Bruno cast a searching glance in his direction, and Nando nodded. What other choice had he? His hostess was about to interrogate him, and he knew it. Hell, he deserved it, even, for he fully intended to seduce a member of her household. Thoroughly, repeatedly, and utterly without compunction.
Bruno bowed and exited the room, leaving Nando and Princess Stasia truly alone.
“My sisters tell me that you waltzed with Miss Brett today.” Her voice was nonchalant as she continued to arrange the hothouse flowers in the vase, quite as if they were the most intriguing assortment of color and blooms she’d ever beheld.
But he knew better than to trust her distraction and the lightness in her tone. There was an underlying question in her voice. Nando might have known that his escape from his chamber would be remarked upon. And further, that it would necessitate a visit from Stasia. Now she wanted to know what his intentions were where Eleanora was concerned. Well, to the devil with her. Did she expect him to admit it, if doing so would hinder his cause? What a silly widgeon she was.
“I was merely doing my cousinly duty,” Nando said, smiling back at the princess.
She looked up at him again, frowning. “Miss Brett is not your cousin.”
“I’m more than aware that the lady in question and I have no familial ties.” And thank God for that. He moved away from the mantel, taking care to keep his voice light. “I’ve claimed your sisters as honorary members of the House of Tayrnes.”
Stasia stared at him as if he’d announced his intention to wage a one-man battle against England’s navy using a thimble and a teacup. “How generous of you.”
“Only for the sake of their reputations,” he told her, the levity fleeing him. For he did truly like the princesses, and he wanted it to be known that he had no intention of causing either of them any trouble, lest it was a concern of his hostess. “The English are dreadfully uninformed about our bloodlines and history. Tell them that I’m a distant cousin, and they’ll eat it up like it’s their dinner.”
“That’s an appallingly cynical view of theton,” Stasia observed, her frown heightening.
“But true,” he pointed out, stopping by the vase and bending his head to sniff the blooms.
Stasia regarded him with a raised brow. “I thought roses make you sneeze.”
“Achoo,” he said, winking.
She made another sound of disapproval, whisking herself to the far window, where she busied herself with opening the curtains and allowing some meager London sun to pass into the room. “Are you never serious, Nando?”
Idly, he traced the unfurling blossom of a red rose as he watched the princess play the part of chambermaid. “Why should I be? I’m no longer the spare. I have neither duties nor obligation to weigh me down.”
Although he said it flippantly, the truth was that Nando had rather come to resent his older brother’s lack of confidencein him. When Maxim’s opinion had finally altered, Nando had already been on his current course to depravity. And with Maxim’s happy marriage to Tansy and their new son and heir to the throne, there was even less of a place for Nando in court than there had been previously.
“You were nearly killed,” Princess Stasia reminded him, moving to the last window.
“It would seem you’re not of the same opinion as my bodyguard,” he observed wryly. “Unless you wish for me to be seen so that I’m no longer an unwelcome presence in your home?”
“I’m hardly hoping for your murder, Nando.” Stasia sighed as she opened the final curtain. “My husband has guards posted—his best men. I have faith that no villains will be lurking in the street, hoping for a glimpse of your face. And you’re looking remarkably pale. The sunlight will do you good, I think.”
“Pale?” Frowning, Nando ventured to a nearby looking glass, examining his reflection.
Perhaps he was a bit wan; the golden coloring that so favored him was difficult to maintain on England’s rain-and-fog-laden shores. Nonetheless, he was still in fine form.
“Now, then. Let us have a seat and you can tell me what it is you want from my sisters’ chaperone.”
Stasia’s voice was uncomfortably knowing. He turned away from the mirror to meet her pointed stare.
Blast.The woman was certainly persistent; he would give her that.
“Who might that be?” he asked, feigning ignorance.
“Miss Brett,” his hostess replied sternly. “Subterfuge ill becomes you, Nando.”
“Subter what?” he asked, pretending that his English was lacking, which always proved an immensely useful ploy.
“Cease pretending you don’t know what I mean. If you insist upon playing games, then it would seemIam the one who must speak plainly. I forbid you from seducing Miss Brett.”
Her words rankled. His reaction was instant—how dare you, madam—but he tamped it down.
“Who said anything about seducing her?” he asked smoothly. “I mean to offer Miss Brett gainful employ in my own household—and at a much fairer rate of recompense as well.”
