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Her hands knotted. “I’m not playing games—”
“What do you want now? How do you intend to up the stakes? Are you holding out for ten million for each child?
What is it this time?” “That’s insane!”
“It is, isn’t it? But that’s how you play, Emmeline—”
“No. You couldn’t be more wrong. I’m not changing anything or asking for anything other than a postponement so I can take some medicine and lie down and try to feel better.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I told you. I have a headache.”
“Is that so?” His deep voice mocked her even as his gaze examined her, slowly scrutinizing her appearance from the top of her head down to her toes.
Hannah could see herself in his eyes—her perfectly coiffed French twist, the rich plum of her dress and the expensive designer shoes. She’d dressed smartly, elegantly, knowing that when she left the palace this morning she needed to look every inch the royal princess.
“Yes,” she answered, lifting her chin, staring him in the eye, daring him to call her a liar. She’d been raised by a tough man. Her father didn’t tolerate fools, either, but her father had also taught her that men were to be gentlemen. Men were to treat women properly—which meant with kindness and respect. And Zale Patek was definitely not treating her with respect right now. “But if you don’t believe me, would you like to call a doctor? Have him examine me? Would that reassure you, Your Majesty?”
“That’s not necessary,” he said stiffly.
“But I think it is. Clearly you doubt my sincerity. You’ve questioned my integrity—”
“I haven’t.”
“You have. You’ve been rude. Why? For what? A prenup?”
Heat flared in his amber eyes, making them gold. “Your father was the one that wanted the contract. It was drawn up at his insistence and at great expense, so don’t put that one on me.”
Hannah blanched. The contract had been Emmeline’s father’s idea? What kind of father was this King William of Brabant? He certainly didn’t sound supportive or loving.
“Everyone is here because of you,” Zale added tersely. “Five lawyers, Emmeline. Two of whom flew in from your country, and one from overseas, and now I am to tell them to go to their rooms and twiddle their thumbs until the morning?”
He had a point. But what was she to do? Sign as Emmeline? Impossible. “Yes,” she said firmly. “That’s exactly what you do when your future queen is ill and unable to make the meeting.”
Zale drew a slow breath. He exhaled. A small muscle pulled in his jaw.
“I apologize, Your Highness,” he said from between clenched teeth, color darkening the high slash of cheekbone.
“I did not mean to appear insensitive. Your health is of course my first concern. Everything else can and will wait.” Then with a brief, icy bow, he walked out.
CHAPTER FOUR
HANNAH sank into the nearest chair after Zale left, heart racing so fast she felt like throwing up. For a long moment she couldn’t think, too rattled by the intense confrontation with Zale to do anything but process what had just taken place.
He’d been so angry. And his anger had felt personal. As if he was disgusted with her.
Why?
Why would delaying the meeting upset him so much? She hadn’t said she wouldn’t sign it. She hadn’t asked for changes. She’d just asked for time. But it seemed as if time wasn’t something Zale was prepared to give her.
And then she remembered something he’d said, spitting the words at her as if they’d hurt his mouth—I should have known the games weren’t over.
Then he’d added something about her raising the stakes, holding out for millions, because that’s how she played.
How she played?
He was the one who had burst into her room, temper blazing, words coldly mocking.
I did not mean to appear insensitive. Your health is my first concern. Everything else can wait.
Liar! He didn’t mean a word of it. He’d totally meant to be insensitive. He’d been deliberately rude.
From the moment he’d entered her suite he’d shown absolutely no concern for her health. Instead he’d bullied her. Tried to intimidate her. Accused her of playing games.
Who did he think he was, treating a woman like that?
Livid, Hannah chased after Zale, catching up with him as he descended the grand staircase. “Your Majesty, I’d like a word with you,” she said sharply, stopping him midstep.
He slowly turned to look up at her, his straight eyebrow lifted in surprise. “Your head seems to be much better.”
“It’s not,” she answered shortly, cheeks flushed, body shaking with tension, “and you owe me an apology. You were unforgivably rude.”
