How to Pursue a Princess (9 page)

“Miss Balfour?” Huntley said impatiently.

Lily bit her lip. This was her first opportunity to speak to the earl alone, and she was flattered by the determined note in his voice. Yet she hated leaving Wulf to wander about the ballroom alone, stumbling over the invisible dictates of polite society.

Wulf handed the dance card back to Lily. “Very well, Huntley, you may have her. For now.” Wulf bowed to Lily. “I will see you in two dances, Moya. Until then.” He inclined his head and left.

The earl shook his head. “Who is this Prince Wulfinski?”

“I’m not really sure,” Lily said, having trouble looking away from where he’d disappeared into the crowd. Now was
not
the time for her to be thinking about an impossible prince. Not when an available earl was standing before her, ready to sweep her into the dance.

“He’s quite sure of himself, isn’t he?” Huntley’s voice recalled her.

“You have no idea,” Lily said fervently as she put her hand into Huntley’s waiting one. “Shall we, my lord?”

“Yes.” He smiled down at her and led her into the dance.

His hands were light, his dancing sure and capable, his conversation polite and within the bounds of propriety.
She found herself laughing easily with him, and she made him burst into laughter once as well.

She had to admit that he seemed to be everything the duchess had said.

Still, she couldn’t help stealing peeks over his shoulder to see if Wulf was behaving himself; he could so easily get into trouble. And it was no use hoping that the duchess might assist him, for she obviously held no love for the foreign prince or his grandmother.

But that’s not your concern,
Lily told herself as she pulled her attention back to the earl. Her concern had to be for her family.

Yet something about the prince touched her heart. Perhaps it was his innocence, for while he was very much a lion of a man, he was a lamb in the ways of this society. And she, struggling to find her place in a world that left her only one option for security, understood his frustration all too well.

But perhaps it was something more. Perhaps it was also because she’d been so honest with him about her dilemma the day before. Other than the duchess and Lady Charlotte, Wulf alone knew her feelings about what life offered her. She had to give him credit, too, for he hadn’t judged her harshly, but had seemed to understand her predicament, and how dire it was.

She glanced up at Huntley, who was talking about his aversion to certain country dances. If she wished to be successful in her attempt to save her father from gaol, then she had to focus on the earl and rebuff the prince. He was far too obvious about his intention to
pursue her, and she had a definite weakness for his company. Dancing with him would only make her decision more difficult.

She hated to hurt the prince’s feelings, but it would be better to do so now, and to do it boldly so that there could be no mistake.
But who will help Wulf follow the dictates of society, if not me?

And yet even as she had the thought, Lily realized that it
couldn’t
be her. She couldn’t afford to pay so much attention to another man, especially a single one, without jeopardizing her burgeoning relationship with Huntley.
I cannot make any mistakes with this. I must save Papa and Caith Manor.

Setting her shoulders, Lily saw to it that she was surrounded by people for the rest of the evening, even during the times Wulf had marked on her dance card. She caught sight of him once or twice at the edge of the crowd and once locked gazes with him. But she deliberately turned her back and pretended not to see him.

She could tell from his growing glower that he was well aware of her actions, and she was certain that only his pride kept him from stalking up to her, throwing her over his shoulder, and carrying her off—something he looked more than ready to do.

A short time later, she was relieved when, his face grim, the prince stalked from the ball. And Lily, pretending she didn’t care, danced once more with the dashing Earl of Huntley.

From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
Ah, what a night! I’m so tired that I can barely hold my pen, but my dance was a triumph. Everyone was well amused, and I succeeded in introducing Miss Balfour to Huntley. I can tell he’s intrigued and she . . . she’s harder to read, I fear, but I know that she had to have been pleased for he’s everything she could hope for.

The clock is now chiming three, and I can safely predict that I, and all of the guests, will sleep well past noon.

A little after seven the next morning, Lily pushed open the door to the library and peeked inside. “Ah, empty!” Smiling, she entered and, shifting a large hatbox to one side, held the door wide. “Come on,” she told the fawn-colored pug who stood in the hallway looking up at her with a curious gaze. “We can’t linger in the hallway or we’ll be caught, for the servants are already stirring.”

He took two steps toward the door and then
halted, tilting his head to one side as if asking her a silent question.

“Yes, yes. In an hour, I’ll ring for a breakfast tray and I’ll specifically ask if there’s a bone you might have.”

The pug’s tail wagged harder and he pranced past her into the library.

“That was a bit too easy,” she told the dog. “Just so you know, I was willing to go up to two bones.”

Blissfully unaware of the criticism being heaped upon his head, the pug began sniffing the rugs. Lily used her hip to close the door, then carried the heavy hatbox to the desk and set it on the leather surface. “This will do nicely.”

Humming to herself, she went to the four large windows and threw open the heavy drapes to let light stream into the room. “Much better!”

Outside, the morning dew sparkled on the green lawn, while a mist clung to the lake, growing thicker as it rolled toward the forest. “Beautiful,” she murmured. She glanced at the pug, who sat at her feet, waiting patiently. “Should we open the window and let in some fresh air or is it too cold?”

Feenie sneezed.

“Yes, it’s a bit stuffy in here. We can always light the fire if it gets too chilly.”

The pug sneezed again.

“Exactly.” Chuckling, Lily threw the windows open. Instantly, the fresh morning air flooded the room, making her feel far more awake. “Even better.”

She’d only had five hours of sleep and was a bit cotton-headed because of it, but she was unused to late morning hours and, despite going to bed at two, had found herself wide-awake with the sunrise. She went to the desk and unpacked her hatbox. Inside rested a stack of wool stockings with holes in the toes or the heels, as well as a pillowcase and three linen napkins in dire need of hemming. Lily dug a small box from the bottom of the hatbox, took the pillowcase, and settled into the corner of the settee. Feenie jumped onto the settee beside her and curled into a ball to sleep.

Lily opened the box and pulled out a needle, thread, and a pincushion. Within moments, she was busy hemming the pillowcase with delicate, precise stitches. As she sewed, she relaxed, her mind wandering over the events of the last few days.

She’d danced well into the night and had enjoyed several conversations with Huntley, yet she couldn’t shake the memory of Wulf’s furious gaze following her about the room. She’d hated doing such a thing, but if she wanted to secure the earl’s interest and perhaps fall in love with him, then she had to keep her distance from the prince.

She smoothed her stitches, noting the evenness with satisfaction. Thank goodness she’d managed to convince the housekeeper to share the mending that was usually left to a maid. Though obviously surprised by the request, Mrs. Cairness had quickly agreed once Lily had explained how much she enjoyed such
duties. “Och, miss, say no more. Me Mam used to say, ‘Busy hands, peaceful heart.’ I’m sure we’ve some darnin’ and hemmin’ ye could do.”

And so now, since she’d awakened at such an early hour, Lily was beyond delighted to settle in for a few hours of peace and quiet. As birds chirped in the bright morning air, she finished the pillowcase and smoothed it out, then folded it and rose to place it beside the hatbox. Then, she took the linen napkins and settled back into place as she prepared her needle and thread.

As she’d sewed, the house had slowly stirred to life. In the distance she heard doors opening and closing, voices calling to one another, and the jangle of silver and china as the footmen prepared the breakfast room.

She picked up the first napkin and had just inserted her needle when horse’s hooves clattered up the drive. It could be anyone—a message from a neighboring estate or a valet of one of the houseguests returning from an errand. Yet she found herself staring at the open windows and wishing she had a view of the front door.

She gently moved Feenie to one side and went to the window. She had to lean out to catch sight of the rider, who was just dismounting at the front portico. And there he was, Prince Wulfinski, hatless in the morning sun, the breeze ruffling his hair and stirring his black cape as he handed the reins of his horse to a sleepy-eyed footman. Hurrying toward him was MacDougal,
who was hastily smoothing his hair. Soon Lily could hear MacDougal’s lilting accent mingled with the prince’s deeper, foreign one.

What’s the prince doing here at this time of the morning? Surely he must realize that no one will be awake at this hour, especially after such a late-night dance? Who does he wish to s—

As if he could hear her thoughts, he looked her way.

She gasped and tucked back into the window, hiding behind the thick curtains. She held her breath, and in a moment the conversation between the butler and the prince resumed. She blew out her breath and realized that Feenie was staring at her from the settee, his head cocked to one side.

She knew she had to look foolish, hiding behind the curtains. To be honest, she wasn’t sure why she was doing it, except that since last night, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking that perhaps—just perhaps—she hadn’t been fair to Prince Wulfinski. Instead of avoiding him without a word, perhaps she should have explained how he was making things more difficult for her, and how it would be better not to see him at all, and then demand that he stop pursuing her? “Life would be easier if that big lummox would just do as I say.”

Feenie jumped to his feet as if in agreement, his tail wagging wildly.

She chuckled. “You agree, do you?”

He barked and turned in a circle.

“Perhaps I’ll talk to him th—”

“Good morning, Moya.”

Feenie barked wildly as Lily wheeled toward the open window. Sitting astride the windowsill, one booted foot in the gravel outside, and one planted on the library rug, was the prince. He looked even more handsome up close, his green eyes twinkling gravely as he lifted a brow. “I came to see if I could speak to you.” He glanced at the barking dog and frowned. “Silence.”

He didn’t raise his voice, but the dog instantly stopped barking and sat, his little tail wagging fiercely.

“Good dog,” the prince said before he turned his attention back to Lily. “The butler informed me that he dared not deliver my request to speak with you as he was certain you were still asleep. But you look awake to me.” Wulf’s gaze traveled over her slowly, lingering in places it shouldn’t have. “Delightfully so.”

Her entire body flushed, as if he’d run a hand over her. “I’ve been awake for a while, but I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Ah.” His glance swept the room, resting on her discarded sewing. “You have made a little nest for yourself here, eh? It is pleasant to find peace and quiet after all of the talking, talking.” He opened and closed his hand to mimic a mouth. “I thought I would go mad last night, listening to so many words.”

She chuckled. “It did get noisy.”

“Too much so.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned back against the window frame, the
morning sun making him glow. “You did not enjoy the dance.”

How had he known that?
“It was quite lively.”

“Killed by faint praise.” His mouth curled into a heart-stopping, lopsided smile. “Do not pretend you liked it, for I saw you. You were not happy last night.”

Mainly because as soon as she’d decided to distance herself from Wulf, she’d been fighting a huge case of guilt. “I had a pleasant enough time.”

“I didn’t,” he said bluntly. “Which is why I am here this morning. We must talk, you and I.” He stood as if to climb the rest of the way inside.

“No!” She glanced at the closed door. “It would be very scandalous if we were caught alone.”

He growled. “These rules of yours will be the death of me. But if I must follow them in order to spend time with you, then I will. What if we open the door?”

“I suppose that would be better—”

“Then we do so.” He swung his leg over the windowsill and, with that, was inside the library, his cloak fluid about him as he crossed to the door, his booted feet muffled by the rug.

The room instantly seemed smaller and Lily hurried back to the settee, scooping up Feenie as she went.

Wulf opened the door wide. “There. Now we are safe within your little book of rules.”

She shot him a hard look. “It’s not my book.”

“It is society’s, but you have decided to play by it. Except, of course, when it comes to me.” He undid his
cape and tossed it over a chair. “I signed your dance card last night as you instructed, but you ignored it.”

“I’m sorry.” And she truly was. “I just . . . I panicked.”

His brows snapped down. “I would never hurt you.”

“I don’t fear you.” No, she feared something much, much worse—herself. Clutching Feenie, Lily sank onto the settee and settled the dog in her lap.

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. It’s difficult to explain.” She caught his dark gaze and sighed. “Wulf, you and I met under very romantic circumstances. I’d fallen from my horse and there you were, looking so—” She flushed.

“Thank you,” he said gravely, though his eyes twinkled wickedly.

She hurried on. “Naturally such an unusual set of circumstances can create a false sense of closeness that is merely an illusion of—”