‘This behaviour stops now!’
Prince Devereaux de la Croix had his coffee mug halfway to his mouth when his brother, King Gabriel, stormed into the informal breakfast room of the palace and slapped a bundle of daily newspapers onto the table.
A maid, who’d just set down a plate of fresh fruit, looked askance at the rare display of temper erupting from the King, and hurried from the room.
‘Good morning to you too, brother.’ Dev took a long, slow mouthful of coffee and braced himself for the tirade he expected. He didn’t even bother to glance at the front pages. He knew exactly what he’d see—images of himself in the back of a royal limousine sandwiched between two blonde would-be models, champagne glass in his right hand, and a very voluptuous breast in his left.
‘You know I have trade deals scheduled with Middle Eastern nations in two weeks. You also know the leaders I’ll be meeting with place the utmost importance on strong moral values. What the hell were you thinking?’ Gabe demanded.
Dev forced a small smile and directed his gaze fleetingly to one of the newspapers. ‘I can’t recall my exact thoughts at the time, but they probably ran along the lines of how good it was going to be to get both of those beauties to—’
‘That’s enough!’ A pulse hammered at Gabe’s temple. It warned Dev to stop goading his straight-laced brother unless he wanted the King of Santaliana to have a mini-stroke. ‘Your behaviour is shaming the de la Croix name.’
Dev braced himself against the punch of remorse which hit him square in the guts. ‘I think the family name can stand the shame,’ he drawled as he lowered his mug to the table. ‘It would be too much to ask the world to believe our parents had given birth to two perfect sons.’
A shadow of grief crossed over Gabriel’s face and Dev instantly regretted the jibe. ‘There’s more at stake here than the family name, Devereaux. We’re talking about trade deals which will have far reaching impact on employment and the wealth of our kingdom.’
‘You worry too much, Gabriel.’ He leant back in his chair. ‘You need to have some fun.’
‘There’s no place for fun when there are so many important issues to deal with.’ Gabe’s voice was hollow and he paced back and forth on the other side of the room. ‘I blame myself for this. I indulged you too much as a child. I kept telling myself all the pranks you pulled at boarding school were just a passing phase. But since Eden died you’ve gone from reprehensible to almost irredeemable. I hate to think what she’d say about this …’
Dev’s fingers tightened around the handle of the mug. His early childhood memories of their parents were shadowy at best, but not a day had passed in the last four years where he hadn’t mourned the death of his sister. Eden had been both elder sister and mother-figure to him. Raw agony at her tragic death still gripped at his chest like an eagle’s talons.
Gabriel cleared his throat. The fabric of his suit jacket tightened across his shoulders as he drew them back. ‘Your thirtieth birthday is fast approaching. It’s time to grow up and accept your responsibilities.’
‘What responsibilities?’ Dev straightened and his skin prickled at the nape of his neck. ‘I have a commerce-law degree which your royal advisers have insisted I don’t use.’ They’d been adamant no member of the royal family of Santaliana should work in the private sector for a living. Instead, they’d insisted Dev live his life attending official engagements—something he tried to avoid. ‘You’re the King. You’re the one with all the responsibilities. I’m merely the spare without any meaningful official purpose in life.’
Gabe’s shoulders went from stiff to slumped as he pulled out a chair and sat down at the opposite side of the table. He looked utterly weary. Utterly … broken. Dev hated knowing his very public exploits had added to the burdens his brother carried, but there was nothing he was prepared to do right now to change the situation. Instead he raised his mug once more to his lips and fixated on the original Renoir hanging on the wall of the breakfast room.
‘I had a long discussion about you with Khalid this morning,’ Gabe volunteered.
Hell! That couldn’t be good.
‘Well, that explains why you’re out of sorts. Conversing with Khalid first thing on a Monday morning certainly wouldn’t be my ideal way to kick off the week.’ If Gabe was consulting with his closest friend, the Crown Prince of Turastan, Dev was in trouble. Gabe was obviously serious about bringing his younger brother to heel.
Gabe ignored the jibe. ‘Photos on the front page of the newspaper depicting your drunken debauchery are what has put me out of sorts.’
‘The way I conduct my social life has nothing to do with Khalid.’
‘I’ve spoken to Khalid on and off over the last few years about your behaviour. He’s explained to me how he felt about being the second-born son. His older brother, Hazim, had all the responsibilities to shoulder and the situation left Khalid without direction. Like you, he became a notorious, party-loving playboy. The only thing which captured his interest, apart from women, was polo.’ Gabe sighed heavily. ‘For you it’s yacht racing. In many ways you’re a lot like he was.’
‘Now he’s reformed and happily married to Queen Sabihah, proving he and I are vastly different,’ Dev declared.
‘It doesn’t prove you’re different. It proves you, too, can reform.’
Shit! The gravity in Gabriel’s voice made the hairs rise on the back of Dev’s neck. Next thing his brother would tell him all he needed was the love of a good woman. ‘I don’t want to reform,’ he pronounced firmly.
‘All it took for Khalid was a sense of purpose and look how he’s turned his entire life around. Everyone admires him and he’s a highly respected statesman.’
Khalid had only changed when he had to step up into the role of Crown Prince—after Hazim died in a plane crash. Dev’s entire body tensed and very real concern crept up his spine. ‘Gabe, are you ill?’
Gabe closed his eyes momentarily and sighed. ‘No, Devereaux. You needn’t fear you’re suddenly going to be thrust into the role of ruling our kingdom. I have no plans for a premature death.’
Thank God for that!
‘But,’ Gabe continued, ‘if you’re ever called upon to become King of Santaliana, you need to be a ruler the people can respect.’ He rested his fingertips on a salt shaker and twirled it around on the table. ‘I agree with Khalid that you’re running wild because you’re bored. I realise it’s time I stopped turning a blind eye to your endless stream of affairs and gave you some responsibility,’ Gabriel said at last. ‘As of today, for your own sake and the sake of our kingdom—not to mention our pending trade agreements with the Middle East— no more nights spent drinking, gambling and womanising. You’re going to work hard, reform your ways, and find purpose and direction in your life.’
Meeting his older brother’s gaze, Dev sat back in his chair and assumed a far more relaxed posture than he felt. ‘I assure you I have a definite sense of purpose in my life.’
Gabe snorted and released the salt shaker. ‘A serious sense of purpose. Something more than deciding which woman to click your fingers at and have in your bed for the night.’
Dev adopted a bored smile. ‘You underestimate the difficulty in making such a choice each night when there are so many beautiful and willing candidates to choose from.’
‘Damn it, Devereaux!’ Gabe slapped his open palm so hard on the table that the salt shaker and cutlery lifted off the table for a split second with the vibration. ‘You have no choice in the matter of your reform. If you don’t do as I ask, I’ll stop your allowance.’
The threat made tension coil in Dev’s gut. He did not respond well to ultimatums. He never had and never would. Gabe was imposing an impossible set of conditions.
It took a concerted effort for Devereaux to unclench his jaw before the pressure made it cramp. All manner of curses ran through his head and he could’ve throttled Khalid, certain it must be the Turastani Prince’s sage advice that had Gabriel so committed to this cause.
‘You’ll be forced to reform,’ Gabe continued. ‘You won’t be able to afford the extravagant lifestyle you’ve been living. There’ll be no more jet-setting around the world to compete in super yacht races. There’ll be no funding to maintain your super yacht and crew, let alone the after-race partying you indulge in. Nor will you be able to afford all the expensive trinkets you bestow upon your one-night stands.’
Dev released his breath slowly and consciously uncurled his fingers from the tight fists they’d formed. ‘You’re asking me to become somebody else,’ he bit out.
‘No.’ The blue of Gabe’s eyes intensified and he leant forward in earnestness as he spoke. ‘I know you better than you think, Dev—maybe better than you know yourself.’
‘That’s arrogant in the extreme!’
A scoffing sound emerged from Gabriel’s throat. ‘You think you hide your true self from me, but every now and then your guard slips. I get a sense that underneath your party-boy, womanising exterior, you care deeply about important issues which our people and kingdom face.’ Gabriel pointed one finger accusingly when Dev forced out a dismissive laugh. ‘Oh, you try hard to brush everything off glibly and cover your true emotions with sarcastic comments, but time and again when I mention some issue our country is facing, or an issue which impacts adversely on our citizens, I see a flare of concern—of deep caring— even of outraged anger in your eyes.’
Shrugging off his brother’s observations, Dev reached for one of the exquisite pastries baked by the palace’s master pastry chef. ‘You’re way off base.’
Gabe shook his head. ‘It’s only a flash. It fills me with hope for the man I know you are, then it’s gone and I feel I’ve failed you—that I haven’t allowed you to develop the potential you have. I’ve let you run amok and become a spoilt royal because I’ve always held our father’s last words too literally to my heart.’
‘For goodness sake, Gabe! He’s just a baby. Give Dev whatever he wants.’
Dev had no recollection of his father’s last words because he’d only been three at the time, but Eden had relayed them to him on more than one occasion and he knew them backwards.
Their parents had been killed in a car accident. Dev had been crying—demanding a toy from Gabe, who’d resolutely denied it to him, making him sob and whinge all the harder. The few seconds their father took to turn around and chastise Gabe was all it took. His focus off the road, he didn’t see the deer jump out in front of them. He swerved to avoid it, lost control on the icy roads, and plummeted straight over the edge and down the cliff. Both Dev’s parents were killed on impact. It’d been a miracle that the bodyguards travelling in separate cars ahead of and behind them, had managed to reach the wreckage and pull the three children from the back seat before the car burst into flames.
Eden had told Dev that Gabe blamed himself for their parents’ deaths. As a seven-year-old, Gabe had reasoned that if he hadn’t distracted his father—if he’d just given his little brother the toy he’d wanted—their parents would still be alive. From that moment, he’d honoured the last words his father had uttered and he’d always given Dev whatever he’d wanted.
Dev bit into the sweet pastry and mentally swallowed his guilt. That Gabe held himself responsible for his younger brother’s playboy ways was typical. Gabe had always shouldered responsibility for everyone and everything from the second their parents had died.
Trying to calm the cauldron of conflict which churned in his gut, Dev said, ‘You’re wrong, Gabe. I am who I am. There’s no more to me than what you see making headline news.’
‘Bullshit!’ That was a strong outburst for Gabe, who was usually all cool control. ‘I don’t believe it or accept it.’ His words were loud and resolute, his gestures emphatic. ‘You owe it to yourself and our people to live a more meaningful life and I’m going to make sure it happens. I’ve been making plans for some time, and today they commence.’
Each vertebra tightened, but he forced casual dismissal into his voice. ‘What are you planning to do? Force me to sit on a few charitable boards? Send me on a diplomatic mission, or will I go out among our people and kiss a few babies?’
Gabe stood abruptly. ‘I’ll do whatever it takes to ensure you become the man you’re destined to be.’
‘I was destined to be the spare. There is no official role for me in Santaliana.’ He moved one hand in a carefree gesture. ‘I’ve accepted it. You should too.’
‘You may be the spare, but you’re the spare who needs to produce the heir.’
The heavy words dropped into a pool of silence. Their meaning rippled out and made Dev’s blood run cold in his veins. ‘What—are you talking about?’
Gabe turned his back on his brother and walked towards the large window which overlooked the beautiful coastline of Santaliana. His voice was grim, his words barely carrying the short distance across the room as he declared. ‘I won’t marry again, Dev. I won’t have another child.’
Oh geez. Oh no. Dev wanted to get up and go to his brother and hug him tight. Gabe had never recovered from the accidental death of his pregnant wife. It was one more thing he continually blamed himself for—one more thing that made him bury himself in his responsibilities to Santaliana. ‘Gabe. You’re only thirty-four.’ Even as he said it, it seemed hard to believe. Gabe was so staid and serious he seemed much older. ‘You have to move forward. You have to stop blaming yourself—’
Gabe put up a staying hand as he swung around. ‘It’s up to you to marry and produce the next King or Queen of Santaliana.’
Holy hell. ‘No. No way.’
‘You—’
‘No, Gabriel. Listen to me. You have to get past Angelique’s death. It was an accident. It was in no way your fault.’
‘I did my duty in marrying Angelique. I do my duty to our country every day, but I will not marry again. I’ve never asked anything of you before, Dev, but I’m asking you to do this.’ His hand went to his forehead for a moment before he swept it downward in an emphatic gesture. ‘No. I’m not asking you, I’m demanding this of you. Securing the de la Croix royal line has to be your responsibility.’
His brother was deadly serious. Devereaux had never been prone to panic, but right now he had to summon every ounce of control to keep breathing steadily when his lungs wanted to drag in fast, shallow breaths. Pushed into a corner, his first reaction was to attack. Thrusting his chair back, he jumped to his feet. ‘What does your good friend, Khalid, have to say about your intention to go through the rest of your life as a celibate widower?’
‘That—’
‘If I were you, brother, I’d focus on your own life before you start trying to change mine.’ Oh hell. He shouldn’t have said that because Gabe’s life was just way too sad to mention. His brother breathed, lived and slept for Santaliana—immersing himself in his role as monarch instead of living a more balanced life. But, despite the number of times Dev had tried to drag him away from his official duties, Gabe was determined to continue on his present course. Gabe had taken his vows to his country just as surely as a priest made his vows to the church.
‘My life is Santaliana and it’s much more noble an existence than if I was out whoring, gambling and drinking myself to death every night.’ It was the King of Santaliana who faced Dev down—not his brother, Gabriel de la Croix.
There was no point to this argument. Dev tried for a lighter approach. ‘Even if I wanted to marry—which I don’t—I think even you or your friend Khalid would be hard-pressed to find a suitable woman to become my wife.’ The intensity on Gabe’s face didn’t change, so Dev challenged, ‘Can you imagine the sort of woman I’d end up with? Hardly the sort you’d want to be the mother of the next ruler of your kingdom. What nice woman would want to marry a man who’s obviously not into any sort of meaningful relationship?’
‘Except, you’re about to change.’ Each word was tight. ‘You’re about to let the entire world see there’s a different side to you.’
Dev threw his hands up in exasperation. ‘There isn’t a different side to me!’ Gabriel’s mouth set into a tight line. ‘Listen, Gabe. Even if there was, nobody would buy it.’
‘You’re partly right.’ Gabriel gestured accusingly at the photos in the newspaper. ‘After all your very public affairs, it will take a miracle worker to have the world accept that you’ve changed your ways and to see you in an acceptable, desirable light.’
The tension in Dev’s spine started to ease. His brother was finally starting to see the futility of his mission. Yet, there was still an unsettling, determined glint in Gabe’s eyes. Dev’s voice was hard steel, determined to make his brother drop every crazy notion to change his reputation as he stated, ‘Such a person doesn’t exist.’
‘Oh, these miracle workers exist alright and Khalid pointed me towards the best.’ His smile was grim but satisfied. ‘Enter Mac Roberts.’
Dev’s forehead tightened ‘Who?’
‘Your miracle worker—an image consultant.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
Gabe’s laugh was self-mocking. ‘I’m not known for my sense of humour.’
Indeed, he wasn’t.
‘If you’re suddenly trying to cultivate a sense of humour, you’re an abject failure.’
‘This is no joke.’
‘In that case you’ve lost your sanity.’ Dev threw down the napkin he’d been clutching in his fist and it landed next to his plate.
‘Not at all. Khalid pointed out that the Roberts Consultancy Agency has an outstanding record in changing the way their clients are perceived by the public.’
Dev slapped his palm down hard against the table top. ‘Bloody Khalid again!’
‘The Roberts Agency has been instrumental in turning the tide for political leaders,’ Gabe persisted, ignoring his brother’s outburst. ‘They were responsible for getting President Malgari elected in Banzia against all the odds and corruption there.’
‘You want to hire a spin doctor?’ Dev advanced towards his brother, slicing one hand through the air in agitation. ‘How’s that going to look when it leaks to the press?’
Gabe stood his ground. ‘It won’t leak to the press. Mac flies entirely under the radar.’
It was a nightmare of epic proportions. ‘No. No!’
‘Bill Roberts is the founder of the company and he’s the one with the public profile who helps political leaders adjust their image. I spoke to him and he revealed something that he doesn’t freely advertise. His children are also part of the business. Mac Roberts is the one who works with public figures who need their entire public image made over. Discretion is paramount and I only had access to the list of clients who’ve endorsed Mac’s work after I signed the contract, paid the deposit and agreed to the confidentiality clause.’
Dev swore. ‘You’ve already signed the contract? God, Gabe. You must’ve known I’d never agree to this!’
Far from being phased by his denial, Gabe went on to list famous people Mac Roberts had helped. If Dev hadn’t been so horrified by the thought of someone messing with his playboy image, he would’ve been impressed. The entire world recognised how the rock stars, Hollywood actresses and a current Wimbledon tennis champion Gabe listed, had gone from being spoilt brats to being loved by the public. All without the image consultant’s involvement being discovered. The transitions had all seemed progressive and natural—a slow maturing and changing of values of those who’d evidently hired the image consultancy agency.
This guy Roberts was clearly effective but, if Gabe insisted Dev go through with this, the consultant to the rich and famous was about to meet with failure.
Dev had no intention of altering his image for anyone.
The door opened and a maid entered. ‘Pardon me, your Majesty, your Royal Highness.’ She curtsied. ‘Will either of you be requiring anything more for breakfast?’
Dev shook his head. He’d entirely lost his appetite.
‘Leave everything please, Marie,’ Gabe said. ‘I ate earlier, but I’m going to have a little more now.’
As the maid bobbed her head and left the room, Dev couldn’t believe how calmly Gabe sat down at the table and began helping himself to the pastries. ‘Mac Roberts is flying in this morning from London. You’ll have your first meeting at eleven o’clock.’
This morning? He glanced at his watch and saw that the proposed meeting was just two hours away. ‘Just how long have you been planning this?’
‘A few weeks.’ Gabe held up his right hand and used his left hand to tick off his fingers as he made his points. ‘In the last month you’ve swiped out at a member of the paparazzi— reportedly while you were inebriated. You’ve had a soapie actress claim to be pregnant with your child, been photographed with your hands all over a topless waitress, made headlines with the speeding ticket you got when you were in Paris, and been escorted drunk from the Monte Carlo Casino. I’ve almost been forced to have a special room added to the palace just to archive all the newspaper articles that recount your wild behaviour.’
Maybe he had been overdoing it recently …
‘You will meet with Roberts in my study at eleven o’clock sharp, Devereaux.’
Two hours hardly gave him any time at all to pull strings and get a background check on Mac Roberts. He needed to find out exactly what he was up against and just how deeply this guy was likely to dig into his background to try to figure him out and reform him. He opened his mouth once more to protest, but Gabriel wasn’t having a bar of it.
‘That is a royal command,’ his brother proclaimed.
Shit. Shit. Shit.