‘Of having a monarch who’s not distracted and chasing skirt all the time,’ she said pointedly.
His lips curled. ‘Not all the time. I like to rest on Thursdays.’ He leaned against the doorframe to her bedroom.
‘So it’s a rest day today?’
‘Of course.’ His gaze glanced down her body in a swift assessment but then returned to her face and all trace of humour was gone. ‘Do you truly think it’s okay to force someone to get married before they can do the job they’ve spent their life training for?’
There was a throb of tension despite the light way he asked the question. He cocked his head, daring her to answer honestly. ‘You think I should sacrifice my personal life for my country?’
Actually she thought nothing of the sort but she’d backed herself into a corner by arguing with him. ‘I think there could be benefits in an arranged union.’
‘Benefits?’ His eyebrows lifted, scepticism oozing from his perfect pores. ‘What possible benefits could there be?’
Oh, he really didn’t want his continuous smorgasbord of women curtailed in any way, did he?
‘What if you have the right contract with the right bride?’ she argued emotionlessly. ‘You both know what you’re heading into. It’s a cool, logical decision for the betterment of your nation.’
‘Cool and logical?’ His eyebrows arched. ‘What are you, an android?’
Right now, she rather wished she were. It was maddening that she found him attractive—especially when she knew what a player he was. Doubtless this was how every woman who came within a hundred feet of him felt, which was exactly why he was able to play as hard and as frequently as he did. When a man was that blessed by the good-looks gods, mere mortals like her had little defence against him.
‘Perhaps when you’re King you can lobby for the change.’ She shrugged, wanting to close the conversation she never should have started.
‘Indeed. But apparently in order to become King I must marry.’
‘It’s quite the conundrum for you,’ she said lightly.
‘It has no bearing on my ability to do my job. It’s an anachronism.’
‘Then why not just make an arrangement with one of your many “friends”?’ she muttered with frustration. ‘I’m sure they’d all be willing to bear the burden of being your bride.’
He laughed and a gleam flickered in his eyes. ‘Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. Problem is they’d all take it too seriously and assume it was going to be happily ever after.’
‘Yes, I imagine that would be a problem.’ She nodded, primly sarcastic.
He straightened from the doorway and stepped closer. ‘Not for someone like you, though.’
‘Pardon?’
‘You’d understand the arrangement perfectly well and I get the impression the last thing you’d want is happily ever after with me.’
Too stunned—and somehow hurt—to stop, she answered back sharply. ‘I just don’t imagine it would be possible.’
Those eyebrows arched again. ‘With anyone or only with me?’
She suddenly remembered who it was she’d just insulted. ‘Sorry.’ She clamped her lips together.
‘Don’t be, you’re quite right,’ he said with another low laugh. ‘The difficulty I have is finding someone who understands the situation, its limitations, and who has the discretion to pull it off.’
‘Quite a tall order.’ She wished he’d leave. Or let her leave. Because somehow this was dangerous. He was dangerous.
He eyed her for another long moment before glancing to survey the neat desk she’d retreated behind. ‘You’re the epitome of discretion.’
‘Because my desk is tidy?’
‘Because you’re smart enough to understand such an arrangement.’ He lifted his chin and arrogantly speared her with his mesmerising gaze. ‘And we have no romantic history to get tangled in,’ he drawled. ‘In fact, I think you might be my perfect bride.’
There was a look on his face—a mischievous delight tempting her to smile and join the joke. But this wasn’t funny.
So she sent him a dismissive glance before turning to stare at her desk. ‘No.’
‘Why not?’ The humour dropped from his voice and left only cool calculation.
Definitely dangerous. Definitely more ruthless than his careless façade suggested.
‘You’re not serious,’ she said.
‘Actually, I rather think I am.’
‘No,’ she repeated, but her voice faded. She forced her arms across her waist to stop herself moving restlessly, to stop that insidious heat from rising, to stop temptation escaping her control.
She never felt temptation. She never felt. She’d been too busy trying to simply survive for so long...but now?
His gaze didn’t leave her face. ‘Why not take a moment to think about it?’
‘What is there to think about?’ she asked with exaggerated disbelief. ‘It’s preposterous.’
And it was. He’d walked in less than five minutes ago and was now proposing. He was certifiable.
‘I don’t think so,’ he countered calmly. ‘I think it could work very well.’
He made it seem easy, as if it were nothing.
‘You don’t think you should take this a little more seriously instead of proposing to the first woman you see today?’
‘Why shouldn’t I propose to you?’
Hester breathed slowly, struggling to slow her building anger. ‘No one would ever believe you’d want to marry me.’
‘Why?’
She mentally begged for mercy. ‘Because I’m nothing like the women you normally date.’
His gaze skidded down her in that cool and yet hot assessing way again. ‘I disagree.’
She gritted her teeth. She didn’t need him to start telling her she was attractive in a false show of charm.
‘It’s just clothes and make-up.’ He stole the wind from her sails. ‘Fancy packaging.’
‘Smoke and mirrors?’ She swallowed the bitterness that rose within her because she just knew how little the world thought of her ‘packaging’. ‘I meant I’m not from your level of society. I’m not a princess.’
‘So? These “levels” shouldn’t matter.’ He shrugged carelessly.
‘I’m not even from your country,’ she continued, ignoring his interruption. ‘It’s not what’s expected of you.’
He glanced beyond her, seeming to study some speck on the wall behind her. ‘I’ll do as they dictate, but they don’t get to dictate everything. I don’t want to marry anyone,
