I stare at him until he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.Oh. So Edmund talks about me like that, then. I had no idea his trips to the city involved gossiping like two teenage girls who’re convinced the world’s against them. Painting me as the distant duchess-heir, something to be reclaimed. And now this fucker believes that my reticence and Edmund’s withdrawal have led to something scandalous involving Eric.
God, if the papers get hold of this, it’ll turn into a telenovela-level absurdity I justcan’tafford right now.
“What Edmund feels isn’t mine to manage,” I insist, nearly sighing in relief when the gates of Redford come into view. “And neither of you get to speak on things you knownothingabout.”
The handle clicks as I swing open the door. Bag over my shoulder, silver heels in hand, and then I’m hopping out. Every step is punctuated by the dull ache blooming behind my eyes. Charlie’s door closes behind me, and I hear the keys jingle as he drops them and fumbles to pass them to a valet.
Fuck, he’s following me.
“Chess, wait—we’re just trying to look out for you. And if nothing’s going on, then why are you being this defensive?” Looking out for me sounds horrifyingly akin to surveillance. He doesn’t receive an answer. “Francesca,please.”
We make it about three stairways and five corridors without a word. Once we’re in the west wing, I can’t handle it anymore and spin around to blurt, “Oh my god, why are you still here?”
He stumbles as though I’ve slapped him, and I only realise then that there’s a duffel bag hooked over the epaulette of his cardigan. “I’m… staying over at Edmund’s…”
I blink, incredulous. “Do youhearyourself, Charlie? What, are you gonna have a little sleepover and giggle about me over tea?”
“Jesus,” he mutters, a perfectly placed pawn just a few feet away from my cousin’s door. “Did you forget that tomorrow’s your fucking birthday? Pascoe won’t be able to sort out my rooms until tomorrow, but I’mstillhere. Because I care about you and want to celebrate.” The word ‘celebrate’ rattles my brain, and I stumble slightly. “Wait, are you alright?—”
“Please, leave me alone.”
I’m already walking towards my door. My date for the evening passes right by his designated quarters in a dramatic show of concern for me. I can feel him gaining on me, and he grabs my arm. Not roughly, but enough for me to trip over my skirts. And then the door beside us opens. Eric steps into the corridor, and Charlie drops me like he’s contracted leprosy.
Shirt undone at the collar, the prince stands there barefoot, sleeves rolled to the elbows and ink staining his long fingers. His glasses—the fucking glasses from the article—are on his face, like he’s just finished submitting a dissertation or something. If he ditched me to dowork, it’ll be the cherry on top of a very bad night. The chiffon fluttering at my throat, the bag slipping from my shoulder, the flushed cheeks, and the dishevelled hair are all absorbed by his eyes. They pause at the invisible bruise of Charlie’s fingers around my arm.
For a beat, he fidgets with his signet ring, and only then does he offer the other man his attention.
“Your Highness,” Charlie beats him to a greeting. The slight crack in his voice reminds me this is probably the first time he’s meeting royalty. “Didn’t mean to cause any trouble.”
Eric lifts a brow. “Never said you did.”
Charlie straight up malfunctions, so I toss him a lifeboat. “Charles here was just leaving.”
“Hm, I imagine he was,” Eric adds, casually analysing everything from Charlie’s posture to the expression of utter perplexion slapped onto his features. With a quick bow and an awkward wave to me, he returns to the other end of the corridor and enters Edmund’s room without knocking.
My sigh of relief doesn’t ask for consent; it just leaves me alongside a dramatic sound of frustration. Dramatic and a little bit pathetic. “Thanks for kinda scaring him off. Usually only Pascoe manages to do that.”
“Funny, and here I thought I was being polite.”
“Don’t even lie to yourself,” I snort, unconcerned that it aggravates the ache in my head, especially since it manages to bring a smile from Eric.
Still, his eyes don’t rise to meet mine, attention dropping to my dress for a second time. Given that I was meant to be Gran’s perfect heir tonight, scandal was the last thing on her mind when she chose my outfit. But standing here, practically boiling beneath his gaze, the black fabric is indecent. The silk lining is too tight against my nipples, and he lingers on it long enough for stormy irises to feel like palms touching me through cloth.
Breathe in and the fabric tightens. Breathe out and it drags over sensitive peaks. There’s no fucking winning. His tongue peeks out to wet his lower lip; I convince myself I’m hallucinating.Stop looking at his mouth, Chess.I want to yank my scarf loose, but my brain warns me that I’ll just look like a present untying its own bow. I don’t breathe.
Can’t.
How humiliating for my composure.
“You look—” The words catch in his throat, wrapped up in a sigh as he glances away. “—Never mind; I’m sure you know how you look. I wouldn’t be surprised if people refused to make eye contact with you tonight.”
“Does that include you? Because you’ve yet to manage it.”
“Maybe because if I did, you wouldn’t be getting any rest.” Heat crawls up the back of my neck, and I go completely still. He adjusts his glasses as though to see me better, slowly dragging his eyes to mine. “Bed,” he murmurs. “Go get some sleep.”
“And you?” I can’t help but ask.
He grins, and my knees do a little wobble. “I’ll still be here in the morning, duchess. Promise.”
