AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Max exhaled. He did not welcome having to be so suspicious. He placed a very high value on mutual trust, and it was an important principle of his foundation. However, he also valued instinct, and his instinct was telling him—as it had done right from the start—that Ionanthe had had an undeclared purpose in agreeing to marry him.
That undeclared reason could, of course, be something personal that would not impact on anyone other than herself. It might well be that he was being overly cautious. It might be that he’d simply have to put his thoughts to her for her to supply him with an answer to his question. Ionanthe might not even be aware of the value of what lay beneath the surface of her family’s land.
On the other hand, it might also be that Ionanthe did know—she had worked in Brussels, after all, and would be well aware of the importance and the value of certain raw materials. It was possible that she was now playing for very high stakes with the island’s natural resources, in a ‘winner takes all’ throw of the dice. Was she contemplating selling out those who depended on her? Or was he allowing the grit of an instinct that had jarred on him to grow into something that owed more to his imagination than true fact?
Legally, of course, she had every right to dispose of any riches on or in the land which she owned—although Max deplored the immorality of anyone depriving such a very poor people of their living to add to their own already extensive wealth. It was impossible for her to know of his very private wish to bring an end to such feudal ownership of huge tracts of the island by a handful of powerful families—and that included much of the land owned by the Crown—in order to give it instead to the people. He had already known and accepted that he would have to move very carefully and tactfully, unfortunately perhaps even in secret in the early stages of this endeavour. It was essential for its success that none of the resources were sold on to someone outside the island before he could complete the process.
Now the situation with regard to Ionanthe further complicated the issue—and all the more so because Max knew that what had happened between them meant that he could not really trust his own judgement. It would forever be clouded by the desire he felt for her. Had that desire damaged his ability to judge her correctly? Already he had told himself that she was a giver, not a taker; already he was not just prepared but actively wanting to believe the best of her. But Max knew that he could not afford to let his emotions control his judgement. There was far too much at risk for that. Little though he liked doing so, he owed it to his people to look suspiciously upon Ionanthe’s possible motives.
Was it possible that Ionanthe had married him to provide herself with a smokescreen behind which she could sell off the mineral rights she now owned? Was that why she wished to visit her family home? Had she deceived him all along with her apparent inability to control her sensuality, using it as a means to lull him into a false state of security?
No wonder history recorded so many long-dead monarchs as suspicious paranoids, Max thought wryly.
Ionanthe had been asleep when he had gone into the bedroom this morning, tempted by an emotion that should have had no place in his thinking to reveal his concern to her. Thinking about her now, it was that image that filled his head: her hair a dark silky cloud on the white pillow, her face free of make-up. She’d slept on, oblivious to his presence, whilst his body had been all too acutely aware of hers.
The need he was fighting was far more skilled at getting past his barriers than he was at maintaining them, Max recognized, as his body began its familiar assault on his mind. And it wasn’t just his body that was susceptible, over-printed with its memories of her. His emotions were now at war within themselves as well. But when you stripped back everything else, it was trust, or rather the lack of it, that lay at the core of his dilemma. And not just his personal trust in her as a woman he was perilously close to loving. He was by virtue of his position the designated protector of his people’s trust. Trust in himself and in those with whom he chose to share his most intimate confidences and beliefs. He might judge that his need for Ionanthe outweighed his wish that he could trust her, but he could not make that choice with his people’s trust. That was a risk he must not and would not take.
In another couple of hours Ionanthe would be leaving for the mountains. Was it, as he had initially assumed, because she wanted to put some distance between them? Or did she have another, far more devious purpose?
He wasn’t going to find the answer to his question in Barcelona.
He reached for his mobile phone, and then leaned forward to attract the attention of his driver.
CHAPTER NINE
SHE could have driven herself to the castle—she had wanted to. But the Count had protested that it was unseemly for her to do so in her new role, so Ionanthe had given in, even whilst reminding the Count that the road to the castle was badly maintained, and because of that it would be necessary for her to travel there in a sturdy four-wheel drive rather than the kind of car more suited for pomp and State occasions.
Initially she might have made the impetuous decision to visit her childhood home to escape from Max and her vulnerability to him, but Ionanthe hadn’t forgotten the vow she’d made to herself to use the wealth she had inherited from her grandfather to improve the lives of their tenants and those who worked for the family. As an ambition it came nowhere near matching the truly awesome achievements of the Veritas Foundation she so admired, but it was a small step in the right direction. Ionanthe smiled ruefully to herself at the thought of the reaction of the chairman of Veritas in the unlikely event of him ever getting to know how much the foundation’s achievements had inspired her.
It was a cornerstone of the foundation’s ethos that inherited wealth should be used for the greater good of those people who were most in need—mainly through health incentives followed by education. The island had a desperately poor record on both issues. There was one exclusive private hospital for the rich, and a handful of shamefully ill-equipped and badly run clinics for the poor. The wealthy sent their sons abroad for private schooling and groomed their daughters for the right kind of marriage, whilst the poor—if they were lucky—made do with state education which ended when a child reached fourteen. Fortenegro did not have proper senior schools for its brighter children, never mind colleges or a university. There was no middle class. Any islander who did well enough to make any money tended to leave the island, seeking better opportunities for themselves and their families.
It could all have been so very different. Fortenegro was rich in natural assets, which included its mineral deposits, its climate, and its scenery.
Max would probably be in Barcelona by now. Ionanthe looked at the telephone on the desk. In a normal relationship a man separated from his partner would surely telephone her, ostensibly to assure her of his safe arrival, but in reality because of their shared need to hear one another’s voice. But of course hers was not a normal relationship, and even less a normal marriage. Her own thoughts pressed on her heart like hard fingers on a painful bruise, making her want to withdraw from the hurt they were causing.
‘Highness, the car is waiting.’
Ionanthe nodded her head in response to the Count’s information.
The air was colder today—a warning that winter was almost here, Ionanthe recognised, as she looked up towards the hills already cloaked in snow.
In only a few days it would be Christmas. Christmas. She could feel the familiar sadness settling on her like the drift of winter snow. Christmas had once been her favourite time of year. But Christmas was a time for sharing, for loving, and she had no one with whom to share her love or the deepest secrets of her heart. She had no loving, caring family with whom to spend this special time of year.
In Brussels she had dreaded the build-up to the season, forced to listen and watch as her co-workers prepared excitedly for their Christmas break, talking of their happiness at the thought of ‘going home’ or being with someone special. Christmas could be the cruellest time of year for those without love, as she well knew.
According to the Count, the court made no special plans for Christmas; when Cosmo had been alive he had always spent from late December until the end of January away from Fortenegro, ‘enjoying himself.’
Ionanthe burrowed deeper into the camel-coloured cashmere coat she was wearing—another item she had worked and saved hard for. Ionanthe was a believer in ‘investment’ items of clothing. Throw-away clothes, like throw-away relationships, held no appeal for her. Perhaps because of her childhood, she yearned for those things that would endure and on which she knew she could depend.
A little to her surprise, the waiting equerry was holding open the front passenger door of the sturdy four-wheel drive vehicle waiting in the courtyard. Its darkened windows were an affectation that made Ionanthe suspect that the vehicle must have been one of the many carelessly purchased by Cosmo.
Even more unexpected was the fact that the car was without its driver. But Ionanthe didn’t realise that until she was in her seat and the equerry was closing the door and moving round to the driver’s side of the vehicle, holding it open for the man now coming down the steps towards them.
Ionanthe’s heart whooshed to the bottom of her ribcage as though caught up in an avalanche. Max! It surely couldn’t be him? But it was! Just for a moment the sweetest and most intoxicating surge of joy filled her—but then reality cut in. He couldn’t possibly have changed his mind because he wanted to be with her. And she shouldn’t want that to be the case.
She watched guardedly as he got into the car, unable to stop herself from saying, almost accusingly, ‘You’re supposed to be in Barcelona.’
