The King's Bride By Arrangement - Annie West Page 0,1

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