To find her precious daughter, stolen from her at birth, Princess Carolina will do anything. Including masquerading as a nanny! Jake Maynard, her daughter’s uncle, is all that’s standing in the way of the reunion Caro has yearned for. If only her body got the message he’s the enemy...

Caro knows this powerful billionaire won’t give up the only family he has left. Yet after years of emotional numbness, Jake is reawakening her! He shows Caro a life filled with passion, not protocol, but what will happen when Jake discovers her true identity?

Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love-lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at annie@annie-west.com or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Also by Annie West

Seducing His Enemy’s Daughter

A Vow to Secure His Legacy

The Flaw in Raffaele’s Revenge

The Desert King’s Secret Heir

The Desert King’s Captive Bride

Contracted for the Petrakis Heir

Inherited for the Royal Bed

Her Forgotten Lover’s Heir

The Greek’s Forbidden Innocent

Passion in Paradise collection

Wedding Night Reunion in Greece

Royal Brides for Desert Brothers miniseries

Sheikh’s Royal Baby Revelation

Demanding His Desert Queen

The Princess Seductions miniseries

His Majesty’s Temporary Bride

The Greek’s Forbidden Princess

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.

Revelations of a Secret Princess

Annie West

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09801-4

REVELATIONS OF A SECRET PRINCESS

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This story is dedicated to Agnès Caubert, Fabiola Chenet and all the other special women who make up Les Romantiques.

Thank you for your friendship!

Thank you too for your work in hosting the wonderful Festival du Roman Féminin and for always making this visiting Australian feel welcome.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Note to Readers

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

EPILOGUE

Extract

About the Publisher

CHAPTER ONE

CARO EMERGED FROM the café, huddling into her coat as the wind swirled around her ankles and bit her face. Funny that her skin could feel numb with cold while inside she was all churning heat. Nothing could extinguish that fire inside.

Except the possibility she might fail.

She faltered to a stop, grasping a lamp post with one gloved hand, fighting nausea.

Her head told her success was unlikely.

Her heart urged her on. Not with logic, but with desperate hope.

She’d never been courageous or adventurous. From infancy she’d been trained to do as she was told, never make waves or put herself forward. Her one attempt to break free and make her own decisions had been disastrous.

But that was years ago. She’d changed, reinventing herself in the aftermath of tragedy and pain. Caro might not be naturally intrepid but she was determined. She breathed deep, swallowing sharp, sustaining Alpine air. She’d do whatever it took now to succeed.

Caro looked up the street of the famous Swiss ski resort, ultra-exclusive with its astronomically high prices. Tourists gaped at the elegant shop windows, but they’d be gone by evening, driven away by the chic resort’s unaffordability.

Up a nearby valley was one of the world’s most iconic mountains. In the other direction lay her destination. Setting her jaw, she crunched over a dusting of late snow and got into her small rental car.

Twenty minutes later Caro nosed the car around a bend and emerged in a cleared space that hung partway up a mountain. The view was spectacular but she barely noticed.

She’d assumed she was driving to a ski lodge or an architect-designed home positioned for a multimillion-dollar vista. Instead she looked up at a wall of pale stone, a fairy-tale profusion of towers with steep, angular roofs. There was even a portcullis, raised to reveal a cobbled courtyard.

Caro stared at the centuries-old castle. This was no romantic ruin. It looked solid and meticulously maintained.

She’d known Jake Maynard was rich but he must have money to burn to live here. Her research told her he hadn’t inherited it. His permanent home was in Australia.

She set her jaw. Caro had seen behind the scenes of the rich and famous and knew human frailties lurked there as they did everywhere. Wealth and overt luxury didn’t awe her.

That was the one tiny advantage she had. Caro clung to it, feeling the nervous lurch of her stomach, tasting desperation on her tongue. Slowly she drove under the portcullis with its security camera, feeling each bump of the old cobblestones. Then she parked in the corner of the courtyard, next to a sleek, black vehicle.

It was only when she switched off the ignition and heard the silence thicken around her that she realised her hands shook.

Firming her lips, she reached for her purse, flicked a look in the mirror and pushed the door open.

She could do this.

She would do it.

Two lives depended on it.

‘Ms Rivage is here.’

At the sound of his secretary’s voice, Jake reluctantly looked up from behind his desk. Neil stood in the doorway, his expression bland.

Logic had urged Jake to excise this woman from the shortlist. She didn’t have the experience of the front-running applicants. Yet one small detail in her application had caught Neil’s eye, and Jake’s. Small but vitally important. He raked a hand through his hair and told himself he’d give her fifteen minutes.

Neil stood aside and she walked in.

Jake felt his eyebrows channel down in a frown, his senses humming like the rigging on a yacht when a sudden wind rose. The nape of his neck prickled and his nostrils flared as if sensing...something.

She looked like a nanny straight from central casting. Yet at the same time not. He surveyed her plain skirt suit, scraped-back hair and apparent lack of make-up.

What was it about her that didn’t fit? He’d learned to rely on his instincts and right now they sensed...something.

He got to his feet and walked around the desk, hand outstretched.

‘Ms Rivage.’

His hand engulfed slim, soft fingers, yet her grip was firm as she returned his gesture. Most of the other applicants had non-existent handshakes. Either they’d simpered up at him, or were content to let him take the lead. This one looked him square in the eye.

But only for a moment. Then her brown gaze slewed from his and he knew she stifled anxiety.

Of course she’s anxious. She’s applying for a job. She must know her qualifications aren’t impressive.

Yet his sixth sense tickled, telling him this was more than interview nerves.

‘Please, Ms Rivage, take a seat.’

She nodded. ‘Thank you, Mr Maynard.’

Her voice was deeper than he’d expected, with a husky resonance that teased an altogether earthier part of his consciousness. Perhaps it was the hint of an accent colouring her perfect English. But Jake had never been swayed by a sexy accent. Not unless it was accompanied by an equally sexy body.

Caro Rivage’s body was hard to define behind the boxy jacket and skirt. She was tall in those heels, just half a head shorter than he, and her long legs were slender. She subsided into the chair with a grace that seemed at odds with the sombre suit. Brown clothes, brown eyes, dark, dull brown hair. She should look forgettable yet Jake found it hard to drag his gaze away.

Maybe it was the neat way she angled her ankles beneath her, accentuating an innate femininity that plain suit belied. Or the creamy skin that contrasted so startlingly with the dark suit.

Not completely pale. His gaze traversed her small, lush mouth and high cheekbones, both tinted the palest pink. Not, he’d swear, from make-up. This looked like the genuine article, a peaches and cream complexion, unblemished by the years of sun exposure he was used to seeing in his fellow Australians.

She shifted, her eyes lifting almost to his, then away, making Jake aware he was staring. The knowledge disturbed him. He wasn’t interested in Ms Rivage’s skin. Even if it looked as soft as a petal.

He pulled out his chair and sank into it, sprawling comfortably. Again that swift almost-stare from his guest before she looked down and smoothed her skirt.

Was she afraid of men?

But then she lifted her chin and their gazes collided. He felt the impact as a wave of heat.

Jake stared back, intrigued. What was this sensation? Attraction? Surely not for such a sparrow, even if she did have nice legs and an intriguing face. Suspicion?

Something about her made him cautious.

‘Tell me about yourself, Ms Rivage.’ He leaned back, elbows on the chair arms, and steepled his fingers under his chin.

Jake Maynard’s voice was a delicious rumble that she felt like a burr of pleasure in her veins. Caro blinked, ordering herself not to be fanciful. She was immune to male charm—once bitten, twice shy. Yet even as the thought surfaced, she knew this man wasn’t trying to charm. Despite the gesture of welcome and the barest hint of a welcoming smile, she sensed an intensity of purpose that made her pulse quicken.

Or maybe it was the laser-sharp keenness of his grey eyes beneath coal-black eyebrows. It made his eyes seem diamond bright and knowing, as if he saw beyond her carefully constructed appearance to those secrets she hoarded close.

It took everything she had not to shift in her seat or betray any other sign of weakness. Or break away from that glittering stare.

She drew a deep breath, conscious of the unfamiliar new suit, the pantyhose and heeled shoes that felt so different from the comfortable jeans, skirts and flat shoes she’d worn for the past few years.

The very act of putting on these clothes made her simultaneously grateful for the camouflage and unsettled by the reminder of her other life.

One black eyebrow climbed his broad forehead towards thick, ebony hair, reminding her he was waiting. With that hard but handsome face, powerful physique and enormous fortune Jake Maynard probably wasn’t used to women making him wait.

The thought dampened the worst of Caro’s nerves, helping her focus. She’d been distracted by the aura of strength emanating from him, courtesy of broad shoulders. By even features and that slash of a dimple in one cheek when he offered his half-smile. By his air of strength and dependability.

As if any man could be relied on!

She folded her hands and began. ‘My application speaks for itself. I love working with children and I’m very good at it. As you’ll see from my references.’

Her chin lifted as if anticipating an argument. Even now her father’s habit of squashing her self-confidence had its effect. She expected Jake Maynard to disagree with her claim, though it was true.

For too long those cool eyes held hers, then his gaze fell to the papers before him. Caro’s breath rushed out in relief. She’d have to do better than this if she were to convince him and win the job.

The possibility of being rejected was unthinkable. She bit her lip as he looked up, brows contracting as he read her features.

‘You don’t have formal qualifications.’

‘A degree in early childhood education?’ She shook her head. ‘My experience is all hands on. But you’ll see I’ve done a number of short courses on specific early learning issues.’

He didn’t bother to check her application again, letting it fall to the desk. Caro’s heart plunged with it. Surely that wasn’t it? He wouldn’t write her off so easily, not when he’d decided to interview her!

‘I have to tell you the other short-listed applicants have both practical experience, years of it, plus excellent formal qualifications.’

There it was, the brush-off she’d feared. Nausea churned at the idea of being given her marching orders.

‘Have you read my references? I believe you’ll find them persuasive.’

He sat back further in his chair, as if getting comfortable while he watched her squirm. He didn’t bother glancing at her application.

Maybe the contrast between his bronzed skin and the dark jacket he wore teased her imagination, or perhaps it was his almost insulting air of indolence, but for a second Caro fancied something demonic in the knowing slant of those dark brows. Something fierce and compelling and totally at odds with this comfortable room full of old, leather-bound books.

‘I’m supposed to be awed because one of your referees is a countess?’ Had he memorised her application? Caro was surprised he recalled that level of detail. ‘Unfortunately for you, Ms Rivage, I’m not swayed by an aristocratic title.’

His sneer rankled. Stephanie was a dear friend as well as a client. She’d given her reference in good faith. Caro sat taller, fixing her slouching interviewer with a stare.

‘The key part of the reference is the description of my work, Mr Maynard, not my employer’s title.’

Those straight eyebrows rose as if he was surprised at her response. Did he expect her to sit silently while he picked her application and her friends apart?

‘Her son faced a range of difficulties when I began working with him. Together we made considerable progress.’

‘You claim all his improvement was because of you?’

‘No. It was a team effort that included some specialised programmes. But I was there with him every day, a major part of that.’

That might not sound as good as I did it all myself, but it was the truth.

No sign of approval on those stark features. Maybe that was how Jake Maynard looked while processing information—gaze sharp, brow frowning and mouth pursed. The expression emphasised the heavy planes of his jaw and the slant of his high cheekbones. He reminded Caro of a picture that had fascinated her as a child, of a medieval knight frowning in concentration as he pinioned a flailing dragon the size of small Shetland pony with his lance.

Her sympathies had always been with the little dragon.

‘You think four or five years working as a nanny and preschool assistant make you the best person to look after my niece?’

She’d been wrong. The steely glint in his eyes was more condescending than the medieval knight who hung in a dark corner of the upstairs corridor. It reminded her of her father’s chilly stare. The one that through her childhood had reduced her to apologetic silence.

That, as much as her desperation, stiffened Caro’s spine.

Slowly she shifted position, sitting back in her seat and lifting one leg, crossing it over her other knee, feeling the slide of silky pantyhose. A flicker in that grey-eyed stare told her Jake Maynard noted the movement.

For some reason her chest constricted, as if the air turned thick and hard to breathe. She refused to let it show, instead adopting what she hoped was a relaxed pose.

‘I can’t speak about the other applicants, but if I’m given the opportunity I’ll devote myself to your niece totally. You won’t have any complaints.’

‘That’s a big claim.’

‘But true. I know my capabilities, and my dedication.’ In that at least she was absolutely the best person for the job.

Her stomach plunged. He didn’t look impressed. Why should he? No doubt he had hordes of ultra-qualified specialists at his beck and call. The very real possibility of being ejected without a chance to prove herself seemed more likely by the moment. Then where would she be? What other opportunity would she have?

Caro re-crossed her legs. ‘Clearly you were interested enough in my application to interview me.’

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she stifled fear at the prospect of failing. She’d known her chances were slim yet she’d obstinately clung to hope. This was her one opportunity to make things right. If Jake Maynard had any inkling of why she was really here she’d be out of the door before her feet touched the ground.

The thought flushed heat through her, eddying deep inside and burning her cheeks. Was his niece somewhere close even now?

‘Perhaps I was interested in meeting a woman so confident despite her lack of solid credentials.’

Caro stiffened. His tone hadn’t changed, hadn’t even sharpened, but his words were like harpoons piercing soft flesh.

Fortunately it took more than words or dismissive stares to discomfit her these days.

‘I’m sure, Mr Maynard, you wouldn’t drag applicants out into the wilds of the Alps on a mere whim.’

At least she hoped so. Surely this interview meant she had a chance?

‘Wilds?’ He shook his head. ‘You object to the location? The advertisement made it clear this is a live-in position.’

If he was looking for an excuse to reject her it wouldn’t be that.

‘No, I’m quite content to live in the country. In fact it’s what I’m used to.’

Silvery eyes bored into hers and Caro looked back calmly. Her heart might be hammering an out-of-kilter tempo and her palms might be damp with nerves, but she wouldn’t show it. Better to take the initiative.

‘I understand your niece is from St Ancilla—’

‘Who told you that?’ He leaned forward abruptly, hands planted on the desk, as if ready to vault across the polished wood. Now she registered what his chilly expression had concealed. Protectiveness.

Maybe it was the innate caution of a wealthy, good-looking bachelor, a target for the paparazzi. Yet Caro sensed his protectiveness was for his niece. Caro warmed to him a little. She was glad the little girl had someone to stand up for her and keep her safe.

Out of nowhere emotion swept in, blindsiding Caro. It rose, a choking ball of heat in her throat, making her swallow convulsively. It roiled in her belly and prickled the backs of her eyes. If only she’d been stronger—

‘Are you going to answer me?’

Caro blinked and met that searing stare, hating that moment of weakness. ‘I did my research before applying for the position.’

For the first time since she’d walked into this room, Jake Maynard didn’t look completely in control, despite his perfectly tailored clothes, his big desk and air of authority. ‘That’s not common knowledge.’

Fear rippled through her. Had she slipped up already? Her mind raced, thinking through what she’d said.

‘It may not be common knowledge here, but in St Ancilla it’s no secret.’ She paused. ‘The accident that killed her parents was reported by the local press.’ When still he didn’t say anything Caro continued. ‘I’m very sorry for your loss. It must be a difficult time for you and your niece.’

Caro’s heart squeezed. If her information was right, and she knew it was, little Ariane had been orphaned twice. Once as a newborn and then again a month ago when her adoptive parents died in a severe storm. The poor mite had had a rough start to life.

Caro was determined that the child’s future would be brighter. In so many ways.

‘And you somehow linked that small news item to my advertisement? I don’t recall the St Ancillan press mentioning me.’

He sounded sceptical and she couldn’t blame him. In fact he sounded downright suspicious.

That was the last thing Caro needed.

Jake Maynard was a self-made multibillionaire. You didn’t become a world-class financier without being clever and insightful, or by taking people at face value. Why had she ever thought this might be straightforward?

The answer was simple. Because she needed it to be.

She smoothed her hands over her skirt, buying time to conquer her emotions.

‘A friend lives in that part of St Ancilla and happened to mention that you were now Ariane’s guardian.’ Caro paused, hearing the slight wobble in her voice as she said the little girl’s name. Stupid to let emotion affect her now. She couldn’t afford any sign of weakness. This man would pounce on it mercilessly. She looked straight at Jake Maynard and spread her hands in an open gesture. ‘Later, when I saw your advertisement I put two and two together.’

‘I see.’ He leaned back again and she tried not to let her gaze drift to those imposing shoulders or that strong jaw. ‘You do get around, don’t you? First in St Ancilla, now in Switzerland.’

Why couldn’t Jake Maynard be easy-going and friendly? Eager to employ a nanny from Ariane’s island homeland in the Mediterranean?

Caro met his gaze with the polite smile she’d perfected as a child. The one her father had approved when she needed to look happy for the press.

She had no intention of admitting she only knew of Jake Maynard’s search for a nanny because she’d been seeking a chance to meet Ariane. Let him think she was in Switzerland for some other reason.

‘Fortunately both air travel and the Internet are available to many of us now, Mr Maynard.’

A hint of a smile turned up the corner of his mouth and for a second Caro saw a glimmer of appreciation in that hard gaze, making it look almost warm. The effect was startling.

She sucked in a slow breath, to her consternation feeling her bra scratch flesh that suddenly felt oversensitive. Deep inside flared a kernel of heat that had nothing to do with nerves. It felt like feminine awareness.

Caro told herself she was imagining things. She was immune to men.

‘You think I should give you the job because you come from the same country as my niece?’

She brushed her sleeve, giving herself a moment’s respite from that searching gaze.

‘I think it’s useful that I speak the language and understand the culture. Such things are comforting, especially at a time of loss.’ She paused. ‘Even if she’s not going to live there, there’s a strong argument for her keeping her native language.’

Slowly he inclined his head, as if reluctant to agree. ‘Frankly that’s the only reason you’re here, Ms Rivage. Because Ariane needs someone who can speak Ancillan as well as English. She’s lost her parents but I don’t want her to lose her heritage too.’

His voice hit a gravel note and something shifted inside her. For the first time since Caro entered this imposing library she felt real sympathy for the man before her. His expression hadn’t altered yet that tiny crack in his voice hinted at deep-buried grief.

He might remind her of a sexy fallen angel with that blatantly raw masculinity and a simmering impatience that bordered on arrogance, but he’d recently lost his sister and brother-in-law. Plus inherited responsibility for his niece.

He probably wasn’t at his best.

‘I have some experience of dealing with loss, Mr Maynard. If you give me the chance I’ll do everything I can to support your niece and help her thrive.’

His eyes held hers and for the first time she sensed he wasn’t quite so negative. Was it wishful thinking?

She didn’t have a chance to find out for there was a tap on the door and it swung open.

‘Sorry to interrupt, Jake, Ms Rivage.’ It was the secretary, Neil Tompkins, who’d escorted her upstairs. ‘There’s a call I really think you need to take. The Geneva consortium.’

Jake Maynard pushed his chair back. ‘My apologies, Ms Rivage. This is bad timing but it’s crucial I take this.’

Even so, Caro gave him credit, he didn’t simply march out, but waited for her response.

‘Of course, Mr Maynard.’

‘I won’t keep you long.’ Then the pair disappeared, the studded oak door closing behind them.

Caro shot to her feet as if from a catapult. Sitting under that icy scrutiny had taken its toll. Leaving her bag beside her chair, she paced the room, drawn to the incredible vista of snowy mountains, so different from her Mediterranean home.

Her mind raced through what he’d said and how she’d responded. What she could have said better. What she could say to sway him on his return.

If the other applicants were so much more experienced it was unlikely he’d entrust his precious niece to her. On the other hand, Ancillan wasn’t a common language. Its origins were ancient, with roots in classical Greek and even, the linguists thought, Phoenician, but influenced over the centuries by trade and conquest so it had traces of Italian, Arabic and even Viking borrowings. If she was the only applicant who could speak it she had a chance.

The door banged open and Caro swung around. But it wasn’t Jake Maynard who entered, nor was it the door to his secretary’s office that stood open. It was a door on the other side of the room.

In front of it, poised as if in mid-flight, was a small, dishevelled figure. Her frilly dress was rumpled and her plaits were half undone so her head was surrounded by a bright bronze nimbus of curls.

Caro’s heart stopped.

She breathed. She must have, for she didn’t black out. But she couldn’t move.

Memory swamped her as the little girl turned a tear-stained face and drowned violet eyes met hers.

Caro felt a trembling begin in the soles of her feet and work its way up her legs to her hands and belly. She swallowed then swallowed again, unable to moisten her suddenly arid mouth.

She’d struggled, hoped and prayed for this moment. But nothing had prepared her for the raw shock of reality.

Those eyes. That hair.

She was thrown back in time to her own childhood. To the only person in the world who’d ever loved her. To gentle hands, tender words and a thick mass of curls of the same distinctive burnished bronze.

‘Where’s Uncle Jake?’

The little girl’s words dragged Caro back to the present. She tried to smile but her mouth trembled too much. Her knees gave way and she sank onto the padded window seat, her hand pressed to her middle as if to still the tumult inside.

‘He’ll be back in a minute.’ Her voice was barely audible, rough with emotion.

The girl’s eyes widened. ‘You speak like me!’

Caro hadn’t realised she’d spoken Ancillan.

Then the girl she’d come all this way to find, the girl she hadn’t known about till a few weeks ago, slowly crossed the room towards her.

Caro went hot then cold as relief, disbelief and wonder hit. She was torn between the urge to grin and the need to sob.

Or to gather Ariane close and never let her go.

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