The Trouble With Princesses (28 page)

The corners of his mouth turned up in a wry smile. “Your ears are working just fine. Beginning now, consider yourself engaged.”

She shot to her feet. “You cannot be serious.”

But his expression held not a trace of humor. “As a pair of sharpened bayonets. You should know me better by now than to think I would jest about something as irrevocable as marriage.”

“But you don’t want to marry me. You are being deliberately absurd.”

“No, I am accepting the consequences of my actions.” Rising from his chair, he crossed to the sideboard and poured a fresh glass of wine, taking his time as he replaced the stopper. “Marriage is the right thing to do, the only logical step to take.”

“Logical?” Ariadne repeated, a faint note of hysteria in her voice. “That is the most
illogical
idea you’ve ever thought up.”

“
Ahem
, perhaps Nick and I should give the two of you a bit of privacy.” Emma got to her feet, quietly motioning for Nick to do the same.

“Sit down!” Ariadne ordered, barely sparing her friend a glance before turning back to Rupert.

Emma sat, Nick beside her, having never left the sofa.

As calmly as if they were discussing the weather, Rupert drank his wine.

“What do you think you’re about, just deciding that we will wed?” Ariadne crossed her arms. “There is such a thing as needing my consent, you know.”

“Which you more than gave last night, as I recall.”

Her blush returned, incriminating as a scarlet
A
.

“Now, before my sister and brother-in-law are forced to listen to every lurid detail of our past dealings, why don’t we let them go on their way? Emma is practically squirming. You can share the salient points of our discussion with her tomorrow.”

“If I am to share, what difference does it make if she stays?” Ariadne demanded, flinging out an arm in Emma’s direction. “And she’ll just tell Nick later, so he might as well hear it all now too.”

“That’s unfair,” Emma protested. “I am quite capable of keeping a confidence. I don’t tell Nick everything.”

“Really?” Nick mused, looking at his wife. “What is it you’re keeping from me?”

“Nothing,” she admitted. “I was just making a point—”

Rupert set his wineglass down with lethal care. “Emma. Dominic. If you would, please excuse Ariadne and me. As you can see, we need to . . . talk.”

Ariadne balled her hands into fists. “This is their home and they should not be ordered out of their own drawing room. They’ll go when they want to go and not a moment sooner.”

“Really, we don’t mind leaving,” Emma murmured, making to rise again.

“We’re not in Rosewald, you know,” Ariadne continued, striding indignantly toward him. “You are not prince regent here, and you have no right to order them around. You’ve no right to order
me
around either, whatever you may think otherwise.”

His jaw flexed, his eyes flashing like blue lightning. “Oh, don’t I?”

“We’ll just be on our way.” Emma and Nick stood again, taking a few steps toward the door.

“No!” Ariadne said. “I am the one who will go. There is nothing I care to discuss with Prince Rupert. I believe everything has already been said, including my refusal of his offer.”

“Ariadne,”
he said, his voice low and gruff with warning.

She ignored him. “I bid all of you good night. I shall see you in the morning.” Turning on her heel, she started toward the door.

“Come back here, Princess. Now!”

Rupert’s tone sent a tremor down her spine, but she refused to be cowed. He was not her husband or her lord and master. But even if he were, she did not take orders from any man. Not even Rupert.

Her back straight, she marched the rest of the way to the door, then turned the knob. She half expected him to stop her, but there was no rush of movement, no restraining hands or arms reaching out to bar her from leaving.

Behind her, in fact, there was nothing but silence.

Not daring to look back, she strode out into the corridor. It was only once she was well clear of the room that her nerve finally broke, and her quick walk turned into something that greatly resembled a run.

•   •   •

“Will there be anything else, Your Highness?” her maid asked more than an hour later, as she hung a last garment in the wardrobe.

Ariadne considered the question for a moment, part of her wishing she could act the coward and ask the girl to stay. Instead, she shook her head. “No, thank you, that will be all.”

With a quick curtsy and a murmured good night, the servant let herself out of the room.

Ariadne waited half a minute, long enough for the maid to be out of earshot, then hurried to the door. She turned the key in the lock, daring to relax only once the door was firmly secured.

After returning to her room earlier, she’d kept expecting Rupert to arrive to continue their fight. But he hadn’t. There’d been only a single interruption—which had nearly given her heart palpitations—when Emma had knocked on the door, wanting to see if she was all right.

“He’s very angry, Arie,” Emma warned after they settled themselves together in the sitting room, Ariadne’s maid having departed to lay out her nightgown and robe. “I don’t think you ought to have walked out.”

No, it probably had been a rather suicidal decision. Then again, what was he really going to do about it?

“Well, I do not care how cross he is,” Ariadne declared, tilting her chin up at a stubborn angle. “How dare he
inform
me that we are going to be married, as if I were one of his lackeys being ordered to black his shoes. Of all the arrogant, infuriating, condescending men, he is the worst.”

“He’s a prince, nearly a king. He is used to making decisions and acting on them.”

“I am
not
a decision.”

“No, I think you are a great deal more. I’ve never seen him so . . .”

“Pigheaded?” she suggested.

“Out of control,” Emma said seriously. “Despite the fact that he can have a formidable temper on occasion, he always manages to keep it in under strict regulation. But tonight, with you . . . He broke his wineglass after you left. Snapped the stem right in two. He’s very protective of you, you know.”

“He’s controlling and far too obsessed with matters of duty and honor. He just doesn’t want a scandal that will sully his much-vaunted pride and reputation. I’m sure he’s even now regretting the fact that he came after me to save me from Selkirk.”

“You know he is not. But because of his pride and sense of duty to Rosewald, I also know he would not make an offer of marriage lightly. Are you sure—”

Ariadne leapt to her feet. “What I am sure of is that we would make each other quite miserable. We’d be at each other’s throats within three months’ time.”

“Yesterday I might have thought so as well, but now I am not so sure.” Emma leaned forward in her seat. “Oh, Arie, how ever did you and Rupert become lovers? I am still trying to fathom even the notion. I mean, you’ve always detested each other. What changed?”

She shrugged. “As you know, I decided to take a lover. He agreed.”

“He
agreed
,” Emma repeated in amazement. “I can tell there is a great deal more to this story than you are in the mood to share at present. You’ve also had a very long day—actually a few very long days—so rather than drag it out of you tonight, I shall make myself be patient a while longer. Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”

Ariadne forced a smile. “Of course. A good rest is exactly what I need.”

Particularly since I barely got any sleep last night.
She’d been too busy giving away her virginity to Rupert. If she’d had any idea what he’d planned, she would never have let him near her.

Emma’s brow wrinkled with anxiety. “You are certain you are all right? Nothing . . . untoward . . . happened between you and Selkirk? He didn’t . . . ?”

“No. You may cease any worry on that score. Selkirk may be an unscrupulous fortune hunter, but he didn’t force himself on me, not in the way you mean.”

Emma studied her for another moment, then released a sigh of undisguised relief. “Good. Now I shall be able to sleep.” She stood. “Well, I’m off to the nursery to check on the boys one last time, then to bed myself.” Leaning down, she kissed Ariadne on the cheek. “It is good to have you home.”

“It is good to be home.”

And it was.

Yet, even as she said the words, she knew that some ineffable something had changed, understanding that this would never again truly be her home.

Now here she sat, alone, with the door locked, knowing she ought to do as Emma advised and go to bed. Lose herself in the comfort of sleep.

But would she be able to sleep?

And would Rupert attempt to seek her out?

He’d better not.

She crossed her arms.

Marry him indeed!
When he hadn’t even asked her. When he’d made no effort to deny the truth when she accused him of not wanting to marry her. When he’d said not one word about affection or love.

And to think she’d been so happy less than twenty-four hours ago, content to imagine that all he wanted was her body. If only they could go back to that. If only everything weren’t so complicated.

On a sigh, she stood and went to the bed. The covers, already neatly turned down by the maid, were so much nicer than the ones she’d slept on last night.

Why did she almost wish those linens back?

Suddenly the doorknob rattled. Someone wanted inside, and she knew exactly who that someone was.

“Ariadne,” Rupert said quietly through the door, “let me in.”

She linked her hands in front of her, squeezing her fingers tight. “No.”

A small silence fell.

“I have had time to calm down,” he said. “I am not angry any longer. Open the door so I may come in.”

“I’m tired and I want to go to bed.”

“Of course, but we should talk first.”

“We can talk later.”

Much, much later—as in maybe never.

“I think we ought to discuss matters tonight.”

“No, I’m sorry, not tonight. Go to bed, Rupert. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She waited, expecting him to respond. But he said nothing and as she listened closely, she heard him move away from the door.

Was that it? Had he given up? And so easily too. Somehow it didn’t seem like Rupert, but maybe he was weary as well. Maybe he realized it would be better to postpone things for another day when both of them weren’t so on edge.

Unlocking her fingers, she slipped out of her robe, draping it at the foot of the bed. She climbed in the bed and pulled the covers over herself.

Rather than blowing out the candle, she left it to burn, needing its comfort.

Coward,
she jeered at herself.
Since when are you afraid of the dark?

But despite the inner recriminations, she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep.

Five minutes passed.

Then ten, and still she was awake.

With a frustrated sigh, she opened her eyes. Perhaps she would read.

That was when she heard it, an odd scraping noise at the keyhole of her door.

She sat up.

Was he back? More to the point, what was he doing?

She got her answer seconds later, when the lock made a series of clicking sounds and the door swung open on silent, well-oiled hinges.

Rupert walked inside, then turned to shut and relock the door.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, her earlier irritation returning. “I told you I didn’t want to talk.”

“Yes, you did,” he agreed with equanimity.

“You have some nerve coming in here when I specifically said I didn’t want to see you tonight. How did you get in anyway? Who gave you a key?”

He strode toward her. “No one. I let myself in. I picked the lock.” With a smile, he held up a pair of slender metal implements.

“
You picked the lock?
Where in the world did you learn to do that?”

“Oh, I’ve been doing it since I was a boy. One of the palace footmen taught me. It’s quite a handy skill to have when one wants to find out what’s going on behind closed doors—or rather locked ones. Works on desks, writing secretaries, and liquor cabinets too.”

He slipped one hand into his robe pocket and deposited the tools. By the time he withdrew his hand again, his smile had disappeared. “But don’t ever think you can keep me out again. Do I make my meaning plain?”

She raised a hand and pointed toward the door. “Perfectly. Now let me make myself plain.
Get out!
”

Instead, he walked around to the opposite side of the bed. After untying his belt, he shrugged out of his robe and stood completely naked and almost fully erect before her—clearly unabashed about either state.

“I usually sleep in the nude,” he explained, “but I’ve been wearing drawers for your benefit. After last night, I don’t see the point any longer.”

“The point is so that you do not give the maids a fright should you encounter one of them on the way back to your room. Put that robe back on and be good enough to leave.”

He padded to the bed and climbed in.

“Rupert, you are the most mule-headed beast.”

He laughed. “And you’re lovely when you’re angry. Come here and let’s put all that hot blood to use.”

She crossed her arms and turned her back to him in the bed. “I thought you wanted to talk.”

“We can talk later.” He smoothed a hand over her back, sending shivers rippling down her spine. “Take off your nightgown.” He eased his hand up under her hair, massaging her neck. “In fact, as soon as we’re married you might as well stop wearing night attire altogether. It’ll only end up in a heap on the floor, or else get ruined when I tear it off you because undressing you is taking too long.”

Her eyes slid shut, a tremor racing through her that she could not control. “There is not going to be a marriage.”

“Of course there is.” Leaning up, he pushed her hair to one side and began kissing her neck.

“No, there isn’t.” Her breath came faster—curse his wicked touch. “Your gallantry is appreciated but completely unnecessary. Whatever scandal may arise from my unexpected trip north will be forgotten as soon as the next Society cause célèbre rears its ugly head.”