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Arielle remembered Danny Bray’s accusation that she had taken over running her father’s drug-dealing business. Danny could not have known that the car with dark-tinted windows that had been seen outside her cottage had been driven by Prince Eirik’s private secretary.
Eirik was frowning. ‘Why don’t you want to report the break-in and criminal damage done to your property to the police?’
‘It will create more resentment,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Some of the local fishermen were angry when I supported a campaign for them to use more expensive biodegradable nets to reduce the amount of discarded plastic fishing equipment in the sea.’ That much was true, although Arielle did not believe it was the reason her studio had been destroyed. ‘I was planning to leave Penash anyway and now I have no reason to stay.’
‘Where will you go?’ Eirik frowned as Arielle avoided making eye contact with him. Something was going on that he did not understand. Her reluctance to involve the police about the break-in was odd, and he was not convinced by her explanation that her environmental campaigning had angered the villagers.
She hugged her arms around herself, and he sensed that her composure was on a knife-edge. ‘I don’t have any definite plans,’ she admitted.
‘Well, I suggest you make some quickly. In the meantime, is there somewhere you can go where you will be safe?’ He thought of the smashed light bulb in the porch. ‘Whoever destroyed your workshop might be planning to return and break into the cottage.’
‘I’m sure that won’t happen.’ She bit her lip and Eirik was furious with himself when his gaze was drawn to her mouth, and he remembered how soft and moist her lips had felt beneath his. ‘My best friend got married last year and moved to France with her husband. I’m not close to anyone else in the village. I’ll do as you suggested and apply for a job abroad.’
‘That will take time.’ Eirik rubbed his hand over the stubble on his jaw. The idea that had come into his mind was admittedly not sensible. But his conscience would not allow him to leave Cornwall and abandon Arielle to the mercy of the thugs who had wrecked her studio. ‘I have to fly back to Fjernland tomorrow and I want you to come with me.’
She stared at him. ‘Why? You said that we are on different trajectories.’
Eirik glowered at her for reminding him of his crass behaviour. He’d come onto her like a teenager with an overload of hormones, and it wasn’t his style at all. He blamed it on his libido, which had kicked into life after more than a year when he’d simply felt numb. Frustration was a nagging ache in his groin. But he had been honest with Arielle. He hadn’t wanted her to think he could offer more, or indeed that he wanted more, than one night of mutual pleasure.
‘Don’t get the wrong idea. My offer to help you leave Penash has nothing to do with what happened, or didn’t happen between us,’ he said sardonically. ‘I am indebted to you for saving my life. You want to pick up your career, and I can make it happen.’
Her green eyes flashed. ‘You don’t owe me anything and I am not your responsibility.’
His patience evaporated. ‘Are you always so stubborn? You said you want to work in another country, and I happen to know that a temporary position to cover maternity leave will be available at the Fjernland Marine Research Institute. The director is a friend of mine. His wife is involved in a research project studying the effects of microplastic pollution in the oceans. Frida is expecting their first child soon and she intends to take several months off to be with the baby. I will give your CV to Valdemar. Obviously you would have to go through a proper interview process, but with your qualifications and experience I think you stand a good chance of being offered the job.’
‘But I don’t speak Fjernlandic,’ Arielle said.
‘It won’t be a problem. All Fjernlanders are taught English at school from the age of five. Our national language is important, but we are a small principality and have to be able to communicate with the wider world.’
Eirik broke off when his phone rang. He cursed beneath his breath when he saw the name on the screen. Her Serene Highness, Princess Hulda—Eirik had been a toddler before he’d understood that the woman who had occasionally visited him in the palace nursery was his mother—had been short on sympathy and highly critical of his decision to take part in the AII race, which had ended disastrously for his new yacht and nearly cost him his life. A late-night call from the Princess was unexpected. ‘I must take this,’ Eirik excused himself to Arielle.
‘Why are you still in England?’ Princess Hulda did not waste her breath greeting him. ‘Gustav informed me that you did not experience any ill effects from your yachting accident. It would have been nice if you had bothered to tell me yourself.’
Eirik refrained from reminding his mother that she had never shown any interest in his welfare until a little over a year ago, when he’d become the heir to the throne.
‘I had assumed that you would return to Fjernland immediately. You need to be here.’ The Princess spoke in her usual abrupt manner, but Eirik heard a rare note of emotion in her voice. ‘Your father has been admitted to hospital with a suspected heart attack. If he dies, you will be the new monarch.’
CHAPTER FOUR
‘WASITAwise decision to invite Miss Tremain along?’ Gustav murmured.
Eirik followed his private secretary’s gaze across the aisle of the private jet to where Arielle was curled up on a leather recliner. She was fast asleep, which was hardly surprising as it was one o’clock in the morning. Eirik felt too wired up to sleep. ‘I gather you do not think it was a wise decision,’ he snapped.
‘I simply thought that in light of the situation with your father’s health you would not want any...distractions.’
‘I spoke to my mother a few minutes ago. It appears that His Serene Highness did not have a heart attack and has been diagnosed with a condition called pericarditis, which is inflammation around the heart caused by a viral infection. Prince Otto is expected to make a full recovery.’
‘I am very glad to hear that.’ Gustav sat down when Eirik waved him to a chair. ‘You must be extremely relieved.’
‘Of course.’ The news that his father’s life was not in danger felt as though a weight had been lifted from Eirik’s shoulders. He was reprieved from becoming the ruling monarch of Fjernland, for the time being at least. More surprising had been the rush of emotion he’d felt. For most of his life he had not had a close relationship with Prince Otto, who had only been interested in Niels, the oldest son and heir to the throne. But recently Eirik had spent more time with his father while he’d prepared for when he would rule the principality.
A tentative rapprochement had developed between them, helped by the fact that Prince Otto had mellowed since he had battled cancer for two years. He had been given the all-clear, but this latest health scare had renewed Princess Hulda’s determination that her husband should abdicate in favour of the surviving heir. However, Prince Otto had stated that he would not stand aside until Eirik was married.
‘It is imperative that you choose a bride and marry her as quickly as it can be arranged.’ Eirik replayed his latest phone conversation with his mother in his head. ‘Baron Lundberg’s daughter is ideal in every respect. She comes from one of the oldest aristocratic families in Fjernland, and she is charming, gracious and—’
‘Chilly,’ he had cut in.
‘Don’t be absurd.’ Princess Hulda’s voice had bristled with impatience. ‘What do you even mean?’
