“Excellent.” He removed his jacket and tossed it over the arm of a chair. Underneath he wore a plain, white long-sleeved knit shirt, similar to a mock turtleneck. It clung to the contours of his chest and arms, accentuating what appeared to be toned, defined muscle underneath. Even without the bulk of his jacket, the expansive width of his shoulders was impressive to say the least.
She wondered how it would feel to put her hands on him. How would his arms feel around her?
The thought of him touching her, and their almost-kiss in the library, had her blushing from her toes to the ends of her hair.
Once again they were alone together. Just the two of them, but this time in her suite. Mere steps away from the bedroom. And Hannah seriously doubted that Princess Sophie, who she had seen sneaking off with one of the guests shortly after dinner, would be around to interrupt them this time.
Is that why he’d sent the staff away? Did he have…plans for them?
He walked across the room to a cabinet that held a dozen or so decanters of alcohol, chose one and poured them each a drink. He turned to her, looking surprised to see that she was still rooted firmly to the same spot.
“It’s been a long day,” he said, walking toward her. “Sit down. Relax.”
Her feet were throbbing, but the idea of taking off her shoes while he was in the room made her feel so…vulnerable. “You’re staying?”
“Would you prefer I leave?”
“No, of course not. I just… Is this okay?”
He set both drinks on the table beside the couch. “Is what okay?”
“You being in my suite. You know…before the wedding.”
He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
“It’s not against the rules?”
“Is there a reason it should be?”
Why did she get the feeling he was making this up as he went along? “Next you’ll be telling me it’s all right for you to tuck me into bed.”
His mouth tipped up in a feral smile. “If that’s what you wish.”
He was teasing her again, and she was a little stunned to realize that she was teasing him right back. It was…empowering. And a little scary.
“As you pointed out earlier, I’m a king. I make the rules.” He gestured to the couch. “Join me?”
Her feet were killing her, and God knows it would feel absolutely wonderful to sit down. Maybe just for a little while.
She took a step forward, then hesitated.
“Don’t worry. I don’t bite.” A grin split his face. “Unless, of course, you would like me to.”
She bit her lip.
“You can trust me,” he assured her.
Maybe that wasn’t the problem. Maybe it wasn’t Phillip’s behavior that she questioned.
Maybe it was herself she didn’t trust.
Three
Phillip sighed.
He had things to do tonight. A long-awaited task to accomplish, but she wasn’t making this easy. Of course, he probably wasn’t helping matters. But he did so very much enjoy teasing her. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”
She surprised him again by folding her arms across her chest and saying, “With no frame of reference, how can I begin to know what your best behavior is?”
He liked Hannah, and was saddened by the thought that it wouldn’t last. That someday soon he would grow bored with her. But he might as well enjoy it while it lasted. “How about I promise to keep my hands to myself? All right?”
She considered that, and he wasn’t sure if she looked relieved or disappointed. Finally, she nodded. “All right.”
She walked to the couch and sat primly on the edge of the cushion—knees pressed firmly together and tipped to one side—smoothing the creases from her skirt and jacket. He sat beside her, far enough away that it would be considered proper by anyone’s standards.
“Feel free to remove the torture devices from your feet,” he said, and at her look of confusion, added, “Your shoes. They look uncomfortable.”
She glanced down, a pained look on her face, then blatantly lied to him by saying, “They feel fine.”
Why did she have to be so…difficult? He wasn’t exactly looking forward to what he had to do, but it would go much more smoothly if she would just relax.
He handed her a drink, watched as she took a sip, then he took a healthy swallow of his own. Hopefully the alcohol would loosen her up a bit. Make this less painful for both of them. Not that he thought she would voice an objection once he got started.
He had considered the garden as a more suitable location. More romantic, he supposed, but more than likely someone would have seen. In a life so very public, he felt he deserved a few private moments. Especially for an act as intimate as the one he was about to perform.
Maybe it was like taking off a bandage. The faster he did it, the less it would sting.
He downed the last of his brandy then took Hannah’s barely touched glass from her and set them both on the table.
Well, here goes.
With Hannah watching him curiously, he lowered himself to the floor beside the couch on one knee and produced the small velvet box from his pants pocket.
Hannah’s eyes went wide and her mouth fell open in surprise before she caught herself and snapped it shut again.
He flipped the box open to reveal the fourteen-carat diamond ring that had been passed down through his family for the past twelve generations. Hannah gasped softly.
Breaking his promise not to touch her, he took her hand in his. “Hannah Renault, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
In a soft, breathy voice, she said, “Of course I will.”
He lifted the ring from the satin pillow that was inside the velvet box and slipped it on her ring finger, feeling the sickening sensation of his freedom slithering from his grasp.
He let go of her hand and she stared in wonder at the enormous rock on her finger. When she looked back up at him, a pool of tears welled in her eyes.
Bloody hell, did she have to go and do that? As if this wasn’t awkward enough. But for her sake, he did his best to hide his discomfort. Besides, what woman wouldn’t get a little misty-eyed to have such a fine piece of jewelry in her possession?
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” she said wistfully.
Or so big, he imagined. If there was one constant with women, it was a love of things that sparkled. “It’s been in my family for generations.”
“It’s amazing.”
The moisture building in her eyes hovered precariously at the edge of lids, threatening to spill over at any second. A good reason for him to—as the Americans liked to say—get the hell out of Dodge.
He shifted his weight, preparing to pull himself to his feet, but before he got the chance, she vaulted off the couch, threw her arms around his neck and hugged him.
In all of her preparations for this marriage, not even in the instructions that had been sent to her, breaking down the events of her first day in the palace, had one word been mentioned about a formal proposal. Which, in her mind, could mean only one thing.
He had gotten down on one knee before her not out of duty, but simply because