A ROYAL SCANDAL

When blue blood runs hot …

Separated at birth, twin sisters Hannah and Emmeline had very different upbringings. Hannah was raised in a small town in Texas, while Emmeline took her rightful place as Princess, enjoying a life of unequalled privilege.

Reunited years later, the identical sisters cause the scandal of the century by swapping places and posing as each other.

But now their paths have crossed with two powerful rulers—and their princess-and-pauper charade is about to be exposed …

This month read Hannah’s story in

NOT FIT FOR A KING

Available December 2011

And look out for Emmeline’s story. Coming soon!

Dear Reader

When I was a little girl I loved fairytales and far-away places, and stories of princesses and palaces. I pored over books with photographs of castles, and drew pictures of the castle I’d one day have.

In my heart I was sure I was a princess who’d been placed with an ‘ordinary’ family for safekeeping, and that one day my real family—my royal family—would come and claim me. As the years passed, I remember worrying that I was getting older and my ‘real family’ hadn’t come. I feared that maybe my parents—the King and Queen—would die, and no one would know I was their secret princess daughter and I’d have to remain ordinary for ever.

Little wonder that stories about princesses separated at birth would appeal to me … stories of sisters growing up without their mother or each other … stories of girls knowing something was missing but never knowing what.

I hope you’ll enjoy the story of ordinary American secretary Hannah Smith and powerful King Zale Patek of Raguva. It’s a story of destiny, hope, possibility and fate. It’s my favourite kind of story—emotional, passionate and magical.

This story is for you, my readers, with love.

Jane

Not Fit For a King

Jane Porter

www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

JANE PORTER grew up on a diet of Mills & Boon® romances, reading late at night under the covers so her mother wouldn’t see! She wrote her first book at age eight, and spent many of her high school and college years living abroad, immersing herself in other cultures and continuing to read voraciously. Now Jane splits her time between rugged Seattle, Washington, and the beautiful beaches of Hawaii, with her sexy surfer and three very active sons. Jane loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 524, Bellevue, WA 98009, USA. Or visit her website at www.janeporter.com

Recent titles by the same author:

A DARK SICILIAN SECRET

ONE CHRISTMAS NIGHT IN VENICE

DUTY, DESIRE AND THE DESERT KING

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Tessa Shapcott, who bought my first book in January 2000 and changed my life for ever!

PROLOGUE

Palm Beach, Florida

“YOU do look like me.” Princess Emmeline d’Arcy’s voice was hushed as she slowly circled Hannah, her arched eyebrows pulling over deep blue eyes. “Same face, same height, same age … if our hair color was the same … we could pass for twins. Incredible.”

“Not exactly twins. You’re half my size, Your Highness,” Hannah said, suddenly self-conscious next to the very slim Princess Emmeline. “Itty-bitty, as we say in America.”

Princess Emmeline didn’t appear to hear her, too busy examining Hannah from head to toe. “Do you color your hair? Or is that natural? Either way, it’s gorgeous—such a rich, warm shade of brown.”

“It’s from a box. It’s several shades darker than my natural color, and I do it myself,” Hannah stammered.

“Can you buy your color here in Palm Beach?”

Hannah couldn’t believe that the stunning golden-blond princess would be interested in her shade of brown hair dye. “I’m sure you can—it’s sold everywhere.”

“I meant, could you buy it for me?”

Hannah hesitated. “I could. But why would you want it, Your Highness? You’re stunning, so beautiful as you are.”

Princess Emmeline’s full lips curved and yet her expression looked bleak. “I thought maybe for a day I could be you.”

“What?”

The princess walked away from Hannah, moving to stand at one of the tall windows of her lavish hotel suite where she gazed out over the hotel’s elegant, tropical Florida garden.

“I’ve made a terrible mess of things,” Princess Emmeline said softly, hands lifting to press against the glass as if she were a captive instead of the world’s most celebrated young royal. “But I can’t even leave here to sort things out. I’m followed wherever I go—and it’s not just the paparazzi—but my bodyguards, my secretary, my ladies-in-waiting.” Her slim shoulders shifted and her fingers curled until her hands were fists against the glass. “For just one day I want to be normal. Ordinary. Maybe then I could take care of something, make this nightmare I’m in go away.”

The anguish in Emmeline’s voice made Hannah’s chest squeeze tight. “What’s happened, Your Highness?”

Princess Emmeline gave her head the slightest shake. “I can’t talk about it,” she said, her voice breaking. “But it’s bad … It’ll ruin everything …”

“Ruin what, Your Highness? You can tell me. You can trust me. I’m very good at keeping secrets and would never break your confidence.”

The regal princess lifted a hand to her face and swiftly wiped away tears before turning from the window to look at Hannah. “I know I can trust you. That’s why I’m asking for your help.”

The princess took a deep breath. “Tomorrow, switch places with me for the afternoon. Be me and stay here in the suite and I’ll be you. I won’t be gone long—a couple of hours, four or five at the most—and then I’ll return and we’ll switch back again.”

Hannah sat down in the chair next to her. “I want to help you, but I have to work tomorrow. Sheikh Al-Koury doesn’t give time off, and even if he did, I don’t know the first thing about being a princess.”

Emmeline crossed the rich crimson carpet to take a seat opposite Hannah’s. “Sheikh Al-Koury can’t make you work if you’re ill. Not even he would drag a sick woman from her bed. And you wouldn’t have to leave the hotel. I could book some spa treatments for you tomorrow and you could be pampered all afternoon—”

“But I sound like an American, not a Brabant royal!”

“I heard you introduce your sheikh boss in French yesterday at the polo tournament. You speak French perfectly, without even an accent.”

“That’s because I lived with a family in France one year during high school.”

“So speak French tomorrow. It always throws Americans.” Emmeline suddenly grinned. “We can do this. Bring hair color with you in the morning, a blond color for you and your chestnut color for me, and we’ll do our hair and change clothes and think what an adventure it’ll be!”

There was something infectious in Princess Emmeline’s laugh and Hannah reluctantly smiled back. If Hannah had met the princess in school she would have wanted to be her friend. There was something special about Emmeline, something engaging. “It’d only be for a couple of hours, just tomorrow afternoon. Right?”

Emmeline nodded. “I’ll be back before dinner.”

Hannah chewed the inside of her lip. “Will you be safe, going out on your own?”

“Why wouldn’t I? People will think I’m you.”

“But you’re not doing anything dangerous, are you? Putting yourself in harm’s way?”

“Absolutely not. I’m staying in Palm Beach, not traveling anywhere. Say you’ll help me, Hannah, please.”

How could Hannah say no? The princess was positively desperate and Hannah had never been able to say no to someone in need of help. “I’ll do it, but just for the afternoon.”

“Thank you! Merci!” Emmeline reached out and clasped Hannah’s hand in her own. “You are an angel, and you won’t regret this, Hannah. I promise you.”

CHAPTER ONE

Three days later—Raguva

BUT Hannah did regret it. She regretted it more than she’d ever regretted anything.

Three days had passed since she’d switched places with Emmeline. Three endless days of pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Three days of living a lie.

Hannah should have stopped this yesterday before heading to the airport.

She should have confessed the truth when she could have.

Instead she’d boarded the royal jet and flown to Raguva as if she really was Europe’s most celebrated princess instead of an American secretary who just happened to look like the stunning Princess Emmeline …

Should have, could have, would have …

Hannah held her breath, trying to contain her panic. She was in serious trouble now, and the only way she—and Emmeline—would survive this disaster intact was by keeping a cool head.

Not that remaining cool and calm would be easy given that she was just about to meet Princess Emmeline’s fiancé, the powerful King Zale Ilia Patek, a man rumored to be as brilliant as he was driven, in front of his entire court.

Hannah knew nothing about being royal, or European. Yet here she was, squeezed into a thirty-thousand-dollar couture gown with a delicate diamond tiara pinned to her artificially lightened hair after having spent a long, and very frantic night cramming everything she could learn about Zale Patek of Raguva into her head.

Only a fool would appear before a king and his court, pretending to be his fiancée.

Only a fool, she repeated, knowing no one was holding a gun to her head, no one was forcing her to pretend to be Emmeline. No one but herself. But she’d pledged her help to Emmeline, given the princess her word. How could she abandon the princess now?

Hannah stiffened and gulped air as the tall gold and cream doors swung open, revealing the palace’s grand crimson throne room.

A long row of enormous chandeliers shone so brightly overhead that she blinked, overwhelmed by the glittering and hum of sound.

Hannah blinked again and focused on the throne dais at the far end of the room. A long red carpet stretched before her. Then a voice announced her, first in French, and then Raguvian, silencing the buzz of conversation—”Her Royal Highness, Princess Emmeline of Brabant, Duchess of Vincotte, Countess d’Arcy.”

The formal introduction made Hannah’s head swim. How could she have thought swapping places with Emmeline was a good idea?

Why hadn’t she perceived the dangers? Why hadn’t she realized that Emmeline’s plan had been far from foolproof?

Because she’d been too busy enjoying the decadent spa treatments, thinking herself lucky to have this escape before she returned to her exhausting, but fascinating life as secretary for impossible to please Sheikh Makin Al-Koury of oil-rich Kadar.

Only Emmeline had never returned.

Instead she’d called and texted, begging Hannah to keep up the charade a few more hours, and then a day after that, saying there was a snag, and then another, but not to worry, everything was fine, and everything would be fine. All Hannah had to do was keep up the charade a little longer.

One of the ladies-in-waiting at Hannah’s elbow whispered, “Your Royal Highness, everyone waits.”

Hannah’s gaze jerked back to the throne at the end of the long red carpet. It seemed so far away, but then suddenly, somehow, Hannah was moving down the plush crimson carpet, placing one trembling foot in front of the other. She wobbled in her foolishly high heels, and felt the weight of her heavy silk gown with the thousands of crystals, but nothing felt as uncomfortable as the intense gaze of King Zale Patek as he watched her from his throne, his unwavering gaze resting on her face.

No man had ever looked at her so intently and her skin prickled, heat washing through her, cheeks on fire.

Even seated, King Patek appeared imposing. He was tall, broad-shouldered and lean, and his features were handsome and strong. But it was his expression that made her breathless. In his eyes she saw possession. Ownership. They weren’t to be married for ten days but in his eyes she was already his.

Hannah’s mouth dried. Her heart raced. She should have never agreed to play princess here. Zale Patek of Raguva would not like being played the fool.

Reaching the dais, she gathered her heavy teal and blue skirts in one hand and sank into a deep, graceful curtsy. Thank God she’d practiced this morning with one of her attendants. “Your Majesty,” she said in Raguvian, having practiced that, too.

“Welcome to Raguva, Your Royal Highness,” he answered in flawless English. His voice was so deep it whispered through her, smooth, seductive.

She lifted her head to look up at him. His gaze met hers and held, demanding her full attention. She sucked in a quick breath of surprise. This was the thirty-five-year-old king of Raguva, a country adjacent to Greece and Turkey on the Adriatic Sea. He looked younger than thirty-five. Furthermore, he was ridiculously good-looking. The photographs on the Internet hadn’t done him justice.

Impressions continued to hit her one after the other—short dark hair, light brown eyes and a slash of high cheekbone above a very firm chin.

The intelligence in his clear steady gaze made her think of all the great kings and Roman rulers who’d come before—Charlemagne, Constantine, Caesar—and her pulse quickened.

He was tall, imposing, powerfully built. His formal jacket couldn’t hide the width of his shoulders, nor the depth of his muscular chest. He’d been born a prince but had trained as an athlete and become a star footballer through dedication to his sport. But he’d walked away from his incredible success when his father and mother had died in a tragic seaplane accident five years ago that had taken the lives of all onboard.

She’d read that Zale Patek had rarely dated during the decade he played for two top European football clubs because football had been his passion and once he’d inherited the throne, he’d applied the same discipline and passion to his reign.

And this man, this fiercely driven man, was to be sparkling, enchanting Princess Emmeline’s husband.

At the moment Hannah didn’t know whether to envy her or pity her.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she answered, slowly lifting her head to look into his eyes. His gaze met hers squarely and she felt a sharp jolt to her heart, her chest squeezing tight in protest.

It was like a thunderbolt of sensation—hot, electric—and her knees buckled, and her whole body felt weak.

Trembling in her heels, she watched King Patek rise and descend the steps of the dais. He reached for her hand, carried it to his mouth, brushing his lips across the back of her knuckles. The touch of his mouth sent yet another shudder through her, her body tingling from head to toe.

For a moment silence hung over them, surrounded them, an intimate, expectant silence that made her grow warm and her cheeks burn. Then King Patek turned her around to face his court. Applause filled the Throne Room and before she knew it, King Patek was introducing her to the first of his many advisors.

Moving down the crimson carpet, the king would pause to introduce her to this important person or that, but the sensation of his skin against hers made it impossible for her to concentrate on anything. The names and faces blurred together, making her head swim.

Zale Patek was in the middle of introducing Emmeline to yet another member of his court, when he felt her hand tremble in his. Glancing down at her, he saw fatigue in her eyes and a hint of strain at her mouth. Time for a break, he thought, deciding the rest of the introductions could wait until dinner.

Exiting the Throne Room, Zale led her through a sparsely furnished antechamber, and then a small reception room, ending in the Silver Room, a room that had been a favorite of his mother’s.

“Please,” he said, escorting her to a petite Louis IV chair covered in a shimmering silver Venetian embroidered fabric. An oversize silver and crystal chandelier hung from the middle of the room and Venetian mirrors lined the oyster-hued silk that upholstered the walls.

It was a pretty room and it sparkled from all the silk, silver and glass, but nothing in the room could compare to the princess herself.

She was stunning.

Beyond stunning.

As well as cunning, manipulative and deceitful, which he hadn’t learned until after their engagement.

It’d been a year since he last saw Emmeline—at the announcement of their betrothal in the Palace of Brabant—and they’d only spoken twice before that, although of course he’d seen her at various different royal functions while growing up.

“You look lovely,” he said as Emmeline sank gracefully into the fragile chair, her full teal and aqua skirts clouding around her, making him think of a mermaid perched on a rock. And like the sirens of lore, she used her beauty to lure men in—before dashing them on the rocks.

Which wasn’t a quality Zale wanted in his wife, or Raguva’s future queen.

Strong, calm, steady, principled—those were the qualities he wanted, qualities he’d come to realize she didn’t possess.

“Thank you,” she answered, a delicate pink appearing in her flawless, porcelain skin.

The bloom of pink in her cheeks stole his breath and made his body harden.

Had she truly just blushed? Did she think she could convince him she was a virginal maiden instead of a jaded, promiscuous princess?

And yet despite all her character flaws, in person she was nothing short of physical perfection with her exquisite bone structure, cream complexion and darkly fringed blue eyes. Even as a young girl Emmeline had been more than pretty with her wide blue eyes that seemed to see everything and know far too much, but she’d grown into an extraordinary beauty.

His father had been the one to suggest Princess Emmeline d’Arcy as a suitable bride. Zale had been fifteen at the time, Emmeline just five, and Zale had been horrified by his father’s preliminary arrangements. A chubby little girl with blue eyes and dimples for a future wife? But his father had assured him that she’d be a stunning woman one day, and his father had been right. There wasn’t a more beautiful or eligible princess in Europe.

“You’re here at last,” he said, hating that he derived so much pleasure from just looking at her. He should be distant, disgusted, turned off. Instead he was curious. As well as very physically attracted.

Her head dipped. “I am, indeed, Your Majesty.”

She did that so prettily, he thought, the edge of his mouth curving in a slightly cynical smile. The blushes, the shyness, the wide-eyed innocence. “Zale,” he corrected. “We’ve been engaged this past year.”

“And yet we’ve never once seen each other,” she answered, lifting her chin, porcelain cheeks stained pink.

He raised an eyebrow. “By your choice, Emmeline, not mine.”

Her lips parted as if to protest before she pressed them together again. “Did that bother you?” she asked after a moment.

He shrugged, knowing what he couldn’t—wouldn’t—say. That he knew Emmeline had spent the past year continuing to see her Argentine playboy boyfriend, Alejandro, despite being betrothed to Zale.

He wouldn’t say that he knew her seven-day trip to Palm Beach this past week had been to watch Alejandro play in a polo match. Or that for the past several days Zale hadn’t even been sure Emmeline would actually get on the plane and come to Raguva for their wedding scheduled for June 4, ten days from now.

But she had.

She was here.

And he fully intended to use these next ten days before their wedding to discover if she was ready to honor her commitments to him, their countries and their families, or if she planned to continue playing games and playing him. “I’m glad you’re here now,” he responded. “It’s time we began to get to know each other.”

She smiled, a slow, radiant smile that lit her eyes from the inside out and he felt heat and pressure build in his chest.

How absurd that Emmeline’s beauty literally took his breath away. Ridiculous that he could be so moved by a woman in a ball gown and jewels. Diamond and sapphire rings covered her fingers and the diamonds in the tiara perched on her golden head glinted, throwing off tiny prisms of light.

“So am I,” she answered. “And it’s a completely different world than Palm Beach.”

“It is at that,” he agreed, intrigued despite himself. Charmed by everything about her right now. “I’m sorry I couldn’t welcome you last night when you arrived. There is so much tradition attached to the job. Five hundred years of protocol.”

“I understand.”

She should. She’d agreed to this arranged marriage, too, despite being passionately in love with her boyfriend of five years. “Do you need any refreshment? Dinner is at least an hour away.”

“No, thank you, I can wait.”

“I heard you hadn’t eaten anything today, or even last night after you arrived.”

She gave him a slightly mocking look, her finely arched eyebrows rising. “Which of my attendants tattled on me?”

“My cooks were worried when you refused your meals. They feared they’d failed to whet your appetite.”

“Not at all. The breakfast and lunch trays looked delicious but I was very aware that at five I’d have to fit into this gown,” she said with a gesture to her curvaceous body swathed in teal silk and intricate jeweled designs.

“You’re not on a starvation diet, are you?”

She glanced down at her figure. “Do I look in danger of fading away?”

Zale’s lips twitched. No, she did not look like she was starving. The gown’s fitted bodice revealed full, firm breasts while her waist nipped in before curving out again over very feminine hips. The gown’s rich hues highlighted her smooth, creamy skin, the startling blue of her eyes and the pink pout of her generous lips. She looked lush, ripe, edible.

He felt a hot shaft of desire, and Zale fought a sudden urge to touch her. Taste her. To take his tongue to her softly parted lips, to sink his teeth into their softness, then brush his lips along her satin skin—

He broke off as his body hardened, tightening, making the fit of his trousers almost unbearable. It’d been a year since he taken a woman into his bed, wanting to respect his engagement to Emmeline, but it’d been a long year and he looked forward to consummating their marriage in ten days.

Should they marry.

He glanced down at her and discovered she was staring steadily back at him, her blue gaze unflinchingly direct. As his gaze locked with hers, he felt raw, primal desire surge through him.

He’d have her, too, he vowed, even if he didn’t make her his queen.

Breathlessly Hannah dropped her gaze, breaking that strange hold Zale had had on her. When looking into his eyes—all amber color and fire—she’d felt absolutely lost, snared by her senses, drowning in sex and sin.

It’d been forever since she’d felt this way.

Wanting something so much it almost hurt …

She drew a slow breath, trying to slow the racing of her heart, trying to pretend her cheeks and lips didn’t burn. But oh, they did.

He was stirring something inside of her, something that hadn’t been stirred in years.

It’d been a long, long time since she’d been serious about anyone, and even longer since she’d wanted to be loved by anyone. Hannah enjoyed sex when shared with someone special. The trouble was, there hadn’t been anyone special, not since she graduated from Texas A&M University four years ago. Twenty-one and thrilled to have earned her degree, Hannah had expected her college boyfriend to propose. Instead he broke up with her, announcing that he was ready to move on and begin seeing other women.

But now, for the first time since Brad had dumped her, she felt something.

For the first time in four years she wanted something.

Restless, aching, Hannah crossed her legs beneath her gown’s full silk skirt and petticoat, feeling the rasp of the lace garter belt against her thighs even as her inner thighs brushed delicate skin exquisitely bare. Emmeline’s lingerie, she thought despairingly, remembering in a painful rush that gorgeous, virile Zale Patek belonged to Emmeline, too.

Hannah froze, her breath catching in her throat, shocked that she could forget for even a moment who she was, what she was doing here and why.

You are not Emmeline, she told herself furiously. You will never be Emmeline, either.

She rose, briefly glanced at Zale as she smoothed her skirt with quick, flustered hands. “If there’s time, I’d like to freshen up in my room before dinner.”

“They won’t even call us to the dining room for another half hour.”

“Will you excuse me then?”

“Of course. I’ll send someone to escort you to the dining hall when it’s time.”

She left the Silver Room quickly, the heavy embroidered skirts swishing as she hurried to the stairs that would take her to her suite of rooms on the second floor. Madness, madness, madness, she chanted over and over, her stomach churning, heart racing as she climbed the stairs as fast as she could.

Please let Emmeline be on the way. Please, please let there be a message from Emmeline saying she was on the plane and everything was fine and Hannah would soon be free to leave.

Inside her suite, Hannah shut the door and dashed for the nightstand next to her bed where she retrieved her phone and checked for messages, first text, then voice, but there was nothing. Nothing. Not a word.

Nothing. Nothing!

Hannah put a hand to her queasy middle, dangerously close to throwing up all over the green, cream and pink antique Aubusson rug beneath her feet.

It’d been hours since Emmeline’s last text. Where was she? Why wouldn’t she respond?

Hannah struggled to calm herself. Maybe the princess was already en route. Maybe she was on a plane flying to Raguva right now.

Hannah felt a ray of hope. It was possible. Emmeline might have been in such a hurry getting to the airport that she’d forgotten to send a message to Hannah saying she was on the way.

But even as Hannah comforted herself with the thought, the phone rang.

Emmeline.

Hannah answered immediately. “Are you here?” she asked hopefully. “Have you arrived?”

“No, I’m still in Florida,” Emmeline’s clipped precise voice suddenly wobbled, sounding very far away at the other end of the line. “I’m having a bit of trouble getting out as you have my plane. Could you send it back for me?”

“Were you able to work things out?”

“N-no.” Again that wobble.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m not in physical danger, if that’s what you’re asking.”

Hannah heard the threat of tears in the princess’s voice. “Things aren’t going well there?”

“No.” Emmeline drew a slow breath. “How is Zale? As cold as ever?”

Hannah flushed. “I wouldn’t call him cold …” “Maybe not. But he is rather grim, isn’t he? I don’t think he likes me much.”

“He’s marrying you.” “For five million Euros!” “What?”

“Hannah, it’s an arranged marriage. What did you expect?”

Hannah pictured Zale’s strong, handsome face, those fiercely intelligent eyes and his tall, powerful frame. He was gorgeous. How could Emmeline feel nothing for him? “Maybe you will fall in love, once you spend time together.”

“Oh, I hope not. It’d just complicate everything—” Emmeline broke off, spoke to someone in the room with her, then returned to the phone. “Good news. I don’t need to wait for my plane. A friend here has a jet I can take tonight. I’ll be there in the morning. Once I land, I’ll text you. With any luck, no one will be the wiser.”

With any luck, Hannah silently echoed, closing her phone, heart strangely heavy.

CHAPTER TWO

HANNAH told herself she was relieved that this impossible charade was nearly over. She told herself she was glad to be going in the morning. But part of her was disappointed. Zale fascinated her.

In her dressing room, Hannah touched up her makeup and adjusted the tiara before following her lady-in-waiting through soaring galleries and elegant chambers on the way to the Grand Dining Hall.

They walked briskly, her skirts whispering with every step. Passing through the Empire Room, Hannah caught a glimpse of herself in a tall mirror over the high white marble fireplace.

The reflection startled her. Is that how she really looked? Elegant? Shimmering? Pretty?

She shook her head at her reflection and her reflection shook her head back—pink cheeks. Deep blue eyes. High cheekbones above a generous mouth.

Hannah couldn’t believe she really looked like that. Didn’t know she could look like that. She’d never felt beautiful in her life. Smart, yes. Hardworking, of course. But her father had never placed any value on physical beauty—had certainly never encouraged her to wear makeup or dress up—and for a moment she wanted to really be the beautiful girl in the mirror.

What if she was a princess in real life?

Would it change everything? Would it change her?

The lady-in-waiting paused outside tall paneled doors that opened onto the Grand Dining Hall. “We’ll wait for His Majesty here,” she said.

Hannah nodded, eager to see King Zale Patek again. She shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t feel anything.

Suddenly King Patek and his attendants were there and the atmosphere felt positively electric.

Hannah’s breath caught in her throat as heat and energy crackled around them. Tall, lithe, strong, Zale Patek practically hummed with life.

She’d never met a man so vitally alive. Had never met a man with such confidence. Lifting her head she looked up into his eyes and the expression in the rich amber depths made her heart turn over.

“You look lovely,” he said.

She inclined her head. “And you do, too, Your Majesty.” “I look lovely?”

“Handsome,” she corrected, with a blush. “And royal.”

He lifted an eyebrow but Hannah was saved from further conversation as the doors to the Grand Dining Hall opened simultaneously, revealing an immense, richly paneled hall easily two stories tall.

“Oh,” Hannah whispered, awed by the medieval grandeur of the room. The huge room was lit almost exclusively by candlelight. Ivory tapers flickered in sconces and tall silver cande-labras marched down the length of the table. Stone fireplaces marked both ends of the room and magnificent burgundy tapestries covered the richly paneled walls. The high ceiling was an intricate design of gold stencil against dark stained wood.

Zale looked down at her, a hint of a smile at his lips. “Shall we?” he asked, offering her his arm.

She looked up at him and her heart did a funny little hiccup. Beautiful face, beautiful eyes, broad shoulders, narrow waist, long muscular legs. A fantasy come to life.

Would it be such a bad thing if she were to enjoy playing Princess Emmeline for just one night?

Would it ruin everything if she liked Zale a little? Tomorrow morning she’d be heading home and would never see him again, so why couldn’t she just be happy tonight?

Together they entered the crowded hall where the guests were already seated at the longest dining table she’d ever seen.

She could feel all their eyes on them, and conversation died as they walked to the two places still empty in the middle of the table. “Such a big table,” she murmured.

“It is,” he agreed. “Originally it was built to accommodate one hundred. But five hundred years ago people must have been considerably smaller—or perhaps they didn’t mind a very tight squeeze,” he answered with a hint of laughter in his voice, “because I don’t think we ever seat more than eighty today.”

A uniformed butler drew out a chair for Hannah while another held out Zale’s and then they were sitting, and Zale leaned toward Hannah to whisper. “And even then,” he added, “as you can see, eighty is still quite snug.”

Snug was an understatement, she thought an hour later, feeling excessively warm and more than a little claustrophobic as the five-course meal slowly progressed. Her teal gown was too tight and pinched around her ribs, and Zale was a big man with very broad shoulders and he took up considerable space.

And then there were her emotions, which were all over the place.

Everything about him intrigued her, and it was impossible to ignore him, even if she wanted to. At least six foot three, he dominated the table with his broad shoulders and long legs.

All evening she was aware of him, feeling his warmth and energy even without touching him.

And then when they did touch—a bump of shoulder, a tap on the wrist and that one time his thigh brushed her own—her head spun from the rush of sensation.

Working for Sheikh Al-Koury, Hannah had arranged numerous events and dinners, and had sat next to countless wealthy men, and yet no one had ever made her feel like this before.

Nervous. Eager. Self-conscious. Sensitive.

Next to Zale she could hear her heart thud, feel the warmth of her breath as she exhaled, tingle with goose bumps as he turned his head to look into her eyes.

She loved that he did that. Loved that he was strong enough, confident enough, to look at a woman and hold her gaze. It was probably the sexiest thing she’d ever experienced.

But even when he wasn’t looking at her, she liked the way he watched others, studying the world intently, listening with all of him—heart and mind, ears and eyes.

As one of the staff leaned over to take her plate, Hannah startled and bumped Zale.

He glanced at her with a half smile, and that barely there smile captivated her as much as his whiskey-colored gaze.

This man would be a force to reckon with—so alive, so vital—and she envied Emmeline, she did.

Imagine being loved by a man like King Patek. And that was the appeal, wasn’t it? Zale wasn’t a boy. He was a man. And unlike Brad, her college love, Zale was mature, successful, experienced. He was a thirty-five-year-old man in his prime.

To be loved by a man who knew what he wanted.

To be loved by a man who knew he wanted her.

Her chest squeezed hard, tight and she dragged a hand to her lap, fingertips trailing across the exquisite beading of her gown as she tried to think of something else. Something besides Zale and what was quickly becoming an impossible infatuation.

Zale’s gaze met hers and held. The air bottled in her lungs. Her heart thudded in her ears.

“Not every dinner will be as long as this,” he said to her in English, his voice pitched low. They’d been switching back and forth between French and English all night for the benefit of their guests but whenever he spoke to Hannah it was in English. “This is unusually drawn out.”

“I don’t mind,” she said, careful to speak without a hint of her Texas twang. “It’s a beautiful room and I have excellent company.”

“You’ve become so very charming.” “Haven’t I always been?”

“No.” His lips curved in a self-mocking smile. “You didn’t enjoy my company a year ago. It was our engagement party and yet you avoided me all night.” His smile didn’t touch his eyes. “Your father said you were shy. I knew better.”

This was a strange conversation to have here, now, with eighty people around them. “And what did you know?”

He looked at her intently, his narrowed gaze traveling slowly over her face until it rested on her mouth. “I knew you were in love with another man and marrying me out of duty.”

Definitely not a conversation to be having at a formal dinner party. Nervous, Hannah rubbed her fingers against the delicate beading on her skirt. “Perhaps we should discuss this later …?”

“Why?”

“Aren’t you afraid someone will overhear us?” His gaze pierced her. “I’m more afraid of not getting straight answers.”

She shrugged. “Then ask your questions. This is your home. Your party. Your guests.”

“And you’re my fiancée.”

Her chin lifted a fraction. “Yes, I am.”

He studied her for an endless moment. “Who are you, Emmeline?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re so different now. Makes me wonder if you’re even the same woman.”

“What a strange thing to say.”

“But you are different. You look me in the eye now. You have opinions. Attitude. I almost think I could get an honest answer out of you now.”

“Try me.”

His eyes narrowed, strong jaw growing thicker. “That’s exactly what I mean. You would have never spoken to me like this a year ago.”

“We’re to be married in ten days. Shouldn’t I be forthright?”

“Yes.” He hesitated a moment, still studying her. “Romantic love is important to you, isn’t it?”

“Of course. Isn’t it important to you?”

“There are other things more important to me. Family. Loyalty. Integrity.” He looked into her eyes then, as if daring her to disagree. “Fidelity.”

Her brows pulled. “But doesn’t romantic love incorporate all of the above? How can one truly love another and not give all of one’s heart, mind, body and soul?”

“If you loved a man, you’d never betray him?”

“Never.”

“So you don’t condone affairs … no matter how discreet?” “Absolutely not.”

“You don’t hope to take a lover later, after we’re married and you’ve fulfilled your duty?”

Hannah was appalled by his questions. “Is that the sort of woman you think I am?”

“I think you’re a woman who has been pressured into a marriage she doesn’t want.”

Her jaw dropped slightly, and she stared at him unable to think of a single response.

Zale leaned closer, his deep voice dropping even lower, his amber gaze intense. “I think you want to please others, even if it comes at a terrible price.”

“Because I’ve agreed to an arranged marriage?”

“Because you’ve agreed to this marriage.” His eyes held hers. “Can you do this, Emmeline, and be happy? Can you make this marriage work?”

“Can you?” she flashed, flustered.

“Yes.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I have discipline. And I’m older by ten years. I have more life experience and know what I need, and what I want.” “And what is that?”

“I want prosperity for my country, peace in my home and heirs to ensure succession.”

“That’s it? Peace, prosperity and children?”

“I’m a realist. I know I can’t expect too much from life so I keep my desires simple. My goals attainable.”

“Hard to believe that. You were the star footballer that carried Raguva to the finals of the World Cup. You don’t achieve success like that without big dreams—”

“That was before my parents’ death. Now my country and family come first. My responsibilities to Raguva outweigh everything else.”

The fierce note in his voice made her tremble inwardly. He was intense. So very physical. Everything about him screamed male—the curve of his lip, the lean cheek, the strong masculine jaw.

“I need the same commitment from you,” he added. “If we marry there will be no divorce. No room for second thoughts. No means to later opt out. If we marry it’s forever, and if you can’t promise me forever, then you shouldn’t be here.”

Zale abruptly pushed back his chair and extended a hand to her. “But that’s enough serious talk for one evening. We’re supposed to be celebrating your arrival and the good things to come. Let’s mingle with our guests, and try to enjoy the evening.”

The rest of the night passed quickly with everyone vying for an opportunity to speak with King Zale and the glamorous, popular Princess Emmeline.

But finally by ten-thirty, with the last guests departing, Zale escorted Emmeline back to her suite on the second floor.

It had been a strange evening. Perplexing, he thought, glancing down at her golden head with the delicate diamond tiara.

He’d been ambivalent about her arrival. He’d needed her here for duty’s sake. Raguva needed a queen and he needed heirs. But at a purely personal level, he knew she wasn’t the woman he would have ever picked as his wife.

Zale knew his faults—hardworking, no-nonsense, intensely dedicated—but he was loyal. It was a trait he respected in himself, and valued highly in others.

He realized belatedly that Emmeline might not.

He knew she’d never been spoiled by her parents. If anything, her parents had been hard on her, holding her to an exacting standard that she could never meet, which made Emmeline desperate to please. The world might see her as a glowing, confident princess but her father had warned Zale that she could be difficult and at times, terribly insecure.

King William d’Arcy’s warning had worried Zale as he did not need a difficult and insecure wife, much less a fragile, demanding queen.

But Zale’s late father had wanted this match very much. In his eyes, Princess Emmeline had been the perfect choice for Zale, and although his father had died five years ago, Zale wanted to honor his father’s wishes, hoping that once the beautiful Emmeline reached Raguva she would settle in, settle down and become the ideal bride his father imagined her to be.

They’d reached her suite and for a moment neither said anything. “It’s been a long day,” he said at length, breaking the uncomfortable silence, even as he wondered how he could marry her with so many doubts.

But she was here, another part of his brain argued. She’d come when she’d said she would, and she’d behaved perfectly proper tonight. More than proper, she’d been beautiful, approachable, likable.

“It has,” she agreed.

“Tomorrow night will be far less formal. There is no state dinner, just a quiet dinner together, so that should be relatively easy.”

She nodded, looking up at him, her blue eyes dark with an emotion he couldn’t decipher. “I’m sure it will be.”

He stared down into her face, wondering how this warm, appealing woman could be the remote, cold Emmeline of the past year.

“Is there anything you need?” he asked now. “Anything that hasn’t been provided?”

“Everything has been wonderful.”

Her answer baffled him even more. “No special requests? You’ve my ear now. I’m happy to oblige.”

She shook her head.

“You’re happy to be here then?”

Her full mouth curved into a tremulous smile. “Of course.”

He didn’t know if it was the inexplicable shimmer of tears in her eyes, or that uncertain smile, but suddenly Europe’s most beautiful princess looked so very alone and vulnerable that Zale reached for her, putting his hand low on her back and finding bare skin.

Her head tipped back, her blue gaze finding his. Zale’s hand slipped lower, his palm sliding down warm satin skin.

He heard her soft intake of breath as he drew her closer, holding her against him, her full, soft breasts crushed to his chest. He dropped his head, covering her mouth with his.

It was to have been a brief kiss, a good-night kiss, but when her lips trembled beneath his he felt a rush of hunger. Desire.

Power.

He drew her closer still, molding her to him with pressure in the small of her back.

She shivered against him and his pulse quickened, blood pounding in his veins, making his body hot, and hard.

The need to possess her filled him, consuming him, and ruthlessly he deepened the kiss, taking her as if she already belonged to him.

The insistent pressure of his lips parted hers, and the tip of his tongue flicked the softness of her inner lip making her squirm. The urgent press of her hips against his made blood roar in his ears and he nipped at her mouth, small bites that made her shudder with pleasure.

God, she was sensitive. Responsive. Her body trembled against him, and he slid his hand from the small of her spine down, lower, over the pert curve of her backside, which made her gasp, her nipples hardening, pebbling against his chest through the thin silk of her gown.

Blood coursed through him.

Desire pounded through his veins.

She was deliciously smooth, deliciously curved and he wanted more of her, all of her. His body throbbed.

God, she was hot and tasted sweet. He wanted to rip her gown off her, strip her voluptuous body bare and explore her curves and hollows—like the dip of her spine, the space behind her knee, the softness between her thighs.

He wanted between her thighs. Wanted to part her knees as wide as he could—

Reality returned. What the hell was he doing? They were in the hall. In full view of the hidden cameras broadcasting images to his security detail.

His hand stilled on her hip. He removed the other from beneath her breast.

Slowly he lifted his head to look into her eyes. They were dark and cloudy, her lips swollen, her expression dazed.

“I’m afraid we’ve given my security a show,” he said, voice pitched low and rough.

Color rushed into her cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

He brushed a blond tendril from her flushed cheek, finding her nearly irresistible. “I’m not. Good night, Your Highness.”

She looked at him for an endless moment. “Goodbye.” Then she slipped into her room and closed the door.

CHAPTER THREE

ENTERING her suite Hannah gently closed and locked the door, heart racing, body shaking.

For a long moment she leaned against the locked door, a hand pressed to her mouth.

She’d kissed him. Kissed him madly, passionately, kissed him as if she were drowning, dying, and maybe she was.

How could she go tomorrow? How could she leave and never see him again?

But there was no way she could stay. He didn’t want her, Hannah, he wanted Emmeline.

And even that hurt. How could he want Emmeline when the princess didn’t care for him, would never care, while Hannah already cared too much …?

That was the part that confused her, infuriated her, most. How could she care already? She’d only met Zale today. She’d spent what—five hours with him? Six? Barely enough time to be infatuated. So why did she feel sick? Panicked?

Desperate?

Why did she think when she left here she’d never forget him?

Hannah choked back a frustrated cry and pressed her hand harder to her mouth to stifle the sound.

Her eyes burned and her throat ached and she hated herself for wanting something—someone—she couldn’t have.

She wasn’t the type of woman to set herself up for failure.

“Your Highness,” Celine, Hannah’s maid, said breathlessly, emerging from the dressing room, with Hannah’s nightgown and robe. “I didn’t hear you return. Have I kept you waiting?”

Hannah blinked back tears and pushed away from the door. “I just returned,” she said, mustering a watery smile. “But I’d love your help getting out of this gown.”

Leaving Emmeline, Zale forced himself to put her from his mind and focus now on other things—like Tinny.

He headed toward his own wing of the palace but first stopped at his younger brother’s room. He never went to bed without a last check on Tinny.

Opening the door to Tinny’s sitting room he saw that all the lights were out except for the small lamp on the top of the bookshelf on the far wall.

Tinny’s night-light. He couldn’t sleep without it.

Zale felt a rush of affection for his twenty-eight-year-old special-needs brother, a brother who’d needed him even more after their parents’ death.

Constantine—or Tinny, as he’d always been called within the family—was to have been on the plane with his parents on that ill-fated flight, but at the last minute he’d begged his parents to let him fly to St. Philippe, their private Caribbean island, with Zale the next day instead.

Even five years later, Zale gave daily thanks that Tinny hadn’t been onboard. Tinny was everything to him, and all the family he had left, but Tinny still missed his parents dreadfully, still asked for them, hoping that maybe today his beloved mama and papa would come home.

“Your Majesty,” a voice whispered from the dark, and Mrs. Sivka, Tinny’s evening nurse, emerged from the shadows in a dressing gown. “He’s doing well. Sleeping like a lamb.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to say good-night earlier.”

“He knew you wouldn’t be coming. When you were here at tea this afternoon you told him tonight was a very important night.” Mrs. Sivka smiled. “How did it go, Your Majesty? Is she as beautiful as they say?”

Zale felt a strange tightness in his chest. “Yes.”

“Tinny can’t wait to meet her. It’s all he talked about today.”

“He shall meet her as soon as possible.”

“Tomorrow?”

Zale pictured Emmeline and then his brother, and knew that innocent, idealistic Tinny would immediately place her on a pedestal. He’d adore her, worship her and give her the power to break his heart. “Not tomorrow, but soon, I promise.”

“He’ll be disappointed it’s not tomorrow.”

“I know, but there are a few wrinkles to still iron out.”

“I understand and Prince Constantine will meet your bride when the time is right.” Mrs. Sivka smiled. “I’m proud of you. Your parents would be proud, too. You deserve every good thing coming, you do.”

“But you have to say that, Mrs. Sivka,” he said, teasing her gently, forever grateful she’d come out of retirement to help with Tinny after his parents’ accident. “You were my nanny, too.”

“That I was. And now look at you.”

He smiled crookedly. “Good night, Mrs. Sivka.”

“Good night, Your Majesty.”

Zale left his brother’s suite of rooms and headed to his own, feeling tightness and tension return to his chest.

He felt like he’d ridden a roller coaster of emotions tonight. He didn’t like it.

He rarely let his emotions get the better of him. Little ruffled Zale. Virtually nothing got under his skin. But tonight everything about Emmeline had gotten to him. She wasn’t the one he’d remembered. She was nothing like the cool ice princess of the past. And tonight she’d managed to turn him inside out.

Not good, he told himself, walking to his own suite of rooms in the next wing.

He wasn’t supposed to be emotionally involved with Emmeline. As they both knew, their union wasn’t a love match but a carefully orchestrated arrangement with significant financial incentives. Every step of their relationship had been outlined and detailed in the final draft of the seventy-page document they’d sign in the morning.

He could want her, desire her and enjoy her but he couldn’t ever forget that their relationship was first, and foremost, business.

Business, he reminded himself sternly, which meant he couldn’t allow himself to get distracted, not even by a beautiful face and lush body.

Fortunately Zale was famous for his discipline. That same discipline ensured success in school, in sport and then as Raguva’s sovereign.

Growing up the second of three sons, no one placed pressure on him. No one had particularly high expectations for him. But Zale had high expectations for himself. From a young age he was determined to find his own place in the world, would carve a niche that was uniquely his. And so while his older brother, Stephen VII, Raguva’s Crown Prince, had learned the fundamentals of ruling a monarchy, Zale had learned the fundamentals of football.

His older brother would be king one day and Zale would play professional sport.

Zale had been sixteen and attending boarding school in England when nineteen-year-old Stephen, in his second year at Trinity College, had been diagnosed with leukemia. His parents and Tinny had relocated to London to be with Stephen during the grueling chemo and radiation treatments.

For three years Stephen fought hard. For three years he endured horrific pain in hopes that the debilitating treatments would knock the leukemia into remission.

Zale had felt helpless. There was nothing he could do. Not for Stephen. Or his parents. And so he poured himself into his sport, needing a focus, a fight of his own. His self-imposed training regime had been grueling—three, four hours a day—running, weight training, sit-ups, push-ups, sprints, drills. He pushed himself to breaking point each day. He worked to muscle failure. It was the least he could do. Stephen was fighting for his life. Zale should struggle, too.

After passing his exams, Zale made the decision to follow his brother to Oxford, where in his first year he made the university’s football club’s first team, the Blues.

In his second year he carried the Blues to Oxford’s newly created Premier League where they finished top.

Stephen was there for the last big game of their season. He’d insisted on attending and their father, Raguva’s king, pushed frail Stephen into the stadium in a wheelchair and no one cheered louder than Stephen during the game.

A week after the game, Stephen had died. Zale blamed himself. The day at the stadium had been too much for Stephen. He shouldn’t have gone.

Zale remembered nothing of his final year at Oxford. It was a blur shaped by grief. The only time he felt present in his skin was on the pitch. By the time he graduated, four different football clubs competed to sign him to their team.

He’d signed with a top Spanish club despite his parents disapproval. They had wanted him to return to Raguva—he was the Crown Prince now—but Zale didn’t want to be king. He had a love, a passion, a dream. It was football.

Football, Zale silently repeated, entering his suite of four rooms, which had served every Raguvian king for the past five hundred years.

His valet was waiting for him in his dressing room, the King’s Dressing Room, where the sumptuous curtains had been drawn across the wall of leaded windows, shutting out the night.

“Was it a good evening, Your Majesty?” his valet asked, assisting Zale out of his formal jacket.

“It was, Armand, thank you.” Zale’s jaw tightened as he began unbuttoning his vest and dress shirt.

No, he’d never wanted to be king, had no desire to rule, but when his parents’ plane had crashed on landing, of course he came home. And he turned his tremendous discipline and drive to his reign.

He’d be a great king.

He owed it to his people, his parents and most of all, Stephen.

Hannah slept fitfully that night, tossing and turning in her ornate bed in her sumptuous bedroom, dreaming of Zale, dreaming of leaving, dreaming of finding Emmeline only to lose her again.

She woke repeatedly during the night to check the clock, anxious about the time, anxious about getting to the airport in the morning. At three she climbed out of bed to push the heavy drapes open, exposing the window with the night sky and quarter moon.

But finally it was dawn and pink and yellow light pierced the horizon. For a moment Hannah lay in bed watching the sun slowly rise, the yellow and pink sky deepening to gold and coral.

It would be a beautiful morning. Not a cloud in sight. There was nothing but soaring green mountains behind the walled city and the Adriatic Sea stretching before.

Hannah left the bed to stand at the window wanting to remember everything.

The rugged mountains. The pale stone houses and walls. The red tile roofs. Church spires and castle turrets. The sparkle of the sun on the water.

This morning Raguva’s capital looked magical, as if it had been plucked from a fairy tale.

She felt a tug on her heart and that tug was enough to make her turn away.

She wasn’t going to think today. Wasn’t going to feel, either. There would be no remembering last night, not even guilt over that kiss in the corridor.

She was going home. Back to her work and world. Back to a life where she excelled and could make a difference.

But first she’d need to shower, and then she’d dress and pack the few personal things she’d brought with her into an elegant shopping bag she’d found a few days ago.

The shopping bag was part of her “escape” plan. It was really quite a simple plan, too.

She’d make arrangements to go out shopping this morning. A driver could take her to an upscale fashion boutique where she’d window-shop and wait for Emmeline’s call. Once Emmeline phoned, Hannah would head to the airport where she and Emmeline would meet in the ladies’ room, change into each other’s clothes and swap places. Easy.

Once bathed, Hannah searched for a dress in Emmeline’s wardrobe that would fit both she and Emmeline. Hannah settled on a plum dress with a jewel neckline and cutout cap sleeves that could be worn with an optional gold belt. Hannah would leave the belt off but take it in her purse so that Emmeline, who was at least ten pounds lighter, could cinch the belt around her waist to keep the dress from looking baggy on her more slender frame.

Hannah pinned her hair up in a casually chic French twist, and added classic gold earrings as her only other accessory. The less she had to put on and off the better.

Once dressed and packed, the only thing Hannah could do was wait. She called for coffee and a footman arrived with coffee and croissants.

Hannah nibbled on a croissant while waiting for Emmeline to call.

A half hour became an hour, and then two and soon it was nine o’clock and Lady Andrea arrived to cover the day’s schedule with her.

“It’s going to be a very busy day,” Lady Andrea said, taking a seat in the suite’s sitting room and pulling out her leather calendar to flip to the proper page. “At ten this morning you have an appointment with His Majesty, and the lawyers in His Majesty’s chamber, and then at eleven you’ll have your hair and makeup done for the first sitting for your official portrait. Later, if there’s time after tea, Mr. Krek, the Head Butler, will take you on a tour of the palace. Tonight you’ll have a private dinner with His Majesty and a few guests.”

Lady Andrea drew a breath and looked up at Hannah. “Any questions?”

A half dozen questions came to mind, but nothing as pressing as the meeting with Zale in just under an hour. “What is the purpose for the meeting with His Majesty and the lawyers?”

Lady Andrea closed the leather appointment book. “You’re meeting to sign paperwork, I believe.”

Hannah felt an icy rush of panic. “What paperwork?”

“The prenuptial agreement, Your Highness, spelling out division of assets, as well as custodial arrangements, in the event of the dissolution of the marriage.”

Hannah’s mouth opened and closed. Of course Zale and Emmeline would have a prenup, but Hannah couldn’t, wouldn’t sign a legal document in Emmeline’s name.

Thank God Emmeline was on her way. Only problem was, Hannah didn’t know when the princess would arrive.

Hannah stole a quick glance at her watch. Nine-fifteen. The meeting with Zale and the lawyers was only forty minutes from now and even if Emmeline landed right now, it would still be impossible for Emmeline and Hannah to switch places by then.

She’d have to stall. Have to get the meeting postponed until later.

“Could you please send word to His Majesty that I’d like to push back this morning’s meeting to this afternoon, or even tomorrow morning?” Hannah said. “I’d like time to review the documents before I sign anything.”

Lady Andrea hesitated, then nodded. “Of course, Your Highness, I’ll send word to His Majesty’s secretary and see if we can’t get this morning’s meeting rescheduled. I’ll also request copies of the documents be sent to you immediately.”

As soon as Lady Andrea left, Hannah checked her phone to see if she’d missed a call or text. Nothing.

But why nothing? Hannah pressed two fingers to her temple trying to ease the pressure building in her head. Where was Emmeline?

Hannah sent her yet another text. What’s happening? Where are you? When will you arrive?

Phone tightly clutched in her hand, Hannah paced her suite, desperate for a response. Call, call, call, she silently chanted, anxious beyond belief. But minutes crawled by without a word from Emmeline. Five, ten, twenty. And each minute made Hannah more nervous.

Lady Andrea returned, flustered. “Your Highness, His Majesty can’t reschedule this morning’s meeting. He asked that I remind you that you just approved the document and its contents two weeks ago—”

“I understand,” Hannah interrupted, panic sharpening her tone, “but I’m not feeling well enough to meet him—much less sign anything—right now. Please send my apologies—” Hannah broke off as her phone suddenly buzzed. She glanced at her phone. Emmeline.

Thank God. She must have just landed. Everything would be okay. Hannah would just postpone the signing for an hour or two to allow Emmeline to arrive at the palace.

Hannah glanced at Lady Andrea, and smiled weakly. “Please see if we can’t reschedule for after lunch. I’m sure my headache will be gone by then.”

Hannah didn’t even wait for the door to close behind Lady Andrea before reading the Emmeline’s text message.

Couldn’t get flight plan approved last night—

What? No. No!

Tiny spots danced before Hannah’s eyes. She swayed on her feet, shocked, sickened. Emmeline hadn’t even left Florida yet?

Hannah read the rest of the message with tears of frustration burning her eyes. Trying to get permission now. Don’t panic. Will be there soon! xxx Emme

Don’t panic? She nearly threw her phone across the room. How could she not panic?

“No!” Hannah choked, blinking tears, adrenaline making her heart race. “No, no, no!”

She was so furious and frustrated she missed the knock on the outer door, as well as the fact that it had opened.

Hannah might not have heard anyone enter but she felt it immediately, her nape tingling and goose bumps covered her arms. She wasn’t alone anymore. Even the energy in the room felt different.

Hannah lifted her head, her fingers stilling about the phone’s tiny keypad. Zale.

And he was upset.

She saw his expression and it took her by surprise.

Why was he so angry? Was it because she had pushed back this morning’s signing? But that didn’t make sense. Why would rescheduling the meeting upset him so much?

“What’s wrong?” she asked, taking a step back.

“What is this about?” he demanded imperiously, approaching her, his handsome features grim, his amber gaze holding hers, commanding her attention.

She sucked in a nervous breath, overwhelmed by his intensity. Zale Patek hadn’t just entered her room, he owned it, dominated it and in turn, dominated her.

Was this the same man who’d kissed her senseless last night?

Was this the man she couldn’t bear to leave?

“I don’t understand,” she said, taking another step back.

Zale kept walking toward her, tension radiating from him in waves. “Neither do I.” His tone was clipped, hard. “Explain to me why you’ve canceled the meeting.”

She bumped up against the delicate coffee table between the pink silk sofa and armchairs and had no more room to run. “I woke up with a headache and it’s just gotten worse.”

“I’m sure you could suffer through for a thirty-minute signing.”

“But I can’t. The pain’s so bad I can’t even read right now.” “I’ll read it to you, then.”

His sarcasm stung. Why was he being awful? Was it necessary to be rude? Necessary to be so inflexible? “I’m sure we can reschedule—”

“No.”

“And why not?” she demanded, just as curtly.

He tipped his head, studying her, his short crisp hair dark, but definitely not black, just as his eyes were neither brown nor gold but a shade somewhere in between. This morning he wore a black suit with a white dress shirt open at the collar. His throat was the same bronze tone as his face. She could almost see him in the sun, his lean, chiseled features glazed by light.

Gladiator. Warrior.

King.

“Because,” he said slowly, clearly, “the lawyers are here, the paperwork is ready and the agreement is to be signed now.” “Even if I don’t feel well?”

His features tightened, his mouth compressing. “I should have known the games weren’t over.”

Her hands knotted. “I’m not playing games—”

“What do you want now? How do you intend to up the stakes? Are you holding out for ten million for each child?

What is it this time?” “That’s insane!”

“It is, isn’t it? But that’s how you play, Emmeline—”

“No. You couldn’t be more wrong. I’m not changing anything or asking for anything other than a postponement so I can take some medicine and lie down and try to feel better.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I told you. I have a headache.”

“Is that so?” His deep voice mocked her even as his gaze examined her, slowly scrutinizing her appearance from the top of her head down to her toes.

Hannah could see herself in his eyes—her perfectly coiffed French twist, the rich plum of her dress and the expensive designer shoes. She’d dressed smartly, elegantly, knowing that when she left the palace this morning she needed to look every inch the royal princess.

“Yes,” she answered, lifting her chin, staring him in the eye, daring him to call her a liar. She’d been raised by a tough man. Her father didn’t tolerate fools, either, but her father had also taught her that men were to be gentlemen. Men were to treat women properly—which meant with kindness and respect. And Zale Patek was definitely not treating her with respect right now. “But if you don’t believe me, would you like to call a doctor? Have him examine me? Would that reassure you, Your Majesty?”

“That’s not necessary,” he said stiffly.

“But I think it is. Clearly you doubt my sincerity. You’ve questioned my integrity—”

“I haven’t.”

“You have. You’ve been rude. Why? For what? A prenup?”

Heat flared in his amber eyes, making them gold. “Your father was the one that wanted the contract. It was drawn up at his insistence and at great expense, so don’t put that one on me.”

Hannah blanched. The contract had been Emmeline’s father’s idea? What kind of father was this King William of Brabant? He certainly didn’t sound supportive or loving.

“Everyone is here because of you,” Zale added tersely. “Five lawyers, Emmeline. Two of whom flew in from your country, and one from overseas, and now I am to tell them to go to their rooms and twiddle their thumbs until the morning?”

He had a point. But what was she to do? Sign as Emmeline? Impossible. “Yes,” she said firmly. “That’s exactly what you do when your future queen is ill and unable to make the meeting.”

Zale drew a slow breath. He exhaled. A small muscle pulled in his jaw.

“I apologize, Your Highness,” he said from between clenched teeth, color darkening the high slash of cheekbone.

“I did not mean to appear insensitive. Your health is of course my first concern. Everything else can and will wait.” Then with a brief, icy bow, he walked out.

CHAPTER FOUR

HANNAH sank into the nearest chair after Zale left, heart racing so fast she felt like throwing up. For a long moment she couldn’t think, too rattled by the intense confrontation with Zale to do anything but process what had just taken place.

He’d been so angry. And his anger had felt personal. As if he was disgusted with her.

Why?

Why would delaying the meeting upset him so much? She hadn’t said she wouldn’t sign it. She hadn’t asked for changes. She’d just asked for time. But it seemed as if time wasn’t something Zale was prepared to give her.

And then she remembered something he’d said, spitting the words at her as if they’d hurt his mouth—I should have known the games weren’t over.

Then he’d added something about her raising the stakes, holding out for millions, because that’s how she played.

How she played?

He was the one who had burst into her room, temper blazing, words coldly mocking.

I did not mean to appear insensitive. Your health is my first concern. Everything else can wait.

Liar! He didn’t mean a word of it. He’d totally meant to be insensitive. He’d been deliberately rude.

From the moment he’d entered her suite he’d shown absolutely no concern for her health. Instead he’d bullied her. Tried to intimidate her. Accused her of playing games.

Who did he think he was, treating a woman like that?

Livid, Hannah chased after Zale, catching up with him as he descended the grand staircase. “Your Majesty, I’d like a word with you,” she said sharply, stopping him midstep.

He slowly turned to look up at her, his straight eyebrow lifted in surprise. “Your head seems to be much better.”

“It’s not,” she answered shortly, cheeks flushed, body shaking with tension, “and you owe me an apology. You were unforgivably rude.”

“I was rude?”

“And cruel. You should be ashamed of yourself! I can’t believe that’s how your parents raised you.”

Color darkened his cheekbones and his eyes glittered with anger. “I could say the same for you. Engaged to me and yet playing the field—”

“How dare you!”

“Save me the theatrics. I know, Emmeline. I know the truth.” “What truth?”

“I know why you were in Palm Beach. I know what you were doing there—”

“Attending fashion shows and dinners and a charity polo match.”

“God, you’re good,” he said, moving back up the stairs with that stealthy animal grace that made her pulse leap and heart beat too fast. “Charity polo match! That’s wonderful. Cling to your story. Keep to the facts, right?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t go there,” Zale said, joining her at the top of the stairs, and his sheer size and intensity overwhelmed her. She didn’t like how he towered over her. Didn’t like that she had to tip her head back to see his expression. Being this close made her feel alarmingly vulnerable.

“What does that mean?” she demanded fiercely, her heart racing, her pulse unsteady.

“Emmeline, I know. I know why you were in Palm Beach. I know you went to meet him. I know you spent every free moment in Florida you could with him.”

Hannah inhaled hard, stunned. Couldn’t be … Emmeline couldn’t have been with someone else when she was engaged to the King Patek … could she?

“No,” she whispered, not wanting to believe it, not wanting to imagine that beautiful, charming Emmeline d’Arcy would be unfaithful. “That’s not true.”

“Don’t add insult to injury! It’s bad enough you were seeing him throughout our engagement, but don’t lie to me, too. You were seen together—constantly—mutual friends were concerned enough to phone and let me know.”

Hannah felt cold. His ugly, hurtful words made her sick. “What friends?” she murmured faintly, horrified that this was the kind of relationship Zale and Emmeline had. How could they marry when they mistrusted each other so? When they had so many secrets? Where was the warmth? And respect?

“Does it matter which friends?” he answered wearily, his expression shuttered. “Because it’s the truth. You were with Alejandro every moment you could spare. I wasn’t even sure you’d get on the plane to come here.”

Hannah laced and unlaced her fingers, heartsick.

That’s why Emmeline had wanted Hannah to switch places with her? She’d wanted more time with her lover. No. No, couldn’t be …

Was Emmeline that cold? That calculating?

Hannah shook her head, confused, betrayed and wished with all her heart she’d never started this terrible charade. She’d thought it was an innocent prank, pretending to be Emmeline for a few hours, but instead there was so much more at stake.

Countries. Kingdoms.

A man’s self-respect.

Hannah’s eyes burned and she had to look away to cling to her control. “I’m sorry,” she said, thinking the words didn’t mean much because they’d change nothing. Emmeline still wasn’t here. Hannah was pretending to be someone she wasn’t. And the charade continued, making Zale Patek the fool.

Her father would be so ashamed if he saw her now. He’d raised her to be strong, independent and true.

True.

But oh, she wasn’t being honest now. She was anything but. And Zale deserved better.

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