Deliberately he swept his gaze down. She was willow slender and barely higher than his shoulder. He wouldn’t believe she’d thrown his tall, athletic brother physically. But emotionally was another matter. “Admirable. Then I’ll promise I won’t give you the opportunity to throw me. Your rooms are agreeable?”

“Perfect, as always. As I recall, you rarely have free evenings at home. No state dinners or official functions tonight?”

He glanced at her again. The lights were dim, so that they gave her skin the sheen of satin. Perhaps it would feel the same. “We could consider dining with you an official function, if you like.”

“Perhaps I do.” She watched him over the rim as she sipped. “So, Your Highness, do we make polite conversation or discuss world politics?”

“Politics at dinner make for an uneasy appetite. Especially when they’re at odds.”

“That’s true. We never have agreed on many things. Polite conversation, then.” She’d been schooled in it, as he had. Strolling to the bowl of roses, she stroked the petals. “I read that you were in Switzerland a few weeks during the winter. How was the skiing?”

“Excellent.” He didn’t add his real reason for being there, or mention the hours of meetings and discussions. He tried not to look at her long, slender fingers against the deep red roses. “Do you ski?”

“I get to Colorado now and again.” The movement of her shoulders was negligent and noncommittal. How could she expect him to understand that she didn’t have the time for idle games and casual trips? “I haven’t been to Switzerland since I got out of school there. Being from Houston, I prefer summer sports.”

“Such as?”

“Swimming.”

“Then I should tell you the pool is at your disposal during your stay.”

“Thank you.” Silence. Eve felt her body tensing as it dragged on. “We seem to be out of polite conversation, and we haven’t even had dinner.”

“Then perhaps we should.” He offered his arm, and though she hesitated, Eve slipped hers through it. “The cook recalled that you were particularly fond of his poisson bonne femme.”

“Really? How nice.” She unbent enough to smile up at him. “As I recall, I was more particularly fond of his pôts de crème au chocolat. I drove my father’s cook mad until she could come up with a reasonable facsimile.”

“Then you should be pleased with tonight’s dessert.”

“I’ll be fat,” she corrected, then stopped at the entrance to the dining room. “I’ve always admired this room,” Eve murmured. “It’s so ageless, so permanent.” She studied it again, the two glistening chandeliers that spilled light onto a massive table and lovingly polished floors. The size didn’t intimidate her, though more than a hundred could fit at the table.