The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(4)

“Once upon a time, there was a great king and he had an enchanted leopard to serve him.” She wiggled her rump on the chair. “I know what you’re thinking, but that’s not how it goes.”

Harry blinked. “My lady?”

“No. The king dies right away, so he’s not the hero.” She looked expectantly at him.

“Ah.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

It seemed to do.

Lady Georgina nodded. “The leopard wore a sort of gold chain around its neck. It was enslaved, you see, but I don’t know how that came about. Cook’s aunt didn’t say. Anyway, when the king was dying, he made the leopard promise to serve the next king, his son.” She frowned. “Which doesn’t seem very fair, somehow, does it? I mean, usually they free the faithful servant at that point.” She shifted again on the wooden chair.

Harry cleared his throat. “Perhaps you would be more comfortable on the floor. Your cloak is drier. I could make a pallet.”

She smiled blindingly at him. “What a good idea.”

He spread out the cloak and rolled his own clothes to form a pillow.

Lady Georgina shuffled over in her robes and plopped down on the crude bed. “That’s better. You might as well come lie down as well; we’ll be here until morning, most likely.”

Christ. “I don’t think it advisable.”

She looked down her narrow nose at him. “Mr. Pye, those chairs are hard. Please come lie on the rugs at least. I promise not to bite.”

His jaw clenched, but he really had no choice. It was a veiled order. “Thank you, my lady.”

Harry gingerly sat beside her—he’d be damned if he would lie down next to this woman, order or no—and left a space between their bodies. He wrapped his arms around his bent knees and tried not to notice her scent.

“You are stubborn, aren’t you?” she muttered.

He looked at her.

She yawned. “Where was I? Oh, yes. So the first thing the young king does is to see a painting of a beautiful princess and fall in love with her. A courtier or a messenger or some such shows it to him, but that doesn’t matter.”

She yawned again, squeaking this time, and for some reason his prick responded to the sound. Or perhaps it was her scent, which reached his nose whether he wished it to or not. It reminded him of spices and exotic flowers.

“The princess has skin as white as snow, lips as red as rubies, hair as black as, oh, pitch or the like, et cetera, et cetera.” Lady Georgina paused and stared into the fire.

He wondered if she was done and his torment over.

Then she sighed. “Have you ever noticed that these fairy-tale princes fall in love with beautiful princesses without knowing a thing about them? Ruby lips are all very well, but what if she laughs oddly or clicks her teeth when she eats?” She shrugged. “Of course, men in our times are just as apt to fall in love with glossy black curls, so I suppose I shouldn’t quibble.” Her eyes widened suddenly, and she turned her head to look at him. “No offense meant.”

“None taken,” Harry said gravely.

“Hmm.” She seemed doubtful. “Anyway, he falls in love with this picture, and someone tells him that the princess’s father is giving her to the man who can bring him the Golden Horse, which was presently in the possession of a terrible ogre. So”—Lady Georgina turned to face the fire and cradled her cheek in her hand—“he sends for the Leopard Prince and tells him to go out quick and fetch him the Golden Horse, and what do you think?”

“I don’t know, my lady.”

“The leopard turned into a man.” She closed her eyes and murmured, “Imagine that. He was a man all along….”

Harry waited, but this time there was no more story. After a while he heard a soft snore.

He drew the robes up over her neck and tucked them around her face. His fingers brushed against her cheek, and he paused, studying the contrast of their skin tones. His hand was dark against her skin, his fingers rough where she was soft and smooth. Slowly he stroked his thumb across the corner of her mouth. So warm. He almost recognized her scent, as if he’d inhaled it in another life or long ago. It made him ache.

If she were a different woman, if this were a different place, if he were a different man… Harry cut short the whisper in his mind and drew back his hand. He stretched out next to Lady Georgina, careful not to touch her. He stared at the ceiling and drove out all thought, all feeling. Then he closed his eyes, even though he knew it would be a long while before he slept.

HER NOSE TICKLED. GEORGE SWIPED at it and felt fur. Beside her, something rustled and then was still. She turned her head. Green eyes met her own, irritatingly alert for so early in the day.

“Good morning.” Her words came out a frog’s croak. She cleared her throat.

“Good morning, my lady.” Mr. Pye’s voice was smooth and dark, like hot chocolate. “If you’ll excuse me.”

He rose. The robe he clutched slid off one shoulder, revealing tanned skin before he righted it. Walking silently, he slipped out the door.

George scrunched her nose. Did nothing faze the man?

It suddenly occurred to her what he must be doing outside. Her bladder sent up an alarm. Hastily she struggled upright and pulled on her rumpled, still-damp dress, catching as many of the fastenings as she could. She couldn’t reach all the hooks, and it must be gaping around her waist, but at least the garment wouldn’t fall off. George put on her cloak to hide her back and then followed Mr. Pye outside. Black clouds hovered in the sky, threatening rain. Harry Pye was nowhere in sight. Looking around, she chose a dilapidated shed behind which to relieve herself and tramped around it.