“Perhaps Your Royal Highness might edify me on the proper sketching of a bow,” she suggested with feigned sweetness, hoping he would be duly chastised and hold his wicked tongue.
He grinned at her. “You’re thrusting your derriere out too far, if you must know. A gentleman would never thrust his rump out in such a feminine manner.”
Heat crept over her face. He was speaking about herbottom. And in front of Princess Annalise and Emmaline, no less.
“It is wonderfully curved,” he continued thoughtfully, “which no doubt hinders the impression as well. However, that can’t be helped.”
From the pianoforte, Princess Emmaline chuckled into her hand in a quite indiscreet fashion.
“Your Royal Highness, you are beyond the pale,” Eleanora clipped out coldly.
But she didn’t feel cold. Not at all. What she did feel was hot. Hot.Hot.
She was unbearably aflame, something deep within her, forbidden and wholly unnecessary, burning with an ardor she feared she would no longer be able to contain.
As if he could read her mind, his smile deepened, unrepentant and roguish. “Always, Miss Brett.”
She could do this. She could carry on this lesson, this lone dance, and then somehow remove herself from this room and from Prince Ferdinando’s dangerous presence. She could escape this unscathed.
She could.
She would.
Shehadto.
Grinding her molars and giving him what she was sure resembled more grimace than smile, she said, “Thank you for your suggestion. I shall endeavor to form all future bows with greater care.”
“By all means,” he said like a benevolent ruler seated upon a dais.
“Princess Emmaline, begin the waltz,” she commanded sharply, the edge in her tone not intended for her charge but for the grinning, smoldering, beautiful prince in their midst.
The first notes filled the air, and Eleanora busied herself with helping Princess Annalise with hand placement and positioning, before turning her attention to her steps, which were still halting and foal-like.
“No, no, no,” called the prince over the pianoforte. “Halt.”
The music died.
Nettled beyond the limitations of her patience, Eleanora spun about to face him, forgetting her place in this household and that she addressed a royal prince.
“What in heaven’s name can it be now?” she demanded curtly.
“You do not move like a man, Miss Brett,” he said, shameless in his continued disruption. “How is my cousin to pretend you are a gentleman if you are moving with a woman’s lithe grace?”
She wondered if his ploy was to drive her so mad with fury that she succumbed to his seduction, irritated beyond all rational thought. If so, he was certainly succeeding.
Eleanora pinned the handsome devil with a glare. “I do not find it imperative that Princess Annalise pretend I am a gentleman. The purpose of this lesson is for the princess to practice her steps and posture, not for her to imagine she is dancing with a lord.”
“Nonsense.” He rose to his feet with a casual ease that belied his recent sickroom stay. “If you will allow me to offer my assistance, Miss Brett, I do think that my cousin would benefit from a gentleman and lady couple dancing the waltz.”
“I cannot think it wise for you to dance with Princess Annalise,” she protested instantly, thinking of his dangerous reputation and her charge’s wide-eyed innocence.
He could claim the princesses as his cousins all he liked, but the truth of the matter was, Prince Ferdinando was not related to the princesses in any capacity. He wasn’t family. And he was a wicked rakehell, notorious for his bad behavior.
He was already striding in their direction with the assured footfalls of a man born into royalty. “And that is precisely why I’m dancing withyou, Miss Brett.”
CHAPTER 9
Nando knew he wasn’t playing a fair game.
