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For blowing hot and cold.
For kissing her with such passion that she’d glimpsed paradise even as he’d snatched it away again.
But she would not be like her mother and throw her heart beneath the feet of a man who didn’t care. She would keep her head. She’d get through the next twelve hours and then she’d move on with her life.
With perfect timing, her escort for the evening arrived: a major in the British Army, on attachment to the Queen’s staff as equerry. They’d met numerous times over the past weeks and got on well. Tonight he would be someone familiar in a daunting gathering, when the family would be occupied with their royal duties.
The Major took his role seriously, keeping her nerves at bay by recounting hilarious tales on their walk to the party. When the nerves threatened to bubble up as they arrived at the reception rooms he leant closer, telling such a terrible joke that she laughed out loud.
Which was how they made their entrance. An enchanting young woman in a gown of green silk, gliding down the stairs, laughing up into the eyes of her dashing escort.
Stiff with disapproval, Khaled watched Lily’s arrival. How she clung to her companion, smiling up at him as if he were the moon and stars and every damn thing that lay between.
Jealousy roiled in his gut, so bitter and sharp he could taste it. He knew the Major, even liked the man, but at that moment he’d have happily smashed a fist into his face.
One word pounded over and over in his skull.
Mine.
It was that dress, shimmering over her body as she moved. It was enough to scramble any sensible thought he had.
Before she gained the bottom step and disappeared into the crowding guests she flicked a glance around the room. He waited, barely breathing, until she found him.
When she did, she held his gaze, then speared him with a look of such electrifying sensuality he stopped breathing altogether.
Then her lashes lowered and her expression soured, as if his very existence repulsed her. That hit him, no doubt as she’d intended, right where all the sexual promise had gathered.
Another mantra started in his head.She’s going home tomorrow. He only had to navigate the next few hours, then he’d never have to see Lily Marchant again.
The French Ambassador was speaking to him. Khaled plastered on an interested expression and set himself to being sociable.
For an hour he circulated, keeping a precise distance from her. It wasn’t hard. He just looked for a group of fawning males—because, invariably, she was right in the middle of one. When she moved, he moved.
His ploy worked well enough, until fate threw an elderly relative in his way. The old man was so obviously thrilled to have the Prince’s attention that Khaled lingered longer than he ought to have done. Too late, he became aware of a subtle shift around him, of heads turning, conversations pausing.
He looked up and the reason for their interest became clear.
For there Lily stood. Beautiful. Bristling with hostility.
‘Good evening, Your Highness,’ she said, sinking into an over-deep curtsy.
He marvelled at how she made such a respectful gesture practically drip disdain.
She rose up, haughty as an empress. Her proud chin lifted. Her neck long. He wanted to press his mouth to it and taste every inch.
‘A wonderful party...is it not,sir?’
More contempt. For ‘sir’ he heardSomething unpleasant that lurks beneath a rock. Aware they were surrounded by dozens of avid observers, not least of whom was Hyde-Wallace, he tried to keep the conversation pleasant.
‘I’m glad you’re enjoying—’
‘The French Ambassador was just saying how glorious everything looks tonight,’ she said brightly. ‘We agreed the florists have excelled themselves.’
‘I think my mother—’
‘Though of course it’s their job. Oh, look. There’s his wife! I really must ask where she found that fabulous gown.’
She spun away without so much as a by-your-leave, dragging her escort with her. She didn’t give a damn about that woman’s gown. She’d moved in exactly the opposite direction.
