“Your Royal Highness?”
But Bruno’s untimely return and his unwanted voice from the hall, hesitant after Nando’s somewhat ungracious treatment of him earlier, shattered the possibilities of the moment.
“What is it, Bruno?” he demanded harshly, raking his hand through his hair.
Of all the times for his bodyguard to return.
If he’d been but half a minute longer, Nando could have pressed his advantage. He’d have had Eleanora eating out of his hand.
“I was able to procure some sustenance from the kitchens, Your Royal Highness.”
Fuck.
“I’m no longer hungry,” he tried, hoping Bruno would go to the devil and leave him alone with Eleanora.
The only sustenance he wanted was more of the woman before him, whose breathing was erratic and whose eyes were wide. He was reasonably certain he could spend the rest of his life on nothing more than her kisses alone for succor.
“Come to me later,” he told her lowly. “We’ve not finished this discussion.”
Her nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply at his boldness. “No.”
Damnation.
Thwarted.
“Perhaps Your Royal Highness will change your mind when you see what I’ve managed to obtain,” Bruno suggested, the latch on the door lifting as his bodyguard decided to let himself into the room.
Bruno faltered as he spied Eleanora, whose countenance couldn’t have been more horrified if she’d just been invited to her own funeral.
The bodyguard attempted a bow, no easy feat given the laden tray he bore. “Miss Brett.”
She dipped into an elegant curtsy. “Mr. Dimitrius, good evening. I was just taking my leave.” She ventured a fleeting glance in Nando’s direction and another curtsy. “Your Royal Highness.”
And then she fled his chamber, leaving Nando alone again, save for Bruno and a tray of pilfered food he no longer wanted to eat.
CHAPTER 8
“But trousers are so much more comfortable to wear than gowns and petticoats. No doubt, it’s why the gentlemen here in London insist upon keeping them for themselves.”
Princess Emmaline accompanied her pronouncement with a pout and a stomp of her dainty foot.
Eleanora suppressed a sigh as she took in the sight her charge presented in the drawing room—billowing trousers and an accompanying jacket fashioned of silk, belted at her waist. There was no denying the quality and cut of her outerwear. But it was wholly unseemly. And yet another reminder that just when Eleanora thought she had made some progress with the princesses, one of them insisted upon either wearing inappropriate garments or sneaking away to find time alone with scandalous dukes.
Or both.
She forced a commiserating smile to her lips. “You are undoubtedly correct, Princess Emmaline. However, given that we have no control over polite standards, I’m afraid we haven’t any choice other than to surrender to theton’s notion of what a lady ought to wear.”
“I’ve already worn trousers to a ball,” Princess Emmaline pointed out.
Yes, much to Eleanora’s abject horror, the princesses had both attended a ball wearing trousers before their older sister had hired her.
“Your doing so resulted in a flurry of scandal,” Eleanora reminded her sternly.
“And also in Miss Brett being hired to give us town silver,” Princess Annalise added, addressing her sister.
“Townbronze,” Eleanora corrected gently.
“Why would it not be gold?” Princess Emmaline asked, her brow furrowed. “Gold is worth more than bronze and silver, is it not? If we are to be trained like little dogs until we are above reproach, then one would truly think it ought to be calledtown gold, at the very least.”
