by Annie West
Growing up near the beach, ANNIE WEST spent lots of time observing tall, burnished lifeguards—early research! Now she spends her days fantasising about gorgeous men and their love lives. Annie has been a reader all her life. She also loves travel, long walks, good company and great food. You can contact her at [email protected] or via PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.
Also by Annie West
Inherited for the Royal Bed
Her Forgotten Lover’s Heir
The Greek’s Forbidden Innocent
Contracted to Her Greek Enemy
Claiming His Out-of-Bounds Bride
Passion in Paradise collection
Wedding Night Reunion in Greece
Royal Brides for Desert Brothers miniseries
Sheikh’s Royal Baby Revelation
Demanding His Desert Queen
Sovereigns and Scandals miniseries
Revelations of a Secret Princess
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk.
The King’s Bride by Arrangement
Annie West
www.millsandboon.co.uk
ISBN: 978-0-008-91356-4
THE KING’S BRIDE BY ARRANGEMENT
© 2020 Annie West
Published in Great Britain 2020
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Note to Readers
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Text to speech
This book is for all the people who read Revelations of a Secret Princess and asked if King Paul would get his own story.
Thank you for your enthusiasm!
I had a wonderful time writing this.
I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.
Contents
Cover
About the Author
Booklist
Title Page
Copyright
Note to Readers
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
EPILOGUE
Extract
About the Publisher
CHAPTER ONE
‘PRINCESS EVA OF TARENTIA.’
The chamberlain projected his voice across the glittering crowd that filled the ballroom’s gilded antechamber.
Heads turned, keen eyes sizing her up, from her brown hair, piled high, past the sapphire drop earrings to the ball gown of royal blue.
Eva felt their stares, as she always did, like hundreds of tiny pinpricks. But at twenty-four she’d learned to accept the public’s interest. She no longer shrank from the limelight as she had when young.
Besides, there was only one person here whose opinion she cared about.
There he was, chatting to a blonde in silver sequins. At the chamberlain’s words, he looked up to where she stood on the staircase above the throng. His mouth lifted in a smile.
Eva’s heart tripped a beat then hammered faster. She felt the pulse high in her throat.
Even from this distance Paul did that to her. She was too far away to feel the full impact of those stunning indigo eyes but his smile always unravelled her. From the day at fifteen when she’d first seen him, thundering down the polo field, so athletic, so handsome and so nice. After the match her brother Leo, who’d been on the opposing team, had introduced them and Eva had been instantly smitten.
Because the then Prince Paul of St Ancilla hadn’t thought it uncool to talk to his acquaintance’s little sister. He hadn’t seemed to notice her braces or the lingering spots that had erupted thanks to her monthly cycle. He’d been kind and friendly even when she’d been tongue-tied.
Eva had been in love with him ever since.
She moved down the staircase with practised grace, keeping her chin high. Woe betide any princess who couldn’t descend a grand staircase without looking at her feet. Even in a full-length dress and high heels.
She reached the floor and pinned on her social smile for the St Ancillan Prime Minister, who enquired if she’d had a good journey. As the flight from Tarentia in northern Europe to the Mediterranean Island of St Ancilla wasn’t long, the question was a formality. Yet Eva felt herself relax. After four years of regular visits to St Ancilla, she and the Prime Minister were well acquainted.
‘Here’s His Majesty now.’ The Prime Minister turned and inclined his head in a bow.
Instantly Eva’s smile solidified, the muscles in her cheeks stretching taut as she fought the urge to grin up into Paul’s face. The inevitable rush of excitement she felt around him always undermined her and she strove not to reveal her feelings. It was never a problem with anyone else but around Paul it was a constant worry.
Because she felt so much while he felt so little.
Her heart beat an urgent tattoo and moisture glazed the back of her neck as he neared. She angled her head up to meet his gaze. Eva’s breath released in a sigh of resignation as she met those amazing dark-blue eyes.
What had she expected? That absence would make the heart grow fonder? That in the months since they’d last seen each other he’d realised what a treasure she was?
That he’d developed feelings for her?
Or, impossibly, that sh
e’d read the eager heat of desire in his face?
Deep inside, disappointment stirred.
Paul’s easy smile was the same one he gave the Prime Minister. The same one he’d worn when he’d tilted his head to listen to the blonde siren in shimmery silver.
The blonde who’d defied royal protocol and stood so close to the King it was a wonder a discreet bodyguard hadn’t hauled her away. Eva had noticed and had to repress a spike of unreasonable jealousy.
‘Princess Eva. You look as delightful as ever.’ Paul’s deep voice tugged at her vulnerable heart.
He took her hand and lifted it to his mouth, and Eva fought to stop her expression betraying her. Her forehead twitched and the corners of her mouth compressed with the effort not to grin with delight.
As it was, she hoped Paul couldn’t see the way her nipples hardened into needy peaks just because he touched her.
He was everything a king should be. Hard working, decent, dedicated and caring of his people. She loved all those things about him. But, even after knowing him for nine years, it was the angle of his high-cut cheekbones, the handsome line of jaw and nose and his vibrant aura of energetic, virile maleness that got to her every time. Even the way his coal-black hair had a tendency to flop over his forehead turned her insides to mush.
Reluctantly Eva tugged her hand from his, too conscious that a tiny change in his grip would reveal the too-rapid flutter of her pulse at her wrist.
She caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. Annoyance? Surprise? But of course it was gone in an instant. Royals were trained to conceal rather than reveal emotions.
It was tempting to wonder if he was disappointed at her withdrawal. But she was a pragmatist, despite her romantic feelings for him. She forced herself to face the truth. Paul might be surprised at her withdrawal but not saddened.
‘Thank you, Your Majesty.’ Meticulously, she used his title, as protocol demanded of their first meeting in six months. She sank to the polished floor in a deep curtsey.
‘Paul, please.’
‘Thank you, Paul.’
Protocol also decreed that, given their circumstances, she could address him by his first name in public, with his permission.
She bit down hard on the impulse to gush that he looked terrific himself.
The dress uniform of black, navy and gold showcased his tall, upright figure. He should have looked distant and untouchable in his regalia but instead he was mouth-wateringly attractive. Her fingers tingled with the desire to reach out and touch him. To follow the line of those wide shoulders and down across his powerful chest.
Paul didn’t hold out his hand to help her rise. Why should he when she’d just tugged away from him? Yet Eva noted the fact, just as she noted the hint of a frown marring his brow.
A little shiver of premonition scrolled down her spine.
Now she stood before him, she realised his smile looked pinched. It certainly didn’t reach his eyes.
‘You had a good flight, despite the delay?’
What was that note in his voice? Not censure, not annoyance, but definitely something strained.
Once more Eva experienced that inching shiver of disquiet. This time it felt like a chill cascading down her vertebrae.
‘Yes, it was fine.’ She’d only just arrived in time to change and meet him here at the ball rather than in private. ‘A mechanical problem held us up on the tarmac. But the flight itself was uneventful.’
Paul nodded. ‘You’re safely here. That’s the main thing.’
Yet, reading his expression, Eva felt something else was going on. Something she didn’t yet understand.
Not that she expected him to confide in her. They didn’t have that sort of relationship, no matter how much she wished they did.
‘Shall we?’ He lifted one hand and, after a moment’s hesitation in which she marshalled all her resources to appear cool, Eva put her hand on his.
Instantly heat rushed through her bloodstream from the point of contact and spread all through her body.
The one mercy was that Eva didn’t blush. Paul and all the people around them had no idea of her body’s hectic response to his touch.
He turned and they walked together across the room. The throng of guests parted to make way, men bowing and women curtseying. Eva noticed more than one woman followed Paul’s progress with longing in their eyes.
Before them a pair of gigantic gilded doors was flung open onto the ballroom. The blaze of light from rows of chandeliers, reflected in a wall of mirrors, dazzled. But, as she’d been trained to do, Eva entered the room with head held high, conscious of the swell of the crowd following them.
Paul led her to a point dead-centre under the biggest and brightest of the chandeliers. They stopped on the ornate star that marked the middle of the exquisite, heritage-listed parquetry floor.
Under the brilliant light she read lines bracketing his mouth that hadn’t been there six months ago. And around his eyes was a look of tension.
Impulsively, Eva squeezed his hand. ‘Paul, are you—’
‘The ball will be opened,’ boomed the chamberlain, ‘by His Majesty King Paul of Ancilla and his fiancée, Princess Eva of Tarentia.’
Applause filled the room as every eye focused on them.
For once Eva didn’t care. She leaned closer to the man before her, sure now that something was amiss.
‘What is it?’ she whispered. ‘Something’s wrong.’
For an instant his eyes widened, as if in surprise that she’d noticed, then his mouth curled up in a crooked smile that didn’t look in the least amused. ‘Not now, Eva. Not here. Later.’
Then King Paul, the man she’d been betrothed to for four long years, clasped her hand in his and curled his other arm around her back. Heat shimmered everywhere he touched and Eva froze, fighting hard not to respond.
For a second longer they stood, toe to toe, gazes locked, separated by the precise distance decreed by royal decorum. Then, as the music swelled, Paul swept her into a waltz with the superb grace of a natural athlete and all the warmth of an automaton.
Paul danced the last dance of the night with Karen Villiers, head of the new software company he’d lured to set up headquarters in the capital city’s business park. Lured with tax incentives designed to make St Ancilla an appealing long-term investment prospect.
Right now, though, it seemed it wasn’t St Ancilla that she saw as appealing. It was him.
Keeping a smile on his face, Paul put a little distance between himself and Karen’s sinuously seductive body. A curvaceous blonde, she was very attractive. He hadn’t missed how her minimalist silver dress showed off her spectacular body.
But he wasn’t in the market for a girlfriend. Not even a dalliance, especially under the glare of public attention.
He wasn’t free. He had a fiancée! Here, at the ball.
The thought of Eva tightened the iron bands clamping his skull and the dull pounding in his temples intensified.
It had been a long day, a long month, and the day was far from over. He couldn’t allow it to end without talking to his fiancée. No matter how little he relished the prospect.
There’d been a moment, as he’d looked up and seen her at the head of the staircase, when he’d been glad she was here. Not because it meant that at last they could have the interview he’d been dreading but because it was good to see her.
The feeling hadn’t lasted.
Eva being here meant unpalatable duty, even if it was for the best.
Then there was the way she’d reacted to him or, more precisely, not reacted. As usual. In her teens she’d been shy but engaging, and everything he’d heard about her from Leo and others indicated she was warm and generous. But in adulthood—with Paul, at least—it was another story.
To others she was charming and gracious, but with him cool and distant.
To the extent that he’d wondered why she’d agreed to their engagement. Except he knew the answer to that. It had been arranged by their parents and she’d been left little choice.
It rankled that she didn’t care for him. That she’d never have chosen him for herself.
No wonder she held herself aloof. Never unfriendly, but guarded. Distant.
Unlike the woman leaning too close in his arms.
For a moment Paul wondered what it would be like to accept the implicit invitation in Karen Villiers’s wide eyes and sultry body. And instantly stifled the thought.
Honour dictated there would be no other women while he was betrothed. Even if he and his fiancée had never got more intimate than him kissing her hand.
Fire shot to Paul’s belly as the effects of four years of celibacy made themselves felt.
That was one thing that would change after tonight.
Was it any wonder he felt on edge? He was torn between the almost impossible demands of St Ancilla, and the need to preserve an illusion that all was well here, while keeping a lid on natural masculine desires. After four years of continuous strain he felt perilously close to the breaking point.
As the music reached its closing bars his gaze sought Eva. There she was, dancing with the famous film director who was here checking out locations for his next movie. Paul’s staff had labelled him difficult yet the guy was laughing at something Eva had said.
A dart of something sharp pierced Paul’s chest as he saw Eva’s answering smile. It transformed her composed features into something altogether different.
‘So, Your Majesty,’ said a throaty feminine voice. ‘I thought I’d end the night at the new night club everyone’s talking about. Is there a chance I’ll see you there?’
He looked into Karen Villiers’s face and read the invitation in her saucy smile. Not just to a night club but to something far more intimate.
‘I’m afraid not. I have further commitments tonight.’
Once more his gaze turned towards his fiancée, still deep in conversation with her dance partner, even though the music had ceased. Paul’s brow twitched. What did she find so fascinating about a man so famously self-absorbed? Her slim frame was tilted towards him as if she drank in his every word.
