Princess in the Iron Mask by Victoria Parker Page B

here? Can’t I have one hour’s peace?’
    ‘Sí,’ he said. ‘Except it now happens to be one hour and twenty-three minutes.’ He turned to Bailey. ‘May I come in?’
    ‘No,’ Claudia said.
    ‘Okay,’ Bailey said.
    ‘Since this is your room, señorita, I shall take your answer,’ he said to the young girl, and was rewarded with a small tentative smile. One that lifted the heavy bruising from around her eyes and sent a fresh burst of emotion through his system.
    Claudia fisted her small hands as if she wanted to punch him into next week, and stepped toward the bed in an entirely protective move. What the hell did she think he would do?
    As he approached the bed Claudia moved closer still, practically smothering his view. And, like a warning flare illuminating the sky, light dawned. She was not only protecting the child, she was hiding her.
    He tossed Claudia a quizzical look and she volleyed with a silent plea, mouthed, ‘Do not stare.’
    Anger screamed through his innards, blending with affront, and he ground his jaw fiercely to prevent it pouring from his mouth. He’d always prided himself on being unreadable—he’d been trained by the best, after all—but the chastised look on Claudia’s face told him he’d failed to hide his fury in this instance. And he was inordinately pleased.
    In one sweeping glance he’d gained several key pieces that made up the Princess Claudine Verbault conundrum. And when you’re older...your wrists will be just like mine... she’d said. This girl had the same condition that Claudia had suffered from in her youth. Lucas was looking at the past.
    At enflamed wrists and elbows, painfully sore skin. At puffy eyes and purplish branding that spoke of bone-deep lethargy. And the way she barely moved from the bed, wincing as she tried to straighten her legs, told him she suffered serious muscle fatigue. Tiny hands tugged at the white sheet to drape over her slight frame. Hiding.
    Pain banked in his chest. Through it all, the girl was very pretty, and he could see glimpses of the beautiful woman she would become. A woman who would replace the white sheet with a dour wardrobe.
    Madre de Dios. His gut ached.
    While he’d read brief notes on the illness, seeing it, looking at it for himself, was something else entirely. Much like visiting a bombsite—knowing the damage was already done, hoping for the best, but witnessing devastation that left soldiers numb for hours.
    Clearing his thick, tight throat, he looked towards Claudia. ‘Would you like to make the introductions?’
    Her deep amber eyes bored through his skull and he returned her glare, caught in that odd battle of wills that so often ensnared them. Not once had he lost the fight, and this time the stakes were gravely higher.
    Soon enough she blinked, then stepped to the side. ‘Bailey, this is Lucas. Lucas, this is my friend Bailey.’
    Lucas tore his gaze from Claudia, knowing full well that he shouldn’t be here. That with every passing second he was becoming more embroiled with the mysterious Arunthian Princess. It wasn’t his job to consider her past, present or her future. Getting her home was his remit. His obligation. His mission. His promise to the King.
    Pausing for a second, he weighed the risk. Looked at the expectant child, the hopeful softening of Claudia’s beautiful face.
    ‘ Buenos días, Bailey,’ he said, with a quick bow that pinked her cheeks. ‘I am honoured to meet you.’
    * * *
    Claudia tried to pick her jaw up off the floor and only just managed when Lucas raised one dark brow in her direction. Clearly he had no idea of the in-topics for girly conversation, because small talk slipped in a steady decline and he kept looking to Claudia for direction. And each time he did something warm and delicious unfurled inside her.
    Oh, God, he was utterly wonderful. Which was great for Bailey, disastrous for her. She wanted to hate him. For barging into her life, stripping away her independence. For