Wicked in Your Arms (Forgotten Princesses #1)(5)

“Quite so,” Malcolm said, sounding dangerously near laughter.

Sev sent his cousin a quick glare. “Deliberately,” he stressed. “She deliberately doused me with her drink.”

“To be fair, can you blame her? You did make the most unflattering remarks about her.”

“You’re assuming she overheard.”

“Given her reaction to you—”

“Very well. Let’s assume she overheard then.” Sev stared after the woman as if she possessed two heads. “As I recollect, nothing said was untrue.”

He recalled her face those brief moments they gazed upon each other. Nothing about her indicated a lady gently reared. Not her bold stare. Not her brown skin or the brown freckles upon her nose. Certainly not her manner of speech. She spoke too directly, defiance bright in her eyes. Indeed, nothing like a demure lady.

He scratched his jaw. “No one has ever poured a drink upon me.”

“You mean after ten years of war you’ve never suffered a drink in the face?”

“That was war, Malcolm. I suffered bayonets, cannons, and bullets. Dodging lemon water was not part of the routine.”

“I wouldn’t know of such things.” Malcolm plucked at a piece of lint on his sleeve. “And I don’t see how you came to know, either. You’re the crown prince. You should have been sequestered away and not fighting on a battlefield.”

If his cousin couldn’t understand Sev’s need to rally his people and lead an army against insurgents determined to overthrow the royal house of Maldania, then he wasn’t going to explain it.

“You do what you have to do,” he muttered. “Come, introduce me to this Lady Libbie.” Clasping his hands together behind his back, he strode across the room, all the while keeping an eye trained on the intrepid Miss Hadley.

“Very well. I think she may be just the thing you’re looking for. Quite pretty, too—”

“Pretty is not a requisite, Malcolm.”

“Very well.” His cousin shook his head in wonder. “All business then.”

Sev’s roaming gaze caught sight of Lady Kirkendale standing to the far side of the ballroom near one of many shadowed alcoves. She beckoned him again with her fan. Not a requisite in a wife, but he found it most desirable in a bedmate of a less permanent nature.

A slow smile curved his mouth as he feasted his gaze on the buxom matron.

With the war behind him, it was time he performed the next duty required of him. His grandfather had tasked him with such, and Sev would not disappoint him. Not after everything he’d already lost. They’d both lost. Sev’s father, his brother, his uncles, and various cousins . . . All gone. Either to assassins or on a battlefield.

His gaze trailed Lady Kirkendale as she drifted past one of the alcoves, looking over her bare shoulder several times, the invitation in her eyes unmistakable as she moved toward the threshold that would take her deeper into the house.

The memory of his grandfather, ailing and anticipating his return with a bride in tow—a proper bride—made his chest tighten uncomfortably. It was the only thing keeping the old man alive.

Now was not the time for dalliance, and yet the prospect of matrimony, of taking that next step to secure his throne—to claiming what should have been his brother’s—filled him with a helpless rage.

He’d do it. Of course. It was right. Necessary. He always did the right and necessary thing. Nothing could distract him from his course . . . However, he’d take what diversions he could.

From the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a flash of auburn hair and burgundy gown that had left such an unpleasant impression upon him moments ago. He forced his gaze straight ahead, training his eyes on Lady Kirkendale—a means for him to release his frustrations, his helpless rage over the fact that his life was not his own. His grandfather had ingrained that in him. A crown prince never served himself.

The thought settled like a heavy stone sinking into his gut. “Let us have this introduction with Lady Libbie in a little while. I’ve something to do. I won’t be long.”

Malcolm followed his gaze to Lady Kirkendale’s departing back with a smirk. “Of course. Hopefully Lady Libbie doesn’t take an early departure.”

Sevastian slid his gaze back to his cousin. “See to it that she doesn’t.” He tugged on his cuffs. “I won’t be long. I’ll have that introduction . . . and perhaps even a private word with Lady Libbie’s father if she proves to be all that you claim. Mind you, I’d like to be back home before the snows melt. This whole business has already taken entirely too long.”

Something flashed over Malcolm’s face, and Sev felt a stab of guilt knowing that the palace—Maldania—was somewhere Malcolm would never visit again. No matter how he might wish to.

Sev shook off the sentiment. He couldn’t allow himself to feel responsible for Malcolm, too. He had enough to worry about—an entire country of people. Besides, he’d already done more than his grandfather would condone in striking up a relationship with his ostracized cousin.

Guests parted before him as he cut through the crush. Sev spared no one a glance as he left the ballroom. Just the same, he was well aware that they all looked after him. Such was usual. He was the Crown Prince of Maldania and handsome, if the tittering females who fawned over him were to be believed.