Chapter Eight
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘Madam, may we come in? His Majesty sent us.’
There was a sharp rap on the door to Annalena’s suite but before she could reach it, the door opened.
She met a familiar, assessing gaze. It was less dismissive today yet she couldn’t see anything akin to respect there. It was the woman who, a bare couple of days before, had tried to evict her from the palace. The woman who hadn’t passed on the news that Annalena was waiting to see the King.
Unless Benedikt was lying and he’d known she was there all along.
It was profitless to ponder that now. In time she’d uncover the truth, when she had more than instinct to guide her. The man’s actions would speak for his character.
‘Madam?’ From the threshold, impatience coloured the woman’s tone. As if she had every right to intrude without invitation.
Annalena spoke into her phone. ‘I’m sorry. The people I was expecting have arrived early. I’ll call back later.’
She ended the call and walked to the door, rather than call across the vast room.
Her visitor looked sleek and self-important, again in a tightly tailored skirt and jacket, another silk shirt and high heels. Making Annalena aware of her jeans and casual shirt.
‘You have the advantage of me. Clearly you know who I am but I don’t know who you are.’
It was time someone taught the woman manners.
Annalena saw her eyes widen then narrow speculatively, and wondered at her attitude. Was she such a favourite she thought she could get by without common courtesy?
She was beautiful with her dark eyes and striking bone structure.
Was she a favourite of Benedikt’s? Could that explain her arrogance?
Annalena tasted bitterness on her tongue.
No, he might be manipulative but surely he wasn’t crass enough to make her deal with his mistress.
‘Ida Becker, madam. I work for His Majesty.’
Did Annalena imagine the woman’s taut expression softened as she mentioned him? She swung her gaze beyond her visitor’s shoulder. ‘Please come in.’
Annalena positioned herself beside the door, greeting the dress designer and her staff who followed, wheeling in rack after tall rack of gowns.
The sight of them filled her with dread. In only a few days she’d attend her first royal ball. At which time her engagement would be proclaimed.
After that there’d be no escape.
She could hear her Oma’s voice in her head, talking about duty.
Her stomach churned, nausea stirring, until she sensed all eyes on her and turned, a serene mask firmly in place.
For the next fifteen minutes the discussion was all about the ball, Annalena’s colouring and dress styles. She found herself saying less and less, which didn’t seem to matter as everyone else had opinions.
The fact was she didn’t know anything about formal ball gowns.
Technically she might be a princess and, yes, Oma had insisted she learn to dance gracefully, but she’d never been to a ball.
The glamorous events her grandparents hosted had ended with the death of their only child.
As for attending regal events in the capital, the family had avoided them from that date.
Annalena knew how to dress well for conferences and civic events in what she thought of as business formal. Or wear traditional clothes for festivals. But a full-length ball gown? She’d never needed one.
For the first time she wished she’d spent less time researching botany and a little time pondering fashion. Could she pull this off and not look like the country bumpkin she suddenly felt? How many would be waiting, after Benedikt made his announcement, to see her fail?
‘How about something like this?’
Ida Becker held out a long dress’s voluminous skirt that seemed to consist of puffy tulle flowers. Annalena thought instantly of an oversized meringue. Worse, while some yellows worked for her, others, like this, would make her look jaundiced.
Annalena surveyed the woman’s blank expression. Did Ida have no eye for colour, or was she trying to sabotage her?
If so, why? Once more, Benedikt’s name came to mind.
Before Annalena could object to the dress, the designer did. She shook her head emphatically and requested that Ms Becker stop fingering the delicate fabric, so crisply that Annalena had to stifle a smile.
Then the woman turned to her. ‘Now, madam, if you’ll permit, we need to take your measurements. If you wouldn’t mind stripping to your underwear.’
Four sets of eyes scrutinised her and she felt a flicker of nerves. The last time she’d undressed before a stranger was when her grandmother had insisted she be fitted for her first bra, an experience she’d never wanted to repeat.
Annalena rose and reached for her shirt’s top button. ‘Thank you, Ms Becker, that will be all.’
‘But—’
‘I’ll call if you’re needed.’
By the time she’d finished unbuttoning, Ida had left, the door closing hard behind her.
‘Sensible decision,’ the designer said. ‘She obviously has no idea what suits you. Why she thought she could add anything useful I don’t know.’ She clicked her fingers and one of the assistants scurried forward with a tape measure. ‘Now, let’s begin.’
‘Hello?’
Her voice wasn’t as Benedikt had ever heard it. He was used to clipped words and a shadow of suspicion. But her voice was mellow, with a warm, husky edge that made the flesh at his nape tighten and his groin stir.
He frowned. ‘Annalena? Where are you?’
His staff had assured him she hadn’t left her rooms, but he’d tried the landline several times already, finally resorting to her mobile phone.
‘Where do you think, since you sent a stream of visitors to keep me out of mischief?’
She didn’t sound quite so languid now, but there was still something about her tone…
‘So you admit you’re a mischief-maker?’
To his surprise that elicited a gurgle of laughter, rich and velvety. He shifted in his office chair on the far side of the palace, horrified at how her casual laugh went straight to his gonads.
‘If only you knew. I was always the good girl. Serious, studious.’
Benedikt’s imagination took the idea and ran with it.
Instead of a dirndl or jeans and T-shirt, his mind supplied a fitted pencil skirt, high-collared shirt and heels. Her green eyes surveyed him over clear glasses with an invitation at odds with her buttoned-up clothes. And she was pouting, her plush mouth pure invitation.
She looked like an incredibly alluring librarian. He could imagine her descending a tall library ladder, book in hand, the tight fit of her skirt lovingly outlining her backside and slender legs. His fingers twitched as if to reach for her.
Benedikt cleared his throat. Since when did he have librarian fantasies?
Not librarian fantasies. Fantasies about Annalena. Remember last night’s dreams?
He adjusted his trousers where they’d grown tight.
She spoke again, saving him from the need to reply. ‘My grandmother demanded good behaviour. I had to be a role model.’
Benedikt rubbed his jaw and sank back in his chair. ‘I know how that feels.’
Even if he baulked at sharing real power, his father had been adamant Benedikt be the perfect crown prince because that reflected on him.
‘You too? Did you ever rebel?’
‘All the time. But not in public.’
From the moment he could choose for himself he’d spent most of his time outside Prinzenberg, returning only when necessary.
It had made his father furious but he’d put up with it when he’d realised Benedikt’s growing business acumen led to sizeable profits.
Profits he’d hoped to redirect to his own coffers.
‘And you? Were you serious and studious all the time?’
Her next breath held a hint of another chuckle and Benedikt felt his skin heat. ‘I might, occasionally , have let my hair down.’
For a man who considered himself pragmatic and achievement-orientated his imagination was suddenly working overtime.
Now it supplied a tantalising image of Annalena with her gleaming hair loose across her breasts.
She leant back against heaped pillows, her only garment a lace negligée that revealed more than it concealed of her body.
He was kneeling above her, lowering himself…
‘How?’ he croaked. ‘How did you let your hair down?’
‘The usual. Sneaking down to the local festival late at night, hanging out with other teenagers, tasting the local beer.’
‘Just as well your grandmother didn’t find out.’
She had the reputation of being a tartar.
‘Oh, she knew. She told me later she was pleased to see I had the spirit and ingenuity to sneak out to be with my friends. She might be a stickler for duty and protocol but she’s no snob. She believes in the value of individuals, no matter what their supposed social status.’
He digested that. There was more to the old lady than he’d thought. Just like her granddaughter.
‘That’s where our families differ. My father wanted me to spend my time only with important people. Ones who could be of value to him in future. He wasn’t what you call a man of the people.’
Benedikt spun his office chair to face the window, taking in the nightscape of the capital’s lights.
‘That doesn’t sound like much fun.’
He frowned. Was that a trace of pity he heard?
‘Don’t worry, you weren’t the only one to sneak out and enjoy themselves.’
Though in his case he hadn’t just sat around, drinking beer.
He’d developed a taste for fast cars and hot women early.
At one stage he’d also sought to deaden the emptiness of his personal life at the roulette wheel, before he realised how pointless that was.
After that, and with his grandfather’s encouragement, he’d sought his thrills in the business sphere and occasional rock climbing.
As for women, he’d become much more discriminating, while avoiding serious relationships.
‘Why did you call, Benedikt?’
‘I thought we’d eat together. Discuss how you got on today. But I’m told you requested a meal on a tray. Are you all right?’
‘Perfectly fine, thanks. But I want a quiet night. I assumed we’d talk tomorrow.’
He should be pleased. That gave him the evening free to work.
Strangely though, he felt…let down. Had he been looking forward to sharing a meal with her?
No, it was merely that he’d planned to discuss some of the many things they needed to cover before the coronation.
‘You’re exhausted from trying on dresses?’
He heard what sounded strangely like a splash then she spoke, not quite so relaxed now.
‘You should try it some time. It takes hours . It’s easier for men.
Once they have your measurements, making formal clothes is pretty standard.
But for women there are so many variables, not only colour and style but how you stand and carry yourself.
And that’s just one dress. Your Ms Becker said you’d given orders for a whole new wardrobe. ’
Annalena’s voice was suddenly razor-sharp.
Because he wanted her to look like a queen? What was wrong with that?
‘It’s necessary. From the night of the ball you’ll be in the public eye. You’ll need to look the part, not only when our engagement photos are taken and at the coronation.’
‘I understand that and I’ve agreed on a dress for the ball and a couple of others. But I prefer not to use just one designer. I’ll organise the rest myself, including the wedding dress.’
It was better to patronise a variety of makers yet Benedikt hesitated. Annalena had admitted she wasn’t used to the royal court and what he’d seen of her wardrobe…
‘My team can provide a list of designers. Your dress for the wedding and our coronation needs to be spectacular.’
He heard an impatient huff. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not going to sabotage the day by wearing something that lets us both down. I’ve already contacted a designer in Edelforst.’
Edelforst! The province was best known for agriculture and traditional handcrafts. It was beginning to make a name in medical research and robotics, but not, as far as he knew, women’s fashion.
He had a momentary picture of her arriving at the grand cathedral in a dirndl and apron.
‘I—’
‘This isn’t negotiable, Benedikt. If I have to go through with this marriage, I’ll at least wear something designed and made in my home province.’
He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to relinquish the need to keep control of every important detail.
Just because she chooses tradition and comfort over glamour it doesn’t mean she doesn’t know how to dress for the occasion.
This was a test. If they were going to marry, a level of trust was needed.
Unfortunate that the real legacy he’d got from his father was to trust sparingly. There’d been his mother and grandfather and now Matthias. He could count those he’d ever trusted completely on the fingers of one hand.
His father had mercilessly used any weakness to coerce others into doing his bidding, or to hurt them just because he could. No one had been spared, especially not his wife and son. Karl had only been interested in people for what he could take from them.
Annalena wasn’t like that. Given the chance, she’d run from him and this marriage. Her honesty about that was strangely reassuring.
‘As long as they can guarantee finishing in time.’
‘Don’t worry, the design’s already sorted and she’s calling in favours to get the hand-stitching done in time.’
Hand stitching. That sounded disturbingly amateur. But what did he know about dressmaking? All that mattered was that they married.
‘Right.’ He swivelled to face the desk and the work waiting for him. ‘I’m glad you’re okay. But we’ve got a lot to discuss. I’ll meet you at eight tomorrow in my office.’
‘I’ll be there. I—’ There was a clatter as if she’d dropped the phone.
‘Annalena?’
‘Sorry, I was reaching for my glass of wine and almost dropped the phone in the bath.’
She was drinking wine in the bath while he was sitting here facing a load of paperwork? Negotiating over her official wardrobe while lolling, naked…?
‘Benedikt? Are you there?’
He scrubbed a hand around his neck. ‘Yes, still here. But I have to go. I’ll see you at eight.’
He ended the call before she could say more. What she’d already said was enough.
A ragged laugh escaped.
The woman had surely been sent to test his limits, as a king and an all too fallible man.
Forget librarian fantasies. In the far wing of the palace, Annalena reclined in a bath, naked, drinking wine. He could be there in minutes. He wanted to be there.
Except when they became intimate it would be on his terms, after they’d signed a marriage contract. After he’d got what he wanted: both the throne and therefore the country safe.
He gritted his teeth, opening the detailed reports on the dam. The print blurred because his unruly imagination kept relaying images of a naked, glistening Annalena.
It was going to be a long, hard evening.