His Majesty's Child Read Online Free PDF Page A

earth had she survived in her job so long? he wondered idly. Did she not realise that it was discourteous in the extreme to stare so openly at the monarch?
    He found himself speculating on how much he might miss some areas of protocol when, to his astonishment,he saw her begin to weave her way through the glittering tables towards him—the almost shy look of resolve on her face making it abundantly clear that he, the King, was her target.
    He frowned. Did she think that their brief interview had given her the right of access? Did she imagine that she was free to speak to him any time she liked?
    Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Orso stir—his muscle-packed frame as imposing as the bear after which he’d been named. Yet he moved with surprising agility to speak softly into Casimiro’s ear.
    â€˜Shall I get rid of her, Majesty?’ he questioned, in the Greek in which both men were fluent and which was less widely understood than their first language of Italian.
    Casimiro’s instinctive response was to say yes as etiquette demanded—but as the woman called Melissa drew nearer her unquestionable breach of protocol was enough to again capture his interest. And something written on her face struck at a chord within him—an echo of the expression he had seen there earlier. Something which set off some far-distant warning bell ringing deep inside him.
    Instinct told him to speak to her—and now that he was about to cast off the strictures of royal life, then surely he could listen to his instincts at long last. Surely he could satisfy his curiosity about what she wanted—if only as a distraction until this interminable meal ended, when the speech was burning a hole in his pocket and, unexpectedly, his heart was aching at the thought of delivering it.
    â€˜No. Let her speak. She intrigues me. Perhaps there is some problem to which she wishes to alert me. Thisball is part of my gift to my brother and therefore my responsibility, after all.’
    â€˜But, Majesty—’
    â€˜Let her approach, Orso—but guide her more discreetly. All eyes are upon her and she has neither the poise nor the beauty to with stand such scrutiny.’
    â€˜ Ochi , Majesty.’
    Melissa walked towards the King, her heart crashing madly against her chest, feeling a rivulet of sweat beginning to trickle its way down between her breasts. She was scarcelyable to believe that she was actually going through with this, but as she had been getting ready for tonight she’d realised that she couldn’t delay telling him. Not for a moment longer. She had blown her opportunity when they’d been alone together earlier—sheer nerves had defeated her, along with her stupid and over-optimistic plan of waiting for the ‘right’ time. And there never was going to be a ‘right’ time—not when the situation was as wrong as could be. Even she, guided by fierce maternal love, could see that.
    She had thought about delaying it until after the King’s speech—but surely she wouldn’t stand a chance of getting near him then ? Not with people clamouring around to tell him how wonderful he was as they inevitably would.
    She saw the towering form of his aide beginning to advance towards her with grim intent in his black eyes and she wondered if he had been told to act as a buffer between them. So that for one crazy moment, she actually thought of making a run for it. Of flying straight over to the King and blurting out her secret before anyone could stop her. But the man he had called Orso waslighter on his feet than his huge frame suggested—and suddenly he was by her side, with a light but iron-firm grip to her elbow which meant she was going nowhere without his say-so, and she felt her nerve begin to desert her.
    â€˜You wish to speak to the King?’
    â€˜Y-yes.’
    â€˜About what ?’ snapped Orso.
    Meeting the glare from his eyes, Melissa knew it was