The Formidable King Read online

  ‘Eden was so certain you were an honourable man. I’m sure now you realise I’m an engaged woman, you won’t entertain any thoughts of kissing me again.’

  ‘Hm.’ It was a thoughtful sound, but not one that convinced her he agreed. ‘You tell me you’re extremely committed to the foundation—that you thought of my sister as an inspiration, and were her friend, yet you won’t accompany me on a project that would’ve meant the world to her?’

  Damn him! She had her reasons. Good reasons.

  ‘I wonder what explanation you’ll give the board.’ Tone casual, he wandered over to the jewelled globe and traced his hand idly over it before setting it into a spinning motion. ‘I wonder how the board members will view your lack of willingness to support this project in person? I imagine they’ll be confused. They may even be displeased—’ He stopped looking at the globe and fixed her with a look of undisguised challenge, ‘—particularly when I write to them and tell them how disappointed I am that the head of the foundation refuses to accompany me.’

  Every word he uttered had the same effect as if he’d used a blunt spoon to scoop out her insides. Now her chest was hollow. ‘Please don’t!’

  Oh God, he had no idea what was at stake here.

  ‘A letter from me and someone might even be persuaded to question the sincerity of your commitment and move a no confidence motion regarding your directorship.’

  ‘You wouldn’t!’ she pleaded breathily.

  He shrugged. ‘I might.’

  ‘That’s blackmail!’ In that second, she hated King Gabriel even more than she’d hated him as Zorro when she’d found out he was engaged. Hated him with an intensity that made her want to launch herself at him and hit him hard.

  ‘Don’t look at this as blackmail,’ he said smoothly. ‘I’d prefer you see this trip to Africa as proof of your commitment.’

  Her commitment to what—the foundation or to her relationship with her fake fiancé?

  Somehow she had to reason with Eden’s brother and divert him from this course of action. ‘Eden loved you—hero-worshipped you. If she could witness this conversation she’d be appalled.’

  ‘She’d be appalled to think you don’t care enough to make this trip.’

  Tension hardened her spine until she felt like every vertebra had been cemented into place. ‘Please don’t force me to go to Africa with you.’

  ‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t?’

  Tell him, her inner voice urged. Tell him why you’re so set against this trip.

  But she didn’t want to divulge any of her past to Gabriel de la Croix. She had the distinct impression that anything she said could and would be used against her.

  ‘Prove to me, India, that you’re worthy of representing Eden’s charity. Prove you’re prepared to forgo all the luxuries you’ve been used to with your privileged upbringing. Show me you’re prepared to relate to the people you’re working for in person rather than being removed from their plight. It’s easy to pay lip service to their situation while you sit comfortably in London behind a desk, planning gala fundraisers for the wealthy to attend and calculating just how many trays of oysters and bottles of Dom Pérignon you should order. All the fundraising will be much more meaningful if you have a deeper, firsthand experience of why you’re doing what you do.’

  Oh—my—God. She sucked in a huge breath in indignation. If she had a bottle of Dom Pérignon right now, she’d crack it against his skull and to hell with the waste!

  If he knew just how downright stupid and unfair his words were, she hoped he’d have the grace to be embarrassed.

  In that second, the need for him to know he’d misjudged her overwhelmed common sense. Everything in her wanted to show him she was totally worthy of her position at the foundation.

  ‘It’s just seven days, India,’ he said silkily.

  Seven days.

  Could she do it? Surely she’d be safe if she travelled with the king?

  Part of her would love to go and visit the village and see the new school and hospital—especially since it’d been her idea for Princess Eden to adopt this particular village. And if she didn’t go, how would that affect her position as managing director?

  Despite what King Gabriel thought of her, she was entirely committed to her work at the Princess Eden Foundation and all the wonderful things the organisation achieved. She couldn’t think of any other way she’d rather spend her life than working through the foundation to help others who were less fortunate.

  Her gaze locked with his blue eyes, and her chin jutted forward. ‘If I agree, do you guarantee that I’ll be with you the entire time?’

  The smile that appeared on his face was tinged with triumph. ‘You admit you want to be with me?’

  Hardly. ‘Don’t flatter yourself. I only want to ensure that as a member of your group, I’ll have security that is just as tight.’

  Will you be safe, though? Logic questioned. You’ll be with Gabriel de la Croix.

  He frowned. ‘You’re worried about visiting this village? My security team haven’t shown any particular concern.’

  ‘It’s Africa, Your Majesty. We’re not going to a village in Santaliana for a high tea.’

  ‘I can guarantee you’ll be as well protected as I am.’

  Closing her eyes, she inhaled deeply. A kaleidoscope of emotions swirled through her. Gritting her teeth together, she summoned determination—called for any shred of courage she still possessed to rise to the fore.

  This wasn’t just a matter of proving him wrong.

  Didn’t she owe it to herself to face her fears?

  One week. To Misanti and back with the king and his security team.

  ‘Fine.’ She exhaled the word. ‘I’ll come to Misanti with you.’

  One day she’d make King Gabriel apologise for his threats to her position and make him realise she was entirely well qualified for her role. She’d enjoy watching him grovel for her forgiveness and she’d lash him with her disdain for his arrogant and unjust assumptions.

  But even as she made the vow, her heart rate quickened.

  Holy shit!

  She’d just agreed to travel right into the centre of her worst nightmare.

  Chapter 3

  ‘Miss India Hamilton and Viscount Jeremy Artarmon.’

  Having been on edge for the last ten minutes as he’d waited for this announcement, Gabriel looked up from his place in the receiving line.

  India.

  The breath rushed out of his lungs and he stood transfixed.

  She was a vision of ethereal beauty, sheathed in a deep purple halter-neck ball dress that outlined every delectable curve of her body, and made his mouth dry. It took considerable effort to look away from her to the man at her side, but curiosity won.

  An inch or two shorter than India, the viscount was not a remarkable-looking man. His blond hair was pulled back into a short ponytail. He wore dark-framed glasses and had a weak chin. Slight of frame, it looked as though it wouldn’t take more than a puff of wind to blow him away. No. Not particularly good looking by any stretch of the imagination.

  With weary cynicism, Gabe decided it must be Artarmon’s wealth and title that attracted India.

  ‘It’s such an honour to be part of the celebrations, Your Majesty,’ said the elderly woman who stood in front of him in the receiving line.

  He tore his attention away from India and her fiancé and searched his memory for this guest’s name. Countess somebody-or-other...

  A lifetime of training enabled him to form an appropriate comment to the countess, before she moved on to greet his brother, Devereaux, and Dev’s fiancée, Mackenzie.

  Gabriel had to endure at least another dozen, tedious greetings before India was finally curtseying in front of him. Many times he’d been bored at these official functions, but right now he downright resented the formality of the occasion when everything in him wanted to whisk her away somewhere private and make her explain what she saw in Artarmon.

/>   ‘You’re a vision of loveliness, Miss Hamilton,’ he said as he took her hand.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ she said with a slight, almost regal inclination of her head, ‘the ballroom is beautiful. Everything looks fabulous.’

  ‘Thanks to your planning.’ Indeed, he’d never seen the palace’s ballroom look quite so spectacular. Tens of thousands of fairy lights twinkled throughout the room, each a representation of the lives the Princess Eden Foundation had touched during its ten years.

  The man next to India cleared his throat.

  ‘Allow me to introduce my fiancé, Viscount Jeremy Artarmon,’ she said as a blush stole through her cheeks.

  ‘Your Majesty, it’s a great pleasure to meet you.’

  Dear Lord! His voice was a nasal whine—a complete assault to the eardrums. How could she bear to listen to it?

  ‘Artarmon,’ he uttered the surname thoughtfully. ‘Are you related to George Artarmon, the Earl of Picksbury?’

  ‘The earl is my father.’

  ‘I’ve had the pleasure of meeting your parents on several occasions.’ Gabe had always warmed to the elderly couple. He remembered now that they’d become parents quite late in life and had spoken glowingly about their only child—Jeremy. ‘Your father has a tremendous ability to engage everyone around him with his humorous stories, and your mother is the epitome of a gracious lady. Please pass on my regards to them.’

  A pained shadow crossed Artarmon’s face. ‘Thank you, I will.’

  ‘Santaliana’s so busy with all the crews from the yacht race and with the influx of tourists who came to watch the last race,’ India put in quickly. ‘The city’s buzzing tonight.’

  Gabe looked back to India. Why had she changed the subject so quickly? Was something amiss between her fiancé and his parents? He shelved the thought and replied, ‘There are also a lot of photographers here trying to get pictures of tonight’s guests.’

  ‘The foundation is receiving fabulous media coverage,’ she said with what appeared to be a forced smile.

  Even her tight smile was beautiful. Mesmerised for a few seconds, Gabe had to shake himself to respond. He didn’t want to make small talk about the ball or the foundation. He wanted to dig into her engagement. ‘You’ll be a countess when you marry, Miss Hamilton.’

  ‘I rather think India may prefer to keep her own title, since it outranks mine,’ Artarmon said.

  Her own title? The words ricocheted through his head.

  India shifted on her feet and lowered her gaze as Gabe shot her a pointed look and said sharply, ‘I wasn’t aware you possessed a title.’

  ‘Stubborn thing won’t use it,’ Jeremy rushed in before India had a chance to respond. ‘According to the Letters Patent, now that her father has passed away, she could use the title because every male and female issue of lineal descent can adopt it, and there are no male heirs to the dukedom.’

  A dukedom? Good grief! No wonder she’d been part of the rich set and hadn’t needed to find employment. ‘Which dukedom is that?’

  ‘India’s grandfather was the Duke of Dunmorton.’

  Gabriel just about rocked back on his heels at the revelation. The music and chatter around them faded into insignificance as he homed in on the words and grappled with them. ‘Eden used to speak of her friend Lady Dee, the granddaughter of Duchess Dunmorton. Is Dee your sister?’

  When she finally looked back up and met his eyes, her chin jutted forward at a stubborn angle. The light in her violet eyes was defiant. ‘My parents used to call me Indie, and when I was learning to say my name as a toddler, all I could manage was Dee. It stuck.’ The smile she sent him was one that smacked of satisfaction—a put-this-in-your-pipe-and-smoke-it expression. ‘Eden knew me as Dee.’

  Bloody hell!

  Just like that, his belief that she’d invented her friendship with Eden was turned on its head. No wonder India had been present at the funeral. No wonder she’d been asked to work for the foundation. Eden had often spoken of her close friend, Lady Dee, and Gabe knew she’d held her in very high esteem. Now that her father had passed away, of course India was no longer Lady India. She was no less than the Duchess of Dunmorton.

  Why hadn’t he pieced it together? He couldn’t remember whether or not Eden had mentioned at some point that she’d convinced Dee to work at her charitable foundation. There was some hazy recollection now that she had told him.

  A frustrated tightness pervaded his chest as he realised that the Cinderella he’d searched for had been right under his nose the entire time. Even before he’d met her at the ball, she’d been taking tea with his sister.

  God Almighty! He couldn’t believe the irony of it.

  ‘India, like her father before her, isn’t a huge fan of titles or of the nobility system. It used to peeve her grandmother no end as India downright refused to use her title,’ Artarmon explained.

  Gabe felt the skin between his brows tighten into a frown. ‘Eden always referred to you as Lady Dee or Dee.’

  ‘My grandmother introduced us.’ Her tone was all sweet innocence, however the glint in her expression that told him she was revelling in throwing the facts at him as if they were deadly darts. ‘Gran was very much into family heritage and keeping the title alive. She always introduced me as Lady Dee—even though my father refused to be known as the duke.’

  ‘I see.’ Gabe would think on this some more in a quiet moment. There were a few things about India Hamilton he needed to re-evaluate. But if she wasn’t a fan of titles—and she outranked her fiancé anyway—what the hell did she see in Jeremy Artarmon?

  ‘Will I have the pleasure of speaking with our guests, or are you going to hold up the receiving line and keep chatting all night, brother?’ Devereaux asked.

  It was a necessary prompt, because the line of those waiting to be presented to the royals of Santaliana had grown much longer since India had appeared before Gabriel. Gabe leant forward and spoke quietly to India. ‘I’ll speak to you later, Your Grace.’ The words were a warning. They hung between them and her spine stiffened a fraction before she moved towards his brother and Mackenzie.

  Gabriel was acutely aware of every word Devereaux and India exchanged as she congratulated his brother on his overall win in the international superyacht racing series which had been held as a fund-raiser for the foundation.

  It was incredibly difficult for Gabe to respond appropriately to the person who followed India in the receiving line.

  Gabe listened as Dev introduced India and Artarmon to Mackenzie and heard him comment that he recalled meeting India at Eden’s funeral. It irritated the hell out of Gabe that he hadn’t even known the Cinderella he’d searched for had been so close.

  India was so stunning, Gabe was relieved his brother hadn’t made her a notch on his bedpost in the days before he’d met Mackenzie.

  Tension speared through him as the thought gripped him. Gabe turned his head sharply to his left to look at his brother. Had Devereaux taken India to his bed?

  Gabe’s body went cold then hot. Suddenly, the collar of his shirt seemed constrictive.

  He told himself he was overreacting. There was nothing in the way Dev or India were interacting with each other that suggested they were anything other than previous acquaintances.

  ‘Your Majesty?’ The man in front of him asked.

  Good grief! What had the guy said? Searching his subconscious mind, Gabe found he had no idea. He forced out what he hoped was an appropriate response. ‘It’s very good that you were able to attend this evening.’ The man he addressed looked a little taken aback, as though the comment had been out of place. Damn!

  The man moved on with a perplexed expression and Gabriel spent the next hour struggling with his concentration as he welcomed more guests to the ball.

  His mind continually wandered back to thoughts of India—the Duchess of Dunmorton. Her title surely came with its own hefty wealth. No need for her to skim any money from the Princess Eden Foundation—and Michael had confirmed that t
he income she received from her role as managing director was paid straight back to the charity.

  So what had prompted a wealthy duchess to work as the managing director? It was difficult to accept that her motives were entirely altruistic, particularly given her reticence to accompany him to Africa and see the benefits of the foundation’s work firsthand.

  As for her fiancé... He couldn’t fathom it. The guy seemed innocuous enough, but he wasn’t the sort of man who impressed as being strong. Surely, with all her strength, India would want to marry a guy who matched her in that area?

  Over the next couple of hours, Gabe’s gaze continued to flick to the couple, trying to make sense of their relationship. There was nothing about their body language, nothing in the looks they exchanged with each other—or even their physical proximity—to suggest they were lovers. They looked more like business colleagues than a couple who shared a personal relationship.

  What the devil was wrong with Artarmon?

  If Gabe had India at his side, the entire room would know she was his. There’d be no stopping his arm from wrapping around her and drawing her close, or his hand from holding hers. He’d want physical contact with her every second.

  Hell! He did crave physical connection with her—and not just such a superficial connection either. Every cell in his body yearned for a far deeper, more intimate connection. The thought made his groin throb as he ached to be inside her.

  At that moment, India left Artarmon talking to another couple and wandered over toward a table to refill her drink. If Artarmon had been any sort of gentlemen, he would’ve attended to the task for her.

  Actually, she walked straight past a waiter on her way to the table. Why hadn’t she just reached for another glass from the waiter’s tray? Could it be that she wanted time away from her partner?

  Seizing the opportunity, Gabe wove his way through the crowd, delivering a smile to one or a nod to another, but moving too quickly and purposefully to be engaged in conversation.

  Nobody diverted him from his path to India’s side.