Page 47 of Stranded with His Runaway Bride

Leo would not be so heartless. He let go of that dream.

Now there was another to let slip away.

He shook her gently. Violetta stirred, looking up at him with luminous, trusting eyes. The breath caught in his throat.

‘We need to get up,’ he said, eventually. ‘They’re coming for us.’

Through a gap in the shutters Violetta watched the helicopter touch down on the lawns, its fuselage resplendent with the scarlet and gold of the von Frohburg coat of arms. It was a great shiny beast, big enough to seat twelve in luxurious comfort. Rivalling any used by the most powerful leaders on the planet.

The Della Torres were rich, but they had only one small private jet at their disposal. Violetta knew this helicopter was only part of the von Frohburgs’ royal fleet. It was a compelling physical representation of their power.

How easily they could swallow up San Nicolo, but they could also support it and help it to grow.

A new future was possible. One where a mancouldstand by her side, as her lover, as her equal. Violetta felt a surge of excitement, of confidence. Whatever difficulties her uncle was about to throw her way, if she had Leo to lean on and lend her his strength she could achieve anything.

The steps of the helicopter lowered and Seb appeared.

Violetta watched as Leo approached, crossing the gravel with his long, powerful stride. Even dressed in last night’s creased shirt and crumpled black trousers he was still the quintessential alpha male.

Tender, well-loved muscles pulsed in recognition. He was her mate. Just looking at him rocked her to her toes.

A second figure emerged from the helicopter and Violetta’s brow creased. San Nicolo’s former prime minister was here?

Signor Carello had been dismissed when her parents died and Uncle Guido had assumed the regency. Her uncle had cited poor governance as the reason at the time, though his evidence had been flimsy at best.

If he was here now and her uncle was not, then something serious had happened.

What had Leo said? Find good people who share your values to work with. Signor Carello was one of those. He’d always taken time to listen to her, answered her questions, taken her seriously.

As far as she knew she was now Grand Duchess, which she’d claimed she’d wanted more than anything. Time to step up and take responsibility. Perhaps she could start by working with this man.

She tugged on her wedding shoes and that feathered beauty of a dress and, because it was probably the worst outfit for such an occasion, she pulled on Leo’s tailcoat to add a sombre note. It swamped her but at least it made her look less frivolous.

She combed her fingers through her hair and twisted it down over one shoulder. She left the house and headed towards the men. Their expressions altering as they saw her. The one she enjoyed most was Leo’s. His warm gaze rested on her until she arrived at his side.

Seb was the first to greet her.

‘Grand Duchessa, may I say how very lovely you look this morning?’ He took her hands and lifted each in turn to his lips.

From Leo came an odd, low growl, which seemed to amuse Seb enormously. Leo simply glared at him.

She freed her hands and offered one to Signor Carello, who bent low over it.

‘Your Highness, we are most relieved that you are safe and well.’

‘Thank you, Signor Carello. Forgive me, I’m confused. Where is my uncle?’

He sent a speaking glance to Leo, who gave a brief nod.

‘Tell her everything,’ he said. ‘She’s the grand duchess now. She needs to know what’s happened.’

‘Ma’am, I apologise for my unannounced arrival but I have some shocking news.’

First, he said, she should be reassured that, unlike Grimentz, which had suffered significant and devastating damage, San Nicolo had been spared the brunt of the storm.

Violetta’s gaze flew to Leo’s. His expression grim, he merely nodded for Signor Carello to continue.

In the grand duchy there was minor damage, a few flooded vineyards, power lines down, but there was more to tell. Much more and every bit as catastrophic as if the storm had done its worst.

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