Not Fit for a King?. Jane Porter

Would it change her?

      The lady-in-waiting paused outside tall paneled doors that opened onto the Grand Dining Hall. “We’ll wait for His Majesty here,” she said.

      Hannah nodded, eager to see King Zale Patek again. She shouldn’t care. Shouldn’t feel anything.

      Suddenly King Patek and his attendants were there and the atmosphere felt positively electric.

      Hannah’s breath caught in her throat as heat and energy crackled around them. Tall, lithe, strong, Zale Patek practically hummed with life.

      She’d never met a man so vitally alive. Had never met a man with such confidence. Lifting her head she looked up into his eyes and the expression in the rich amber depths made her heart turn over.

      “You look lovely,” he said.

      She inclined her head. “And you do, too, Your Majesty.” “I look lovely?”

      “Handsome,” she corrected, with a blush. “And royal.”

      He lifted an eyebrow but Hannah was saved from further conversation as the doors to the Grand Dining Hall opened simultaneously, revealing an immense, richly paneled hall easily two stories tall.

      “Oh,” Hannah whispered, awed by the medieval grandeur of the room. The huge room was lit almost exclusively by candlelight. Ivory tapers flickered in sconces and tall silver cande-labras marched down the length of the table. Stone fireplaces marked both ends of the room and magnificent burgundy tapestries covered the richly paneled walls. The high ceiling was an intricate design of gold stencil against dark stained wood.

      Zale looked down at her, a hint of a smile at his lips. “Shall we?” he asked, offering her his arm.

      She looked up at him and her heart did a funny little hiccup. Beautiful face, beautiful eyes, broad shoulders, narrow waist, long muscular legs. A fantasy come to life.

      Would it be such a bad thing if she were to enjoy playing Princess Emmeline for just one night?

      Would it ruin everything if she liked Zale a little? Tomorrow morning she’d be heading home and would never see him again, so why couldn’t she just be happy tonight?

      Together they entered the crowded hall where the guests were already seated at the longest dining table she’d ever seen.

      She could feel all their eyes on them, and conversation died as they walked to the two places still empty in the middle of the table. “Such a big table,” she murmured.

      “It is,” he agreed. “Originally it was built to accommodate one hundred. But five hundred years ago people must have been considerably smaller—or perhaps they didn’t mind a very tight squeeze,” he answered with a hint of laughter in his voice, “because I don’t think we ever seat more than eighty today.”

      A uniformed butler drew out a chair for Hannah while another held out Zale’s and then they were sitting, and Zale leaned toward Hannah to whisper. “And even then,” he added, “as you can see, eighty is still quite snug.”

      Snug was an understatement, she thought an hour later, feeling excessively warm and more than a little claustrophobic as the five-course meal slowly progressed. Her teal gown was too tight and pinched around her ribs, and Zale was a big man with very broad shoulders and he took up considerable space.

      And then there were her emotions, which were all over the place.

      Everything about him intrigued her, and it was impossible to ignore him, even if she wanted to. At least six foot three, he dominated the table with his broad shoulders and long legs.

      All evening she was aware of him, feeling his warmth and energy even without touching him.

      And then when they did touch—a bump of shoulder, a tap on the wrist and that one time his thigh brushed her own—her head spun from the rush of sensation.

      Working for Sheikh Al-Koury, Hannah had arranged numerous events and dinners, and had sat next to countless wealthy men, and yet no one had ever made her feel like this before.

      Nervous. Eager. Self-conscious. Sensitive.

      Next to Zale she could hear her heart thud, feel the warmth of her breath as she exhaled, tingle with goose bumps as he turned his head to look into her eyes.

      She loved that he did that. Loved that he was strong enough, confident enough, to look at a woman and hold her gaze. It was probably the sexiest thing she’d ever experienced.

      But even when he wasn’t looking at her, she liked the way he watched others, studying the world intently, listening with all of him—heart and mind, ears and eyes.

      As one of the staff leaned over to take her plate, Hannah startled and bumped Zale.

      He glanced at her with a half smile, and that barely there smile captivated her as much as his whiskey-colored gaze.

      This man would be a force to reckon with—so alive, so vital—and she envied Emmeline, she did.

      Imagine being loved by a man like King Patek. And that was the appeal, wasn’t it? Zale wasn’t a boy. He was a man. And unlike Brad, her college love, Zale was mature, successful, experienced. He was a thirty-five-year-old man in his prime.

      To be loved by a man who knew what he wanted.

      To be loved by a man who knew he wanted her.

      Her chest squeezed hard, tight and she dragged a hand to her lap, fingertips trailing across the exquisite beading of her gown as she tried to think of something else. Something besides Zale and what was quickly becoming an impossible infatuation.

      Zale’s gaze met hers and held. The air bottled in her lungs. Her heart thudded in her ears.

      “Not every dinner will be as long as this,” he said to her in English, his voice pitched low. They’d been switching back and forth between French and English all night for the benefit of their guests but whenever he spoke to Hannah it was in English. “This is unusually drawn out.”

      “I don’t mind,” she said, careful to speak without a hint of her Texas twang. “It’s a beautiful room and I have excellent company.”

      “You’ve become so very charming.” “Haven’t I always been?”

      “No.” His lips curved in a self-mocking smile. “You didn’t enjoy my company a year ago. It was our engagement party and yet you avoided me all night.” His smile didn’t touch his eyes. “Your father said you were shy. I knew better.”

      This was a strange conversation to have here, now, with eighty people around them. “And what did you know?”

      He looked at her intently, his narrowed gaze traveling slowly over her face until it rested on her mouth. “I knew you were in love with another man and marrying me out of duty.”

      Definitely not a conversation to be having at a formal dinner party. Nervous, Hannah rubbed her fingers against the delicate beading on her skirt. “Perhaps we should discuss this later …?”

      “Why?”

      “Aren’t you afraid someone will overhear us?” His gaze pierced her. “I’m more afraid of not getting straight answers.”

      She shrugged. “Then ask your questions. This is your home. Your party. Your guests.”

      “And you’re my fiancée.”

      Her chin lifted a fraction. “Yes, I am.”

      He studied her for an endless moment. “Who are you, Emmeline?”

      “Excuse me?”

      “You’re so different now. Makes me wonder if you’re even the same woman.”

      “What a strange thing to say.”

      “But you are different. You look me in the eye now. You have opinions. Attitude. I almost think I could get an honest