Beauty and the Reclusive Prince by Raye Morgan

it—”
    “And I understand how important it is to you,” he interrupted before she could have a chance to make assumptionshis admission didn’t quite warrant. “But that doesn’t change the danger that you would face every time you went across that divide above the river.” His hand swept out in a royal gesture. “If I had a house full of servants, I could have one of them go and harvest the weed for you. But at present, Renzo and I live here alone. There is no one to help out.”
    Isabella bit down hard on her lower lip, keeping herself under tight control. His constant emphasis on the danger of going near the river was clearly overstated and there had to be a reason for it. She was pretty sure it had something to do with the death of his wife. What had happened that had made him so sure the place wasn’t safe for her? She wanted to know, but she didn’t want to push him. A horrible vision of tractors mowing down the hillside if he got annoyed enough did the trick.
    Back to the plan.
    “We can talk about that later,” she said quickly. “Right now I just want you to enjoy this.”
    He gave her a faint, reluctant smile, his eyes glowing. “I do, Isabella. More than you know.”
    She flushed. It was odd to watch how he still tended to turn his face away from her, as though trying to keep her from seeing the scars. No matter what he did, he looked gorgeous to her. How could it be otherwise when he was blessed with those huge, emotional dark eyes and that wide, sensual mouth?
    He looked like a poet, she decided. A poet with a tender, sensitive soul purposefully disguised by his muscular form and his harsh, cynical manner, all protected by a wall of ice to keep the world at bay. She knew about his physical scars. What had hurt him so deeply that he couldn’t be free? That was the mystery he carried with him.
    “Tell me about this place,” she said, leaning forward on her elbows as she watched him eat. “Did you grow up here?”
    “Pretty much.” He took another bite, savored it, and sighed with pleasure, then went on. “My father tended to drag us all over the continent, staying at one property after another. He was quite a gambler, you see, and he was always looking for another game. But when I was young we spent a lot of time here. I would ride my pony all over these grounds.”
    “Mmm. And you didn’t fall into the river?”
    His face darkened. “That is not a matter to joke about,” he said curtly. “Our river is a dangerous place. We didn’t realize how dangerous at the time.” He looked at her face and winced. “I should have caught you before you hit the rocks.”
    She marveled at him. He seemed to think it was his job to save the world—or at least all females that came within his purview. That was too big a role to take on for any man. She wished she knew how to tell him so. Instead, she shrugged.
    “It will heal. It will be gone in no time at all.”
    He heard her blithe words but they didn’t placate him. He couldn’t help but feel that the water had almost claimed another victim that night. If he hadn’t been there to grab her…
    He shook his head again and swore softly.
    “And as you grew older?” she asked. “Did you still stay here often?”
    He pushed away thoughts of the river and let himself look back instead. “Not as often. My mother died when I was young and, after that, I went to live with my aunt, Marcello’s mother.”
    “I’m sorry,” she murmured about his mother. She hesitated to tell him they had something in common. Was she being presumptuous? Never mind, she told him anyway.
    “I lost my mother early, too,” she told him. “I can hardly remember what she looked like.”
    “Where were you sent to live?” he asked.
    She shrugged. “I stayed right where I was. Someone had to take care of my father, and my two little brothers.”
    He stared. “Surely you were a little young for that.”
    She smiled. “Yes, much too young. But we didn’t have a choice.