Not Fit for a King? (5 page)

She looked at him, too stunned to speak.

“It’s never been easy between us,” he added, leaning against the wall, his big shoulders even broader in the black jacket. His brow furrowed. “I know why I’ve pushed ahead, but why have you? There are a half dozen eligible royals you could marry right now. You could have your pick of any of them—”

“But I chose to marry you,” she interrupted softly, because Emmeline had chosen him, and while Emmeline might not love Zale, she must want to be Queen of Raguva.

“Why?”

“For all the same reasons you chose me—our families approved, our countries would forge a stronger alliance, the next generation would be secure.”

He sighed and ran a hand along his jaw. “I wish I could believe you.”

She sat up straighter. “Why can’t you?”

“Your behavior this past year. The secret weekends with your Argentine boyfriend. The prolonged contract negotiations. Your refusal to spend time with me until now.” His broad shoulders shifted. “One of those alone would give me pause, but all three? I’d be a fool to trust you.”

She knew he was talking about Emmeline, but at the moment his anger and mistrust felt personal. “You’d be a bigger fool to let me go.”

Something flickered in his eyes. “Why would I?”

“Your country has felt the same economic downturn that
the rest of Europe has experienced, but you have big plans to turn the economy around, and those plans hinge on me.” Hannah was grasping at straws now, trying to piece together an argument based on the articles she’d read online about the impact the royal wedding would have on Raguva—increased tourism, greater financial resources, improved clout and visibility. “Since the announcement of our engagement, Raguva’s popularity has skyrocketed. The scenic coast has become the new Riviera, and the public can’t get enough about us and the wedding. The telecast of the ceremony will bring millions to your treasury—” She broke off, drew a quick breath. “Are you willing to throw all that away on a whim?”

“It’s not a whim. I’ve been concerned about your suitability for a long time.”

“Then why have you let it go this long? The wedding is in just nine days. The lawyers are here—all five of them. And the portrait artist is out there setting up his easel this very moment.”

His gaze narrowed. His jaw tightened. He didn’t speak for so long that the uncomfortable silence turned into exquisite tension. “I like confidence in women, Emmeline, but you’re absolutely brazen. You’ve flaunted your boyfriend beneath my nose for months and yet you expect me to just ignore my better judgment and marry you anyway?”

Heat washed through her, scorching her cheeks, burning her skin. “There is no boyfriend.”

“Emmeline, I know all about Alejandro. You’ve been together for years.”

“But that was before we were engaged. We’re not together anymore.”

He gave her a cool look, features grim. “So how do you explain the photographs of you and Alejandro at the Palm Beach polo match?”

“You know I attended the match and posed for pictures afterward. It was a charity event and I took pictures with everyone.

Why aren’t you asking me about the photos I took with the English or Australian teams?”

“Because you’re not involved with any of their players.”

“But I’m not involved with anyone anymore. I’m here, engaged to you.”

“Maybe here in body, but not in spirit.”

“You don’t know that. You can’t say that!” She fought back. The last thing Hannah wanted was to be responsible for Emmeline and Zale’s relationship. She hadn’t come all this way, or struggled this much, to have Zale break off the engagement here and now. No, if Zale wanted to end the engagement, he had to end it with Emmeline, not with her. And if Emmeline wanted to break things off, then she needed to tell him—in person, which meant she had to get here and sort this out herself.

Princess Emmeline’s presence was required. Immediately. “You see only my faults and none of my strengths,” she said. “Maybe that’s because your faults outnumber your strengths.”

“So that’s that? You’ve made up your mind, decided our fate, game over?”

“You make it sound like I’m an executioner about to take off your head.”

“It feels like it.”

“Emmeline!”

She shook her head. “You’re not giving me a chance.” “I gave you chances—twelve months of them!” “But I’m here. I came. Let’s play the damn game, Zale!” “What does that mean?”

“It means we’re still early in the match and you’re wanting to pick up the ball and walk off the field. But we have nine days until the ceremony, nine days to figure out what’s real and what’s not. So put the ball down. Give me a chance to play.”

“And so what do you suggest?”

“We use this time right now to get to know each other. We
make every effort to see if this could work before you make a rushed, and rash, decision.”

His expression looked skeptical.

“We commit the next nine days to discovering if we’re compatible. If we are, we marry as planned. If we’re not, we end this amicably.”

“It sounds reasonable except for one thing. We can’t cancel the wedding at the eleventh hour, not after everyone has traveled at great effort and expense to be here for the event. It would be a public relations nightmare.”

“Five days, and we’ll make a decision?”

“Four,” he countered. “Four days should be more than sufficient if we use the time wisely. And then if I’m still not happy in four, it’s over. Done. No more negotiating. Understand?”

His amber gaze burned into her but Hannah stared straight back, lifting her chin, her expression equally determined. “I understand perfectly, but you should know I’m tough. I play hard. And I’m playing to win.”

T
HE
moment Zale left the dressing room, Hannah grabbed her phone and tried to call Emmeline.

The call went straight to Emmeline’s voice mail.

“You need to get here, Emmeline. Zale is threatening to call the wedding off. Hurry.” Hannah hung up just as Lady Andrea appeared.

“Your Highness, Monsieur Boucheron, the artist commissioned to do your portrait, is ready.”

Hannah slipped the phone back into the drawer beside her bed before following Lady Andrea to the Queen’s drawing room where Monsieur Boucheron had set up his easel.

For the next two hours Hannah sat in the small elegant armless chair holding herself perfectly still as the soft yellow afternoon light illuminated her shoulders and face.

Lady Andrea, Camille and Teresa hovered in the background as the artist sketched. Every now and then Camille or Teresa would move forward to smooth a strand of hair, or apply a dab of powder to Hannah’s brow or nose.

But Hannah never moved, or complained, her gaze fixed on a distant point.

Her calm was an act. Beneath her cool, half smile, she felt wild.

What if Emmeline was deliberately delaying her flight to Raguva so she could spend more time with her boyfriend?
What if Emmeline’s goal all along was to have a long romantic break with this Alejandro?

Hannah’s hands clenched in her lap. Please don’t let that be the case. Emmeline couldn’t be so selfish—

“Maybe a break?” The artist suggested, setting down his paintbrush. “Her Highness looks unhappy. Perhaps it’s time for a little stretch?”

Hannah nodded, and hurried to her room to try to call Emmeline again. This time she got through.

“I couldn’t understand your message,” Emmeline said, answering immediately. “The reception wasn’t good and the message was broken up—”

“Are you with Alejandro?” Hannah demanded sharply.

“What?”

“You know, your Argentine boyfriend, a member of the polo team.”

Emmeline exhaled hard. “How do you know?” “Zale. He’s not happy. You have to come now. Today. You have to sort this out before it’s too late.” “You know I’m trying—”

“No, Emmeline, I don’t know you’re trying. I actually don’t think you’re trying very hard at all, because things are falling apart here—”

“Things are falling apart here, too!”

“Zale wants to end the engagement. He doesn’t think you’re compatible.”

“How can he say that? He’s never spent time with me!”

“Precisely. If you want to save the marriage, you have to get here quickly, because he’s giving us—well, you—just four days to prove to him that you’re the right one.”

“Even at the soonest, I won’t be able to get there before morning, so it’s up to you to convince him for the next twenty-four hours that he does want to marry me.”

“But, Emmeline, I’m not you!”

“So be yourself. Smooth things over. I know you can.” “Why should I? What have you ever done for me?”

“What do you want me to do?”

Good question. What did Hannah want? She already had the great job and good friends. She liked herself. Liked what she’d accomplished in life. All she really wanted now was to fall in love, but she wasn’t going to find her Mr. Right if she was with another woman’s man. “I just want you to come here and get me out of this. This is your relationship. Your engagement.”

“I know!” Emmeline’s voice suddenly broke. “Hannah, I know. But I’m in trouble. And I can’t see my way clear yet.”

“Do you even want to marry King Patek?”

“Yes,” Emmeline said quickly then paused. “No. No, I don’t. But I have to. It’s what our families want. Zale’s father and mine. They worked out an arrangement that essentially forces me into the marriage. If I don’t marry Zale, it will cost my father five million euros. If I fail to fulfill my obligations in any way, my family pays.”

“So you can’t end the engagement.”

“No. Not without disgracing my family.”

“And what if King Patek breaks off the engagement?”

“If he breaks the engagement without cause, he pays my family two and a half million euros. But if he breaks it off with cause, my family still has to pay him five million.”

“Why does he only have to pay half of what your family pays?”

“He’s a king. I’m just a princess.”

Just a princess, Hannah silently repeated, overwhelmed by this world of nobility, wealth and power.

“So you see why I need you,” Emmeline said wearily. “I need you to convince Zale I am right for him and once I get there, I will make it work. I will walk down the aisle, and say my vows, and make him happy.”

“Can’t you talk to your family about this? Can’t you go to your father—”

“No. My father would never understand. Or forgive me. My … parents … they aren’t like me. They’re very strict. Very
old-fashioned. I know they mean well but they already disapprove of me, already view me as if I’m … tainted.”

“Tainted? How?”

“Not truly noble.” “But why?”

Silence stretched across the line and it took Hannah a moment to realize that Emmeline was crying.

“Emmeline.” Hannah felt for the princess. “It’s going to be okay. Things always work out—”

“Not this time, Hannah. This time I lose no matter what happens.”

Hannah’s brows pulled together. She hated suffering in any form, and Emmeline was clearly suffering. “Don’t give up. Stay calm. I’ll do my best until you can get here.”

“Thank you, Hannah, and I will be there. As soon as I can.”

Hannah hung up the phone, exhausted. This was such a mess. An absolute disaster.

And none of this would have happened if Hannah didn’t wear her heart on her sleeve.

Her father had always warned her that she was too tenderhearted, that people would—and did—take advantage of her. He’d predicted that one day her lack of backbone would come back to haunt her, and he was right. It’d happened.

A half hour later Lady Andrea entered Hannah’s suite expecting to find her dressed and ready for dinner. Instead Hannah lay stretched on her bed using her high-tech phone to do some research on the Internet.

“Your Highness, His Majesty is expecting you in minutes.”

Hannah looked up from the screen where she’d been doing a crash course on celebrity gossip so she’d know as much as she could about Emmeline’s Argentine boyfriend, Alejandro.

It was just unfortunate that she’d waited until now to learn what she could about Emmeline, but celebrities and royals had never interested her, and growing up without a television or even Internet access, she’d never known such a world existed until she entered high school. But now she wished she’d spent
a little more time paying attention to Hollywood celebrities and European royals, particularly the young royals today.

“I know. I’ll be ready,” she said. “I just need to finish this article and I’ll go.”

“But you aren’t dressed for dinner. Do you even know what you’re going to wear?”

“No. You can pick something for me, if you’d like.”

Lady Andrea sent Hannah to dinner in a stunning marine blue gown that was loosely gathered at the throat and yet cut away to leave her shoulders and arms bare. Rich blue sapphire teardrops hung from her ears and a matching bracelet circled her wrist.

With her hair softly gathered at her nape and sleek high heels on her feet Hannah felt more glamorous than she ever had before.

They were to have a quiet dinner in the King’s Chambers, which were four large rooms strung together. Zale’s butler opened the living room door, inviting her in.

“I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting you yet, Your Highness, but I look forward to serving you soon,” Mr. Krek said with a formal little bow.

Hannah smiled warmly. “It’s good to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

He flushed with pleasure. “I look forward to serving you, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Mr. Krek.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see to your drinks and appetizers.”

Hannah watched him walk out and she was alone, and then a moment later, she was not.

She knew the moment Zale entered the room. Felt a frisson of pleasure race down her spine. Turning slowly, Hannah looked over her shoulder.

There he was, Zale Patek, standing in the doorway, dressed in an elegant dinner jacket, crisp shirt and tie. His hair was combed, his jaw freshly shaven.

“Your Majesty,” she said, suddenly breathless.

“Your Highness,” he answered, allowing his gaze to slowly sweep over her, making her feel as if she was about to become his next favorite plaything. He moved from the doorway and walked toward her. “I like the dress.”

Her heart beat double fast. “But not the lady?”

His piercing amber gaze met hers. “I’m still trying to decide.”

She lifted a brow, her full lips pursing. “Well, when you’ve come to a decision, do let me know.”

Heat shot through Zale, his body hardening instantaneously. My God, she was good. Interesting.
Clever.

He was fascinated by the way she carried herself, her wit, her intelligence. She was beautiful and challenging and complex.

He’d fully intended to end it with Emmeline earlier today. He was going to make a clean break, wire the money he’d owe the d’Arcy family to the Bank of Brabant and move on so that he could find someone more suitable.

That’s why he’d gone to her in her dressing room. That’s why he’d been honest.

Blunt.

But now that she was fighting back, demanding a chance to prove herself worthy, he felt compelled to give her that opportunity.

Not out of any altruistic gesture, of course.

When it came to Emmeline he was appallingly carnal. He might not like her, but she was right—he wanted her. And the intensity of his desire surprised him.

He’d thought her beautiful at their engagement party but he hadn’t felt this fierce physical attraction that evening. The truth was he hadn’t felt much of anything for her throughout the year. Until now.

But ever since yesterday, whenever he looked at her, he
thought of one thing—getting her in his bed, naked beneath him.

He wanted to see her long blond hair tousled about her face, a golden ripple across the pillow.

He wanted to part her thighs as wide as he could and bury himself in her, thrusting deep and hard to make her come.

He wanted to shatter her control and make her fall apart and see if there was perhaps a real woman, a warm woman, underneath the shimmering hair and stunning face.

“We both have busy schedules,” he said, “but I’ll see if I can’t have our appointments and appearances shuffled around to allow us to spend as much time together in the next few days—”

“Four,” she interrupted. “You’ve promised me four starting tomorrow.”

“I think that was four, starting today.”

“Tomorrow,” she insisted firmly. “Today was already half over when we made the agreement.”

“Perhaps, but as I intend to spend all our time together, I think you might find four days excessively long, unless you don’t think you’ll weary of me after morning, noon and night?” His voice trailed off and he shrugged, as if to say it was entirely up to her.

Two bright spots of color burned high in her cheekbones deepening her blue eyes. “I would only weary of you if you were boring.” Her full lips curved. “Do you intend to be boring?”

She was outrageous. She should be punished. With his hands, and mouth, and tongue.

His body hardened just thinking of how she’d feel beneath him.

Emmeline glanced around the room, her expression serene. “I’m starving. Do you know when dinner will be served?”

“I’m not so easily distracted,” he said, “and a change of subject won’t change my intentions.”

“And I’m sure you’ve heard the expression, don’t put the cart before the horse?”

He let his gaze travel slowly over her, resting provocatively on her breasts, hips and the juncture of her thighs. “Are you the cart? Or the horse?”

Her chin lifted. “Neither.”

Hannah was thrilled when Mr. Krek invited them to dinner, which was served at an intimate round table before the living room’s tall gold marble fireplace.

“I knew your English was excellent,” Zale said, midway through dinner as the footmen removed one plate only to replace it with another. “But I hadn’t realized you spoke it with an American accent. Did you study in the States or have an American tutor?”

She’d read that Zale Patek spoke more languages than any other royal—Spanish, Italian, French, English, Swedish, Turkish, Greek and of course his native language, Raguvian. He was that rare breed of scholar and athlete.

“American tutor,” she said, trying to remember if Emmeline had ever studied in the United States but didn’t think so. “And you?”

“I was educated in England—sent to boarding school at ten, and then on to university after.” “Why England?”

“Tradition. I attended the same schools as my brother, father, grandfather and great-grandfather.”

“When you have children, will your son do the same?” A slightly mocking note entered his voice. “You mean,
our
son?”

Hannah glanced up, straight into his eyes. They were such a unique color, not exactly brown, not exactly gold. “Yes, ours,” she said, blushing as she imagined having Zale’s child.

“Our one of two,” he added. “The heir and spare. It’s all you’d agree to give me, remember?”

Hannah just looked at him.

“Why, Emmeline, were you so adamant that it only be two? You never gave me a proper explanation.” His lips curved in a lazy smile that failed to touch his eyes. “We finally have time to talk properly. To discuss all the things you wouldn’t discuss this past year. I’d love to know why you insisted we limit our family to two. If we hope to save our relationship, then this is probably the best place to start.”

“I don’t know.”

Zale took her hand, lifted it to his mouth. “Was it your figure you feared losing?”

She tugged her hand back, fingers tingling from the touch.

“No!”

“Your freedom then?” “That’s silly.”

“Well, it is hard to gallivant about when you’re pregnant.” “I don’t gallivant, and despite what you might think, I look forward to having a family.” “Just not a large family.” “Yes.”