Have I misjudged her? Perhaps she fancies Pembroke?
The man is easily twenty years her elder, but he has lands, and a fine reputation. His age shows very little, a blessing of his Spanish heritage, perhaps.
“Forgive me, did I intrude?” Lord Pembroke spears me with a glance that feels very much like a dagger.
“Oh, no.” Lady Freya laughs airily. “I do believe His Lordship was just leaving.”
Before I can respond—or even compose a response to being so summarily dismissed—Lord Pembroke speaks on my behalf.
“He is ‘His Grace’ now, did you not hear? You gaze upon the newest Duke of Fairwynd.”
Except that she does not gaze upon me. Many a lady would have done so out of mere courtesy, their eyes growing sharper with this news. Lady Denham appears as bored as if she’s being forced to endure news of my horse giving birth.
“Indeed. Congratulations, Your Grace,” she murmurs, reading from the script nobility are taught since birth.
“I do believe you have my first dance, my lord?”
Lord Pembroke smiles, and even I find it hard to deny that he is a handsome man, elder or no. “You do me a great honor by remembering, my lady.”
The two of them bid me polite farewells, leaving me to watch while he leads her onto the dance floor.
“This is a most unexpected turn of events,” someone murmurs at my elbow.
I turn my head to see a gentleman who has approached without me realizing it. He is masked, but I have known thecrown prince far too long not to recognize the gentle, always amused timbre of his voice. Then, of course, his long curls are unmistakable. However, when His Highness attends a ball or social gathering wearing his black mask that covers nearly his entire face, everyone knows not to treat him as his royal birth demands.
“I did not know to expect you,” I reply wryly.
The Prince laughs softly. “This is your night, is it not, Your Grace? Your first ball since acquiring your new title—how could I miss it? I confess, I’ve been listening with great interest—I thought surely your engagement to Lady Denham would have been announced long before now.”
It is clear by the way his eyes dance that he thought no such thing.
“Then it occurred to me you would be waiting for this ball to confess your feelings for the lady, so I simply had to come.”
“How kind of you,” I remark.
“Quite. And yet, I did not hear you profess your love to Lady Denham just now. In fact, she looks quite taken with Lord Pembroke.”
I am well accustomed to the heir’s sense of humor and his tendency to poke fun at everyone around him. But he takes it too far. “Surely not,” I say, pretending composure I do not possess. A muscle tics along my jaw as I cannot help but find my gaze drawn to the pair.
Lady Freya looks enchanting in a silver gown that enhances her beauty—her every movement is pure grace. And even though it causes envy to flare in my breast, Lord Pembroke is quite the dashing figure next to her.
“I could speak to her on your behalf.”
This offer, and the absence of his usual jovial tone, catches my attention despite the lure of Lady Freya across the room. “Why would you trouble yourself on my behalf?”
“You are one of my truest friends,” His Highness replies simply. “I want to see you happy, though I confess to misgivings.”
I clench my jaw, forcing myself to relax before responding, “Please, enlighten me, sir.”
“For one thing, she is ruining your reckless, carefree disposition. I will not thank her for it.”
“And so?”
My friend regards me in silence for a moment, and when he speaks, his tone is more weighted than before. “If her heart belongs to another, you should forget your own feelings.”
It is all I can do to let him finish speaking before shaking my head. “She does not desire Pembroke. I am certain of it.”
“She smiled athim.”
