Wordlessly, he stepped back, gesturing for her to enter. With a furtive glance over each shoulder to ensure the darkened hall remained silent and empty, Eleanora slipped into his chamber. She took in the glowing sconces and candelabra, the fire burning cheerfully in the hearth. There was no sign he had made any preparations for sleep, despite the lateness of the hour.
“You were waiting for me,” she observed, turning back to him against her better judgment.
The banyan brought out the vibrancy of his eyes. It was unique, embroidered with rich gold thread and the letter F on his lapel, lest she have any doubt that it was a garment his man had fetched for him from his own town house. The flicker of candlelight caught in his golden curls. He smiled, and she tried not to throw herself at his chest and kiss him until she couldn’t think.
“I knew you would come.”
He was more certain of her than she was of herself. But then, perhaps Nando was merely certain of the effect he had upon all women.
“How could you have known, when I only just decided a few minutes ago?” she asked, even though that wasn’t quite true.
She had waged an inner battle over the decision; it was true. She had also held a lively debate with the stack of Emmaline’s trousers. She had enumerated a list of all the reasons why she must stay far, far away from the Prince of Varros’s bedroom. But in the end, she hadn’t been able to quell the restless need to see him. To learn what it was he wanted to speak to her about.
Foolish.
Downright stupid.
But here she was, in the lion’s den.
He cocked his head at her. “My dear, do you expect me to believe such rubbish? We both know you were planning to come to me tonight whether I invited you or not. I gave you too much pleasure for you to stay away.”
Her chin went up. “You, sirrah, are a vainglorious popinjay.”
“And you are charmed by me despite yourself.” He winked. “Confess.”
The knowing, intimate expression on his face made her stomach flutter as if it were inhabited by a dozen butterflies.
“I tolerate you,” she countered, knowing that if she gave him any hint of her susceptibility to his rakish wiles, he would seize upon her weakness.
And summarily destroy what remained of her already flagging defenses.
But she hadn’t come to him to be seduced. Had she?
Of course she hadn’t.
“You more than tolerate me, my darling Eleanora.” He caught her hand in his and brought it to his lips, bussing a light kiss over her knuckles with a courtly air. “You like me.”
Shedidlike him. She liked him far too well and against every instinct and shred of reason she possessed. Men like Prince Ferdinando didn’t flatter and woo women such as herself because they intended to marry them. They did so because they wanted them in their beds.
And if Eleanora gave him her virtue, she would lose everything she had worked so diligently to build. Her entire life would be upended, whilst the prince would saunter off to charm another all-too-eager victim. She had almost given herself to him entirely last night, but she had returned this evening with restored determination. She would not allow herself to relent.
“I hate to disappoint you, Your Royal Highness, but I do not like you at all,” she lied.
“Oh?” He was undeterred, brushing another kiss over the top of her hand now. “Is that so?”
She shivered. “Yes, regretfully so.”
“Have you taken a chill, my dear?”
Of course he would have noted her reaction to him. His touch was like fire. He filled her with heat and desire. Made her think things she must not think. Made her long for more of what she must not want. How dangerous he was.
“I have,” she fibbed again. “The air is rather cool today.”
“I do believe you’re deceiving me,” he said smoothly, before turning her hand over to kiss her palm. “You’ll have to prove that you don’t like me.”
“How should I prove such a thing?” she asked sharply. “I’ve already told you.”
“And yet, your body reveals the lies you tell just as it did last night.” His gaze holding hers, he traced one of the lines on her palm with his tongue.
