Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(13)

He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Indeed, you won’t do at all as the future queen of Maldania, despite having a certain . . . raw appeal.” He angled his head again and a liquid-dark lock of hair fell across his forehead, making him look rakish. She could almost excuse the simmer in her blood. For all that he said, all that he was a cad, he was darkly, irresistibly handsome. And yet that changed nothing. As much as her blood simmered, so did her temper. He was an insulting boor and she would not abide him another moment. “So let us discuss how firm you are on the matter of marriage. Are you opposed to another type of arrangement?”

She glanced around, searching wildly for anything she might use as a weapon. “You’re abominable! Is there no end to your—”

“Honesty?” he supplied with a bold lift of an eyebrow.

“No,” she shot back. “Wretchedness. You can’t make an indecent proposition and pride yourself on honesty.” She shook her head. “It simply does not work that way.”

“I merely pointed out you were appealing and I would perhaps care for more of your company.”

With her face still flaming, she lifted her skirts and moved for the door, ready to put His Bloody Highness behind her for good. She felt sorry for whatever female married him. She could well imagine listening to him pontificate over her failings all the days of their union. Grier would jump off a cliff first.

“I wouldn’t leave just yet.”

She paused, looking over her shoulder at the much too handsome wretch. She couldn’t help thinking that it was vastly unfair that such a wicked man should be wrapped in such packaging. It hid all that was twisted inside him. “And why not?”

“Rather soon on the heels of Lord and Lady Kirkendale, is it not? You don’t want them to spot you leaving.” He lowered himself to the bed, stretching out long legs before him as he observed her with his keen lion’s eyes.

He smiled then. The suddenness of that grin stole her breath. Austere and unsmiling, he was a sight to behold. Smiling like this . . . She was in trouble.

She scowled at him. His smile deepened, flashing blinding white teeth. Apparently her scowl did not affect him. She was not sure much of anything would.

She cleared her throat and lifted her chin. “It’s unlikely they’re lingering—”

“They’re properly wedded,” he reminded in his rolling accents, her skin tingling in the most bothersome way. “They have no cause to hurry back. And knowing Lady Kirkendale, she’s probably distracting him along the way.”

She loathed his logic. The couple had sounded quite amorous moments ago, after all. She should put nothing past their salacious natures.

She crossed her arms and gazed at the . . . prince. Her thoughts still stumbled over the fact that he was royalty, that he was here. With her. That he had propositioned her and seemed unmoved by that fact. Her chest tightened. He probably did it all the time to lowly females such as her.

Who would have imagined that Grier, more comfortable in trousers and astride a mount, would ever find herself in such a scenario? The Grier of old had spent several evenings a week at the local tavern, drinking ale with lads who viewed her as one of them. Simply another low-born lad. As a game master, she’d spent little time in dresses and even less time in ball gowns.

She swallowed. The blasted prince was right. She would make a poor queen. And that wasn’t something she regretted. She didn’t aspire to be a queen. She only sought a marriage to a gentleman. She knew how hard life could be. She wanted to make sure she was shielded from the worst of its storms. Nothing more.

Leaning back on his elbows, the prince continued to stare at her as she made no move to leave. “Thought you might see my point.”

“Concerned with being caught with a lowly serf such as me, are you?” She could not stop the biting question. He, a prince. She, a bastard who’d fallen into some money. The two did not mesh.

He tilted his head, firelight gilding the dark strands. She swallowed again, vowing to stop letting his looks addle her head.

“Not especially,” he answered. “My reputation shall not suffer if we’re caught together, after all.” A corner of his mouth pulled seductively. “Sorry. That man thing again.”

He mocked her. Her fingers dug into her palms, the nails cutting into the tender flesh. She stared at him for a moment, cocking her head. “You mean I alone would bear the shame of being caught alone with you in a bedchamber?”

“Naturally.”

“Such an occurrence shall not affect you in the least.”

“You needn’t sound so indignant.” He nodded a single time. “ ’Tis the way of things. In your country and mine.”

Yes, she thought grimly. It was the way of things. She’d suffer scandal, and he would merely become more desirable in the eyes of the ton. Men would admire him and women would only think him more the dashing rake.

If she thought the whispers about her were bad now, they would be nothing if she was caught alone in such intimate quarters with the bloody Crown Prince of Maldania. She bit her lip, looking anxiously to the door again.

He certainly wouldn’t salvage her honor by offering to marry her. A bitter taste filled her mouth. Make no mistake, he did not deem her worth saving from ruin. She was merely a bastard. Too old. Too freckled and sun-browned.

“Then I best not linger here,” she retorted at last. “Since every moment with you places me at risk.”