“Yes, Your Highness.” Almost beet red now, Henri reached for his billfold, carefully tucked into his breast pocket. Alexander took it and studied the nearly bald, chubby-faced infant. She was no beauty, but Alexander found himself grinning at the wide eyes and toothless smile.

“You’re a fortunate man, Henri, to have such a legacy.”

“Thank you, sir. She’s very precious to all of us. The Princess Gabriella sent my daughter the lace dress, which had belonged to young Princess Louisa. My daughter cherishes it.”

“So she should, if anything survives Louisa.” He glanced at the white lace around the baby’s wide face. How like Brie to have been so generous. “Give my best to your family, Henri.”

“I will, sir. Thank you. We all look for the day when you give Cordina a son or daughter. That, Your Highness, will be a day of celebration.”

“Yes.” Alexander handed back the billfold. Give Cordina. His son would be heir even as he was now. The bond, both exquisite and heavy, would never be broken. And the mother of his children would have to accept the rules that had been carved out centuries before. What he would have to ask of her could be no less than what he asked of himself. If he made a mistake in his choice, he would live with it always. There could be no divorce for the ruler of Cordina.

At thirty, Alexander was the oldest unmarried heir in Cordinian history, a fact that the press reminded him and his country of at regular intervals. Yet marriage was something he still refused to contemplate.

Henri cleared his throat deliberately to bring back Alexander’s attention. “Your fencing partner will be here by five-thirty, Your Highness. You must be at the Cabots’ by eight-thirty.”

“I won’t forget.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, dressed in white trousers and jacket, Alexander walked down the main staircase. The tension he’d carried with him for days hadn’t eased. No amount of logical thinking helped. The war remained inside him, raging. Duty against need. Responsibility against desire.

The front door opened as he reached the bottom step. He stopped, muscles taut, thinking of Eve.

But it was Bennett who walked through, with a young, very shapely redhead on his arm.

“I can’t believe I’m going to get a tour of the palace.” Though her voice was breathy with excitement, the diction was perfect. After a moment’s study, Alexander recognized her as one of Eve’s troupe.

“Are you sure it’s all right?”

“Darling, I live here.” Alexander heard the amusement in his brother’s voice as Bennett stroked a hand over the woman’s shoulder.

“Of course.” With a nervous laugh, she looked at Bennett. “It’s so hard to think of you as a prince.”