your name, please?” he asked, picking up his clipboard.
“Amira Corbin. Can you tell me how long a wait I’ll have?”
“At least a half hour, maybe forty-five minutes.”
Amira didn’t think she’d ever felt so hungry or tired in her entire life. Tears pricked in her eyes as she felt a bit woozy again.
She was aware of footsteps and a tall man coming up behind her, but all she could think about was the wait, or a ride up in that elevator to her room and another wait. Her three days of waiting. Her failure as an emissary of the queen.
The room began to spin as the maître d’ gave his attention to the man behind her. “You’re early, sir. Your dinner will be ready in a few minutes.”
She could barely hear the man’s deep voice order, “Don’t worry about me. Take care of this lady.”
Amira’s knees began to buckle as the fuzziness engulfed her.
She felt as if she were floating, then she realized strong arms had lifted her and she was being held against a man’s chest—a very broad chest. She heard him say, “I’m taking her to my dining room. Make an announcement and see if there’s a doctor in the restaurant.”
Being held in his arms and feeling his strength, hers seemed to return. Looking up into very green, mesmerizing eyes, she insisted, “I’m fine. Please don’t call a doctor.”
“You’re so fine, you collapsed,” he noted wryly. His dark brown hair had a rakishly styled look. His charcoal suit sported a red-and-gray silk tie settled intimately against his gray silk shirt. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone more handsome.
“I didn’t have very much to eat today,” she hurried to tell him, not wanting to cause a fuss.
“Then we’re going to remedy that.” He was already moving with her in his arms. As he strode through the dining room past deep forest-green leather booths, black lacquered tables, and lithographs on the wall, Amira only quickly glimpsed it all.
“Put me down,” she murmured, totally embarrassed. “You can’t just carry me off.”
“I’m not abducting you. I’m taking you to a private dining room. Believe me, you’ll get something to eat a lot quicker in there than waiting your turn out front.”
“But…” she started. How could she explain about her very proper upbringing and the chaperone who usually accompanied her whenever she was with a man, even though she was twenty years old.
“No buts about it. I’ve got a porterhouse steak big enough for two on order. You can have my salad to get started. I’m sure there are rolls already on the table.”
The idea of immediately having food in front of her made her but a thing of the past. This chivalrous gentleman looked totally civilized. Since she’d landed in Chicago, her Penwyck world seemed very far away.
“Well?” he asked, not slowing down one wit. “Are you going to let me treat you to dinner?”
She’d always wanted an adventure. Instinctively she knew sharing dinner with this man could be that. Forgetting propriety for the moment, putting aside everything her mother, the queen’s lady-in-waiting, had taught her over the years, she gazed into his eyes and smiled. “Yes. I’ll let you treat me to dinner. Are all the men in Chicago as chivalrous as you?”
He gave her an irresistible smile. “Not even close.”
Captivated by the beauty of the young woman in his arms, Marcus Cordello could hardly keep his gaze from hers. Her eyes were a rare shade of violet, her hair golden-blond. It looked natural, and from the rich shade of her finely arched brows, he suspected it was. Her oval face was enhanced by the severity of her hair style and softened by her fluffy bangs. As he carried her to the supple green couch in his private dining room, he decided her skin was as flawless as the rest of her, though she did look a bit pale. That concerned him as much as her fainting had.
He asked a question he should have asked three years ago of another woman, a woman who had died because he hadn’t been observant…because he’d been too selfishly absorbed in the empire he’d been building. “Do you have a medical condition I should know about?” he asked huskily. “Are you sure I shouldn’t call a doctor?”
“No medical condition,” she assured him. “I’ve been a bit anxious the past few days and haven’t eaten properly. I only had two crackers and tea this morning.”
Gently he lowered her to the couch. “What could a beautiful young woman like you be anxious about?”
“It’s a long story,” she said with a sigh.
He could see she really was anxious about something, but a good meal would go a long way to making her feel better. “You’ll have plenty of time to tell me all about it over dinner.”
“Oh, I don’t know if I should…”
Just then a waiter came through the door bearing a huge tray. “Goodness, sir. I didn’t know you were having company for dinner.”
Marcus smiled. “I didn’t know I was having company, either, but I am.” He glanced at the tray. “That steak’s large enough to share, but I’d appreciate it if you could bring an extra helping of the garlic potatoes and the broccoli. More rolls, too.”
As the waiter arranged the food on the table, Marcus took the woman’s hand. “Are you still dizzy?”
“Not dizzy. Just a little…airy.”
He helped her to her feet. “Come on, let’s get some of that food into you. If you aren’t feeling better by the time we’re finished, I will call a doctor.”
Marcus seated the elegant young woman at the table and watched, amused, as she quickly cut her steak and ate half of it along with the potatoes and a roll. By then her cheeks had taken on a healthier pink tint, and he found himself intrigued by her as well as her accent. “Now about that long story you were going to tell me,” he reminded her after the waiter returned with the extra portions and exited again.
He saw her debate with herself. Then she delicately wiped her lips with her napkin and gave him a smile. “This is going to sound far-fetched and not something you Americans are at all used to.”
“I take it you’re not an American?” Her accent sounded English, yet not quite English.
“No, I’m not. This is my first trip here. I’m from Penwyck, an island off the coast of Wales.” She smiled shyly. “I’m Lady Amira Sierra Corbin. My mother is lady-in-waiting to the Queen of Penwyck.”
If Marcus hadn’t already been entranced by this young woman, he might have laughed out loud. She had to be pulling his leg.
His thoughts must have shown in the arch of his brows or the quirk of his mouth because she squared her shoulders and sat up straighter. “I suppose royalty isn’t something Americans understand very well.”
“You’re right about that. But I’m intrigued. Continue with your story.”
After a few moments hesitation, she leaned back in her
