Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(23)

He motioned to the mass of papers. “Going over correspondence from home.”

She stepped closer, fidgeting with the ruffled edge of her night rail. “All that?”

He ran a hand through his hair, sending the ink-dark strands into wild disarray. “I receive this much every week. I’ll spend a good portion of my day tomorrow replying.”

She arched a brow. “Indeed?”

“With my grandfather ailing, many matters need my attention. I’ve lingered here for much too long.” For a brief moment, he looked frustrated, before the calm mask fell back into place.

She frowned, seeing him in a new light. Apparently his life wasn’t all leisure and vain indulgences as she had assumed.

“I won’t disturb you further.” She crossed her arms, suddenly chilled. “Good night.” She took only one step before his voice stopped her.

“Please. Stay. You came for a book, did you not? Pick one.” He motioned to the many books lining the shelves.

“Thank you. I will.” She turned and tried to focus on the titles, angling her head to read the spines. The letters swam before her eyes. She could only think that he sat a few feet behind her. That she wore only her night rail. That he looked delicious and relaxed and thoroughly accessible.

That they were all alone.

She snatched a book off a shelf and whirled around, prepared to flee to the sanctuary of her bedchamber.

“What did you find?”

She blinked, stopping. “What?”

“Your book. What did you select?”

“Um.” She glanced down and turned the book around in her hands. Her stomach sank. “A Comprehensive Study of Oxen Husbandry.”

He snorted.

Heat swamped her face.

“Sounds fascinating,” he murmured. “A real page turner. I must read it after you’ve finished.”

It took a moment for her to realize he jested. One side of his mouth curled faintly. He actually possessed humor?

She stifled a chuckle and patted the thick volume. “Nothing like a little reading on animal husbandry to help one sleep.”

“Are you having trouble sleeping, Miss Hadley?”

That gave her pause. “The wind . . .” She motioned lamely to one of the windows. “It’s so loud tonight.” Better that excuse than the truth. She wasn’t about to admit that thoughts of him kept her awake.

Then she heard herself asking before she could reconsider, “Did you really enjoy my singing?”

He cocked his head to the side. “Are you fishing for more compliments? I said as much.”

“Yes, but did you say that because you felt sorry for me or because you truly thought I was good?”

At this question, the other side of his mouth curled upward. “Perhaps . . . both.”

“Hmm.” She murmured, unsure how she felt about that. “Well, good night then.”

“Your song.” His voice stopped her. “What was it about?”

She smiled. Before she could contemplate the wisdom of such honesty, she admitted, “It was a tale of buxom milkmaid with . . . er, an insatiable appetite.”

This time he laughed outright. She made the Crown Prince of Maldania laugh. Her chest swelled.

“Little hoyden. I suppose I shouldn’t find it so amusing that you regaled us all with a tawdry song.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” she countered. “It’s not often I entertain members of the ton with naughty songs. Especially princes.”

Immediately she regretted the reminder, however playful she had meant it to be. His laughter faded, and the stoic prince was back.

He looked back down at the mass of papers, as if that somehow reminded of who he was—and who she wasn’t. “Good night, Miss Hadley. I’ve much still to attend to this night.”

Feeling dismissed, she gave a curt nod and skirted past the chaise.

Minutes later, secure in her bed, she opened her book and started to read, doubtful that she would find any rest tonight.





Chapter Nine

The following evening, the ladies retired to the drawing room after dinner and the gentlemen departed for cigars and brandy in the library.

Persia made it a point to rebuff Grier and Cleo, gathering Lady Libbie and Marielle close and herding them to a chaise near the fire.

Cleo whispered near her ear. “Lady Libbie is purported to have a fortune nearly as large as our own.”

Grier arched a brow and surveyed the lovely young woman. The firelight gilded her curls a lovely gold. She would meet no difficulty in securing an offer even without a fortune. Her title and beauty alone would see to that. “Indeed.”

“No competition for us though. At least as I hear it. She’s not here for the viscount.”

“No? The duke then?”

“Well, perhaps. He should like to win her hand, I imagine.” Cleo leaned in again, her voice dropping even lower. “She’s baited her hook for a bigger fish than that. It’s said the prince has already spoken with her father. They occupied the library at great length yesterday. Just the two of them.”

Grier’s heart plummeted to her stomach. She drew a ragged breath and rose to her feet, uncertain why such news should affect her. Did she think a few stares and stilted words from him meant he might actually be interested in her as a bridal candidate? He had already let her know she was acceptable for dalliance and nothing more. Lady Libbie would be an ideal match. Precisely the type of lady the prince had traveled to England to find. She possessed it all—wealth, breeding, youth, and gentility.