wanting to marry her, now that he had seen her in her natural habitat of the royal palace?
She lifted her gaze towards his shadowed jaw and asked the question she had been dreading. ‘You are still happy for the marriage announcement to be made tomorrow?’
The look he slanted down at her was unfathomable. ‘I gave your brother my vow, didn’t I? And I never go back on my word.’
But Sophie took little comfort from his response. Why, that was the most lacklustre endorsement she’d ever heard! The dance finished and an Isolaverdian nobleman she’d known since childhood stepped forward to take Rafe’s place. With a smile, she shook her head, taking a glass of punch from the tray of a passing waitress instead. But she wanted a drink even less than she wanted a dance. It was more of a distraction—a stalling device—something which enabled her to observe Rafe as he headed over towards a nearby beauty to ask her to dance.
The beauty was a Duchess, an ethereal blonde who’d been sitting near Rafe at the pre-ball dinner, and she accepted his offer immediately. Sophie felt her heart plummet. Of course she did. What woman wouldn’t want to be in the arms of Rafe Carter? Despite the fact that he had no royal title, he was easily the most attractive man in the crowded ballroom. She watched him move the Duchess round the floor, wondering if she was imagining that he seemed more relaxed than he’d been during his dance with her. But could she blame him? It couldn’t be much fun dancing with a woman who had suddenly turned to ice in his arms.
She tried not to react but she couldn’t seem to quash the sheer, blinding jealousy of seeing him so close to another woman. She told herself not to be so stupid—that it was all completely innocent. And it was innocent. Logically, she knew that. She believed in his vow of intended fidelity, just as she believed he was a man who wouldn’t go back on his word.
But that was before she had shut down in his arms, wasn’t it? Before he’d seen at close quarters just what it meant to marry into the pomp and ceremony of the Isolaverdian royal family.
Feeling as if someone were pressing their fingers against her throat, Sophie turned away and found herself a hiding place behind a tall marble pillar, dejection washing over her as she leaned back against the wall. Because nothing had changed, had it? Despite her daredevil stab at gaining some independence, everything was as it always had been. She had tied up her future with a man who’d promised her the security of marriage but without the cushion of love. Just as Luc had done.
And she was just as trapped as before!
Only this time it was worse.
Much worse.
She’d known all along that her feelings for Luc had been tepid, because they’d never been given the freedom to get to know each other properly. But she did know Rafe. More intimately than she’d known anyone. She’d been his lover. She’d shared his bed. She’d cooked him meals and vice versa and she’d lain face down on the pillows of his New York bed while he had carefully massaged her shoulders and then, afterwards, eased himself inside her aching body. He’d taken her to parties, and shows. They’d shopped together and walked for miles through the snowy streets of New York City. And if the truth were known, she’d fallen in love with him along the way, hadn’t she?
Hadn’t she?
The music changed to a lively foxtrot as she tried to tell herself she was panicking unnecessarily. That tomorrow Rafe would slide on the huge ruby and diamond ring they’d chosen together on Madison Avenue and the people of Isolaverde would be delighted that their princess had found her own happy ending at last.
But she hadn’t, had she?
She was still that same dumb, docile princess who thought she couldn’t exist without the patronage of a powerful man. She was about as modern as one of the ancient suits of armour which stood in the palace entrance hall! How could she knowingly walk into such a one-sided relationship and open herself up to all the potential pain of such a union? How could she force that on Rafe when the agreement had been that neither of them was asking for love?
Thought after disturbing thought rushed through her head, but she kept them hidden behind a careful smile as she went through the motions expected of her. She danced with the prime minister, with assorted Dukes and a visiting Sheikh. She even danced with Rafe again, trying not to indulge in a rush of jealous questions about his many dance partners.
And this was what her future would be like, she realised. Life with a man who couldn’t love her. A man every woman would see and want and probably make a play for.
And she would be left watching from the sidelines, not daring to show him her feelings because they didn’t have that kind of marriage.
‘Relax,’ he said, his thumb making idle little circles at her waist.
‘I’m trying.’
‘Then try a little harder.’ He smiled. ‘Because soon this will all be over.’
The decision she’d been trying her best to avoid could no longer be ignored and Sophie wondered if Rafe had any idea how eerily accurate his words were. Because suddenly she knew she couldn’t keep running from the truth. Running only got you so far. Sooner or later you had to stop and face what was troubling you—and what was troubling her was that she couldn’t let this fantasy marriage go ahead. For all their sakes, she needed to stop it. She swallowed. ‘Rafe, I need to talk to you.’
‘Then talk.’
‘No. Not here. It’s too public. Can we go somewhere more private? Please.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s important.’
He loosened his hold on her fractionally, pulling back from her so that his silver-grey gaze clashed with hers. ‘But the ball hasn’t finished.’
It felt like a reprimand. It was a reprimand. How ironic that the commoner was giving the Princess a lesson in etiquette. ‘After the fireworks and once my brother has left, can you meet me in the Ruby Drawing Room?’ she questioned breathlessly. ‘Do you know where that is?’
He nodded, but now his gaze was thoughtful as it rested on her. ‘Sure.’
Somehow Sophie got through the remainder of the evening. At midnight the French windows were opened and everyone moved onto the terrace as bells peeled out all over the island to celebrate the coming of the new year. It was always an emotional time but tonight it seemed even more poignant as Sophie thought about what lay ahead. She could feel the prick of tears as the sky exploded in a spectacular display of fireworks—silver, gold, cobalt and pink flowering against an indigo backdrop—all reflected in the dark gleaming waters of the Mediterranean. She heard the collective gasps of the ball-goers echoing around the vast terrace as the fireworks whirred and whistled in the air, but somehow she didn’t feel part of it.
And then the evening became nothing more than an endurance of clock-watching. All she wanted was for Myron to retire, because nobody was allowed to move until after the King had taken his leave. At last the King whispered into the ear of a stunning redhead before sweeping with his entourage from the room and, a few moments later, Sophie saw the woman follow him.
Sophie’s heart was thumping as she made her way to the eastern side of the palace. The Ruby Drawing Room was one of her favourite places in the palace, its décor overseen by her late mother, whose favourite colour and gemstone it had been. Hers, too. The walls and floor were in restful shades of darkest pink and only the ornate ceiling was gold—its intricate mouldings picked out with dazzling precision. It was a room which made her feel emotional
