His Majesty's Mistake. Jane Porter
“There are paparazzi everywhere. Please get into the car.”
It was only then that Emmeline realized camera flashes were popping right and left. Not because of her—but because Sheikh Al-Koury was one of the world’s most powerful men.
He smiled at her, firm lips quirking as if he was amused, and yet she knew he couldn’t be—not when his silver gaze glittered like frost. “It wasn’t a request. I’m not negotiating. Get in the car.”
Clinging to the last shred of her dignity, she lifted her chin, moved past the paparazzi, and stepped gracefully into the car, her turquoise satin dress swishing across the leather as she slid across the seat to the far side.
Emmeline sucked in a breath of silent protest as Makin settled next to her, far too close. She waited until the driver had pulled from the curb to give the name of her hotel. “I’m staying at The Breakers,” she said, hands compulsively smoothing the creases marring the satin of her skirt. “You can drop me off there.”
Sheikh Al-Koury didn’t even glance at her. “I won’t be dropping you anywhere. We’re heading to the airport. I’ll have the hotel pack up your things and send them to the airport to meet our plane.”
For a moment she couldn’t speak. “Plane?”
“We’re going to Kadar.”
A ROYAL SCANDAL
When blue blood runs hot …
Separated at birth, twin sisters Hannah and Emmeline
had very different up-bringings: Hannah was
raised in a small town in Texas, while Emmeline
took her rightful place as a princess, enjoying
a life of unequalled privilege.
Reunited years later, the identical sisters
cause the scandal of the century by swapping places
and posing as each other.
But now their paths have crossed with
two powerful rulers—and their
princess-and-pauper charade is about to be exposed …
In December 2010 you read Hannah’s story in NOT FIT FOR A KING?
This month read Princess Emmeline’s story in HIS MAJESTY’S MISTAKE
About the Author
JANE PORTER grew up on a diet of Mills & Boon® romances, reading late at night under the covers so her mother wouldn’t see! She wrote her first book at age eight, and spent many of her high school and college years living abroad, immersing herself in other cultures and continuing to read voraciously. Now Jane splits her time between rugged Seattle, Washington, and the beautiful beaches of Hawaii, with her sexy surfer and three very active sons. Jane loves to hear from her readers. You can write to her at PO Box 524, Bellevue, WA 98009, USA. Or visit her website at www.janeporter.com
Recent titles by the same author:
NOT FIT FOR A KING?
(A Royal Scandal) A DARK SICILIAN SECRET ONE CHRISTMAS NIGHT IN VENICE (short story)
Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
His Majesty’s
Mistake
Jane Porter
CHAPTER ONE
ALEJANDRO had to be here.
Had to be.
Because if he wasn’t at Mynt Lounge, South Beach’s trendiest nightclub, he wasn’t in South Beach any longer. She’d checked the other clubs first and she knew Alejandro. He only did cool. He only did chic. It was Mynt Lounge or nothing. And it had to be here because she had to see him.
Ignoring the dozens of young American women queuing outside in stiletto heels and skirts so short they barely covered their assets, Princess Emmeline d’Arcy of Brabant stepped from her cab onto the curb and tucked a long gleaming strand of hair behind her ear. She would make Alejandro listen to reason. She’d make him see her position and surely he’d change his mind once he understood what was at stake.
Her name.
Her reputation.
And even more importantly, the future and security of their child.
Her stomach rose in protest and she willed the nausea to pass. She wouldn’t get sick here, not when everything was riding on the next five minutes.
Air bottled in her lungs, shoulders squared, Princess Emmeline d’Arcy of the European commonwealth Brabant headed straight for the entrance, bypassing the line that snaked around the building and down the side street.
Alejandro would honor the promise he’d made her. He’d be a man and keep his word. He had to.
As Emmeline approached the front door, the club bouncer dropped the red velvet rope for her, giving her instant admission into the exclusive club. He didn’t know Emmeline personally. He had no idea she was a European royal. But it was clear to everyone present that she was someone important. A VIP. And Mynt Lounge was all about celebrities, models and VIPs. It had, reputedly, the tightest door policy in all of South Beach.
Inside the darkened club, giant stars and metallic balls hung from the ceiling as futuristic go-go girls danced on the bar in nonexistent costumes and white thigh-high boots. A wall of purple lights flashed behind the DJ and other lights shifted, painting the writhing crowd on the dance floor purple, white and gold, leaving corners shadowy.
The princess paused, her long black lashes dropping as she scanned the interior looking for Alejandro, praying he’d be here. Praying he hadn’t left South Beach yet for tomorrow’s polo tournament in Greenwich. His horses had already gone, but he usually followed later.
A cocktail waitress approached and Emmeline shook her head. She wasn’t here to party. She was here to make sure Alejandro did the right thing. He’d made love to her. She’d gotten pregnant. He’d vowed to take care of her. And now he’d better do it.
She wanted a ring, a wedding date and legitimacy for their unborn child.
He owed that much to her.
It had never been her plan to leave Europe, but she’d learned to love Alejandro’s Argentina. They could live outside Buenos Aires on his estancia and have babies and raise horses.
It was a different future than the one her family had planned for her. She was to have been Queen of Raguva, married to King Zale Patek, and her family would be upset. For one thing, Alejandro wasn’t a member of the aristocracy, and for another, he had a bit of a reputation, but once they were married, surely her mother and father would accept him. Alejandro was wealthy. He could provide for them. And she believed in her heart that he would provide, once he understood she had nowhere to go, no other options. European princesses didn’t become single mothers.
While she’d never wanted to marry King Zale Patek, she did respect him. She couldn’t say the same for Alejandro, and she’d slept with him.
Stupid. Stupid to sleep with someone you didn’t love, hoping that maybe he did love you, and would want you and protect you … rescue you … as if you were Rapunzel locked high in the ivory tower.
Emmeline