Crown Prince Marco suddenly felt very jaded.

Given a choice, he wouldn’t marry anyone, much less notorious Princess Iliana.

But he didn’t have a choice.

He’d come here to Dallas, Texas, to attend a charity ball and, at the same time, to meet the woman he had pledged to marry. He’d long ago promised King Mandrake that he would marry his daughter, and he meant to keep his word.

Marco was due to take over his rightful role as king very soon, and he would need a queen. Plus, his two motherless children needed a mother.

As a widower of two years, Marco had no appetite for the dating game. A ready-made mate would fit the bill for him.

As long as she didn’t make too much trouble….

Dear Reader,

My, how time flies! I still remember the excitement of becoming Senior Editor for Silhouette Romance and the thrill of working with these wonderful authors and stories on a regular basis. My duties have recently changed, and I’m going to miss being privileged to read these stories before anyone else. But don’t worry, I’ll still be reading the published books! I don’t think there’s anything as reassuring, affirming and altogether delightful as curling up with a bunch of Silhouette Romance novels and dreaming the day away. So know that I’m joining you, even though Mavis Allen will have the pleasure of guiding the line now.

And for this last batch that I’m bringing to you, we’ve got some terrific stories! Raye Morgan is finishing up her CATCHING THE CROWN series with Counterfeit Princess (SR #1672), a fun tale that proves love can conquer all. And Teresa Southwick is just beginning her DESERT BRIDES trilogy about three sheiks who are challenged—and caught!—by American women. Don’t miss the first story, To Catch a Sheik (SR #1674).

Longtime favorite authors are also back. Julianna Morris brings us The Right Twin for Him (SR #1676) and Doreen Roberts delivers One Bride: Baby Included (SR #1673). And we’ve got two authors new to the line—one of whom is new to writing! RITA® Award-winning author Angie Ray’s newest book, You’re Marrying Her?, is a fast-paced funny story about a woman who doesn’t like her best friend’s fiancée. And Patricia Mae White’s first novel is about a guy who wants a little help in appealing to the right woman. Here Practice Makes Mr. Perfect (SR #1677).

All the best,

Mary-Theresa Hussey

Senior Editor

Counterfeit Princess
Raye Morgan

MILLS & BOON

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To Dallas—a great friend (and a wonderful city!)

RAYE MORGAN

has spent almost two decades, while writing over fifty novels, searching for the answer to that elusive question: Just what is that special magic that happens when a man and a woman fall in love? Every time she thinks she has the answer, a new wrinkle pops up, necessitating another book! Meanwhile, after living in Holland, Guam, Japan and Washington, D.C., she currently makes her home in Southern California with her husband and two of her four boys.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Epilogue

Chapter One

“All right, no more hedging, Jordan. Tell me what you’ve heard about Princess Iliana. And be specific. I want to know exactly what I’m getting into.”

Nabotavia’s Crown Prince Marco Roseanova was talking tough, giving his valet a measured look. He would trust the man with his life, but could he trust him to repeat the local gossip?

“I’m afraid she does seem to have a bit of a reputation, Your Highness.”

Jordan looked pained as he said the words and Marco sighed, sure he was holding something back. “I need the facts if I’m going to do anything about this.”

“They say she has a—” Jordan’s long face was always mournful, but now it twisted as though he thoroughly disapproved of the scent of the aftershave lotion Marco was applying to his sleek and handsome face “—a gangster for a boyfriend.”

Marco suddenly felt very tired. Given a choice, he wouldn’t marry anyone, much less Princess Iliana with her notoriety. And he’d certainly been warned about her before from people very close to him. But he didn’t have a choice. He’d come to Dallas, Texas to attend an annual charity ball the local Nabotavian community put on and at the same time, to meet the woman he had pledged to marry. He’d promised King Mandrake of Alovitia that he would marry his daughter and he meant to keep his word.

Marco was due to take over his rightful role as King of Nabotavia very soon, and by law he needed a queen. And his two motherless children needed a mother. As a widower of only two years he had no appetite for getting into the dating game. A ready-made mate would fit the bill for him right now. As long as she didn’t make too much trouble.

“I think we’ll be able to convince her to give up her less-savory hobbies,” he said, reaching for his tuxedo jacket. “Let’s go meet this wild child of a princess, shall we?”

Jordan dipped his head in acquiescence and turned to open the door for his employer. They rode the elevator down to the ballroom in silence, and as the doors slid open to reveal the crowd gathering on the landing, they exchanged a look and started for the entrance.

“It’s the crown prince,” someone said as they passed, and the crowd began to part, letting them through to the top of the stairs where the announcer was introducing each new set of arrivals over a speaker system.

“There she is,” Jordan muttered to him suddenly. “Blue gown and tiara.”

Marco looked across the landing and met a gaze so startlingly open in its curiosity, he was caught for a moment, unable to look away. She was beautiful, just as he remembered from ten years before. That he had expected. But he hadn’t anticipated the clear gaze, the lifted chin, the lack of guile, the complete absence of either contrition or defiance. She could have been an angel. But he knew damn well she wasn’t.

He blinked and finally he pulled his gaze away, reaching to tug on the constriction of the neck of his shirt. “I can’t meet her yet,” he told Jordan, turning back from the announcer and looking toward the bar. “I’m going to need a good stiff drink before I can handle this one.”

He didn’t bother to look at Jordan’s face. He knew he would see disapproval. But a man could only do what he could do, and right now, too much was flooding in on him—memories, emotions. The princess was certainly lovely, but the face of his beloved Lorraine, the wife he’d lost too soon, was haunting him. That was enough to put a cold, painful grip on his heart. He needed a few minutes to himself. Squaring his shoulders, he strolled into the bar and nodded to the bartender.

“Well, Greta,” said Shannon Harper, the woman Prince Marco had taken for the princess, speaking to one of the two Alovitian courtiers standing on either side of her as she watched Marco turn and head for the bar. “I’d say the prince has no more interest in meeting Princess Iliana than the real princess has in meeting him. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“He’s just a little nervous,” the gray-haired countess murmured. “He’ll be back.” But she was wringing her bejeweled hands and a half second later her true feelings came flooding out. She looked across Shannon to the short, bald man standing on the other side of her. “Did you see the way he looked at her? Do you think he knew? He knew, didn’t he? He could tell right away that she is an imposter!”

“Get a grip, Greta,” Freddy muttered at her, carefully maintaining his dignified presence. “And don’t say that in public. You never know who is listening.” He leaned closer to his cohort. “He didn’t notice a thing. He just wants a drink, that’s all. You’ll see. He’ll be back.”

Shannon looked from one to the other of her handlers. She was getting darn tired of being treated like a mannequin whose only function was to smile and wave and pretend to be Princess Iliana of Alovitia. But that was exactly what she was being well-paid for.

Her strange adventure had started almost two months before when she’d been offered a mysterious job. She already had part-time work as a hostess at a steak house to pay for her graduate studies in art history. Greta and Freddy had found her there one night when they had come in for a meal. They introduced themselves as close advisors to the king of the obscure little country of Alovitia, sent to America to act as support for Princess Iliana. Exclaiming over Shannon’s incredible resemblance to the king’s daughter, they stunned her by saying they would pay her to pretend to be the princess.

“We will train you,” Greta had told her when she resisted. “Princess Iliana is busy in another part of the country and not available for the many charitable functions she had promised to attend. You will take her place. No one will ever know the difference.”

It was an interesting offer, especially because she had friend, family and professional ties to that area of Eastern Europe. She’d been reluctant at first, despite the fact that she had accrued large debts during her mother’s long illness and knew the money being offered would come in very handy. “Won’t anyone she knows realize I’m not her?”

“That’s the beauty of it. She has only recently bought a ranch outside of town. The local Alovitian community has never really known her at all.”

So she’d played the part that had taken her far from her ordinary life and catapulted her into a status that caused heads to turn. That had been intoxicating for a while, though there had been a lot of hard work involved, a lot of luncheons to attend, conferences to appear at, parades to grace with her presence, riding in an open car. After a few weeks, she’d begun to understand why the real princess had skipped out on her obligations. Which brought up another matter. She’d been hired on a short term, temporary basis. Wasn’t it time for the princess to come home?

That question had come to the fore when Greta had told her about the ball, and the fact that Crown Prince Marco of Nabotavia was planning to attend as a way of reintroduction to the princess.

“I thought I would die when I heard he was going to be coming to this ball to see her,” Greta moaned dramatically at the time. “It’s too soon. He’s not supposed to come for another month. But I suppose he couldn’t wait.”

“Have you tried to get in touch with her?” Shannon had asked, wishing she could think of a graceful way to bail out of this assignment.

“Oh yes. We’ve combed Nevada from one end to the other. She’s not to be found.”

By now Shannon had come to understand that the absent princess was not in another part of the country ministering to the needs of orphans or anything remotely of the kind. She was rumored to be in Las Vegas living in the fast lane and defying her father at every turn.

“Well, I hope you know that this is the very last time I’m doing this,” Shannon had said uneasily. “It’s one thing to go cutting ribbons at supermarket openings and waving to the crowd. It’s another to fool a man about the woman that he loves. Or that he’s going to love. Or marry, anyway.”

Even at the time she had been very much afraid that her luck in passing as faux royalty was about to be seriously tested. Now she knew she should have followed her instincts and quit the princess impersonation business while she had her chance.

“Here you go,” Greta said, squeezing her hand as they found themselves at the front of the line, ready to be announced. “Good luck!” And she faded back into the crowd, leaving Shannon on Freddy’s arm.

Shannon looked out at the waves of glittering patrons in the ballroom below and felt a surge of nerves. She’d never attended anything like this before. Put on by the Nabotavian Ladies Relief Society of Dallas, it was one of the most important events of the fall social calendar and everyone from local politicians to media celebrities were in attendance.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess Iliana and Count Frederich of Alovitia,” the herald announced loudly. Faces turned all over the ballroom and a murmur ran through the crowd.

“Steady as she goes, my dear,” Freddy whispered, patting her hand as it clutched the crook of his arm, bracing her as they descended the wide staircase. “You’re going to do just fine.”

Even for Dallas, the event was spectacular. The glitter of light from the chandeliers reflecting on the masses of precious gems adorning the women in attendance was blinding. Men and women alike were dressed to the nines, silk and satin predominating. The ballroom itself was stunning, its huge windows towering twenty feet high and draped with red velvet curtains held back with braided golden cords. A full orchestra was playing and people were dancing.

Freddy escorted her slowly around the floor and suddenly she realized that everywhere they turned, handsome young men were gaping in her direction. It gave her a start to see this sort of male reaction. She really wasn’t used to it. Freddy and Greta had obviously done a good job in directing the hair-dresser, the makeup artist and the costumer who’d worked on her for hours this afternoon. She’d thought she looked pretty good when she’d surveyed the results in her mirror. But the male gazes she was meeting here were a better confirmation.

Whatever the magicians who’d worked on her had done had turned her limp, dishwater hair into a cascading tower of shiny blond locks piled gracefully atop her head, leaving lovely curling tendrils to float flatteringly around her face. The entire creation had been topped off with a tiara of drop pearls which now framed her forehead. The effect was…well, royal.

And amplified when they had poured her into a formfitting electric blue strapless gown and propped her into stilt-like shoes, draped her neck and earlobes with more exotic pearls, and turned her funny, freckled face into something out of a fashion magazine. How they’d done it, she didn’t know. But it was definitely one of the better perks of pretending to be royal.

Crown Prince Marco’s name was announced and Freddy turned her so that she could see him descending the stairs. Her pulse began to thump a little harder. This time she was probably going to have to meet him face-to-face.

She smiled and nodded to a passing matron who had addressed her, then looked back at Crown Prince Marco again. Dressed in a beautifully tailored tuxedo that fit his lean, wiry-looking body perfectly, he had none of the ornamentation of some of the men she’d noticed. But he didn’t need that sort of thing to appear impressive. There was something in the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, the steady gaze from his brilliant blue eyes, that did that all on their own.

He was listening to a tall, raven-haired woman, who was obviously attempting a charm offensive, but though he looked polite, his gaze was wandering, and for just a moment, it met Shannon’s across the heads of about twenty people between them. She looked away quickly and swallowed hard. This was not going to be as easy as it had seemed when they’d been planning the evening. How was she going to get away with pretending to be the woman this man was going to marry?

“Just wait here,” Freddy told her quietly, observing the scene. “Let him come to you.”

So she waited, heart beating a bit faster than usual. And in a moment, he appeared, standing before her, looking like the prince he was. Up close, he was even more impressive. Handsome in a rugged way, his face had a rather gaunt look, as though he’d witnessed many unpleasant acts in his past that he would like to forget, but couldn’t.

She knew he was a widower. Was that what accounted for the haunted look in his eyes? She didn’t know, but his dignified reserve only made him more challenging. Her mouth went dry as he nodded to Freddy, then turned his full attention to her.

“Princess,” he said, giving her a deep bow, his gaze cool though his lips were tilted in a slight smile.

“Your Royal Highness.” She curtsied and held out her hand to him. He took it and brushed her fingers lightly with his lips.

She’d had her hand kissed before. Freddy had been putting her through the paces, practicing how to do it with a casualness that would bespeak royal breeding. At the appearances she’d been attending, men had been snacking on her fingers for weeks. But this was different.

His lips touched her skin and a shock of response shot through her, more like heat than electricity.

“Oh!” she said involuntarily, trying to jerk her hand back.

But he held on to it and looking up, he caught her stunned expression before she could hide it. A look of bemused surprise lit his silver blue eyes.

“Why Princess Iliana, you are looking more beautiful even than I remembered you,” he told her as he finally released her hand.

She knew what came next. After all, she’d practiced it. She was supposed to say, “And you as well, Your Royal Highness,” or something neat and polite such as that. Instead, she heard herself stammer, “I am?” feeling a fool.

His mouth twisted but she couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a smile or not. If so, it certainly hadn’t reached his eyes.

“I suppose we must dance,” he said, looking at the dance floor with something less than enthusiasm.

“Must we?” she said, alarmed.

Just a few words, they’d told her. You’ll barely be introduced, then we’ll whisk you away. What on earth was this talk of dancing?

“I don’t know if you remember how much I hate it,” he added.

She gazed up into his face with naked relief. “Oh…if you’d rather not…”

He gave her a quizzical look, one eyebrow raised. “You mean you would let me off the hook?” he said, as though he could hardly believe she could say such a thing.

“Of course.” And gladly. She looked around for Freddy. If only she could escape!

But the prince stepped closer and looked down at her. “For some reason, Princess,” he said softly, “I find you a little too anxious to get rid of me.” His eyes glittered with something she hoped was humor, but she couldn’t tell for sure. He held out his elbow. “Shall we?”

Help did not seem to be on the way and she gave in to the inevitable. Remembering to keep her head high, she gave him the slightest of nods and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm as they made their way toward the dance floor.

With a small mental shrug, she turned to face him. She’d signed on for smiling and waving, and a few sentences into a microphone here and there. She’d never bargained on dancing with a prince. But his arms came around her and the music seemed to swell, and they were off.

“Just let me get through this,” she thought to herself, feeling awkward and phony and out of her depth, “and I’ll go to the powder room and stay until Freddy says we can go home.”

But even as she thought the words, she caught sight of herself in one of the long mirrored panels between the high windows, and for just a second, she wondered who that beautiful princess was. It was seeing the crown prince in the mirror as well that brought the truth home to her. They looked like they belonged in a fairy tale. Both of them.

Her head went just a little higher. What the heck. If through some miracle she had managed to look like a princess, surely she could make a little more effort to act like one. Forget Shannon Harper. Shannon was gone. History. Someone new was taking her place. For now.

“My name is Princess Iliana,” she thought to herself. “I am royal, darn it! And I’m not going to forget it.”

Consciously, she made herself relax in the prince’s arms. She jutted her chin out just a bit more, let the rhythm of the music loosen her knees just a bit more, and then she did the most important thing. She made herself to look up into his face and smile.

He didn’t smile back, but his grip on her tightened and his hand slid higher and spread across the naked area below her shoulder blades, radiating heat across her skin.

He wasn’t saying anything. At first she was relieved, but after a moment or two of silence, it finally registered that he was being incredibly patronizing. After all, he was supposed to be wooing her, wasn’t he? Not just putting in time on a schedule. The nerve of the man—she was a princess!

Looking up into his eyes again, she gave him a more knowing smile. Now that her confidence had been revived, she managed to shed most of her awkwardness.

“After the way you turned from me on the landing, I was afraid I wasn’t going to actually meet with you,” she said, her tone playfully accusatory. “So kind of you to spare me a moment or two.”

His mouth barely quirked at the corners. “I took one look at you and felt the need of a little liquid courage, I’m afraid,” he admitted, though his tone belied his words.

“You’re kidding,” she said, truly incredulous. “Is it women in general that bother you? Or just this particular princess?”

“It isn’t the woman. It’s the situation.” His glance in her direction said that he wasn’t used to this sort of challenge and wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Doesn’t this situation bother you?”

“Not a bit,” she said with all honesty. After all, she wasn’t the one who was going to have to marry him. And if anyone thought she would sign on for that duty, they could think again. Marriage had never been her goal.

“Then, ‘You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din,’” he muttered, mostly to himself.

She frowned. She was getting the distinct impression that he thought a conversation with his own alter ego would be more stimulating than any chat he might have with her. Prince or no prince, she wasn’t going to let him get away with that.

“If you’re going to start spouting Rudyard Kipling, you’d better watch out. I just might give you some Emily Dickinson in return.”

His eyes widened as he looked down at her. “What? A princess with an education in literature? This is something new.”

A flush of pleasure surged through her as she saw an actual spark of interest ignite in his gaze. “Ah,” she said wisely. “So the real problem is finally revealed. You have no respect for princesses.”

“Not true. My very favorite sister is a princess.”

“Family never counts, though, does it?” she noted, wrinkling her nose.

“On the contrary, family is the only thing that counts.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. This was certainly a different way of looking at things than she was used to. But she supposed royalty had to think that way. Family was, after all, their claim to fame. “I guess you’re very proud of yours, aren’t you?”

“Of course. Aren’t you proud of yours?”

She made a face. “Not in the way you’re talking about. After all, family is just something you’re handed at birth. What you do with it is what counts. The sort of person you become.”

He held her slightly away so that he could take a good look at her face. “I’ve heard a lot about the woman you’ve become, Princess, but no one had warned me you were a philosopher.”

She wanted to ask just what he had heard, but then she remembered they weren’t really talking about her. Before she could think of anything else to say, the music faded. The dance was over and she sighed with relief, turning her head to look for Freddy. It took a moment to register the fact that the prince hadn’t let go of her, and when the music began again, and his arms seemed to tighten around her, she realized her ordeal had not yet come to its logical conclusion.

But another thought pushed that disappointment aside. She hadn’t let it fully sink in yet, but she was dancing with the crown prince of Nabotavia! Despite the circumstances, this was a dream come true. Her concentration in her art history studies was in Eastern European Art of the Twentieth Century, with an emphasis on Nabotavia. For the last two years she’d read everything she could get her hands on about the plucky little country, studying its history, immersing herself in its art work. She’d tried to keep current on the fight to oust the radicals, though there hadn’t been much in the local press. And now here she was with the prince.

Her heart gave a little leap, but she stilled it. She had to remain calm. After all, a princess of the next-door country wouldn’t think this was any big deal, now would she?

Stay calm. Stay natural. Think of something to say.

“Have you changed your opinion of dancing?” she asked as they swayed to a rhythmic arrangement of a classical tune.

“No,” he told her. “But I am in the process of revising my opinion of you.”

Something in his tone, something in the way he was looking down at her, sent a riff of sensation cascading down her spine and she almost gasped aloud.

Wow. Where had that come from?

But she already knew the answer. The music was creating a sumptuous background to the night, along with the shimmering lights and the richly dressed crowd. That helped. The scent of candles and gardenias filled the air, creating a scene for magic, a backdrop for fairy tales. A girl could lose her head in a setting like this.

But even more important was the spectacularly handsome man who held her. At first she’d been impressed with his looks and his royal bearing. But now something else was throwing her off her stride. Suddenly she was conscious of the flesh-and-blood man beneath the regalia, and that sense of awareness flooded her with a feeling a little too intense for the circumstances.

Blinking, she swallowed hard and stared at his tux lapel. This prince was also a man, a very muscular man, with wide shoulders and a masculine scent that was suddenly filling her head. His hand on her skin seemed to sizzle. His warm breath tickled her ear. His hard thigh grazed the inside of her leg as they made a turn and an aching longing seemed to curl like smoke up through her body.

She bit down hard on the inside of her lip. If she didn’t stop this impossible swoon, she was going to melt into a puddle of ridiculous eroticism right here on the dance floor. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself back into sanity, hardening her resistance, coming up for air.

You will not fall for this man, she told herself fiercely. Now stick with the program and fend off all feelings of fatal attraction.

There. She sighed with relief. She’d done it. And though it seemed like forever since she’d swooned, he was looking at her as though he were still waiting for an answer to his statement, so it couldn’t have lasted as long as she’d thought.

Now, what had he said? Oh yes.

I am in the process of revising my opinion of you.

It was certainly a statement that needed a response of some kind.

Chapter Two

“So you arrived tonight with a skeptical opinion of me?” Shannon asked, her firm tone masking her wobbly confidence. “And just where did you form it? We haven’t seen each other for ten years.” Or so she’d been told in the short lecture on facts Greta had given her just hours before.

“Over ten years,” Marco agreed. “The last time I saw you I believe was the night we danced at your debutante ball when you were sixteen.”

“Really?” Oh-oh. Now she’d done it. This was her worst fear, that he would bring up the past, a past she knew absolutely nothing about.

“You don’t remember?”

She shook her head quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ve got amnesia for anything that happened before I turned twenty-one.” Hah! A master stroke, if she did say so herself.

“Oh really?” His dark eyebrow rose in surprise. He made no effort to pretend to believe her. “Damned convenient, isn’t it?”

She gave him a superior look. That was her story and she was sticking to it. But she felt a prickly sense of irritation that he seemed so ready to think the worst of her. She wanted to react to his dry tone with a sharp retort, but she stopped herself in time. She had to remember what was going on here. This was not a real relationship with a real man. This was playacting.

And she wasn’t supposed to be involved in it, darn it all! She had to watch what she said and hope to get out of this without being unmasked. Looking into his eyes, she searched for evidence that he had suspicions about her. But all she saw were shadows hiding any emotion he might be feeling. If he did feel anything at all. Which she was beginning to doubt.

The trouble was, she did feel things. Sometimes she seemed to be a fountain of feeling, spilling out all over the place. Instinct told her she was already beginning to feel a very inappropriate list of things about this man. And wouldn’t that just land her in a pickle if she didn’t watch it? Not only was he a prince, while she was a phony, paid by the hour, but his hard jaw and ice-cold gaze told her he wouldn’t melt for a mere woman. Not on a bet.

“Amnesia runs in my family,” she told him airily, deciding nonsense was better than trying to stick to facts. “We all get it sooner or later.”

He nodded, looking slightly bored. “I understand,” he said. “The truth is often difficult to face.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at him. Was he baiting her? “And you think you know the truth about me?” she asked slowly.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I seem to know more of it than you do. You have amnesia. Remember?”

She bit her lip. Score one for the arrogant prince. Now she was really annoyed, but that was certainly less dangerous than swooning.

“What I remember most about our last meeting was, actually, the dancing,” he went on. “You dance much better now than you did then. As I recall, your spike heels gouged holes in my feet that didn’t heal for weeks.”

“I’m so sorry,” she told him unconvincingly. And then she couldn’t resist a quick follow-up. “But I think you’d have to admit, at least a part of the credit goes to now having a partner who has finally learned how to lead.”

He gazed at her questioningly. “I thought you didn’t remember anything from the past.”

She waved a hand in the air. “I don’t. I’m just extrapolating from current evidence.”

“Oh, I see.” His face finally registered the fact that she was purposely trying to get his goat. “So you find my dancing just barely adequate at this point?”

She smiled, glad to know he was feeling her jabs at last but still not sure if he was taking them with humor or annoyance. “I didn’t say that at all.”

His blue eyes glittered. “No, but you certainly implied it.”

“Assumptions are risky things.”

“I guess I lead a dangerous life, then.” His eyebrow quirked. “Speaking of which…”

She could tell by his tone that he was leading into something she wasn’t going to like and she steeled herself.

“I hear you’ve been leading quite an interesting life since I saw you last. Perhaps you might find time at some future date to fill me in on the particulars of anything I might need to know.”

She saw right through him. What was he angling for, an abject apology from the princess that she’d been around the block a few times? Despite the gossip she’d heard about Iliana, and the things she knew about her as well, she felt an impulse to defend her. But she held it back. After all, she wasn’t here to build foundations for their future relationship. She was just here to smile and get through the evening without creating a disaster.

“A gentleman doesn’t ask a lady things about her past,” she said evasively, her glance into his eyes just short of a glare.

His dark eyebrow rose again. “In my experience, that rule only applies when the past is somewhat shady.”

“Shady!”

“Well, cloudy at the very least.”

“Really?” Anger could easily turn to fury if she didn’t watch it. She choked back her impulse to go on the attack for a moment, but then couldn’t resist one quick comment. “I suppose your past is pure as the driven snow.”

“My past is irrelevant,” he said, looking infuriatingly superior. “But your reaction tells me all I need to know about yours.”

“Oh really?” The man was insufferable! “A lot you know. Give me one example of something ‘cloudy’ in the prin…in my past.” She knew the moment the words were on her lips that she was courting disaster but she couldn’t stand the way he was lording it over her.

“You wouldn’t like me to do that.”

“You’re bluffing,” she challenged hotly, and dancing was forgotten as she stood glaring at him, chin out, hands on her hips. “You don’t have one.”

He gave her a long-suffering look. “Your Highness, I hardly think this is the time or the place for this sort of display.”

“There.” She tossed her head. “I knew you didn’t really have one.”

His cold gaze settled on her in a way that made her want to take a step backward, but she forced herself to hold her position.

“All right,” he said slowly. “I’ll tell you of one. Although, as you have reminded me, it is very impolite for a gentleman to do so.”

“Have at it.”

Taking her arm and forcing a smile in the direction of a person he recognized, he led her quickly away from the crowd and out onto a balcony where they could have at least the semblance of privacy. Once alone, she swung around to face him, and he began his reminiscence.

“The time I’m thinking of was when you must have been about fourteen. All our families were congregated at that resort in the south of France. I was in a sailing race when I found you, barely dressed in a thong bikini you must have stolen from some street-walker, stowed away in my Laser. Of course, you ruined my chances in the race, and when I put you ashore, you told everyone who would listen that I’d kidnapped you.”

She winced inside, but would have died rather than show it. Princess Iliana did seem to have a penchant for inappropriate behavior. Her own inclination would have been to apologize, but she had to think what the real princess would say to having her adolescent idiocies thrown in her face. So she faced him with defiance.

“Did I also tell them you had no sense of humor?” She shrugged grandly, turning to look out over the city street below where traffic was strung out like diamonds on a chain. “Anyway, you made that up. I wouldn’t ever have done such a thing.” And that was true on a personal level.

“It was you or someone who looks a lot like you,” he said, and her eyes widened, wondering for a second or two if he was wise to her. But he went on, adding, “I’ve thought of a lot more instances, now that you’ve brought them to mind. Would you like to hear another?”

She waved a hand in the air, dismissing his suggestion. “Unnecessary. I think I’ve got the general trend of the way your mind works.”

“So you do concede my point.”

“I don’t concede anything.”

“That’s illogical. You’ve basically conceded.”

“No I haven’t.” She turned to go back into the ballroom. “But I’m through talking about it.”

He put an arm out, hand against the wall, blocking her passage. “Concede,” he demanded, his arrogance on proud display.

She stared up at him, aware once again of his wide shoulders and strong jaw. This was exactly the sort of man she had dreamed of in her adolescence, the sort of man who might grab a girl and throw her over his shoulder…. She shivered. What a ridiculous thought. She was adolescent no longer and she didn’t dream of macho men. They were passe, old hat, from another time. The ideal man should respect a woman and treat her just the way he would a casual friend. The prince was out of line as far as she was concerned.

She glared at him. “You can’t make me. You’re not a king yet, you know.”

“No,” he agreed, his eyes narrowing. “But I’m sure to become one. And whether or not you become a queen is still up in the air, isn’t it?”

She gasped. Turning back toward the balcony railing, she began to stroll, forcing him to follow her. “I don’t know why you want to marry me if you really can’t stand me.”

He looked stunned that she would come right out and say it. “I never said any such thing.”

“Your body language says it loud and clear.”

“Then you are misreading my body.”

Their gazes clashed, held for a long moment as they both digested the words he’d just spoken. Shannon felt heat flood her face, infuriating her even further. She quickly looked away. But they didn’t resume walking, and in a few seconds, their eyes met again, as though it was impossible for them to keep from doing it.

“I just want you to know,” Marco added roughly, “that I wouldn’t marry any woman that I couldn’t stand.”

She nodded crisply. “So the wedding is off?” she said, coolly searching his gaze.

He stared down at her as though she’d said something too outlandish to deal with, and suddenly Freddy was there, obsequiously inserting himself into the conversation. Shannon didn’t actually hear what he was saying. She was still staring into Marco’s gaze, wondering how she could be so angry with someone she found so attractive. But a moment later, she was leaving the balcony on Freddy’s arm, forcing herself to resist the urge to look back at the crown prince.

“I am not marrying that man,” she said through gritted teeth once she was alone with Greta in the dressing room. She saw the look that passed over Greta’s face and she added quickly, “And if Princess Iliana is smart, she won’t either.”

Funny, but she hadn’t spent much time wondering about the real Iliana before. The woman had hardly seemed real to her anyway. This was just a job she was doing. But now she had to face the fact that she’d been saying things in Iliana’s name, things that might last and have repercussions, and that fact made everything very different.

She was pacing the floor in pent-up frustration and Greta was watching her as though she were witnessing a natural phenomenon that threatened disaster but couldn’t be controlled. She stopped in front of the woman.

“You know, I’m going to have to talk to the princess when she gets back, before she meets with the prince. I’m going to have to tell her some of the things I’ve said to him. That is, if you all care about a smooth transition.”

She frowned. She knew Greta and Freddy were adamant that the princess would marry Marco. Their king had decreed it should be so and they were supposed to be making sure all went well. The fact that Iliana wasn’t cooperating was still a secret to most people. Greta had assured her that Iliana would come through when the chips were down—but weren’t they pretty much on the table at this point? And where was she?

Shannon shook her head, appealing to the woman’s common sense. “I don’t see how this is going to work. Once he sees her, isn’t he going to know she isn’t me?”

Greta shrugged helplessly, looking miserable. “What can we do? He is leaving tomorrow and won’t be back for a few weeks. By then, maybe the impression you’ve made will fade. We will hope that he will attribute differences to her not having the makeup and not being dressed for a ball.” Her hand went to her throat, diamonds sparkling. “But her voice…her demeanor.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, he is bound to think something is different. But we didn’t have much choice, did we? We had to take the chance.”

Shannon hesitated as a thread of guilt began to slither through her. She knew that Greta and Freddy were both scared to death of their employer, the king of Alovitia. She wasn’t sure if they were just afraid for their jobs and position in the royal scheme of things, or if they actually feared for their own physical safety. And she was afraid that her own performance tonight wasn’t going to help things where they were concerned.

“You know, we had a dreadful fight,” she told the poor woman. “I said some things I probably shouldn’t have said.” She gave her a look of regret. “He may want to call the marriage off, I don’t know.”

Greta’s eyes widened and she grabbed Shannon’s arm. “What did you do? The king will have my head for this!”

Shannon swallowed hard and blinked back some misery of her own. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“You must go back and make up with him.” Greta thrust her hand toward the door, bracelets jangling. “Now. Hurry!”

Shannon shook her head. “Oh no, Greta. I can’t do that. If you’d seen the way he looked at me….”

“Looks? You think that looks can hurt you?” She slapped the flat of her hand down on the table, her eyes almost wild. “The king will have more than looks waiting for me, I can tell you that. Why do you think he sent us here? We were to make sure his daughter bent to his will. This wedding must come about. It is King Mandrake’s command that it be so.” She put her hands together as though in prayer. “Please. Shannon. You must go back and make it up. You don’t understand how important this is.”

Shannon sighed. “You don’t understand how hard it would be,” she said softly. But she glanced into the mirror and caught a wayward strand of hair, already preparing for what she knew she had to do.

Crown Prince Marco paced the thick carpets of his hotel room, fuming as he went back over the conversation with the princess in his mind. “I don’t know if we can believe those rumors, Jordan. Even gangsters have standards.”

“Sir?”

He stopped to look at his valet in exasperation. “She’s exactly the sort of woman I never could stand. Has to make a smart remark about everything you say.” He threw up a hand. “Of course, maybe a gangster is the only type who likes that sort of thing.”

“Indeed, sir.”

Turning away and then quickly turning back again, he looked his valet in the eye. “Tell me, really, where did you hear those things about her?”

Jordan shrugged. “One hears things, Your Royal Highness. The other servants talk.”

He nodded. “Well, I can’t say I hadn’t heard the rumors before myself. Lady Judith has told me much the same sort of gossip.”

Sinking into a chair at the small round table, he put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. He hated this. If only Lorraine were still alive….

But she wasn’t, and he had to go on. Ruthlessly, he pushed the picture of her sweet face out of his mind. He didn’t have the time or the luxury to dwell on what might have been. He had a country to lead. Nabotavia needed a queen and needed King Mandrake’s help on their western border. Marrying Princess Iliana would give them both those things.

She certainly wasn’t his ideal. He couldn’t even conceive of living with her as husband and wife. But he didn’t imagine they would actually spend much time together, and he didn’t need any more children. The ones he had were being well brought up by their grandmother, Judith, Lorraine’s mother. A good stepmother for his children would have been nice, but one couldn’t have everything one wanted in life. Often, one barely got what one needed.

Did he really need this woman?

Not personally. He’d managed without female companionship for the last two years. He couldn’t claim that he’d done fine. He’d missed Lorraine every moment, ached for her. But in every other way, life had continued without much hassle. The children loved their grandmother. They still had the same nanny they had known since birth. As the crown prince, and soon as king, he had never been destined to be much of a hands-on father to them. That was something he regretted, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d spent a good part of the last year fighting to free Nabotavia, and he would spend the rest of his life fighting to maintain that freedom for his country. Whether or not he was married would make little difference there.

But his country needed a queen, and his alliance with Alovitia was supremely important. So yes, much as he hated to admit it, he needed this woman. Slowly, he raised his head and looked at Jordan, misery shining in his eyes.

“Why can’t my life be simple?” he asked him with a growl.

“Because you were born to a complex role, sir,” Jordan answered sensibly.

Marco nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right.” He grimaced and swore softly. “I know I can’t betray Mandrake after all he did to help me. If it hadn’t been for him, Nabotavia would not be free.”

“Quite true, sir.”

Marco frowned. He’d never given much thought to why King Mandrake might want so badly to have his daughter married to him. He’d always supposed it was to strengthen ties with Nabotavia. The bonds between the two countries were ancient and would always be there, but would be vastly strengthened by a marriage between the two ruling houses. But maybe there was more. After all, she was at least twenty-eight by now, though she looked younger. And still unmarried. Her father was probably having a hard time getting anyone suitable to take her.

“If I might make a suggestion, sir.”

He looked up hopefully. “Suggestions are welcomed, Jordan.”

“It is well said that King Mandrake does have a terrible temper.”

“A terrible temper. Yes indeed.” Marco laughed softly and ran his fingers through his hair. “You know, Jordan, I’m thinking of developing a terrible temper when I’m king. What do you think?”

“Such a thing can come in handy, sir. But about my thoughts on tonight’s subject.”

“Yes. Go ahead.”

“I believe I mentioned the king’s temper. If he hears that you threw aside his daughter after ten minutes on the dance floor, he is liable to take it as an affront.”

“Yes, I’m afraid you’re right on that one. I can’t do it, much as I may be tempted.” His sigh came from deep in his heart.

“If you were to spend a few hours with the young lady, it is just possible that you may come to understand her better and even like her.”

Marco coughed skeptically. “I get your drift, Jordan. And I know you are quite right.” His spirit revived a bit. After all, if Jordan thought there was hope, there just might be at least a glimmer. “So I’m afraid I’m going to have to give it another go.”

“If you feel it quite necessary, sir.”

He nodded solemnly. “I do, Jordan.” Turning toward the door, he squared his shoulders. “It is only fair to give the young woman another chance. Then, who knows?”

“Precisely, sir.”

The interesting thing was that Princess Iliana seemed to have much the same idea as Crown Prince Marco did and was waiting with her two attendants very near the dance floor. She had something of a reluctant look on her face, as though it had taken a lot of persuading to get her to come back and meet with him again, but he didn’t care. As long as she was available, he would do what he could to repair the damage of their earlier meeting, and hopefully, build a common relationship. If it was possible to make it a friendly collaboration, that would be best. But if he had to throw her over his shoulder and carry her down the aisle, he’d do it. Bottom line, he was going to marry her.

He studied her as he came closer. She really was beautiful, with a rare luminous quality, as though she were lit with a warm light from within. For just a moment, he felt a slight pang of regret. If only she’d been a different sort of woman, he was sure something could have been worked out. But as she was, he could only hope for miracles.

He bowed and smiled and murmured a few pleasantries. She nodded and gave him a tight smile back, and as she came to join him on the dance floor, she glanced back at her attendants with a look he couldn’t read. Rebellion? Desperation? Threats of revenge? He wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter, just as long as she agreed to put in some time with him. For all he knew, she might be as determined as he was to make this work. That was to be hoped, of course. But if she was unwilling to commit to him voluntarily, she was going to have to be persuaded. The possibilities were endless.

Shannon accepted the prince’s arm as it came around her, leading her into the dance, and she felt her traitorous body begin to respond to him again. It just didn’t make any sense. She’d made up her mind that the man was abhorrent. Why couldn’t the rest of her system get the message?

Still, she’d promised Greta to do something to make amends, and she supposed it was only fair that she do so. After tonight she would never see the crown prince again, but Greta and Freddy—and most of all the real princess—would have to deal with him on a continuing basis. Time to smooth feathers.

She took a deep breath and raised her eyes to meet his. “I want to apologize for some of the things I said to you earlier. I’m afraid I got a little carried away.”

He nodded his head in acknowledgment. “That is very gracious of you, Princess,” he said.

She waited, holding his gaze with her own, trying not to notice the attractive deep grooves that had once housed dimples in his handsome face, and definitely ignoring the full lips.

“Well?” she said at last.

He looked into her face and it was obvious he knew she was waiting for him to reciprocate. Was that a spark of humor in his silver-blue eyes? Or a flicker of malice?

“Well what?” he asked innocently.

Her own eyes flashed sparks. “Aren’t you going to apologize to me?”

“Certainly. Once I’ve found something wrong with my behavior.”

She stopped the gasp that started up her throat and pressed her lips together. No, she wasn’t going to let him do this to her again. She swallowed hard, forcing back anger. “That’s all I ask,” she said as sweetly as she could.

“All right,” he said grudgingly, as though he’d decided he could at least give her this. “I know we got off on the wrong foot. I’m sure I said some things that would have been better left unsaid. So let’s start anew.”

She could tell that she wasn’t going to get anything better from him. Nodding slightly, she gave him a thin smile. “Agreed.”

“Good. That gives us an opportunity to discuss the situation we are in.”

“The situation?”

The situation. She hoped she knew enough about it for discussion. But once again, she would have to be careful she didn’t make any commitments for the princess. Keeping things general sounded like the best way to go. She glanced up at him, then looked away. She felt as though she were preparing for a pop quiz.

“Yes. The situation we both find ourselves in. I have no idea how you feel about it.”

She hesitated. “Why don’t you describe it to me the way you see it?” she said, stalling for time.

“It’s simple enough. I owe your father for his support, both in manpower and in political arm-twisting, in freeing Nabotavia from the radicals. If it weren’t for him, I probably wouldn’t be going back.” He turned his brilliant gaze on her. “He asked in return that I marry his beloved daughter. And I promised him I’d do it.”

She studied his face, hoping to find one little kernel of human feeling somewhere in all that beautiful coolness. “That’s it?”

“Yes. What more do you need?” He shrugged. “You have to admit, it is rather awkward for both of us.”

She frowned, wanting to be sure she got this straight. “In other words, you don’t really want to marry the princess.”

He opened his mouth to answer, then frowned at the way she’d put that. “I have promised King Mandrake that I would offer his daughter my name and a place at my side in Nabotavia. And I mean to honor that promise.”

She nodded, reminding herself not to slip into the third person again. “I see. I think I get it. So even though you don’t really want to marry me, you’re bound and determined to do it to pay back King Mandrake.”

“No, you don’t really get it.” He looked pained. “That’s why we need to talk this over.”

She gave him a dubious look. “Yes, I can certainly see the need for some frank conversation.”

“Very good. The sooner the better.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Why don’t we find a more private area and…”

“Oh no.” She saw where this was going and she wasn’t going to go there. He wanted time alone while he probed her mind for her real reactions to marrying him? What a recipe for complete disaster.

He blinked, looking down at her in surprise, as though he wasn’t sure if he’d heard her right. “No?”

“No, I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”

She’d promised Greta she would repair the break and she felt she’d taken care of things on that score. Her obligations were fulfilled and she was going home. She sighed with relief as the dance came to an end. This time she wasn’t waiting for anyone to fetch her and she slipped out of Marco’s arms. Gathering a handful of skirt, she smiled at him.

“Thank you very much for a lovely evening. It’s been most interesting. And now, I’ll bid you good night.”

And she turned and sped away, knowing she was leaving a very perplexed royal behind, but not really caring a bit.

Shannon was out in front of the hotel only a few minutes later, waiting for the limousine that would take her back to real life. She was still tingling from her encounter with the crown prince. She hoped never to see him again but the memory of all that masculine elegance would be a treasured one for a long time. A young woman like her—a graduate art history student paying her way through college as a hostess in a Texas steak house—didn’t get too many opportunities to see royalty up close and personal.

“It’s been fun,” she murmured to herself, craning her neck to see if the limousine was coming, “but thank goodness it’s over.”

Greta and Freddy were lingering inside, saying goodbye to old friends and acquaintances, but Shannon was anxious to leave her semi-royal life behind. And somewhat nervous about getting away from the hotel before the prince showed up and tried to talk to her again.

A long, sleek limousine pulled up and a mournful-looking man stepped out, leaving the passenger side door open and indicating he’d done so for her convenience.

“If you please, Your Highness,” he said, making a sweeping movement with his arm and bowing in her direction.

“Thank you,” she said, bending to slip into the back seat, relieved that she was going to make her escape. Fussing with her long skirt, she didn’t notice that the back seat was already occupied until she’d set herself down in the corner and looked up. And then, her gaze meeting the calm demeanor of the crown prince, she gasped. “You!”

She’d barely got the word out when the door slammed shut and the driver of the limousine began to cruise toward the highway.

“Princess,” Marco said, bowing slightly from where he sat. “I’m honored that you have agreed to join me in a ride to see the lights of the city.”

She gaped at him, outraged. “I have done no such thing and you know it.”

His gaunt, shadowed face showed no reaction. “We need to talk.”

“You may need to talk. I need to get some sleep. Turn this thing around and take me back right now!”

His jaw tightened. “Iliana, be reasonable. We need to get some things settled between us.”

She looked at him helplessly. She was stuck and she knew it. And all for nothing. She couldn’t settle anything. She wasn’t in the position to make promises. Or even to tell simple truths. He was going to ask all sorts of things she couldn’t answer. Now what?

She made one last pathetic attempt to change his mind.

“I really can’t go with you. I have a headache. I need to get home. And anyway, Greta and Freddy won’t know what’s happened to me.” She looked back longingly toward the fading lights of the hotel where those two were still chatting with old friends.

“My man Jordan will stay behind and fill them in,” the crown prince said reassuringly. “I’ll make sure you get home in one piece.”

Home! That was another problem. She couldn’t let him drop her at the little house in the modest suburb where she actually lived. And if he took her out to the princess’s ranch, it would be daybreak before she made her way home again.

She turned to look at him, dismayed. He was certainly making her life difficult. Her chin came up and her eyes flashed. “I insist that you turn this car around and take me back,” she said, surprising herself with how imperious she sounded.

Her manner appeared to surprise him, too. He actually seemed to look at her for the first time and really see how upset she was.

“I’m sorry, Iliana,” he said quietly. “I can’t do that. We must talk and we don’t have much time. This has got to be settled right away.”

She stared at him and realized she was at a crossroads. She could throw a tantrum until he got so disgusted with her he dropped her on the closest street corner. Or she could tough it out, do what she could to avoid answering direct questions, and hope for the best. With a sigh, she opted for the latter.

“All right, Your Royal Highness,” she said, settling back into the plush cushions. “Since I’ve been shanghaied, I guess I might as well make the best of it. Let’s talk.”

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