Not Fit for a King? (4 page)

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.

H
ANNAH
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.

At the very least, he deserved the truth.

“But you did come,” he said after a moment, breaking the strained silence. “Do you mean to stay? Or are you just waiting for an opportunity to escape?”

Hannah went hot then cold, lips parting—but what could she say?

Nothing.

So she closed her mouth and just looked at him, heart aching, wanting so badly to tell him everything but not knowing where to start.

And then he turned, jaw hard, tight, and continued on down the stairs, his broad shoulders squared.

Zale needed air. Badly.

He walked through the central hall down a corridor, leaving the beautifully restored palace for his favorite wing—the original castle keep, a stone tower built nearly a thousand years ago with thick walls and a proper parapet for soldiers to patrol.

As a boy this had been his favorite place to hide, a place neither of his brothers could find him and his parents wouldn’t dream to go.

On top of the tower he felt free.

He needed that freedom now. Needed freedom to think, freedom to breathe.

Zale walked the parapet with the stunning views of the old medieval walled town nestled between the green slope of mountain and the blue Adriatic Sea.

He’d lost it earlier in Emmeline’s room. Completely lost it. And he never did that. At least, he hadn’t, not in years.

But oh, dear God, he felt like he was close to losing it again.

He knew there had been issues before she’d arrived. He knew he’d have to make a decision about her, and their future, once he’d spent time with her. But spending time with her didn’t help. Spending time with her was making him mad.

Was she crazy, or was he?

How could one woman appear to be so many different things?

She was just so different than he’d expected. She’d always been beautiful, but she’d never been this fierce or strong. But the Emmeline now under his roof was downright fierce. Feisty. Warm. Complex.

He struggled now to remember the princess he’d met at the engagement party a year ago. She still looked like that Emmeline—well, a healthier, more athletic version—and she was still as intelligent and articulate, but everything else was different.

Her expressions.

Her mannerisms.

Her inflection.

Everything had changed since that evening, but he didn’t understand it. Didn’t understand her.

This was the part that bothered him most.

Which was the real Emmeline? The Emmeline that was so reserved and cool he’d once compared her to a beautiful marble statue—all sleek lines, stunning face and perfect proportions?

Or the warm, engaging, challenging Emmeline here? The Emmeline who blushed easily, spoke quickly and responded to his kiss last night with hot, sensual passion?

Maybe if he was just a man instead of a king, he could choose emotion and passion, but he was a king. And he was responsible for the future of his country.

He needed a proper princess.

He needed the right princess.

And as beautiful as Emmeline was, she didn’t appear to be the right princess after all.

While he welcomed passion, he needed suitability. He needed predictability. Strength of character.

And the Emmeline that was here appeared strong, but was it real, or an act?

And the fact that he didn’t know just nine days before their wedding was a huge red flag.

How could he afford to risk his country’s future on an enigma? A question mark?

He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. But if he was going to end this, then he needed to do it soon. He’d accept the blame, pay the penalty and be free. The longer he put it off, the worse the repercussions would be.

In her suite, Hannah felt positively sick. Anxiously she paced the living room, stomach churning, nerves stretched to breaking.

Zale thought he knew the truth. He thought he knew everything. But he didn’t, and Hannah should have told him.

She should have confessed who she really was and asked him to forgive her for her part in the deception and then headed to the airport to get a flight home.

But she hadn’t done that. She’d allowed him to walk away thinking that maybe finally everything would be okay.

Hannah was still pacing when Lady Andrea gently knocked on the door and opened it. “Your Highness? Your stylists are here to prepare you for your sitting. Shall we get started?”

Hannah opened her mouth to protest but closed it, knowing she was in too deep now. And the only way she’d get out of this in one piece was for Emmeline to arrive so Hannah could escape.

“Yes.”

Nearly three hours after the clash with Zale, Hannah still sat in a chair before the dressing-room mirror, watching Camille, Emmeline’s personal hairstylist for the past seven years, spritz
a tiny bit of hairspray on Hannah’s hair to discourage flyaway strands.

It was all Hannah could do not to wiggle as Camille ran a light, practiced hand over Hannah’s hair, ensuring all the ends hung straight. “No more do-it-yourself color,
oui,
Princess?” she said, tapping her on the shoulder. “If you want to go darker, or put in streaks, next time ask me.
Oui?”

“Oui,”
Hannah agreed, thinking at that point she’d agree to anything just to get the marathon session over. She’d wanted a diversion, but two and a half hours in this chair while Camille colored, cut and then blew her hair dry using a large round brush to make it straight and glossy, was just too much. Hannah rarely did anything special with her hair, and was amazed that Emmeline could tolerate having her hair professionally styled every time she stepped out in public.

Teresa, Emmeline’s personal makeup artist, had spent a half hour on her face and she moved forward now as Camille stepped back to apply one last coat of mascara and then another dab of soft gold gloss over Hannah’s matte rose lipstick.

“Perfection!” Teresa murmured, nodding approvingly as both she and Camille critically examined their handiwork, looking for any flaws. “What do you think, Your Highness? Anything you’d like changed?”

Hannah forced herself to focus on her reflection. Her hair hung straight and very golden—she’d never been this blond in her life—even as her eyes had been subtly lined and lashes darkened to intensify the blue of her eyes. Her lips were full and a discreet golden pink. Her couture gown—the color somewhere between gold and sand—had a deep V neckline and long straight sleeves making Hannah feel unusually sophisticated.

“Nothing,” Hannah answered, astonished by how much she looked like the real Princess Emmeline.

Now that her hair had been cut and colored, with her makeup applied by the same deft hand that did Emmeline’s makeup, Hannah truly could pass for the princess.

If she didn’t know better, even she would think they were
twins. “I look … I look …” She searched for the right words to express herself but couldn’t find them.

“Stunning,” a deep voice said quietly from the doorway, finishing her sentence for her.

Hannah’s hands clenched the arms of her chair as her gaze met Zale’s in the mirror. He was no longer angry, just somber, but she wasn’t ready to see him. Too much had been said already for one day.

But he lifted a hand, dismissing the stylists. “We’d like some privacy, please.”

She swallowed uneasily as they slipped away and the door to the dressing room closed, leaving her alone with him.

For a long moment after the others left he said nothing. “I was wrong,” he said, breaking the silence. “I handled the situation this morning badly.”

It was the last thing Hannah had expected him to say. “I don’t suppose you’d ever cancel a meeting for a headache,” she said.

“No.”

“Just as I don’t suppose you ever let a headache keep you out of a football game.”
“Definitely not. “

Her lips curved. “You played with pain?” “My job was to play, not sit on the bench.” She’d expected as much. You didn’t become a star midfielder without pain and sacrifice. “So, no excuses.” “No excuses,” he echoed.

At least on this point, her father would agree with him. Her father was tough—physically and mentally—and he’d raised Hannah to be the same. She wasn’t allowed to make excuses.
Always do your best,
he’d tell her,
no matter what.

Not that being here, passing herself off as Emmeline, was her best.

“I can understand why you were so upset with me then,” she added carefully. “But I didn’t this morning. I thought you were being a bully.”

“A bully?”

“An unreasonable one.”

He looked startled and then he smiled, a quick smile that made him real and warm and sexy.

But she didn’t want to find him sexy. Not if he was Emmeline’s.

“Have we made a mistake, Emmeline?”

The quiet question in his deep, softly accented voice shocked her.
“What?”

“I wonder if we’re forcing something we shouldn’t.”