‘I could deliver you back to my mother.’
‘Like a missing parcel?’ she suggested, starting to smile.
He shrugged. ‘It would be the polite thing to do.’
‘In that case, I accept.’
But she trembled at his touch. Her expression, however, remained carefully neutral.
‘You’re too kind,’ she told him when he brought her in front of the Queen.
‘I’m not kind at all,’ he murmured in Sofia’s ear, ‘and you would do well to remember that.’
Then his mother took over, smiling at their approach. ‘Ah, Cesar, I was wondering how long it would be before you asked Sofia to dance.’
‘Dance with Sofia?’ He couldn’t hide his surprise.
His mother glossed over his lapse in good manners by drawing Sofia forward to kiss her on both cheeks.
‘You’ve been far too kind,’ she told his mother.
‘Nonsense,’ his mother insisted. ‘I notice Olivia is dancing with one of your brothers. Well, Cesar,’ his mother pressed, ‘why are you keeping Sofia waiting?’
Why indeed?
‘If Cesar doesn’t feel like dancing—’ Sofia began to protest, clearly not keen to feel his arms around her.
‘Nonsense. Of course he does,’ his mother the Queen insisted in a tone he’d never heard her use before. ‘How can my son refuse to dance with such a beautiful guest?’ This query was accompanied by a long, hard stare at him.
Sofia slid him a withering look. This was no puling princess touting for a crown, or some celebrity social climber with vaunting ambition, but a real woman with genuine feelings and a history that he could never forget. Any interaction between them was bound to be tense and awkward.
‘Cesar?’ his mother prompted.
‘I can refuse you nothing,’ he told his mother sincerely.
‘Good!’ the Queen exclaimed. ‘I shall increase my demands in future.’
‘I have no doubt of that,’ he murmured, exchanging an amused look with a woman he held in the very highest regard.
‘Well?’ she urged. ‘What are you waiting for? I’m sure Sofia is longing to dance with her Prince.’
If looks could kill he would be dead. His mother, usually keenly observant, had missed the opposition to this idea on Sofia’s face. ‘This is no easier for me than it is for you,’ he assured Sofia once they were out of earshot. ‘One dance and then we’re done.’
‘Until the matches, when we’ll be thrown together again,’ she reminded him with a rueful slant of her mouth.
‘When that happens, you’ll do your job and I’ll do mine,’ he stated firmly.
‘To the very best of my ability,’ Sofia promised with a long, fearless look into his eyes.
He gave a cynical huff, but it was hard not to believe her. No one could accuse Sofia Acosta of entering into anything in half-measures. When they reached the edge of the dance floor, in deference to his rank the other couples stopped dancing and stood back. If he refused to dance with Sofia, there would be food for gossipmongers the world over. The orchestra struck up a waltz in keeping with their splendid surroundings.
‘I’ve heard of dancing with the devil,’ Sofia murmured dryly.
‘Are we taking it one step further?’ he suggested.
‘The demon on horseback dancing with the devil?’ she remarked. ‘At least we should march to the same beat.’
But they didn’t march, they danced as closely as two people could. ‘Relax,’ he suggested. ‘Unless you aim to cause comment.’
