Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(22)

All heads swiveled in the direction of the usually aloof prince. Everyone stared at him, clearly surprised that he had spoken such high praise on her behalf. Of course, no one was more surprised than Grier.

Did he mean his words? A glimpse of his face hardly indicated that she’d managed to impress him. And yet if she hadn’t impressed him with her singing, then why had he spoken up? It was unfathomable that he should wish to spare her from Persia’s ridicule. Why should he care how others treated her?

His face still looked carved from stone. The jaw square hard and chiseled, but his eyes glowed molten.

“Quite the highlight of my evening,” he added with a sharp nod of his head. Goose bumps broke out across her skin and the tightness in her chest eased.

She fought off the ridiculous urge to smile. “Th-thank you.”

“Quite so!” Jack exclaimed. “I told you she was a fine singer.”

“Indeed. It was a lovely ballad. Reminds me of the songs my nanny used to sing to me when I was a girl. She was Welsh, too, you know.” The dowager began to rise. The viscount rushed forward to assist her. “You remind me of her.”

Panic fluttered in Grier’s belly. The dowager didn’t understand Welsh, did she?

“Also like my dear nanny, you’ve practically lulled me to sleep.” She stopped before Grier and smiled rather sleepily. “Thank you for a splendid end to the evening.” She gave Grier a fond, two-fingered pat on the cheek.

After her departure, the other guests also began to rise.

The prince departed without a word or glance. She watched the broad expanse of his back as he vanished from the drawing room, still wondering why he had bothered to speak out on her behalf.

Her father, the duke, and Lord Tolliver moved toward the library for a round of cards.

“That’s my girl.” Jack gave her shoulder a squeeze of approval as he passed her. She shouldn’t have cared, but the simple gesture made her feel a warm glow of pleasure. Almost like he might really care for her as a father cares for his child.

Persia sent her a baleful glare as she swept from the room, apparently unhappy that Grier did not completely fall on her face tonight. All thanks to Prince Sevastian.

Marielle took the marquis’s elbow and guided him through the room. His knees popped as he passed Grier, but that did not stop him from looking her over with a salacious light in his eyes. Grier tore her gaze from Lord Quibbly with a shudder.

“Are you coming?”

Grier nodded.

Cleo looped her arm through Grier’s and grinned. “You were wonderful. Even the prince said so.”

“Yes. Why do you think he said those things?”

“Because you were good. Obviously.”

Grier gave her a doubtful look. “He doesn’t strike me as the type to praise someone for being merely good.”

Cleo squeezed her arm. “Perhaps he fancies you.”

“Unlikely.” Grier snorted.

“Well, who cares? The evening was a success. Lord Tolliver certainly looked at you with approval.”

“Yes,” she murmured. All due to the prince. A fact that would greatly mystify her late into the night.





Chapter Eight

Grier couldn’t sleep. The wind howled a mournful tune outside her window, the perfect lulling song to help one fall asleep. Only she couldn’t sleep. The only thing she could think about was the prince’s rumbling voice. You were marvelous, Miss Hadley.

Her face flushed with warmth. Giving up on the notion of sleep, she tossed back the coverlet and donned her robe, tightening the sash about her waist. The corridors were empty as she made her way downstairs, the house silent as a graveyard.

She paused at the library doors, making certain the gentlemen had long since quit their cards and retired for their beds. Not a sound greeted her. Intent on selecting a book, she entered the quiet room. The fire in the hearth still burned high. A log crumbled and sparks flew and popped. She must have just missed the others.

She edged closer to the fire, drawn by its heat. Holding out her hands, she sighed with pleasure, letting them get almost too warm.

“Careful. You’re standing close.”

Grier gave a small shriek and jumped, a hand flying to her pounding heart.

The prince lounged on a chaise just behind her. Stretched out, booted feet crossed in a relaxed pose, he looked beguiling. Not at all his usual stiff self.

“I didn’t see you there,” she said breathlessly, her pulse racing against her neck.

He gripped a handful of papers loosely above his chest. Several others littered the small rosewood table to the right of the chaise. A few even littered the carpet. She’d obviously interrupted him reading.

She’d never seen him like this before. He’d removed his jacket and neck cloth. Her mouth dried at the sight of smooth flesh peeping out from his loosened shirt. He looked human—an absurdly handsome man who was suddenly much too approachable.

“H-hello,” she added, feeling silly but unsure what to say. Her breath shuddered past her lips.

“Hello,” he returned, his deep voice a feather’s stroke on the air.

He removed the papers from his chest and dropped them all on the table. “Have you come to sing for me, Miss Hadley? Perhaps you wish to honor me with a solo performance?”

For some reason his question made her feel shaky inside, driving home the reminder that they were all alone. “No. I thought I would pick a book to read. What are you doing?”