The Formidable King Read online

  Gabriel had married Princess Angelique only a few months after his passionate kisses with India at the masquerade ball.

  Had she not been warned about Zorro... Gabriel... India would have made a colossal mistake.

  Ignoring her accusation, he continued his attack. ‘Imagine how disturbing it is to find that the little tease I met six years ago is now the managing director of my sister’s foundation. Is it any wonder that I doubt the capabilities of a woman who’s part of a set of Londoners who get their thrills from drunken, drug-fuelled orgies?’

  Her stomach roiled as his allegations pounded her. India wished she could find the energy to stand to face him, but she felt like the life force had completely drained out of her. She summoned a heated glare as she said, ‘You’re very quick to jump to conclusions, but you have no idea what you’re talking about.’

  He raised his hand and pointed his finger at her in accusation. ‘I was there, India. I saw exactly what was going on.’

  ‘And so did I before I left.’ The glass slammed against the table as she set it down. ‘Tell me, King Gabriel, did you snort cocaine that night? Did you disappear into one of the side rooms with your friends and get your gear off publicly so you could join in the orgy?’

  ‘Of course not!’ His voice was full of outraged disgust.

  In imitation of his earlier gesture, she raised her right hand and pointed accusingly at him. ‘Then what the hell gives you the right to think that just because I was there, I was intent on engaging in those activities? You know damned well I wasn’t high or drunk.’

  ‘Not when you were with me. After you left me, where did you go?’

  ‘Home to bed.’

  ‘Alone or with Abdul?’

  ‘That’s none of your business!’ Frustrated fury swirled inside her. She moved closer to the edge of her chair and wished again that her legs had the strength to stand. ‘You’ve condemned me on pure supposition. How can a man in your position make such slanderous accusations without a shred of evidence to support your case?’

  Shutters closed over his face. Some of the anger seemed to seep out of him as he stared at her and appeared to digest her words, but he stubbornly refused to concede her point. ‘If you didn’t leave with Abdul, why didn’t you return to me?’ he demanded.

  On the point of hitting back at him and telling him the truth, some instinct held her back. The truth would only pump up his ego. If she told him she’d found out he was an engaged man who was just playing with her, it would be an admission that the knowledge was the only reason she hadn’t returned. He’d realise she’d found him so irresistible that she would’ve been his for the taking.

  What was to stop him from exploiting the knowledge?

  He’d recognise from their kiss just now that she still found him way too physically attractive to resist. For her own protection, wasn’t it better to pretend she’d been the one playing a game with him? That she’d bored of it and found it easy to walk away?

  ‘Answer me!’

  Domineering bastard.

  As tempting as it was to cast herself as the perpetrator, she wouldn’t allow him to be so superior and self-righteous. She couldn’t let him continue to believe she was shallow—not when she was the person in charge of his late sister’s charity. He couldn’t believe she wasn’t worthy of the position that meant the world to her. Besides, it was his behaviour that had been lacking and she’d be damned if she didn’t call him to account for it.

  Taking a deep breath, she finally got to her feet and looked him straight in the eye. ‘Fool that I was, I had every intention of coming back to you.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I found out you were engaged,’ she fired.

  Just for a second, his jaw slackened and he stepped backward as if he took the shot straight to the chest. ‘You just said you had no idea who I was. If that was so, you couldn’t have known I was engaged.’

  ‘I didn’t know who you were. Someone told me Zorro was engaged and warned me against becoming involved with you. Now I know it was you who wore the mask of Zorro, I know it was the truth.’ One hand reached back to grip the arm of the chair. ‘You have a nerve berating me for not returning and making out I stood you up for some other guy when all along you were a two-timing bast—’ She bit back on the word.

  He frowned. ‘A man or a woman?’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘Was it a man or a woman who told you I was engaged?’

  ‘Why does it matter? It was the truth.’

  ‘Answer me!’

  ‘A man.’ The scene replayed in her mind as clearly as if it had been yesterday. Her hold on the arm of the chair tightened. ‘A man in a musketeer costume.’

  The curse he uttered almost turned her ears red.

  She released her grip on the chair and held her hands in front of her. ‘I remember Eden telling me all about your wedding to Princess Angelique. Your marriage was only a couple of months after the masquerade ball. The musketeer told me the truth, didn’t he?’

  His head bowed and he at least had the conscience to look discomforted.

  As much as India would love to keep tearing strips off him for encouraging her at the ball—for behaving in a way that made her hope something special existed between them—there was no point. Gabriel de la Croix was the King of Santaliana—the exalted patron of the charity for which she worked, and the past had to be buried. A truce needed to be reached even if she’d never again be able to look at the foundation’s patron in the same light.

  ‘You completely misjudged me at the ball, Your Majesty. I have never been into one-night stands and wouldn’t have been happy to spend the night with you and then find out you were about to be married. And I was never part of that London social set,’ she told him earnestly.

  ‘You were there.’

  ‘So were you.’ He was so hypocritical! ‘I’d been invited along by an acquaintance—the granddaughter of my grandmother’s friend. My grandmother—who was a completely respectable woman and had no idea what the ball would be like—encouraged me to go, thinking it would be good for me to be out socialising.’

  ‘Good Lord!’

  ‘Exactly. She would’ve been horrified if she’d found out what was happening there.’

  ‘You act as though you were appalled, yet you stayed.’

  ‘How can you stand there and continue to apply your double standards?’ she raged. ‘You were there. Are you telling me you had no idea either just what the evening would be like when you accepted the invitation?’

  ‘I—’

  ‘You accuse me of being part of that crowd, but weren’t you?’

  ‘No. I—’

  She held up a hand for him to stop, because she had no intention of listening to his justifications for being there. He needed to hear her out. ‘You stayed. I was about to leave when I ran into you. In my very poor judgement, I decided I wanted to stay in order to get to know you.’ She let out a long breath and shook her head. ‘I don’t know why I’m bothering to explain myself. It was years ago. Despite what you think, I’m not part of a disreputable crowd and I’m extremely committed to the work I do at the foundation. I won’t apologise for not returning to you that night, nor should you expect me to now you know the truth of why I didn’t. In fact, I believe you’re the one who should apologise to me for your behaviour—for your deceit then and your unwarranted hostility now.’

  In the moments after she finished her outburst, the ticking of the clock on his wall was horrendously loud. Looking at him, it was obvious he grappled with all she’d told him and seemed to weigh it all to decide how to proceed. When he did speak, he reminded her of a barrister cross-examining a witness.

  ‘I concede that it’s possible you were no more part of that social set than I.’

  ‘How big of you.’ She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice while she called him all manner of objectionable things in her mind. Her hands curled into such tight fists her wrists began to ache.

 
The apology she wanted wasn’t forthcoming.

  ‘You admit you were attracted to me at the ball, and would’ve agreed to stay the night with me had you not realised I was engaged?’ he demanded.

  ‘Well there’s no point in denying it, is there?’ she replied testily when she’d managed to loosen her clenched teeth. ‘I’ve already admitted as much. But—’

  ‘And you maintain you didn’t leave with Abdul?’

  ‘That makes no difference to your behaviour, but no I did not leave with anyone—not even the girl I arrived with.’

  ‘The same person who told you I was engaged also told me about you and Abdul.’ And he didn’t sound impressed about it either.

  This conversation was pointless. They had to move past that night.

  ‘King Gabriel. I’m sorry you’ve misjudged me on the basis of having met me at a function where, it seems, we were both out of place. I hope we can move forward and put this behind us as we work together for the foundation.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can put it behind me.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘You didn’t recognise me today until we kissed.’

  ‘Well, that’s not surprising. Nobody else has...’ Oh, Dear Lord! She stopped herself just before she made a fatal admission.

  ‘Go on.’

  India inspected the intricate pattern on the rich red carpet of his office while she felt her face flame. ‘It’s irrelevant.’

  ‘Unless you remember every man you’ve met merely on the basis of shared kisses, it’s very relevant. It implies that the kisses we’ve shared are extremely memorable.’

  Given she hadn’t much experience with kisses, it wasn’t difficult to credit that she could kiss each man again blindfolded and be able to identify him. The first had pressed wet, sloppy kisses to her lips. The second had been pleasant, but didn’t even rate against the mind-numbing mastery of the monarch’s mouth. The third... A shudder ran through her body and once again she had to command herself to breathe as memories of the foul combination of garlic and alcohol weighed down on her... of the weight of his body... of one hand pressing over her mouth and the other grabbing her breast as she’d tried desperately to fight him off. The sharp sting of the knife’s blade...

  Drawing on every calming technique she’d learnt from her sessions with her therapist, she forced herself to dispel the horrific memories.

  The thing was, her dreadful ordeal at the hands of another man had made her keen to embrace her responsiveness in Zorro’s arms. Zorro’s kisses hadn’t just been as legendary as his character, they’d been cause for celebration because she’d never thought to feel that way with any man. She’d been so happy to be able to relax in his arms, and be able to respond to him as a woman should respond to a man, that she’d been all too willing to throw caution to the wind and see where the evening led.

  ‘You fell into our kiss like you were severely dehydrated and I was water, India. Don’t bother pretending you’re not attracted to me.’

  His kiss... As much as part of her wanted to forget it, there was another part of her that needed to remember it in order to drive out the unpleasant memories of her attacker.

  King Gabriel—or Zorro, as she’d thought of him for the last six years—had been only the fourth man to kiss her. Since his lips had claimed hers—even having discovered he’d been an engaged man—she’d held the memory of those kisses in a special place in her mind.

  ‘After all this time, you’re still attracted to me,’ he insisted.

  ‘You’re unbelievable!’ All the tortured memories of her helplessness at another man’s hands transformed into anger, which she directed at the man who stood opposite her. It incensed her to know that despite the hostile, arrogant attitude the king had displayed towards her since she’d arrived at their meeting, she still responded to his aura of leashed sensuality.

  What sort of masochistic tendencies had been lying dormant that he’d managed to awaken?

  ‘You accused me of playing with you that night, but it was the complete opposite. You were an engaged man and should never have been kissing me and inviting me back to your hotel suite. Are you even going to apologise for leading me on that night?’

  The whole thing was completely ridiculous. This man was not only openly playing with her, he was a king and remained as unreachable as the stars. What was his motivation for dredging all this up? Did he need to feed his ego or was he hoping to tempt her into an affair now?

  ‘Had you left with me that evening, I would’ve told you about my betrothal before things progressed any further between us.’ He turned his hands palms upward in an apologetic gesture. ‘My marriage was a royal obligation.’

  A royal obligation. Eden had told her as much. ‘So you thought I’d be amenable to a little fling before you settled down to your obligation?’

  ‘I—’

  She put her hand up to stop him. ‘Forget it. I don’t want to know and I don’t care. It’s ancient history. All you need to know is that you misjudged me that night on multiple levels and I would never have left with you knowing you were engaged.’ Her hands clasped together in front of her in a pleading gesture. ‘Can we please put it behind us and get on with the business of the foundation?’

  ‘But it isn’t something we can put behind us, is it? Whether we like it or not,’ he continued, ‘there’s still a mutual attraction smouldering between us and it’s too strong to ignore. Given that we’re going to be thrown together through our involvement in the foundation, we need to deal with this.’

  ‘Are you saying...?’ What exactly was he saying?

  ‘I still find you attractive, India. It’s an attraction I can’t dismiss easily—an attraction I want to explore.’

  ‘But you’re a king!’

  ‘A king has no fewer desires than any other man alive.’

  Oh shit! This couldn’t happen. ‘No. We can’t. We have to agree to keep this strictly business.’

  ‘Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t take this further.’ He moved closer.

  ‘This is crazy.’ But the one reason she could name would probably sound even crazier to him. ‘I can’t believe you’re even suggesting it.’ She took a step away from him.

  ‘Interesting, India.’ He reached out, took her left hand in his and looked pointedly at the huge diamond solitaire, which sparkled on her ring finger. ‘I thought at this point you might cite your engagement as a reason why we shouldn’t pursue any personal involvement. It seems your fiancé doesn’t rate very highly in your thoughts.’

  Oh shit! She hadn’t even spared Jeremy a thought.

  She snatched her hand out of the king’s. She only just managed to stop herself from acting on the guilty urge to tuck it behind her back to hide the engagement ring Jeremy had insisted she wear. Damn! Ever since she’d put that ring on, she’d been worried that, like any lie, this whole fake engagement was going to backfire in spectacular fashion. The longer it’d continued, the riskier it’d become. But she hadn’t realised her own behaviour would incriminate her.

  King Gabriel arched one eyebrow and sent her a mocking, sorrowful look. ‘Your poor fiancé. Will you tell him about this, I wonder?’

  Instead of defending herself, she went on attack. ‘You hypocrite. You kissed me, and proposed we leave together when you were engaged. I pity the woman who became your wife.’ Although, from what Eden had mentioned, Angelique had been no saint. ‘Did she have any idea you were unfaithful to her?’

  His bronzed skin paled. ‘I was never unfaithful.’

  ‘I think we can agree to disagree on the definition of being unfaithful.’

  ‘If a few kisses constitutes being unfaithful, then you’ve been just as unfaithful to your fiancé.’

  ‘No. I didn’t go out of my way to hook up with someone for the night. I may have responded to your kisses again just now, but that was only because you caught me completely unawares, and I’m certainly not entertaining the idea of spending the night with you.’ Oh! He had such a n
erve.

  He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You’re claiming to have responded so fervently to my kisses because you weren’t expecting to be kissed?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Let’s put it to the test.’ His voice was deep, seductive honey. ‘I’ll kiss you again, but this time you’ll know I’m going to kiss you, India. Let’s see how you respond.’

  She swallowed hard. Her voice emerged as a hoarse croak. ‘Don’t!’

  His harsh, mocking laugh told her he knew she’d melt against him all over again the second he took her into his arms. Thankfully, some shred of sanity prevailed and he stepped away.

  Relief whooshed through her at her sudden increased personal space.

  ‘When’s the wedding?’

  ‘I...’ Oh God! ‘We haven’t set a date.’

  ‘So he’s in no hurry to marry you?’

  ‘No.’ Hell! ‘I mean... We’re both busy right now.’ She mentally crossed her fingers for the lie she was about to tell. ‘As soon as things settle down we’ll plan the wedding.’

  ‘No firm date.’ He nodded. ‘That’s good.’ His gaze was unwavering as he asked, ‘Will your fiancé object to you travelling to Africa with me?’

  Jeremy wouldn’t, but his father, the Earl of Picksbury, might. The earl had been increasing his demands to have her seen at Jeremy’s side to make their fake engagement more convincing.

  What was she thinking? Any objections from Jeremy’s father were irrelevant. Wild horses couldn’t drag her to Africa without Gabriel de la Croix, let alone accompanied by him. ‘I’m not going to the village with you and that’s final.’

  ‘You tell me you’re not put off by the lack of luxury accommodation, so what’s putting you off? Are you afraid of this sensual awareness that’s so tangible between us? Afraid of where it will lead you if you’re with me for a week, far away from your fiancé?’

  God damn it! Although she quite possibly should be worried about a week in close proximity with him in the wilds, it was a long way down her list of reasons for not wanting to travel to Africa.