Pricilla spun, facing the two of them. Her croissant skidded across her plate to the floor. “We are not—”
“Merci, Monsieur. ’Twould be my pleasure,” Essie, the traitor, interrupted smoothly. “I believe your croissant has lost its way, Cill.”
“Do not fret, Lady Pricilla, I shall procure you another. If you would be so kind as to locate a table?”
When Essie gave him a winning smile and turned to do his bidding, it took every effort Pricilla could muster to resist placing out a foot out to trip her.
Her large foot.
Essie’s unkind remark regarding Cinde’s slipper stung. Was it her fault her foot was not as dainty as that of her sisters? At least, then it would have served a useful purpose. But resist, she did, shadowing Essie closely.
“What are you up to, Ess?”
“Cill, whatever can you mean?” Essie’s hand landed over her heart in feigned amazement.
“Your theatrics do not fool me. I do not care to have breakfast with him.”
“Whyever not? I daresay, he is not such a bad sight this early in the day. Besides,” she whispered, inclining her head toward the arched door. “Maman just walked in.”
Pricilla groaned and followed Essie, thankful the only available table seated three. Small favor, she supposed, sitting down with an undignified plop.
“Your croissant, Mademoiselle,” Arnald murmured from behind. His breath touched her nape stirring her hair. A ripple of sensual awareness tripped her spine, and whispers of unknown promise, brushed her skin. Pricilla chased it away grasping for anger in its stead.
She may have to have breakfast with the lout but she did not have to talk to him. “Have you seen Cinde this morning, Essie?” Pricilla handed her a sly smile.
“Non. I am sure she is resting.”
“I understand you were at her side throughout the duration of her illness,” Sir Arnald said. “That was quite brave of you, Mademoiselle.” His unexpected admiration had Essie blushing, rounding out Pricilla’s ire.
“Someone had to look after her,” Essie said softly. Her accusatory tone brought Pricilla’s head up sharply.
“What do you mean, Ess? Did something el—happen?” Pricilla refused to meet Sir Arnald’s eyes, but could feel them boring into her. Blast, she’d almost slipped.
“They wanted to bleed her.” Essie’s said, softly. “But she’d already lost so much. It would have killed her.”
“Who wanted to, Ess? Who wanted to bleed her?” Pricilla dropped her voice, as well.
“Maman. But the queen agreed. I feared for her, truly feared for her.”
“Oh...Dieu. Essie. I should have been with you.”
Essie seemed not to hear. “I started screaming for Prince. He rushed in like a knight in shining armor and saved the moment.” She blinked quickly, eyes glistening. “She would have died for certain,” she said fiercely. Essie glanced up and shook her head as if remembering where she was. “Je suis désolée, such maudlin conversation is not for early dining, oui? My apologies.” Her cheeks pinked with embarrassment.
“I believe my cousin may have saved the moment, Lady Esmeralda. But do not lose sight of the fact that you were there to call out to him,” Arnald interjected. His husky tone whispered over Pricilla’s senses like a light summer breeze.
Pricilla pressed her lips together. This conversation was not having the desired effect of keeping Sir Arnald at a respectable distance. It bordered on just the opposite with his understanding words and gruff resonance, reminding her pointedly of their close confinement in the cave.
“Have you seen Edric?” Pricilla asked.
“Oh, oui. He is adorable.” Ah. This was more like the Essie, Pricilla knew. She smiled as Essie’s eyes softened.
“Good morning, my daughters.”
Pricilla started, and swallowed convulsively. ’Twas clear she was destined to ne’er make it through her meal in peace.
“Good morning, Maman,” Essie said.
“Lady Roche.” Ever the gallant gentleman, Sir Arnald rose from his seat. “Would you care to sit? I shall be happy to vacate elsewhere.”
“Non. Non. Esmeralda, ma chère, I would so enjoy your company this morning.” Maman’s schemes were so transparent, Pricilla wanted to scream.
“Of course, Maman.” With a pained smile that more resembled a grimace, Essie stood and moved away, leaving Sir Arnald watching after them with a thoughtful gaze. Pricilla did not know who she felt sorrier for, Essie or herself.
“She is not very subtle, is she?” he said, seating himself once again.
“Ah, you noticed. Your intelligence is quite astounding, sir. I must commend you yet again.” He turned a definite smirk on her.
“And I your wit,” he returned. “As it is, I have much to discuss with you.”
“I am afraid it shall have to wait, sir,” she said, rising from her own chair.
“You cannot run from me, Pricilla.” Her gaze shot up at his familiarity. “’Tis for you to decide. We speak now, with others round, or later, offering...more privacy?” His meaning was clear. He was not above ruining her completely if she did not comply with his wishes.
The bounder. She was trapped. Resigned to the inevitable, she plopped back down.
***
A man had to use every weapon available in his arsenal, Arnald thought. And since his compellation powers seemed completely useless against Lady Pricilla, he was forced to resort to more old-fashioned wiles. The thought of using wiles had him suppressing a burst of absurd laughter.
She would not escape again.
For reasons unbeknownst to him, he craved her admiration. Arnald ate slowly studying her beneath hooded lids. Lady Pricilla looked fetching in a soft day gown of bright green. With her white gold hair braided and crowning the top of her head, she looked like a spring flower in the midst of a meadow. The only thing challenging the picture were compressed lips and gray eyes threatening a storm of violence in her frustration.
“I warn you once again, sir, I will not be coerced into a farcical marriage.” She said this with a calm demeanor that warred with the mutiny written across her features. A low chuckle escaped him. Truly, just looking at her had him wanting to whisk her away somewhere private and kiss her senseless. His eyes fastened on the rapid pulse fluttering in the slender column of her neck. His lips twitched to feel it.
The fact that she’d failed to fall under Maman’s twist of fate made her fascinating indeed. “What makes you think it would be farcical?” he asked. He kept his movements steady and slow genuinely yearning her answer. Without the want of showing so.
She gave an indelicate sniff. “What makes you think it would not?” she retorted.
An unexpected thought occurred to him. He leaned back in his chair and pierced her with an amused gaze. “Never say that you are afraid, Lady Pricilla.”
“Afraid! Of what, pray tell?” But the hint of blush touched her cheeks, belying the words. She snatched up her fork and stabbed at the eggs on her plate quite forcefully.
Unable to resist taunting her, he pondered the question. “Let us see.” He held up his hand and ticked off each count. “One, you stood up to Silas Huntley’s massive bulk with unwavering mettle.” He tapped a second finger. “You were shot at. Twice. Third, you made your way down a flight of treacherous stone steps, unknowing of who might be following; surviving the depths of blackened caverns, you clearly abhor. Four. You faced nefarious villains wielding my knife, nicely. And, might I add? I’d like it back; five, you risked the wrath of Prince helping his princess escape her plush prison if for only a moment’s peace.” He paused, contemplating all she’d withstood without any hesitation. Admiration flooded him. “I believe you may be quite the heroine, my lady.”
“She needed air,” she mumbled, cheeks pink. After a quick, embarrassed silence, Lady Pricilla drew herself up and met his gaze squarely. If one could ore the silver flashing from their depths, one would find riches far beyond the wealth of money.
; “Your point, sir?”
He was suddenly gripped with an urge to bind this fiery female, in all her stubborn glory, to him forever. The realization squeezed an ironclad wrench on his heart. In that moment he recognized his own fear. Conquering her affection was as reachable as the floor of the sea at its deepest depths. He clenched a fist in his lap, and concentrated on keeping his expression bland. He studied her openly, letting the stillness between them build. ’Twas not as if he didn’t possess powers of his own, it was just a matter of finding the right channel in which to direct them.
“I think you are terrified of love,” he said.
“—terrified of lo—why, that is—by far the most arrogant—” she sputtered.
There was nothing further to gain with this absurd exchange, he decided. He dabbed the serviette over his lips before tossing it across his plate. Watching her brows furrow was far more enticing.
***
Heat crawled up Pricilla’s neck to her face. She willed it back, but feared it did little good. She rose from her chair, eager to flee his company. His arrogance was galling. How dare he tell her she was afraid of—of love! She jumped up so quickly, her chair clattered to the floor. Something odd was happening to her. Black dots blurred her vision. She felt as if she were once again trapped in the depth of the caverns, only the passage of oxygen was cut off. Trapped in a closet of her youth where large blankets draped, hiding any crevice of light.
Air. She needed air—air without him depleting it all.
She spun for a quick escape. From the corner of her eye, Maman’s gaze pierced her with unwavering interest. Inhaling short rapid breaths, Pricilla knew her mortification was about to become complete, when she swooned on the floor before Sir Arnald.
Sir Arnald narrowed a gaze in the direction of Essie and Maman, then back to her. “May I escort you to the hall, Lady Pricilla?” he said softly, offering his arm. Unfortunately, his company was the wiser alternative. What choice had she?
Love? Why had he said love?
Inhaling deeply, she nodded. “Merci,” she said. Then let out breath in a measured stream and gripped his steel strength.
Apparently, his heroics knew no bounds.
Chapter 34
“Your theatrics appear to be working on Pricilla, dear,” Thomasine said.
“In which theatrics do you refer, dear sister?” Faustine replied.
“Why, the one that has young women gushing over my nephew, of course.” Thomasine frowned. “But do you think that a wise match?”
“Wise—”
The door crashed against the wall and Prince emerged, reminding Thomasine of much younger years. Years when he’d burst in the same with nary a thought.
“Bonjour, my son. It’s early. What brings you here at such an hour?” Thomasine smiled, sipping her tea. These moments were few and far between. To her delight, he approached and kissed her on each cheek.
“Bonjour, Maman, Aunt Faustine.”
“You appear troubled, dear. Is something amiss?”
“Mayhap I should leave?” Faustine rose.
“Non. Non,” Prince flung out a hand. “Stay, s’il vous plaît.”
“What is it, dear?”
“The harvest ball.”
“Ah, well, the plans are coming along nicely. Right on schedule, I believe.”
“My wife insists on attending the festivities.”
“That should prove no problem, darling. The ball is yet a week away. She is gathering strength daily. Do you not agree, Faustine?”
“Mais oui. I expect she should be fully recovered.”
He let out a stream of air, telling of his worry. “She has just had a child...almost perished in her efforts.”
“Regardless, she has guardian angels to be sure. She will not have to lift so much as a pinky finger,” Faustine said. The crease on his forehead smoothed.
“Now, pray tell, what is this I hear of your decision in disallowing Lady Pricilla to continue in her rounds as Land Agent, dear? ’Twould not be another impulse decision, I hope.” Thomasine cringed at the chastisement in her tone. Her son was a man grown, after all.
“Oui,” Faustine chimed in. “She has shown excellent competence.”
“The decision was not made lightly, I assure you,” he defended. He pushed a hand through tousled hair.
Thomasine watched him, fascinated, by the depth and maturity for all his ridiculous notions of locating Cinderella through the mishap of that silly glass shoe. “Non?”
He seemed to gather himself. Thomasine realized he was weighing how much he should reveal. “There is danger looming,” he said slowly. “And I do not relish facing my beloved princess with news of her sister’s demise.”
“Demise?” Faustine sounded surprised.
Thomasine frowned. “Whatever do you mean?”
After a long pause, he continued. “She and Arnald unearthed crates of smuggled goods in their infamous overnight adventure.” A tingling of apprehension touched her spine as he continued. “Some goods can be overlooked. But among the discovery of spirits, tea, and spices was a considerable quantity of black powder.”
“Black powder,” she gasped. “Why that...that would indicate an...an overthrow of power.”
“Oui,” he grimaced. “My thoughts exactly.”
Chapter 35
A week later found Pricilla gazing out the windows of Cinde’s dressing room in the grip of excited anticipation. Tonight, she vowed, she would seize her opportunity for answers. With all the preparations underway for the Harvest Ball, she’d been curiously aware of Sir Arnald’s absence, leaving a queer sense of loss pulsating in her chest.
On more than one occasion, she'd abruptly woken from sound slumber, harrowed by dreams of dark eyes piercing her through the gloom-ridden caverns. Instead of running in fear, she ran toward something infinitely sweeter—and that...frightened her.
“What preys on your mind, Cill?” Essie called out, startling her.
“Sleep has eluded me the last few days,” she said softly. She turned to face her sisters, but they paid no mind.
“’Tis like old times, non?” Essie grinned. “How did you do it, Cinde? How did you convince Prince to allow you attend the harvest ball?”
“I am a married woman, Essie,” she murmured, blushing.
Pricilla observed the exchanged with a mixture of amusement over their shared excitement, and her own embarrassment, as she had a small insight to what Cinde referred. Concern overrode discomfiture, watching her, however. Cinde may not be quite as revived as she let on.
“You epitomize every inch the princess, Cinde,” Pricilla told her with a quick embrace. And she did, Pricilla smiled. With her bronze gown trimmed in ivory lace, it set off her dark hair and eyes to perfection. “The jeweled crown is a nice touch.”
“Ha ha,” Cinde laughed. Her eyes sparkled with excitement. ’Twas a welcome sight.
“Help me with the last of these hooks, Cill,” Essie implored. She spun, full emerald skirts billowing out. Pricilla obliged with nimble fingers then brushed out her own shimmering silver frock.
It did, indeed, feel like days just before Cinde and Prince found each other, she thought. The three of them had stood before this same large cheval looking-glass. An overwhelming happiness pricked the back of Pricilla’s eyes. Cinde made Prince the perfect princess. Pricilla had to wonder why it had taken her so long to admit it. Having the largest feet of the trio had bestowed a gift on them all, inadvertently.
“Will they announce us, do you suppose?” Essie asked.
“Certainment,” Cinde said. “’Twill be just like my—or should I say, our, betrothal ball.” The remark triggered a fit of giggles.
“It’s a masked ball,” Pricilla complained. “I have no intention of being announced.”
A soft knock sounded at the door. “Lady Roche,” Manette said, effectively quelling the buoyancy. Essie gasped, and snatched Cinde’s arm.
“Merci, Manette.” Pricilla stepped forward enforcing the
barrier. It did not serve as a huge deterrent. “Stay close to the princess,” she instructed softly to Manette before addressing Maman with a bright smile. “What brings you here? The ball is well underway, Maman.”
“Only ’tis begun, my dears. There is plenty of time.” Her pleasant tone sent a wave of apprehension prickling over Pricilla’s skin. “Don’t you all look lovely?” She moved to Essie and patted her cheek with an open palm. When she angled toward Cinde, Pricilla stepped up and blocked her path. An odd, yet comforting iridescent glimmer touched the atmosphere but Pricilla took no chances.
“Merci, Maman, you look lovely as well. That shade of plum is quite flattering, non?” Pricilla laced her arm through Maman’s and guided her through the door.
“Merci, my darling. Cinderella is indeed blessed, oui?
A nervous flutter tickled her insides. “Whatever do you mean, Maman?” Pricilla tried to laugh but it came out more like a breathless huff.
“Why, by yours and Esmeralda’s protection, of course. Not to worry, ma chère, she has naught to fear from moi.” That statement was enough to terrify Pricilla.
“I-I’m sure, Maman.”
“Do not dare to toy with me, darling. You are but a babe when it comes to cunning.” A flash of heat, followed by ice pulsed through Pricilla’s veins making her feel quite ill.
Maman drew her to a halt in the grand corridor and confronted her. Her large frame towered over Pricilla, not unlike a lethal weapon should she have so chosen. Pricilla had ne’er experienced the full terror of her mother’s erratic wanderings until this moment. There was a peculiar, spellbinding quality that hung over the hall as if Pricilla watched her own end from afar in horrific curiosity.
“I am very pleased, Pricilla,” Hilda said after a long pause.
“Pleased, Maman?” Pricilla asked softly, frowning. It angered her that she should feel so helpless in a deserted corridor with her own mother. “I fail to understand.”
Maman gripped her chin and tilted her head. “Oui? Ah, I see. Well, no matter, ma chère.” Just as quickly she let go. Pricilla stumbled back at the sudden move. “Go back to your, sisters, dear. I shall see you at the ball. Nothing can spoil this wonderful eve, oui?” She spun on her heel and disappeared before Pricilla could catch her breath.
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