Courting Magic (Kat, Incorrigible #4)(17)
“My lord, you must tell the other ladies that terribly amusing anecdote you shared with me on the dance floor,” I said firmly. “They will be so enthralled by the hilarity of it!”
“Ah…?” The Marquess’s pale blue eyes widened with what looked like panic as the other women all turned toward him, rustling with interest.
I left him to discover his own well-hidden powers of creativity as I sidled closer to the ‘Prince.’
“I do beg your pardon for my rudeness, Your Highness,” I murmured, batting my eyelashes as rapidly as I could. “Won’t you please forgive me?”
I’d never tried to bat my eyelashes coquettishly before. It made me feel rather dizzy.
“Er…” The ‘Prince’ coughed. “Of course, of course. But…” He reached up to tug at his cravat. I could smell his sweat even underneath the overpowering stench of cologne. “I don’t believe I recall your family, Miss…”
“Stephenson,” I supplied, smiling winningly. “Perhaps we could find some better place to talk? More privately?”
“I say!” The false Prince’s eyes bulged more alarmingly than ever. “Well, that’s a dashed good notion, I must say.”
Aha. I knew it! I slipped my hand into his arm…
Just as the dinner gong sounded behind me.
“Well, dash it!” The ‘Prince’ let out a hefty sigh that ruffled the net overlay of my gown. “No time for such pleasures after all, my dear—I’m meant to be off now to the Devonshires’ little ‘do.’ I wasn’t meant to be here at all tonight, you know, I only stopped by to try to catch sight of a friend, but now…well, what rotten luck, indeed. Perhaps another time, Miss Stephenson…”
He tugged his arm away, turning toward the door.
Discretion be damned.
The Marquess had been no help, and Mr. Packenham was worse than useless. I was not going to let our mission be ruined simply to save the Order’s sense of propriety! I set my teeth together, sought for that glittering thread of witchcraft in the air…
…And snapped it.
“Oh!” The redheaded young lady who’d been closest to the Marquess threw her hands to her face.
“Mrs. Montrose?”
“I say, are you quite all right?”
“Philippa?”
“I’m fine,” she mumbled from behind her hands. “I just…I need…” Without uncovering her face, she lurched away and barged through the crowd in the direction of the ladies’ retiring room.
The man beside me said, “Do you know, I’ve had a second thought. Why should I go to the Devonshires’, after all? Blasted tedious event it’ll be, no doubt, especially when I’ve made such a pleasant discovery here.”
Turning back to me and seizing my hand between two sweaty palms, the very real and unmagical Prince of Wales gave me a horrifically knowing grin. “What do you say, Miss Stephenson? Shall we go find our spot for a private chat after all?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
I was still gaping at His Highness, stunned speechless with horror, when Angeline appeared at my side. My older sister looked torn between fury and unholy amusement.
“I do beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen,” she murmured, sweeping an elegant curtsy, “but I’m afraid I absolutely must steal my younger sister for a moment.”
Thank heavens. I smiled brilliantly. “Well, if you must…” I started to tug my hand free.
The Prince’s hands tightened around mine, holding me trapped in place as his face crumpled into a petulant scowl, like a three-year-old deprived of a treat. “Oh, come now, surely—”
I yanked my hand out of his grip with all my strength before he could complete any unrefusable royal requests. “Terribly sorry, Your Highness!” I trilled. As my sister’s hand closed firmly around my elbow, I bobbed a final curtsy in the gaping Prince’s direction, feeling positively lightheaded with relief. “Perhaps another time?”
For once in my life, I was only too grateful to be carted off by an interfering older sister.
…But only until she pulled me into the ladies’ retiring room.
The redheaded witch who’d fled the ballroom before me, Philippa Montrose, was just finishing her repairs in front of the mirror as we arrived. The scent of burnt sugar drifted through the air, and guilt twinged sharply in my chest. I gave her as pleasant a smile as I could—really, I hadn’t meant to snap her perfectly harmless little illusion spell in public—but she turned a dusky pink at the sight of me.
“Pardon me…” Ducking her head, she hurried past us toward the door.
I thought about pointing out, to be helpful, that she’d missed a trick with her repairing spell—her eyes weren’t nearly as shocking a blue-violet as they had been ten minutes earlier, and her nose still had a tiny bump in its bridge that she must not have noticed. Something about the new angles of her face seemed oddly familiar, actually—but Angeline’s meaningful cough distracted me before I could say a word.
Then the door fell closed behind Mrs. Montrose…and I realized we were alone in the room together. Curses. It was definitely time for a sisterly lecture.
“I should really go back and join Lord Lanham for supper…” I began, backing away.