If The Ring Fits...

Once upon a time, there lived a prince

who could not find a bride. Fearing the

family line would end, the prince’s mother

gave him an enchanted ring that would fit

only his one true love. Maidens traveled

from near and far to try on the ring, but

to no avail. Then, one day, the daughter of

a visiting merchant slipped the ring onto

her finger—a perfect fit. Upon the royal

wedding, the prince fell in love with his

princess bride, and his marriage thrived.

Untold prosperity, happiness and peace

befell the citizens of his country. And all

lived happily ever after.

As the years passed, the legend of the

royal engagement ring evolved and

became tradition. To this day, if the ruling

or crown prince has not wed by his

thirtieth year, unwed females of

marriageable age are encouraged to try

on the ring. If the ring fits, within seven

days the prince must marry the woman

wearing it, or abdicate the throne.

And our story begins…

Dear Reader,

Not only is February the month for lovers, it is the second month for readers to enjoy exciting celebratory titles across all Silhouette series. Throughout 2000, Silhouette Books will be commemorating twenty years of publishing the best in contemporary category romance fiction. This month’s Silhouette Romance lineup continues our winning tradition.

Carla Cassidy offers an emotional VIRGIN BRIDES title, in which a baby on the doorstep sparks a second chance for a couple who’d once been Waiting for the Wedding—their own!—and might be again.…Susan Meier’s charming miniseries BREWSTER BABY BOOM continues with Bringing Up Babies as black sheep brother Chas Brewster finds himself falling for the young nanny hired to tend his triplet half siblings.

A beautiful horse trainer’s quest for her roots leads her to two men in Moyra Tarling’s The Family Diamond. Simon Says…Marry Me! is the premiere of Myrna Mackenzie’s THE WEDDING AUCTION. Don’t miss a single story in this engaging three-book miniseries. A pregnant bride-for-hire dreams of making The Double Heart Ranch a real home, but first she must convince her husband in this heart-tugger by Leanna Wilson. And If the Ring Fits… some lucky woman gets to marry a prince! In this sparkling debut Romance from Melissa McClone, an accident-prone American heiress finds herself a royal bride-to-be!

In coming months, look for Diana Palmer, a Joan Hohl-Kasey Michaels duet and much more. It’s an exciting year for Silhouette Books, and we invite you to join the celebration!

Happy Reading!

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

If The Ring Fits…

Melissa McClone

To Mary-Theresa Hussey,

for planting the seed and letting it grow.

Books by Melissa McClone

Silhouette Romance

If the Ring Fits… #1431

Silhouette Yours Truly

Fiancé for the Night

MELISSA MCCLONE

With a degree in mechanical engineering from Stanford University, the last thing Melissa McClone ever thought she would be doing is writing romance novels, but analyzing engines for a major U.S. airline just couldn’t compete with her “happily-ever-afters.”

When she isn’t writing, caring for her toddler or doing laundry, Melissa loves to curl up on the couch with a cup of tea, her cats and a good book. She is also a big fan of The X-Files and enjoys watching home decorating shows to get ideas for her house—a 1939 cottage that is slowly being renovated.

Melissa lives in Lake Oswego, Oregon, with her own real-life hero husband, daughter, two lovable, but oh-so-spoiled indoor cats and a no-longer-stray outdoor kitty who decided to call the garage home. Melissa loves to hear from readers. You can write to her at P.O. Box 63, Lake Oswego, OR 97034.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Chapter One

“Did you know she set fire to the White House, Your Highness?” Didier Alois whispered.

His Serene Highness Prince Richard de Thierry of San Montico stared at the unlikely pyromaniac—a young woman with a heart-shaped face and striking emerald eyes that matched her gown. The fitted bodice accentuated her cleavage and small waist. Her curly auburn hair flowed like silk past her shoulders and glimmered beneath the light of the crystal chandelier. Making her way along the Great Hall and the slow-moving receiving line, she curtsied and flashed a dazzling smile at dignitaries and royalty.

“Who is she?”

“Christina Armstrong, Your Highness,” Didier answered, loud enough to be heard above the din of the guests, but soft enough to be heard only by Richard.

Trust Didi to know everything about the guests attending the royal birthday ball. Then again, as royal advisor that was his job.

Richard wondered what else his best friend knew about Christina Armstrong. He was certain they had never met, but something about her seemed familiar. He noticed the older gentleman escorting her. And then it hit Richard. “Armstrong? As in Alan Armstrong, billionaire CEO and patriarch of America’s second most famous family?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Richard knew the type—he had been engaged to one—a rich man’s daughter who still used her daddy’s titanium card. Wealthy, spoiled, a title-seeking princess wanna-be.

He clenched his gloved hands. “I told my mother not to invite any Americans. You know how they are about…royalty.”

“I doubt your mother had a choice but to invite them, considering the substantial donation Armstrong International made to her charity fund.” Didier hesitated. “Not all American women are like—”

“This has nothing to do with her.” Nothing at all. But the way Richard’s chest tightened told him it did. Regaining control, he lowered his voice. “This is my birthday. I should have been consulted about the guest list.”

“Judging from the quality of the women who have arrived, I believe Princess Marguerite did quite well without your input, Your Highness.” Didier smiled. “I must say, Christina Armstrong even looks like a princess. She’s quite lovely. And with her upbringing and connections—”

“She is nothing more than an American heiress.”

“The legend cares nothing about—”

“The legend, Didi?” Simply saying the word “legend” put a bitter taste in Richard’s mouth. “Do you truly believe the royal engagement ring is going to fit one of these women, that we will find true love and everlasting happiness, that the island will prosper with our marriage?”

“I do, Your Highness.”

Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. Even logical Didier believed in the Legend of the Ring, in magic. But Richard knew better. The pursuit of true love—any kind of love—brought only heartache. Magic did not exist. Yet duty to his family and his country bound him to the legend. If only he had married…

Strains of Vivaldi, played by the seventy-piece orchestra, drifted in from the ballroom. They might as well play a requiem for all the fun Richard would have tonight. He knew what to expect, and he dreaded it.

Women, dressed in designer gowns, dreamed of trying on the ring and having it fit. Men, wearing tuxedos, waited to console those it did not fit. The air kissing, the meaningless toasts, the inconsequential conversations. His so-called guests had less substance than the effervescent bubbles rising in the overpriced champagne his mother had ordered.

He should never have agreed to this farce of a party. Never. He should be sailing, relaxing on his yacht and drinking his favorite beer. If it were not for the legend…

The Legend.

Richard wanted no part of it. He didn’t believe in the legend any more than he believed in the tooth fairy or love at first sight. Perhaps a hundred years ago, legends made some sort of sense, but not today.

He was following his father’s wish and bringing San Montico into the present, but it was a monumentally slow task. Each step toward progress was a battle against the majority who resisted change. The harder Richard pushed for progress, the harder the people fought against it. The citizens of the island clung to old-fashioned traditions and myths like drowning rats on lifelines during a raging storm at sea.

It had not taken Richard long to realize the antiquated customs, such as the Legend of the Ring, that people held so dear to their hearts prevented San Montico from moving forward. Only by doing away with the old ways could real progress take place. Once Richard proved the legend was nothing more than a fairy tale, San Montico could take a giant leap toward modernization. It was the best thing for his country, the best thing for himself.

“The legend is pure fantasy, Didi, and I will prove it. As soon as the clock strikes midnight, this will be over.”

“Perhaps it will be only the beginning. The legend has proved itself true in the past, Your Highness.”

Richard would not believe it. “It is nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy. The legend came true because my ancestors, including my own parents, chose to make it come true. I choose not to. Why don’t you get married and take the pressure off me?”

Didier sighed. “If you recall, Your Highness, tradition dictates I not marry until you do.”

Another stupid custom. Richard’s marital status should have nothing to do with his royal advisor’s. If only Didier wasn’t so entrenched in following the “old” ways. “I should have known there was another reason for you to want me to marry.”

“My only reason has to do with our country. You need to find a wife, Your Highness.”

“I have tried to find a wife, Didi.” Richard had done everything possible not to fall prey to the legend. He had dated more than his share of women. Up until six months ago, he thought he had found the one, only to be hugely mistaken. Since then, it had been a race to find another. But he could not open up his heart to just anyone. “I’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty. Surely that must count.”

“But none of your efforts has…succeeded, Your Highness. You are still unmarried, and San Montico needs an heir.”

Richard was tired of hearing what San Montico expected of him. He knew. It had been drummed into him from the day he was born. He straightened his gloves. “I can provide an heir without marrying.”

Didier cringed. “Your Highness.”

Perhaps Richard had overstepped the boundary with that one, but he couldn’t help himself. No one was on his side. The entire island, including his mother and uncle, expected him to fall in love and marry one of the women attending his birthday ball. “Look at the problems other royal families have had, especially the Windsors. An arranged marriage simply to provide an heir makes no sense and adds nothing but more stress to an outdated institution.”

“Are you talking about matrimony or monarchies, Your Highness?”

Leave it to Didier to make Richard laugh.

“We will have to finish this discussion later,” Didier whispered. “Here comes Mr. Armstrong and his daughter, Your Highness.”

Richard nodded.

The dignified, tuxedo-clad Alan Armstrong bowed in front of him. “Your Highness, may I present my daughter, Christina.”

Attractive, yes. Princess material, no. Her rosy blush and wide eyes told Richard she was impressed by him, probably even in awe of him. What more could he expect from an American? When he married, he would select a woman who saw him as a man, not a prince. In the meantime, he forced a smile. “It is my pleasure to meet your lovely daughter.”

She curtsied. “Happy birthday, Your Gorgeous, I mean, Your Highness.”

Richard refrained from rolling his eyes. “Thank you, Miss Armstrong.” He raised her trembling hand to his mouth and kissed it. Her skin felt soft and warm beneath his lips. He caught the faint scent of cocoa butter on her honeyed-tan skin. Had she sunbathed topless at the beach today? “I am delighted you could come.”

As he released her hand, she dropped her beaded clutch bag. Bending over, he reached for it. So did Christina and thwacked her head against his forehead. Jerking away, she stumbled, but her father’s quick action saved her from falling onto the marble floor.

“I’m so sorry.” She touched Richard’s arm—a breach in royal protocol—and he stiffened. “Are you okay, Your Highness?”

The sooner he got rid of her, the better. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his head, Richard handed her the bag. “I am fine.”

Before Christina could say or do anything else, her father pushed her toward the end of the receiving line. “Your Highness, my wife sends her regrets for missing your birthday ball, but she had a prior engagement.”

As Richard nodded, he caught a glimpse of Christina walking toward the ballroom and watched the sway of her gown. Her image blurred slightly as if she were an angel surrounded by clouds. An angel, she wasn’t. He must have hit his head harder than he realized. Richard rubbed his forehead, and she glanced back at him. Their gazes locked for an instant. At the same time, she reached forward to shake the extended hand of…

No.

Fighting the urge to cry out, Richard gritted his teeth. Christina shook the hand, not of a man, but a suit of armor. One of the chain mail gloves came off, leaving the priceless antiquity handless.

Damn. Not even the bloodiest of battles fought preserving San Montico from French and Spanish invaders had destroyed the armor, but this woman, this American…His muscles tightened; his blood pressure soared. Add another headache to his already aching forehead. Christina stared at the glove in horror, then tried to hide it behind her small purse. Alan Armstrong muttered what sounded like a well-rehearsed apology.

Richard accepted the apology with an obligatory smile. Now was not the time to show emotion. Not with the palace full of guests. He would remain calm, impassive. It was only a glove, a glove that had belonged to his family for ages. He stared at Christina. “Do you need assistance, Miss Armstrong?”

She raised the glove and grinned. “I seem to have found an extra hand already.”

At least she had a sense of humor. And she had not set the palace on fire. Yet. Richard breathed a sigh of relief. “One can never have too many hands.”

Her eyes sparkled. “What should I do with, uh, this?”

“Didier,” Richard said, “please assist Miss Armstrong.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Didier stepped away from him and took the glove from her. “I’m sorry for any inconvenience.”

“I’m sorry for breaking it,” Christina said.

“You didn’t break it,” Didier said before Richard could answer. “It’s…old.”

Just like all the other irreplaceable works of art in the palace. Richard had been warned about her setting fire to the White House. He would not allow the same nonsense to happen here—the legend was nonsense enough. He would make sure someone kept Christina Armstrong away from any open flames. It was going to be a long enough night without any unexpected pyrotechnics.

Armstrongs are never impressed. Armstrongs are never impressed. The mantra of her snobbish family echoed in her mind. Christina had always had a difficult time remembering not to be impressed, but tonight it was impossible. It was all she could do not to stare, openmouthed. Her family was obscenely wealthy—and often flaunted the fact—but this…She had never seen such a tasteful display of riches. Exquisite antiques, famous paintings by the masters, breathtaking chandeliers and tantalizing buffets of gourmet cuisine filled each of the public rooms at the fairy-tale-worthy San Montico palace. But none of those wonderful treasures came close to the beauty of the prince himself.

Simply a glimpse of him made her pulse quicken. Bells chimed and the sound hung in the festive air, but Christina realized it was only the clinking of crystal champagne flutes.

Exuding an aura of charm that drew people in like a tractor beam, Prince Richard spoke with a small group of women who hung on his every word. Christina stood a polite distance away. She wanted to memorize everything about him so she could sketch a drawing when she returned to her hotel room.

He was Prince Charming in the flesh. Nothing, including the elaborate tapestry that hung on the wall behind him or the sparkling jewels the women wore, could compare to Prince Richard in his white uniform with shiny gold trim and royal-blue sash. The romantic melody played by a harpist in the corner echoed her sentiments.

Prince Richard smiled, and Christina drew in a sharp breath. No man deserved to be that good-looking. Sinfully sexy. That was the only way to describe him. Over six feet tall, he carried himself with a regal air. His aristocratic nose, high cheekbones and chiseled features were softened by his full lips, to-die-for lush lashes and a boyish dimple on his left cheek that appeared every so often when he smiled. The contrast—devastating. With eyes the color of the water surrounding the island of Santorini and thick, sun-bleached wavy hair, the prince had been dubbed the catch of the decade.

Catch of the century was a better title.

Too bad he was a prince whose every move was followed by the rabid press, the inquisitive public and his adoring fans. Not that she cared tonight. It was too magical an evening to let the thought of publicity ruin anything. Not even the paparazzi dared make an appearance here. She could be Cinderella at the prince’s ball and not worry about appearing in the tabloids for one night. She could forget about life’s harsh realities until tomorrow.

Christina glanced up at the well-preserved frescoes painted on the ceiling. She could almost smell the layers of lime plaster and pigment, the sweat of the painter who created it years, maybe centuries, ago. A delightful cherub smiled down at her, and Christina didn’t feel so all alone.

“Are you having a good time, Miss Armstrong?”

The voice came from behind her. Turning, she saw the prince’s assistant standing behind a table. His smile betrayed nothing, but he must have seen her staring at the prince like a lovesick puppy dog. The fact she wasn’t the only one doing so saved her from total embarrassment. She straightened her posture. “Yes, I am.”

“I am Didier Alois, royal advisor to the prince. We met earlier.”

Remembering the incident with the armor, she chuckled. It wasn’t quite the impression she wanted to make. “Yes, we did.”

He motioned to his right. “Have you tried on the ring?”

“No, I haven’t.” The ring sat on a small pedestal covered with black velvet. If she hadn’t been so busy making goo-goo eyes at the prince, she would have noticed it immediately. “What is it?”

“It’s the royal engagement ring.” Didier removed the ring from the platform. Multicolored light was reflected off the different facets cut on the center stone, a diamond. “All the de Thierry brides have worn it.”

As beautiful as any of the crown jewels on display at the Tower of London, the large diamond glimmered under the overhead lights. The ring was almost medieval-looking with a wide filigree gold band inlaid with rubies, emeralds and sapphires. “It’s breathtaking.”

“Please, try it on.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“But you must,” Didier said. “All the women at the ball are required to try on the ring. Prince Richard will be upset if you don’t.”

Christina didn’t want to upset the prince, but she didn’t want to cause another incident, either. Apart from the chain mail glove, she’d managed to stay out of trouble. No sense pushing her luck. She took a step backward.

“Please, Miss Armstrong,” Didier coaxed. “We must see if it fits.”

“If the ring fits, do I win a prize or something?”

Didier grinned. “Or something.”

Christina glanced back at the prince. It would be nice to try on the ring, his ring. A chance of a lifetime. A chance to really be Cinderella at the ball. And how could she get in trouble if the prince’s own advisor had told her to try it on? Not even her father could get upset about it. The ring was way too small anyway. No way would it fit. After a moment of hesitation, she extended her left hand. “Okay.”

Didier brought the ring to her finger. Funny, but it almost felt like heat was emanating from the gold band. Must be Didier. Men were always hot. When the ring touched her skin, a buzz of electricity shot up her arm. She gasped, but Didier continued sliding the ring onto her finger. When he let go of her hand, Christina couldn’t believe it. The ring fit.

She stared at it. Beautiful. Someday, she would have an engagement ring of her own. Not this spectacular. A simple gold band would do. All she wanted was to find a man who would love her for who she was, a man who wanted what she did—children, pets, a porch with a swing. A normal life, a normal family.

No more limelight. No more photographs or headlines or snide remarks in gossip columns. No more twelve-inch-thick prenuptial agreements to protect an inheritance she didn’t want.

Didier furrowed his brow. “Are you all right, miss?”

“Yes,” Christina said, feeling warm and a little dizzy. Too much sun, too much champagne, too much lusting after Prince Richard. The proverbial clock had struck midnight. Time for this Cinderella to call it a night. “Thank you for letting me try it on. It’s exquisite.”

She pulled on the ring, but it wouldn’t budge.

Didier leaned toward her. “Is there a problem, Miss Armstrong?”

Christina pulled on it again, but her fingertips simply slid over the elaborately decorated band. The ring wouldn’t even twirl around her finger. “It seems to be stuck.”

“Let me try, miss.” Didier straightened his shoulders and tugged on the ring until Christina cried out in pain. “It doesn’t seem to be moving.”

She couldn’t understand why Didier smiled as if he’d just won the lottery. “I must get this ring off. If my father finds out, he’ll kill me. And the prince…” A glance told her Prince Richard was too engrossed in his conversation to realize what was happening. Christina wanted to keep it that way. “Would it be okay if I went to the ladies’ room and tried to remove it?”

For some reason, Didier seemed to be enjoying himself. His brown eyes twinkled; his smile grew wider. He looked almost giddy. “I don’t think it’s coming off.”

“Please.” Why had she allowed this to happen? She knew better. “I’d like to try.”

From his peripheral vision, Richard saw Didier approach. It was about time. If Richard heard one more boring piece of gossip about the United Kingdom’s royal family, he was going to reinstate flogging.

“May I speak with you for a moment, Your Highness?” Didier asked.

“Of course.” Richard bowed to the women surrounding him. “Excuse me, ladies.” As soon as the women were out of earshot, he sighed. “Thank you for coming to my aid, Didi. I never thought I would escape with all my clothes on. I felt like a rabbit surrounded by panting wolves. I was hoping you would leave the ring long enough to rescue me.” Richard glanced at its pedestal, the empty pedestal. No guard. No ring. His stomach knotted. “Where is the ring?”