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have been consulted about the guest list.”
“Judging from the quality of the women who have arrived, I believe Princess Marguerite did quite well without your input, Your Highness.” Didier smiled. “I must say, Christina Armstrong even looks like a princess. She’s quite lovely. And with her upbringing and connections—”
“She is nothing more than an American heiress.”
“The legend cares nothing about—”
“The legend, Didi?” Simply saying the word “legend” put a bitter taste in Richard’s mouth. “Do you truly believe the royal engagement ring is going to fit one of these women, that we will find true love and everlasting happiness, that the island will prosper with our marriage?”
“I do, Your Highness.”
Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous. Even logical Didier believed in the Legend of the Ring, in magic. But Richard knew better. The pursuit of true love—any kind of love—brought only heartache. Magic did not exist. Yet duty to his family and his country bound him to the legend. If only he had married…
Strains of Vivaldi, played by the seventy-piece orchestra, drifted in from the ballroom. They might as well play a requiem for all the fun Richard would have tonight. He knew what to expect, and he dreaded it.
Women, dressed in designer gowns, dreamed of trying on the ring and having it fit. Men, wearing tuxedos, waited to console those it did not fit. The air kissing, the meaningless toasts, the inconsequential conversations. His so-called guests had less substance than the effervescent bubbles rising in the overpriced champagne his mother had ordered.
He should never have agreed to this farce of a party. Never. He should be sailing, relaxing on his yacht and drinking his favorite beer. If it were not for the legend…
The Legend.
Richard wanted no part of it. He didn’t believe in the legend any more than he believed in the tooth fairy or love at first sight. Perhaps a hundred years ago, legends made some sort of sense, but not today.
He was following his father’s wish and bringing San Montico into the present, but it was a monumentally slow task. Each step toward progress was a battle against the majority who resisted change. The harder Richard pushed for progress, the harder the people fought against it. The citizens of the island clung to old-fashioned traditions and myths like drowning rats on lifelines during a raging storm at sea.
It had not taken Richard long to realize the antiquated customs, such as the Legend of the Ring, that people held so dear to their hearts prevented San Montico from moving forward. Only by doing away with the old ways could real progress take place. Once Richard proved the legend was nothing more than a fairy tale, San Montico could take a giant leap toward modernization. It was the best thing for his country, the best thing for himself.
“The legend is pure fantasy, Didi, and I will prove it. As soon as the clock strikes midnight, this will be over.”
“Perhaps it will be only the beginning. The legend has proved itself true in the past, Your Highness.”
Richard would not believe it. “It is nothing more than a self-fulfilling prophecy. The legend came true because my ancestors, including my own parents, chose to make it come true. I choose not to. Why don’t you get married and take the pressure off me?”
Didier sighed. “If you recall, Your Highness, tradition dictates I not marry until you do.”
Another stupid custom. Richard’s marital status should have nothing to do with his royal advisor’s. If only Didier wasn’t so entrenched in following the “old” ways. “I should have known there was another reason for you to want me to marry.”
“My only reason has to do with our country. You need to find a wife, Your Highness.”
“I have tried to find a wife, Didi.” Richard had done everything possible not to fall prey to the legend. He had dated more than his share of women. Up until six months ago, he thought he had found the one, only to be hugely mistaken. Since then, it had been a race to find another. But he could not open up his heart to just anyone. “I’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty. Surely that must count.”
“But none of your efforts has…succeeded, Your Highness. You are still unmarried, and San Montico needs an heir.”
Richard was tired of hearing what San Montico expected of him. He knew. It had been drummed into him from the day he was born. He straightened his gloves. “I can provide an heir without marrying.”
Didier cringed. “Your Highness.”
Perhaps Richard had overstepped the boundary with that one, but he couldn’t help himself. No one was on his side. The entire island, including his mother and uncle, expected him to fall in love and marry one of the women attending his birthday ball. “Look at the problems other royal families have had, especially the Windsors. An arranged marriage simply to provide an heir makes no sense and adds nothing but more stress to an outdated institution.”
“Are you talking about matrimony or monarchies, Your Highness?”
Leave it to Didier to make Richard laugh.
“We will have to finish this discussion later,” Didier whispered. “Here comes Mr. Armstrong and his daughter, Your Highness.”
Richard nodded.
The dignified, tuxedo-clad Alan Armstrong bowed in front of him. “Your Highness, may I present my daughter, Christina.”
Attractive, yes. Princess material, no. Her rosy blush and wide eyes told Richard she was impressed by him, probably even in awe of him. What more could he expect from an American? When he married, he would select a woman who saw him as a man, not a prince. In the meantime, he forced a smile. “It is my pleasure to meet your lovely daughter.”
She curtsied. “Happy birthday, Your Gorgeous, I mean, Your Highness.”
Richard refrained from rolling his eyes. “Thank you, Miss Armstrong.” He raised her trembling hand to his mouth and kissed it. Her skin felt soft and warm beneath his lips. He caught the faint scent of cocoa butter on her honeyed-tan skin. Had she sunbathed topless at the beach today? “I am delighted you could come.”
As he released her hand, she dropped her beaded clutch bag. Bending over, he reached for it. So did Christina and thwacked her head against his forehead. Jerking away, she stumbled, but her father’s quick action saved her from falling onto the marble floor.
“I’m so sorry.” She touched Richard’s arm—a breach in royal protocol—and he stiffened. “Are you okay, Your Highness?”
The sooner he got rid of her, the better. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his head, Richard handed her the bag. “I am fine.”
Before Christina could say or do anything else, her father pushed her toward the end of the receiving line. “Your Highness, my wife sends her regrets for missing your birthday ball, but she had a prior engagement.”
As Richard nodded, he caught a glimpse of Christina walking toward the ballroom and watched the sway of her gown. Her image blurred slightly as if she were an angel surrounded by clouds. An angel, she wasn’t. He must have hit his head harder than he realized. Richard rubbed his forehead, and she glanced back at him. Their gazes locked for an instant. At the same time, she reached forward to shake the extended hand of…
No.
Fighting the urge to cry out, Richard gritted his teeth. Christina shook the hand, not of a man, but a suit of armor. One of the chain mail gloves came off, leaving the priceless antiquity handless.
Damn. Not even the bloodiest of battles fought preserving San Montico from French and Spanish invaders had destroyed the armor, but this woman, this American…His muscles tightened; his blood pressure soared. Add another headache to his already aching forehead. Christina stared at the glove in horror, then tried to hide it behind her small purse. Alan Armstrong muttered what sounded like a well-rehearsed