The Princess and the Duke Read Online Free PDF Page A

about the planning that had gone into the seating arrangements. For she was seated directly opposite Colonel Pierceson Prescott.
    Admittedly, there were six other individuals at the table, as well, two married couples who were distantly related to Jean-Paul, an eligible single man and an equally eligible single woman who was doing a bang-up job of flirting with Colonel Prescott.
    She stifled a sigh and dug her fork into the incredibly rich confection of cream cake and delicate fresh raspberries that the culinary institute had created for the wedding cake. No rum cake for Megan—she’d overruled that typical selection because of her pregnancy.
    Keeping half an ear out for the toasts that were being made, she surreptitiously slid her heels out of her shoes. It was safe enough in light of the ivory and royal-blue linens that swept to the marble floor.
    What she really wanted to do far more than wiggle her toes, however, was toss her linen napkin across the table to cover the low-cut bodice of Juliet Oxford. She was leaning toward the colonel, undoubtedly giving him quite an eyeful.
    The man beside Meredith said something, and she murmured an absent assent, only to realize a half second later that she’d unthinkingly agreed to have dinner with him. His narrow face gleamed with a broad smile, and Meredith squelched yet another sigh. She couldn’t back out. It would be utterly rude.
    Her cheeks heated, however, when she caught thecolonel’s amused gaze. As if he knew exactly what had transpired to lead her into an unwanted dinner engagement.
    Her smile firmed, and she ignored the colonel. “If you’d be good enough to call my personal secretary tomorrow, George, we’ll settle on a date.”
    George smiled winningly. Meredith would go out to dinner with the man, and she would have a perfectly lovely time. George Valdosta was a few years older than she was, and she’d known him practically forever. He was well read, had a decent sense of humor and—
    —wasn’t Pierceson Prescott.
    She picked up her champagne and smiled brightly at George, determined to ignore the little voice inside her that insistently compared George’s modest appeal with the colonel’s overwhelming magnetism. It wasn’t George’s fault he wasn’t as tall as the colonel. Or that his thinning blond hair wasn’t the rich chestnut the colonel kept rigidly cut in order to control the lustrous waves. George couldn’t help the fact that his blue eyes were just that. Blue. Ordinary and not the least bit full of anything that seemed to speak to her soul.
    Annoyed with herself more than ever, the moment the speeches were completed and the orchestra began playing again, Meredith drained her champagne and practically leaped from her chair to drag poor George through the tables to the dance floor.
    The bride and groom danced first, of course, but were soon joined by the King and Queen. The guests stood on ceremony only long enough to receive an invitation to the gleaming dance floor from King Morgan before they crowded on. It didn’t matter whether it was a stately waltz, a smooshy love song or the latest rock hit from America, Meredith thought, as she swung in George’s arms to the quick tempo. These people were ready to dance.
    Not even the departure of Megan and Jean-Paul dimmed the celebration, Meredith noticed later, as she hovered in the private courtyard. The limousine that would carry the couple to the private port where Jean-Paul’s sailing ketch, the West Wind, was docked had long departed. But Meredith had little desire to go back to the reception, though she knew she should.
    “Quit mooning.” Anastasia slid her arm through Meredith’s and leaned close as they finally turned and headed toward the ballroom through the formal gardens. “They’re honeymooning at sea. It’s very romantic.”
    “Yes.”
    “And you’re going to miss Meggie.”
    “Yes.”
    Anastasia sighed a little. “I will, too.” But she brightened almost immediately.