Eleanora found herself wondering at the connection between her employer and the prince. The princess had once been betrothed to Prince Ferdinando’s older brother the king, afterall. She had spent time in Varros at the capital, mingling in court, before she had forsaken the king and returned to England to marry for love. Was it possible that Princess Stasia and the prince had enjoyed some manner of arrangement themselves?
The notion troubled her far more than it should.
“I understand,” she said quietly, choosing her words with utmost care. “You need not fear on my behalf. I am impervious to him and his rakish charms both. I do thank you for your concern.”
“You needn’t thank me.” The princess gave her another pat, quite as if they were old friends instead of who they truly were to each other. “I like you, Eleanora. I have from the moment I first met you. You don’t suffer fools, and you are determined. I would hate to see Nando callously break your heart. You deserve better than a man who is only interested in seeking his own pleasure.”
Was that what the princess thought of Prince Ferdinando? Eleanora wanted to correct her, to say there was a great deal more to the man than she had ever supposed. That he possessed hidden depths that she had never imagined existed. And that pleasure did not seem to be his sole concern, even if he was clearly a man who had capitalized upon his looks and noble birth.
But she knew she could not dare come to his defense a second time in the same conversation. To do so would be beyond perilous, and particularly after she had just avowed her complete disinterest in him.
“You pay me a great honor,” she said instead.
“Nonsense. I am only telling you the truth,” the princess said in that pragmatic way of hers that Eleanora always ascribed to her hailing from Boritania, knowing the princess had been raised in different customs and a vastly different land than England. “Now, then. Let us speak of the reason we must cry off the ball. I am afraid that my husband has discovered thereis some new danger concerning Prince Ferdinando, and that he has reason to believe we may all be at peril. He’s asked that we remain here at the town house until he can be assured of our safety.”
In Eleanora’s experience, Mr. Tierney was a fair and intelligent man who happened to be besotted with his wife. They made a lovely pair, both hopelessly in love with each other. But Eleanora was no stranger to intrigue, thanks to her upbringing. She had harbored a strong suspicion that Mr. Tierney’s business involved shadowy dealings of some sort. The implication that he was privy to information concerning Prince Ferdinando certainly suggested as much.
But it wasn’t just the realization that her employer was far more than he appeared that had Eleanora’s stomach twisting in knots. Nor was it the reason for the heavy weight of dread descending upon her. The looming threat of further violence befalling Prince Ferdinando was.
Because, as much as she had done her utmost to guard herself against the charming prince, Eleanora had come to care for him.
“His Royal Highness is still in danger?” she repeated, trying to keep the dismay from her voice, lest Princess Stasia discern far too much from it.
He could play the devil-may-care all he liked, but someone had tried to kill the prince. And that someone was still in London, likely lying in wait for a second chance to strike. The notion left her chilled to the bone.
“I fear so,” the princess said, frowning. “I didn’t wish to worry you. Please rest assured that we are safe here. Mr. Tierney has his best men guarding the town house, and if anyone can find out who was behind the attack on Prince Ferdinando, it’s my husband. I have implicit faith in his abilities.”
“Of course,” Eleanora hastened to say, even if she didn’t feel reassured at all.
“You may have the afternoon and evening to yourself, Eleanora,” the princess added, taking her by surprise.
“But surely you have other need for me, despite the ball,” she protested out of habit, for she had long since come to understand what an employer desired of her and to make herself indispensable.
“My sisters are otherwise occupied. In truth, I don’t think that either of them was displeased to have to forgo the ball. You’re free to do as you like.”
“Thank you.” Eleanora didn’t know what to do with the unexpected reprieve, but she would somehow make the best of it. “Perhaps I’ll tend to my correspondence.”
In truth, she had no one to write to. Her mother’s family had long since disowned her, her mother was gone, and she had neither siblings nor friends. But she didn’t reveal any of that to the princess. Instead, she quietly took her leave.
But as she set about returning to her chamber, her duties summarily suspended for the day, she couldn’t seem to keep herself from the last room that should concern her. And yet, it was theonlyroom she could think about, a forbidden temptation she couldn’t seem to resist, regardless of the dire consequences and all her employer’s stringent warnings.
Prince Ferdinando’s.
Eleanora was back.
And sooner than he’d expected, which suited Nando just fine.
Better than fine, in fact. Because he’d just been on his way out of his bedchamber in search of Eleanora when he’d spied herin the hall. As usual, she was wearing one of her hideous gowns, this one in a shade of jonquil that did nothing for her creamy skin and golden hair. It was too large and ill-fitting in the bodice, which had yet another lace fichu tucked within it for modesty. And her locks were covered with a cap that he would generously describe as ridiculously ugly.
His cock went instantly hard anyway.
Bruno was blessedly gone—sent to fetch Nando the furred companion he’d been missing since it would seem he was to be a prisoner here at Tierney’s town house for longer than previously supposed. Benvolio was likely forlorn without him.
Nando offered a courtly bow as Eleanora approached.
“Your Royal Highness.” She dipped into a curtsy.
“How good of you to pay a call upon me,” he said. “I was beginning to get dreadfully lonely.”
