‘Your Majesty, Miss India Hamilton is here to see you.’
King Gabriel de la Croix tore his concentration away from the documents set out on his large oak desk and glanced at his one-of-a-kind Christophe Claret wristwatch. Although he was mildly irritated by the interruption to the flow of his work, this appointment was scheduled and required his attention.
He’d almost completed the task of authorising the most pressing matters of the kingdom of Santaliana. Another ten minutes and he could be finished, but he wouldn’t keep the managing director of his late sister’s charitable foundation waiting when she’d flown from London to meet with him. At the end of the day, he’d make the extra time he needed to sign these documents.
‘Please show her in, Michael,’ he directed crisply into the intercom speaker as he stacked up the paperwork and placed it to his right.
Mere seconds later, after one knock, the door swung open.
‘Miss Hamilton, Your Majesty,’ Michael announced.
Gabe was up out of his chair, and had already taken a step toward the door to greet his appointment when he met clear, violet eyes.
Violet eyes.
They were such a remarkable colour, they initially stole attention from her high cheekbones, flawless complexion and shining blonde hair. They also triggered an acute jolt of recognition, which stalled his heartbeat, locked his vertebrae rigid and made movement impossible.
Cinderella.
It had to be her.
Nobody else could possess those exquisite, violet eyes.
Six years ago, when she’d failed to return to him at the masquerade ball, he’d directed his aides to search high and low for her. There’d been no clues as to her identity—not even a slipper. Now she stood right here in his office.
It was incredible.
Disbelief warred with the evidence of his eyes and he told himself he must be mistaken—after all, it had been a long time ago and they’d both been wearing masks. But even as he tried to convince himself otherwise, he knew it had to be her. Apart from her eyes, there were her soft, lush lips. Lips that had been more intoxicating than the Champagne he’d tasted upon them.
His heart restarted, but there was nothing rhythmical about its beating. The organ pounded against his rib cage and sent blood rushing past his eardrums.
‘Your Majesty.’ Belatedly, she lowered her head and dipped into an awkward curtsey. ‘It’s an honour to meet you in person at last.’
But we have met.
She was unforgettable.
He’d never forget nor forgive the way she’d made a complete fool of him that night in front of his two closest friends, nor how long it’d taken him to banish her from his dreams.
Gabe’s jaw clenched and he felt his eyes narrow as anger surged through him. Did she truly not recognise him, or did she stand there hoping he wouldn’t remember how she’d behaved?
If she wanted to play with him again, this time she’d find herself the loser.
Forcing his jaw to unlock and his lips into a polite smile, he asked in a deliberately vague tone, ‘Have we met somewhere before?’
Her finely arched eyebrows drew together in a frown. ‘I don’t believe so, Your Majesty.’
Her confusion seemed genuine and it galled him to think she didn’t recognise him as easily as he recognised her—or that she’d forgotten their encounter so readily.
Allowing his gaze to skim from her pert nose all the way down her body, he was even more certain this was the same woman he’d met in London. She was exceptionally tall at just over six feet, but she still had feminine curves in all the right places and shapely legs that went on forever. A perfect model’s body. A body he’d craved to explore intimately.
Feeling his burgeoning arousal, he cursed inwardly. Yes, this was definitely the woman he remembered, and even after all this time she still had a potent physical effect on him. Somehow, in the intervening years, her deeply sensual femininity had intensified.
Get a grip, he demanded of himself. He wouldn’t fall under her spell again. He knew her now for what she was—a gold-digging, party-loving playgirl, just like the woman he’d married.
This woman, with whom he hadn’t exchanged names, had teased him with her passionate kisses and breathy sighs, then left him to go to the bathroom. She hadn’t returned as promised. The following day one of his friends told him he’d seen her flirting with a man who was recognisable even with a mask—a sultan’s son whose parting gift to his lovers was rumoured to be a king’s ransom in precious jewels.
The thought jarred him back to the purpose of her presence in his office.
How in God’s name had Cinderella become Managing Director of the Princess Eden Foundation?
It beggared belief.
‘Will you be requiring anything else, Your Majesty?’ Michael asked.
Yes. He required much, much more—but not from his assistant. Gabe required answers from this woman. It alarmed him to think she was in such a responsible, high-powered position, making decisions about the allocation of millions of dollars.
Michael cleared his throat and his visitor shifted uncomfortably in the awkward silence.
Gabe fought against the dryness in his throat and took a few steps around his desk. ‘Thank you for making the trip to see me to iron out the last of the details, Miss Hamilton. Would you like tea?’ He exercised practised control to keep his expression neutral and his tone formal, even though questions burned through his brain, and several conflicting emotions battled to melt his cool.
‘Tea would be lovely, thank you.’
There were traces of a cultured, upper crust, British accent—more British now than when they’d met. Yet her speech still held rich layers of an accent he couldn’t identify. It was as unusual and absorbing as the colour of her irises.
When he’d asked her at the ball about her accent, she’d been evasive and replied that it was global. Perhaps it was. She’d most likely done her share of trotting around the globe from one ski slope or party to the next. All he knew about her was that she’d belonged to London’s young, jet-setting crowd—the spoiled rich set he generally avoided.
‘I’ll see to the tea and be back directly.’ His assistant bowed and made his exit.
Gabe gestured toward an armchair. ‘Please, sit down, Miss Hamilton.’
‘Thank you.’ She settled herself and crossed one long leg over the other. The action made the skirt of her cream suit ride just a little higher and Gabe felt his pulse jump at the tantalising glimpse of her thigh. ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting with you to discuss the plans for the ball. It’s great to have the chance to be here in Santaliana to see the venue for the gala fundraising evening and check how everything’s coming together.’
No sign of any discomfiture.
‘I’m looking forward to hearing your view about the arrangements.’ He stroked his thumb and forefinger along his jaw and decided to press her once more. ‘Are you certain we’ve never met? You seem quite familiar.’
‘I’m sure you’re mixing me up with someone else—although I wouldn’t have thought it likely.’ She laughed a little self-consciously. ‘I’ve been told there are fewer than six hundred people in the world with my colour eyes.’
‘They’re certainly an unusual colour.’ Was she playing a game with him, even now?
He searched her expression for any hint of remembrance, but saw none. That had been the point, he supposed. He’d attended the masquerade ball at the insistence of his friends, Prince Khalid of Turastan and Prince Marco of Ralvinia. They’d insisted he accompany them to see the type of crowd with whom they claimed Angelique—his betrothed—socialised. The fact that he dressed as the character Zorro ensured his identity was never discovered.
There’d been no indication anyone at the ball had identified him, and no tabloid stories of his attendance the following day—which was just as well, given the debauchery of the event.
In the first half hour, Khalid and Marco realised they’d made a serious mistake in attending the masquerade. It was even more depraved than they’d expected. The two princes may have enjoyed partying, but they’d never been into drunken, cocaine-fuelled orgies, which was exactly what the trio had encountered when they’d entered rooms connected to the main ballroom.
But the truest of friends, the men had insisted on staying long enough for Gabriel to witness Angelique in what they claimed was her natural social environment. Hoping their identities wouldn’t be discovered and their presence at the event reported on by the press, they’d dug in—determined to prove to Gabe it’d be a mistake to proceed with the marriage he’d arranged for the sake of protecting his kingdom’s borders.
They’d waited two hours, but Princess Angelique hadn’t turned up. Making discreet enquiries, Khalid reported that the princess wouldn’t be attending as she’d succumbed to a migraine and was home in bed.
Just as the three men agreed to leave the ball, an utterly beautiful woman cannoned into Gabriel. Through the slits of her mask, her violet eyes had captivated him and—much to Marco’s and Khalid’s annoyance—Gabe had been determined to stay to get to know her.
Now the utterly beautiful woman had a name.
India Hamilton.
It was incredible to think he’d corresponded with her for the last two years in her capacity as Managing Director of the Princess Eden Foundation, unaware she was the young woman who’d haunted his dreams for months after they’d met.
‘I love Santaliana,’ she told him now as she shifted a cushion to one side and settled more comfortably into the armchair. ‘Being here is like taking a journey back in time into an enchanted fairytale.’
Gabriel suppressed a cold smile at the mention of fairytales, wondering just what she’d think if she knew he’d always thought of her as a darker version of Cinderella. A woman who’d fled the ball not because her coach was about to turn into a pumpkin, but because she’d simply bored with her game of leading him on and had found a man she’d incorrectly assumed was a much bigger catch.
‘I can understand why visitors flock here.’ Her words were rushed and seemed a deliberate attempt to fill the conversational void. ‘I’m completely charmed by the narrow, cobblestoned streets lined with buildings from medieval days.’
Leaning back against the edge of his desk he said, ‘The older section of the capital does have a fairytale feel.’
‘Not to mention this beautiful castle,’ she enthused. ‘It’s impossible to look at the high turrets without imagining Rapunzel letting down her golden hair.’
‘You have quite an imagination.’ She also had golden hair, which would rival Rapunzel’s if she let it grow longer.
A small, melancholy smile tugged at her lips. ‘My grandmother sent me a book of classic fairytales when I was a little girl and I absolutely adored those stories. I used to beg every grown-up I met to read them to me until I was old enough to read them to myself.’
Every grown-up? ‘Were your parents sick of reading them to you?’
The clear violet shade turned to a troubled purple and she seemed to choose her words carefully. ‘They were very busy people with no time for storytelling.’ A second later it was as though an unseen artist had dipped his brush into a palette and decided to paint the softest pink of a blush along her cheekbones. ‘I’m sorry, Your Majesty. We’re meant to be discussing the plans for the ball and instead I’m gabbling on about fairytales.’
‘No need to apologise.’ Her reminiscing was an interesting insight to her childhood. If she was a fan of fairytales, maybe she’d attended the masquerade ball to find herself a prince? It was ironic, then, that she’d unknowingly found and captivated a king, but lost her opportunity with him. Clearly, she hadn’t picked her mark well. The sultan’s son was well known for taking lovers for a few months, whereas Gabe had been keen to explore the possibility of a more serious relationship with her—especially in light of the doubts he had about Angelique.
‘It’s good to hear a visitor’s perspective of the kingdom. We’ve worked hard to keep the medieval flavour and invested a lot of money in restoring some of the older buildings. The fairytale character you describe is part of what makes Santaliana such an attractive tourist destination.’ He couldn’t help noting the fresh, youthfulness of her skin and remembering how soft it had been to his touch when he’d framed her face in his hands.
Damn it! Every masculine fibre of him responded to her feminine beauty on the most primitive level. It heated his blood and he had to fight against the impulse to close the distance between them and take her in his arms. He had to remind himself she was poison.
Studying her more closely, he saw that her thin layer of make-up had been applied carefully. What he’d thought was a flawless complexion was actually marred by a scar that ran just under her left eye. It didn’t look new. It’d probably been obscured by the mask she’d worn at the ball. ‘How old are you, Miss Hamilton?’
Her lush lips parted in surprise. ‘Twenty-seven.’
Seven years his junior. ‘I’m curious. How did you come to be Managing Director of the Princess Eden Foundation?’
A tiny furrow appeared between her eyebrows and he realised his tone had been a little sharp. ‘I met Princess Eden when I was twenty. I liked her immediately and was inspired by what she’d set out to achieve. She encouraged me to do volunteer work with the foundation.’
That would’ve been before the masquerade ball. Hadn’t his sister realised what this woman was like?
He tapped one finger against the top of his desk a couple of times as he analysed her explanation. Eden had been an excellent judge of character. Perhaps she’d seen something more to the party-loving India and thought volunteer work might be able to help bring it to the fore? Eden had always managed to see the good in people—even when there was none. If his sister knew the crowd India Hamilton ran with, he doubted she would’ve been willing to have her work at the charity in any capacity.
‘I’m sorry for your loss of Princess Eden, Your Majesty,’ she told him softly. ‘I managed to pass on my sympathies to your brother at the funeral, but didn’t manage to speak to you.’
She’d been at Eden’s funeral?
‘I loved spending time with Princess Eden and treasured our friendship. I’ve missed her more than I can express.’
Friendship? What the hell...? ‘You considered Eden a friend?’
‘Absolutely.’ Her nod was accompanied by a sad smile. ‘We met for the first time at a garden party to raise funds for the foundation and we clicked straight away. From that time on, whenever she was in London she invited me to have tea with her, and when she was back in Santaliana we often chatted on the telephone.’
That couldn’t be true!
Gabriel’s lips tightened. Eden and he had been very close. After trips away, she’d made a point of having dinner with him her first night back. She’d always spoken to him about her trips to London. She’d never mentioned India Hamilton, but according to the woman in front of him, she and his sister had met together every couple of months over a period of almost three years. Clearly, Miss Hamilton was not just a party girl but also a liar.
Eden may have been deceived initially into thinking India was a suitable young woman to volunteer at her foundation, but if she’d met her on a regular basis, she was astute enough to have seen through any deception and work out this woman’s real character. There was not a snowflake’s chance in hell that his sister would’ve taken tea on a regular basis with Miss Hamilton. The MD of the Princess Eden Foundation sat there and lied bald-faced, knowing Eden wasn’t alive to refute the claim.
He unfurled the fist that his right hand had formed and swallowed down on the bitter taste that filled his mouth.
‘You did volunteer work for the foundation.’ He spoke slowly, half-disbelieving her claim. ‘Did you volunteer part-time while studying for your degree?’
She sat straighter. ‘No.’
He felt his eyes narrow. ‘When did you obtain your management degree?’
‘I didn’t.’ Her chin jutted forward defensively. ‘I’ve never been to university.’
What? ‘Then how are you qualified to be the managing director of a foundation that distributes millions of dollars each year to international charities?’
‘I didn’t realise I was called here because my qualifications were in question,’ she said frostily.
‘You weren’t. But—’
‘Is there some aspect of my management you’re unhappy with?’
Damn her! He wished he could call her out on a dozen aspects of her management, but all reports indicated she was doing fabulous job. He shifted against the edge of the desk. Few people he’d come across had ever been so forthright, or made him feel as though he was the one on the back foot, as he launched an attack. ‘Miss Hamilton, I’m patron of the foundation. I’m astonished that someone your age—and with no academic qualifications—’ not to mention one he knew to be in possession of few morals, ‘—holds such a responsible position.’
‘If you’ve had concerns, why not initiate a meeting earlier? I’ve held this position for two years and this is the first time you’ve bothered to meet with me,’ she pointed out coolly.
Guilt stabbed through him. He should’ve paid more personal attention to his sister’s foundation, but his advice had been that it was running smoothly, and Eden had always had complete faith in her board of directors. With so many demands on his time, it’d been easy to accept that all was well with the charity and fix his attention on matters that were of more direct interest to the kingdom. His lack of scrutiny had also been a way of distancing himself and avoiding the guilt and raw loss he still felt whenever he thought of his sister.
‘And as for being young,’ she continued with a slight toss of her hair, ‘weren’t you crowned and in charge of the kingdom at just twenty-one?’
His lips compressed. Despite her other less than savoury qualities, India Hamilton was sharp, confident and spirited. No wonder she’d impressed the board—but then, the best con artists generally possessed loads of confidence.
Ignoring the parallels she drew between them, he continued his inquisition. ‘How were you employed prior to joining the foundation as a volunteer?’
Her jaw clenched, making her high cheekbones even more prominent. ‘I didn’t have any paid employment prior to signing up for volunteer work.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘None whatsoever?’
‘No.’ There was no apology in her tone, but there was plenty of antagonism in her eyes and the set of her mouth.
Gabe’s thoughts shot back to the woman he’d married and his gut roiled. Angelique had been a completely self-absorbed princess who’d never had to lift a finger in her life. The only responsibilities she’d held were in the order of making sure she saw a manicurist as soon as she chipped one of her polished fingernails.
Flicking a contemptuous look at the woman who sat before him, he likened her to his former wife. Perhaps Miss Hamilton enjoyed the prestige of her position at the charity, and rubbing shoulders with the upper echelons of society as she organised the fundraising. ‘You were twenty when you began your volunteer work, but with no previous employment and no tertiary education?’ he hammered.
‘That’s right,’ she confirmed stonily.
‘What did you do before that?’
Her eyes were still hard, but she sent him a forced smile. ‘I travelled.’
Of course she had. It was just as he thought. She’d no doubt flitted from one party spot to another—one ski slope or beach to another. And now that he’d called her to account for her idle lifestyle, she had the temerity to look affronted. Well, he’d be damned if he’d apologise for upsetting her. No way would she have been his sister’s friend. India Hamilton was more likely to have been a kindred spirit for his late wife.
‘You come from a wealthy background that afforded you the luxury of not having to seek paid employment?’
‘My family was not as wealthy as yours, Your Majesty.’
Very few families were. Still, she hadn’t answered his question.
Khalid and Marco had been told by an acquaintance of theirs from Eton days that the masquerade ball was to be one for high society—old money and the nouveau riche—with an exclusive and confidential guest list. India’s family must be wealthy for her to have been invited, and to afford her the rich, travelling lifestyle without having had to lift a finger to earn her own income.
‘What do your parents do?’
‘Both my parents have passed away, but they did a lot of voluntary work too.’
This, again, told him nothing. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he muttered.
She’d belonged to London’s idle rich set. Had the money dried up when her parents had died? It disturbed him to know she had access to millions of dollars annually through the foundation.
She’d lied to him at the ball in saying she’d return. He was certain she was lying about her relationship with his sister. She might be lying about a whole lot of other things.
Was she using her position to skim money from the charity to fund her social life, or had she taken the position in order to find rich lovers?
‘What made you change your circumstances to obtain paid employment?’
‘My reasons are personal, however I will point out that the money I earn from the foundation is donated straight back to the organisation.’
He made a mental note to have Michael check that detail.
She bit down on her lip for a second before a couple of fine lines became evident on her forehead. ‘I can’t help feeling I’m facing a rather antagonistic inquisition here and I don’t understand why.’
Damned right she was, but he wasn’t going to elaborate on his reasons.
‘Your circumstances of going from being a volunteer to managing director are quite impressive.’ He allowed his tone to imply he was more suspicious than impressed.
‘There’s no mystery about it, Your Majesty.’ She stood abruptly and flags of red appeared along her cheeks. ‘I worked my way up through the ranks in the office for five years and knew every aspect of the organisation firsthand. Eventually, I received a directorship. Once I was on the board, the directors voted unanimously that I become the managing director,’ she told him with a touch of pride. Her mouth tightened before she challenged, ‘Tell me, Your Majesty, what degree do you think I should have obtained to be qualified for my position? In fact, what degree did you obtain to make you qualified for the running of a kingdom?’
Of all the disrespectful, impertinent...
The antagonism, which had previously been veiled, was right out in the open now.
Gabriel thought about pulling her close and kissing those lush lips into silence.
Shocked at his reaction, he told her coldly, ‘I was trained for my position from birth.’
The sound that emerged from her mouth couldn’t be classified as a laugh. It was more of a scoffing noise. ‘As was I,’ she said cryptically.
‘Really?’ Bullshit! ‘How is one trained from birth to run an international charity foundation?’
‘In a way someone born to your position would never relate to nor understand.’
Gabe bit back his retort as the door opened and Michael entered, wheeling a tea trolley. The assistant hesitated for a moment, probably noting the hostility in the atmosphere and wondering what he’d interrupted. Gabriel was renowned for his diplomacy, yet he stood glaring at this woman while she glared right back at him, neither of them acknowledging Michael.
No wonder his assistant was perplexed. It was even difficult for Gabriel to understand or accept that this official meeting had degenerated into a barbed, personal slanging match. In all his years as monarch, he’d never behaved with such lack of diplomacy.
India Hamilton brought out a side of him that he didn’t recognise. Why?
His conscience berated him. You know very well you despise her for making a fool of you at the ball and leaving you in favour of the sultan’s son. And you despise her because you’re still attracted to her. Even knowing she lied to you back then and she’s still lying to you, you’re attracted to her. Despite the crowd she socialises with, you still want her...
No! He couldn’t still want her. He simply wanted to expose her for who she was—an individual who had no business running his late sister’s charity. But even as he made the claim, he knew he was lying to himself. Physically, India Hamilton was everything a man could possibly desire.
Despite the haughty way she held her head and the fire shooting from her eyes, she was nervous. It showed in the way her long, elegant fingers fidgeted with the straps of her black briefcase.
The brilliant sparkle of a huge, solitaire diamond ring on the ring finger of her left hand flashed at him.
Inexplicably, his chest cramped.
A diamond.
A huge diamond.
A huge diamond, but no band of gold.
So the party-loving playgirl was engaged but still unmarried. The little tease must’ve found her pot of gold.
Why the hell does that matter? he asked himself. Your encounter with her was six years ago and all too brief. There are other more pressing issues here that require investigation. What does it matter if she’s engaged to be married?
It mattered.
It shouldn’t, but it did.
It mattered because she’d caused extreme turmoil in his life. In the brief hours they’d been together at the ball, she’d played with his emotions—made him believe she was something special; someone for whom it was worth abandoning all his principles of honour and getting to know in private.
Hell! He’d contemplated getting to know her and reneging on his betrothal to Angelique. Worse, he hadn’t even been able to put her out of his head when he’d uttered his vows and taken his wife to bed.
It also mattered because some other poor fool had obviously been taken in by her and had no idea she wasn’t what she seemed.
A muscle twitched in his cheek as he made a decision.
Never mind that she was engaged.
Never mind their encounter had been years ago.
India Hamilton needed to be taught a lesson and her true colours needed to be exposed.
The ultimate lesson would be to lure her with his wealth and position, enjoy a torrid affair with her, have her burn her bridges with her fiancé, then snatch the pot of gold away from her and leave her out in the cold—just as she’d left him.
If he got close to her, he could also find out what her motivation was behind her directorship of the Princess Eden Foundation. If there was the slightest hint of her misappropriating funds or mismanaging the charity, she’d find herself out of her position.
Was his plan honourable?
It was honourable to expose her to her fiancé if she was a gold-digger, he reasoned. Besides, he had a moral obligation to the Princess Eden Foundation to ensure it wasn’t being mismanaged.
Just for a moment, his conscience stung as he realised that the end result might be warranted, but the vengeful motivation wasn’t principled. As for having an affair with her—there was nothing admirable about the desire which slammed through him every time he looked at her.
Tension and uncertainty coiled in his gut.
This wasn’t how he behaved.
Honour was the very code he lived by and his plan wasn’t honourable. India Hamilton was a woman who was engaged to be married. There was a slight chance he was judging her on pieces of circumstantial evidence that didn’t paint the whole picture.
Possibly. But if she’s truly in love with her fiancé and not a gold-digger, she’ll never consider having an affair. If she can be swayed away from the man she’s consented to marry by a larger fortune and the possibility of a title, you’ll be doing her fiancé a favour.
And if she’s honest and has no hidden agenda in being Managing Director of the Princess Eden Foundation, she won’t have anything to fear.
Out of nowhere, a ruthlessness he’d never known raised its sharp blade and with one savage swipe, it struck and wounded his conscience, inciting him to indulge in a steamy affair with India and to take what he’d wanted six years ago.
His conscience lay bleeding. It stirred, pleading with him to forget his need for revenge. The glint of steel from the blade sliced again, cutting off the last remnants of his indecision. From what he knew of her, India Hamilton didn’t deserve his honour, and he would expose her true colours to the world.