But she glanced up at the head table and Ramon was watching her. Those eagle eyes were steady. ‘I dare you,’ his gaze was saying, and more.
‘I can waltz,’ she heard herself say, her eyes not leaving Ramon’s.
‘Excellent,’ the aide said. ‘I’ll come to fetch you when we’re ready.’
‘You do that,’ she said faintly.
The entrance to the grand ballroom was made in state. Ramon led the procession, and it was done in order of rank, which meant Jenny came in somewhere near the rear. Even that was intimidating-all the guests who hadn’t been at the dinner were assembled in line to usher the dining party in.
If the ground opened up and swallowed her she’d be truly grateful. Too many people were looking at her.
Why had she agreed to dance?
Ramon was so far ahead she couldn’t see him. Ramon. Prince Ramon.
She wasn’t into fairy tales. Bring on midnight.
And Gordon had deserted her. As she took the aide’s arm, as she joined the procession, he suddenly wasn’t there. She looked wildly around and he was smiling apologetically but backing firmly away. But she was being ushered forward and there was no way she could run without causing a spectacle.
Cinderella ran, she thought wildly. At midnight.
But midnight was still a long time away.
Courage. If Cinders could face them all down, so could she. She took a deep breath and allowed herself to be led forward. The aide was ushering her into the ballroom, then into an alcove near the entrance. Before them, Ramon was making a grand sweep of the room, greeting everyone. The heads of the royal houses of Europe were his entourage, nodding, smiling, doing what royalty did best.
And suddenly she realized what was happening. Why she’d been directed to stand here. She was close to the door, where Ramon must end his circuit.
She felt frozen to the spot.
Ramon. Prince Ramon.
Ramon.
The wait was interminable. She tried to focus on anything but what was happening. A spot on the wax of the polished floor. The hem of her gown. Anything.
But finally, inevitably, the aide was beside her, ushering her forward and Ramon was right in front of her. Every eye in the room was on him. Every eye in the room was on her.
She was Jenny. She made muffins. She wanted to have hysterics, or faint.
Ramon was before her, his eyes grave and questioning.
‘Gianetta,’ he said softly, and every ear in the room was straining to hear. ‘You’ve arrived for my coronation, and I thank you. You’ve brought my boat home and thus you’ve linked my old life with my new. Can I therefore ask for the honour of this dance?’
There was an audible gasp throughout the room. It wasn’t said out loud but she could hear the thought regardless.
But Ramon was holding out his hand, waiting for her to put hers in his. Smiling. It was the smile she loved with all her heart.
Was this how Cinders felt?
And then Cinders was forgotten. Everything was forgotten. She put her hand in his, she tried hard to smile back and she allowed the Crown Prince of Cepheus to lead her onto the ballroom floor.
Where had she learned to dance?
Ramon had been coached almost before he could walk. His grandmother had thought dancing at least as important as any other form of movement. He could thus waltz without thinking. He’d expected to slow his steps to Jenny’s, to take care she wasn’t embarrassed, but he’d been on the dance floor less than ten seconds before he realized such precautions weren’t necessary. He took her into his arms in the waltz hold, and she melted into him as if she belonged.
The music swelled in an age-old, well-loved waltz and she was one with the music, one with him.
He’d almost forgotten how wonderful she felt.
He had to be formal, he told himself harshly. He needed to hold her at arm’s length-which was difficult when he was not holding her at arm’s length at all. He needed to be courteously friendly and he needed to thank her and say goodbye.
Only not yet. Not goodbye yet.
‘Where did you learn to dance?’ he managed, and it was a dumb thing to say to a woman after a three-month separation, but the tension eased a little and she almost smiled.
‘Dancing’s not reserved for royalty. My Papa was the best.’
This was better. There was small talk in this. ‘He should have met my grandmother.’
‘Yes,’ she said, and seemed to decide to let herself enjoy the music, the dance, the sensation of being held for a couple more circuits of the floor while the world watched. And then… ‘Ramon, why are you doing this?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Why did you ask me to dance…first?’
‘I wanted to thank you.’
‘You paid me, remember? It’s me who should be thanking. And the world is watching. For you to ask me for the first dance…’
‘I believe it’s the last dance,’ he said, and the leaden feeling settled back around his heart as the truth flooded back. Holding her was an illusion, a fleeting taste of what could have been, and all at once the pain was unbearable. ‘I’ve wanted to hold you for three months,’ he said simply, and it was as if the words were there and had to be said, whether he willed them or not. ‘Jenny, maybe even saying it is unwise but, wise or not, I’ve missed you every single night.’ He hesitated, then somehow struggled back to lightness, forcing the leaden ache to stay clear of his voice. He couldn’t pass his regret onto her. He had to say goodbye-as friends. ‘Do you realize how much work there is in being a Crown Prince?’
‘I have no idea,’ she said faintly. ‘I guess…there’s speeches to make. Ribbons to cut. That sort of thing.’
‘Not so much of that sort of thing.’ His hand tightened on her waist, tugging her closer. Wanting her closer. Sense decreed he had to let her go, but still not yet. ‘I haven’t even been official Crown Prince until today,’ he said, fighting to make his voice sound normal. ‘I’ve not even been qualified as a ribbon-cutter until now. I’ve been a prince in training. Nothing more. Nothing less. But I have been practising my waltzing. My Aunt Sofia’s seen to that. So let’s see if we can make the ghosts of your Papa and my Grand-mere proud.’
She smiled. He whirled her around in his arms and she felt like thistledown, he thought. She felt like Jenny.
He had to let her go.
He didn’t feel like a prince, she thought as he held her close and their bodies moved as one. If she closed her eyes he felt like Ramon. Just Ramon, pure and simple. The man who’d stolen her heart.
It was impossible, he’d said. Of course it was. She’d known it for three months and nothing had changed.
The world was watching. She had to keep it light.
‘So it’s been practising speeches and waltzing,’ she ventured at last. ‘While we’ve been braving the Horn.’
‘That and getting leggings to fit,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘Bloody things, leggings. I’d almost prefer the Horn.’
‘But leggings are so sexy.’
‘Sexy isn’t leggings,’ he said. His eyes were on her and she could see exactly what he was thinking.
‘Don’t,’ she whispered, feeling her colour rising. Every eye in the room was on them.
‘I’ve missed you for three long months,’ he said, lightness disappearing. He sounded goaded almost past breaking point.
‘Ramon, we had two weeks,’ she managed. ‘It didn’t mean anything.’
He stopped dancing. Others had taken to the floor now, but they were on the edge of the dance floor. Ramon and Jenny had central position and they were still being watched.
‘Are you saying what we had didn’t mean anything to you?’ he asked, his voice sounding suddenly calm, almost distant.
