“Life as an invalid has lost its luster,” he said. “I grew weary of hiding in my room.”
“If you are well enough to emerge, then should you not also be well enough to return to your own residence?” Eleanora was careful to keep her tone polite.
“You are not wrong in your assumption, Miss Brett,” he answered smoothly. “However, I am to remain as a guest here for an indeterminate span of time. Mr. Tierney is convinced I’m safer here than at the opulent town house I bought for a small fortune. Thus, here I remain, a slightly willing prisoner.”
Her heart sank to the soles of her slippers.
The look he gave her was laden with smoldering sensual intent. It would be impossible to reach any conclusion other than that the prince fully intended to seduce her during his stay here. Why, she could not begin to fathom. She was a woman nearing the age of thirty. She dressed simply and with the allure of an elderly maiden aunt. Her gowns were unbecoming sacks, and she regularly hid her natural curves and golden hair beneath drapery, fichus, and caps. A man such as him—rich, handsome, royal—could have his choice of any woman in not just London, but all the world. His singular pursuit of her made not one whit of sense.
“Whilst I am a guest beneath Mr. Tierney and Princess Anastasia’s roof,” Prince Ferdinando continued smoothly, still holding Eleanora’s gaze, “I may as well be of use. Do you not think so?”
Heat flared up her throat, suffusing her cheeks. The gall of the man, to speak with such blatant carnal insinuation before her charges. Howdarehe? Years ago, in what seemed another life, when she had been a different woman entirely, she would have slapped his cheek for his audacity, prince or no. Some of the wealthiest, most powerful men in the world had filled her mother’s sitting room and salon. She had flirted with them, spoken with them, charmed them. She’d had them eating from the palm of her hand with intrepid ease.
But now, she was Miss Eleanora Brett, and her mother was gone. So too, all her mother’s amassed wealth. Fleeting, just likeher life had been. And Eleanora had no choice other than to play the role in which she found herself—no better than a servant.
“Of course you must do as you wish, Your Royal Highness,” Eleanora told him. “I have no doubt that you have never done anything less.”
“Ah, but there you would be wrong, my dear Miss Brett, and regretfully so,” he countered. “However, in this instance, it would please me greatly to remain here with my cousins and aid them in obtaining their…town silver, is it?”
She might have laughed were the circumstances any less dire. As it was, she was in peril of wilting like a flower in a drought beneath the prince’s knowing gaze. All she could think about was the way his sinful mouth had felt angling over hers. The way his tongue had slid sinuously against hers. The way he had tasted.
The way he’d made her feel.
Wrong, all of it. So desperately, dangerously wrong.
“Town bronze,” she forced herself to correct in the same gentle tone she had used for Princess Annalise. “The phrase istown bronze, Your Royal Highness.”
“Just so.” A smile toyed with the corners of his lips.
And that was when Eleanora realized he was teasing her. But not just that, he had been standing at the threshold for far longer than she had realized. Watching her. Listening.
Renewed heat crept up her throat, making her ears sting. And to her utter shame, the peaks of her breasts went hard and tingling. An ache throbbed to life between her thighs. Despite her every intention to remain impervious, and in direct opposition to all reason, she wanted this man.
Wanted him more desperately than she had ever wanted another.
But she could not have him.
“Well, then,” she managed crisply, straightening the skirt of her gown and smoothing imaginary wrinkles from the voluminous muslin. “Your dedication is most respectable. However, their royal highnesses and I were just about to begin our dancing lessons. Given your unfortunate state, I cannot help but think you would be incapable of rendering us any manner of aid. We do thank you, Your Royal Highness.”
“Nonsense!” Princess Emmaline interrupted. “Cousin Nando would be an excellent judge of our form. Would you not? Surely all your…experiencein the Varros court would make you a perfect connoisseur.”
Eleanora stared at the princess, aghast at the patently obvious insinuation in her words. And truly, a naïve young girl such as herself should have no notion of what manner of experience the prince possessed from his days at court. No doubt it was lewd and lascivious and beyond depraved. A shiver went down Eleanora’s spine that she told herself was pure disgust.
“Princess Emmaline,” she began in a scolding tone.
“You are correct, of course, cousin,” Prince Ferdinando said easily, grinning as if the princess’s pointed words hadn’t affected him one whit.
And perhaps they hadn’t. Men of his ilk ordinarily reveled in their dubious reputations and endless conquests. She knew his sort all too well. Wealthy, silver-tongued rogues had ruined her mother’s life more times than one. They’d professed their love, taken her mother under their protection, and broken her heart. They’d given her priceless jewels that turned out to be paste. They’d been faithless and cruel. Eleanora should know better. Better than anyone in the prince’s gilded sphere, certainly.
She might have objected over his incorrect claim to a familial relation again, but she knew there was no point in it, so Eleanora kept quiet, not wishing to draw attention to herself any more than she already had.
“I shall seat myself and observe,” he added, sauntering toward a nearby Grecian couch. “Forgive me my lack of manners, ladies, but if I remain standing any longer, I may swoon. On account of the blood I’ve lost, you understand?”
“Of course,” Princess Emmaline and Princess Annalise chirped in unison.
The rogue. He hadn’t lost enough blood to keep him from kissing her. But she couldn’t say that. Nor should she think of it. She needed to tamp down the memory. Banish the dangerous yearning he’d brought to life within her. Forget it ever had happened.
Impossible.
