Counterfeit Princess. Raye Morgan
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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