LITMIR.BIZ

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But then, she had already sensed that. Otherwise, she would have never invited Russell to her bed, no matter how drawn to him she felt.

      Hers was not destined to be a fairy-tale marriage, Amelia reflected sadly, struggling to accept what she knew was her fate. Still, she continued waving and smiling at the people who wished her well and who were already, from all appearances, taking her to their hearts.

      All except for the small band of dissenters.

      Chapter 7

      Discreet questions as to the prince’s whereabouts were asked once the limousine arrived at the palace. But no one seemed to know where Reginald was. The king’s anxiety continued to mount even as he prepared to attend the gala being held at the palace in honor of Princess Amelia’s arrival and the young royals’ upcoming wedding.

      The hours slipped by. The prince was nowhere to be found.

      Russell frowned to himself, returning his cell phone to his pocket. Reginald wasn’t answering his personal phone. Voice mail picked up immediately, which meant that the prince had shut off his phone, something he was prone to doing whenever he was busy gratifying his sexual appetites. Dutifully, Russell informed the king that his son couldn’t be reached.

      On the advice of his chief counselor, King Weston changed the theme of the celebration at the last moment to center exclusively around the princess who had come to join together the two kingdoms.

      Outwardly, the mood at the party was festive, but beneath the thin layer of gaiety was an underlying knot of tension. Because they cared for their king and had taken to the princess, everyone at the affair pretended that there was nothing wrong.

      As he stood back and observed the guests, Russell was convinced that the prince’s glaring absence was the talk of every small gathering he saw at the celebration.

      At least Amelia was a hit, Russell thought fondly. But then, how could she not be? Coddling the scotch and soda he had been nursing for the last half hour, Russell smiled to himself. The change in Princess Amelia had been incredible. It was hard to believe that this was the same young girl who’d been the target of his practical jokes whenever he’d visited Gastonia.

      Taking a sip from his glass, he felt the liquid spread a deep, burning sensation through his chest, warming everything in its path. It was the same sort of sensation he experienced each time he now looked in Amelia’s direction.

      All evening, Amelia continued to be the center of attention. At the moment Russell watched her engage several of Silvershire’s leading businessmen in conversation. The perfunctory smiles on the men’s faces quickly changed to looks of interest. Russell knew for a fact that the princess, in addition to being fluent in five different languages, had a business degree to her name. The five languages put her four and a half up on Reginald, he thought with a touch of cynicism.

      It seemed that there was nothing, Russell thought with more than a little pride, she couldn’t accomplish if she set her mind to it.

      She was charming the pants off everyone, Russell noted. God knew that she had certainly done that with him. Even before they had spent the night together.

      He felt a pang stirring within him, born not of guilt but of need. It was followed by a wave of anger. The prince should be horsewhipped for standing her up this way. Reginald had known about this gala, known that it was to have celebrated their upcoming marriage. How could he do this to Amelia?

      The very thought of the marriage, of Amelia being intimate with Reginald, made something in the pit of his stomach rise up in his throat. Russell took another sip to wash the taste of bile from his mouth.

      He had no business feeling like this, no business feeling anything beyond a mild pity for whoever officially graced the prince’s bed. But he couldn’t help himself. This was personal. It would always be personal no matter how much he wanted to divorce himself from the situation. He realized that his hand was tightening around his glass and he forced himself to relax his grip.

      Were this another time, one of intrigue and secret pacts, when daggers rather than words were used to settle matters of discord, he might have been sorely tempted …

      To what? To kill Reginald?

      No, Russell thought, murder wasn’t his way. And it certainly wasn’t an option, even if he were the kind of person who thought nothing of killing whoever got in his way. It wasn’t an option because Russell had always prided himself on his loyalty to the crown, and Reginald was the future king of Silvershire.

      Which meant that he had to be loyal to Reginald, no matter what. Even though, despite all of his and the king’s efforts, Reginald would undoubtedly turn out to be a bad king. But whether Reginald was or not, it was not a matter for him to take into his own hands.

      Just as he shouldn’t have taken Amelia into his hands, into his arms, Russell thought. That he had was his cross to bear. In silence.

      He figured the almost bottomless longing he felt would make him pay for his transgression every day of his life. Even now, watching the princess as groups of men and women gathered around her, he felt himself wanting her more than he could recall ever wanting anyone before.

      Hell of a cross to bear, he thought darkly, taking another drink.

      “So where do you suppose he really is?”

      The question came out of nowhere, as if echoing his thoughts. Glancing to his side, he saw Amelia’s lady-in-waiting, Madeline. He’d been so lost in his thoughts and in observing Amelia from what he’d initially thought was a safe distance—quickly learning that there was no safe distance when it came to being around Amelia—that he hadn’t heard the princess’s friend approach.

      From the little he had seen of her, Madeline struck him as being very honest and straightforward. By no stretch of the imagination could the lady be called shy or retiring. She was outspoken and seemed a perfect match for Amelia.

      For the princess, he upbraided himself. He had to stop thinking of her by her given name and just keep reminding himself that she was the princess. And would be, in a matter of weeks, his queen. Continuing to regard her as Amelia was out of order.

      He inclined his head toward Madeline, pretending he hadn’t heard her. “Excuse me?”

      Madeline gave him a look that said she knew that he knew what she was talking about. But for form’s sake, she elaborated.

      “The prince,” she enunciated precisely, wishing she could grind the man between her teeth, as well. “Why isn’t he here?”

      Russell paused. Protocol dictated that he say something in the man’s defense. That he tell this woman of less-than-royal blood that it wasn’t any of her concern what the prince did, or didn’t do, or where he was at any given moment. But he was far too modern in his thinking for that. And he liked the fact that Amelia had a friend to help her at a time like this. A friend who could be open.

      You’re her friend. Except that, because of what had happened between them, he couldn’t allow himself to assume that role any longer. People would talk. He wanted nothing to sully her reputation. Nothing.

      This was a very sticky situation they found themselves in, he thought ruefully.

      “I don’t know,” he told Madeline honestly. And then, because he felt he could trust the young woman, he added, “This behavior is pretty reckless, even for the prince.”

      Madeline had put her own interpretation to the prince’s no-show. Or maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part. “Is this his way of saying that he won’t go through with the marriage?”

      That had never been in jeopardy, Russell thought sadly. “Oh, the prince’ll go through with the marriage. There’s too much riding on it for him not to. He might be reckless, but he’s not brave enough to oppose his father in matters that really count.”

      Madeline frowned, taking offense for Amelia who was too kind-hearted to voice her own offense. “And not coming here doesn’t

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