Prince of Scandal by Annie West

dedication. She couldn’t give that. Not with the farm.’
    He nodded. It was clear what a toll that place had taken on Luisa’s family. Her mother should have more than early works on display. She would have if she’d not embraced a life of hardship. All for the supposed love of a man who could give her so little.
    People were fools, falling for the fantasy of love.
    So-called love was an illusion. A trap for the unwary. Hadn’t he learnt that to his cost?
    ‘It was kind of you to bring me.’ She touched his sleeve andlooked up from under her lashes in an unconsciously provocative way that made heat curl in his gut. ‘Lukas told me you rarely have time for such things, especially now.’
    ‘It was nothing. It’s been a while since I visited and there were issues to discuss.’ The last thing he needed was for her to get the idea he’d changed his schedule for her. Even if it was true.
    Luisa had been stoically uncomplaining through her first weeks in Maritz. Yet the change must be difficult for her. Despite her heavy tuition schedule he’d often glanced up from a meeting to see her wandering in the gardens and he had the discomfiting notion she was lonely, despite her ever-widening acquaintance.
    Guilt blanketed him. She was here because of him, his country, his needs. What did she personally get out of it?
    She wasn’t interested in riches or prestige. The only money she wanted was to save her friends.
    His lips twisted. She didn’t see
him
as a prize, even if she couldn’t conceal the passion that flared when he kissed her. Luisa Hardwicke was a salutary lesson to his ego.
    ‘I had no idea Mum’s work was so well regarded.’ She turned to examine a delicate drawing of a mountain wildflower and he followed, not wanting to lose the warmth of her hand on his arm.
    ‘Tell me about her.’
    Luisa swung round. ‘Why?’
    He shrugged, making light of his sudden need to understand Luisa’s family, and her. ‘She must have been strong to have stood up to your grandfather.’
    Luisa grimaced. ‘Maybe it’s a family trait.’
    ‘Sorry?’
    She shook her head. ‘I thought she was remarkable. And so did my dad.’
    Raul threaded his fingers through hers, pleased when she didn’t pull away. ‘Tell me.’
    For a long moment she regarded him. Then she seemed to make up her mind. ‘She was like other mums. Hard working,making do, running a household and doing the books. Always busy.’ Luisa paused. ‘She made the best cinnamon Christmas biscuits and she gave the warmest hugs—guaranteed to make you feel better every time. She loved roses and had an eye for fashion, even if we couldn’t afford to buy it.’
    Luisa moved to the next picture and he followed. ‘She hated ironing and she
detested
getting up early.’
    ‘Not suited to be a farmer’s wife then.’ The change from palace to dairy must have been hard. Had the marriage been a disaster? He frowned. It didn’t sound so.
    Luisa laughed, a rich, lilting chuckle and Raul’s senses stirred. ‘That’s what Dad used to say. He’d shake his head and pretend to be scared she’d go back to her glamorous world. Mum would smile that special smile she saved for him and say she couldn’t possibly leave till she mastered the art of cooking sponge cakes as well as my aunt. Dad would say no one could ever make sponges like Mary, so Mum would just have to stay for ever. Then he’d kiss her.’
    Raul felt the delicate tremor in her hand and watched a wistful smile flit across Luisa’s features. He knew an unaccountable desire to experience what she had. The warmth, the love. A childhood of cinnamon biscuits and hugs. How different from his own upbringing!
    ‘But how did it work?’ He found himself curious. ‘They were so different.’
    She shrugged. ‘They came from different worlds but they made their own together. Dad said she made him feel like a king. Mum always said he made her feel more like a princess than she’d ever felt living in a palace.’