His Majesty's Temporary Bride. Annie West
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afraid the palace is closed to visitors at the moment.’
‘So I gathered. The butler seemed surprised when I arrived.’ Yet Alex made no move to leave. That speculative gaze was heavy as it took her in from head to toe.
Instinctively Cat drew herself up. She’d have to usher him out the door. ‘I think it best if—’
‘Why Cat?’ He spoke at the same time.
‘Sorry?’
‘Your name. Is it a nickname because of your eyes?’ When she didn’t immediately answer he went on. ‘I’ve never seen eyes quite that colour.’
‘Cat’s eyes?’ She blinked. She’d never thought of that. People told her she had beautiful eyes but she’d never been convinced. Probably because through her early years they’d been the bane of her life. Such a distinctive colour, always commented on. Royal St Gallan it was called here because every member of the royal family for generations had inherited eyes that colour. Yet it was extraordinarily rare in the rest of the population.
When her mother had given birth to a girl only seven months after her hasty marriage to a man she’d never shown a preference for, and when that baby had eyes of Royal St Gallan green, there had been talk. People commented on how suddenly she’d left her job at the palace, and how it was whispered that the King had a roving eye despite his gorgeous wife and obviously happy family life.
‘Cat?’ He’d moved closer. The fresh scent of citrus and warm flesh invaded her nostrils. It sent tendrils of feminine pleasure curling through her.
She stiffened. This was so not good.
‘It’s what my friends call me.’ That at least was true. She’d never been Catherine except to her stepfather, the man who’d treated her mother as a drudge and her as a disgusting burden despite the largesse he’d received for giving them his name.
‘An unusual choice, but it suits.’ His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. Even in heels she was no match for his rangy height. Cat found herself wondering why she even noticed. She worked with guys all the time, some even taller than Alex.
‘It was lovely of you to take so much trouble. Really.’ Her muscles stretched taut as she forced a smile. ‘But this isn’t really a good time.’ She stepped away, holding his gaze, inviting him to accompany her as she moved to the door.
‘I understand.’ Abruptly the hint of humour in his gaze disappeared. ‘I should have begun by saying how very sorry I am. It must have been a tough time for you.’
‘Sorry?’ Cat frowned. From the moment she’d crossed the threshold nothing had made sense. Not seeing Alex here, looking urbane and remarkably at home, nor his interest in her name, nor the trouble he’d taken to return her ratty old running gear. And now he was sorry...?
‘For your loss.’ His mouth flattened and he raked a hand back through his hair, which immediately fell back into place. ‘I’m not doing a very good job, am I? I should have offered my condolences when we met but you left so abruptly.’
The hair at Cat’s nape rose as she read the sympathy in his eyes, the sincerity in the grim expression bracketing that generous mouth.
Anxiety stirred and doom-laden foreboding.
A large hand captured hers, long fingers enfolding it, warm and reassuring. ‘You must be going through a hellish time, losing your brother and sister-in-law. You have my sympathy and my mother’s. If there’s anything I can do—’
He broke off when Cat stepped back, heart thundering, tugging her hand from his.
He thought she was Amelie.
The knowledge pressed down on her, stopping her breath, making her ears buzz and her head whirl as she stared up into that handsome, now sombre face.
Finally, hand to her sternum, she managed to gasp in air, sucking it deep and filling starved lungs.
Did he know Amelie? How well? How long before he realised Cat was an imposter?
And somewhere deep in her psyche, buried so deep she almost didn’t register it, was a part of her that wanted to reach out and grab his hand again, feel that rush of heat and fortifying strength, because, absurdly, she did feel grief for the half-brother she’d never known and would now never know. Even though she had no right to feel anything.
She’d always been an outsider. These people weren’t really her family, no matter the blood they shared.
‘I...’ She paused and forced a brittle smile. ‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’ Her lips felt stiff and the words sounded stilted.
She wished she’d never got herself into this tangle of deceit. It went against everything she’d made of herself. Forced to hide her true identity since childhood, there’d been freedom and a welcome dignity and strength in building a life for herself that had no taint of subterfuge. Where she was simply Cat Dubois, capable, professional and open.
‘I—’ Cat broke off as the door opened behind her. Swinging round, she saw Lady Enide, immaculate as ever in a navy suit and pearls, her silver hair a testament to good taste and a personal stylist. The other woman paused on the threshold, her features morphing into a mask that even for her looked pinched and full of concern.
She stepped into the room and, to Cat’s amazement, bent deep into a curtsey. The sort of curtsey she’d tried and failed to teach Cat.
‘Your Highness. Welcome to St Galla.’ Her eyes weren’t on Cat but on Alex. Cat felt once more that enervating sensation as if her stomach had disconnected and plummeted at speed towards her toes.
‘My apologies that you weren’t greeted appropriately. The palace has only a skeleton staff during this period of mourning and we weren’t expecting you yet.’
Colder and colder, Cat’s spine froze vertebra by vertebra till it felt as if her backbone and neck were clamped in an icy vice.
Slowly she turned back to see Alex smiling. ‘No need for apologies. As you can see, Princess Amelie has made me welcome.’
Eyes of rich blue met and held hers. She read curiosity and something that might have been satisfaction there. But she was too busy revisiting their conversation, wondering if she’d betrayed herself, to interpret his thoughts.
For the issue now wasn’t merely her identity, and whether she could maintain a royal masquerade.
Worse was the fact Enide had called him ‘Highness’. That the haughtiest, most proper woman she’d ever met had practically scraped the floor with her curtsey.
Which meant Alex wasn’t merely a layabout yachtie.
Cat’s brain galloped ahead to the guests expected for the St Gallan-Bengarian celebrations. Celebrations to commemorate an old alliance between the two nations, forged when St Galla fought annexation by both its mainland neighbours, France and Italy. Celebrations which the King of Bengaria would attend.
King Alexander.
Her breath stalled and for a horrifying moment she thought she’d crumple as her knees gave way.
Cat dropped her eyes from his bright, enquiring gaze and found herself staring at a pair of glossy hand-made shoes. She kept her eyes fixed on them, forcing down the surging rush of panic.
He was King Alexander of Bengaria.
And he believed her to be Amelie.
Could it get any worse?
Cat found herself sinking into a deep, perfectly executed curtsey. The sort of curtsey that had eluded her for days.
It was amazing what adrenaline and sheer panic could achieve.
‘Welcome, Your Majesty. It’s a pleasure to have you here.’