The Leopard Prince (Princes #2)(78)

“It’s marvelous,” she said, “but why did you carve the leopard in a cage?”

He shrugged. “It’s enchanted, isn’t it?” “I suppose, but—” “I thought you’d ask me why I’m here.” He paced to the dresser.

She’d have to tell him soon, just not yet. Not while he seemed on the verge of flight. George set the caged leopard on her knees. “No. I’m just glad you’re with me.” She poked a finger through the bars and gently moved the leopard’s necklace. “I’ll always be happy when you come to me.”

“Will you?” Harry was looking down at the carved animals.

“Yes.” “Hmm,” he murmured noncommittally. “Sometimes I’ve asked that question of myself: Why I keep coming back when I’ve already said good-bye.”

“And do you have an answer for yourself?” George held her breath, hoping.

“No. Except that I can’t seem to stay away.” “Maybe that’s your answer, then.” “No. It’s too simple.” He turned to look at her. “A man should be able to lead his life, make his decisions, in a more reasoned way. I said I would leave you, and so I should have.”

“Really?” She set the leopard on the little table beside her bed and propped her chin on her knees. “But then what are emotions for? The good Lord gave them to men just as much as he gave intellectual thought. Surely He meant us to use our feelings as well?”

He frowned. “Emotions shouldn’t hold sway over reasoned thought.”

“Why not?” George asked softly. “If the Lord gave us both, then surely your emotion—your love of me—is just as important as what you think about our match. Perhaps it’s more important.”

“Is it for you?” Harry began to walk back to the bed. “Yes.” George lifted her head. “My love for you is more important than the fears I might have of marriage or of letting a man have dominion over me.”

“What fears are those, my lady?” He had reached her bedside again. He stroked a finger down her cheek.

“That you might betray me with another woman.” She leaned her cheek on his hand. “That we might eventually grow apart and even come to hate each other.” She waited, but he didn’t try to allay her worries. She sighed. “My own parents didn’t have a happy marriage.”

“Nor did mine.” Harry sat on the bed to take off his boots. “My mother betrayed Da for years; perhaps for the whole of their marriage. Yet he forgave her again and again. Until he could forgive her no more.” He removed his coat.

“He loved her,” George said softly. “Yes, and it made him weak and eventually led to his death.”

She could no more reassure him than he’d been able to reassure her. She wouldn’t ever betray him with another man; she knew that. But who was to say she wouldn’t lead to his destruction in another way? Did loving her make Harry weak?

George studied the caged leopard. “He gets free, you know.”

He paused in unbuttoning his waistcoat and raised his eyebrows.

She held up the carving. “The Leopard Prince. He’s freed in the end.”

“Tell me.” He shrugged off the waistcoat.

She took a deep breath, and said slowly, “The young king brought the Golden Eel to the father king, just as he had the other gifts. But the Golden Eel was different.”

“It was ugly.” Harry started on his shirt. “Well, yes,” George admitted. “But besides that, it could speak, and it was wise. When the father king got it alone, it said, ‘Tush! That weakling no more stole me than the wind did. Listen now, tell the young king that the beautiful princess will only marry the man who wears the golden chain with the emerald crown on it. Then you will have the man who has done all these wonderful things. That man and no other shall be her bridegroom.’ ”

“I’m beginning to suspect you are making parts of this fairy tale up, my lady.” Harry tossed his shirt to a chair.

George held up her hand. “On my honor as a Maitland. This is exactly how Cook’s aunt told it to me in the kitchen of my town house over tea and crumpets.”

“Huh.”

She leaned back against the headboard. “So the father king marched back to the young king and told him the Golden Eel’s words. The young king smiled and said, ‘Oh, that’s easy enough!’ And he didn’t even have to return home, for he’d brought the Leopard Prince with him. He went to the Leopard Prince and said, ‘Give me that chain that hangs about your neck.’ ” She paused a moment to watch as Harry started to unbutton his breeches. “And what do you think the Leopard Prince said?”

He snorted. “Shove it up your”—he glanced at her—“nose?”

“No, of course not.” She frowned severely. “No one talks like that in fairy tales.”

“Perhaps they ought.”

She ignored his mutter. “The Leopard Prince said, ‘Impossible, my liege, for if I remove this chain, I will soon sicken and die.’ The young king replied, ‘Well, that’s a pity, for I’ve found you quite useful, but I need the chain now, so you must give it to me at once.’ And so the Leopard Prince did.” George looked at Harry, expecting a protest, a comment, something.