“Your favorite song,” Zale murmured as he pulled her into his arms and close to his tall lean frame.
Hot emotion rushed through her. How did he know?
And then as his hand settled low on her back, his warmth scorching her through her thin gown, she remembered he meant Emmeline.
Of course he meant Emmeline. But Emmeline wasn’t coming. It all ended tonight.
For a moment she couldn’t breathe, suffocated by crushing pain.
Early tomorrow morning she’d slip away, leaving him a note. He’d hate her when he found the note. She’d never forgive herself for deceiving him, either.
“You’re a good dancer,” she whispered.
“That’s because you’re my perfect partner.”
Eyes burning, heart on fire, she tipped her head back and was immediately lost in Zale’s eyes. She loved his face. Loved everything about him far too much. “You are full of compliments tonight, Your Majesty.”
He smiled at her. “I’m happy.”
He did look happy. His light brown eyes glowed. “I’m glad.” “Marry me, Emmeline.” “I thought we were?”
“I’m proposing again so we can start over. Start fresh. This isn’t about our families or our countries. This is about us. Will you marry me?”
Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked to clear her vision. “You’re sweeping me off my feet.”
“It’s what I should have done from the beginning.”
“I had no idea you were such a romantic.”
His steady gaze held hers. “So is that a yes, Your Highness? Or do you need time to think about it?”
Her chest ached. How could she say no? How could she ever refuse him anything? “Yes.”
He smiled, a great boyish smile that lit his face and made him look utterly irresistible. “Thank God. For a moment I thought you intended to leave me standing at the altar.”
He was teasing. Trying to be funny. But Hannah shivered, chilled by reality.
Zale felt the goose bumps on her arms and drew her closer.
“Cold?” “A little.”
He held her even more snugly against him and she pressed her cheek closer to his jacket, her ear resting on his chest just above his heart. And remembered Cinderella.
In Cinderella, at the stroke of midnight the magic ended. The glass coach turned back into a pumpkin. Cinderella’s gown became rags. And Cinderella became no one.
The song was ending and Zale lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing her fingers. “Thank you.”
She looked up into his face, that handsome face, which owned every bit of her heart. “Have you ever been in love?”
“Yes.”
“She was a commoner?” He nodded. “What happened?”
His jaw tightened. “My parents died and I became king.”
She stared up at him. “You gave her up?”
He nodded again and she exhaled in a rush. Tenderly Zale brushed a wisp of hair from her flushed cheek. “It hurt,” he admitted, “but it was meant to be. Because if I hadn’t ended it with her, I wouldn’t be here with you.”
Zale saw her cheeks turn pink and her blue eyes deepen, a sheen of tears making the color look like sapphires, a perfect complement to the jewels in her hair and at her ears.
She’d never looked more beautiful, and yet she hadn’t been this emotional, or fragile, since their engagement party. But he understood her exhaustion. It had been a hard night without either of them getting a lot of sleep.
“I see some friends across the room,” he said, taking her hand. “Let’s go say hello.”
All evening he’d introduced her to different people he thought she should know—members of his cabinet, members of parliament, influential men and women from all over the world. But now he was taking her to old friends, close friends, people Emmeline loved.
Crossing the ballroom they joined the Greek prince, Stavros Kallas, and his bride of one year, the stunning Greek-English heiress, Demi Nowles. Prince Stavros was a first cousin of Zale’s, their mothers were half sisters and Stavros had been a friend of Emmeline’s since childhood.
When Stavros had proposed to Demi Nowles after a whirlwind engagement, no one had been happier than Emmeline who’d socialized with Demi for years. One year they’d been the inseparable dancing duo, hitting every exclusive nightclub on the Continent.
“I do believe you know these two,” Zale said. “Perhaps you should introduce me, Your Highness?”
Emmeline didn’t reply and glancing down at her he saw panic in her eyes.
“Your Highness,” he prompted, gently, teasingly. “If you’d do me the honor …?”
Emmeline smiled, but her features were tight, and her expression looked frozen.
She extended a hand to Prince Stavros. “It’s a pleasure,” she said politely. “Good to see you again.”
Stavros looked at Emmeline’s hand, glanced at Zale and then back at Emmeline before slowly taking her hand. “Yes,” he agreed uncomfortably. “You look well, Emmeline.”
Zale frowned, and Demi watched the exchange, equally baffled.
For a moment Demi didn’t seem to know what to do and then her expression suddenly cleared. “Oh, Emi, I get it now! You’re making fun of those Americans and their strange manners. You were just there in Palm Beach for that polo tournament. Heard it was quite the crush.”
“Yes, it was,” Emmeline agreed pleasantly. “How long are you here for?”
Silence followed Emmeline’s question, a most awkward silence, and even Demi’s smooth brow furrowed. “Until the wedding, of course,” Demi answered, perplexed. “Unless you’ve decided to replace me as one of your bridesmaids.”
Again there was silence and Zale caught Stavros and Demi exchanging puzzled glances.
Zale reached for Emmeline’s hand. She was trembling. He didn’t understand what was happening.
“No,” Emmeline answered, breaking the excruciating silence. She smiled but she looked alarmingly brittle. “Don’t be ridiculous. How could I get married without you at my side?”
Stavros smiled. Demi hugged Emmeline. But Zale wasn’t fooled. Something was wrong with Emmeline.
They moved on, just a short distance from Prince and Princess Kallas. “Are you all right?” Zale asked, his head bent to hers, his voice pitched low.
She swayed on her feet. “I don’t feel well.”
He slipped an arm around her waist to support her weight. “I can see that,” he said, leading her through a narrow door hidden in the ballroom’s ornate white and gold paneling, exiting the ballroom for a small cream room where he swept her into his arms and carried her to a chaise in the corner.
He settled her on the chaise and she lay still with her eyes closed, her lashes black crescents against her pallor. “Do you feel faint?” he asked.
She nodded.
“A little.”
“What can I get for you?” Tears seeped from beneath her lashes. “Nothing.” Zale summoned a footman. “Brandy and water,” he said crisply.
The footman returned quickly and Zale carried the snifter of brandy