‘All right, you’ve made your point. I messed up. Let me go, and I promise to be boringly appropriate. I’ll stand still and talk about the weather or whatever it is that these people talk about without moving their faces.’ Hoping to end it there, she pulled and struggled but he ignored her attempts to free herself and propelled her past an astonished-looking footman, through a door into a panelled anteroom lined with portraits.
‘Stop dragging me! I can’t walk fast in these heels.’
‘Then why wear such ridiculous shoes?’
‘I’m small.’ Izzy tried desperately to keep her balance. ‘If I don’t wear heels people just look over the top of my head. I’m trying to make an impression.’
‘Congratulations, you succeeded.’ His tone left her in no doubt as to what sort of impression she had made.
Rows of his ancestors glared down at her from large gilt frames and Izzy scowled back at their stony faces.
‘Why do they all look so miserable? Isn’t anyone in your family happy? I wish I’d never come.’
‘We all share that sentiment.’ He sent a single glance towards the uniformed footman and the door was closed. They were alone.
‘Another door closes,’ Izzy whispered dramatically, and his fingers tightened on her wrist. She could feel the leashed strength and the flow of tension through his hard frame. His superior height meant that she had to tilt her head to look at him and doing so made her head swim.
‘Er, do you think you could stop gripping me?’ He smelt good, she thought absently. Really good. ‘It’s not like I’m going to run off. I can barely walk in these shoes, let alone sprint.’
He released her instantly, the contempt in his eyes adding a few more bruises to her already battered confidence.
Much as she hated to admit it, she found him horribly intimidating.
He was so sure of himself. This man had never been beaten to the ground and had to pull himself up again. He positively throbbed power and authority and he made her feel as insignificant as a spec of dust. And then there were the other feelings. The feelings she didn’t want to think about. Like the dangerous crawl of lust deep in her belly and the burn of heat where the press of his strong fingers had branded her skin.
Rejecting those feelings instantly, Izzy took a step backwards. ‘I was just singing. I wasn’t naked, or using bad language or telling awful jokes. I wanted you to notice me.’
His eyes flared with shock. ‘You treated my brother’s engagement party as a way of targeting me? How brazen can you get?’
‘Pretty brazen. You don’t get anywhere in life by holding yourself back.’ Izzy put her weight on one leg to try and relieve the throbbing pain in her feet. ‘I know what I want and I go after it.’
‘I have had women throw themselves at me at the most inopportune moments but your performance has eclipsed everything that has gone before.’
‘Eclipsed in a good way?’ The sudden hopeful lift in her spirits was immediately squashed by his condescending glare. ‘Obviously not in a good way. So you’re not interested. Never mind. It’s not the first time I’ve tried and failed. I’ll get over it.’
She wondered why he was so angry. It wasn’t as if she’d hurt anyone. As he prowled around the room Izzy’s eyes followed him in reluctant fascination. The man was a global sex symbol and up close it was all too easy to see why.
‘Do you think you could stop moving? I’m feeling a bit weird and watching you is making me dizzy.’ Or maybe it wasn’t the movement, she thought. Maybe it was the way his undoubtedly super-expensive jacket failed to conceal the power of the body underneath.
‘How much have you drunk?’ The snap of his tone should have shredded the tension but instead it seemed to intensify the lethal, suffocating heat.
Finding it difficult to breathe, Izzy gripped the back of the chair tightly. ‘I haven’t drunk enough to get me through a night like this, believe me. And it’s not my fault that those people in uniform—’
‘They’re called footmen—’
‘—yes, them—they kept filling up my glass and I didn’t like to say no and offend anyone.’ The words tumbled out of her like water in a fast-flowing stream. ‘And anyway, I was thirsty because it’s hot in there but there was no food to mop up the alcohol, just those tiny canapé things that get stuck in your teeth and don’t fill you up. And, might I remind you, this is supposed to be a party. I was trying to lighten the atmosphere. It’s like a funeral in there, not an engagement. If this is the life my sister can expect when she marries your brother then I feel sorry for her.’ She stopped, distracted by a masculine face so impossibly handsome that it almost hurt to look at him.
Despite his almost unnatural stillness, she knew he was angry. She could feel the anger in him beneath that sophisticated, polished veneer. Izzy was wondering whether it would make him even angrier if she removed her shoes before they cut off her blood supply when those dark eyes burned into hers.
‘You planned this whole thing, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, I did.’ Hadn’t she just told him that? ‘Every day I set a goal. It helps me stay focused. Today you were my goal.’
‘Cristo. You admit it?’
‘Of course.’ What was wrong with having goals? ‘I confess to the crime, Your Honour.’ She gave a little salute and almost lost her balance.
‘Is everything a joke to you?’
‘I try and laugh at life when I can.’ And her career was definitely a joke, she thought gloomily. A big, fat joke.
‘You are loud and indiscreet. If you’re going to be linked with our family you need to learn to filter what you say.’
Izzy thought about all the times people had said one thing to her and meant another.
Dress like this and you’ll be a star, Izzy.
I love you, Izzy.
Her insides lurched. She wasn’t going to think about that now. Or later. ‘By “filter,” you mean lie? You want me to be like those women out there with frozen smiles and non-existent expressions who don’t actually say anything they mean? Sorry, but that’s just not me.’
‘I’m sorry too. The fact that your sister is marrying the future king makes you of interest to the public.’
‘Really?’ Izzy brightened at the prospect that someone might actually be interested in her. ‘Now that’s what I call a happy ending.’
Disapproval throbbed from every inch of his powerful frame. ‘If this marriage has a chance of being accepted by the public then you will need to be kept out of the public eye. We cannot afford the negative publicity. The focus needs to be on Alex and Allegra. And if your sister is marrying the future king you need to learn how to behave. And how to dress.’ That gaze skimmed her body and she felt as if she’d been singed by the flame of a blowtorch.
Either he was giving off mixed messages or her emotional radar was jammed. There was disapproval there, yes, but there was also something else. A dangerous undercurrent that she couldn’t read properly.
‘It’s not my dress that’s wrong, it’s your party. No one in this place knows how to laugh, dance or have a good time. Those chandeliers are all very well but you could have done with a few disco balls to liven things up.’
‘This is a royal palace, not a nightclub. Your behaviour should reflect that.’
‘So