‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Rafe said, with a disdainful curl of his lips. ‘I haven’t come here for sex.’

      ‘Oh? Then why have you come here?’

      Sophie tilted her chin in a defiant gesture and suddenly Rafe wondered how he could have been so dense. Of course she was someone—hadn’t that been apparent from the start? A diamond in the rough—that had been his initial reaction on seeing her, and he had been right. And when he stopped to think about it, her high-born status had been apparent in every gesture she made. It had been there in the way she moved and the way she walked. In her flawless skin and heart-shaped face and in the thick, lustrous bounce of her hair. She was a princess. Of course she was. A runaway virgin princess who had chosen him as her first lover.

      ‘I’m still trying to get my head around what happened last night,’ he said. ‘And wondering if there’s anything else you’ve omitted to tell me.’

      ‘Like what?’ she questioned nonchalantly.

      ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he said softly. ‘Why do women find it impossible to give a straight answer? I’m talking about the fact that you’re a princess—and that the world’s press know you’re here.’

      ‘No...’ she whispered, her fingers moving from her neck to her lips.

      ‘Yes. So you’re going to have to come to England with me.’