“That's not what I mean, and I think you know it. You're a beautiful woman, and now I have my arms around you, where they belong.”
“You're too kind,” she murmured. “Of course, I know that your position obliges you to pay me compliments, prince.”
“To hell with my position. You inflame me to madness.”
Dottie fought down a desire to laugh. Was she supposed to take this stuff seriously?
“I underestimated you,” Harold went on, visibly preening himself. “Now that I know you better I believe we can do business.”
“Business?” she considered the word. “You mean the kind of business you've been doing with those international companies who want to get at Elluria's minerals?”
“I? How could I do that? The minerals are yours to sell, not mine.”
“That's right. So it isn't true?”
“True?”
“That you've been accepting money on the promise of concessions to be delivered when you take over as king of Elluria?”
His face became gray with temper, but Dottie's sunny gaze at him never wavered, and after a moment he laughed.
“Of course it's not true.”
“And it's not true either that certain people are pressing you to cough up or repay the money?”
“Pardon? Cough up?”
“Never mind. I'm sure it's a terrible slander.”
“You know how rumors get around. That wasn't the kind of business I had in mind.” He tightened his arm about her waist.
“Prince, please,” she murmured modestly. “We are observed. People will talk.”
“Underlings. What do their opinions matter? I wish I could make you realize what this visit has meant to me. I'm thinking and feeling so many strange, unexpected things. Do you understand me?”
But she met his gaze, wide-eyed, and shook her head.
“I thought you wouldn't. You're so new at this game, that's what's enchanting about you.”
She nodded. “Everyone finds me enchanting since I became a crown princess,” she confided innocently.
That threw him because he wasn't sure how serious she was. He gave an uncertain smile, wondering if she was daring to make fun of him. Dottie's answering gaze was as guileless as a baby's, and she saw him relax, reassured that she really was as stupid as she'd allowed herself to seem.
“We can't talk now,” she murmured, “but later perhaps…on the terrace?”
The music ended. She gave him a dazzling smile and departed for her next dance. For an hour she passed from one distinguished nonentity to the next, making conversation with the top layer of her mind, while the rest noticed when Sophie danced with Harold and when with Randolph.
At last she had a moment to sit down. She leaned toward Jeanie, who was in attendance on her that night. “Ask Prince Randolph if he would like the honor of dancing with me,” she commanded regally. She then spoilt the effect by adding, “And tell him he'd better, or else.”
A moment later Randolph appeared. “I am bowed down by the honor,” he said as he extended his arm.
“I'll stamp on your toes if you talk to me like that,” she threatened.
“I see that we still understand each other,” he said ironically.
Being in Randolph's arms was nothing like being in Harold's. One man was full of lush compliments, overpoweringly attentive. The other was like a hedgehog. Yet with Harold she'd thought constantly of the moment of escape. With Randolph she thought only of Randolph, of how it would be if he held her close, so that she could feel his body move against her own.
The last time he'd held her was the day he'd stormed into the meeting, when he'd abandoned all control. But now his control was perfect again, and he danced as he did everything, correctly.
“How am I doing for my first state visit?” she asked.
“You're overdoing it,” he replied coolly.
“Is that all you've got to say? And I was trying so hard to please you.”
“What does it have to do with me?”
“Well, you're my mentor. Practically my father figure.” The sudden tightening of his hand in the small of her back was almost imperceptible, but she felt it nonetheless, and it eased her heart. She turned the screw a little. “I rely on your fatherly advice.”
“You wouldn't take any advice I could give you Dottie, and if you think I'm going to help you play off your tricks, you're mistaken.”
“I don't know what you mean.”
“You know exactly what I mean. There's a very shrewd brain underneath that blond fluff. And don't look at me like that either.”
“Like what?”
“Bland and innocent.”
She laughed. “Perhaps I really am bland and innocent.”
“Not you. You're a witch. Dottie, stop it! I told you not to look at me like that.”
Her laughter rang out. “Just ignore me. It's easy.”
He eyed her with grim appreciation of these tactics. “Be careful,” he said softly. “Harold is a dangerous man. If you're doing what I think you are, let me warn you, your people won't stand for it.”
“Randolph, you have absolutely no idea what I'm doing, so don't kid yourself.”
And he really didn't know, she thought. He was that blind. In fact, he was probably so blind that he wouldn't notice when she slipped away onto the terrace with Harold.
The moment came an hour later, when everyone was being refreshed with champagne. In honor of her distinguished guest Dottie carried two glasses out herself and they sat side by side to toast each other.
“To you, Dottie,” he said. “You don't mind if I call you that?”
“No, I still answer to it, with my friends.” She didn't say whether he was one of them.
“You've come a long way.”
“And I'll bet you know just how far.”
“It wasn't easy, but my researchers managed to track down The Grand Hotel. Manageress, eh?”
“Haven't your researchers found out any more?”
“Oh yes. I know you were nothing but a glorified barmaid. Who cares? You are a shrewd, ambitious woman, and I think we understand each other.”
“You keep my secret and I keep yours?” she asked archly.
“Precisely. And the best way for us to do that is-” abruptly he pulled her into his arms.
She had to fight not to gag. He was disgusting. She made a movement to box his ears, but stopped herself in time. Don't spoil it now, she thought. She laid her hands gently on his shoulders, as though she was willing but restrained by modesty.
They were like that when Randolph came to find Dottie.
Nothing could have gone better, she thought, lying in bed that night, looking into the darkness. Harold had been nonchalant, the very picture of a ladies' man caught in the act and loving it. Randolph had been furious and unable to say so, although there had been a look of angry reproach in his eyes that thrilled and hurt her at the same time.
She stretched and was about to settle down to sleep when she heard a noise at the French doors that led onto the balcony. She sat up and it came again, the soft movement of the latch, and then the sound of the door being opened, and somebody slipping quietly in.
“What are you doing here?” she cried.
“Sssh!” Harold said urgently, hurrying across the room to the bed. As he reached one side she slid out of the other.
“Keep away from me,” she said, feeling around for her robe without taking her eyes from him. Too late she
