silence might be a deliberate tactic of his to make people feel uncomfortable.
If so, it certainly wasn’t going to work with her.
Despite her best intentions, Anna raised her head, meeting that intense blue gaze.
The force of his will almost flattened her.
‘Was I not clear?’ the king said finally, in his deep, harsh voice. ‘Do you want me to tell you again that I wish you to return to England? I hope not. I’m not accustomed to repeating myself.’
Annoyance arrowed down her spine, and before she could stop herself she’d snapped, ‘And I’m not accustomed to being sent away without an explanation like a naughty child.’
A crashing silence fell.
Anna’s cheeks, already hot, felt as if they were going to burst into flames.
You idiot. He’s the king. You can’t snap at him like that.
Slowly, he pushed himself away from the ropes, straightening to his full, impressive height, making her feel very, very small.
‘Come here,’ he ordered.
Obviously he meant, come into the ring.
Briefly, Anna entertained a fantasy of ignoring him, turning her back and walking out. But that wouldn’t get her the explanation she wanted and it certainly wouldn’t endear her to the Reverend Mother, so she shoved the fantasy away, found the steps that led to the ring, and tried to get over the ropes in a dignified way. Naturally she failed, ending up clambering awkwardly between them while the king watched her, his arms crossed over his muscled chest.
She was blushing furiously and feeling like an idiot by the time she approached him, both of which made her temper crackle and spit like oil poured into a hot frying pan.
Not good, Anna. Not good.
She had to get herself under control. Especially if she wanted an explanation as to why he was dismissing her, and most especially if she wanted him to change his mind. Because if he needed someone to improve his daughter’s behaviour, he was hardly likely to choose a woman who couldn’t even manage her own.
She had to set an example.
So she tried to swallow the hot words on her tongue, and tried to project obedience, meekness, and humility as she gave him a curtsey. ‘Your Majesty.’
The king’s brutal features betrayed nothing. Instead he held out one gloved hand imperiously, palm up. ‘Undo the tie, if you please.’
She blinked, realising that he meant the tie of his boxing glove and that of course he couldn’t do it himself. But it wasn’t until she took a step forward to untie it for him that she understood her mistake.
He was very close, his magnificently muscled and very bare chest inches away. His olive skin was sheened with perspiration and he smelled of clean male sweat and something sharp and fresh like the sea. It was a very masculine scent and she didn’t know why she liked it, but she did.
Her hands shook as she pulled at the tie, the heat coming off him so at odds with the cold air of authority he projected. It disturbed her on some deep level, making her very aware of his height and his power, and how much smaller she was, how vulnerable.
She didn’t like it, and yet part of her did. Very much. Which didn’t make any sense. What was wrong with her? Why did she suddenly feel like this?
‘You have a temper, Sister,’ the king said.
Anna, bent over his glove, kept her attention on what she was doing, trying determinedly to ignore his physical presence and its effect on her heartbeat.
You’re attracted to him. Not a mystery.
But that was ridiculous. She’d never been attracted to any other man before, so why this one? It was a very bad idea. Especially given who this particular man was.
‘I...apologise, Your Majesty,’ she said, not feeling particularly apologetic as she tugged on the tie, which appeared to be knotted. ‘I spoke out of turn.’
‘Yes.’ His voice was a deep, vibrating rumble she almost felt in her chest. ‘You did. The Reverend Mother chose poorly in sending you. How can you manage my daughter when you cannot even manage yourself?’
It was exactly what she’d been thinking herself, the censure in his tone making her feel as if she were twelve again, hauled into the Reverend Mother’s office for yet another transgression, the weight of guilt falling on her at the look of gentle disappointment on the Reverend Mother’s face. ‘Why can’t you be good, Anna? I know you have it in you.’ And her wondering if she really did have it in her, thinking that maybe she was