Kitabı oku: «Counterfeit Princess»
Crown Prince Marco suddenly felt very jaded.
Given a choice, he wouldn’t marry anyone, much less notorious Princess Iliana.
But he didn’t have a choice.
He’d come here to Dallas, Texas, to attend a charity ball and, at the same time, to meet the woman he had pledged to marry. He’d long ago promised King Mandrake that he would marry his daughter, and he meant to keep his word.
Marco was due to take over his rightful role as king very soon, and he would need a queen. Plus, his two motherless children needed a mother.
As a widower of two years, Marco had no appetite for the dating game. A ready-made mate would fit the bill for him.
As long as she didn’t make too much trouble….
Dear Reader,
My, how time flies! I still remember the excitement of becoming Senior Editor for Silhouette Romance and the thrill of working with these wonderful authors and stories on a regular basis. My duties have recently changed, and I’m going to miss being privileged to read these stories before anyone else. But don’t worry, I’ll still be reading the published books! I don’t think there’s anything as reassuring, affirming and altogether delightful as curling up with a bunch of Silhouette Romance novels and dreaming the day away. So know that I’m joining you, even though Mavis Allen will have the pleasure of guiding the line now.
And for this last batch that I’m bringing to you, we’ve got some terrific stories! Raye Morgan is finishing up her CATCHING THE CROWN series with Counterfeit Princess (SR #1672), a fun tale that proves love can conquer all. And Teresa Southwick is just beginning her DESERT BRIDES trilogy about three sheiks who are challenged—and caught!—by American women. Don’t miss the first story, To Catch a Sheik (SR #1674).
Longtime favorite authors are also back. Julianna Morris brings us The Right Twin for Him (SR #1676) and Doreen Roberts delivers One Bride: Baby Included (SR #1673). And we’ve got two authors new to the line—one of whom is new to writing! RITA® Award-winning author Angie Ray’s newest book, You’re Marrying Her?, is a fast-paced funny story about a woman who doesn’t like her best friend’s fiancée. And Patricia Mae White’s first novel is about a guy who wants a little help in appealing to the right woman. Here Practice Makes Mr. Perfect (SR #1677).
All the best,
Mary-Theresa Hussey
Senior Editor
Counterfeit Princess
Raye Morgan
MILLS & BOON
Before you start reading, why not sign up?
Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!
Or simply visit
Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.
To Dallas—a great friend (and a wonderful city!)
RAYE MORGAN
has spent almost two decades, while writing over fifty novels, searching for the answer to that elusive question: Just what is that special magic that happens when a man and a woman fall in love? Every time she thinks she has the answer, a new wrinkle pops up, necessitating another book! Meanwhile, after living in Holland, Guam, Japan and Washington, D.C., she currently makes her home in Southern California with her husband and two of her four boys.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Epilogue
Chapter One
“All right, no more hedging, Jordan. Tell me what you’ve heard about Princess Iliana. And be specific. I want to know exactly what I’m getting into.”
Nabotavia’s Crown Prince Marco Roseanova was talking tough, giving his valet a measured look. He would trust the man with his life, but could he trust him to repeat the local gossip?
“I’m afraid she does seem to have a bit of a reputation, Your Highness.”
Jordan looked pained as he said the words and Marco sighed, sure he was holding something back. “I need the facts if I’m going to do anything about this.”
“They say she has a—” Jordan’s long face was always mournful, but now it twisted as though he thoroughly disapproved of the scent of the aftershave lotion Marco was applying to his sleek and handsome face “—a gangster for a boyfriend.”
Marco suddenly felt very tired. Given a choice, he wouldn’t marry anyone, much less Princess Iliana with her notoriety. And he’d certainly been warned about her before from people very close to him. But he didn’t have a choice. He’d come to Dallas, Texas to attend an annual charity ball the local Nabotavian community put on and at the same time, to meet the woman he had pledged to marry. He’d promised King Mandrake of Alovitia that he would marry his daughter and he meant to keep his word.
Marco was due to take over his rightful role as King of Nabotavia very soon, and by law he needed a queen. And his two motherless children needed a mother. As a widower of only two years he had no appetite for getting into the dating game. A ready-made mate would fit the bill for him right now. As long as she didn’t make too much trouble.
“I think we’ll be able to convince her to give up her less-savory hobbies,” he said, reaching for his tuxedo jacket. “Let’s go meet this wild child of a princess, shall we?”
Jordan dipped his head in acquiescence and turned to open the door for his employer. They rode the elevator down to the ballroom in silence, and as the doors slid open to reveal the crowd gathering on the landing, they exchanged a look and started for the entrance.
“It’s the crown prince,” someone said as they passed, and the crowd began to part, letting them through to the top of the stairs where the announcer was introducing each new set of arrivals over a speaker system.
“There she is,” Jordan muttered to him suddenly. “Blue gown and tiara.”
Marco looked across the landing and met a gaze so startlingly open in its curiosity, he was caught for a moment, unable to look away. She was beautiful, just as he remembered from ten years before. That he had expected. But he hadn’t anticipated the clear gaze, the lifted chin, the lack of guile, the complete absence of either contrition or defiance. She could have been an angel. But he knew damn well she wasn’t.
He blinked and finally he pulled his gaze away, reaching to tug on the constriction of the neck of his shirt. “I can’t meet her yet,” he told Jordan, turning back from the announcer and looking toward the bar. “I’m going to need a good stiff drink before I can handle this one.”
He didn’t bother to look at Jordan’s face. He knew he would see disapproval. But a man could only do what he could do, and right now, too much was flooding in on him—memories, emotions. The princess was certainly lovely, but the face of his beloved Lorraine, the wife he’d lost too soon, was haunting him. That was enough to put a cold, painful grip on his heart. He needed a few minutes to himself. Squaring his shoulders, he strolled into the bar and nodded to the bartender.
“Well, Greta,” said Shannon Harper, the woman Prince Marco had taken for the princess, speaking to one of the two Alovitian courtiers standing on either side of her as she watched Marco turn and head for the bar. “I’d say the prince has no more interest in meeting Princess Iliana than the real princess has in meeting him. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“He’s just a little nervous,” the gray-haired countess murmured. “He’ll be back.” But she was wringing her bejeweled hands and a half second later her true feelings came flooding out. She looked across Shannon to the short, bald man standing on the other side of her. “Did you see the way he looked at her? Do you think he knew? He knew, didn’t he? He could tell right away that she is an imposter!”
“Get a grip, Greta,” Freddy muttered at her, carefully maintaining his dignified presence. “And don’t say that in public. You never know who is listening.” He leaned closer to his cohort. “He didn’t notice a thing. He just wants a drink, that’s all. You’ll see. He’ll be back.”
Shannon looked from one to the other of her handlers. She was getting darn tired of being treated like a mannequin whose only function was to smile and wave and pretend to be Princess Iliana of Alovitia. But that was exactly what she was being well-paid for.
Her strange adventure had started almost two months before when she’d been offered a mysterious job. She already had part-time work as a hostess at a steak house to pay for her graduate studies in art history. Greta and Freddy had found her there one night when they had come in for a meal. They introduced themselves as close advisors to the king of the obscure little country of Alovitia, sent to America to act as support for Princess Iliana. Exclaiming over Shannon’s incredible resemblance to the king’s daughter, they stunned her by saying they would pay her to pretend to be the princess.
“We will train you,” Greta had told her when she resisted. “Princess Iliana is busy in another part of the country and not available for the many charitable functions she had promised to attend. You will take her place. No one will ever know the difference.”
It was an interesting offer, especially because she had friend, family and professional ties to that area of Eastern Europe. She’d been reluctant at first, despite the fact that she had accrued large debts during her mother’s long illness and knew the money being offered would come in very handy. “Won’t anyone she knows realize I’m not her?”
“That’s the beauty of it. She has only recently bought a ranch outside of town. The local Alovitian community has never really known her at all.”
So she’d played the part that had taken her far from her ordinary life and catapulted her into a status that caused heads to turn. That had been intoxicating for a while, though there had been a lot of hard work involved, a lot of luncheons to attend, conferences to appear at, parades to grace with her presence, riding in an open car. After a few weeks, she’d begun to understand why the real princess had skipped out on her obligations. Which brought up another matter. She’d been hired on a short term, temporary basis. Wasn’t it time for the princess to come home?
That question had come to the fore when Greta had told her about the ball, and the fact that Crown Prince Marco of Nabotavia was planning to attend as a way of reintroduction to the princess.
“I thought I would die when I heard he was going to be coming to this ball to see her,” Greta moaned dramatically at the time. “It’s too soon. He’s not supposed to come for another month. But I suppose he couldn’t wait.”
“Have you tried to get in touch with her?” Shannon had asked, wishing she could think of a graceful way to bail out of this assignment.
“Oh yes. We’ve combed Nevada from one end to the other. She’s not to be found.”
By now Shannon had come to understand that the absent princess was not in another part of the country ministering to the needs of orphans or anything remotely of the kind. She was rumored to be in Las Vegas living in the fast lane and defying her father at every turn.
“Well, I hope you know that this is the very last time I’m doing this,” Shannon had said uneasily. “It’s one thing to go cutting ribbons at supermarket openings and waving to the crowd. It’s another to fool a man about the woman that he loves. Or that he’s going to love. Or marry, anyway.”
Even at the time she had been very much afraid that her luck in passing as faux royalty was about to be seriously tested. Now she knew she should have followed her instincts and quit the princess impersonation business while she had her chance.
“Here you go,” Greta said, squeezing her hand as they found themselves at the front of the line, ready to be announced. “Good luck!” And she faded back into the crowd, leaving Shannon on Freddy’s arm.
Shannon looked out at the waves of glittering patrons in the ballroom below and felt a surge of nerves. She’d never attended anything like this before. Put on by the Nabotavian Ladies Relief Society of Dallas, it was one of the most important events of the fall social calendar and everyone from local politicians to media celebrities were in attendance.
“Her Royal Highness, Princess Iliana and Count Frederich of Alovitia,” the herald announced loudly. Faces turned all over the ballroom and a murmur ran through the crowd.
“Steady as she goes, my dear,” Freddy whispered, patting her hand as it clutched the crook of his arm, bracing her as they descended the wide staircase. “You’re going to do just fine.”
Even for Dallas, the event was spectacular. The glitter of light from the chandeliers reflecting on the masses of precious gems adorning the women in attendance was blinding. Men and women alike were dressed to the nines, silk and satin predominating. The ballroom itself was stunning, its huge windows towering twenty feet high and draped with red velvet curtains held back with braided golden cords. A full orchestra was playing and people were dancing.
Freddy escorted her slowly around the floor and suddenly she realized that everywhere they turned, handsome young men were gaping in her direction. It gave her a start to see this sort of male reaction. She really wasn’t used to it. Freddy and Greta had obviously done a good job in directing the hair-dresser, the makeup artist and the costumer who’d worked on her for hours this afternoon. She’d thought she looked pretty good when she’d surveyed the results in her mirror. But the male gazes she was meeting here were a better confirmation.
Whatever the magicians who’d worked on her had done had turned her limp, dishwater hair into a cascading tower of shiny blond locks piled gracefully atop her head, leaving lovely curling tendrils to float flatteringly around her face. The entire creation had been topped off with a tiara of drop pearls which now framed her forehead. The effect was…well, royal.
And amplified when they had poured her into a formfitting electric blue strapless gown and propped her into stilt-like shoes, draped her neck and earlobes with more exotic pearls, and turned her funny, freckled face into something out of a fashion magazine. How they’d done it, she didn’t know. But it was definitely one of the better perks of pretending to be royal.
Crown Prince Marco’s name was announced and Freddy turned her so that she could see him descending the stairs. Her pulse began to thump a little harder. This time she was probably going to have to meet him face-to-face.
She smiled and nodded to a passing matron who had addressed her, then looked back at Crown Prince Marco again. Dressed in a beautifully tailored tuxedo that fit his lean, wiry-looking body perfectly, he had none of the ornamentation of some of the men she’d noticed. But he didn’t need that sort of thing to appear impressive. There was something in the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, the steady gaze from his brilliant blue eyes, that did that all on their own.
He was listening to a tall, raven-haired woman, who was obviously attempting a charm offensive, but though he looked polite, his gaze was wandering, and for just a moment, it met Shannon’s across the heads of about twenty people between them. She looked away quickly and swallowed hard. This was not going to be as easy as it had seemed when they’d been planning the evening. How was she going to get away with pretending to be the woman this man was going to marry?
“Just wait here,” Freddy told her quietly, observing the scene. “Let him come to you.”
So she waited, heart beating a bit faster than usual. And in a moment, he appeared, standing before her, looking like the prince he was. Up close, he was even more impressive. Handsome in a rugged way, his face had a rather gaunt look, as though he’d witnessed many unpleasant acts in his past that he would like to forget, but couldn’t.
She knew he was a widower. Was that what accounted for the haunted look in his eyes? She didn’t know, but his dignified reserve only made him more challenging. Her mouth went dry as he nodded to Freddy, then turned his full attention to her.
“Princess,” he said, giving her a deep bow, his gaze cool though his lips were tilted in a slight smile.
“Your Royal Highness.” She curtsied and held out her hand to him. He took it and brushed her fingers lightly with his lips.
She’d had her hand kissed before. Freddy had been putting her through the paces, practicing how to do it with a casualness that would bespeak royal breeding. At the appearances she’d been attending, men had been snacking on her fingers for weeks. But this was different.
His lips touched her skin and a shock of response shot through her, more like heat than electricity.
“Oh!” she said involuntarily, trying to jerk her hand back.
But he held on to it and looking up, he caught her stunned expression before she could hide it. A look of bemused surprise lit his silver blue eyes.
“Why Princess Iliana, you are looking more beautiful even than I remembered you,” he told her as he finally released her hand.
She knew what came next. After all, she’d practiced it. She was supposed to say, “And you as well, Your Royal Highness,” or something neat and polite such as that. Instead, she heard herself stammer, “I am?” feeling a fool.
His mouth twisted but she couldn’t tell if that was supposed to be a smile or not. If so, it certainly hadn’t reached his eyes.
“I suppose we must dance,” he said, looking at the dance floor with something less than enthusiasm.
“Must we?” she said, alarmed.
Just a few words, they’d told her. You’ll barely be introduced, then we’ll whisk you away. What on earth was this talk of dancing?
“I don’t know if you remember how much I hate it,” he added.
She gazed up into his face with naked relief. “Oh…if you’d rather not…”
He gave her a quizzical look, one eyebrow raised. “You mean you would let me off the hook?” he said, as though he could hardly believe she could say such a thing.
“Of course.” And gladly. She looked around for Freddy. If only she could escape!
But the prince stepped closer and looked down at her. “For some reason, Princess,” he said softly, “I find you a little too anxious to get rid of me.” His eyes glittered with something she hoped was humor, but she couldn’t tell for sure. He held out his elbow. “Shall we?”
Help did not seem to be on the way and she gave in to the inevitable. Remembering to keep her head high, she gave him the slightest of nods and slipped her hand into the crook of his arm as they made their way toward the dance floor.
With a small mental shrug, she turned to face him. She’d signed on for smiling and waving, and a few sentences into a microphone here and there. She’d never bargained on dancing with a prince. But his arms came around her and the music seemed to swell, and they were off.
“Just let me get through this,” she thought to herself, feeling awkward and phony and out of her depth, “and I’ll go to the powder room and stay until Freddy says we can go home.”
But even as she thought the words, she caught sight of herself in one of the long mirrored panels between the high windows, and for just a second, she wondered who that beautiful princess was. It was seeing the crown prince in the mirror as well that brought the truth home to her. They looked like they belonged in a fairy tale. Both of them.
Her head went just a little higher. What the heck. If through some miracle she had managed to look like a princess, surely she could make a little more effort to act like one. Forget Shannon Harper. Shannon was gone. History. Someone new was taking her place. For now.
“My name is Princess Iliana,” she thought to herself. “I am royal, darn it! And I’m not going to forget it.”
Consciously, she made herself relax in the prince’s arms. She jutted her chin out just a bit more, let the rhythm of the music loosen her knees just a bit more, and then she did the most important thing. She made herself to look up into his face and smile.
He didn’t smile back, but his grip on her tightened and his hand slid higher and spread across the naked area below her shoulder blades, radiating heat across her skin.
He wasn’t saying anything. At first she was relieved, but after a moment or two of silence, it finally registered that he was being incredibly patronizing. After all, he was supposed to be wooing her, wasn’t he? Not just putting in time on a schedule. The nerve of the man—she was a princess!
Looking up into his eyes again, she gave him a more knowing smile. Now that her confidence had been revived, she managed to shed most of her awkwardness.
“After the way you turned from me on the landing, I was afraid I wasn’t going to actually meet with you,” she said, her tone playfully accusatory. “So kind of you to spare me a moment or two.”
His mouth barely quirked at the corners. “I took one look at you and felt the need of a little liquid courage, I’m afraid,” he admitted, though his tone belied his words.
“You’re kidding,” she said, truly incredulous. “Is it women in general that bother you? Or just this particular princess?”
“It isn’t the woman. It’s the situation.” His glance in her direction said that he wasn’t used to this sort of challenge and wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Doesn’t this situation bother you?”
“Not a bit,” she said with all honesty. After all, she wasn’t the one who was going to have to marry him. And if anyone thought she would sign on for that duty, they could think again. Marriage had never been her goal.
“Then, ‘You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din,’” he muttered, mostly to himself.
She frowned. She was getting the distinct impression that he thought a conversation with his own alter ego would be more stimulating than any chat he might have with her. Prince or no prince, she wasn’t going to let him get away with that.
“If you’re going to start spouting Rudyard Kipling, you’d better watch out. I just might give you some Emily Dickinson in return.”
His eyes widened as he looked down at her. “What? A princess with an education in literature? This is something new.”
A flush of pleasure surged through her as she saw an actual spark of interest ignite in his gaze. “Ah,” she said wisely. “So the real problem is finally revealed. You have no respect for princesses.”
“Not true. My very favorite sister is a princess.”
“Family never counts, though, does it?” she noted, wrinkling her nose.
“On the contrary, family is the only thing that counts.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again. This was certainly a different way of looking at things than she was used to. But she supposed royalty had to think that way. Family was, after all, their claim to fame. “I guess you’re very proud of yours, aren’t you?”
“Of course. Aren’t you proud of yours?”
She made a face. “Not in the way you’re talking about. After all, family is just something you’re handed at birth. What you do with it is what counts. The sort of person you become.”
He held her slightly away so that he could take a good look at her face. “I’ve heard a lot about the woman you’ve become, Princess, but no one had warned me you were a philosopher.”
She wanted to ask just what he had heard, but then she remembered they weren’t really talking about her. Before she could think of anything else to say, the music faded. The dance was over and she sighed with relief, turning her head to look for Freddy. It took a moment to register the fact that the prince hadn’t let go of her, and when the music began again, and his arms seemed to tighten around her, she realized her ordeal had not yet come to its logical conclusion.
But another thought pushed that disappointment aside. She hadn’t let it fully sink in yet, but she was dancing with the crown prince of Nabotavia! Despite the circumstances, this was a dream come true. Her concentration in her art history studies was in Eastern European Art of the Twentieth Century, with an emphasis on Nabotavia. For the last two years she’d read everything she could get her hands on about the plucky little country, studying its history, immersing herself in its art work. She’d tried to keep current on the fight to oust the radicals, though there hadn’t been much in the local press. And now here she was with the prince.
Her heart gave a little leap, but she stilled it. She had to remain calm. After all, a princess of the next-door country wouldn’t think this was any big deal, now would she?
Stay calm. Stay natural. Think of something to say.
“Have you changed your opinion of dancing?” she asked as they swayed to a rhythmic arrangement of a classical tune.
“No,” he told her. “But I am in the process of revising my opinion of you.”
Something in his tone, something in the way he was looking down at her, sent a riff of sensation cascading down her spine and she almost gasped aloud.
Wow. Where had that come from?
But she already knew the answer. The music was creating a sumptuous background to the night, along with the shimmering lights and the richly dressed crowd. That helped. The scent of candles and gardenias filled the air, creating a scene for magic, a backdrop for fairy tales. A girl could lose her head in a setting like this.
But even more important was the spectacularly handsome man who held her. At first she’d been impressed with his looks and his royal bearing. But now something else was throwing her off her stride. Suddenly she was conscious of the flesh-and-blood man beneath the regalia, and that sense of awareness flooded her with a feeling a little too intense for the circumstances.
Blinking, she swallowed hard and stared at his tux lapel. This prince was also a man, a very muscular man, with wide shoulders and a masculine scent that was suddenly filling her head. His hand on her skin seemed to sizzle. His warm breath tickled her ear. His hard thigh grazed the inside of her leg as they made a turn and an aching longing seemed to curl like smoke up through her body.
She bit down hard on the inside of her lip. If she didn’t stop this impossible swoon, she was going to melt into a puddle of ridiculous eroticism right here on the dance floor. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself back into sanity, hardening her resistance, coming up for air.
You will not fall for this man, she told herself fiercely. Now stick with the program and fend off all feelings of fatal attraction.
There. She sighed with relief. She’d done it. And though it seemed like forever since she’d swooned, he was looking at her as though he were still waiting for an answer to his statement, so it couldn’t have lasted as long as she’d thought.
Now, what had he said? Oh yes.
I am in the process of revising my opinion of you.
It was certainly a statement that needed a response of some kind.
Ücretsiz ön izlemeyi tamamladınız.
