Princess In The Iron Mask. Victoria Parker

herself. Tears stung like tiny daggers but she swallowed every one even as they sliced at her throat. She refused to cry in front of this man.

      For the first time his eyes flicked away from her. ‘Do you or do you not require funding to complete your work?’

      ‘If you’ve discussed this with Tate, then you already know I do.’

      ‘Then consider it a favour for a favour,’ he said amiably, his gaze returning, eyes narrowed on her face.

      ‘A favour? What was the outcome of this meeting?’ Stupid, stupid question—but she needed him to say the words before she gave up all hope.

      ‘I informed Mr Tate that I would certainly consider providing the additional three point five million pounds of necessary funding if certain conditions were met. By you.’

      ‘You … You …’ The lab swirled before her eyes, gaining speed as if she were in the centre of a whirlwind. No. No. She was not going back. ‘I’ll find another way to get the money,’ she said, desperation blurring her mind. Don’t be stupid, Claudia. You need the money. Take the money. You just asked yourself what your parents have ever done for you…let them do this. But at what cost? Her heart? Her hard-won independence and the little pride she had left? ‘I will not be bought.’

      The sides of his face pulsed as he clenched his jaw. ‘Then I shall withdraw the offer. You can go to Ryan Tate and explain your actions. Neither of you will find such a large sum of money within the next few days. I guarantee it. So tell me,’ he said, drawing it out, encompassing the room with one sweep of his hand, ‘just how important is your work, Claudia?’

      Stomach cramping, she forced her heels into the ground to stop her body from doubling over.

      The man was heartless. He knew how important her research was to her. Knew of her personal connection. And still he was nigh on blackmailing her! No, he was using her weakness against her. Bizarrely, instead of hatred she felt utter disappointment. In both of them. Why in Lucas she had no idea. But in herself it was the heart-pumping, blood-fizzing desire that brought her such misery. So there ended her life lesson on physical attraction. She couldn’t even trust her body to decipher the good from the bad. Then again, her body had let her down since she was ten years old.

      ‘What exactly are these conditions?’ she asked, proud of her unwavering voice.

      ‘Three weeks’ leave. Effective from nine this morning. Coupled with your return to Arunthia.’

      Claudia shook her head slowly. ‘Have you no conscience?’

      Whether it was his words—spoken like an automaton, as if he were programmed—or his face—a picture of haughty detachment—her heart was torn wide open.

      ‘I have a duty, Claudia. As do you. The choice is yours.’