And patently false.
Nando ignored it, sweeping them in circles in the best rhythm he could manage, for Princess Emmaline was proving a remarkably abysmal hand at the pianoforte. They kept time, their feet and bodies moving in steady unison. Eleanora quite obviously cast her gaze anywhere but at him as they went. He didn’t mind, however, taking advantage of the opportunity to admire her as they danced.
“I knew you were lying about dancing,” she said suddenly. “When you offered me that spurious position.”
“My dear, nothing about my offer was spurious unless that means wonderful. I’m afraid your vast English language occasionally leaves me perplexed. However, I never specified which dance I would require assistance in. The minuet, if you were wondering.”
Yes, more nonsense.
The expression on Eleanora’s face said she knew it to be so, but before she could counter him, the princess hit too many keys at once, resulting in a discordant sound that nearly had him missing a step. Fortunately, Nando was more than proficient at dancing and saved them. The chance to hold Eleanora in his arms again—albeit not as closely as he would have preferred—was too heady to be ignored. He’d happily saw off his wounded arm entirely just to waltz with her like this.
“Perhaps pianoforte lessons are in order next,” he told Eleanora wryly as he whirled them again.
To his amazed delight, a vibrant burst of laughter escaped her. Small and dainty and reluctant and easily the best sound he’d heard in years, far different from the choked half chuckle she had given him the day he had insulted the aim of his assassin. He almost stumbled at the impact that lone laugh had upon him. She clapped a hand over her mouth, as if the act could somehow rescind her levity. Too late.
He, Prince Ferdinando of the House of Tayrnes on the Island of Varros, had made Miss Eleanora Brett trulylaugh, unfettered and without an effort to squelch her mirth.
“Good heavens, I do believe Miss Brett chuckled,” Princess Annalise announced from her perch on the gilded settee. “Emmaline, did you hear? Cousin Nando made Miss Brettlaugh.”
Poor Emmaline, apparently incapable of playing and speaking at the same time, stilled her hands over the keys, the music dying. Eleanora stopped dancing immediately, leaving Nando no choice but to follow suit. He refused, however, to relinquish his hold on her delightful form, and she seemed so mired in embarrassment that she failed to take note of their indecorous proximity now that the waltz had abruptly ended.
“Miss Brett laughed?” Princess Emmaline echoed, her tone shocked. “I didn’t think it possible.”
Nando was grinning like a fool and he knew it, but pride was rushing through his veins along with something that felt a whole lot like victory. He had made the indomitable Miss Eleanora Brett’s icy façade melt. He’d made her so lose control of her sangfroid that it had fled her utterly, even if only for a fleeting moment.
Hehadher.
The kisses they’d shared in his chamber, the chuckle he’d wrung from her, the way her body responded to his, theundeniable pull between them—it all added up to one inevitable conclusion. The woman in his arms was his. He’d won.
Oh, he might not have her in his bed this very night, but have her in his bed, he would. And she would adore every second of the pleasure he visited upon her. He’d make more than certain of that.
“Astounding,” Princess Annalise was saying, as if she had just witnessed an angel descend from heaven before her.
The poor chit was going to be chewed up and swallowed whole by theton. It was a miracle she hadn’t been already, Nando thought grimly. But that wasn’t his problem, nor was it his concern.
“It would seem I am capable of remarkable feats,” he said to Eleanora, though he allowed his voice to carry to the princesses.
Eleanora’s hand was still pressed to her lips, her eyes wide on his. Understanding flared in those mysterious blue depths. She knew as well as he did that he was speaking about feats that had nothing to do with dancing the waltz.
Nando smiled at her, feeling the heat simmering between them as palpably as if they stood before a roaring fire.
“I have no doubt that you are, Your Royal Highness,” Eleanora said, her voice low and for him alone. “However, I’ve no wish to know about them. You would be wise to practice them elsewhere.”
It was his turn to chuckle now. “Lie all you want, my dear. We both know the truth.”
Her nostrils flared, and her spine went rigid, almost as if she were remembering herself. “I’m not lying.”
Nando lowered his head and pressed his lips to her ear as he whispered, “You may tell yourself that if it makes you feel better. But your kisses said otherwise.” He straightened and released her in one motion, stepping away and offering her another bow. “As you can see, cousins,” he said, addressing the princesseswho were watching their little drama unfold with rapt attention, “skilled waltzing has its infinite uses.”
And one of them was most assuredly seducing their stern, relentless chaperone.
“Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I fear I must return to my chamber, for all this waltzing has reminded me that I yet remain an invalid.”
The princesses offered him a chorus of well-wishes. Eleanora stayed notably silent. Nando was lying, of course. If anything, his waltz with her had given him new life and heightened his hunger for her.
He quit the room, flexing the hand that had so recently been pressed to the small of her back, for he swore that he could still feel the alluring heat of her searing him even as he walked away.
“Your Royal Highness,you should be abed, getting your rest,” Bruno fretted.
