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‘Prince Eirik, it’s good to see you.’ The voice from behind Arielle shattered the sexual tension. Eirik swore softly and stepped away from her, running a hand through his hair.
‘Valdemar, how are you?’
Arielle turned and saw a thick-set man sporting a bushy beard. She felt her colour rise when his curious gaze moved from Eirik to her and back again.
‘This is Professor Valdemar Oskarsson,’ Eirik told her. ‘Valdemar, I’d like you to meet Arielle Tremain.’
‘Welcome to Fjernland’s Marine Research Institute, Arielle.’
‘I’ll catch up with you another time,’ Eirik said to Valdemar. ‘I must leave. My mother is hosting a tea party at the palace, and I promised I would be there.’ He nodded to Arielle and shook hands with Valdemar before he strode over to the car.
Moments later he drove away, and a lump formed in Arielle’s throat when the car disappeared from view. She wondered if Ida Lundberg had been invited to tea at the palace. Perhaps Eirik would decide to marry the beautiful blonde and announce their engagement at his birthday ball.
She realised that Valdemar was looking at her curiously. A job at the marine institute was the chance of a lifetime, and it was time she stopped daydreaming about an unobtainable prince and focused on her career, she told herself firmly.
Valdemar ushered her into the building. ‘I am very interested in your work exploring new initiatives to recycle plastic waste, which is ruining the world’s oceans. Shall we have a chat?’
CHAPTER SIX
EIRIKGLANCEDAROUNDthe Red Drawing Room at Sejrrig Place where twenty or so guests, mainly young women who had been selected by his mother for their grace, sophistication, and suitability to be his wife, were conversing with each other in well-modulated voices while trying to catch his eye.
He considered drowning himself in the punch bowl. It might liven up the interminably tedious evening, he brooded. But he guessed that the liveried footman whose job was to serve the cocktail, made with fruit, alcohol and spices and known asgloggin Fjernland, would rush to pull his head out of the antique, silver-gilt bowl. Besides it would be a waste of good vodka, he decided, taking his fourth—or was it fifth?—glass from the tray.
Drinking himself into a coma was a more inviting option. The buffet supper was the third social event in the past week that his mother had arranged in her self-appointed role of matchmaker. Eirik knew there was no escaping his destiny as Fjernland’s Reigning Sovereign, or Princess Hulda’s determination that he would marry—tomorrow if she had her way. He had a sense of a tsunami racing towards him that would sweep away his old life and leave him drowning in duty and responsibility.
Where was a mermaid when he needed one?
Need.That irritating word again. He assured himself that he did not need Arielle. It was just that he could not stop thinking about her. And until he had got over his fascination, obsession—neither word felt comfortable—with a green-eyed siren, he could not concentrate on the task of choosing a wife.
All evening he had been aware of Princess Hulda’s beady eyes on him. And hehadtried. He’d worked the room, made small talk, and smiled until his face ached. But after two minutes of conversation with the daughter of a French duc, Eirik had known that he was not going to marry Madelaine Blanchet. There was no logical reason why he should not make her his bride. Mademoiselle Blanchet was charming, well educated and her father was a descendant of the brother of Louis XVI, the unfortunate last King of France.
‘Madelaine has three brothers,’ his mother had informed him before the party, when she had listed the attributes of each female guest. ‘It is likely that she would give you a son. I don’t know what more you could want.’
Eirik could guess what his mother’s reaction would be if he admitted that he wanted a woman with a mermaid’s tail and a tangle of russet curls. Aphrodite with voluptuous curves and eyes the colour of a stormy sea.
‘I do wish you would make the effort to be more agreeable.’ Princess Hulda’s terse voice forced Eirik’s mind from the image of Arielle naked in his bed, her riotous hair spread across the pillows.
‘How am I not being agreeable?’ His tone was curter than he’d intended. He forced a smile in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere between him and his mother, which was frosty at the best of times. ‘I have spoken to each of your guests.’
‘You have spent the evening pacing around the room like a caged tiger,’ Princess Hulda told him waspishly. ‘I am devoting all my time and energy in assisting you to find a wife. Is it too much to ask for your cooperation? You practically ignored Ida Lundberg, and the French girl did not hold your attention for long. With your brother gone, it is vital that you have a legitimate heir.’
‘Let me reassure you that I am fully aware of what is expected of me,’ Eirik gritted. As ever, the reference to Niels evoked a stab of guilt in his gut.
‘I am glad to hear it,’ his mother said crisply. ‘I don’t know what has been wrong with you since you returned from England, but you need to deal with it, and quickly.’
‘Indeed,’ Eirik muttered to himself when Princess Hulda swept away with a rustle of her black taffeta gown. He accepted that it was his duty to marry for the sake of the monarchy. But he realised he must have Arielle first. He had told himself that she was forbidden fruit. But wasn’t it always the way that you wanted most what you could not have?
Arielle had said she wanted to make love with him before their lives went in different directions. He would spend a perfect night with her, Eirik decided. He did not doubt that the sex would be incredible. The chemistry between them was white-hot. But in his experience, sexual attraction was transitory, and he was confident that his fascination with Arielle would fade once he had slept with her.
Arielle switched off her laptop and stretched her arms above her head. Her neck and shoulders ached as a result of her sitting at her desk for too long. People often thought that marine conservation work meant spending every day on the beach or diving in the sea, but the truth was that a lot of time was spent in front of a computer. Not that she was complaining. It was wonderful to be doing the job she loved again.
After her interview ten days ago, the head of the marine research institute had offered her a temporary position for six months. Valdemar Oskarsson had said there was a good chance that her role could be made permanent when Prince Eirik became the Reigning Sovereign of Fjernland.
‘The Prince donates money to the institute from his personal wealth. When he becomes the Sovereign, he hopes to persuade the principality’s National Council to increase funding for marine conservation,’ Valdemar had explained. ‘Protecting the oceans is something Prince Eirik feels passionate about.’
Arielle had felt herself blush at the memory of Eirik’s passion. Fortunately, Valdemar had not seemed to notice her pink cheeks when he had ushered her into one of the laboratories and introduced her to his heavily pregnant wife, Frida. Since then Arielle had been shadowing Frida in preparation for when she took charge of a project to measure microplastic pollution in the North Sea. The work was fascinating and left little time for her to daydream about Eirik.
The other scientists working at the institute were friendly and had invited her for a drink at one of the many lively bars in the area. The nearby coastal town attracted a community of artists, and surfers and divers flocked to the glorious beach. She had moved into an apartment in the same building as the marine institute. Accommodation on the upper floors was for visiting students and researchers, but a flat had been vacant and Valdemar had suggested she could live there while she settled into her new job in a new country. Although small, the apartment was bright and modern, and Arielle loved it.
