Annie West - His Majesty's Temporary Bride

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.’

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.