Saved by the Monarch. Dana Marton

her hand go.

      Liberace looked up to the airplane. “And your social secretary and entourage?”

      Entou—what? Her head was beginning to spin.

      “I’m sorry, there must be a mistake.” She offered a painful smile, hating to make a fool of herself in front of the handsome prince. Oh man, the stories she was going to tell the girls at the office when she got back.

      His Highness caught on first. He nodded to one of the guards next to him, who opened the limo’s door. She was ushered in efficiently, away from the flashing cameras and the most awkward public moment of her life. It bordered on ridiculous how grateful she felt for the reprieve.

      The two men got in after her and, for a moment, tense silence ruled.

      Then Liberace said, “I’ve sent a detailed outline of the reception, protocol and hour-by-hour plans of your entire stay to Lady Viola, your social secretary.” He seemed bewildered and scandalized by her behavior.

      His Highness simply observed her. And managed to unnerve her completely just by doing that.

      Her brain slowed to a crawl. “Aunt Viola?” She stared at the older man. Her aunt had just had emergency gallbladder surgery. Judi would have canceled the whole trip if her aunt hadn’t forbidden her to do it. The only time the short, timid, fairy godmother-type of a woman had ever put her foot down as long as Judi could remember.

      “Who do you think I am?” she asked tentatively.

      “Lady Judit Marezzi, daughter of Lord Conrad Marezzi and Lady Lillian.”

      Okay, the names matched. Except for the lord and lady part, although she did remember her father mentioning to her they were from an old, important family. She didn’t remember her mother, who had died when Judi was three. She did remember her father, however. He’d gotten remarried, to an American, before dying just days after Judi’s fifth birthday. Her American stepmother wasn’t the type to dwell on the past. Neither was Aunt Viola, who’d moved to the States after her father’s death.

      The limousine began to move. And for a long while, as Liberace went on about impossible and incomprehensible acts, she was frozen in place, unsure what on earth was going on and how to act. Then the car left the airport and entered a busy highway, and she was aware all of a sudden that she was being carted off to an unknown location by two strange men.

      “Stop.” She raised her hand, palm out. “I need you to let me go right now.” Where was her luggage, anyway? Never mind. She would take that up with the airline later. Right now she needed to return to reality posthaste. “I want you to let me out right here.”

      His Highness flashed her a somber, I-don’t-think-so glance. She appreciated the manly, sexy and formidable look on a guy as much as the next girl, but not when said guy was standing in the way of her freedom.

      “Now listen—” She might have wagged her index finger for a second there before she caught herself and found her very last smidgen of ladylike restraint.

      Liberace gasped. “Please consider…The press…This is…We are miles from the city proper.”

      “And who are you?” She was running out of patience.

      He looked puppy-eyed hurt. “I’m Chancellor Hansen. You might recall that we have corresponded.”

      Uh-huh. And she kept in regular touch with Mick Jagger and the Dalai Lama, as well. She was beginning to feel on the edge of desperate.

      “I need you to take me to my hotel. I’m staying at the Ramada at center city.” She dug into her purse to get the paper with the exact address.

      DID SHE THINK SHE WAS in a taxicab?

      “You’ll be staying at the royal palace,” Miklos said. Security would be impossible at a hotel. If that was what she wanted, she should have notified the chancellor months ago so they could have properly set it up.

      “I don’t think so.” She gave him a look full of attitude. Her lavender eyes shone like jewels.

      The chancellor sucked in a sharp breath.

      Miklos cocked his head as he took in the woman. He wasn’t used to his word being questioned. Definitely not in the military, where a superior officer’s word was the law, and not in civilian life, either.

      She was pretty but it would only get her so far with him. He happened to have too much on his plate today to deal with her drama and theatrics.

      The four younger princes—Janos, Istvan, Lazlo and Benedek—were better at diplomacy than the two eldest. Arpad, the crown prince, and Miklos were more of cut-to-the-chase type of men. “If you have no interest in honoring our parents’ agreement, then why are you here?”

      “As a birthday present to myself.” She sounded and looked thoroughly exasperated. “I thought it was time I discovered my roots a little,” she went on, then paused and looked at him with full-on suspicion on her beautiful face. “What agreement?”

      He cast a sidelong glance at the chancellor, who was now looking positively ashen.

      “Our engagement.” He said the last word with emphasis so there would be no way she could misunderstand him.

      Her nearly translucent skin lost all color. “A what?” she asked.

       Chapter Two

      He didn’t have time for this.

      “Aunt Viola?” Miklos drew up one eyebrow as he glanced toward the chancellor. The future princess’s companion and social secretary seemed to have been amiss in her duties. To say the least.

      “Lady Viola Arynak. A distant relation to Lady Marezzi,” the chancellor supplied, looking thoroughly off balance.

      “Arynak?” Foreboding filled the prince.

      “Dr. Arynak’s cousin.”

      Which might have explained a lot. Was she also averse to delivering bad news? Had she left the princess’s engagement out of her education altogether? Although he couldn’t comprehend why anyone would think of the prospect of being married to him as bad news.

      “Engagement?” she asked again, color returning to her face. She had the fine features of Valtrian aristocracy and lively eyes that made it near impossible to look away from her.

      “An agreement was reached between our parents at the time of your birth, then reinforced at the time of your leaving Valtria.” When her father was appointed Valtrian ambassador to the United States.

      She really had an attractive mouth. Even when it was hanging open.

      “I was two when my family moved to America. You—you pedophile!” Outrage shook her voice.

      “I was not quite thirteen at the time and wasn’t given much say in the matter,” he said mildly. “You came up to my knee and hugged it. The families took it as an agreement.” She’d been a charming toddler, large blue eyes that had turned lavender over the past decades and curly red hair that had grown into auburn waves.

      She flashed him a look of contempt.

      Far from the look of adoration she’d regarded him with back then. He hadn’t known what to do with her, felt lucky that protocol required nothing but a short introduction. He’d been relieved that she was so young, that the alliance he was expected to make with her wouldn’t have to happen for endless years yet. Two decades had seemed an eternity to his thirteen-year-old self.

      But that particular eternity had just come to an end. And his fond fantasies of an obedient wife who toed the line and understood the responsibilities of the monarchy were rapidly coming to an end with it.

      The fire in her eyes was something to behold. “This is the twenty-first century. You can’t be serious,”