Matrimony With His Majesty. Rebecca Winters

Majesty is just inside. Go ahead.”

      Feeling she was in some sort of trance, Darrell climbed the steps, wondering if she’d wake up before she reached the opening.

      “Oh—” she cried softly when a well honed male who stood six foot three stepped out from the interior.

      He was a stranger, yet because of certain physical traits that reminded her of Phillip, he looked familiar, too.

      A relentless afternoon sun gilded the natural highlights of his wavy dark-blond hair.

      The Internet pictures of the king of Valleder could never do justice to his rugged masculine appeal, let alone capture the intensity of his unique hazel eyes.

      His gaze traveled over her classic features that hadn’t seen makeup in twelve hours. It lingered on her puffy, tear-swollen eyes the color of drenched pansies. With her shoulder-length ash-blond hair needing a shampoo, and her aqua blouse and skirt looking less than fresh, she’d never felt a bigger mess.

      The realization that she was standing before the king she’d risked a great deal to meet was so surreal, she couldn’t think clearly.

      He had her at a distinct disadvantage. As his gaze swept over her feminine attributes, heat rose through her body from her curling toes to the crown of her head.

      Compelled by a force stronger than her will, her gaze took in his white sport shirt covering a well-defined chest. He wore tan chinos that molded his rock-hard legs, hinting at powerful thighs.

      Looking at him made her realize that one day her tall, lanky son would resemble his attractive father in quite a few ways.

      “Ms. Collier, I presume?”

      Still in disbelief that he’d flown all this way, she was too tongue-tied to think with any coherence. She cleared her throat. “Yes. I know you’re the king, but I—I don’t know what to call you,” she stammered in embarrassment.

      “I realize the situation is foreign to you. Under the circumstances just call me Alex. It appears we have something important to discuss. Please come in.” He spoke impeccable English with virtually no trace of accent.

      Once over the threshold, she entered a world where only the privileged conducted business thousands of miles above the earth. Besides everything else, the air-conditioning was heavenly.

      He led her to a room with a grouping of furniture much like an elegant den. The second she sat down on one of the couches, a steward appeared with a tray of drinks. She chose cola, then sat on the edge of the luxurious white upholstery unable to relax. Again she had the feeling she was existing in another state of consciousness.

      He took a chair opposite her, the picture of urbane sophistication while he drank coffee.

      “Why don’t we start by you telling me how you came by that ring.”

      He’d come straight to the point, not appearing worried about the history behind it.

      Her heart pounded so hard she was certain he could hear it in the confines of the room.

      “My sister entrusted it to me.”

      He put the coffee cup on a side table and leaned forward. “What’s her name?”

      How strange to be talking about her sister, the woman he’d enamored to the point she would have done anything for him, and did.

      “Melissa Collier. Does that mean anything to you?”

      He eyed her with an enigmatic expression. “I’m sorry to say it doesn’t.”

      His response came as no surprise to Darrell. After thirteen years, how many men in his position remembered the names of the girls they’d been with for a one-night stand? Particularly a rebellious yet vulnerable teen like Melissa. She’d probably made up a fake name so she wouldn’t get into trouble with the management where she worked.

      He rubbed his lower lip with his thumb, mesmerizing Darrell. “Why didn’t she come to Bris?”

      Darrell drew in a shaky breath. “Because she died twelve years ago.”

      Lines darkened his striking features. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, sounding surprisingly sincere.

      “So am I.” Her voice faltered.

      “How did she die?”

      There’s your opening, Darrell.

      Yet oddly enough she found herself unable to go on. No matter how long she’d prayed for this moment for Phillip’s sake, what the king was about to hear was going to change his life. She found she couldn’t do this to him. The shock would be too enormous to any man, let alone a king—What had she been thinking?

      “It doesn’t really matter. All I know is, she wanted you to have the ring back because she knew it was valuable.”

      “The ring has gotten my attention. Now I want to know what’s behind it.”

      Darrell felt ill. “I—I made a mistake coming to Switzerland. Haven’t you ever made one?” she cried in panic. “Let me just get the ring for you and then you can go home and we’ll forget this ever happened. Please—”

      “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

      Tears ran down her face. “I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want anyone to be hurt—”

      She had to get out of there, but before she reached the doorway, he said, “The best way to hurt me is to make a scene in front of my staff. Why don’t you sit down and answer my question about your sister.”

      Realizing he wouldn’t go away until he knew the truth, Darrell wiped her eyes and finally did his bidding.

      “Two days after she gave birth to an eight-pound boy, a brain aneurism took her life.”

      A pulsating silence filled the cabin.

      His body didn’t move, but she saw a flicker in the depths of his eyes, turning them the green of a stormy ocean.

      “Do you have pictures of them on you?”

      She’d thought he’d deny it was his son, or at least question her outrageous suggestion that he might have been the father.

      He did neither. Instead he’d responded in a forthright manner that astounded her.

      “I have a packet in my wallet. The photo of Melissa is her junior year high school picture. The rest are pictures of my son taken on every birthday in case I ever found his father and he wanted to see them.”

      One dark brow lifted. “Your son?”

      “Yes. I adopted him.”

      “You never married?”

      “No.”

      Her hands trembled as she opened her purse and pulled the packet from her wallet.

      He got up and reached for it.

      She held her breath while he stood there with his legs slightly apart, studying each photograph with an intensity that held her spellbound.

      The likeness of his son to him couldn’t be disputed.

      “What day was he born?”

      “February 27. He’ll be thirteen on his next birthday.”

      He examined the pictures for a long time. “What did you name him?” His voice revealed a husky quality that indicated he was deeply moved. Another surprise.

      “When Melissa had an ultrasound and found out she was going to have a boy, she named him after you.”

      His gaze shot to hers. “I have several names.”

      Darrell’s mouth had gone dry. “I know. I saw the long list on the Internet. You told her you were Phil from New York. So Melissa called him Phillip.”

      A haunted expression crossed