.
“The King, the Prince and Princess have brought a breath of fresh air to the nation,” he offered, to see what she’d say next.
“Yes—and it was needed, from what I can see.” Though she spoke without rancour, he felt a touch of defensiveness. She probably thought he was one of the old King’s supporters, wanting to keep the almost medieval status quo.
“Their knowledge of the common people seems to have reinvigorated the country. They’ve done a lot already in putting Lord Orakis at odds with the people,” he said.
“He can never return after the arson investigation. That was down to Toby—the new Prince. Toby’s one of the original good guys. He saved Lia’s life, years ago—and he risked his life in that burning building to prove Orakis’s guilt. He did that to save Lia. He would do anything to make Lia happy—anything.”
Ah, there it was again, the tiny, wistful note. Sander knew then why Mikhail’s chase had been fruitless from the start. The extreme romance of the two royal weddings in the Hellenican royal family had infected many a woman around the world, but to be the cousin of the new royalty in love … well, why shouldn’t she hold out for real love and a wedding?
“They seem very happy in the pictures I’ve seen, miss.”
“They’ve always loved each other. The whole family have been waiting for them to get together for years.” The yearning grew in her voice, misted her milk-chocolate eyes, and her smile was … well, luminous—
Beep!
At the indignant honking behind, Sander pulled himself together and looked at the road ahead with fixed determination. He’d known the deal when he took on the position of the Prince’s Private Secretary. The King planned on abdicating as soon as Mikhail proved himself worthy. It was Sander’s job to get him to that destination on an express train. Taking Mari on a yacht was saving Mikhail from the worst faux pas he could make. It was not for personal pleasure, no matter how much he derived from merely looking at her.
He was on an excellent wicket with this job, and Charlie and Jazmine had offered him the ripe plum of being Hellenican Representative to the UN if he handled it right. No way was he about to risk his career, no matter how pretty or tempting Mari Mitsialos happened to be.
“Sorry about that, miss,” he said woodenly, and, after answering her reassurances with dogged politeness and no curiosity, he kept his gaze ahead with absolute determination.
* * *
Boy, they really have gorgeous chauffeurs here …
Despite his sudden Pinocchio face, Mari couldn’t help staring in the rear vision mirror at him. His eyes were almost as green as those she’d seen in the stained-glass windows at the church today, and they danced. His dimples seemed grooved from the deepest part of his skin, warming a mouth full and carved from Michelangelo’s imagination. Warm honey-brown skin, strong features, a voice of smooth, dark temptation, and an accent that was half-Mediterranean and half-Oxford—oh, what wasn’t to like? A Greek god sat in front of her, seemingly risen from the sea on Neptune’s trident. Oooh, to see him rise from the water, droplets of Mediterranean-Aegean running down his body …
“KING’S COUSIN RUNS OFF WITH CHAUFFEUR!”
After all Charlie and Lia had done for her family, both before and after their elevation to royalty, could she make a mockery of the new Marandis Royal Family by feeding the paparazzi machine for months on end? No, family came first. Charlie and Lia needed them all to behave with strict propriety. Running away with gorgeous chauffeurs was absolutely in the realms of fantasy.
And he could be married for all you know, with five kids. And even if he was single, and you did know his name, he hasn’t once even smiled at you.
She turned her gaze out of the window, to where the aquamarine Aegean sparkled all along the coast road. Why was it that the men she found irresistible never looked at her, and all the nice guys she found so boring hung around in droves?
Yet when she’d been confronted with the kind of man she’d always dreamed of attracting, she’d discovered the difference between dream and reality—and she’d realised what a big, old-fashioned, one hundred percent hypocrite she was! What she wanted was a good man to fall to his knees with a big fat diamond, his family lined up behind him in adoring approval of her.
But hey, it hurt nobody to dream, right? And if that daydream face had shifted subtly, so it now had deep-grooved dimples, eyes that sparkled like the ocean in sunlight and a smile that made her heart flutter, what did it matter?
“What do they all matter? Line up, fantasy number four hundred and thirty-seven,” she muttered in disgust—and then realised she’d said it aloud. She peered at the driver’s face again, and blushed when those dancing-in-the-waves eyes met hers, his deliciously masculine mouth quivering to hold in a smile. “Sorry,” she said, with a rueful sigh. What was the point in being embarrassed? “I know—talking to myself is a bad habit.”
“It’s said all the world’s geniuses talk to themselves,” the driver said gravely enough, his eyes still twinkling.
“Thanks, but you don’t believe I’m in their number any more than I do.” She shrugged and laughed, her hands lifting in mock-surrender. “But I haven’t hurt anyone yet.”
“I’m glad of that, miss,” he replied, with such fervour she laughed again.
“My name’s Mari,” she offered, putting out her hand, hoping to hear his name in return.
After a visible hesitation, he said, “I’m Lysander, miss.”
Though feeling the sting of the untaken hand, Mari felt her brow lift. “So you’re named for the famed general and friend of Cyrus, the conquering prince of Persia. Your parents gave you a lot to live up to,” she said, grinning.
Lysander’s mouth twitched again—then the wooden demeanour returned as he pulled off the road and rolled up smoothly to a guarded gate.
The guard stepped out of the small guardhouse, frowning at Lysander. Lysander produced the Queen’s letter, and after a moment the man nodded and returned inside.
The car moved through the gate, and it closed behind them. The yacht Jazmine had called small was enormous, at least two hundred feet—which begged the question: what size was the big yacht? — and, judging by the appointments on the outside, absolutely oozed luxury. It bobbed in the calm waters before her in a silent siren call. Come and play …
Playing wasn’t on the agenda. All she needed to do was to get on board safely, spend a few days there until Mikhail left Hellenia, then she could return to her safe, anonymous life.
“Hurry, oh, please hurry,” she murmured, feeling urgency grab hold of her.
In answer, Lysander murmured quiet words into an intercom-style phone—and she saw the gangplank move and a larger one take its place a level down. It was wide enough for a car … and a dark, gaping hole had opened high up in the yacht.
Lysander drove into the yacht’s hull, and blessed cool darkness filled the car, like a benediction of safety.
“Thank you, Lysander,” she breathed as the hole closed up behind them and she heard the engines start up. “Please, let’s take off—push off—whatever it is boats do.”
She heard a choked-off sound as he opened his door and came around to open hers. In the darkness, his face glowed in the subdued lighting of the limo—and she saw he was laughing. It didn’t matter if his lips were under total control, his dimples danced, just as his eyes did—and the combination fascinated her. “Aye, aye, Miss Mari. I’ll go to the Captain right away and convey your orders to him.”
She felt intense relief fill her. “So you’re coming with me?” And she was not thinking of having his company for the next few days—just the fact that she wouldn’t be alone.
His eyes darkened as the laughter died. “The Queen’s letter makes it perfectly clear—I’m to look after you.” The slight bow of his head was touched with respect and filled with irony. “So until my orders change, Miss Mitsialos, your wish is my command.”

CHAPTER THREE
SANDER wasn’t sure he liked that speculative, wistful gleam in Mari’s milk-chocolate eyes. He felt like the genie must have when telling Aladdin he had three wishes … and, judging by the way she kept looking at him, brimming and overflowing with innocent fascination, he couldn’t help but know what one wish would be.
He hadn’t seen a woman look at him with such honest admiration and shy appraisal since he’d become Duke. Yes, women had found him attractive since he’d shot up past the six-foot mark when he was fifteen, but the way Mari blushed when she looked and smiled at him, and when she looked away, and the light in those sweet, dreaming eyes …
But the only kind of women he’d bothered with over the past ten years played the game, and it was glaringly obvious Mari was a straight-shooter, a nice girl to take home to Mother … if only Mother didn’t expect her to have a heralded pedigree.
He forced himself to remain expressionless as he handed her out of the limo. “Would you come up on deck for a few moments while I give orders to the Captain, miss? Then I’ll see you to the Stateroom.”
The dreaming fantasy in her eyes vanished as if he’d smacked her. “The …? Isn’t that the room reserved for royalty?”
Amused by her wide-eyed near-shock, he nodded. “That’s right, miss.”
Expecting her to breathe a few words of ecstatic agreement, he was taken aback when she said, “But that belongs to Charlie and Jazmine.”
Touched by her anxiety to do the right thing, when most of the women he knew would probably have shoved him to the ground in their race to sleep in the King’s bed, he showed her Jazmine’s note. He hoped she didn’t notice that he was carefully covering the “Dear Sander” at the start of the royal instructions with his thumb. “The Queen’s instructions are clear, miss. You’re family to royalty now. Whenever you stay with them, you’ll live as they do.”
Mari read the note, eyes still wide, but then she shook her head. “It’s so nice of Jazmine to offer, but I’ll be more than happy in one of the guestrooms. Just so long as we push off soon,” she added with an endearing nervous nibble at her lip and a glance around the darkened cargo hold, as if expecting Mikhail to pop out of a shadowy corner any second.
Knowing that tone well—his mother spoke just like that when she was determined to have her way—Sander didn’t bother arguing as he lifted her bags out of the trunk. He’d just put her bags in the Stateroom, and let her awe and pride do the rest. “Ready?” He was surprised to find he was enjoying the novel experience of playing employee to a commoner.
She nodded. “Definitely. The sooner the better.” She headed for the lit door marked Exit in a form of Koi Greek rare outside of Hellenia, but close enough to read.
He only realised then that Mari had been speaking Hellenican Greek the whole time—and so had he. It had been that easy with her, so natural he hadn’t noticed.
Alarm bells went off in his head. What was it about Mari that drew princes and dukes to her like compasses to the north, when she wasn’t even trying?
An hour later, Mari stood on the deck of the yacht, watching the harbour recede from view. Her sigh was heartfelt when she saw no yacht or chopper racing to catch them.
A soft tingling at her neck told her Lysander was nearby, watching her.
How she knew, she had no idea. He had that effect on her; all the denial in the world wouldn’t change it. She found him—well, gorgeous. It didn’t mean anything would happen.

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