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In the chair, Leandro’s expression remained impassive as he pictured the scene far too easily. The immediate rush of protective anger was quickly followed by self-recrimination.

My fault, he concluded, grimly admitting the truth that was buried in the deepest corners of his heart. He’d left her to sink or swim and people had mistaken his neglect as not caring—they thought it was open day on Elsie. The muscles along his square jaw flexed as he contemplated correcting this omission.

‘I’m royal,’ Elsie continued, fighting to keep the outrage out of her voice and failing. ‘But apparently not the right sort of royal and the Count thought I might appreciate the guidance of his niece, who majored, it would seem, in patronising,’ she spat from between gritted teeth. ‘When I told her my mother taught me all I needed to know about being royal or, for that matter, being a woman with good manners, you know what she said…?’

His fists unclenched and admiration swelled in his chest as he listened and watched her march up and down in the sexy spiky heels, looking glorious.

His future bride was a force to be reckoned with and she did not need him riding to the rescue. She was more than capable of fighting her own corner, but she should know he was there, and she didn’t.

‘Something unwise?’

Elsie took a deep breath, her anger lowering to a gentle simmer. Feeling deflated without the fire, she flopped onto the bed.

‘Sorry for the rant. I have a temper.’

The admission drew a slow smile from him.

‘I can change if you want me to?’ She slung him a sideways look of challenge.

Leandro was too astute not to recognise this was a test she had set him. The only question was, did she want him to pass or fail?

If he told her to go change and proved himself to be just another palace hypocrite with a better body—much better body—she would feel less guilty about her massive lie by omission, the weight of which was not getting lighter.

On the other hand, despite being a workaholic, she had just started to think he was maybe not a total bastard. He took his role seriously and he worked himself hard. The efforts he made to make his mother comfortable were admirable and the dog loved him—they said animals always knew.

She didn’t love him—she couldn’t love him, she told herself. Sure, she couldn’t pretend this was just the cold-hearted deal it had started out as, she admired so much about him. Her eyes slid to the elegant figure sprawled in the silly flowery chair.

He was neither silly nor flowery.

He was gorgeous!

‘I wouldn’t dream of it.’

Her cobalt-blue eyes flickered wide. ‘You wouldn’t? But you want me to fit in and—’

‘Did I say that?’ he asked, levering himself from the chair, his tall frame dominating the large room—but then he dominated any room.

‘Not in so many words.’

‘Well, if I did suggest that I was wrong.’

Her brows lifted. That couldn’t be an admission one got to hear very often from His Arrogant Majesty.

‘You were insulted and I see no reason for you to sit and take it.’ He stepped into her and placed his hands on her waist, lifting her off her feet until they were at eye level. Holding her eyes, he kissed her hard, once, and put her back on her feet.

It was the once and not the kiss that Elsie had an issue with.

‘Come on,’ he said, holding out a hand to her and producing the wicked grin that made her insides melt. ‘Let’s go ruffle a few feathers.’

She waited for her jelly knees to firm and accepted the hand, feeling the warmth from his fingers spread through her body, the moment only spoilt by the stab of guilt. She had to literally bite her tongue not to blurt out the truth. Only the knowledge that her own family was relying on her stopped her.

‘It’s just an informal meet-and-greet?’

‘If that’s what you were told, I’m sure that is all it is.’

She slung him a sideways slit-eyes glare. ‘It’s going to be awful, isn’t it.’

‘Oh, yeah…hell with a string quartet.’