How to Propose to a Prince (11 page)

O
n her first morning at Cranbourne Lodge, Elizabeth awoke before the sun had fully risen. Though she tried to stay in her bed, she could not. She was far too excited to learn what her duties as a lady’s companion would be, and how they would differ from that of the princess’s governesses.

The moment she stirred from her tester bed, the chamber door swung open and a pretty golden-haired lady’s maid hurried in with a ewer of steaming water, cloths, and towels, and set about preparing to assist Elizabeth with her morning ministrations.

“Has the princess arisen?” she asked the maid as she toweled her face dry.

“Oh no, miss. She’ll not rise for several hours
more.” Her gaze flitted over Elizabeth, but her eyes quickly shifted to the wardrobe situated across the chamber, and she scurried to it.

“Oh, quite right.” Elizabeth felt like such a goose. Certainly no one would be awake at this early hour but the house staff who were compelled to do so—and, of course, one overeager lady’s companion.

When the young woman turned around again to face Elizabeth, she was blushing fiercely.

“Is something amiss?” Elizabeth asked, wondering if, even though she had only been out of bed for two minutes, she had already done something wrong.

“Oh no, miss.” The maid’s gaze dropped low.

Though her coloring appeared pronounced, Elizabeth decided that to avoid a bout of unnecessary worry she would assume that the flush was just the reflection of the newly pink morning sky on the maid’s cheeks and nothing more.

“The rose morning dress, miss?” the maid asked, holding out one of Madame Devy’s new confections.

“Are you quite serious—
that
gown?” Elizabeth thought the red gown more suited for a musicale or soiree. La, the sleeves did not even
extend to the elbow, and the neckline was…well, not the least bit demure.

She sighed inwardly, supposing that here, in the company of the Princess of Wales, the rules of proper dress were on an entirely different plane. She gave an enthusiastic nod, sure that the maid certainly knew better than she what would be appropriate for the morning of…well, some sort of companion duties…at Cranbourne Lodge.

Since no one else was about after her hair and form were dressed, Elizabeth took a light breakfast of fruit and tea in her bedchamber, and then decided to take a walk to view the garden in the daylight.

Though she questioned the wisdom of wearing such a daring gown for walking in the cool morning air, she knew that her mantle would cover what her frock did not and she would be quite comfortable, even if she did feel a mite overdressed for a stroll.

As she walked through the opening in the ruin of what had obviously once been a high stone wall and into the garden, she could not help but gasp at its simple beauty. The morning dew still sparkled in the grass and on the fading purple, white, and pink blossoms of fox-glove that stood as natural gatekeepers just
inside the Norman garden. At first she almost thought she could hear the bell-shaped flowers ringing in the day, but then, as she moved through the garden, the faint jingling of bells mutated into clinking.

She clutched her gown in her fist, to protect her hem from the wet grass, and hastened toward the labyrinth, where the sounds seemed to emanate.

In the distance ahead, she heard the shuffling of boots, low groans and grunts mingled with the high-pitched reverberations of metal violently crossing metal.

“Damn you to hell, Sumner! You’re far too quick for man your size,” came a man’s laughing voice just as Elizabeth broached the rise and came upon the labyrinth.

There, before her, two shirtless men, their bodies gleaming with sweat, swung swords at each other.

Leopold and Lord Whitevale.

The assault halted the moment the noblemen beheld her. Then they lowered their broadswords.

She blinked in astonishment.
Sumner must be Whitevale’s given name. Certainly this is so.
How odd that she hadn’t recognized the voice she had heard. But then, they were in the midst of
swordplay. Strain and exertion was likely the cause for his altered tone. Certainly, that was the reason.

“I—I apologize for disturbing your bout,” she stammered, trying hard not to stare at the definition of the prince’s hard, muscular form. “I awoke early and decided to take a stroll.”

The prince did not seem to care whether staring was polite or not. With his gaze pinned on her, he immediately stalked straight toward her.

Good heavens, what have I done now?
Elizabeth instinctively scuffled backward.

When he reached her, there was no way possible she could avert her gaze from his broad chest. He was simply breathing too hard, and the movement was far too distracting for her to maintain a ladylike disinterest.

He reached out his hand, then stooped and retrieved her mantle from the ground.

Lud, she hadn’t even realized it had slipped from her shoulders. She smiled as he handed it to her.

Heat seemed to well up from her beneath her chemise, shoot up over her bosom and settle in her cheeks. Horrified, she glanced to the sky, and saw that its earlier pinkish hue had transmogrified to a glorious vibrant blue.

“Good morning, Your Royal Highness.” Why had her courage, which she had possessed in such great abundance only last eve, suddenly evaporated more quickly than the morning dew? “Such fine form you display.”

He raised an amused eyebrow.

Dash it all
. “I—I mean…your advance, of course. Delightful.”

“You had lost your wrap, Miss Royle. I only sought to retrieve it for you.”

“What? Oh, no, no.”
Gads
. Elizabeth stopped speaking long enough to gather her wits about her, along with her mantle. “I was referring to your forward movement—your balestra. But, yes, thank you so much for returning my mantle to me.” She dropped an unsteady curtsy.

“It was my pleasure, Miss Royle.” He bent toward her. Instinctively, Elizabeth chased him with her mouth before realizing, too late, he was only bowing to her, not angling for a kiss.

She was mortified, but would not just walk away. Anything she did, she reminded herself, whether meaning to or not, was fated to happen.
Fated
. “W-Would you like to join me for a walk, Your Royal Highness?” she asked, pleased with her sudden surge of bravery.

“I do regret that I cannot, Miss Royle.”

“Elizabeth. Please call me Elizabeth.”

His eyes rounded momentarily. “Yes, Elizabeth. I am in the middle of a bout just now with…” He turned to gesture to his cousin. But he was gone. The labyrinth was deserted. His hand fell to his side. “With no one, it appears.”

“So, shall we?” Elizabeth did not wait for an answer but brushed past him and headed for the center of the labyrinth. She scooped up his discarded shirt and brought it back to him. “It is such a fine day, is it not?” She raised her eyebrows with expectation. “But a little cool at this early hour.”

The prince took his shirt from her, chuckling softly as he eased it over his head, then he fastened the sword at the sash at his hip. “It would be my honor to walk with you back to Cranbourne Lodge, Miss—
Elizabeth
.”

Damn you, Leopold
. Sumner clenched his fist as his eyes scanned the treeline for his wretched cousin. The prince knew he had no desire to be left alone with Miss Royle…or rather,
Elizabeth
.

Actually, he had desire, that was the problem. He had too much of that, which was why it would serve him, and Leopold, best if he simply stayed as far from Elizabeth as possible.

He wanted her too much. Needed her even more. And she was bloody well too much of a distraction—one that could very easily become a deadly diversion if he was unable to carry out his duty and protect the prince.

Sumner glanced at Elizabeth, who strolled too slowly beside him. At this rate it would take ten minutes at least to return her to the lodge.

Her copper hair was gilded with sun, making it gleam in the morning light. His gaze followed a coiled lock from her temple to where its end puddled in the crease of her décolletage. What had she been thinking when she donned a French-inspired gown for a morning walk?

He swallowed hard and forced his gaze to the path before them. He could not allow himself to dwell on her beauty, her allure. Or how he wanted to hold her against him. To feel her full breasts pressed, warm and soft, against his chest.

Bloody hell
. He felt himself stiffen, and was immediately grateful that he had not taken the time to tuck his lawn shirt into his breeches.

Sumner raised his head and looked straight forward, not daring to look down. He was sure his lawn shirt would cover any evidence of his interest in her, but if he looked down to be sure,
her gaze might follow, and he did not wish to risk that embarrassment.

When his attention alighted on the path once more, he realized that his inattention had lead to a fatal mistake. They were not headed in the direction of Cranbourne Lodge at all. There were turning onto the river trail along the Thames—in the opposite direction. This wasn’t wise.

“Should you not return to Cranbourne Lodge, Elizabeth?” He stopped and turned away from her, pretending to look at the Thames in the near distance. “Will not the princess be rising soon and wish for your assistance?”

She came and stood next to him, so close that he could feel the warmth of her body. “The lady’s maid informed me that the princess will not rise for a couple hours or more.” She laid her hand on his arm and turned him to face her.

Her innocent touch seared him like a brand, and he felt his penis twitch with anticipation inside his breeches.

“It seems she and your cousin were rapt in conversation until early into the morning hours.” Her eyelids were held low over her brilliant emerald eyes against the sun, and even when she stopped speaking, her mouth remained slightly parted, as if in want of a kiss.

A kiss like the one he barely, perhaps stupidly, avoided at the edge of the labyrinth minutes ago.

He turned his head from the seductive sight of her and started down the river trail again. He had to clear his mind. Had to focus on his duty. Nothing more.

His strides were long and quick, each step sending bits of gravel popping from beneath the force of his boots on the path.

Blast him
.
Why is he making this so difficult?
Elizabeth hiked up her skirts and trotted after him. She caught up with him where the trail rounded a bend and the river rushed by several feet below the lip of the footpath. “I cannot keep up with you, Your Royal Highness. Please, won’t you slow your pace just a mite?”

He whirled around unexpectedly. “Will you please stop referring to me as Your Royal Highness?” he snapped.

Elizabeth’s mouth fell open. “How then…I mean, I thought…how shall I refer to you? Prince Leopold? Or simply…Leopold?”

“No!” His eyes widened and his outburst seemed to even startle himself. “Please…just…do not refer to me at all.” He spun around and charged up the trail again.

“Well, I can’t very well do that, now can I? We are both here at Windsor and our paths will certainly cross.” Elizabeth scooped up her skirts again and raced after him.

He stilled his step, then stopped in the middle of the trail and raised his hands to his temples.

“Sir…I should not wish to present myself as indecorous in your presence,” she added, aware that she was frustrating him but unable to stop her own chatter.

He lowered his hands and stood silently for several moments before slowly turning around to face her.

“Sumner.”
His eyes were flashing, but with anger, frustration, or something else; she could not tell. “If you must address me privately,
Sumner
. Just please cease calling me Your Royal Highness while here at Windsor. I haven’t got a crown upon my head, do I?” He looked away from her.

Elizabeth blinked several times. “Sumner,” she repeated to him. She watched his shoulders ease as she spoke the name. “
Sumner
.”

He stared at her silently for a long moment before speaking again. “It…is a family name—one that only those closest to me use.” He paused again. “Only those who do not
truly know me would ever think of me as ‘Leopold.’”

This made no sense to her at all, but she was honored that he considered her close enough to use a private family name rather than his title. As a commoner, she could not understand why being referred to as “Your Royal Highness” was so irksome to this man.

The only conclusion she could possibly give any credence was that Leopold was a minor prince as far as the world was concerned. While Princess Charlotte…well, she was the true daughter of the Prince of Wales—his
legitimate
daughter—unlike herself and her sisters. Whether the Royle sisters’ noble lineage was ever proven or not, England would never see them as anything but…royal by-blows.

She only hoped that no one here at Windsor would reduce her complicated circumstance of birth to that horrid descriptor. At least not in Sumner’s presence.

Blast
. Sumner was off down the trail again. “Wait for me!”

Not far ahead an adjunct path that looped back in the direction of Cranbourne Lodge would adjoin the trail along the Thames. It was where he headed.

“Wait, Sumner.”

Damn it all
. Why the hell had he given her his Christian name? Because she had asked? Now that was showing mastery of counterinterrogation skills, wasn’t it?

“Sumner. Slower,
please
.”

God, why must she keep saying his name?
To remind him that he had completely forgotten his military schooling—forgotten his duty to the prince?

“Please, do not leave me alone out here in the forest,” she called out. “I do not know the way back to the lodge.”

He was acting quite the fool, wasn’t he? His mind was muddled with so much emotion that not only had he forgotten his training as a soldier, but as gentleman as well. Sumner stilled abruptly. “I will not leave you, Elizabeth.” He whirled around.