“Oh, I come up with plenty of dangerous ideas all on my own. I don’t need books for that.”
His eyes flashed blue fire, then narrowed again. “On that point, we are agreed.”
She hid a smile. “So what is it you wished to speak to Emma about? Last-minute details concerning your return home to Rosewald next week?”
Raising her glass, she took an idle sip.
“Actually, I was going to tell her that I’ve decided to stay in London a while longer, through the Season at least.”
Ariadne choked on her lemonade. Her eyes streamed as a series of wracking coughs squeezed her lungs.
“Are you all right?” Reaching over, he laid a hand against her back and gave her a pair of bracing thumps.
She gasped again but nodded to signal that she would recover, even as she continued gasping for breath.
He offered her a silk handkerchief from his coat pocket. She accepted it gratefully and let him take the drink from her hand and set it aside.
She mopped her eyes and fought to collect herself, even as Rupert took hold of her elbow and steered her gently toward a private spot behind a nearby pillar.
“Better?” he inquired after a minute.
“Yes,” she whispered, finally able to find her voice again.
A slow smile curved his mouth. “That is a relief. I would hate to have to inform my sister that one of her dearest friends had expired, and that I was at least in part to blame. Had I known the news of my continued residence in the city would elicit such a dramatic response I would have made certain to keep all beverages well out of reach.”
“You caught me off guard is all. I breathed in when I ought to have swallowed.”
“Again, I shall have to take better care in future.”
She became aware of his hand on her arm, his fingers warm against the narrow area of exposed skin between her long gloves and her sleeve. She met his eyes, which were so deeply blue, and felt her pulse quicken.
A reaction to nearly choking to death, of course. She drew her arm away.
So, he is remaining in London for the next several weeks.
But what did such news really matter to her? Emma’s brother he might be, but that did not mean she need spend a great deal of time in his company. She would find ways to make sure she did not. Her little project would ensure that she was otherwise occupied.
The music had stopped and guests now stood in small groups, talking while they waited for the next dance to begin. No one was looking at her and Rupert; her small incident had apparently gone unnoticed.
A tall man with coal black hair and a long, narrow face appeared at her side. He sketched a bow, then inclined his head toward Rupert before turning back to her. “Your Highness, the next dance is mine, I believe.”
Ariadne smiled as she appraised him, racking her brain to remember his title. She was sure she would recall if he was a duke, considering how few of them there were, so “my lord” ought to suffice for the time being.
“Of course, my lord,” she said brightly. “I have been awaiting your arrival these many minutes past.”
He smiled, displaying a set of even, white teeth, a twinkle in his cool gray eyes. “I am flattered by your kind attention, Princess.”
She studied him anew, finding him not unattractive. In fact, he was rather appealing in a very dark, English sort of way. Perhaps she ought to take the time to actually learn the man’s name. If she decided to add him to her list of prospective lovers, she would need to know what to call him, after all.
Smiling more broadly, she accepted the arm he offered. Only then did she turn to Rupert. “If you will excuse us, Your Royal Highness?”
“But of course.” Rupert took a step back, his eyes meeting hers once more.
Her pulse raced in the most perplexing way. She was anticipating the dance to come and the man in whose arms she would enjoy it, she told herself. Perhaps, if all went well, she would eventually enjoy a great deal more than just dancing with him.
Angling her head closer, the better to hear what he had to say, she let him lead her toward the dance floor.
Chapter Two
Prince Rupert was bored.
There were no two ways about it. Try as he might, he was finding little pleasure in the social game the Ton called the London Season.
I should never have let Emma persuade me to stay in England longer than I’d originally planned, he mused as he drained the last of the champagne from his glass.
Duties awaited him back in Rosewald, responsibilities that required his personal attention as regent. Arrangements had been made for his ministers to handle the day-to-day details of running the kingdom, with orders that an emissary be dispatched immediately should any business of an urgent or extremely delicate nature arise. But none had. At the moment, however, he wished an emissary would rush into the ballroom with an emergency that required him to leave. At least then he wouldn’t be put to the bother of pretending to listen to the Belgian ambassador as he droned on about the continued need for road repair in his country nearly five years after Napoleon’s ouster at Waterloo.
Rupert tried hard to look interested, even as he accepted another glass of champagne from a passing footman. For as tedious as his visit was proving, it was still better than the infernal nagging that awaited him back at court.
Before his departure from Rosewald, his ministers had been quietly but persistently pressing him about the necessity of taking a wife. Not only had they enlisted the support of his ailing father, who bellowed at him about grandchildren from his sickbed, but they had gone to the lengths of slipping a list of eligible princesses into his official correspondence.
He’d been so annoyed at the time that he’d threatened to dismiss the entire lot of them over the incident, forbidding them to mention the topic again.
But at four-and-thirty years of age, even he knew the time was drawing near. Soon, he would have to pick a suitable bride, a young woman of royal blood who would not only provide him with heirs but whose alliance would strengthen his place on the throne.
Not yet, however.
Not now.
From across the room, Princess Ariadne caught his eye as she floated across the dance floor on graceful slippered feet.
Her name, he recalled, had been omitted from the list of eligible royal brides. She was a princess, true, but one without a country. An alliance with her would provide nothing in terms of wealth, position, or political gain. As for her inheritance, he knew she had more than sufficient to be comfortable for the entirety of her life, but nothing remarkable enough to tempt another royal into offering marriage. Any number of nobles would be happy to wed her, of course, but from the comments he’d heard her make to Emma, she had no interest in agreeing to a sensible marriage of convenience.
Holding out for love or some such sentimental nonsense.
Across the room she tossed her head back on a laugh, bestowing a flirtatious smile upon her partner, one that the man returned with rapt intensity. Rupert followed her movements, aware of how she stood out like a swan amid a flock of geese.
She had beautiful, creamy, milk-pale skin, a straight patrician nose, and bow-shaped lips that changed easily with her mood. Her body was long and slender, but graced with feminine curves that invited a man’s touch. If she weren’t so infuriatingly headstrong, he would have found her quite attractive.
Then there was her hair—a glorious red-blond that always came as a bit of a surprise. Considering her Nordic heritage, she ought to have had extremely fair coloring with pale, perhaps even near white hair. Instead, it was as if she had been lit from within, her tresses a vibrant gold that gleamed as if warmed by a fire. Apparently nature had seen fit to expose her true passion in the color of her hair.
And she was passionate, throwing herself fully into any endeavor she pursued.
She danced with passion as well, he noticed, the skirts of her vivid green dress billowing in a lively flourish around her trim ankles.
He ga
ve an imperceptible shake of his head, a smile playing across his mouth. Only she would be brazen enough to wear such a shade when she was yet unwed. Unmarried young women—even ones with numerous Seasons to their credit—confined themselves to white and a few light, muted shades.
But not Ariadne.
She defied the rules of propriety at every turn. He thought she sometimes did things for the express purpose of flouting social convention, as if she were daring Society to find fault and kick her out of its exalted ranks. If she wasn’t careful, and pushed the boundaries too far, he feared she might get her wish one of these days.
The music ended, the dancers drawing to a halt. He expected her partner to escort her across the ballroom to where Emma sat chatting with a group of young matrons. Instead, as Rupert watched, Ariadne rose up on her toes to whisper something into the man’s ear. He gave her a nod and a smile, then turned away.
Ariadne moved into the throng exiting the dance floor, half disappearing into the crowd. But Rupert’s height allowed him to keep track of her, especially given her green dress and the red-gold hair that set her off like a beacon.
He followed her progress across the room to the main doorway that was packed elbow to ankle with a mad crush of party guests. Then suddenly she was gone, vanished somewhere into the house beyond.
For a moment he considered trailing after her to see what sort of mischief she might be up to—since Ariadne was always up to her pretty ears in one kind of trouble or another—but then he decided it was none of his business. He and Ariadne managed to live in his sister’s house in just the same manner, by a judicious and carefully honed talent for mutual avoidance.
Yet her escape had given him an idea.
Why not follow her lead and escape the party for a brief while?
“This has been fascinating, Ambassador,” he said, interrupting the man in midsentence, “but if you will excuse me, I really must be going.”
The man’s white eyebrows flew high as a pair of flags on his lined forehead. “Oh, o-of course, Your Highness. M-my pleasure as always.”
Rupert didn’t remain long enough to acknowledge the other man’s bow as he strode away.
He managed to make it halfway across the ballroom before he was stopped again.
And again.
And yet again.
It took him more than fifteen minutes to extricate himself from everyone who urgently craved his attention.
Finally, he made it into the refreshingly cool atmosphere in the rear of the house, not sure where each corridor led and not really caring so long as he found some peace and quiet. The noise from the party grew more and more distant as he moved away from the ballroom. Occasionally he passed other guests who had also wandered away from the festivities, but none of them sought to stop him, as they were too preoccupied with their own interests to wonder about his.
He turned into a dimly lit hallway and approached a door that stood partially open. To his pleasure, he discovered it was the study. He moved into the darkened chamber, where a cozy fire burned in the grate.
He was halfway across the room, his goal a comfortable-looking armchair, when he realized he was not alone. A couple stood huddled in one corner, locked in a passionate embrace.
He shifted on his heel, aware that he should leave, when he noticed a telltale glint of familiar reddish-blond hair.
Softly he cleared his throat.
The pair sprang apart and he looked directly into Ariadne’s luminous green eyes. He expected to see chagrin or passion or perhaps even annoyance.
What he saw instead was relief.
• • •
Ariadne gazed at Prince Rupert across the darkened study, silently grateful for the intrusion. Not that she had any intention of letting Rupert know that, but his unexpected entrance was exactly the excuse she needed to put an end to a tryst that had not gone at all as planned.
In the two weeks since she had actively begun looking for a lover, the search had proven a great deal more difficult than she had imagined—and a lot more bothersome.
As part of her effort to choose her first paramour, she had decided to kiss a few of the top contenders. As important as mutual interests and like-mindedness might be, physical compatibility was essential as well. How else was she to know if she wanted a man in her bed if she hadn’t so much as kissed him first?
So far, though, her kissing trials, as she thought of them, weren’t proving nearly as satisfactory as she’d hoped. Still, she’d held out high expectations for Mr. Knightbridge when she’d agreed to a tryst with him here in the study.
He was strong, handsome, and athletic, a Corinthian who moved across the dance floor like a dream. She’d been sure he would be the one to set her senses afire with his kisses. But almost as soon as their lips met, she’d known he was not the one for her.
Not that his kisses weren’t acceptable—she was sure some women found his technique quite enthralling—and at least he didn’t grope at her like a couple of her other gentlemen prospects had tried to do.
But, sadly, she found herself detached from the whole exercise, more aware of the overly spicy scent of his hair pomade, the soft weave of his superfine coat under her fingertips, and the quiet pops of the logs burning in the grate than she was of his kiss.
Never one to shrink from a challenge, though, she had determined to give their embrace more of a chance. Closing her eyes, she’d thrown herself into the enterprise with gusto. But after another long two minutes, she’d known it was just no good. Kissing him was about as exciting as drinking a cup of tepid tea. She needed far, far more from the man to whom she would gift her innocence.
Apparently he’d enjoyed their embrace a great deal more than she and had interpreted her response for genuine enthusiasm. Which was why she’d found it far from easy to end their kiss.
For the first time in her life, she could genuinely say she was thrilled to see Prince Rupert.
Taking advantage of the interruption, she stepped sideways, putting space between herself and Knightbridge.
For his part, Knightbridge looked startled and not a little annoyed. He was plainly not happy to see Rupert.
“Your Royal Highness,” he said in a clipped tone.
Rupert, arrogant as few men could be, spared him barely a glance before turning his sights on her.
“Princess Ariadne.”
“Prince Rupert. What brings you here, so far from the party?”
Rupert raised a sardonic brow. “I could easily ask you the same, although it seems rather unnecessary given the circumstances in which we find ourselves.”
Deciding that Shakespeare was right and discretion really was the better part of valor on certain occasions, she linked her hands in front of her and did not reply.
He turned suddenly toward Knightbridge. “You may return to the party. You will, of course, say nothing of this to anyone. I presume I make my meaning plain?”
Knightbridge, who was every inch as tall and muscular as Rupert, flushed like a schoolboy at the reprimand, the ruddy color staining his cheeks visible even in the low light. “Of course not, Your Highness. I would never think of besmirching the princess’s good name. She and I . . . well, we were . . . That is—”
“Whatever you were, pray spare me the details. I do not wish to know,” Rupert said, cutting the other man off in midstammer.
Knightbridge closed his mouth. He frowned, his gaze moving uncertainly between Ariadne and Rupert.
But he did not leave.
“Have we been speaking English?” Rupert demanded with cool impatience when Knightbridge continued to hover.
The other man’s frown turned to confusion. “Y-yes, Your Highness, we have.”
“Then why are you still here?”
Knightbridge’s face flushed again, and he gave a pair of jerky bows. After a last look at Ariadne, he exited the room.
She waited until Knightbridge was out of earshot. “That was cruel. There was no need to mock him.”
“If
he doesn’t wish to be treated like a fool, then he ought not act like one. Whatever do you see in him?” He paused, then held up a hand. “No, do not answer that. Again, it is more than I wish to know.”
“Well,” she said, smoothing a hand over a wrinkle in her skirt, “that being the case, I believe I will take my leave too.”
But she managed only three steps before his words drew her to a halt again.
“Not so quick, Your Highness. There is the little matter of your behavior tonight.”
She drew a calming breath and turned. “Yes? And what of it?”
“You and that cloth-headed pretty boy were kissing when I came in.”
“He is pretty, isn’t he?” she interjected, knowing the remark would annoy him. “But I thought you weren’t interested in details.”
Rupert’s jaw tightened. “I am not. But as the brother of your best friend, I think it my duty to advise you—”
“You overstep yourself, Your Royal Highness. You have no duties where I am concerned and I require no advice.” The gratitude she’d felt at his earlier timely interference had melted away.
“And you underestimate the amount of influence and goodwill you enjoy among the English Ton. They are a fickle lot and turn on each other like hungry dogs fighting for prey. You would do well to be careful.”
She fisted her hands at her sides. “Having cut my eyeteeth among those at my father’s court, I am quite familiar with fickle people and their deceitful ways. Your concern is unnecessary.”
She glared at him, her pulse beating hard, and he glared back.
“The man you were with tonight may be a fool, Ariadne, but you are not. What if it had been someone other than I who caught the pair of you together? Unless there is something you are not telling me and you have a happy announcement to make.”
She stared for a moment as his meaning sank in. “Heavens no. There is no understanding between Knightbridge and me. We are most definitely not engaged.”
The Trouble With Princesses Page 2
