by Olivia Drake
But it wouldn’t do for the ayah to wonder how an English footman knew anything of Ambrosia’s history.
“Kasi, please convey my thanks to Mama for the pearls. You must do so straightaway so you don’t forget.”
The ayah raised an eyebrow, looking from Blythe to James. Her dark gaze held his as if she were attempting to see into his soul. But she said nothing, merely pressed her palms together and bowed.
As the Hindu woman left the bedchamber, Blythe made haste to shut the door.
“I’m not one to believe in the power of the evil eye,” James said. “However, I had the distinct impression just now that she knows about us.”
Dredging up anger, Blythe came toward him. “What do you mean? She can’t have guessed that you’re posing as Prince Nicolai—despite your mention of that phony legend. Nor can she know that you disobeyed my express orders last night.”
“I merely meant that she senses the attraction between us.”
Her gaze locked with his. The heat of desire flashed through Blythe and she knew from the intensity of his eyes that he felt it too. He glanced at the bed, but made no move to touch her. She felt a breathless hunger to lock the door and invite him to have his wicked way with her.
Nothing could be more foolish.
“Never mind Kasi,” Blythe said firmly. “I need to have a word with you about your behavior. You took a terrible risk coming into my sister’s party after I’d warned you not to do so.”
Crossing his arms, he propped his shoulder against the wall in a casual pose. “You haven’t yet read the note I gave you.”
Resisting the tug of curiosity, she tossed the sealed paper down beside the bird cage. “No more of your distractions. I would like an explanation at once. Why did you disregard my wishes?”
He shrugged. “Lady Davina began to grow suspicious when I refused to accompany her into the house. I had to do something to reassure her. Joining the party seemed the only way to allay her doubts.”
His reason had merit, but Blythe wasn’t ready to forgive him. “Nevertheless, you should never have done so without my permission. There are dozens of mistakes you might have made. If you’d been exposed as an imposter, there would have been a terrible scandal, not just for me but for my whole family.”
James came closer, placing his hands on her shoulders. “I’m very sorry to have caused you distress, Blythe. Believe me, that was never my intention.”
The sincerity of his apology threatened to disperse her righteous anger, so she pulled out of his grasp. “I’m not through. What’s worse is that you’ve arranged this drive in the park for today. We will encounter all manner of the ton—especially when gossip spreads of the prince’s appearance there.”
“You wished for an opportunity to be with Savoy. I’ve given it to you.”
“At a time and a place of my choosing.” Blythe needed to impress upon him the difficult position in which he had placed her. “There are many considerations you’ve ignored. As the prince, you issued the invitation, which means you are obliged to provide the coach. And that puts me to the trouble of arranging for one. Not to mention I shall have to procure another suit of clothing for you.”
James looked unperturbed. “This morning, Lady Mansfield sent a message to Godwin, instructing him that she requires my services this afternoon to clean glassware from the party. I suspect she is readying the prince’s garb and his coach at this very moment.” A smile played at one corner of his mouth. “A very resourceful woman, your sister.”
Blythe wasn’t reassured. Rather, she felt as if the situation had spiraled out of her control. Frowning, she nibbled on her thumbnail. “That’s all well and good. However, I don’t like having to depend upon her—or you—to solve my problems.”
James caught her hand and brought it to his lips. His dark eyes held her spellbound. “You must lay your worries to rest,” he said in the soul-stirring accent of Prince Nicolai. “All will be fine. Trust me, my darling.”
While she stood bemused, he turned on his heel and strode out of the bedchamber. My darling. She felt warm all over. Did he really feel a strong affection for her, or was he merely playing a part? Blythe wished she knew for certain. It was disturbing how easily he switched between the roles of footman and prince.
The sound of happy chirping drew her to the finch’s cage. Whatever his intention, James had thrilled her with his gift. It showed a thoughtfulness and an originality she hadn’t seen in any of her suitors.
Then Blythe noticed the abandoned letter. Curious, she broke the red sealing wax and unfolded the paper to find a message written in his bold, distinctive hand.
My dearest Miss Crompton,
May this humble gift win your pardon for my neglect of you last evening. I hope you will understand that circumstances required me to pay heed to other guests when I wished only to be alone with you. Pray allow me to make amends and know that I am counting the hours until we meet again. I remain your most ardent admirer,
Nicolai Aleksander Leonide Pashenka, Crown Prince of Ambrosia
Blythe clutched the note to her bosom as the weakness of yearning swept through her. Anyone else would assume the note was authentic. Mama would deem it a clear indication of the prince’s interest in her. Only Blythe could see the hidden meanings, that James was apologizing for upsetting her plans, that he had not meant to cause her anxiety, and that she was definitely not to think that he had any real interest in Lady Davina. Once again, he was doing so in a wildly charming way that warmed her heart.
It was a game to him, Blythe told herself. Yet that explanation no longer rang true. She had the distinct impression that James had another purpose.
He was using the guise of the prince in order to court her himself.
Chapter 23
As the open landau proceeded through the open gates at Hyde Park Corner, Blythe found herself relaxing for the first time since the shock James had dealt her the previous night. There was something about an excursion that always made her happy. How could she fret on such a splendid spring day?
Clusters of daffodils dotted the greensward on either side of the road. The harness of the horses jingled in harmony with the twittering of the birds. Lulled by the gentle rocking of the coach, she tilted up her face to the afternoon sun and relished the warmth on her skin.
“I see that you like the outdoors, Miss Crompton.”
Prince Nicolai’s deep voice drew her attention to him. He and Lady Davina occupied the seat opposite Blythe and the Duke of Savoy.
Looking at James, she felt a little clutch in her chest. In the charcoal-gray coat and buff breeches, he appeared every inch a royal. His transformation involved more than a mere change of clothing. He exuded the natural confidence of a man who has been born to wealth and privilege.
It remained a mystery to her how a footman could manage to impersonate a prince so well. More and more she was learning that James was a man of many talents. There could be no doubt he would succeed in life at whatever he did.
At the moment, his dark eyes held a hint of mischief. He was enjoying the masquerade, and he wanted her to do so, too. Blythe smiled at him, for now that she’d overcome the alarm of seeing Prince Nicolai in society, it truly was amusing to keep such a delicious secret from their companions.
“I do like the outdoors,” she replied. “I grew up in India, where the sun is always hot and bright. My sisters and I spent a great deal of time outside.”
Lady Davina adjusted the pink parasol to shade her face. “I cannot imagine doing such a thing. Everyone knows that the sun’s rays are harmful to a lady’s delicate complexion.”
In her present good humor, Blythe could not take offense at the girl’s pretentiousness. “That must be why Mama would so often scold us that we looked as brown as the natives.”
“How vulgar.” The duke’s daughter tut-tutted. “Gentlemen prefer ladies to take more care with their appearance. Don’t you agree, Your Highness?”
“A bit of sun can be benefici
al,” James said. “I’ve often thought that it lends an attractive glow to a lady’s face.”
“Surely you’re not suggesting that ladies abandon their bonnets and parasols.”
“In the kingdom of Ambrosia, our noblewomen have a great love for the sun. Only nuns and elderly widows cover their heads.”
Davina looked so dismayed that Blythe bit her lip to stifle a laugh. How wicked James was! And how wicked he tempted her to be. She had the mad urge to untie the ribbons beneath her chin and toss her straw bonnet into the wind. How lovely it would feel to let the breeze stir her hair, to enjoy freedom from the cage of conventions required by society.
Instead, she turned to the duke. He had been sitting placidly, his gouty leg stretched out, and Blythe was chagrined to recall that she had never fetched him the pillow he’d requested the previous evening. She had forgotten everything in the drama of seeing James as Prince Nicolai.
Today she would make up for her neglect.
“What say you, Your Grace? Will you weigh in on our debate?”
Smiling, he reached out to pat her hand. “Both you and my daughter are lovely. I would not dare to disagree with either of you.”
Lady Davina pouted. “Oh, Papa. You are just being polite.”
Catching Blythe’s eye, James waggled a dark eyebrow. He did it so swiftly that no one but she caught the movement. A bubble of mirth rose in her. Once again, Blythe had the distinct impression that he was flirting with her—just as he had done by giving her the caged finch, and just as he had done by writing that stirringly romantic note from Prince Nicolai.
James had a rakish way about him that appealed to the weakness of her bodily desires. But nothing could be more dangerous than for her to act upon her attraction to him. She must not squander the opportunity he had provided her. The purpose of this drive today was for her to become better acquainted with the duke.
The trouble was, the landau had joined the slow procession of carriages and horsemen up and down Rotten Row, a broad sandy avenue that stretched all the way to Kensington Gardens. On such a fine afternoon, all of the beau monde had come to Hyde Park in their stylish garb. It was the fashionable hour, the place to see and be seen.
The duke’s attention swiftly became absorbed in nodding at friends and acquaintances as they passed in their carriages. Many stopped to exchange greetings and gossip.
But mostly, they wanted to meet Crown Prince Nicolai of Ambrosia.
Blythe marveled at all the interest in him. She had never seen so much bowing and scraping in all her life. James became the haughty, slightly bored royal who afforded his admirers a cool smile and a few words of conversation. The more proudly and arrogantly he behaved, the more obsequious they became.
Watching him, she could scarcely believe he was the same man who served her breakfast and delivered the mail. All of her worries had been for naught. James played the role of prince as if he’d been born to it. He showed not the slightest hint of his true station as a footman.
Trust me, my darling.
Warmth curled through her. She did trust him. He had a keen intelligence and an infectious zest for life. No gentleman could have more honor, either, for he had not seduced her even when she’d thrown herself into his arms that night in her father’s office.
And she adored his sense of humor. Every now and then, while the duke and Lady Davina were busy talking to an acquaintance, James would wink at Blythe or flash her a droll look. It was a reminder that they shared a private jest on all these fawning aristocrats.
She fingered the pearl necklace at her throat. According to Kasi, it was supposed to bring great luck. Blessed by the Hindu god Shiva, it would enable her to wed a prince. How foolish was she to wish that such a silly superstition could really come true?
Very foolish, indeed!
Then she saw something that drove all other thought from her mind. An open carriage approached from the opposite direction. In it sat a trio of ladies, all snooty patronesses at Almack’s.
One of them was the Countess de Lieven.
Blythe lifted a gloved hand to warn James, then dropped it to her lap. He wasn’t looking her way and what could she say in front of the duke, anyway? There was no escaping this confrontation.
The carriage slowed to a halt right beside the landau. Blythe sat with a rigidly polite smile on her face. James didn’t know how much these particular ladies reveled in their specialized knowledge of pedigree and rank.
Davina introduced Lady Sefton, the Viscountess of Castlereagh, and the Countess de Lieven. “May I present to you Crown Prince Nicolai of Ambrosia.”
He gave them a regal nod and a raffish smile. “To meet three such lovely ladies is indeed an honor. Countess, I have heard that your husband is the Russian ambassador.”
Elegant in green striped silk, the Countess de Lieven observed him avidly from beneath the straw brim of her hat. Her scrutiny of him held a hint of suspicion. “Yes, and he is most interested in meeting you as he professes to be unfamiliar with the nation of Ambrosia. You must come to my salon next Thursday.”
“If my schedule permits.”
“Where shall I send the invitation?”
Blythe froze with her fingers tightly clutched in her lap. Dear God, what would James say to that?
“You must forgive me for not revealing the address of my lodgings,” he said with majestic arrogance. “I do not care to be inundated with a flood of letters and visitors.”
Lady Davina leaned forward, eagerness lighting her patrician face. “Your Highness, I would be most happy to collect any invitations on your behalf.”
“How very kind, my lady.” James made a negligent gesture. “So be it, then.”
The flow of traffic required the vehicles to move on, and the conversation ended. Just in time, for Blythe feared Countess de Lieven would ask him probing questions about Ambrosia. The woman was too sharp by half and her face had shown subtle signs of her doubts about his background.
Blythe frowned at James, but he merely smiled back in unperturbed calm. Even with his limited knowledge of the ton, he had to realize the danger of tangling with the countess and the ambassador. Deceiving the nobility in a social atmosphere was one thing; it was quite another to fool officials in the highest levels of the government.
“What an honor for you to be invited to one of the countess’s political salons,” Lady Davina told James. “Not even Papa is attending—although I am sure that if he wished it, he too would receive an invitation.”
“Heaven forbid,” the duke said, grimacing as he shifted his gouty leg to a more comfortable position. “I cannot abide such meetings, sitting in a circle and hashing over affairs of state. It is as tedious as listening to the droning of speeches in Parliament.”
“We have differing interests, then,” James said, “for such an event sounds fascinating to me.”
Fascinating?
Was he actually intending to go?
Horrified, Blythe said, “I thought you were busy with trade meetings, Prince Nicolai. You said so yourself last evening.”
He turned a benign look on her. “There is always time for such an important event, Miss Crompton. After all, the diplomatic contacts to be gained could be most beneficial to the people of my country.”
He had to be teasing her. She could not believe otherwise. It would serve no purpose for him to attend such a salon, for it had nothing at all to do with him distracting Lady Davina from the duke’s side.
Blythe vowed to give him a stern reprimand at the earliest opportunity. This was not his ruse. It was hers to direct as she saw fit. He must not be allowed to run rogue by doing such things without her permission.
Compressing her lips, she turned her head to look out at the passing scenery. They had reached the end of the avenue, and the coachman guided the landau around for the return trip. Then they had to run the gauntlet of yet more aristocrats who clamored to meet the celebrated Prince Nicolai of Ambrosia.
James greeted them all with royal c
ivility. Never once did he deviate from his role.
Lady Davina took great satisfaction in telling everyone that she was collecting invitations on behalf of His Royal Highness if they would care to send them to her. Several times, she aimed an arch look at Blythe as if to gloat over the fact that the prince had singled out Davina to act as his personal secretary.
The snobbish girl had no idea how she was being duped. And yet perhaps the joke ultimately would be on Blythe. Concern about the political salon remained at the edge of her mind. Would Prince Nicolai be exposed as an imposter by the Countess de Lieven? Then what would happen to James?
He would lose his position. He might even be prosecuted for fraud and end up in prison. And it would be all Blythe’s fault.
As the coach headed out of Hyde Park to take them home, the Duke of Savoy directed a smile at her. “May I say, Miss Crompton, you are looking exceptionally fine today.”
The compliment took her aback. “Why, thank you, Your Grace.”
“I trust you will reserve the first dance for me tonight at Lord Gilpin’s ball.”
“Of course.”
That was that. He turned to speak his daughter, whose pinched lips indicated disapproval. James raised an eyebrow at Blythe as if to mock her quick acceptance of the duke. But what else had James expected her to do? She could hardly refuse Savoy when furthering the cause of a marriage between them was the point of this drive.
Gazing out over the busy streets, Blythe wondered at her lack of enthusiasm. She felt no sense of triumph or anticipation. Was it possible she found the duke to be … dull?
The disturbing notion wormed its way into her mind. There could be no doubt she was more drawn to James. That was only natural, for he was handsome and dashing and closer to her in age. He made her laugh and he stirred her desires. By contrast, the Duke of Savoy was rather starchy and settled in his ways, more like a father than a suitor.
Blythe bit her lip. What was she thinking to compare the two men? A footman could never measure up to a duke. She must not forget that His Grace could give her the perfect life, or that her parents would benefit from her exalted place in society.…