Nando was too busy pacing the floor, trying to plot a means of catching Eleanora alone, to be in bed. Besides, if he was to be abed at this juncture, with his wound healing nicely, it most assuredly wouldn’t bealone, nor would he welcome his bodyguard hovering over him like a worried hen on her roost.
“I don’t need rest.” Nando stopped at the mantel, examining an ormolu clock that depicted Diana, the Roman goddess of the hunt, complete with stags and hounds on a marble base.
It was a remarkable piece with intricate attention to detail. And although he enjoyed collecting beauty—whether it be women, clocks, paintings, or sculptures—he found himself oddly disinterested in the ormolu depiction. When he looked at thehuntress’s serene expression, all he saw was Eleanora smiling up at him with genuine amusement that he’d been the cause of.
He needed to press his suit. As soon as he was able. This obsession with her was beginning to grow tedious. The sooner he had her to himself, the sooner he could carry on with his unapologetic debauchery.
“Forgive me for my impertinence, but you should take greater care with your person,” Bruno continued. “King Maximillian will be vastly displeased if any further harm should befall you. As it is, I’ll likely lose my head for failing to protect you when you were shot.”
The mention of his beloved, if overbearing, older brother had Nando turning back to his bodyguard. “Calm yourself, Bruno. My brother never needs to know about any of this. I have no intention of telling him. It will only make him worry, and he’s worried quite enough in his life, don’t you think?”
“Of course, Your Royal Highness, but?—”
“Then it’s settled,” Nando interrupted, not wanting to hear further arguments. What Maxim didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. And that was one of the reasons Nando was in London instead of at home in Varros.
“But Your Royal?—”
Knock, knock, knock.
Three sound raps at the door interrupted Bruno’s further fretting, which suited Nando perfectly well. The man could be as nettlesome as a fly, buzzing about his head.
“Enter,” he called, hoping it was Eleanora, coming to him freely and saving him the trouble of manufacturing another reason to be with her.
He was doomed to be disappointed, however, as his illustrious hostess bustled past Bruno into his room, bearing an arm full of fresh flowers.
“For me?” Nando asked, fluttering his lashes like a coquette as he offered a gallant bow. “My dear lady, you do know how to charm.”
Princess Stasia harrumphed and approached an empty vase which he’d failed to take note of previously, situated on a nearby table. “I’m hardly trying to charm you. I’m merely trying to brighten this dreadfully dark room with some cheer. Why are the window dressings pulled closed?”
He might have asked the same. “Bruno thinks it imperative that I remain unseen in the windows.” He glowered at his bodyguard. “I told him it’s unnecessary and that each time he departs the room, I open them once more. But he insists upon closing them when he returns.”
“My husband did say that it would be best if we kept your presence here as much of a secret as possible,” the princess said, taking Bruno’s side.
The utter traitor.
“Your husband is an Englishman,” he said dismissively, as if that explained everything.
Which, in Nando’s estimation, it did.
“He’s also quite adept at knowing what to do in moments of dire danger,” she said, stuffing the stems of her blossoms into the vase.
“Not roses, surely?” he asked just to be peevish. “They make me sneeze.”
“Then hold your breath,” she suggested, grinning.
Had he thought her a friend? Had he claimed her as an honorary cousin as he had her sisters? If so, he must have been thoroughly soused at the time. Her time in England with her husband had clearly addled her mind.
“I would, but then I cannot speak,” he countered mildly, rubbing his uninjured hand over his chest.
“Precisely.” Her grin deepened as she placed the last of her flowers into the vase.
“I rescind every good thing I ever said about you,” he told her without heat.
The princess directed her attention to Bruno, who stood as impenetrable as a boulder by the door, guarding him, Nando supposed.
“Mr. Dimitrius, would you be so kind as to go to the kitchens and fetch His Royal Highness the honey cakes I’ve asked Cook to prepare for him? I know how partial he is to them, and I do so want to aid in his recovery.”
She wanted to speak with Nando alone, then.
