“Do you think that princesses are interchangeable, like coins or cigarettes? That if you lose one, you should just grab the next one within arm’s reach?”
They were standing very close now. Hélène felt her breaths coming fast and shallow, making her wish that her corset wasn’t so tightly hooked. She should put some distance between them.
Instead, she leaned in.
It wasn’t much, just an inch or two, but that was all the invitation Eddy needed. His mouth was swiftly on hers, and Hélène didn’t hesitate; within an instant she was kissing him back.
Eddy nudged closer, his hands closing around her waist. A pulsing, drugging heat seemed to swirl through Hélène’sbloodstream; her hands roamed up over his shoulders as if of their own volition. This was nothing like kissing Laurent. It felt headier, more electric, probably because it was so wildly reckless—
The feel of Eddy’s desire, pressing very firmly through his trousers against her belly, brought Hélène abruptly to her senses.
She stumbled back and cast a swift glance in both directions, then let out a relieved breath. Somehow, no one had seen them.
“That was a mistake,” she began, but Eddy was smiling again.
“It didn’t feel like much of a mistake,” he said simply. “It felt like you enjoyed it.”
Maddeningly, foolishly, shehadenjoyed it. Which wasn’t the point. A polite young woman would never have kissed Prince Eddy in the first place; she would have slapped him, or at least retreated a step.
Hélène wasn’t a polite young woman at all. She hadleaned closer.
“Please, forget this ever happened,” she insisted.
Confusion darted over Eddy’s features. “You can’t expect me to walk away, not after this. Hélène, I want to see you again.”
“To what end?” Her voice was tight with emotion. “Do you really think your family would approve of your courting me? Be honest,” she commanded.
There was a long, drawn-out silence. “Perhaps not,” Eddy said at last. “But—”
“Then we have nothing else to say to each other! I knowbetter than to get involved in another meaningless—” She broke off before sayingfling,but it was too late; the damage had been done.
If Eddy hadn’t figured it out from their kiss, then he knew now. Hélène was no innocent.
“Please, just leave,” she said coolly.
She hated herself for doing this: using her formal princess voice to draw etiquette around her like a wall, shutting him out. But what other choice did she have? She couldn’t afford to be vulnerable with another man, not after what had happened with Laurent. Especially not with a prince.
Registering her tone, Eddy stepped back, his expression hardening. “Good night, Miss d’Orléans. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Alix
COVERED IN A FRESH DUSTINGof snow, the rooftops of St.Petersburg glittered like rows of iced cakes. Alix stared out the window of the carriage, which was the most opulent one she’d ever set foot in: a golden coach drawn by matched white horses, with oversized gilded plumes on their harnesses.
She recalled what Grandmama had said, about the Romanovs being too ostentatious for their own good, and shivered in foreboding.
“Are you all right?” Ernie asked.
Alix hurried to smile. “I’m excited to see Ella. I miss her so much.”
For years the two sisters had been inseparable. They had slept in the same room, their beds pushed close so that Alix could reach for Ella’s hand when her nightmares were at their darkest. The episodes that had started after Frittie’s death only got worse after their mother passed, which was when Ella, eight years her senior, became the maternal figure in Alix’s life.
It was Ella who brushed Alix’s hair at night, whispering stories of enchanted forests and star-crossed lovers. When Alix got her first blood and wept in fear—she thought shewas dying of the same disease that had killed Frittie—it was Ella who explained everything, and showed her how to fit a cloth belt beneath her petticoats. Last fall, Ella had come back from St.Petersburg to oversee Alix’s coming-out party: pinning lilies of the valley to Alix’s white muslin gown, selecting the music for her first dance. Ella had been both sister and mother to Alix, and when she’d married the Grand Duke Sergei and moved to Russia, it had left a gaping hole in Alix’s heart.
As their carriage pulled into the courtyard of the Anichov, the Romanovs’ official residence in St.Petersburg, Alix’s chest constricted. Sunlight glinted blindingly off the hundreds of windows. And on the front steps stood row upon row of guards and servants, all of them wearing the Romanovs’ crimson livery trimmed in gold braid.
All those eyes on her—weighing her, judging her, finding her wanting.
