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heirloom—”

      “Of course you can. It’s mine to give,” he interrupted. “And I give it to you, just the first of many, Emmeline. Once you become my queen, you will be showered in jewels.”

      The possessive light in his eyes made her breath catch. “You really intend to marry me?”

      “Yes.”

      “No doubts?”

      “No. Once I made love to you, I committed myself. We’re as good as married. There’s no turning back.”

CHAPTER TEN

      HANNAH tried not to panic.

      Zale said there was no turning back. They were as good as married. Which would be a huge problem if Emmeline failed to show up.

      Emmeline had to show up.

      What would Hannah do?

      The wedding was a week away. The world expected a magnificent royal wedding, a wedding that was to be televised to the world. Emmeline couldn’t just bail on Zale at the last minute. It wouldn’t be right. Wasn’t fair. To string him along throughout their engagement and then to fail to show for the wedding.

      Hannah needed to tell him the truth. But how would she tell him? How to break the news?

       Hey, King Patek, I’m not actually your betrothed, but Hannah Smith from Bandera, Texas, and I am here to keep you occupied while your real fiancée sorts some things out in Palm Beach.

      Sick at heart, stomach churning like mad, Hannah pressed her hands together, and tried to push the anxious thoughts out of her mind. Emmeline would come. Emmeline had said she’d come. Emmeline wouldn’t break her word.

      A half hour later Celine helped Hannah change from the elegant evening gown into a pretty navy silk skirt and white blouse for Hannah’s palace tour with Krek. She wore fat pearls at her throat, a pearl and diamond bracelet on her wrist and medium-heel shoes that would be comfortable to walk in.

      “As you know, I am one of the most senior staff members,” Krek said, meeting her in the sitting room of the Queen’s Chambers. “I have served the Patek family for nearly thirty-five years now, starting as a footman to the late queen, before becoming butler for His Majesty. As head butler at the Patek Palace, I am responsible for all private and official entertaining both here and abroad. I organize and attend state banquets and receptions, ensuring that every detail is properly, professionally and elegantly handled.”

      “That’s a great deal of responsibility,” Hannah answered.

      “It is, Your Highness, but this is what I’ve done my whole life. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”

      They’d walked down the large corridor, descended the stairs and he opened the doors to a gorgeous light-filled room painted a vivid yellow contrasted by ornate white moldings.

      “This was Queen Madeleine’s favorite room,” he said, leading her inside. The high ceiling of the room was painted sky-blue with white billowy clouds. “Yellow was Queen Madeleine’s favorite color as it reminded her of the sun and this was where she preferred to entertain.” He glanced at her. “Did you ever meet her? She was your grandmother’s first cousin.”

      Hannah’s mouth opened and shut. “I … I don’t recall.”

      “You would if you had met her. She was a lovely woman. We had quite a good relationship and I was very happy working for her, but when Princess Helena—His Majesty’s mother—arrived from Greece to marry His Majesty’s father, King Stephen IV, I was assigned to the newlyweds’ household.”

      “Did you mind the switch?”

      “Not at all. King Stephen and Princess Helena were a delight to work for. They, too, were an arranged marriage but soon after the wedding fell in love.”

      “They had a happy marriage then?”

      “The happiest.” It was Zale who’d answered and Hannah inhaled sharply, his deep voice sinfully sexy. Zale had entered through a side door and he walked toward them now.

      “The two of them were inseparable through thick and thin, and they certainly had their fair share of challenges.”

      “Your Majesty,” Krek said with a formal bow as Zale joined them. “We haven’t made it very far yet.”

      “Perhaps I can take over?” Zale suggested.

      Krek bowed again. “Of course, Your Majesty.” He tipped his head in Hannah’s direction. “Your Highness.” And then he was gone, quietly, discreetly.

      “Enjoying the tour?” Zale asked.

      “Yes,” she answered. “But we really only just started.”

      “Then let’s continue,” he answered, leading her to the adjoining room, the Crimson Room, which had been the favorite reception room for Zale’s grandfather, King Stephen Mikal. “In this room my grandfather, King Mikal, entertained the Tsar, a Sultan, two British kings, a dozen dukes, as well as a Pope.”

      “Did you ever know him?”

      “He died when I was fourteen months old, but apparently he spent a lot of time with Stephen and me. We have quite a few photos of us together.”

      “Were you and Prince Stephen close growing up?”

      “Yes. But that didn’t mean we always got along. We could be quite competitive.” Zale’s expression was rueful. “At least, I was.”

      “You fought?”

      “Fistfights? No. But every now and then we’d challenge each other to a race or a wrestling match and then it was a battle to end all battles.” Zale smiled. “Mind you, Stephen was two and a half years older than me, and I was scrawny until my mid-teens, but there was no way I’d let Stephen take me without a fight.”

      Hannah couldn’t imagine Zale small. “Define scrawny.” “Skinny, lanky, short.” “I can’t believe it.”

      “Neither could I. I hated it. But at least I had speed.”

      Her pulse quickened. Zale appealed to her at every level. “So when did you grow? Because no one could call you scrawny now.”

      “I shot up nearly six inches when I was seventeen. Grew another four inches at eighteen. And kept growing until I turned twenty. But it’s hard being taken seriously in football when you’re so small. Fortunately it forced me to work hard, harder than everyone around me, and my work ethic was born.”

      “I admire your work ethic.”

      “It helped make me who I am.”

      Zale opened the doors to a bright, vast, high-ceiling hall lined with portraits. “We’re now entering the Royal Gallery. All the portraits of Raguva’s kings and queens hang here. Your portrait will join mine after it’s completed—”

      “We’re really going to marry?”

      “Yes. Sex sealed the deal, Emmeline. I told you it would. It’s in the prenup, part of our contract. By making love, you became mine.”

      They were standing before a large portrait of a dark-haired, brown-eyed king that looked remarkably like Zale.

      She shivered. His.

      He reached out to tuck a pale blond tendril of hair behind her ear. “We can be happy.”

      She felt lost in his eyes. “You really think so?” “Yes.”

      Her eyes burned and her throat ached and she had to turn away so he wouldn’t see her cry. “How can you be so sure?”

      “Because I have strong feelings for you.”

      His tone had been

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