Brooding Billionaire, Impoverished Princess. Robyn Donald

he’d heard rumours of a couple of serious relationships. Since when had he allowed himself to worry about rumours? The elegant, intelligent, exquisitely mannered Princess with social kudos to spare would be the perfect wife for any man who could afford her.

      With Gerd’s marriage a sure thing, had Serina seen Rosie’s half-brother—certainly not royal, but rich and well-connected—as a possible second-best?

      And if Serina knew more about her brother’s conspiracy than Gerd’s security men had been able to uncover, then a wealthy, besotted husband would be a definite asset in their plans.

      Mentally he shrugged. It wouldn’t be the first time a woman had pursued him for reasons of her own, and he doubted if it would be the last. And if Princess Serina thought she could manipulate him into anything with coyness she was hugely mistaken.

      He might find her very attractive, but he was fully in control of his sexual urges.

      If she had wondered whether he was good husband material, she was clearly now having second thoughts. On that bed she’d catapulted out of his arms as though he’d been the unknown, terrifying pursuer of her dream.

      Or perhaps, he thought cynically, she’d decided that giving in too soon would lower her value in his eyes…

      He was surprised at his relief when the arrival of the steward offering drinks before the meal interrupted his thoughts.

      After she’d eaten Serina opened her elderly laptop to map out several future columns. The previous night she’d spent some of her sleepless hours on the Internet researching New Zealand and its plant life.

      ‘Anything I can help you with?’Alex asked casually.

      ‘I don’t know.’ But he seemed interested, so she went on, ‘I emailed my editor, and she’s quite excited about my visit to New Zealand. Europeans know all about formal and English country gardens, but she and I are sure the readers will enjoy something different and new.’

      Alex said, ‘Most of the gardens will be very informal, and you won’t be able to give your readers a titillating glimpse into the private lives of the aristocracy. We don’t have one.’

      ‘Really?’ Serina didn’t try to repress her sarcasm. Was he being deliberately insulting? OK, so he had a point; on occasion she’d inserted innocuous information about the owners in her column, but she hoped that wasn’t the main reason for her readers’ loyalty.

      ‘Actually,’ she purred sweetly, ‘if you’d ever read my column you’d know that the gardens are the stars, not the people who own them. And to make sure I haven’t inadvertently invaded the owners’ privacy I show them the copy before it goes to the editor.’

      ‘So it’s a collaborative enterprise?’

      Repressing an unusual impulse to snap back, she returned, ‘Besides, if I relied on gossip to sell my work I’d soon find my choice of gardens drying up. I’ve done some research, and it seems that in Northland alone there are several magnificent places that I’m sure would interest my readers.’ Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. ‘How about yours?’