His eyes narrow in response, his lips pulling up at one corner. A silent conversation dances between us—
“Oh, Rosey, you’re here.” Monty saunters into my line of sight. I hadn’t noticed him when I entered, but the tumbler of amber liquid in his hand suggests he came from the drink cart. His blond curly hair is as messy as it was when we met at the garden party, and his state of dress is not what I expected. While I wasn’t sure how our meeting in the parlor would go—for I’d only been delivered a note from Thorne an hour ago stating I should meet Monty there once I was dressed—I at least assumed this would be something like a date. The kind of formal meeting one expects from a new courtship. But now, seeing Monty dressed down to his shirtsleeves, his waistcoat open, his shirt buttons crooked, I realize even my barest assumptions were wrong.
Mr. Boris folds at the waist and addresses the room at large. “May I present Her Highness, Princess Rosaline Briar.”
His introduction feels several seconds too late, and my confidence slips. Gone is the triumph I felt at having momentarily stunned Thorne. Mr. Boris backs out of the room and closes me inside with my spectators.
The two girls cease conversation and rush to their feet, dipping into elegant curtsies. Once they rise, Miss Dervins assesses me with a cold stare while Angela rounds the couch, hands clasped to her chest. “Highness, you look absolutely stunning!”
“Yes, let me get a look at her,” Monty says. He eyes me over the rim of his glass as he takes a hearty swallow. With a wink, he lowers his tumbler and flashes me a dimpled smile. “Well, you certainly dressed pretty.”
“Thank you, Mr. Phillips.” I do my best not to speak through gritted teeth. My gaze slides briefly to Thorne, who gives me an encouraging nod. “So, Mr. Phillips, shall we—”
“What should we play next?” Monty says before I can finish asking if he’d like to converse with me on the couch.
“Pardon?”
“What game should we play next? That one was over too soon. I’m already bored. Let’s go straight into another.”
My gloved fingers curl at my sides. “You proposed seven games over the next seven days.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean we have to play one game per day. Let us at least add a second one for today. Just think! If you impress me enough tonight, I’ll reward you with two wins. Only two more to go after that.”
“Shouldn’t I be given ample time to prepare?”
He wags a finger at me, and I get the urge to snap it in half. “If you want to be my wife, you’ll have to get used to spontaneity.”
Everything inside me wants to tell him to take his spontaneity and shove it up his ass. I purse my lips to suppress my retort. For all I know,thiscould be the next game—accepting or refusing. I keep my tone as pleasant as I can. “Very well, Mr. Phillips.”
“Ah, I knew you were a good sport.” Monty downs the rest of his beverage and strolls over to the drink cart laden with tumblers, bottles, and decanters.
A lilting melody weaves through the room, and I find Miss Dervins sitting at the piano bench. She plays beautifully. It makes me wonder why Monty wouldn’t want to marry such a refined and lovely woman. Unless, perhaps, her parentage is unfavorable. She glances up from the keys to give me another icy stare.
Angela steps closer to me and clasps one of my hands in hers. “I hope whatever we play, it will help me get to know you better.”
I offer her a kind smile. “I’d like that.”
“I hope your cat doesn’t hate me,” she says, lips pulling into a grimace. “I feel so bad about dropping her.”
“She isn’t exactly my cat; she’s my lady’s maid. And I doubt she’ll hold a grudge for long.”
“Oh good. I love cats. I don’t know if I could survive if one hated me.”
Thorne comes up beside us. “Don’t take too much of the princess’ time, Angie. This evening is for her and your brother to get to know one another.”
“You’re right.” She releases my hand. “After you’re my sister-in-law, we’ll have all the time in the world to get acquainted. First, you have to win over my awful brother.” She glares at Monty as he joins our group, his glass refilled to the brim, but there’s more teasing than ire in her scowl.
“Don’t be too cross with me, sister,” Monty says. “I’m setting a precedent in our family. Don’t you want to be allowed to choose your husband once your time comes? This game is the one freedom I ask for.”
My annoyance softens the slightest bit. However insulting Monty’s treatment of me is, he’s acting from the same emotions I’ve felt. The same anger at being trapped in a pairing he never asked for.
Monty flourishes his free hand. “Now for our next game! I need ideas.”
A soft and sultry voice raises over the music. “What about piano?”
Monty glares over his shoulder at Cosette.
She holds his gaze with a coy smile. “Your wife should be accomplished in the feminine arts. Let her take my place at the pianoforte.”
