The Prince lifts a dark brow. “It is as you say. In fact, he has no family to speak of.”
My hand tightens on my cards, though I try not to draw attention to it. I am not the only gentleman interested in what His Highness may say. If I read the company rightly, there ismore than a man or two present who would like the title for himself.
I do not shrink from meeting Prince James’s gaze, as many would. Some for the mere fact that he is the heir apparent. Others cannot bear to gaze upon him due to the scars marring half of an otherwise comely face—marks he has borne since birth. Even his eyes, though both blue, reflect the difference. One is the light blue of a robin’s egg, while the other is dark, and always stormy, no matter the Prince’s mood.
“You have started the conversation, Greyonyx. Do not leave us to puzzle out this intrigue ourselves. What is it you propose?”
I choose my tone with the utmost care, respectful but firm when I say, “I propose you give it to me.”
Someone gasps, but I do not turn my head. I cannot afford to miss a single blink the Prince might make.
“Blackthorne finds you impertinent,” His Majesty remarks, his lips curving in amusement.
“Your Royal Highness misreads me,” Lord Blackthorne objects. “My attention is fixed solely upon the game.”
A polite, though bold falsehood. I ignore it. I have no desire to engage with anyone else. The Prince is watching me with a slight furrow upon his brow, tilting his head the side. “I never knew you to be interested in joining the ranks of the Beau Monde. Pray, what has brought this on?”
“A lady,” Lord Carlisle declares. “Where Greyonyx is concerned, it isalwaysa lady.”
His majesty’s gaze shines with mirth and his mouth quirks. “Indeed. Is that the case?”
A slight incline of my head confirms Lord Carlisle’s claim. I fear the Prince will dismiss me, but his smile only widens.
“Which lady, if I may inquire?”
I clear my throat and glance at my other companions before I answer. I know they will find me far too bold, for she is high-born and from the most noble of families. That is not the reason I must have her. In truth, I could scarcely name the reason even if pressed. Only that upon my first glimpse of her, I found myself captivated by her beauty. Besotted in a way that feels like obsession. I have done all I can to remedy the situation—going to great lengths to place myself in her path whenever possible. I even had a brief liaison with an actress who bears a slight resemblance to her. But rather than riding me of the enchantment, it only served to increase my desire for the lady herself. And due to her noble parentage, there is but one thing left for me to be free of the passion that plagues me. I must marry her.
“I do think he means to leave us in suspense!” Prince James chuckles jovially. There is nothing he loves more than a good intrigue.
I clear my throat and return my thoughts to the task at hand. “Forgive me, Your Highness, I did not mean to. It is the Lady Denham’s hand I seek.”
The Prince’s eyebrow arches again, higher this time. “Truly?”
Lord Blackthorne seems to be on the verge of a bawdy laugh which miraculously transforms into a cough. Lord Carlisle is avoiding our gazes altogether and has become rather fascinated with a wall scroll, it seems.
“Truly,” I echo with a grin of my own. “You do not find her to be the most agreeable of all ladies?”
My friend regards me for a moment with an expression I cannot read, despite my best efforts. “She has many charms, it is undeniable. And you think a title is all you shall need to win her?”
“As to that, I fear I cannot say, but it makes my suit far more appealing than I am at present, does it not?”
James throws his head back and laughs. Many join in, but still, I only look to the Prince. It is he alone that decides my fate. “It is… a most uncommon wager.”
I freeze, my mind racing nearly as fast as my heart. His agreeing to my plan is my only hope. The Lady Freya has entranced me from the moment I first saw her, but it is certain I can never have her. And yet, the more time that passes, the more besotted I am. The mere thought of her causes my blood to run hot. The mention of her name awakens my shaft in my breeches. It is bewitchment, to be sure, and these long months that I have tried to be rid of it, I have found no cure. Not in a generous measure of spirits, not in the company of a willing lady. None make me forget her breathtaking allure—or her ensnaring eyes that I have only glimpsed from afar.
If I cannot be rid of the lady’s hold on me, there is only one thing left: I must have her as my wife.
“I confess, I find myself at a loss. What say you, my lords?” The Prince puts the question to the lords assembled.
As I feel their speculative gazes upon me, my shoulders tense, though careful practice has taught me how to keep my expression composed. A storm of emotion is brewing—indignation and amusement alike swelling around me, thickening the air. I can feel the pulse of it, and I hold myself still, waiting to see how the wind will turn.
“Let him have a chance to win the lady, if he can! Why not?” The Baron comes to my aid with a fond chuckle. Just remarried, he is a man himself besotted, and it is perhaps love that offers color to his cheeks—or that of the drink. He lifts his glass—now refilled with amber liquor—and I incline my head in gratitude.
“It is… perhaps unwise, Your Highness… perhaps a more suitable… choice… is before you…” Lord Carlisle stumbles over his objection.
But his protest is overridden by those in the room who hurry to agree with the Baron. “Let the man play!”
“Let Fortune decide!”
