Christmas in His Royal Bed / Rossellini's Revenge Affair: Christmas in His Royal Bed / Rossellini's Revenge Affair. Yvonne Lindsay
attacked, her reputation besmirched.
It served her right for ever getting involved with Blake Winters in the first place. She should have known the minute she met him that he would end up causing her nothing but trouble.
And now everyone in this room—everyone in Gabriel’s Crossing, the great state of Texas and possibly the entire United States of America—thought she was a home-wrecking adulteress.
That’s what the newspaper gossip columns were saying about her. Her picture, along with Blake’s and that of his wife and two children, had been plastered everywhere, with glaring, slanderous headlines.
Ignoring the stares and whispers she knew were aimed in her direction, Alandra held her head high and continued wending her way through the ballroom, acting as though nothing was wrong. As though her heart wasn’t racing, her face wasn’t flushed with humiliation and her palms weren’t damp with anxiety.
Nothing that had happened in the week since the story of her affair with Blake Winters broke had led her to believe the fund-raising dinner wouldn’t still be a complete success. None of the invited guests had cancelled, making excuses for why they couldn’t attend. No one from the hospital benevolence society had called to complain about the scandal she found herself suddenly embroiled in, or to voice concerns about her name being linked to the organization.
All of which led her to believe everything would be fine. That even though reporters were camped out on her front lawn, the rest of her life continued to run smoothly.
Now, though, she wasn’t so sure. Now, she thought perhaps every seat in the room was filled because the cream of central Texas high society wanted an up-close-and-personal glimpse of one of their own who had so recently fallen from grace.
She might as well have a scarlet letter pinned to her chest or a piece of spinach stuck in her teeth, for all the attention being focused on her every move.
The attention—even negative attention—she could handle. What concerned her more than the stares and whispers was the impact her newly sullied reputation might have on the amount of money collected this evening.
She’d worked so hard to put this event together, was so passionate about her philanthropy, giving of both her time and money to support the causes she felt most strongly about. And she had always been quite successful in convincing others to give to those causes, too.
Usually, by this point in the evening, she would already have collected a dozen extremely generous checks slipped to her by those in attendance, with more to follow at the end of the night. Tonight, however, her hands—and the hospital’s coffers—were still empty.
Because she’d had the misfortune of meeting Blake Winters at another fund-raiser last year, and hadn’t been wise enough to turn him away when he’d started asking her out, those who were most in need could very well end up going without.
The prospect broke her heart, and she pressed a hand to the snug satin stays sewn into the lining of her gown in an attempt to settle the nervous caterpillars squirming and wiggling in her belly.
She would act as though nothing was wrong, nothing was out of the ordinary—and pray like the dickens that the crowd got over their curiosity and remembered their true purpose for being here before the evening was over. Otherwise, she had a sneaking suspicion her personal bank account would be taking a hard hit when she attempted to single-handedly make up for what the children’s wing fund should have earned tonight. And probably would have, if not for her bad luck and some of the poor decisions she’d made recently.
Once she’d made her loop through the crowd to be sure every seat was filled, every guest served and everything was running as smoothly as possible, she returned to her own place at the front of the room, where a raised dais had been set up for the event’s organizers. She made small talk with the women on either side of her and choked down her meal, barely tasting a bite.
Next came a speech from the organization’s president, and a short ceremony where plaques were given to several members who had gone above and beyond in the past year. Even Alandra received one, for her continued dedication to raising money for the hospital.
Finally, the evening drew to an end, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She was now holding a few generous checks, and had received promises for more. Not as many as she’d collected in the past, and she had definitely noticed a distinct difference in the way people had treated her throughout the evening. But at least things were looking a bit brighter than they had when the night began.
She made a final round of the room, nodding farewells to guests as they exited the ballroom, and making sure no one left anything behind before the hotel staff started cleaning up.
Gathering her own small, beaded clutch and shawl from her seat, she found her mind racing ahead to what she needed to do the next day—thoughts that were interrupted when she heard a low, masculine voice call her name.
“Miss Sanchez?”
Turning, she found herself dwarfed by a wide-shouldered, dark-haired mountain of a man.
She swallowed once before pasting a smile on her face and tipping her head up, up, up to meet his gaze.
“Yes?”
“If you have a minute, my employer would like to speak with you.”
He inclined his head, drawing her attention to the back of the room, where a lone gentleman sat at one of the now-cleared round tables.
From what she could see at this distance, he was quite handsome.
He was also staring at her.
“Your employer?” she asked.
“Yes, miss.”
So much for gaining more information about who, exactly, the mountain’s employer was.
But if he had attended tonight’s dinner, then he was likely a current or potential donor, and she always had time to speak with a contributor. Especially one who could afford his own bodyguard, or CIA agent, or professional wrestler….
“Of course,” she said, maintaining her bright, upbeat demeanor.
Turning sideways, the giant gestured for her to move ahead of him, and then escorted her across the nearly empty room. Around them, dishes clinked and stacked chairs clattered as the kitchen and cleaning staff worked to disassemble what had taken all day to set up.
As she approached the man who wished to speak with her, he lifted a flute of champagne and took a long sip.
He wore a smartly tailored jacket of navy blue, cut quite differently than most of those she’d seen throughout the night. He definitely was not a local.
She also noticed that her earlier perception of him being “quite handsome” was a gross inaccuracy. He was movie-star gorgeous, with dark hair and startling blue eyes that seemed to bore into her like laser beams.
Holding out her hand, she introduced herself. “Hello, I’m Alandra Sanchez.”
“I know,” he replied, taking her hand and refusing to let it go as he tugged her gently forward. “Have a seat, won’t you, please.”
Letting her shawl fall lower on her bare back, she slid onto the chair beside him. “Your…employee said you wanted to speak to me.”
“Yes,” he replied slowly. “May I offer you a glass of champagne?”
She opened her mouth to refuse, but the hulk was already pouring and setting a glass in front of her.
“Thank you.”
Though they both had drinks now, and the evening’s event was clearly over, the man seated beside her still didn’t speak. The silence made Alandra shift uncomfortably, and caused gooseflesh to break out along her arms.
“What did you need to speak with me about, Mr.…” she finally pressed, careful to remain as polite as possible.
“You may call me Nicolas,” he