The King's Bride By Arrangement - Annie West Page 0,15

out to lock the door and lead the way to the building.

‘We won’t be disturbed here,’ he murmured as he turned on more lights and ushered her inside.

She should have known this wouldn’t be like the old hunting lodges in Tarentia—closed-in spaces full of dark wood and mounted hunting trophies. The walls of the two-storey entrance foyer gleamed a soft shell-pink and a staircase, embellished with decorative iron-work that looked like butterflies in flight, curved up to the next floor.

‘It’s charming.’

‘And costly to maintain. Unfortunately, there’s a heritage listing on the building so it can’t be bulldozed.’

Her head swung round at the bitterness in Paul’s voice. It wasn’t something she’d heard from him before, though he carried a massive burden of responsibility, rebuilding his nation’s wealth after his father’s excesses.

First anger, now bitterness. What other surprises did he have for her?

He shrugged and his expression turned rueful. ‘Don’t worry, I’d never do it. I’m actually quite fond of the place. It’s where I used to escape when...’ He shook his head. ‘Never mind. Come this way.’

He moved past the stairs, towards the back of the building, leaving Eva to wonder who or what he’d had to escape.

It didn’t take a genius to work out it was most likely his father. But this was the first time Paul had come close to revealing any of the difficulties he’d faced as King Hugo’s son. Everything Eva knew of the old King, she’d heard in confidence from her parents or from Princess Caro on a previous visit. Paul had said once he preferred not to dwell on the past but look to the future.

Because the past was so awful or because, as far as she could tell, he spent most of his time working to secure the future of his country?

‘Coming, Eva?’

He stood in the shadows of the corridor, looking back over his shoulder. It struck her once more that tonight, in these casual clothes, he seemed like a stranger. Someone she barely knew.

Trepidation licked through her like a cold flame. She shrugged off the sensation and followed him.

They ended up in the kitchen. White and blue tiles and acres of scrubbed wood. It was cavernous but surprisingly cosy.

Eva had had a wrap when she’d gone to the night club but had lost it somewhere along the way. She looked down at the bare legs revealed by her higher than usual hemline and her mouth twisted. No wonder she’d felt chilled. Partly it was reaction to tonight’s events and partly that she never went out wearing so little.

Maybe Paul thought the same. She looked up to find him staring at her legs from the far end of the bench where he was making hot drinks.

His stare made her want to tug her hemline down but she resisted it. There was nothing particularly skimpy about what she wore, especially compared with what she’d seen at the night club. When she stood the hem went halfway down her thighs. It was just when she sat...

‘Are you warm enough?’ His voice hit a gravel note.

‘I’m fine.’

His gaze skated her shoulders, bare but for thin straps of satin.

Heat churned in her middle, embarrassment rising. There was no way Paul could know this wasn’t actually a dress but a custom-made slip. It had been designed to be worn under a sheer chiffon dress that floated all the way to her knees like most of her other outfits. Worn separately, it looked like a plain but well-cut dress, perfect for dancing. She’d convinced herself the dark anthracite grey was sophisticated enough for a night out.

Because it had been her only choice.

When she’d looked for something to wear dancing, she’d found nothing suitable. Everything was too formal or conservative. Not frumpy, for she’d been taught to dress with elegance and care, but she had nothing young or fun in her wardrobe.

It was a sad statement about her life that at twenty-four she had nothing to wear for a night on the town.

Some night it had been.

Her fingers clenched and she pressed her knees together as she relived the heavy touch of grasping hands on her body, that hot breath on her face, the smell of wine and the slightly sour aftershave that had vied with the taste of panic on her tongue.

‘Here.’ It was Paul, holding out a steaming mug.

Eva blinked up, read his brooding expression and quickly focused on taking the drink without touching him.

That frown made her feel about six years old, caught in some misdemeanour.

Whereas she’d done