The Prince Who Loved Me Part 6

Unaware of her turmoil, her stepmother and stepsisters greeted the man with the greatest enthusiasm. "Your Highness!"

"Most pleased!" Sorcha, flushed with pleasure, dipped a curtsy.

Mairi followed suit. "Such an honor!"

He bowed absently to them, his gaze never leaving Bronwyn, possessive and hot. She felt every bit as exposed as she had in the forest-and more. Her heart thudded sickly against her chest and she felt as if she were caught in a horrible dream.

He looked so different in formal dress; lordly, prouder, and far less approachable. His perfectly cut coat fit across his broad shoulders and then tapered down to his narrow waist. His close-fitting knit breeches molded to his muscular legs and made her fight to breathe. Now he truly does look like Roland. "You are no huntsman."

Lady Malvinea's startled gaze flew to Bronwyn. "Bronwyn!"

Sorcha's eyes widened.

Mairi gaped as she looked at the prince from head to toe. "This is your huntsman?"

Oh dear. I shouldn't have said that aloud.

Alexsey took Bronwyn's hand, his green eyes twinkling as he bowed. "I am indeed a huntsman. Since our meeting, I've done nothing but hunt"-he flashed a wolfish grin-"for you."

She opened her mouth, but not a single word came out. This was not good. Not good at all. He was the prince, the very man Mama wished for Sorcha. And yet here he was, holding her hand.

He traced a circle over the back of her hand with his warm thumb, and she had an instant memory of his hands on her waist and hips, of his firm, warm mouth upon hers. Heat flooded her and her face burned yet again.

"Do not blush, little one."

Mama, who had been staring at them with her mouth agape, stiffened. "Little one?"

Strathmoor leaned forward to say something under his breath to the prince, who looked irritated. "Ah. I did not know." He inclined his head toward Mama. " 'Little one' is what I call your daughter, but I have been informed that's not a polite form of address."

"Oh. I-I'm sure you didn't mean to be forward." Mama couldn't have looked more irritated. "That's . . . I'm certain there's . . . I just don't . . ." She subsided into red-faced silence, her eyes blazing.

The prince turned back to Bronwyn. "I am glad to have finally found you." His hand tightened over hers, warm and powerful.

"Oh. Yes. That's very nice." Bronwyn tugged her hand free. "Thank you, Al-Your Highness. You are too kind."

Alexsey's eyes warmed, and he moved closer.

A s.h.i.+ver traveled through Bronwyn, warming her skin and making her nipples peak. The reaction was so quick, so raw, that she had to fight to breathe.

Mama's brittle laugh cut into the moment and jarred Bronwyn back to her senses. "My goodness, I scarcely know what to say! How do you two know one another?"

Bronwyn shook her head. "We don't know one another. Not really."

"But we do," Alexsey said, his smile fading. "Lady Malvinea, I had the privilege of meeting your stepdaughter several days ago. My grandmother's dog disappeared during a hunt and your stepdaughter, who was reading a book in the woods, found her."

"In the woods? Alone?" Mama cut a shocked, reproving glance Bronwyn's way.

"Actually, no," the prince said, looking regretful. "She had two large horse-dogs guarding her. She was quite safe."

Mama said in a stiff tone, "I didn't mean to suggest she wasn't; I'm sure you were a perfect gentleman. I'm just surprised Bronwyn never mentioned this meeting."

Bronwyn shook her head. "I didn't think it was important. He had some of Selvach's arrows and was wearing common clothing-he didn't look a bit like a prince."

Mairi leaned closer to Bronwyn and said under her breath, "How could you forget what he looked like? He's perfect!"

Alexsey laughed, the deep, rich sound sending familiar tremors through Bronwyn. "Miss Mairi, I am many things, but perfect is not one of them."

"I'll vouch for that," Strathmoor offered, looking amused.

Mama wasn't finished. "Bronwyn, you obviously told your sisters about this meeting in the woods, but you said not one word to me."

"I told them I'd met a huntsman, because that's what I thought he was."

"And she only told us because we made her." Mairi bit her lip when her mother's gaze flashed her way.

"I can see I've caused an uproar, and it was not my intention." Alexsey tried to hide his impatience. "Roza did not know my t.i.tle because I did not tell her."

"Roza?" Miss Sorcha frowned.

Bronwyn said, "I refused to tell him my name, so he called me Roza and-"

"But-" Lady Malvinea began.

"Pardon me." Alexsey bowed. "I will dance with your stepdaughter."

"Oh no!" Bronwyn moved back until she was slightly behind Miss Sorcha. "I don't dance."

"Bronwyn doesn't dance, and Mairi's too young." Lady Malvinea's back was ramrod straight, like a soldier preparing for battle.

Alexsey had to give the lady credit. Her words and expression were pleasantly polite, but her posture and the line of her jaw showed a determination that gave one pause. He knew many statesmen who would pay money to be able to use just such skills.

"Mama!" Miss Mairi hissed, her face red. "You said I could dance this evening!"

Lady Malvinea's smile didn't slip. "Not with the prince." She slipped an arm about Sorcha and edged her forward. "But Sorcha dances divinely."

Alexsey bowed. "I look forward to dancing with both of your daughters."

"Excellent! Sorcha will-"

"-dance with me after I have danced with Miss Murdoch." He captured Bronwyn's hand, tugging her forward.

She tugged back. "No, no. I'm only here to chaperone-"

"We will dance." Alexsey tightened his hold. He'd waited many long days to find this woman, and he'd be d.a.m.ned if he'd let her out of his sight. "I will not accept a no."

"But I-"

"Bronwyn!"

Everyone looked toward Lady Malvinea.

Her fan quivered, but she managed a credible smile. "Bronwyn, the prince has been most polite in his offer. You will dance with him. I'm sure someone will claim Sorcha's hand." Lady Malvinea looked directly at Alexsey. "Sorcha is in much demand. She may not be here when you return and you will have to wait for your dance."

"Strath!" Alexsey said over his shoulder.

The viscount, who'd been watching them as if he were at the theater enjoying a show, started with surprise. "Yes?"

"Dance with Miss Sorcha."

"But-"

"I will claim her hand at the next music."

"But-" Strath caught Alexsey's firm gaze and sighed. "Of course I'll dance with the lovely Miss Sorcha. It will be my pleasure." He bowed and held out his arm. "Miss Sorcha, shall we do as we've been royally commanded?"

Miss Sorcha looked as if she'd swallowed a bee, but after an awkward second, she gave a jerky nod and a fluttery, pained smile. "Of course." She placed her hand upon Strath's arm. Without looking at one another, the two joined the dancers upon the floor.

"There," Alexsey said with satisfaction. Refusing to look at anyone else, he placed Roza's hand upon his arm, and led her onto the dance floor.

Finally, he had her where she belonged: within the circle of his arms.

There was something tantalizing about the way Lucinda's lashes trembled upon her cheeks, as if she were the smallest, most innocent dove. As Roland watched her, his heart swelled, and the urge to protect her filled his soul.

-The Black Duke by Miss Mary Edgeworth No woman had ever danced with less grace. Still, though Alexsey feared his toes would be permanently bruised, he couldn't stop his wide grin. He was dancing with his Roza.

He looked down at her and wondered what she was thinking. She seemed lost in her thoughts, her brow knit, her gaze on her feet. Of the many ways women reacted to dancing with him, he'd never met with such silence.

Alexsey bit back an "oof" when her small, slippered foot came down on his boot again. Perhaps because her stepsisters and stepmother were so much taller than she, Roza seemed shorter than he remembered, more delicate in some ways. But her skin was just as sun-kissed, her brown hair gleaming with russet lights that glowed in the candelabra light.

But gone was her openly curious expression, and in its place a polite-society facade, the sort worn by someone uncomfortable in public. Are you shy, little one? I did not see it before, but now I think it's possible.

He noted how stiffly she held her chin in the air, her lashes low, almost resting on her cheeks. He wondered if she found the silence unnerving, and if that was why she refused to look at him. Then he realized the truth: she was struggling to keep up with the dance steps, her lips silently moving as she counted out the time.

Her attention on her steps didn't seem to help, for her dancing was worse than atrocious. She missed steps, had twice moved in the wrong direction, refused to allow him to lead, and had stepped on his left foot six times already.

Fortunately, while her eyes were turned downward, he had the opportunity to admire her at his leisure. How had he missed noticing how thick her lashes were? And how her small nose gave her a piquant look? He wanted to kiss that nose, along with other parts of her. He adroitly guided them out of the path of another couple.

Her hand tightened over his, and to his amus.e.m.e.nt, he realized she was once again trying to lead, a habit he attempted to squelch by refusing to follow.

Thwarted, Bronwyn flashed her gaze up to his. "I told you I don't like to dance."

"So you did. What you did not tell me is that you couldn't dance."

She flushed. "You should have danced with Sorcha. She's very good at it."

He glanced at Strath, Bronwyn's gaze following. The viscount and Sorcha were exceptional dancers, moving smoothly and without error, seeming to float as they swept about the floor. With her gown of white crepe sewn with tiny pearls, long white ribands floating about her, Sorcha looked as if she belonged in a fairy tale.

But though the couple danced divinely, their conversation seemed to be of a less perfect turn. It was obvious they'd exchanged harsh words. Strath looked as if for a penny he'd willingly strangle Sorcha, while she appeared ready to return the favor for free.

Alexsey looked down at Bronwyn. "I prefer to dance with you, wretched though you are at it."

"Why that's- How rude!"

"It is the truth. I would not patronize you with less."

She lifted a brow. "You truly are a prince charming."

"Was that . . . what is the word? Ah yes-you are sarcasm."

"The word is 'sarcastic.' And yes, I am." She frowned up at him. "Pardon me, Alexs-Your Hi-good G.o.d, I don't even know what to call you. This whole thing is confusing and awkward. I can't seem to accept that you are a prince. A real prince."

"If it bothers you, then tonight, I will be a huntsman once again." His expression warmed. "I love hunting, especially for you."

She narrowed her gaze. "I have the feeling you mean something else when you say 'hunting.' "

He laughed. "I might. Come, Roza. Do not become so disturbed over things neither of us can change. Besides, we are just dancing."

"If you think b.a.l.l.s are held merely for dancing, then you're very nave."

"Oh, I know that b.a.l.l.s are for matchmaking. But I do not pay attention to such nonsense, and neither should you."

She eyed him with curiosity. "You're not looking for a wife?"

"I cannot think of anything I want less. I came to Scotland to escort my grandmother, who is older and far more frail than she will admit. Other than that, I had no purpose, and I certainly have no desire to marry. Not yet, anyway."

"Neither do I." She nodded thoughtfully and relaxed a little, her steps not quite so stiff as they turned to the music. After a moment, she peeped up at him through her lashes and said in a confidential tone, "Had I realized you were a prince when we met in the woods, I wouldn't have spoken to you at all, much less-" She glanced around, and then lowered her voice. "You know."

"Kiss-OW!" He stopped and another couple almost collided with them. "You stepped on my foot on purpose!"

"Did I? I'm sorry."

He could tell she d.a.m.ned well wasn't sorry at all. He firmly danced her to the side of the floor, keeping a cautious eye on her feet.

Once they were out of the main press, he slowed to a more comfortable tempo. They were now completely out of step with the music, but more in pace with her abilities. "There. Now you can stop pretending you can dance."

"I warned you."

"My ears did not work; I was too happy to have finally found you. Now, though, I regret not listening." He shook his head in mock despair. "The tops of my shoes will never be the same."

Her lips quirked into an irrepressible grin.

"So you have no shame for ruining my shoes, nyet? If it weren't so difficult to replace shoes here in the middle of nowhere, I would let you stomp on the tops of all of them, but such is not the case. If they are ruined, I must go without."

"A barefoot prince? That sounds like a bad Italian opera."

He chuckled. "So it does. And it will sound even more like one if you mar my shoes until I cannot wear them, for then I will have to punish you."

Bronwyn wasn't sure what it was, the golden glow from the hundreds of candles that lit the ballroom, the musical swirl of the orchestra, or the fact that she was dancing with a real, straight-out-of-a-fairy-tale prince, one so handsome that everyone was staring at her with obvious jealousy, but she felt light-headed, as if she'd had too much champagne. It caused her to look up at the prince through her lashes and say in a completely un-Bronwyn-like way, "Oh? And how will you 'punish' me?"