The Runaway Princess Read Free Page B

course.”
    â€œThe foolish letter you sent could never be accepted. You know that.”
    â€œIt couldn’t?”
    â€œSanta Leopolda forgive you!” He stepped forward until he stood too close, and she smelled the faint scent of tobacco. He’d smoked his cheroot before he’d come after her, a predator too sure of his prey. “Would you deny our people their prosperity? The fate of two kingdoms rests on the fulfillment of the prophecy.”
    He towered over her, and she had little experience with towering men. Actually, she had little experience with men at all. None had bothered to visit an eccentric, female scholar like Leona. And Leona spoke of men as they seemed in her youth. Perhaps it was a somewhat idealized notion. According to Leona, the men she had known wereprimitive, given to sweeping a woman away for the excitement of her mind and the pleasure of her body.
    Well, Evangeline’s instincts shouted Run! and she was ready to try another one of the Chinese moves when something the stranger had said stopped her. “The prophecy? You mean the prophecy of Baminia and Serephina?”
    If anything, he grew more imposing. “You dare to jest with me?” His hands half lifted, as if he would wring her neck, then he swung away and strode rapidly to the other side of the room, halting by the delicate writing desk.
    She started to inch toward the door, but without glancing at her he said, “If you move, I will have to give in to my baser instincts.”
    He didn’t say what those instincts were; he didn’t have to. Her imagination galloped on like a runaway horse.
    She stopped.
    â€œI told your regents not to send you abroad,” he said in Baminian. “You should have been kept in Serephina, safe from shallow outsiders.”
    She replied in English. “I think there’s been a mistake. I am not who you think I am. That is, if who I surmise you think I am is really . . .”
    He looked at her, and her voice trailed off.
    â€œYou dare deny you are Princess Ethelinda of Serephina?”
    If the truth weren’t so pathetic, she could almost laugh. “I’m not any of the things Henri or the guests say I am. I’m only Miss Evangeline Scoffield of East Little Teignmouth, Cornwall.”
    Her declaration made no dent in his imperious stance, and he dismissed her claim without consideration. “What nonsense.”
    She began to feel a little calmer, and, deliberately casual, she leaned down and picked up her lacy stole and long glove. “How long has it been since you’ve seen your princess?”
    â€œI last saw you on the occasion of your tenth birthday, on the day you departed to be schooled in Spain.”
    â€œThat’s it, then.” She laughed a little, relieved to have the misunderstanding cleared up. “You haven’t seen her for . . . how many years?”
    â€œTwelve.”
    â€œThere must be some superficial resemblance between us, and I’m flattered you think I’m a princess, but actually I’m a”—her laughter dried up—“nobody.”
    â€œI see. What an embarrassing mistake.” He didn’t challenge her, or laugh maniacally, or show any other signs of lunacy, but neither did he bow himself out the door. Instead, he lifted the top of her new secretary and rifled through the assortment of pens. “Could you perhaps clear up a few mysteries?”
    â€œI suppose I could.” What was he looking for?
    â€œHow did a nobody like Evangeline Scoffield of East Little Teignmouth, Cornwall, happen to arrive in a spa in the Pyrenees with enough lucre to support herself like—dare I say it—a princess?”
    Her jaw dropped in unrefined shock. He didn’t believe her. The man still thought her a princess of Serephina. “I’m telling the truth!”
    â€œDid I say you weren’t?” he asked smoothly. “I was just curious about the