by Annie West
‘Ah, of course. I’d forgotten Princess Eva is here now.’
Paul turned his attention back to the woman before him. Did she really think he’d lope off to a rendezvous with her, leaving his fiancée in the palace? Or that he’d been available for an affair until the Princess had arrived, as if out of sight was out of mind?
Suddenly Ms Villiers’s sex appeal dimmed.
Eva might not care for him much but they understood each other and had grown up with the same values, the same sense of dedication to duty.
He supposed it was remarkable in his case, given the example of his appalling father. Yet maybe it was because of him that Paul had leaned the other way, choosing integrity over dishonesty. Plus, there had been the influence of his mother and tutors, all determined to make him the sort of ruler his father had never been.
Paul realised he was scowling and rearranged his features into a smile. ‘It’s kind of you to invite me. I hope you enjoy yourself. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go.’
It took an inordinate amount of time for the ballroom to empty. Finally he was alone with his fiancée.
Eva stood, as still as one of the statues on the wide terrace outside. Only her eyes, an unremarkable smudge of colour between grey and blue, hinted that she wasn’t as sanguine as she appeared.
Paul recalled her surprising hint of concern before the ball and wondered if she’d guessed his discomfort. That would be a first. They’d never been close enough to share secrets or develop a sense of intimacy.
He drew a slow breath. He wasn’t looking forward to this.
‘Do you fancy a nightcap, Eva? It’s been a long evening, but we need to talk.’
Did he imagine that she drew in a sharp breath? Certainly her breasts rose high beneath the shimmery fabric of her royal blue ball gown.
‘Thank you. I’d like that.’
She turned and walked with him, nodding to the members of staff waiting outside the ballroom ready to come in and restore it to its usual pristine splendour. She paused before the chamberlain and the chief housekeeper, congratulating them on the success of the event and the staff’s efforts tonight.
It was the sort of thing Paul usually did. And it proved how easily Eva fitted into his world. On the face of it she made the perfect partner. He had no doubt that she’d support her husband in every way she could, sharing the burdens of royalty with grace and goodwill.
His gaze snagged on the pale shoulder bared by her dress and the sweep of her slender neck up to her neat chin. Standing beside her, he was aware of her suddenly as a desirable woman rather than a life partner in a dynastic marriage neither of them had asked for.
Then she turned, caught him watching, and the remnants of her smile died.
One thing was clear. Eva didn’t desire him. Sometimes he wondered if she even approved of him. Did she think he was tarred with the same brush as his dead father? Bitterness coated Paul’s tongue at the thought of his old man, repugnant in so many ways and still the source of most of Paul’s problems.
But he was being unfair to Eva. His fiancée might be cool and self-contained but she’d never been disapproving or disagreeable. Simply distant.
Paul gestured for her to precede him into the King’s study. It had changed since his father’s day, devoid now of the massive gilded desk and rows of unopened books. In their place was a modern desk, filing cabinets, framed maps of the country and a couple of comfortable lounges, which was where he led her.
‘What will you have?’ he asked as he un-stoppered a single malt.
‘Whisky would be good, thanks. With a touch of soda.’
Paul shot a startled look at his betrothed. ‘Whisky?’ The most he’d ever seen her drink was a glass of wine over dinner.
Eva shrugged and once more his attention was drawn to the expanse of pearly skin left uncovered by the gown that sat off her shoulders. It wasn’t revealing in the way Karen Villiers’s dress had been—blatantly provocative—yet Paul felt a tangled thread of desire snarl in his belly.
Tonight Eva’s air of untouchability was tempered by something else. Something deeply feminine and alluring.
As for untouchable, he recalled the feel of her in his arms, poised and regal, yet disturbingly warm and unquestionably feminine.
Four years of celibacy...
That must be the reason.
Abruptly he turned and poured two whiskies. Large ones.
Dutch courage?
He told himself this would be straightforward. Yet he had to tread carefully so as not to turn a perfectly sensible idea into a diplomatic nightmare.
‘Please,’ he gestured to the leather sofas, ‘have a seat.’
With one last unreadable look his way, Eva subsided in a wave of royal-blue silk. The colour suited her, he decided as he leaned forward, passing her drink.
As ever she took it carefully, her fingers never touching his.
Paul jerked upright, teeth clenching. As if he needed a reminder that he wasn’t her personal choice of husband! She might not say it out loud but her body language made it abundantly clear.
How on earth did she expect to get through their wedding night? By closing her eyes and thinking of her duty as a Tarentian princess?
He swung away and stalked to the window. Floodlights illuminated the perimeter of the palace gardens in the distance. A far cry from when his father had been King and they’d spent a fortune lighting up all the ornate gardens throughout the night, wasting precious energy.
‘Paul? What is it? You said you’d explain. Is everything... Are you all right?’
He spun on his heel, surprised by the note of concern in Eva’s voice. Or had he imagined it?
‘I’m fine.’ He lifted the tumbler of whisky and swallowed, letting the fiery warmth burn its way down. ‘But I have something important to discuss.’
Now it came to the moment, this was more difficult than he’d anticipated, though he was doing the right thing.
It struck him how weary he was of always doing the right thing. Of the onerous treadmill on which he ran, juggling the demands of his nation, his family and his father’s creditors. For four years he’d done his best, achieved things he’d never believed possible, snatching success from the jaws of disaster. His father, dead from a massive stroke less than six months after his abdication, hadn’t lived with the consequences of his actions. Nor had his mother returned to St Ancilla to support her son. Instead she lived a life of genteel retirement in Paris.
‘I’m listening.’ Eva was ramrod-straight, the glass cupped in her hands.
Because she feared what he might say? Yet it was Eva who’d benefit from what he must do, Paul who would pay the consequences.
He hefted a deep breath, looked down at the drink in his hands then up at his betrothed.
‘I’m releasing you from our engagement, Eva. It’s over.’
CHAPTER TWO
‘OVER?’ EVA STARED up at Paul, disbelieving her ears. Surely he didn’t mean what it sounded like?
Yet the determined thrust of his chin and the tight grip of his fingers around the crystal tumbler mocked her desperate hopes. He looked like a man facing an unpalatable duty.
‘You’re jilting me?’
Unbelievable to discover her voice still worked. Her throat constricted and her lungs hurt. She couldn’t seem to drag in enough air. Yet somehow she managed to sound utterly calm. It was as if she was listening to some other woman.
‘That’s a very emotional word, Eva. I’m not abandoning you. Just giving you your freedom.’
Her heart battered so hard against her ribs, it was a wonder he couldn’t hear it.
But he looked too caught up in his own thoughts to read her emotions. His expression was severe, drawn tight with tension, disapproval or hauteur. She didn’t know which. Maybe all three.
Because she’d dared
to question him? That wasn’t like Paul.
Eva stared up into that familiar face and felt as if the world had turned inside out.
Her fiancé was considerate and, when it came to his obligations, utterly reliable. Wasn’t their engagement an obligation? He certainly didn’t love her. The arrangement had been concocted for dynastic reasons but surely that meant it was even harder to break? He was a stickler for doing the right thing.
Yet Paul’s expression was implacable.
She looked up at him and was torn between dismay and that old, familiar melting sensation. Because he was as heartbreakingly handsome as ever with his strongly defined features and tall, well-built frame. His dress uniform drew attention to straight shoulders and long, powerful legs, and the dark blue might have been designed to highlight his indigo eyes. Even his black hair, rumpled since he’d dragged his fingers through it, was attractive.
‘Eva? Say something.’
She blinked and felt something stir inside. Something other than shock and dismay. A niggle of...anger?
‘You want a response when you haven’t even told me what’s going on?’ She stared straight back at him. ‘You owe me an explanation first.’
He was lifting his glass to his mouth and stilled, arrested mid-movement.
What? Did he expect her to sit here meekly and agree to whatever he decreed? That wasn’t the man she knew.
Or did he think her a complete door mat? It was true that around him she felt self-conscious, so wary of betraying her feelings that she accepted without question the arrangements made for her visits to St Ancilla. She thought that made her a good guest. It didn’t mean she was a pushover.
Eva lifted her drink and downed half of it in one swallow.
She rarely drank and struggled to contain a cough as raw fire hit the back of her throat then trickled down. Seconds later warmth exploded within, counteracting the glacial chill that had crept through her inch by crackling inch at his announcement.
‘I apologise.’ He rubbed the back of his neck in a rare show of discomfort. ‘I meant to talk with you and sort this out before the ball. But you were delayed.’
Eva felt her eyes bulge. ‘What was your plan? To send me packing back to Tarentia before the ball?’
A hint of dull colour streaked across those high cheekbones.
‘Of course not.’ He drew himself up, the picture of frowning indignation. ‘I just thought that the sooner we sorted out this situation the better, for you especially.’ He shook his head. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
Pleased!
But, of course, he had no idea how she felt about him.
She’d spent her journey to St Ancilla rehearsing how she’d persuade him that it was time to set a date for their long-delayed wedding.
While he’d been planning to sever their connection.
The irony of it made her cringe.
Suddenly Eva could no longer meet his probing gaze. She looked down to where she cradled the finely cut crystal. Colours winked as her hands trembled and the glass caught the light, a contrast to the deep blue lustre of her new gown.
It struck Eva that her dress was the same colour as Paul’s eyes. Had she subconsciously chosen it for that very reason?
Her breath hitched so hard, the bodice of her strapless gown felt too tight.
Was she really so pathetic?
Grimly she took another swallow of whisky, enjoying the shocking blast of alcohol, as if it could burn away her feelings for him. Because they made her weak.
But no amount of spirits could eradicate her feelings. Something like despair hit and she slumped back in her seat.
‘Why don’t you just explain what’s going on?’
Paul watched her warily. For the first time in years he could see the ripple of Eva’s emotions just below the surface of her composure.
Yet she was still an enigma. Still unreadable. Except that now he sensed far more than her usual cool acceptance. Something stronger motivated his fiancée.
That look she’d sent him when she’d demanded an explanation! It had had all the hauteur of his father at his most uppity. And, far from appearing chilly or remote, those brilliant eyes had seared him. He’d almost swear that stare had left scorch marks.
Now, though, Eva seemed to have deflated. Her shoulders hunched in a way that aroused his protective instincts. Which was crazy. He was doing this for her.
‘I know you don’t want to marry me, Eva. I’ve known it almost from the first.’
That yanked her gaze up from her glass.
How had he ever thought her eyes a dull sort of colour? They shone with a silvery light he’d never noticed before.
‘Go on,’ she urged.
Paul raised his glass to his mouth, found it empty and stood.
‘I’ll have another too, please.’ Eva extended her arm, watching him with a look that on anyone else he’d categorise as challenging. When he reached out and took her glass their fingers brushed. Did he imagine her flicker of reaction? A tiny shiver?
He turned away to get their drinks, forcing his thoughts back to the issue under discussion rather than imagining Eva responding to his touch.
‘You were going to explain.’ Her voice gave nothing away. She might have spoken of the weather in those same polished tones.
‘I thought you’d be happy,’ he murmured as he topped up their drinks and turned, only to halt abruptly as he took in the sight of her.
He couldn’t describe how she looked different, yet she did. More vibrant. More arresting.
He’d seen her wearing a ball gown before so it wasn’t the spill of rich blue silk pooling around her feet, or the slope of pale flesh rising from it that made him stare. She wore gems but that wasn’t new. Nor was the perfect posture. It was something around her eyes and her mouth, and even about the way her breasts pressed high against the confines of her bodice. There was challenge in that brilliant stare and something more. Something almost haunted.
Could it be...hurt?
His chest tightened. His brows angled down in a frown as he tried to puzzle out what Eva felt.
‘Happy that after a four-year betrothal you want to set me aside like an outdated fashion accessory?’ Eva lifted one eyebrow in an expression he’d never seen her wear.
Okay. Not hurt then. Angry.
Paul leaned across and held out her glass. Once more their fingers brushed. She didn’t seem to notice but he did. A spark of something like electricity tingled through his hand and up his arm. His breath stilled as he frowned down at her.
‘What?’ She looked up at him. ‘You didn’t expect me to mind?’
He shook his head and sank onto the lounge opposite her, carefully placing his glass on a side table while he sought the right words. This interview had morphed from just difficult to difficult and surprising. He needed his wits about him.
‘Have you fallen in love? Is that it?’ Her words whipped his gaze back to her. They snapped out, sharp and precise with an undercurrent rich in disapproval. ‘Perhaps with Ms Villiers?’
‘No and no.’ Paul shook his head.
When would he have time to fall in love? He was too busy propping up a kingdom, working sixteen-hour days most of the time.
‘Are you sure? The pair of you seemed very close tonight.’
In another woman he’d have read that tone as jealousy. But this was Eva, the woman who if anything shrank from his touch, and who’d turned away the only time he’d tried to kiss her.
‘I’m King. You know a love match doesn’t enter into it.’
Especially a king grappling with such financial problems. Maybe his younger brothers, currently studying overseas, might one day have the freedom to marry where they chose.
Eva sipped her drink, regarding him thoughtfully, her mouth no longer prim as usual but almost pouting, the contour
s of her lips glistening in the lamplight. Something stirred low in Paul’s belly.
‘Your sister married for love.’
‘Caro is different. You know she rarely even lived at court.’
Yet that hadn’t saved her from their father’s machinations. His plans to marry her off to a rich banker had been the least of his crimes against her. Fortunately, she’d finally found her lost daughter and happiness with Jake Maynard. Together they’d faced down the old King and had stood by Paul when he’d ascended the throne. Now he counted his half-sister and her husband as two of his closest friends, even if they lived on the other side of the world. As far as he knew, Caro was the only member of the St Ancillan royal family to marry for love, not duty.
‘So you’re not in love.’ Eva’s tone expressed doubt. ‘Then why end our engagement?’
Once more Paul heard a hint of something in her voice that might have been hurt. Except that glittering stare looked more annoyed than anything.
‘For your sake, Eva.’
‘Mine? It doesn’t feel like it from where I’m sitting.’
Paul raked his hand through his hair then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. This conversation hadn’t gone the way he’d planned. He was used to taking charge, to persuading or occasionally ordering others into acting in his country’s best interests. He sweet-talked investors and handled difficult negotiations as a matter of course. But tonight, confronted with Eva, who seemed suddenly not like the Eva he knew, he’d inadvertently relinquished control.
‘It’s simple.’ He held her gaze and watched her glass stop on the way to those lush lips. ‘I know you didn’t have a choice in this engagement. That you don’t want to marry me. I want to give you your freedom. I don’t want an unwilling wife.’
She said nothing, just looked down at her glass with a puckered brow, as if surprised to see it in her hand.
It wasn’t the response he’d expected.
