He chuckled. ‘As a guest of Silvabon you are required to abide by the laws of the country. Including the orders of the King. But tonight I waive that requirement—just for lucky little you, you understand.’
‘Wow.’ She straightened.
He regarded her, suddenly serious. ‘I vow, I won’t order you to do anything. Not tonight. I’m not a king. For you, Elsie, I’ll be just a man.’
She couldn’t move. His words? The way he was gazing at her?
She was suddenly so self-conscious.
‘Amalia said this dress would be suitable,’ she stammered.
Why was she seeking his approval? It didn’t matter what he thought. But her mouth was dry and that moment kept flashing in her mind—when he’d told her to leave, when it had looked as if that was the last thing he’d wanted her to do, when he’d almost kissed her. The look in his eyes now matched that. As if a storm were raging—a war between want and denial.
‘You look immaculate.’
‘Are you sure about this?’ she asked.
‘People will be informed that you’re here as a guest of Amalia’s.’
‘Like her music tutor?’ She nodded. ‘That could definitely work.’
‘Music tutor it is.’
‘They won’t know my full name, will they? And I won’t be seated near you, will I?’
A half-smile quirked his lips. ‘This inferiority complex you’ve got going...we’re equal, are we not? I thought I’d just made that clear.’
‘No. We’re not. You know we’re not.’
Before he could reply Amalia appeared. But there was a look in his eye that promised they’d continue the conversation later. But that wasn’t happening. It couldn’t.
‘You look stunning, Amalia,’ he said.
‘I’m only doing this for her,’ Elsie whispered as they followed Amalia along the corridor.
‘You can think that if it makes you feel better.’