Before I could respond, he looked up at me through his lashes, grasping my hand. “Yourmosthumble servant,” he repeated, brushing his whiskers over my fingers. But his thumb was doing something decidedly uncourtly to my palm and I withdrew my hand as he laughed, showing a good deal of his straight white teeth.
He turned to the chancellor. “She is the very image of Gisela. Well done.”
“You have the advantage of me, sir,” I told him, but I already knew.I had known the moment I laid eyes upon him, although the photographs had not done him half justice.
He grinned. “Permit me to introduce myself, mademoiselle. I am His Grace, Maximilian, Duke of Lokendorf and the Alpenwald and your fiancé.”
CHAPTER
12
From behind me, Stoker gave a muffled growl, which I stifled by stepping carefully backwards onto his foot. I turned to the baroness for an explanation.
“We did not expect His Grace until tomorrow,” she said tightly. “This is an unexpected honor.”
“What are the pleasures of Monte Carlo against the incomparable joy of spending time with my betrothed?” he asked, his mouth twitching.
“Are you not in the least concerned that she is missing?” Stoker put in.
The duke gave him a dismissive glance. “Who is this man? He is not one of us.”
“No,” the chancellor hastened to explain. “He is a friend of theFraulein’s and insisted upon accompanying her for her own safety. I am to duel him later. Perhaps,” he added swiftly as the baroness shot him a look of displeasure.
The duke smiled again. “How very interesting. Perhaps we will duel as well,” he said, touching two fingers to his brow and saluting Stoker in a manner that was clearly calculated to annoy.
But Stoker refused to rise to the bait. “I have no objection,” he said mildly.
The duke turned back to me. “They have made a good job of you, mademoiselle. But you stand a much better chance of passing as Gisela with my help.”
“What sort of help?”
He raised his brows in mock reproof. “How forbidding you look! Not easy with such a lovely face. I mean, mademoiselle, that I shall accompany you to the opera tonight.”
“Out of the question,” the baroness stated in her best governess voice.
The teasing expression turned serious. “I think,” the duke said in a dangerously soft voice, “that you do not mean to be impertinent, Baroness.”
She flushed a little. “I meant no disrespect, Your Grace.”
The duke gave her a hearty kiss upon the cheek, smacking his lips loudly. “I am jesting with you, Margareta! You know your little Max better than that.”
Her smile was indulgent. “I spoilt you as a child, I fear.”
“Impossible!” he cried. “For I am perfect, just as I am.” The baroness’s distress had fled and I wondered how strange it must be to rule the nursery—no doubt with an iron fist—only to have one’s charge grow into manhood, poised to take the reins of power.
The duke turned his smiles to me, but there was something a little aloof in his manner, and I realized he was forcing himself to cordiality. “The baroness worries when she should not. Her princess is in very good hands with me, and so should you be,” he assured me.
“You are not betrothed to our princess yet,” the chancellor said, lifting his chin.
The duke’s eyes rested on him a moment too long for comfort. Then he nodded. “It is truth, what you say, Chancellor. I have askedand she has not yet accepted me. But I think we know that she will. In time.”
“Are you not concerned about her whereabouts?” Stoker asked bluntly. “Surely that is of greater importance than helping Miss Speedwell sustain this ludicrous masquerade.”
The duke gave a thoughtful nod. “You make an excellent point, sir. But this ‘ludicrous masquerade’ is more important than you perhaps understand. I have no doubt that Gisela is perfectly fine. She is always slipping away to avoid engagements she would rather not attend. She will turn up in a day or so, looking quite pleased with herself, I promise you. Besides,” he added smoothly, fluffing the plume on his shako, “if it were made public that I had arrived in London and was not permitted to escort my intended wife to the opera, what a scandal this would make!”
The baroness gave a little cry of distress. “You would speak to the newspapers—Max, no!”
The duke shuddered. “You wound me, Baroness. I, highest-ranking duke of the Alpenwald, lower myself to speak to a journalist? You insult me,” he said, shaking his head with a mournful downward pull of the lips. “But naturally as I am in London and it is Sophie Fribourg making her debut in the role of Atalanta, it is my duty to attend and to witness her triumph. I would not let it be said that I am slow to uphold the glory of my country,” he finished with a little bow.
