She managed a thin smile as she stammered, “That’s— But of course no one would ever think—I mean— It’s very—”
Fortunately for the tongue-tied Sorcha, Strath returned. He cast a dismissive glance at her and favored her with the briefest of bows, which she reluctantly returned, her own mouth tight with displeasure.
Strath handed a slip of paper to Alexsey. “Miss MacInvers informed me there was room for only one more player, so I’ve designated myself your interpreter, should you draw a word or phrase you aren’t familiar with.”
Alexsey took the paper, which had an elegant #20 written in script.
Miss Sorcha dipped a curtsy. “I should rejoin my mother, if you’ll excuse me—”
“Please stay with us. The game is about to begin, and I see three seats that are together.” Alexsey proffered his elbow.
She hesitated, but only for a second, and he escorted her to the seats. Once they arrived, Miss Sorcha took a seat, Strath following suit.
Alexsey said, “I will be back shortly. I wish to speak with Miss MacInvers before the game begins.”
“What for?” Strath asked.
“Rule clarification. You may keep Miss Sorcha company while I do so.”
“But—” Strath and Sorcha said at one and the same time.
Alexsey slipped away, making his way to where Bronwyn and her mother and younger sister stood with a small group of ladies.
Lucinda watched the flower as it was washed down the path and into a great puddle. There, it floated. Though the rain pelted it cruelly and the wind shoved it hither and yon, the little flower remained afloat. Though delicate in design, it was flawlessly strong in heart.
—The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth
Bronwyn wished for the tenth time that she were anywhere else. Her stepmother was on one side, Mairi on her other, as Lady Alexandra, the daughter of Earl Mercer, complained again about the temperature of the room, which she found too warm for her complexion. As the lady’s complexion was ruddy due to the whiskey she constantly sipped out of a silver flask when she thought no one was looking, it was difficult to maintain an air of genuine concern.
It was with relief that Bronwyn felt someone at her elbow. Thinking it was Sorcha, she turned with a smile and found herself staring straight at the green emerald embedded in the prince’s knotted cravat.
Her heart leapt in satisfaction, her stomach aflutter. She braced herself and tilted back her head, only to find herself drowning in Alexsey’s eyes.
No man should have such beautiful eyes.
“Ah, Your Highness!” Mama clutched Bronwyn’s elbow and tugged her gently away from the prince. “How pleasant to see you this evening.”
Mairi sank into an immediate curtsy. “How good to see you again!”
Bronwyn followed suit, catching her spectacles as they slipped on her nose, her heart beating an odd rhythm. She cast a cautious glance at Mama, only to find that lady eyeing the prince with a closed expression. A sense of unease filtered through her. For the last three days, she’d caught Mama watching her, an odd look upon her face. Yet when Bronwyn had asked if anything was amiss, Mama had just changed the subject.
She can’t know anything. At least, I hope not. Bronwyn wasn’t certain how she’d explain the relationship between herself and the prince. It broke all rules, smashed through all boundaries, and left her feeling breathless and deliciously alive. Who knew such feelings could be so freeing?
But perhaps “feelings” was the wrong word. “Desires” would be more appropriate, and she had plenty of those. Delicious, potent desires that invaded every waking thought, slipped into every dream, threaded through every book she read.
It was difficult hiding those thoughts from her sisters and stepmother, especially as Mama seemed unable to give up her dreams of Sorcha becoming a princess. What would Mama say if Bronwyn admitted that she wanted the prince herself? Though that wasn’t strictly true. She wanted more kisses, more embraces, more passion . . . but the marriage Mama was dreaming of was out of the question. Neither she nor Alexsey wanted it. He because he valued his freedom, and she because the match was unthinkable.
His warm voice enveloped her. “Lady Malvinea. Miss Murdoch. Miss Mairi. How do you do?”
“We are quite well, but”—Mama pretended to peek over his shoulder—“where is Sorcha? You were speaking with her just a moment ago.”
“She is speaking with Viscount Strathmoor.”
Bronwyn glanced past him to see Sorcha sitting stiffly by Strathmoor’s side, neither speaking.
“They don’t look very happy,” Mairi observed.
Alexsey shrugged. “Perhaps they have had a falling-out.”
“Your Highness!” Lady Alexandra turned so that she was thrust into their small circle. A thin and rather birdlike woman, she eyed Alexsey the way a blue jay might look at a particularly plump worm. “How lovely of you to join our game.”
Bronwyn blinked. Surely not.
As if he’d heard her thoughts, the prince sent her a quick side look. She’d read the phrase “a laughing gaze” in many of her books, and now she knew what that meant.
His eyes mirrored his every thought—which was good, for she never had to wonder what he was thinking. She could only hope her eyes weren’t so easy to read, or everyone would know she was thinking of a way to climb back into his lap and—
She hoped her face wasn’t as warm as it felt, but Bronwyn caught her stepmother’s gaze upon her, a knowing, almost disappointed look in the older woman’s eyes.
She knows.
Bronwyn’s heart sank and she again wondered at its direction. When they were sharing heady kisses and more, the sun shone brightly, her heart was happy, and she was secure in her direction. But the second she was alone doubts crept in, and fears for her future. Even more disturbingly painful, the desire to have a future beyond taking care of her family began to creep into her mind. She found herself wondering if she’d been too hasty in thinking she belonged at Ackinnoull forever. She wondered if perhaps there was a better place for her somewhere else. With someone I love.
Love—the one thing she didn’t share with the prince, nor would she ever. They were involved in this game of his doing, each trying to win over the other. While it added a piquancy to their relationship, it also held them at bay, hiding bits of themselves from each other.
It was unfortunate, but that’s how things were. She had to remember her original purpose in flirting with him: the awakening of her sensuality was merely a bonus. But oh, what a deliciously surprising bonus it was.
She watched him from under her lashes as he spoke to Lady Alexandra, his gaze meeting hers now and again. This is progress.
There were other signs his interest in her was increasing. He’d visited Ackinnoull several times these past few days, but Mama had been too present. And tonight, his gaze had been on her all throughout dinner. He clearly wanted to spend time with her; she needed to find a way to get him alone and—
“Bronwyn!” Mama’s voice held a touch of exasperation.
She realized that both Lady Alexandra and Alexsey were looking at her, one with a questioning look, the other with one that was far too knowing.
“Lady Alexandra asked you a question.” Mama forced a smile. “Pray pay attention.”
Lady Alexandra chuckled. “Lost in your own mind, were you? I know a thing or two about that.”
“I’m sorry. I should have been listening.”
“Nonsense. I never listen myself, unless I have to. I asked if you thought His Highness would lose the game due to his lack of experience?”
Alexsey lose? Somehow, she didn’t think such a thing possible. Fearing to risk a glance in his direction while Lady Malvinea hovered so close, Bronwyn forced a smile. “I’m sure he’ll surprise us all.”
Lady Alexandra laughed. “An excellent answer, my child.”
Miss MacInvers clapped her hands. “We are ready to begin, if everyone will take a seat.”
Bronwyn s
at with Mairi and Mama, while Alexsey and Lady Alexandra sat behind them. Alexsey’s long legs rested to one side of Bronwyn’s chair, his boots casually crossed at the ankle, resting against her skirts.
Miss MacInvers explained, “On the table is a silver bowl containing the slips of paper bearing the words that must be acted out. Remember, no speaking, no letters, and no spelling out. And the first participant is”—she reached into her pocket and pulled out a number—“number four!”
“That’s me!” Lady Alexandra jumped to her feet. She hurried to the front of the room and drew her challenge from the silver bowl.
She squinted at it, muttered something to herself, and slipped the paper into her pocket. Then, facing the audience, she began hopping on one foot.
Predictably loud and merry, the game progressed. Bronwyn found it difficult to pay attention, though. Every time Alexsey moved, she felt his foot come into contact with her chair, and she could hear the rustle of his clothes as he shifted in his seat, and smell the faint scent of his cologne.
She only half listened to the clues being given by the participants, and even as she and Mairi talked about the marvelous refreshments, even as she kept an eye on Sorcha, who had gotten caught up in the game and was yelling out answers much to the amusement of Lord Strathmoor—even with all of the distraction around her, Brownyn was aware of every breath Alexsey took.
Laughter erupted and Bronwyn watched as dignified Mr. MacPherson walked about the front of the room, his thumbs tucked under his arms, his elbows flapping like a chicken.
Lady Alexandra leaned forward and yelled, “You’re a chicken! Goose! A duck! A partridge! A—”
MacPherson pointed at her and touched his nose.
“A partridge it is!” she said, looking pleased.
He frowned and shook his head.
Her smile disappeared. “A duck?”
He scowled and jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
“You’re a chicken, then!” Lady Alexandra clutched her reticule in excitement. “One with a-a-a thumb!”
He stomped his foot, his face red.
Lady Alexandra burst out, “Bloody hell, just tell us!”
Mairi sank into a gale of laughter, while Lady Malvinea’s lips thinned. From behind her, Bronwyn heard the deep rumble of Alexsey’s laughter all of the way down to the soles of her feet.
“He’s not to speak or he’ll be disqualified,” Miss MacInvers warned.
“I know what it is,” Mrs. MacPherson called out. “You’re a goose!”
Mr. MacPherson tapped his nose happily, then grabbed a doily off a nearby table and set it on his head. He tied an imaginary bow under his chin, then held out his hand to two imaginary children.
Miss MacInvers called out, “A nanny?”
He shook his head. He pretended to pick up one of the children and fondly kissed it, then pointed to it and then himself.
Sorcha guessed, “You’re a female goose! Not a gander, but a—a— Oh, why can’t I remember what that’s called?”
“He’s Mother Goose!” called Lord MacDavid.
“Yes, thank God!” Mr. MacPherson snatched off the doily and mopped his brow. “Bless you for putting me out of my misery, MacDavid.”
Amid much laughter, Miss MacInvers drew another name from her pocket and Sorcha’s number was called.
She read the slip, bit her lip, and then looked about the room. Finding an empty chair, she stood on it and acted as if she were making a great speech.
“Romeo and Juliet,” Strathmoor said.
He said it so quietly that everyone was still a moment.
Turning red, Sorcha gave a jerky nod and climbed off her chair. She brought him the paper and then took her seat again, not looking at him.
“How on earth did he guess that so quickly?” Mairi whispered.
“I have no idea,” Bronwyn replied.
Miss MacInvers was reaching into her pocket to draw another name when Alexsey said in a deep voice, “There is no need. It is my turn.”
Everyone looked at him.
Miss MacInvers tittered. “Your Highness, you’re not supposed to call out a turn—but it’s your first time, and no one can fault you for being excited to play. Will anyone mind if the prince goes next?”
A chorus of voices instantly arose in agreement.
Bronwyn frowned. He must be accustomed to that—perhaps that’s why he always expects to get his way. And why he finds it so easy to live in the moment, without thought of any consequences.
He reached into the silver bowl and drew a slip of paper. He read the word, his face inscrutable.
“Do you need an interpretation?” Lord Strathmoor asked.
“Nyet. This is a word I know very well.” He placed the paper on the table, his gaze locking with Bronwyn’s.
Oh dear. Why is he looking at me?
He stood very straight. The room fell silent. With a slow, almost caressing movement, he made a very curvaceous female outline in the air.
Silence met this.
“Oh my,” Lady Perth said in a faint voice.
Her face red, Miss MacInvers cleared her throat. “Your Highness, I don’t believe common decency will allow—”
“A woman!” Strathmoor called out.
Alexsey nodded and then, as an afterthought, touched his nose. He looked at Miss MacInvers. “This means yes?”
She nodded, but whispered, “You’re not supposed to speak.”
“I will be silent now.” He made the outline again, only this time, he paused at the knee area and drew a fish tail.
“A mermaid!” Mairi called out.
He touched his nose.
Mairi gave an excited hop in her seat and clapped.
Alexsey now touched his throat and pantomimed singing.
“A mermaid and singing?” Mr. MacPherson mused. “What could that be?”
Mairi leapt to her feet. “A-a-a—” She turned to Bronwyn. “What were those called? They were in that epic you read to us when we were children, about an old witch and a mermaid, and— Oh! A siren!”
Alexsey looked directly at Bronwyn and she knew exactly what he was thinking. She’d sung to him, and he’d responded with a passion she was now remembering in agonizingly vivid detail. Her body heated, her nipples peaked, and for an instant, she wondered if she could speak.
Seeing her flush, a pleased look warmed his face. “Da. It is indeed a siren.” His voice caressed, and only she knew it.
The assemblage clapped appreciatively.
Lady Malvinea cleared her throat. “Your Highness, I’m surprised you know that word.”
“It is almost the same in my language—sirenya,” he said. “I love to hear the sirenya song. It makes a man’s blood pump.”
“Oh!” Miss MacInvers said, looking faint.
Bronwyn couldn’t look away. What was it about this man that made her want things she’d never wanted, dream of things she’d never allowed herself to dream of? Things she’d only thought about when presented between the protecting covers of a book?
Alexsey resumed his seat, his hand brushing Bronwyn’s shoulder ever so lightly, his legs once more stretching out until his booted feet rested against her skirts. Instantly, her body warmed and her heart trembled.
As the game continued Bronwyn drew the phrase “fox hunt,” which was quickly guessed, as so many of the guests had recently participated in a hunt. The entire time she was in the front of the room, Alexsey seemed to devour her with his dark green eyes and lazy smile. She was relieved when the time came to take her seat.
Finally, the last participant acted out her scene and the slips were counted. Lady Alexandra received a lovely Dresden teapot. Mairi, who’d come in second, received a shawl embroidered with rosettes, while Mrs. MacPherson won a potted rose for third place.
“That was quite lively,” Mama said as they stood.
“I don’t know when I’ve laughed more.” Mairi hugged her new shawl. “We must play this at home. If we were to practice, and knew one
another’s signals, we could win every game. Think of all the prizes! We’d have to use one of the guest rooms to hold them all.”
Bronwyn had to laugh. “If we were to win all of the time, other people would tire of playing and no one would invite us anymore.”
Mairi’s face fell. “I suppose so. We’d have to lose a few games on purpose. Oh, look! There’s the prince’s grandmother by the door, speaking with Sir Henry and the prince. She’s tiny, isn’t she?”
“We should stop by to pay our respects before we leave. Where’s Sorcha?” Mama looked about. “There she is. Oh dear.”
Sorcha was marching away from Lord Strathmoor as he watched, his mouth twisted as if he’d tasted a lemon.
When Sorcha reached them she pressed her fingers to her temples. “I’ve such a headache. May we go soon, Mama?”
“Of course, my dear. Mairi, could you ask one of the footmen to send for the carriage? The rest of us will make our good-byes.”
Alexsey hid a pleased smile when he saw Bronwyn and her mother and sister navigating their way toward him. Now was his opportunity to speak to her. He would pull her a little out of the way and offer to meet her somewhere close by.
“Your Highness?” Miss MacInvers stood looking up at him, a question plain in her eyes.
He bowed. “Yes?”
“That was an amazing performance, but . . . I wrote all of the words to be guessed, and I don’t remember the word ‘siren.’ ”
He raised his brows coolly. “I do not know what to tell you. That was my word.”
She blinked. “Of course. I don’t know what I was thinking. My wretched memory—”
“It is no problem. I played your game and enjoyed myself very much. You did a very good job.”
She flushed, looking inanely pleased. “Thank you, Your Highness!”
He bowed and she left.
His grandmother looked at him, her eyes narrowed. “What word did you draw from the bowl?”
“It is unimportant.”
She held out her hand. “I would see the word, please.”
He shrugged, dug into his pocket, and pulled out a strip of paper.
She looked at it. “ ‘Pall-mall.’ What is this?”