Counterfeit Princess. Raye Morgan
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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