He slung his hands into the pockets of his tux, ignoring the people staring at him as he headed into the huge entrance hall—filled with another enormous Christmas tree and enough festive bling to make him wince. He grabbed a flute of champagne from one of the wait staff and took a heavy draught of the vintage bubbles to calm the edgy feeling in his gut.
Unfortunately, it didn’t help much, because the tart taste of the champagne triggered a vision of wide cat-like eyes alight with shock when he’d informed Freya of the cost of a bottle of vintage Dom Perignon.
He shook off the memory. Just another clever trick to make him think she wasn’t entitled royalty who would always look down on a former street rat like him.
Once he’d cornered her father, and made him an offer he wouldn’t refuse, he was out of here. If he was lucky, he wouldn’t even have to see her again. Let alone smell her. That intoxicating mix of roses and female spice that still invaded his dreams, too.
Whoever the new investor was, Theo didn’t give a damn if the guy was about to marry Princess Freya. What mattered was that Theo got his hands on the port land.
He strolled into the stunning ballroom, where the gold plaster work was adorned in lush festive greenery, and the antique chandeliers sprinkled the guests with ambient light. But instead of making his way towards the throne room—where that pompous bastard was probably holding court—he let his gaze roam over the crowd, searching for a woman in shimmering gold, her soft chestnut hair hanging in tendrils to accentuate a slender neck, her figure like a work of art, and her wide emerald eyes full of erotic secrets…
When he couldn’t find her, he cursed again.
‘What is the meaning of this, Freya? Why are you not dressed? We are announcing the engagement tonight. And Monsieur Faron was expecting to spend some time with you afterwards, in private, to celebrate your upcoming union.’
Freya steeled herself against her father’s frigid tone, and the fury in his eyes, even as her flesh crawled with revulsion. The French financier was sixty if he was a day. And she would rather shoot herself than end up married to the man, but she hadn’t made the mistake she’d made with the Caras brothers and let her father know she was not prepared to be bullied or blackmailed into an arranged marriage. Because she had a plan now, which involved taking her future into her own hands.
Letting her father know, even for a second, she had no intention of becoming a bartered bride would risk making him even more irrational… And controlling. He’d already spent the last three months punishing her for what had happened with Theo Caras that fateful night in September. The night when she’d let the Greek tycoon seduce her into a puddle of need and compromise her freedom even more.
At least, that was not a problem with Faron.
But tonight was the night she would make a break for freedom. The annual Winter Ball would act as cover, her father would be busy fawning over Faron—and she would have until midday tomorrow before anyone would come to check on her. The palace staff were always super busy on the clean-up after one of these events. And she’d already requested that she not be disturbed until midday.
Once she was out of the palace, she had planned a route to Switzerland—where she could start to build a new life with the money she’d made selling her grandmother’s jewellery online. Once she was away from Galicos, her father would find it much harder to control her—and if he sent her brothers to military school, she would find a way to get them out, as soon as she could.
Everything was finally ready. Her plan had required courage and ingenuity and would still require a lot of luck, but it had to be tonight, before she was forced to spend time alone with Faron. Up to now, all her meetings with the man had been chaperoned by her ladies-in-waiting, as was the protocol for the royal household. She didn’t know what her father planned to happen tonight, while she was supposedly ‘celebrating the union’ with her fiancé in private, but she did not intend to find out. Faron might be old, but he was bigger than her and not decrepit, and he’d watched her with a gleam in his eye that had made her nauseous.
She tugged the bedsheet up to her chest, and coughed, aware of the red glow on her cheeks caused by the hot-water bottle she had tucked under her pillow: ‘I’m so sorry, Papa. But I have a temperature, and I ache all over.’ Not entirely untrue as she had been on edge for days putting the final elements of her escape in place. ‘I really do not think Monsieur Faron would want to catch the flu. Could we postpone the announcement for a few days?’
‘No, we cannot…’ Her father’s brow lowered, making her wonder again why he was so desperate to get this marriage arranged so quickly. He marched across her room and placed his hand on her brow.
The shock of feeling his touch, for the first time in years, made her tense. But he lifted his hand almost instantly and swore.
‘Fine. You need not attend. But the announcement will go ahead, and I expect you to be well tomorrow night—when I will arrange for Faron to see you alone at last. He is tired of waiting.’
She nodded, the nausea threatening to gag her. ‘Of course, Papa.’
His lips twisted in a cruel smile. ‘It is a shame you will not be there tonight. Did you know the younger Caras requested an invitation?’
The mention of Theo Caras had her heart thundering. The furious mix of emotions shocked her—almost as much as the heat blasting through her bloodstream again. How could she still have such a volatile reaction to that man, when he had tried to use her as surely as her father, and indeed Faron, intended to.
‘Why would he return to Galicos?’ she asked, hating that she even cared about the answer to that question.
‘He still wants the coastal land, of course.’ Her father’s gaze swept over her with a contempt that made the nausea return. ‘And I dare say the low life still wants you.’
The memory of Theo Caras’ gaze—the dark intensity making her pulse points pound—and the feel of his touch, his lips, his kisses—so sure, so insistent, so devastating—had her thundering pulse dropping into her abdomen.
‘I was looking forward to telling him he will never possess you now,’ her father added. ‘I wanted you there to emphasise the point when I gave your hand in marriage to Faron. But I dare say he will get the message, regardless.’
Her father chuckled, the heartless sound chilling Freya to the bone.
‘Rest well tonight, my dear. Faron will expect you to be attentive tomorrow, and so will I.’
He stalked out of the room and slammed the door.
It took Freya several moments to stop shivering. She swallowed down the nausea, and scrambled out of bed, then rushed over to lock the bedroom door. Dropping to her knees, she located the old suitcase she had hidden beneath the bed containing the clothing she had ‘liberated’ from her brother’s wardrobe weeks ago, a burner phone and two lengths of nylon rope she had purchased online, plus the passport she had spent months and a small fortune acquiring on the black market with the help of one of the stable lads.
As she threw on the boy’s clothing, she forced the betraying thoughts of Theo Caras to one side. The way he had looked at her, touched her, as if he owned her. She didn’t want his attention or need it. She didn’t need any man. Especially a man such as Caras, who was as cynical and heartless as Faron and her father but just came in much more attractive packaging.
