The Trouble With Princesses (2 page)

She sipped more lemonade from her glass and resumed her perusal of the current selection of prospects scattered throughout the ballroom.

Which gentleman,
she mused,
shall I invite to my bed?

Just then a large, masculine shoulder garbed in stark black impeded her view of the dance floor. She looked up into a pair of piercing midnight blue eyes.

Vexingly familiar eyes.

Devil take it,
what does he want?

She repressed a sigh.

Most women would have been quivering with delight to find themselves singled out by none other than Rupert Karl Octavian Whyte, Prince Regent of Rosewald, but Ariadne wasn’t among them. High titles didn’t impress her—not even kingly ones.

As for the man himself, she could not deny that he was physically appealing. He had the chiseled features, tall, leanly muscled body, and golden-haired countenance of a sun god—and the born arrogance to match. His entrance into a room alone had been known to induce swoons in young ladies, who would stare as if blinded by Apollo himself before falling into a dead faint at his feet.

For his part, he hardly seemed to notice them. He gave even the daughters of dukes and marquesses no more thought than he would a fly that had buzzed through a window and needed shooing.

But his aloof demeanor did nothing to discourage his admirers—quite the opposite, in fact. He was a monarch, after all, and monarchs were supposed to be beyond the reach of ordinary mortals. That, combined with his keen intellect, easy sophistication, and natural charisma, made Prince Rupert the most sought-after man in London. His mere presence inspired whispered speculation about which royal princess he would eventually take to wife and who his next mistress might be.

Rumor had it that George IV, newly ascended to England’s throne after the death of his father in January, had been rather put out by all the attention lavished on “The Bachelor Prince,” as Rupert was sometimes called.

Emma had relayed to her that a private meeting had been arranged between the two rulers, and although Emma had not been privy to all the details, Ariadne gathered that Rupert had thoroughly charmed King George. The two men had parted on the most amiable of terms, with firm promises of mutual support and alliance—and an invitation from George for Rupert to hunt on any royal lands to which he might take a fancy.

But as affable as Rupert could be when he chose, Ariadne knew him as Emma’s arrogant, dictatorial, prideful older brother, who never seemed to tire of needling her.

He’d been even worse since Emma’s marriage to Dominic Gregory, Earl of Lyndhurst, now the Archduke of Wiessenschloss. Ariadne had championed the match, going so far as to secretly conspire to thwart Rupert’s plans to make a dynastic marriage for Emma. In this matter, Rupert had not prevailed, and he had laid all the blame squarely at Ariadne’s door, where it had stayed ever since.

Really, it wasn’t fair at all considering that Mercedes had been in on the plan as well, not to mention Nick and Emma herself.

But that was another one of the many annoying things about Rupert Whyte—he had a mind as sharp as a steel trap—he never forgot anything.

And he knew how to hold a grudge.

Then again, so did she.

“Princess Ariadne,” Rupert said in a mellow baritone that was as golden as his hair. “Not dancing, I see.”

“No. I decided to catch my breath for a set. My next partner will be along shortly.”

Any second, if God has mercy.

Although for the life of her she couldn’t remember whom she had agreed to partner, and she wasn’t about to peek at her dance card to find out, not with Rupert looking on.

She sipped more lemonade. “And what brings you here to the ballroom? I assumed you would be tucked away with our host, elbow-deep in billiards and brandy by now. Either that or debating politics and military strategies and deciding Rosewald’s next move on the great global chessboard.”

“I prefer to leave such weighty matters for the daylight hours. Evening ought to be devoted to more pleasurable pursuits. This is a party, after all.”

“Well, only fancy, you are right. I had no idea you took notice of such trifling occasions as parties, Your Royal Highness.”

His lips twitched slightly, but he didn’t rise to her bait. Instead, his eyes narrowed with one of his serious looks. “Oh, you will find that I notice a great many things, Princess.”

Then without warning, he smiled, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that would have caused more than one tittering debutante to reach for her smelling salts.

Despite her immunity to such provocation, an odd little shiver chased over Ariadne’s skin.

She looked away.

“Actually,” he continued, “I was looking for Emma. Do you know where she might have gone?”

“The last I saw she was dancing with Nick. Since they do not appear to be in the ballroom any longer, I presume they’ve wandered off somewhere together.”

Rupert frowned.

As Ariadne well knew, Rupert might have come to accept the fact that his younger sister was now the married mother of two, but he never liked anything that reminded him how such a circumstance had come to pass. His mouth tightened whenever Nick and Emma were openly affectionate with each other, especially in public, and he positively loathed any comment that emphasized the fact that his sister and her English husband not only shared a bed but put it to active use.

For her part, Ariadne found Rupert’s reactions highly amusing.

“They’re probably outside in the garden, passionately embracing behind some well-placed shrubbery,” she said. “The doctor stopped by the town house yesterday to check on Emma and baby Peter. He pronounced her in excellent health and said she can resume marital relations anytime she likes now.”

Rupert frowned.

“I’m sure she’ll be along soon,” Ariadne said, “but if it’s anything important, you might want to wait until morning when she’ll be less—how should I say?—distracted.”

Rupert’s frown turned into a scowl. “And what would you know about such matters?”

“Not a great deal firsthand, at least not when it comes to garden trysts,” she admitted, “but I do keep my ears and eyes open. Plus, I love to read. It’s amazing the things a person can learn from a book.”

“Yes, I know all about your unsuitable reading habits,” he said in a severe tone. “Were it up to me you would be forbidden to open half the books you somehow manage to get your hands on. Such works do nothing but give you dangerous ideas.”

“Oh, I come up with plenty of dangerous ideas all on my own. I don’t need books for that.”

His eyes flashed blue fire, then narrowed again. “On that point, we are agreed.”

She hid a smile. “So what is it you wished to speak to Emma about? Last-minute details concerning your return home to Rosewald next week?”

Raising her glass, she took an idle sip.

“Actually, I was going to tell her that I’ve decided to stay in London a while longer, through the Season at least.”

Ariadne choked on her lemonade. Her eyes streamed as a series of wracking coughs squeezed her lungs.

“Are you all right?” Reaching over, he laid a hand against her back and gave her a pair of bracing thumps.

She gasped again but nodded to signal that she would recover, even as she continued gasping for breath.

He offered her a silk handkerchief from his coat pocket. She accepted it gratefully and let him take the drink from her hand and set it aside.

She mopped her eyes and fought to collect herself, even as Rupert took hold of her elbow and steered her gently toward a private spot behind a nearby pillar.

“Better?” he inquired after a minute.

“Yes,” she whispered, finally able to find her voice again.

A slow smile curved his mouth. “That is a relief. I would hate to have to inform my sister that one of her dearest friends had expired, and that I was at least in part to blame. Had I known the news of my continued residence in the city would elicit such a dramatic response I would have made certain to keep all beverages well out of reach.”

“You caught me off guard is all. I breathed in when I ought to have swallowed.”

“Again, I shall have to take better care in future.”

She became aware of his hand on her arm, his fingers warm against the narrow area of exposed skin between her long gloves and her sleeve. She met his eyes, which were so deeply blue, and felt her pulse quicken.

A reaction to nearly choking to death, of course. She drew her arm away.

So, he is remaining in London for the next several weeks.

But what did such news really matter to her? Emma’s brother he might be, but that did not mean she need spend a great deal of time in his company. She would find ways to make sure she did not. Her little project would ensure that she was otherwise occupied.

The music had stopped and guests now stood in small groups, talking while they waited for the next dance to begin. No one was looking at her and Rupert; her small incident had apparently gone unnoticed.

A tall man with coal black hair and a long, narrow face appeared at her side. He sketched a bow, then inclined his head toward Rupert before turning back to her. “Your Highness, the next dance is mine, I believe.”

Ariadne smiled as she appraised him, racking her brain to remember his title. She was sure she would recall if he was a duke, considering how few of them there were, so “my lord” ought to suffice for the time being.

“Of course, my lord,” she said brightly. “I have been awaiting your arrival these many minutes past.”

He smiled, displaying a set of even, white teeth, a twinkle in his cool gray eyes. “I am flattered by your kind attention, Princess.”

She studied him anew, finding him not unattractive. In fact, he was rather appealing in a very dark, English sort of way. Perhaps she ought to take the time to actually learn the man’s name. If she decided to add him to her list of prospective lovers, she would need to know what to call him, after all.

Smiling more broadly, she accepted the arm he offered. Only then did she turn to Rupert. “If you will excuse us, Your Royal Highness?”

“But of course.” Rupert took a step back, his eyes meeting hers once more.

Her pulse raced in the most perplexing way. She was anticipating the dance to come and the man in whose arms she would enjoy it, she told herself. Perhaps, if all went well, she would eventually enjoy a great deal more than just dancing with him.

Angling her head closer, the better to hear what he had to say, she let him lead her toward the dance floor.

Chapter Two

P
rince Rupert was bored.

There were no two ways about it. Try as he might, he was finding little pleasure in the social game the
Ton
called the London Season.

I should never have let Emma persuade me to stay in England longer than I’d originally planned,
he mused as he drained the last of the champagne from his glass.

Duties awaited him back in Rosewald, responsibilities that required his personal attention as regent. Arrangements had been made for his ministers to handle the day-to-day details of running the kingdom, with orders that an emissary be dispatched immediately should any business of an urgent or extremely delicate nature arise. But none had. At the moment, however, he wished an emissary would rush into the ballroom with an emergency that required him to leave. At least then he wouldn’t be put to the bother of pretending to listen to the Belgian ambassador as he droned on about the continued need for road repair in his country nearly five years after Napoleon’s ouster at Waterloo.

Rupert tried hard to look interested, even as he accepted another glass of champagne from a passing footman. For as tedious as his visit was proving, it was still better than the infernal nagging that awaited him back at court.

Before his departure from Rosewald, his ministers had been quietly but persistently pressing him about the necessity of taking a wife. Not only had they enlisted the support of his ailing father, who bellowed at him about grandchildren from his sickbed, but they had gone to the lengths of slipping a list of eligible princesses into his official correspondence.

He’d been so annoyed at the time that he’d threatened to dismiss the entire lot of them over the incident, forbidding them to mention the topic again.

But at four-and-thirty years of age, even he knew the time was drawing near. Soon, he would have to pick a suitable bride, a young woman of royal blood who would not only provide him with heirs but whose alliance would strengthen his place on the throne.

Not yet, however.

Not now.

From across the room, Princess Ariadne caught his eye as she floated across the dance floor on graceful slippered feet.

Her
name, he recalled, had been omitted from the list of eligible royal brides. She was a princess, true, but one without a country. An alliance with her would provide nothing in terms of wealth, position, or political gain. As for her inheritance, he knew she had more than sufficient to be comfortable for the entirety of her life, but nothing remarkable enough to tempt another royal into offering marriage. Any number of nobles would be happy to wed her, of course, but from the comments he’d heard her make to Emma, she had no interest in agreeing to a sensible marriage of convenience.

Holding out for love or some such sentimental nonsense.

Across the room she tossed her head back on a laugh, bestowing a flirtatious smile upon her partner, one that the man returned with rapt intensity. Rupert followed her movements, aware of how she stood out like a swan amid a flock of geese.

She had beautiful, creamy, milk-pale skin, a straight patrician nose, and bow-shaped lips that changed easily with her mood. Her body was long and slender, but graced with feminine curves that invited a man’s touch. If she weren’t so infuriatingly headstrong, he would have found her quite attractive.

Then there was her hair—a glorious red-blond that always came as a bit of a surprise. Considering her Nordic heritage, she ought to have had extremely fair coloring with pale, perhaps even near white hair. Instead, it was as if she had been lit from within, her tresses a vibrant gold that gleamed as if warmed by a fire. Apparently nature had seen fit to expose her true passion in the color of her hair.