Counterfeit Princess

But another thought pushed that disappointment aside. She hadn’t let it fully sink in yet, but she was dancing with the crown prince of Nabotavia! Despite the circumstances, this was a dream come true. Her concentration in her art history studies was in Eastern European Art of the Twentieth Century, with an emphasis on Nabotavia. For the last two years she’d read everything she could get her hands on about the plucky little country, studying its history, immersing herself in its art work. She’d tried to keep current on the fight to oust the radicals, though there hadn’t been much in the local press. And now here she was with the prince.

Her heart gave a little leap, but she stilled it. She had to remain calm. After all, a princess of the next-door country wouldn’t think this was any big deal, now would she?

Stay calm. Stay natural. Think of something to say.

“Have you changed your opinion of dancing?” she asked as they swayed to a rhythmic arrangement of a classical tune.

“No,” he told her. “But I am in the process of revising my opinion of you.”

Something in his tone, something in the way he was looking down at her, sent a riff of sensation cascading down her spine and she almost gasped aloud.

Wow. Where had that come from?

But she already knew the answer. The music was creating a sumptuous background to the night, along with the shimmering lights and the richly dressed crowd. That helped. The scent of candles and gardenias filled the air, creating a scene for magic, a backdrop for fairy tales. A girl could lose her head in a setting like this.

But even more important was the spectacularly handsome man who held her. At first she’d been impressed with his looks and his royal bearing. But now something else was throwing her off her stride. Suddenly she was conscious of the flesh-and-blood man beneath the regalia, and that sense of awareness flooded her with a feeling a little too intense for the circumstances.

Blinking, she swallowed hard and stared at his tux lapel. This prince was also a man, a very muscular man, with wide shoulders and a masculine scent that was suddenly filling her head. His hand on her skin seemed to sizzle. His warm breath tickled her ear. His hard thigh grazed the inside of her leg as they made a turn and an aching longing seemed to curl like smoke up through her body.

She bit down hard on the inside of her lip. If she didn’t stop this impossible swoon, she was going to melt into a puddle of ridiculous eroticism right here on the dance floor. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself back into sanity, hardening her resistance, coming up for air.

You will not fall for this man, she told herself fiercely. Now stick with the program and fend off all feelings of fatal attraction.

There. She sighed with relief. She’d done it. And though it seemed like forever since she’d swooned, he was looking at her as though he were still waiting for an answer to his statement, so it couldn’t have lasted as long as she’d thought.

Now, what had he said? Oh yes.

I am in the process of revising my opinion of you.

It was certainly a statement that needed a response of some kind.

Chapter Two

“So you arrived tonight with a skeptical opinion of me?” Shannon asked, her firm tone masking her wobbly confidence. “And just where did you form it? We haven’t seen each other for ten years.” Or so she’d been told in the short lecture on facts Greta had given her just hours before.

“Over ten years,” Marco agreed. “The last time I saw you I believe was the night we danced at your debutante ball when you were sixteen.”

“Really?” Oh-oh. Now she’d done it. This was her worst fear, that he would bring up the past, a past she knew absolutely nothing about.

“You don’t remember?”

She shook her head quickly. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I’ve got amnesia for anything that happened before I turned twenty-one.” Hah! A master stroke, if she did say so herself.

“Oh really?” His dark eyebrow rose in surprise. He made no effort to pretend to believe her. “Damned convenient, isn’t it?”

She gave him a superior look. That was her story and she was sticking to it. But she felt a prickly sense of irritation that he seemed so ready to think the worst of her. She wanted to react to his dry tone with a sharp retort, but she stopped herself in time. She had to remember what was going on here. This was not a real relationship with a real man. This was playacting.

And she wasn’t supposed to be involved in it, darn it all! She had to watch what she said and hope to get out of this without being unmasked. Looking into his eyes, she searched for evidence that he had suspicions about her. But all she saw were shadows hiding any emotion he might be feeling. If he did feel anything at all. Which she was beginning to doubt.

The trouble was, she did feel things. Sometimes she seemed to be a fountain of feeling, spilling out all over the place. Instinct told her she was already beginning to feel a very inappropriate list of things about this man. And wouldn’t that just land her in a pickle if she didn’t watch it? Not only was he a prince, while she was a phony, paid by the hour, but his hard jaw and ice-cold gaze told her he wouldn’t melt for a mere woman. Not on a bet.

“Amnesia runs in my family,” she told him airily, deciding nonsense was better than trying to stick to facts. “We all get it sooner or later.”

He nodded, looking slightly bored. “I understand,” he said. “The truth is often difficult to face.”

Her eyes narrowed as she looked up at him. Was he baiting her? “And you think you know the truth about me?” she asked slowly.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “I seem to know more of it than you do. You have amnesia. Remember?”

She bit her lip. Score one for the arrogant prince. Now she was really annoyed, but that was certainly less dangerous than swooning.

“What I remember most about our last meeting was, actually, the dancing,” he went on. “You dance much better now than you did then. As I recall, your spike heels gouged holes in my feet that didn’t heal for weeks.”

“I’m so sorry,” she told him unconvincingly. And then she couldn’t resist a quick follow-up. “But I think you’d have to admit, at least a part of the credit goes to now having a partner who has finally learned how to lead.”

He gazed at her questioningly. “I thought you didn’t remember anything from the past.”

She waved a hand in the air. “I don’t. I’m just extrapolating from current evidence.”

“Oh, I see.” His face finally registered the fact that she was purposely trying to get his goat. “So you find my dancing just barely adequate at this point?”

She smiled, glad to know he was feeling her jabs at last but still not sure if he was taking them with humor or annoyance. “I didn’t say that at all.”

His blue eyes glittered. “No, but you certainly implied it.”

“Assumptions are risky things.”

“I guess I lead a dangerous life, then.” His eyebrow quirked. “Speaking of which…”

She could tell by his tone that he was leading into something she wasn’t going to like and she steeled herself.

“I hear you’ve been leading quite an interesting life since I saw you last. Perhaps you might find time at some future date to fill me in on the particulars of anything I might need to know.”

She saw right through him. What was he angling for, an abject apology from the princess that she’d been around the block a few times? Despite the gossip she’d heard about Iliana, and the things she knew about her as well, she felt an impulse to defend her. But she held it back. After all, she wasn’t here to build foundations for their future relationship. She was just here to smile and get through the evening without creating a disaster.

“A gentleman doesn’t ask a lady things about her past,” she said evasively, her glance into his eyes just short of a glare.

His dark eyebrow rose again. “In my experience, that rule only applies when the past is somewhat shady.”

“Shady!”

“Well, cloudy at the very least.”

“Really?” Anger could easily turn to fury if she didn’t watch it. She choked back her impulse to go on the attack for a moment, but then couldn’t resist one quick comment. “I suppose your past is pure as the driven snow.”

“My past is irrelevant,” he said, looking infuriatingly superior. “But your reaction tells me all I need to know about yours.”

“Oh really?” The man was insufferable! “A lot you know. Give me one example of something ‘cloudy’ in the prin…in my past.” She knew the moment the words were on her lips that she was courting disaster but she couldn’t stand the way he was lording it over her.

“You wouldn’t like me to do that.”

“You’re bluffing,” she challenged hotly, and dancing was forgotten as she stood glaring at him, chin out, hands on her hips. “You don’t have one.”

He gave her a long-suffering look. “Your Highness, I hardly think this is the time or the place for this sort of display.”

“There.” She tossed her head. “I knew you didn’t really have one.”

His cold gaze settled on her in a way that made her want to take a step backward, but she forced herself to hold her position.

“All right,” he said slowly. “I’ll tell you of one. Although, as you have reminded me, it is very impolite for a gentleman to do so.”

“Have at it.”

Taking her arm and forcing a smile in the direction of a person he recognized, he led her quickly away from the crowd and out onto a balcony where they could have at least the semblance of privacy. Once alone, she swung around to face him, and he began his reminiscence.

“The time I’m thinking of was when you must have been about fourteen. All our families were congregated at that resort in the south of France. I was in a sailing race when I found you, barely dressed in a thong bikini you must have stolen from some street-walker, stowed away in my Laser. Of course, you ruined my chances in the race, and when I put you ashore, you told everyone who would listen that I’d kidnapped you.”

She winced inside, but would have died rather than show it. Princess Iliana did seem to have a penchant for inappropriate behavior. Her own inclination would have been to apologize, but she had to think what the real princess would say to having her adolescent idiocies thrown in her face. So she faced him with defiance.

“Did I also tell them you had no sense of humor?” She shrugged grandly, turning to look out over the city street below where traffic was strung out like diamonds on a chain. “Anyway, you made that up. I wouldn’t ever have done such a thing.” And that was true on a personal level.

“It was you or someone who looks a lot like you,” he said, and her eyes widened, wondering for a second or two if he was wise to her. But he went on, adding, “I’ve thought of a lot more instances, now that you’ve brought them to mind. Would you like to hear another?”

She waved a hand in the air, dismissing his suggestion. “Unnecessary. I think I’ve got the general trend of the way your mind works.”

“So you do concede my point.”

“I don’t concede anything.”

“That’s illogical. You’ve basically conceded.”

“No I haven’t.” She turned to go back into the ballroom. “But I’m through talking about it.”

He put an arm out, hand against the wall, blocking her passage. “Concede,” he demanded, his arrogance on proud display.

She stared up at him, aware once again of his wide shoulders and strong jaw. This was exactly the sort of man she had dreamed of in her adolescence, the sort of man who might grab a girl and throw her over his shoulder…. She shivered. What a ridiculous thought. She was adolescent no longer and she didn’t dream of macho men. They were passe, old hat, from another time. The ideal man should respect a woman and treat her just the way he would a casual friend. The prince was out of line as far as she was concerned.

She glared at him. “You can’t make me. You’re not a king yet, you know.”

“No,” he agreed, his eyes narrowing. “But I’m sure to become one. And whether or not you become a queen is still up in the air, isn’t it?”

She gasped. Turning back toward the balcony railing, she began to stroll, forcing him to follow her. “I don’t know why you want to marry me if you really can’t stand me.”

He looked stunned that she would come right out and say it. “I never said any such thing.”

“Your body language says it loud and clear.”

“Then you are misreading my body.”

Their gazes clashed, held for a long moment as they both digested the words he’d just spoken. Shannon felt heat flood her face, infuriating her even further. She quickly looked away. But they didn’t resume walking, and in a few seconds, their eyes met again, as though it was impossible for them to keep from doing it.

“I just want you to know,” Marco added roughly, “that I wouldn’t marry any woman that I couldn’t stand.”

She nodded crisply. “So the wedding is off?” she said, coolly searching his gaze.

He stared down at her as though she’d said something too outlandish to deal with, and suddenly Freddy was there, obsequiously inserting himself into the conversation. Shannon didn’t actually hear what he was saying. She was still staring into Marco’s gaze, wondering how she could be so angry with someone she found so attractive. But a moment later, she was leaving the balcony on Freddy’s arm, forcing herself to resist the urge to look back at the crown prince.

“I am not marrying that man,” she said through gritted teeth once she was alone with Greta in the dressing room. She saw the look that passed over Greta’s face and she added quickly, “And if Princess Iliana is smart, she won’t either.”

Funny, but she hadn’t spent much time wondering about the real Iliana before. The woman had hardly seemed real to her anyway. This was just a job she was doing. But now she had to face the fact that she’d been saying things in Iliana’s name, things that might last and have repercussions, and that fact made everything very different.

She was pacing the floor in pent-up frustration and Greta was watching her as though she were witnessing a natural phenomenon that threatened disaster but couldn’t be controlled. She stopped in front of the woman.

“You know, I’m going to have to talk to the princess when she gets back, before she meets with the prince. I’m going to have to tell her some of the things I’ve said to him. That is, if you all care about a smooth transition.”

She frowned. She knew Greta and Freddy were adamant that the princess would marry Marco. Their king had decreed it should be so and they were supposed to be making sure all went well. The fact that Iliana wasn’t cooperating was still a secret to most people. Greta had assured her that Iliana would come through when the chips were down—but weren’t they pretty much on the table at this point? And where was she?

Shannon shook her head, appealing to the woman’s common sense. “I don’t see how this is going to work. Once he sees her, isn’t he going to know she isn’t me?”

Greta shrugged helplessly, looking miserable. “What can we do? He is leaving tomorrow and won’t be back for a few weeks. By then, maybe the impression you’ve made will fade. We will hope that he will attribute differences to her not having the makeup and not being dressed for a ball.” Her hand went to her throat, diamonds sparkling. “But her voice…her demeanor.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, he is bound to think something is different. But we didn’t have much choice, did we? We had to take the chance.”

Shannon hesitated as a thread of guilt began to slither through her. She knew that Greta and Freddy were both scared to death of their employer, the king of Alovitia. She wasn’t sure if they were just afraid for their jobs and position in the royal scheme of things, or if they actually feared for their own physical safety. And she was afraid that her own performance tonight wasn’t going to help things where they were concerned.

“You know, we had a dreadful fight,” she told the poor woman. “I said some things I probably shouldn’t have said.” She gave her a look of regret. “He may want to call the marriage off, I don’t know.”

Greta’s eyes widened and she grabbed Shannon’s arm. “What did you do? The king will have my head for this!”

Shannon swallowed hard and blinked back some misery of her own. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“You must go back and make up with him.” Greta thrust her hand toward the door, bracelets jangling. “Now. Hurry!”

Shannon shook her head. “Oh no, Greta. I can’t do that. If you’d seen the way he looked at me….”

“Looks? You think that looks can hurt you?” She slapped the flat of her hand down on the table, her eyes almost wild. “The king will have more than looks waiting for me, I can tell you that. Why do you think he sent us here? We were to make sure his daughter bent to his will. This wedding must come about. It is King Mandrake’s command that it be so.” She put her hands together as though in prayer. “Please. Shannon. You must go back and make it up. You don’t understand how important this is.”

Shannon sighed. “You don’t understand how hard it would be,” she said softly. But she glanced into the mirror and caught a wayward strand of hair, already preparing for what she knew she had to do.

Crown Prince Marco paced the thick carpets of his hotel room, fuming as he went back over the conversation with the princess in his mind. “I don’t know if we can believe those rumors, Jordan. Even gangsters have standards.”

“Sir?”

He stopped to look at his valet in exasperation. “She’s exactly the sort of woman I never could stand. Has to make a smart remark about everything you say.” He threw up a hand. “Of course, maybe a gangster is the only type who likes that sort of thing.”

“Indeed, sir.”

Turning away and then quickly turning back again, he looked his valet in the eye. “Tell me, really, where did you hear those things about her?”

Jordan shrugged. “One hears things, Your Royal Highness. The other servants talk.”

He nodded. “Well, I can’t say I hadn’t heard the rumors before myself. Lady Judith has told me much the same sort of gossip.”

Sinking into a chair at the small round table, he put his head in his hands and closed his eyes. He hated this. If only Lorraine were still alive….

But she wasn’t, and he had to go on. Ruthlessly, he pushed the picture of her sweet face out of his mind. He didn’t have the time or the luxury to dwell on what might have been. He had a country to lead. Nabotavia needed a queen and needed King Mandrake’s help on their western border. Marrying Princess Iliana would give them both those things.

She certainly wasn’t his ideal. He couldn’t even conceive of living with her as husband and wife. But he didn’t imagine they would actually spend much time together, and he didn’t need any more children. The ones he had were being well brought up by their grandmother, Judith, Lorraine’s mother. A good stepmother for his children would have been nice, but one couldn’t have everything one wanted in life. Often, one barely got what one needed.

Did he really need this woman?

Not personally. He’d managed without female companionship for the last two years. He couldn’t claim that he’d done fine. He’d missed Lorraine every moment, ached for her. But in every other way, life had continued without much hassle. The children loved their grandmother. They still had the same nanny they had known since birth. As the crown prince, and soon as king, he had never been destined to be much of a hands-on father to them. That was something he regretted, but it couldn’t be helped. He’d spent a good part of the last year fighting to free Nabotavia, and he would spend the rest of his life fighting to maintain that freedom for his country. Whether or not he was married would make little difference there.

But his country needed a queen, and his alliance with Alovitia was supremely important. So yes, much as he hated to admit it, he needed this woman. Slowly, he raised his head and looked at Jordan, misery shining in his eyes.

“Why can’t my life be simple?” he asked him with a growl.

“Because you were born to a complex role, sir,” Jordan answered sensibly.

Marco nodded. “I’m afraid you’re right.” He grimaced and swore softly. “I know I can’t betray Mandrake after all he did to help me. If it hadn’t been for him, Nabotavia would not be free.”

“Quite true, sir.”

Marco frowned. He’d never given much thought to why King Mandrake might want so badly to have his daughter married to him. He’d always supposed it was to strengthen ties with Nabotavia. The bonds between the two countries were ancient and would always be there, but would be vastly strengthened by a marriage between the two ruling houses. But maybe there was more. After all, she was at least twenty-eight by now, though she looked younger. And still unmarried. Her father was probably having a hard time getting anyone suitable to take her.

“If I might make a suggestion, sir.”

He looked up hopefully. “Suggestions are welcomed, Jordan.”

“It is well said that King Mandrake does have a terrible temper.”

“A terrible temper. Yes indeed.” Marco laughed softly and ran his fingers through his hair. “You know, Jordan, I’m thinking of developing a terrible temper when I’m king. What do you think?”

“Such a thing can come in handy, sir. But about my thoughts on tonight’s subject.”

“Yes. Go ahead.”

“I believe I mentioned the king’s temper. If he hears that you threw aside his daughter after ten minutes on the dance floor, he is liable to take it as an affront.”

“Yes, I’m afraid you’re right on that one. I can’t do it, much as I may be tempted.” His sigh came from deep in his heart.

“If you were to spend a few hours with the young lady, it is just possible that you may come to understand her better and even like her.”

Marco coughed skeptically. “I get your drift, Jordan. And I know you are quite right.” His spirit revived a bit. After all, if Jordan thought there was hope, there just might be at least a glimmer. “So I’m afraid I’m going to have to give it another go.”

“If you feel it quite necessary, sir.”

He nodded solemnly. “I do, Jordan.” Turning toward the door, he squared his shoulders. “It is only fair to give the young woman another chance. Then, who knows?”

“Precisely, sir.”

The interesting thing was that Princess Iliana seemed to have much the same idea as Crown Prince Marco did and was waiting with her two attendants very near the dance floor. She had something of a reluctant look on her face, as though it had taken a lot of persuading to get her to come back and meet with him again, but he didn’t care. As long as she was available, he would do what he could to repair the damage of their earlier meeting, and hopefully, build a common relationship. If it was possible to make it a friendly collaboration, that would be best. But if he had to throw her over his shoulder and carry her down the aisle, he’d do it. Bottom line, he was going to marry her.

He studied her as he came closer. She really was beautiful, with a rare luminous quality, as though she were lit with a warm light from within. For just a moment, he felt a slight pang of regret. If only she’d been a different sort of woman, he was sure something could have been worked out. But as she was, he could only hope for miracles.

He bowed and smiled and murmured a few pleasantries. She nodded and gave him a tight smile back, and as she came to join him on the dance floor, she glanced back at her attendants with a look he couldn’t read. Rebellion? Desperation? Threats of revenge? He wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter, just as long as she agreed to put in some time with him. For all he knew, she might be as determined as he was to make this work. That was to be hoped, of course. But if she was unwilling to commit to him voluntarily, she was going to have to be persuaded. The possibilities were endless.