“Nonsense,” he said breezily. “I don’t mind. Indeed, why trouble a maid when the matter is rectified easily enough?”
Before she could offer further protest, he took up a napkin and began cleaning the spilled tea with calm, efficient motions. When he bent to sop the mess from the Aubusson, Eleanora couldn’t help but to notice the way his trousers molded to his well-muscled thighs. New warmth unfurled within her, and she forced herself to look away.
“Is something amiss?” he asked with a knowing tone to his voice.
Her gaze snapped back to find him studying her with unabashed masculine interest. He had seen her ogling him, and he wasn’t going to allow her the pretense that she hadn’t been.
“I was merely thinking that the trousers in Varros are uncommon,” she said waspishly.
Why did he have to be here? Where were the princesses? Why, of all the men in London, had she managed to attract the attention of the one most perilous to her ability to resist him?
“Uncommon in what way, Miss Brett?”
Oh, she loathed the way he made her name sound like a caress. But part of her—the wickedest part she’d done her utmost to vanquish—liked it too.
“They appear to be poorly constructed,” she lied. “Certainly, the quality seems inferior to what I’m accustomed to seeing here in London. Perhaps your tailors would be well served to pay a call to us here.”
His lips twitched as if he found her amusing. “I’ll be sure to invite every tailor in Varros I know to London. But then, that would rather create a conundrum, would it not, if all the tailors of Varros suddenly rushed to England’s shores? The poor gentlemen in my homeland would suffer a shocking dearth of trousers. Only think of it. All the ladies in the streets would be swooning when they came upon men dressed in nothing more than their drawers.”
He was mocking her. And yet doing so with such casual amusement, his eyes sparkling with infectious mischief, his lips curved into a smile that invited her to join in his levity.
She wouldn’t do it.
“One would assume they would still retain their existing garments,” she argued, keeping her tone mild and unaffected.
Which was difficult indeed when Prince Ferdinando was on bended knee, mopping up her spilled tea and grinning at her as if they were sharing a private jest. Because when the prince turned the full brunt of his charm upon her, he smoldered. And Eleanora felt like dry kindling that was about to catch flame.
The prince rose to his towering height, having completed his task, and placed the soiled napkin discreetly on the table. “You have an excellent point, Miss Brett. However, I can only further reckon that if the tailors were to descend upon London, they would be every bit as enthralled by its charms as I am. They’d never return. Eventually, the poor chaps in Varros would be wandering about in ragged trousers or no trousers at all.”
The intimation in his words wasn’t lost on her.Every bit as enthralled by its charms.His gaze never left hers as he spoke. And it remained now, burning into her with a searing intensity that challenged her to throw caution to the wind and allow him to have his wicked way with her.
“What a dreadful scandal,” she said, trying her utmost to tamp down the visions his words evoked.
Not the myriad, anonymous gentlemen of Varros wandering about sans trousers but, rather, Prince Ferdinando. His legs were strong and long—the lean legs of a well-versed horseman. And the rest of his form was equally spare and honed. She wondered if he engaged in some manner of physical exertion or if he had simply been blessed with uncommon good looks and the chiseled body of a Greek god.
It didn’t matter.
Eleanora banished the curiosity, knowing it would lead her nowhere good.
“Quite.” Prince Ferdinando had the audacity to wink. “But one would imagine the ladies might enjoy such a show.”
Warmth crept up her spine, making her nape tingle. “I doubt they would, Your Royal Highness.”
“Indeed,” he said smoothly, “perhaps not all ladies are as discerning in their knowledge of the construction of trousers as you are, Miss Brett. They might be pleased to see their menfolk clothed in the inferior quality of Varros trousers rather than none.”
Why were they discussing trousers or a lack thereof?
Her ears went hot. It was scandalous. It was wrong. It was positively perilous.
Drat. The fault was hers. She had been foolish enough to insult his garments as a poor means of distracting him from the manner in which she’d eyed his thighs.
She had to escape. To swallow her pride and retreat from his presence.
“Of course, I’m certain you’re right, Your Royal Highness,” she managed to say. “But if you would excuse me, I am afraid that I must take my leave as there are a number of matters requiring my attention. You’re welcome to remain and enjoy your tea as you await the return of the princesses.”
She dipped into a curtsy and then rushed from the drawing room as if Cerberus were at her heels.
CHAPTER 3
