The King's Convenient Bride / The Illegitimate Prince's Baby: The King's Convenient Bride

Miss Pryce stepped forward, a leather-bound folder tucked under one arm. “I have your schedule, my lady, and your agenda for tomorrow.”

“My fiancée is quite exhausted,” Phillip said. “I think this can wait until morning.”

She nodded and retreated a step. “My apologies, sir.”

With little more than a flick of his wrist and tilt of his head, he dismissed her staff. “Your suite includes a sitting room, sleeping chamber and office.”

“And a bathroom, I hope.”

He smiled. “Of course. With all the amenities you could possibly need. In your office you’ll see that you’ve been supplied with all the computer equipment you asked for.”

“Thanks.” She turned in a circle, taking in the decor. The room was decorated in neutral shades of brown and beige and the furniture looked comfortable and inviting. It was more than large enough to suit her. Larger even than her residence on her parents’ estate. She wasn’t sure why they would go through the trouble of decorating a suite especially for her since, after the wedding, she would be sharing a suite with her husband.

Or maybe they would be moving into the new suite together. In which case it was nice of him to let her do the decorating. To extend that sort of trust to a woman he barely knew. “It’s lovely, and more than adequate.”

“Excellent.” He removed his jacket and tossed it over the arm of a chair. Underneath he wore a plain, white long-sleeved knit shirt, similar to a mock turtleneck. It clung to the contours of his chest and arms, accentuating what appeared to be toned, defined muscle underneath. Even without the bulk of his jacket, the expansive width of his shoulders was impressive to say the least.

She wondered how it would feel to put her hands on him. How would his arms feel around her?

The thought of him touching her, and their almost-kiss in the library, had her blushing from her toes to the ends of her hair.

Once again they were alone together. Just the two of them, but this time in her suite. Mere steps away from the bedroom. And Hannah seriously doubted that Princess Sophie, who she had seen sneaking off with one of the guests shortly after dinner, would be around to interrupt them this time.

Is that why he’d sent the staff away? Did he have…plans for them?

He walked across the room to a cabinet that held a dozen or so decanters of alcohol, chose one and poured them each a drink. He turned to her, looking surprised to see that she was still rooted firmly to the same spot.

“It’s been a long day,” he said, walking toward her. “Sit down. Relax.”

Her feet were throbbing, but the idea of taking off her shoes while he was in the room made her feel so…vulnerable. “You’re staying?”

“Would you prefer I leave?”

“No, of course not. I just… Is this okay?”

He set both drinks on the table beside the couch. “Is what okay?”

“You being in my suite. You know…before the wedding.”

He shrugged. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“It’s not against the rules?”

“Is there a reason it should be?”

Why did she get the feeling he was making this up as he went along? “Next you’ll be telling me it’s all right for you to tuck me into bed.”

His mouth tipped up in a feral smile. “If that’s what you wish.”

He was teasing her again, and she was a little stunned to realize that she was teasing him right back. It was…empowering. And a little scary.

“As you pointed out earlier, I’m a king. I make the rules.” He gestured to the couch. “Join me?”

Her feet were killing her, and God knows it would feel absolutely wonderful to sit down. Maybe just for a little while.

She took a step forward, then hesitated.

“Don’t worry. I don’t bite.” A grin split his face. “Unless, of course, you would like me to.”

She bit her lip.

“You can trust me,” he assured her.

Maybe that wasn’t the problem. Maybe it wasn’t Phillip’s behavior that she questioned.

Maybe it was herself she didn’t trust.

Three

Phillip sighed.

He had things to do tonight. A long-awaited task to accomplish, but she wasn’t making this easy. Of course, he probably wasn’t helping matters. But he did so very much enjoy teasing her. “I promise to be on my best behavior.”

She surprised him again by folding her arms across her chest and saying, “With no frame of reference, how can I begin to know what your best behavior is?”

He liked Hannah, and was saddened by the thought that it wouldn’t last. That someday soon he would grow bored with her. But he might as well enjoy it while it lasted. “How about I promise to keep my hands to myself? All right?”

She considered that, and he wasn’t sure if she looked relieved or disappointed. Finally, she nodded. “All right.”

She walked to the couch and sat primly on the edge of the cushion—knees pressed firmly together and tipped to one side—smoothing the creases from her skirt and jacket. He sat beside her, far enough away that it would be considered proper by anyone’s standards.

“Feel free to remove the torture devices from your feet,” he said, and at her look of confusion, added, “Your shoes. They look uncomfortable.”

She glanced down, a pained look on her face, then blatantly lied to him by saying, “They feel fine.”

Why did she have to be so…difficult? He wasn’t exactly looking forward to what he had to do, but it would go much more smoothly if she would just relax.

He handed her a drink, watched as she took a sip, then he took a healthy swallow of his own. Hopefully the alcohol would loosen her up a bit. Make this less painful for both of them. Not that he thought she would voice an objection once he got started.

He had considered the garden as a more suitable location. More romantic, he supposed, but more than likely someone would have seen. In a life so very public, he felt he deserved a few private moments. Especially for an act as intimate as the one he was about to perform.

Maybe it was like taking off a bandage. The faster he did it, the less it would sting.

He downed the last of his brandy then took Hannah’s barely touched glass from her and set them both on the table.

Well, here goes.

With Hannah watching him curiously, he lowered himself to the floor beside the couch on one knee and produced the small velvet box from his pants pocket.