I’m nearly to the end of the hall when a hand juts out of a room, snakes around my waist, and yanks me backward.
I fall into a body, tripping on my heavy skirts. Whoever has holdof me is strong enough to keep us both from falling.
The door slams, and I wheel around in terror to face my attacker, fists up.
It takes me a moment to get my bearings. The bedroom I’ve been pulled into is lit only by a small, flickering candle.
“Your Highness?” I gasp.
Chapter Ten
Prince Emmett loosens the cravat around his neck. “Sorry about that,” he huffs.
Being caught in a bedroom with Bram’s brother during a ball would ruin me all over again, and all my effort will have been for nothing.
He glances down to where my hands are balled into fists in front of my chest. “Are you going to punch me?” he asks.
He looked so casual in the carriage that night, but he’s every inch the prince now. He’s broad-shouldered, the planes of his cheeks and his straight nose are meant to be carved in marble, but there’s a boyishness to him that the portraits never quite capture.
The muffled music of the quadrille is winding down. We don’t have long before the viscountess will come looking for me.
I relax my hands. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?”
He rakes an agonized hand through his hair.“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
Emmett hesitates.
I gather my skirts to leave. “I’m going.”
He sidesteps to block the door.
I stare up at him, loathing his determination to ruin my reputation. He was so horrible to Lydia at a ball just like this one—maybe this is the only way he knows how to entertain himself.
“I’m not going to be one of your conquests.” I shove him hard in the shoulder to move him, but he doesn’t budge. “There’s a party outside full of pretty girls who I am sure would be thrilled to be ruined by you. Go find one of them.”
Undeterred, he doesn’t move. He glares down at me, chewing on his bottom lip. “Did you cheat?”
“Cheat?” I ask, aghast.
“The May Queen competition yesterday, did you cheat? You have to tell me.” He’s panicked. It’s an odd expression on someone who usually presents himself with the cool expression of elite detachment. He rakes his hand through his hair once more, and it falls in his face. Between that and the cravat, if anyone were to find us in this bedroom, they’d assume he’d been thoroughly debauched.
I push past him. “I’ll be ruined if they find me with you.”
He straightens up and lets out a low laugh. “You were a lot braver the first time I met you.”
I roll my eyes. “I had a head injury.”
“I remember. You ruined my favorite coat.”
“It’s your fault I was bleeding.”
“All you need to do is say thank you.”
“I’ll send a lovely card along with the new coat I plan to buy you.”
“No lasting damage, I presume? You look well.”
