Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(12)

He continued as though she hadn’t spoken, “Your hair isn’t the most modest shade, but it is appealing.” He cocked his head as he surveyed her. “Your skin has seen too much of the sun,” he announced. “Have you never heard of a bonnet?”

She pulled back her shoulders in affront. “Have you never heard of manners? Does being a prince exclude you from basic courtesy? I don’t recall asking your opinion regarding my appearance.”

He folded his hands behind his back, ignoring her words as he began circling her, ever again the stiff and judgmental prince. Even with his burning eyes, she faced the fact that he would always be that—a man far removed from her. He knew it. She knew it, too.

She turned with sideways steps, following him as he moved, not about to have him at her back.

He stopped before her, still considering her with those gold eyes of his. “How old are you?” There was a fair amount of suspicion in his voice as he asked this . . . as though whatever she said would be wrong.

She eyed him, answering slowly. “Not that it’s any of your concern, but I’m eight and twenty.”

He blinked. “You’re a bit long in the tooth, aren’t you?”

She gasped. “For what? Being alive?”

“For being yet unclaimed.”

“Unclaimed? As in unclaimed by a man?”

He nodded once.

“A little archaic, aren’t you? I’ve been busy . . . haven’t gotten around to a man . . . claiming me yet.”

“I see,” he murmured, either missing her sarcasm or deliberately ignoring it.

Propping her hands on her hips, she demanded, “And how old are you?”

“It doesn’t matter how old I am. I’m a man.”

“No, you’re a jackass!” she retorted.

His expression didn’t crack at this accusation; if anything, he looked only grimmer.

Her hands clenched at her sides, opening and closing into fists. She couldn’t recall a man ever exasperating her more. Even when she was a child, when the village boys would torment her with lizards and various other creepy crawly creatures, they’d never infuriated her like this.

He shrugged as if it were of no account to him. “I’m eight and twenty, as well.”

She blinked. He must be jesting. “You mean to say we’re the same age?”

“Yes, but as I pointed out, I’m a man.” He held up a broad palm when she began to protest. “Albeit a jackass, as you’ve said.” His mouth twisted into what almost resembled a smile. “The question that begs answering is who is older? When were you born?”

Shaking her head, she replied coldly, emphatically, “I’m not telling you my birthday.”

“I can find out,” he said with maddening confidence.

“Why should you wish to?”

“You’ve put yourself on the market for a husband, have you not? I’ve a right to consider your assets.”

She snorted and dropped her arms. “Do you mean to say you’re considering me as a prospective wife? Heavens! Have the stars truly shined down on me? Could I be so blessed?” She flattened a hand to her chest and cocked her head at a jaunty angle, enjoying herself and almost laughing as she played out her mockery. Sobering, she looked him squarely in the eye. “I overheard you earlier. I know what you think of me.”

“So the drink on my head was no accident. I thought as much.”

Too late, she realized she’d been trapped. She propped a hand on her hip. “No, it was no accident. I believe you called me a nobody with ignoble roots. You deserved my drink on your head. That and more.”

He nodded sagely, assessing her again, not appearing the least remorseful at the reminder of his insulting words. “I said that. Quite so. It was the truth. You’d do well enough in my bed. You smell like vanilla and you tremble sweetly when I touch you, but—”

“Stop!” she cried, lifting her hands to her ears as if she could block out his outrageous words. All her humor vanished as scorching heat swept over her face. That he spoke matter-of-factly, almost dispassionately, over the issue of her beddable-ness galled her.

“But as a wife?” he continued as if she had not spoken. “Indeed not. Your age alone would offend my grandfather.”

“So long as you’re picking a wife to please your granddaddy.” She smirked.

That earned her a glare, for which she felt immense satisfaction. She needn’t be the only one discomfited.

“I’ve more than my wishes to consider when choosing a wife.” His voice fell hard and flat. “I’ve a duty to my country.” He waved a hand in her direction. “It would be foolish and irresponsible to consider you. I should be lucky to beget a single child, much less the half score I require.”

Her hands flew back to her hips. “Holy hellfire! Is there no end to your conceit and arrogance? This isn’t the Middle Ages. Wives are more than broodmares, you know.”

“I’m not merely looking for a wife. I’m looking for a princess. A future queen.”

That silenced her. What did she know about such matters, after all?

“Aside from your age, your speech and manner hardly befit a princess—”

“I quite understand you. I’m not wife material for you. I don’t recall ever vying for the position.” Hot indignation swarmed over her in tiny hot prick points. “It’s a good thing that you have no interest in me,” she said, deliberately forgetting that he said she would do well in his bed. “And I most assuredly have none in you.” She swallowed, hating the way her voice sounded tight and out of breath.