One

      June

      Though she had always considered her reserved nature one of her best qualities, there were times when Princess Anne Charlotte Amalia Alexander wished she could be more like her twin sister.

      She sipped her champagne and watched from across the ballroom as Louisa approached one of the guests: a tall, dark and handsome gentleman who had been eyeing Louisa all evening. She smiled, said a few words, and he kissed her proffered hand.

      It was so easy for her. Men were naturally drawn to her delicate beauty and enthralled by her childlike innocence.

      But Anne? Men considered her cold and critical. It was no secret that people in society, men in particular, often referred to her as The Shrew. Usually she didn’t let that bother her. She liked to believe that they felt threatened by her strength and independence. However, that was little consolation on a night like this one. Everyone around her was dancing and drinking and socializing, while she stood by herself, alone in her principles. But with her father’s failing health, was it so hard to fathom that she just didn’t feel like celebrating?

      A waiter carrying a tray of champagne passed by and she snagged a fresh glass. Her fourth for that night, which was precisely three more than she normally drank.

      Her father, the king of Thomas Isle, who should at least be able to attend the charity event they were holding in his honor, was too weakened by heart disease to even make an appearance. Her mother refused to leave his side. It was up to Anne, Louisa and their brothers, Chris and Aaron, to act as hosts in the king’s absence.

      Getting hammered probably wasn’t in her or the rest of the family’s best interest. But didn’t Anne always do as she was told? Wasn’t she always the rational, responsible twin?

      Well, almost always.

      She knocked back the champagne in two swallows, deposited her empty glass on another passing tray and grabbed a fresh one. She would drink this one slower, she promised herself, but already she could feel the alcohol warming her belly and she began to get a soft, fuzzy feeling in her head. It was…nice.

      She downed glass number five in one long swallow.

      “You’re looking lovely, Your Highness,” someone said from behind her.

      She turned to the voice, surprised to find Samuel Baldwin, son of the prime minister of Thomas Isle, greeting her. Sam was the sort of man a women looked at and instantly went weak in the knees. At thirty he was more cute than handsome—at least she thought so—with naturally curly, dark blond hair that never seemed to behave and deep dimples in both cheeks when he smiled. He was several inches taller than her own five foot eight, with a lean, muscular build. She had spoken to him a time or two, but nothing more than a casual hello. The gossip mill pegged him as one of the island’s most eligible bachelors, and he had been groomed since birth to take over his father’s position.

      He bowed in greeting, and as he did, a lock of that unruly hair fell across his forehead. Anne resisted the urge to reach up and brush it back, but couldn’t help wondering what it would feel like to run her fingers through it.

      She would normally greet him with cool indifference, but the alcohol was doing funny things to her head because she could feel herself smiling. “How nice to see you again, Mr. Baldwin.”

      “Please,” he said, “call me Sam.”

      Out of the corner of her eye Anne saw Louisa on the dance floor, her mystery man holding her scandalously close, gazing into her eyes. A pang of jealousy soured Anne’s stomach. She wanted a man to hold her close and look at her as though she were the only one in the room, as if he couldn’t wait to get her alone so he could ravage her. Just this once she wanted to feel…wanted. Was that really too much to ask for?

      She finished her champagne in one gulp and asked, “Would you care to dance, Sam?”

      She wasn’t sure if his look of surprise was due to her barbaric behavior, or the actual invitation. For a dreadfully long and horrifying instant, she thought he might turn her down. Wouldn’t that be ironic considering all the dance invitations she had declined over the years? So many, in fact, that men had stopped asking altogether.

      Then a grin curled his mouth, his dimples a prominent dent in each cheek, and he said, “I would be honored, Your Highness.”

      He offered his arm and she slipped hers through it. Then he led her out onto the crowded dance floor. It had been so long since she’d danced that when he took her in his arms and began to waltz, what used to be second nature suddenly felt clumsy and awkward. Or maybe that was the champagne making her knees soft…or the spicy scent of his aftershave making her light-headed. He smelled so delicious, she wanted to bury her face in the crook of his neck and breathe him in. She tried to recall the last time she’d been this close to a man she found so sexually appealing.

      Maybe a little too long.

      “Black suits you,” Sam said, and it took her several seconds to realize he was talking about her gown, a floor-length, sequined number she had purchased off the rack in Paris. She didn’t know if the color suited her