At last he reached her and stood, professional smile in place, while his aide announced, ‘Miss Elizabeth Boothe.’

His pause was only a fraction of a second, his smile never wavered. But she was close enough to see his eyes and the slight shock in them. So the name was still remembered in Voltavia. That pleased her.

As he shook her hand the King glanced at the identity tag on her shoulder, bearing only her name. ‘The others list also their publications,’ he observed. ‘I think you are not a journalist.’

‘That’s true, Your Majesty,’ Lizzie said, smiling.

He did not release her hand. ‘You are, perhaps, an actress?’

Any man, looking at her flamboyant beauty and glorious mane of red hair might be forgiven for thinking so.

‘I’m not an actress,’ she said, ‘but my great-aunt was. She was called Lizzie Boothe, and had many admirers in your country.’

Again the slight shock in his eyes: surprise, she thought, that she’d dared to mention such a delicate subject.

‘Indeed,’ he said in a neutral voice, and prepared to pass on, but Lizzie spoke hurriedly. ‘I’m a historian, Your Majesty. I’m writing a book about King Alphonse, and I hoped you would grant me an interview.’

She’d tightened her hand on his, detaining him against his will, an outrageous breach of protocol as his astonished look told her. Instead of backing off she held him a little longer, meeting his eyes. It was a risk, but she’d never been afraid of that. At his side his aide tensed, ready to force her to release him at a signal from him. But it didn’t come, and gradually the amazement in his eyes gave way to something else. Interest? Curiosity? Lizzie’s heart beat with excitement. She was almost there…