“Right. A bride. Yes. Let’s go then,” he said.
He tried to forget the encounter with Lady Lucia. But he couldn’t.
And suddenly, walking into that ballroom felt like walking to the gallows.
Chapter Eight
“You’re late.”
“I am not late.”
This conversation between Lucy and Alice was so common at this point that the denial rolled off Lucy’s tongue without her even paying attention to what she was saying.
Because, once again, her mind was firmly on the mystery man.
Who was he? And why did she completely forget herself around him?
If Alice was upset that Lucy had arrived a few minutes late, she would faint clean away if she knew that Lucy had been skulking around dark corners with a man. Worse, a man to whom she hadn’t even been introduced!
Lucy felt her cheeks flame as she realised she’d been prattling on at him without even asking his name, or offering her own.
Not only had she been disparaging the fellow’s prince and ruler – assuming he was Aldonian of course, but more than once she’d caught herself leaning scandalously closer to catch that delectable scent that surrounded him.
It was so masculine, and he was so big. His voice had been low and positively wicked, and Lucy had shocked herself with the wanton thoughts that had rampaged through her scandalous mind as they’d whispered together in that dark alcove.
It had felt like they’d been the only two people in the world. Strange, given that everywhere one looked in the palace a guard or servant or somebody was around.
But then, in that corner, at that time…
Even if he’d kissed her, nobody would have known. It would have been a delicious, wicked, secret.
“Lucy!”
“What? Yes! What?”
Alice’s disapproving hiss cut through Lucy’s salacious thoughts. Goodness! She’d never considered herself improper or in any way scandalous before. Yet, she could not seem to stop thinking of her mysterious companion and how tall and big and delicious smelling he was.
“Did you hear what I said?” Alice asked.
“Of course,” Lucy lied.
“Well then, come along.” Alice reached out and pulled her toward where Penelope stood in a cluster of elegant young ladies. “It is a great honour. I hope you realise that. We are not, after all, members of the Aldonian aristocracy. So, to be presented to the king. Well, we are very lucky.”
“Wait, what?”
Lucy pulled her arm from Alice’s vicelike grip.
“What?” Alice scowled.
She really was awfully bad tempered at times, Lucy thought distractedly.
“What do you mean, presented to the king? When? How? Why?”
Her stomach was a riot of butterflies.
She really, really didn’t want to be paraded in front of the hundreds of guests currently in the ballroom.
“Aunt Ivy has made this possible, Lucia,” Alice whispered. “And it will be wonderful for us. For both of us. Why, there are some of the wealthiest, most eligible bachelors in Europe in this very room. Who knows who you could end up meeting?”
Alice’s words gave Lucy some pause, and she found herself eagerly scanning said eligible bachelors for the face of her mystery man.
She knew without a doubt that he wasn’t some sort of servant. His speech and mannerisms were impeccable with a faint accent that was marvellously exotic, and though she hadn’t been able to make out much of him in the dark, earlier she had noticed his clothing had been of the highest quality.
And there was that air of authority that she noticed again.
He would be here, surely.
The sound of trumpets signalled the arrival of the royal family, and the ladies around Lucy started moving as a group toward the herald, who would announce them to the king.
Lucy couldn’t help but get caught up in the excitement.
Alice turned to glare sternly at her.
“Now, Lucia this is no different than our presentation at home,” she began in the tone of a long-suffering parent to a recalcitrant child. “Not too fast. Not too slow. Glide as though you are on water.”
Lucy nodded to show she was listening.
“Here, you keep your head bowed until you’ve risen from your curtsy. Only then should you raise your chin, and your eyes, to Their Majesties and His Royal Highness, Prince Christopher.”
Lucy frowned.
“And what? Keep walking until I hit their thrones?”
Alice merely rolled her eyes.
“Do be serious, Lucia.”
“I am,” Lucy protested. “How am I supposed to know when to stop if I’m not allowed to look where I’m going?”
Alice sighed deeply.
“You will stop at the golden crown embossed on the carpet. You will curtsy. You will wait five seconds then you will rise. Demurely,” she finished, gimlet-eyed.
“Her Highness, Princess Harriet.”
The arrival of the first royal distracted Alice from her sermon, and she quickly spun back around to face the front of the room.
Lucy caught a glimpse through the crowd of Princess Harriet, resplendent in pink satin, on the arm of her dashing husband, peeking over the bowed heads of the genuflecting girls in front.
“His Royal Highness, Prince Christopher.”
At the arrival of the prince, the small crowd of ladies in front of Lucy began flapping like birds, clustering together to whisper excitedly to one another, even as they curtsied. So there was no chance of seeing him even for a second.
Whoever he chose would certainly be happy about it if the delight and anticipation amongst the ladies here was anything to judge by.
“Their Majesties, King Josef and Queen Anya.”
This time, there was a solemn hush as they all bowed and curtsied.
Lucy darted another gaze around the room as she lined up behind Alice to be presented.
There was Aunt Ivy grinning from ear to ear beside her dour-faced friend.
But she recognised nobody else.
He wasn’t here.
Lucy told herself it was foolish to feel disappointed. Foolish to wish that he was standing there, gazing down at her with those sinful eyes.
She was about to meet a king, for heaven’s sake! And Penelope was about to be presented to the Crown Prince. There was every chance that she’d be the lady that he chose as a wife.
That’s what Lucy should be concentrating on.
Not strangers who didn’t even give their names!
The herald was announcing the ladies, who were now beside themselves with excitement.
“Her Highness, Princess Sylvie of Berent.”
Lucy had never realised how short she was until she’d stood in this line.
With the height of the ladies in front of her, along with elaborate feathers and sky-high curls, she couldn’t see the royal family or the ladies being presented before her.
“The Royal Duchess Dorothea Von Shull.”
The line was at least getting smaller, and Lucy dutifully shuffled forward behind Alice. Penelope had been placed at least three people ahead.
“Lady Penelope of Bonne.”
Alice squealed excitedly as Penelope was announced, and even Lucy felt a little thrill for her cousin. Though she didn’t exactly see the appeal of being chosen by the prince just for one’s family name, among other decidedly unromantic reasons, Penelope had no such misgivings. And having a princess in the family would be quite the conversation starter at parties, Lucy supposed.
She could only imagine the enjoyment Alice would get from telling people she had a cousin who was a princess. And Alice was sure to use it to her advantage in whatever way she could.
“My lady.”
A whisper from the herald roused Lucy from her wool-gathering, and she realised with a start that while her mind had been wandering, Alice had already made the short walk to be presented to King Josef.
“Sorry,” she whispered b
ack, feeling her cheeks heat.
The man didn’t answer, merely raised his voice to the impressive boom he’d been using all evening.
“Lady Lucia Allenwood, daughter of the Earl of Dunhaven.”
Lucy kept her head bowed demurely, as had been hurriedly drilled into her by Alice while waiting in line, and walked forward.
She kept her eyes trained on the carpet, watching for the golden crown.
Not too quickly. Not too slowly. Glide, she told herself over and over as she made her way toward the royal family.
She was desperate to raise her head and look around but knew that if she did, Alice would have it on a platter, so instead she kept it bowed as instructed.
After what felt like eons, the golden crown appeared on the carpet and Lucy drew to a stop.
Lucy stopped exactly on it and dipped into a low curtsy.
One, two – I wonder if he’ll appear this evening. Her mind started wandering again as it was wont to do, and Lucy had to force herself to concentrate.
Three, four – I wonder if he’ll ask me to dance.
Five.
Lucy stood again and slowly, demurely she hoped, raised her head to look at the royal family.
King Josef was as regal as could be, straight backed and haughty with a snow-white beard.
Queen Anya looked every inch a queen in gold and maroon, her gold and ruby tiara glittering in the candlelight.
Princess Harriet, her own tiara made shining with brilliant diamonds, gave her a little smile, as did her husband Mr. Lauer.
And the Crown Prince –
Lucy’s thoughts screeched to a halt, and she couldn’t contain a small gasp of shock.
Standing before her, looking almost obscenely handsome, was her mystery man.
But he was a mystery no longer.
If his position on the dais beside the king and queen hadn’t given him way, the golden crown on his head certainly did.
The sinfully dark eyes, the black hair, the broad shoulders – they were all the same.
Only now, Lucy knew they belonged to Prince Christopher.
Chapter Nine
Christopher watched a flurry of emotion skitter across Lady Lucia’s face.
She’d never make a good queen, he told himself fiercely. She wore her emotions on her sleeve. A queen needed to maintain equilibrium in the face of everything.
It was far too easy to read the shock, then confusion, then disappointment, and even fear in her eyes.
And embarrassment in the fierce blush that stained her cheeks as she stared up at him.
She was making him feel like a damned monster, truth be told.
And as the silence stretched on while they stood there mutely staring at each other, his stomach churned with what felt suspiciously like guilt.
He didn’t care for the emotion.
Nor could he stand to look into those sea-blue eyes any longer. It made him too uncomfortable.
It also made him feel bizarrely protective. Which was foolish, of course.
Most of all, it made him feel like he owed her an explanation. And as the Crown Prince and ruler of Aldonia, he wasn’t used to feeling as though he should explain himself to anyone. Ever.
At the sound of a subtle, feminine cough, Lady Lucia’s startling eyes darted over Christopher’s shoulder and though he would have said it was impossible, her cheeks grew redder still.
She shot upright and without even another glance in his direction, scurried off toward her sister.
Christopher stood there like a damned idiot trying to fight the urge to chase after her.
He turned in the direction of the cough to see Harriet eyeing him speculatively, but there was no way he’d be foolish enough to allow anything other than passivity appear on his face in front of his romantic-hearted sister.
Turning his back on her, Christopher ran his eyes over the ladies standing to the side of the dais on which he stood.
It was expected that he would open the ball.
He would choose a lady to approach and ask her to dance, and she would accept, of course.
Of their own accord, his eyes sought out Lady Lucia.
She still looked stunned. Even hurt. And those incredible eyes were fixed determinedly on the floor.
He couldn’t ask her. It would cause an untold scandal.
He knew that.
Yet the desire to go over there, to feel her in his arms, to tilt her chin up so he could get lost in the aqua depths of her eyes, was very nearly overpowering.
What the hell is this? he wondered a little frantically.
Harriet was the romantic. Alex was the one who cared little for the consequences of his actions.
Christopher was the Crown Prince, for God’s sake! He couldn’t afford to be romantic. Couldn’t afford to ignore consequences.
He had to do what was right. Find a queen – not just a wife.
Steadfastly repressing all of his unwelcome, confusing emotions, Christopher stepped off the dais toward the sea of colour and jewels standing to his right.
He repeated his list over and over as he walked toward the group.
Princess Sylvie of Berent
Duchess Dorothea Von Shull
Lady Penelope of Bonne
Those were the ladies he’d decided on.
They were the ones who’d met his criteria the best.
Princess Sylvie was the obvious choice of partner with whom to open the ball.
She was the highest ranking. An alliance with Berent would be good for Aldonia. And she was a royal, which meant she already understood the royal way of life.
He subtly studied the blonde princess as he walked in the direction of the ladies.
The sudden, all-consuming desire he’d felt looking at Lady Lucia was nowhere to be found as he took in Princess Sylvie’s pale complexion and delicate features.
However, he was not a base enough creature to dismiss a possible alliance just because he didn’t almost lose his famed self-control from merely looking at the lady.
All the more reason to pick her, in fact.
Life with someone who looked like Lucia Allenwood would be far too distracting. He’d never get anything done around the girl.
It was a good thing, he told himself furiously, that he didn’t feel even a flicker of desire for the princess.
She wouldn’t distract him with her eyes, or hair, or smile.
He wouldn’t find himself oddly fascinated by her chattering, or thievery. He was quite confident that the Princess of Berent had never chattered in her life. And he’d stake his crown that she’d never stolen flowers from a garden.
His lips twitched even now at the memory of Lady Lucia’s shenanigans.
The urge to look at her was very nearly overwhelming, but he refused.
He’d spent too long thinking of the girl.
He’d now reached the ladies, and he noticed with a jolt that the three from his list were, in fact, standing side by side.
The blonde Princess Sylvie, the brunette, tall, and willowy Lady Dorothea, and the equally tall, sable-haired Lady Penelope. Lady Lucia’s cousin.
No doubt, Lady Penelope would have a host of stories about her incorrigible cousin.
He knew from the file Jacob had provided him earlier that Lucia was only a year younger than Lady Penelope.
He also knew that Lady Penelope had spent almost an entire year in England with her cousins, first at their home in a county called Surrey, and then for a Season in London.
So, if he was still curious about Lady Lucia, her cousin would know a host of things about the girl.
But he wasn’t.
He was going to ask Princess Sylvie to dance and forget all about the erratic flower thief with her mischievous smile and outrageous chatter.
Christopher stopped before the ladies of his list.
Each one poised. Each one perfectly put together. Not one of them evoking even a flicker of desire or interest.
Despite himself, Christopher glanced o
ver at Lady Lucia.
More beautiful than any other lady in the room as far as he was concerned, she was also less put together.
In fact, even now, an unruly auburn curl had escaped its confines and was brushing against her collarbone.
Christopher’s mouth dried as he watched her, and his heart thudded in the most alarming fashion.
Dragging his eyes back to the ladies before him, he took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on the task at hand and not on his inconvenient lust for Lady Lucia.
You’re a prince and a leader, he told himself. And she’s just another pretty girl. Now, concentrate on finding a queen.
He looked at Princess Sylvie with her cool, blonde poise.
He looked at Lady Dorothea, who was from a powerful political family and would be an asset to the Wesselbach family.
Then he looked at Lady Penelope, who was Lady Lucia’s cousin and knew her more than almost anyone else here.
Christopher cursed himself and his stupidity even as he stepped forward and bowed to his would-be partner.
“Lady Penelope,” he said, even as he questioned his own sanity. “Would you do me the honour of dancing the first with me?”
Lucia continued to stare intently at the floor but despite her best efforts, it refused to open up and swallow her whole.
He was the Crown Prince. The Crown Prince.
And she’d – her cheeks heated yet again, making her genuinely afraid that her skin would begin to bubble—she’d stolen flowers then shoved them at him. Mocked him rather mercilessly to his face and been alone with him in a darkened alcove without even knowing his name.
Lucy wasn’t exactly au fait with the workings of Aldonian culture, but she was fairly confident that such behaviour was rather frowned upon.
And now – she glanced up, and her stomach predictably sank – now he was dancing with Penelope. Her cousin.
And they looked beautiful together.
Penelope was tall enough that she didn’t have to tilt her chin back until her neck cricked to look at him like Lucy did.
Their dark heads were bent toward each other, and they were talking easily, as though they’d known each other for years.
Penelope was grinning and her mystery man, or rather Prince Christopher, looked positively enthralled. Whatever Penelope was doing, she was obviously charming the prince, given that a small smile was playing around his lips.
Redeeming A Royal (The Royals of Aldonia Book 3) Page 6