Off-Limits to the Crown Prince Page 6

  How was she going to get on a horse’s back, when she could barely walk to where they stood?

  ‘Signorina Barrington?’

  That voice from behind. Deep, with a lilting accent. Smoothing over her like some balm to her troubled soul. The prickling sensation of someone close. Alessio’s presence penetrating the cold grief threatening to overwhelm her.

  She turned. He crowded out everything else in the space, not as close as she’d thought, but it didn’t matter how far away he stood, she was sure she’d still feel him. It was as if he had an aura a mile wide, obliterating her awareness of anything else. And if she’d been faltering before, right now she was paralysed.

  She’d glimpsed him a few times at a distance when she’d been competing, dressed for competition himself. He’d been overwhelming then, to a young girl with hormones making themselves known in confusing ways, like a fairy tale brought to life. But nothing prepared her for this, Alessio in a short-sleeved polo shirt which showed off his tanned skin, the swell of his impressive biceps, the strength of his forearms. His legs, encased in buff breeches and riding boots, caused her mouth to dry. Because, whilst all of him was only hinted at under a suit, this figure before her wasn’t the young man she’d pined over, whose riding she’d watched obsessively whenever she could find it. He was a thirty-one year old in his prime and it showed in every inch of him. His broad chest, muscular thighs. Which she probably shouldn’t be staring at, and...was her mouth open? She closed it. She was only trying to get air, that was all. Trying to stop her heart pounding. But it wasn’t the sickening rhythm of before, instead morphing into something harder, more insistent. The drumbeat of a pulse that spoke of a sultry type of rhythm she tried hard to ignore.

  As she looked up from how well his breeches fitted and into his face, he frowned, the merest of creases in his otherwise unmarred forehead. Probably judging the worn old jeans she’d sneaked into her bag almost out of spite, because she was sure nothing that much past their prime would ever grace the palace walls.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Something about his question made everything inside her still. It was as if he saw her. ‘You look pale. You’re not afraid of horses, are you?’

  She shook her head. The fear was not of the animals, but of the memories. ‘No. Probably a little late to sleep, a little early to wake.’ It wasn’t exactly a lie. The thought of riding with him today had left her tossing and turning, with dreams of running after things she couldn’t catch, of accidents she couldn’t prevent. ‘As I said, I haven’t ridden for a while.’

  Still, his gaze searched her. As if he realised she wasn’t telling the truth. ‘Come. Meet your horse. If you have any fears, she should allay them.’

  He walked ahead of her, and for once she was happy to follow as his rule book dictated. It was no chore to watch his long, assured stride, taking in her fill of the broad shoulders tapering to his narrow waist. She shouldn’t look, really, but what woman wouldn’t stare at that backside? Her cheeks burned hot at the prickling awareness of him, and how magnificent he was. They arrived at the groom, and Alessio turned, the corner of his mouth quirking in a smile which told her he knew she’d been staring and didn’t really mind.

  Typical.

  He reached out and rubbed the silky nose of an impossibly pretty dapple grey. ‘This is Kestia. She’s a placid mare who knows what she’s doing. You’ll have no trouble with her. I promise.’ Alessio stared at Hannah as he said it, narrowed his eyes. Cocked his head a fraction.

  She didn’t like that look. It was as if he was contemplating things he didn’t want to say. Hannah narrowed her own eyes back at him.

  ‘You’re not thinking that I’m a...troublesome mare, are you?’

  His full and perfect mouth curled into something of a wry grin. Her breath caught. When he wasn’t so stern and forbidding, he was the type of man who could cleave a woman’s heart in two if she allowed it. Which was risky, when there were so few pieces of her heart left to break. Alessio placed a hand flat over his chest. ‘I’d never think such a thing.’

  She needed a distraction from him so she reached out and stroked down her horse’s side with her flat hand. The coat was smooth and warm to the touch. Alessio watched the gentle move, before his umber eyes held her gaze for a heartbeat. Then it was as if he came to himself and stepped back, his face cool and impassive again. He moved to his own horse. A dark bay stallion. Tall. Clipped mane. Gleaming coat. His ears were pricked high and his eyes were alert. Nostrils flaring. The sort of horse she would have given anything to ride.

  ‘He’s magnificent,’ she said, as Alessio took his mount’s reins.

  ‘Apollo’s special. However, I’ve been ignoring him lately and if I don’t take him out soon he’ll punish me. His groom rides him but for some reason he prefers me. It seems we have an affinity.’

  ‘You’re both hot-blooded?’ She didn’t know where those words had come from. They blurted out of her but both Alessio and his horse seemed tense, as if they were bristling to break into a run and never stop.

  ‘He was inclined in the past to be more reckless than is good for him. He’s fearless when sometimes he should be cautious.’ Alessio stroked his horse’s nose. ‘He’s settled since I’ve owned him. Is a champion in all ways.’

  Alessio had been fearless too, once. She wondered what had happened to him and his showjumping. The reasons he’d stopped had been lost in the annals of history, the internet only briefly mentioning his riding. It was as though that part of him had been scrubbed away. But she remembered him. He’d left her breathless, even then. She had scoured the internet for videos of his events. Watching him over and over. Why give it all away when he was rising to the top of an elite field with everything ahead of him?

  ‘Would you compete again? With Apollo?’

  ‘I have a country to rule. There is no time for anything else.’ Alessio’s eyes were bleak and distant. He cleared his throat, nodded to the little grey. ‘We should ride. We don’t have much time, and a dinner tonight to ready ourselves for.’

  The dinner. Of course. Though she wondered how much time he thought she needed to get ready, because it was hours away yet.

  They mounted their horses with the assistance of the groom, and she settled herself into the saddle, the warmth of the animal’s body seeping into her. Familiar and heartbreaking in so many ways but exhilarating in others. The sensation washed over her again, here, up high. Of being capable of anything. That was how she’d felt once. As if life were full of promise rather than weighed down by reality.

  How she wished she could be that sixteen-year-old girl again. To have the freedom and belief that everything would always be okay. To have the hope for life and love, rather than the inevitability that loss was always the risk when you loved another. She had taken years to contemplate dating, at Sue’s encouragement. She’d been introduced to someone who might not have made her heart race but seemed kind. Solid and safe. She had thought there was something there, allowed herself the tiniest shred of hope that there was a future worth waiting for. Only to have it crushed when he had said art took up too much of her time. He had wanted some fun, and that it was painting or him. As if she could stop something that was intrinsic to her being. And with his words, any hope had died too. It was an unacceptable risk now. The prickle in her eyes and sting in the back of her nose warned of tears. The grief bubbling close, especially here. Of what she’d lost, sure, but also of what might have been. She took a deep breath, steadied herself. Loosened her grip on the reins and tried to relax a bit.

  This fortnight was a job. This moment, a simple ride on a sweet mare with a subject she was supposed to paint. Nothing more. And that subject looked incomparable astride his horse, Apollo prancing in anticipation of leaving the stables, Alessio’s control light, brilliant.

  ‘He’s impatient to get going,’ she said.

  ‘Always.’ Hannah wondered if he was talki
ng about his horse or himself—both looked outside the stable doors as if they wanted to bolt and never return. ‘Are you ready?’

  She nodded, the unsettled queasiness still rumbling around her stomach. Alessio walked them out of the stables and she rode beside him, the rhythm of it all familiar and as comforting as it was heartbreaking.

  ‘I’m surprised Stefano isn’t here with us.’

  Alessio snorted and his horse flicked and twisted his ears, as attuned to his rider as his rider was to him. ‘You’d never see him on the back of a horse. I think he’s afraid of them, but he denies it. Are you comfortable riding faster than a walk? Apollo needs to move.’

  She nodded and Alessio nudged his horse into a trot. She followed, settling into the rise and fall of it. She pulled in beside him, keeping up easily. He’d been right. She might be a little rusty, taking a while to learn her horse’s stride whereas once it would have almost been instinctive, but she hadn’t forgotten, even after all these years.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked. They curved along a path, the sound of the horses’ hooves thumping on the ground in a soothing rhythm. If she had her bearings right, they were riding out into the view she saw from her window each day.

  ‘Through the vines, out past the olive grove, then circling back. It should take about an hour and there’s space if you feel confident enough to let the horses gallop.’

  She felt almost confident enough now, sitting up on her beautiful grey, feeling that familiar thrum of excitement, the desire to take off and be free. But she didn’t want Alessio asking questions about her experience. About why she had stopped riding too. It was so hard to hold back, when all she wanted to do was lose herself in the speed of her mount to feel as if she were flying again.

  ‘From the window of my room there’s an interesting little domed building amongst some trees. Can we go and see it?’

  She didn’t miss the slight tightening of his hands on the reins. The way his horse became restive and tossed his head. Broke his even stride. Alessio murmured softly in Italian. Almost like an apology to Apollo for disturbing him. Then he glanced back at her.

  ‘The pavilion. Ovviamente. Of course.’

  He led the way past some low fences, towards the grapevines burgeoning with fruit where a few people worked.

  ‘Do you ever jump these?’ She nodded to some little gates obstructing the gravel path to the stables. Alessio gave an almost smile. The merest tilt of his lips. Something distant and somehow...wistful.

  He turned to her, and her fingers itched for the scratch of pencil on paper, to catch the question in his eyes, the curve of his mouth. The certainty in the way he held himself, that this was his rightful place and destiny. Whilst the idea of a blank canvas had terrified her before, she could see this. How she’d shape the paint to fit him, his body owning the canvas as he owned this land.

  ‘Sì. My horses are all able.’ The people in the vines ahead of them raised their hands and waved. He waved back. ‘I may need to speak to my vigneron later. About the harvest.’

  ‘Everything going well?’

  ‘It looks to be a good vintage. A perfect showpiece for our country’s wine industry, and what it can achieve.’ He said the words with steel-edged pride, as if it was a personal achievement.

  They rode on into the shade of some glorious old olives, gnarled and ancient, the dappled sun warm on her skin, the scent of earth and horse everywhere. She’d forgotten the joy of this, the simple pleasures of riding in nature.

  ‘The countryside is beautiful here,’ she said. ‘I’m surprised Lasserno’s not more popular. There isn’t much advertising about its tourism.’

  His shoulders stiffened. ‘It’s a hidden treasure but people think we’re a poor cousin of Italy, no matter the natural beauty and riches. We’ve been undervalued for too long, not enough made of our assets. Industries like winemaking have been left to crumble and waste away. I sought to change that the minute my father left the throne.’

  ‘Was he keen to retire?’

  ‘The only thing he was keen to do was plunder the country’s riches for himself. People suffered...the treasury was emptied. I feared nothing would be safe.’ Alessio’s jaw clenched. ‘Had he not abdicated the role I would have taken it from him.’

  Even though the temperature was warm, the breeze cool, it was as if she’d been plunged into midwinter. She didn’t know what to say. Alessio talked about making war with his own father, and that added another layer to the complex picture he painted for her. This man was the one you’d commit to canvas wielding a sword on horseback, like the imposing portraits of his ancestors.

  They rode in silence for a little longer. It was as if he’d said too much and she guessed he had, being normally so self-possessed.

  ‘Are we going to the pavilion?’

  He turned to her, his eyes bleak and cold. ‘You still wish to see it?’

  She nodded. Anything to break the terrible chill that had fallen over them. His shoulders slumped a fraction, and it seemed almost like a defeat. Then he straightened again as if steeling himself.

  ‘Come this way.’

  Alessio wheeled his horse around and encouraged him into a canter, as if he’d forgotten she hadn’t ridden for years. And all she could do was try to follow in his wake.

  * * *

  Alessio didn’t know what it was about Hannah, how when she asked a question it was as if he’d been injected with a truth serum. He said what he wanted, what he’d bottled up, like purging his soul. In that way she was dangerous, non-disclosure agreement aside. People might have tried guessing things about his father, the reasons why he had stepped down, but the truth had been well hidden. Alessio had ensured it. Lasserno’s former prince had been all about laziness and destruction. However, no one should ever know the extent to which Alessio had investigated removing him. Perhaps his father had had an inkling before his abdication. The palace had been full of spies and sycophants before Alessio had rid the place of them. That could be why his father had jumped before being given an unceremonious push, because Alessio had been ready to give him a final shove if it meant saving the country.

  But this was a secret the world could never know, because it signalled instability. Let everyone believe the lie his father had done it for the good of the country. Yet today Alessio had put everything at risk, all because of the gentle questions of the woman riding with him.

  Hannah followed close behind him as they approached the pavilion. He wasn’t surprised she’d asked to see it, such a quaint building peeking out of the olive grove. A folly to something that would never last. He wondered what Hannah would see here. Whether she’d sense the tragedy or only see the fantasy of the place. Alessio wasn’t sure why her opinion on these things mattered.

  He pulled up Apollo and dismounted, the curdle of dread filling his stomach. Here sat a tribute by his mother to a love that had burned brightly and exploded in a supernova-like cataclysm, before imploding into darkness, cold and endless. So many hopes and dreams had been built into this little structure. A testament to the dismal failure of relationships. His father, unwilling to be faithful. His mother, unable to forgive. Their country the ultimate loser. Alessio curled his loose reins around an ancient olive tree. Hannah dismounted with a practised ease that belied her supposed inexperience and did the same, her boots crunching in the fallen leaves on the ground as she approached him.

  ‘This is such a beautiful spot.’ Her voice was a little breathy as she looked around, her cheeks with a healthy pink glow.

  Yes, it was a pretty spot in the dappled sunshine. The whitewashed pavilion with a domed terracotta roof tucked away in the shade. But it had nothing on her. In her worn jeans and buttoned shirt which clung to her elegant curves she glowed as if from the inside out, with something that looked a lot like joy.

  ‘Can we go inside?’

  He nodded. ‘It’s never locked
.’

  He walked up some small stairs, turned a latch and entered the place he hadn’t visited in years. Not since the death of his mother when he had come here and raged at the universe for stealing the wrong parent. But demons needed to be conquered, especially for him now the country was his to rule. There was no place he could fear to tread, not now.

  The pavilion had been kept pristine. No leaf or dust dared grace any surface. The floor was an exquisite mosaic of the goddess Venus rising from the waves. Fluted columns against the walls supported the roof, decorated in between with leadlight windows and pantheons of gods staring down at them. A few wooden benches sat inside. Once they’d been covered with plush cushions, this structure designed as an opulent meeting place, away from the strictures and rules of the palace.

  Hannah followed him inside, stood in the middle of the room looking up at the ceiling with the painted plaster like a summer’s sky. She turned on the spot, her lips parted, face alive as if in wonder.

  ‘What is this place used for? The light’s gorgeous. It would be a beautiful space to paint in.’

  Alessio shrugged. ‘Nothing now. Once it was a retreat. A place to be alone. To contemplate.’

  The lies...all the lies. They threatened to choke him even though they needed to be told. He wouldn’t betray his mother’s memory at the way his parents had debased themselves in their horror of a marriage towards the end.

  ‘It seems almost like it was built for... I don’t know. Lovers.’

  So close to the truth, this woman. Always probing and finding the right answers. She could be a danger to his equilibrium if he didn’t proceed with care.

  ‘It was built by my mother on the second anniversary of her marriage, as a gift to my father.’

  ‘That’s so romantic.’ Her voice was the merest whisper, the brush of a cool breeze through the olive trees surrounding them.