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She had seen this look on her father’s face every morning since he knew he was to be challenged for the throne; he hid it under a smile. This man was better at hiding it but it was there. She felt the antagonism drain away, leaving a complex tangle of emotions in its place.

‘It’s not a game, just miscommunication and a straightforward exchange. My sister and I are two very different people.’ Her shoulders lifted. ‘Does that matter to you? I thought this was all about our bloodline.’ Her voice quivered slightly on the word. ‘Which is identical,’ she pointed out, ignoring the scratch of guilt. After all, he would have married Emily and not cared if he made her life a misery. She couldn’t allow the crack in his armour, the suggestion of vulnerability she had glimpsed, to make her forget he was a ruthless man. ‘We both know what fork to use at dinner. When I am on my best behaviour I can be charming.’

‘Of that I have no doubt.’

‘I’m fed up with this dancing around and, well, I thought… I read all the recent positive press coverage but I assumed they were just puff pieces. The work of a skilled team working behind the scenes trying to reinvent the Playboy Prince as a serious player, a safe pair of hands who cared for his people.’

‘And now…?’

‘You’re not stupid,’ she admitted. ‘But it’s not going to be that easy for you, is it—the internet means your past sins are out there forever. And there are already some off-the-record sources, people close to the throne,’ she quoted, ‘supplying veiled criticism—via unattributable quotes. Not everyone is willing to play nice, but some are willing to play dirty?’

‘A very succinct analysis.’

‘Not really. The home-grown version is the conversation around our breakfast table, and people love my parents, they are universally admired, whereas you…?’

‘Have some ground to make up?’

She laughed, the sound releasing some of the tension that had been building up inside her. ‘And then some. This is a political marriage and I’m not looking for romance.’

‘If you are trying to sell yourself to me, you had me at—’ His shoulders lifted in an expressive shrug. ‘Well, let’s face it, there is some urgency in both our situations. But the fact you are not looking for romance and I am not looking for love does seal the deal. But, out of interest, your twin does not want to be my wife—this is a very dramatic twist in the plot. Did not the option of saying, No, not interested, occur to her?’

She grimaced and reached for a glass, which he filled. ‘I’m here and you’ve already said you are marrying a product, not a person.’

‘I’m pretty sure I did not say that, but I admit you have a way with words.’

She slung him an exasperated glare. ‘Does it matter?’

‘I’m funny like that—oh, I understand the revulsion at the thought of being my bride.’

He was too confident to be offended, more amused, and his silky sarcasm made her teeth ache.

‘But I admit to some curiosity, or should I simply assume that being a queen and the status it brings means nothing to your sister, whereas you…?’

Bristling, she half rose in her seat at the suggestion that she cared about a title and status, before sinking back down and taking a deep breath that was not nearly calming enough. ‘I could not give a…’ Her throat ached with a myriad tangled emotions as she huffed out a sighing breath.

This was not how she’d imagined this evening panning out at all. She had come prepared to humour him, flatter him if necessary, but she was always going to keep her emotional distance, be objective…in charge… Oh, and how well is that working, Elsie? The man is playing you.

‘I get the impression that you could not give…several of the flying variety,’ he murmured as his hooded gaze shifted from his silent contemplation of the blue-veined pulse at the base of her swanlike neck, attracted like a moth to a flame by the heaving in the bodice region of her gown.

It was only an extra sliver of satiny skin and yet his imagination went into carnal overdrive.

‘If I’m going to rise to the bait, could you at least feed me first?’ she snapped. ‘I haven’t eaten in an awful long time.’

The plaintive plea tugged his mouth into a slow smile that widened devastatingly and held more than a hint of the hedonistic playboy prince.

The constant shifting of him in her mind was making her dizzy; it seemed almost as though he could slip in and out of character. The question she was struggling with was which was the real character.

‘You are very practical.’

‘You make that sound like a flaw…? Food…?’

‘All in good time. Surely you have some questions for me? A woman should know some stuff about the man she is about to marry. How do I Iike my eggs? Light on or off? Morning sex or night-time? Do I prefer to be on top or—?’

Her choking sound drew a wide sharklike grin.

‘Scrambled, on, though the dark can release inhibitions, not that I have any, afternoon sex has been sadly neglected. Oh, and I am quite happy to relinquish control. Does that make me a feminist?’ His innocent tone was in stark variance with the carnal glitter in his eyes.

There was nothing she could do about her flaming face or the meltdown below the waist but she could hold his eyes, she did hold his eyes. ‘It makes you a…’