Eamon eased through the hall as though he was simply taking in the prince’s sumptuous house. It was, Eamon had to admit, well-appointed, with art displayed to best exhibit each piece.
The mansion was narrow but deep, with a long staircase on one side and wide rooms on the other that reached a long way back into the property. Another room or set of rooms likely ran the width of the building in the rear.
Caro could be anywhere. Eamon doubted she’d fled the house—she’d wanted to avoid him but not be rude to her friends.
“Psst.”
Eamon stilled, glancing about until he determined that the noise came from above. He stepped to the staircase and peered up into its shadows.
A golden-haired girl with a pixie-like face and a sharp pair of blue eyes gazed down at him through the balusters. When Eamon fixed on her, she frantically gestured for him to ascend the stairs.
Eamon gave this command careful thought. The girl much resembled Princess Jo and therefore must be a member of the prince’s household, no one Eamon should be near. He hesitated, but his curiosity as to why the lass signaled to him won out.
The young woman watched him climb to her, hands on hips. She was about twelve, Eamon judged, and wore an ivory silk gown as frilled and laced as that of any society lady in the ballroom.
“This way.” She made an imperious gesture as Eamon gained the landing. “If you want to speak to Aunt Caro, come with me.”
Eamon followed, keeping a few yards between himself and his summoner. He had no need to ponder how the devil this waif knew he sought Caro. In his own childhood, he’d easily discovered the secrets of the host and all guests of the house into which his father had cajoled entry. No one paid any attention to a lad, or in this case, a lass.
The girl scurried lithely up another flight of stairs then leaned over the railing to glare down at Eamon.
“Hurry, before anyone sees you.” She raised her eyes heavenward. “Honestly, I do not know why I bother.”
Eamon smothered a laugh and continued his ascent, again keeping a respectable distance between them when he reached her. “Lead on, my lady.”
“Your Highness,” the girl corrected him. “I am Princess Merry. Or Lady Meredith—but I hate it when anyone calls me Lady Meredith. Sounds so stuffy. Princess Merry is much more fun. Of course, everyone in my family is Princess This or Prince That, so it isn’t really remarkable. Aunt Caro is in there.” Princess Merry pointed to a door recessed into a paneled wall. “Staring out the window, last I checked, though there’s nothing to see in the dark.”
Eamon’s heart beat faster. He imagined Caro gazing at an unseen world with the remote beauty that had already captured him.
“What makes you believe she won’t push me out of said window if I go in there?” Eamon asked.
Merry put her head to one side, looking wise. “Because she hasn’t been in a flutter about a gentleman in a very long time. Since before she was married, Aunt Jo says. And that was years and years ago.”
Ten years, according to Wolfe. A lifetime to a mite of a dozen summers.
When Eamon only contemplated the polished door, Merry made an impatient noise. “Well, are you going inside, or not?” she demanded.
“A scandal for a lady and gentleman to be alone in a room together,” Eamon answered in a light tone.
“Nonsense. She is a widow, not a debutante of eighteen. She is much older now, and you’re a retired officer. It doesn’t matter so much anymore.”
Eamon bit back his amusement that Merry viewed both Caro and himself as elderly, and therefore unimportant in the eyes of the world.
He knew, however, that what they did still mattered. Caro caught alone with Eamon would humiliate her and be fuel to those in the ballroom waiting for her to step one beaded slipper out of line.
“Will you stand by and warn us if someone comes?” Eamon asked her.
Merry’s nod was tinged with exasperation. “Of course. Now, off you go, before she hears you and runs away again.”
Eamon plucked up his courage and moved to the door. He drew a breath, turned the handle, and quietly entered the small chamber.
The white-paneled room was lit by two sconces, their wax candles announcing the prince’s wealth. Only a very rich man could afford to let candles burn in a room no one might use.
Caro was indeed staring out the window to what must be the garden behind the house.
Candlelight reflected her in the window’s glass, her hair trickling from the careful coiffure, the borrowed diamonds shining softly against her gown.
So deep was her contemplation that she did not hear him enter. Only when the draft from the hall made the candles flicker did she abruptly turn.
