Free His Bride for the Taking by Sandra Hyatt Page A

had been surprised to see his father here, revealing just how much importance he was placing on this venture succeeding. Then his sister, Rebecca, had hugged her, and last but by no means least, she had turned to Adam.
    And now Lexie—no, Alexia—stood talking to his older brother, pleasure shining in her face.
    Adam smiled back at her, his charismatic best. Rafe could discern none of the resentment he would have felt if he was meeting a woman he’d been told he was going to marry.
    Of course, Adam was better than that. He was both diplomatic and charming. It was easy to see why Alexia, Alexia, Alexia—he’d say it over to himself a hundred times if he had to—fancied herself half in love with him. He just hoped Adam valued what he was getting. Because though he could be diplomatic and charming—that was part of his job description—he could also beself-absorbed, distant and, well, boring. And though Rafe had originally thought Alexia boring, too, he’d realized the conservatism was a front. A charade, even if she believed it, for the role she wanted to play.
    Rafe watched as Adam touched her arm and smiled. Alexia laughed. Demurely.
    Mission accomplished. He was free to forget about her and get on with his own life. Rafe turned and slipped away.

Six
    L exie tried to concentrate. Her dinner companion, a senior San Philippe politician, his chest weighted down with medals, whose name she had already forgotten, was explaining the evolution of the country’s political system. Sadly, the throbbing in her head and the complexities of the system combined to leave her floundering. The enthusiastic playing of the band wasn’t helping her efforts. She could only hope that her smiles and nods at least convinced her companion that she was both following and interested in his discourse, and not secretly wondering whether it was too soon to leave. He paused to reach across the table for a profiterole.
    At first the state dinner had been exciting, the long tables set with so much silver cutlery and crystal that beneath the light of the chandeliers they gleamed withthe brilliance of diamonds. Then there were the guests, the elite and powerful of San Philippe, the beautiful of San Philippe. But after a while it had become just another dinner spent having to make conversation with people she didn’t know.
    Which wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been for her steadily worsening headache. A maid had styled her hair. Lexie loved the elegant twist—it was perfect for a formal dinner, but she hadn’t realized quite how tightly her hair had been pulled until the aching in her head began.
    She found herself yearning for pizza eaten in silence while she looked out over city lights at nighttime, her feet resting on an ottoman.
    Massaging her temple, Lexie looked at the head table, where Adam sat deep in conversation with an elder statesman. He had explained that it would be best for them not to be seated together tonight. No point in adding fire to the already circulating rumors just yet. She completely understood and agreed. Already she felt as if she were under a microscope.
    Looking around she caught sight of Rafe, farther up her table and on the opposite side, watching her. She couldn’t fathom the expression in his dark eyes and couldn’t quite explain the effect it had on her, causing a strange discomfort. He raised his wineglass in a mock salute, then turned to the voluptuous, sophisticated blonde at his side.
    Lexie’s companion finished his profiterole, wiped cream from his fingers onto his linen napkin and invited her to dance. As far as she could see, she hadno choice but to accept. Taking her arm, he escorted her to the dance floor and pulled her into a formal and rigid clasp for the waltz. Lexie looked over his shoulder to avoid staring at the droplet of cream caught in his moustache.
    As they danced, he continued talking politics. Specifically, his rise through parliament, and the problems with the younger