Sturbridge sighed. “I’m sorry. I should have been more considerate.”
Rupert turned toward his friend. “How so?”
“I can imagine what you’re experiencing.”
Rupert stiffened.
“After all,” Sturbridge said, “he was your cousin.”
Rupert nodded.
“Now you don’t have any family left, do you?”
“Framingham’s son will probably come back to England.” Rupert furrowed his brow. “Perhaps.”
Framingham’s son had always seemed prone to festivity making. It was curious he’d been outside of England for so many years, but perhaps continental Europe had many festivities.
“What will you do now?” Sturbridge asked.
“I-I don’t know.”
Sturbridge stared at him. “Good Lord. I never realized how close you were to the late duke.”
“I wasn’t that close to him,” Rupert said.
Sturbridge studied him, and Rupert shivered, lest Sturbridge might discover how foolish Rupert had been merely by looking at him.
Sturbridge didn’t say anything. Even he could not suspect that Rupert would have done anything as ridiculous as fall in love with a beautiful princess.
“You need a drink,” Sturbridge declared. “In fact, you require several.”
The horses halted, and Rupert followed Sturbridge inside the gentlemen’s club while a groom hastily moved Sturbridge’s carriage.
Normally, Rupert enjoyed being in the club. Normally, he enjoyed the company of other men. Then, he could pretend that he was not odd for not being married, not being betrothed. There, he could pretend that the greatest thing imaginable was simply to drink brandy and chat about the day’s events.
But now Robertson’s Gentlemen’s Club was devoid of its normal charm. Aria wasn’t here, and he would never see her again.
“This man has just lost his cousin, the Duke of Framingham.” Sturbridge jerked his thumb in Rupert’s direction. “We need to cheer him up.”
The men jumped up, even the silver-haired ones with wizened skin. They slapped him on the back and poured brandy for him.
But Rupert’s heart continued to ache.
No doubt, it always would.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Good morning,” a cheerful voice woke Aria from her sleep. She gazed, bewildered, at a young woman with blonde hair who wore a maid’s uniform. “I’m Rose, Lucy’s maid. Lucy said you might need some help dressing.”
Aria scrambled to a sitting position. “How kind of her.”
“And I brought some coffee and pastries up,” Rose said. “There’s a larger breakfast downstairs.” She leaned closer to Aria. “It’s very good.”
Aria smiled. “I expect so.”
Rose placed a silver tray on a sideboard, then drew the curtains. Warm sunbeams soared into the room and seemed to dance merrily.
Aria blinked into the light. Aria was fond of sunny days, but normally her heart didn’t hurt. She stared suspiciously at the blue sky. Usually, England was gray, a color that seemed far more appropriate now. Even the birds chirped, oblivious to her pain.
Rose set the tray on Aria’s bed and poured her some coffee. “Is it really true that you’re a princess?”
“Yes,” Aria said.
Rose clapped her hands excitedly. “I could hardly believe it! That must be so nice.”
Aria smiled. “Sometimes.”
Lucy’s maid heaved a large sigh. “To think of all the things I could do if I were a princess. All the places I would travel. All the people I would see.”
Aria rounded her eyes, and a line formed on Rose’s brow. “Did I say something wrong?”
Aria shook her head hastily. “No, no. You just said something that made me think.”
Rose giggled. “Me?”
Aria nodded.
Rose was right. Aria was a princess. She’d been considering duty to her country and the importance of avoiding scandal.
But perhaps none of that mattered...that much. She was in England, not Sweden. Perhaps her happiness also mattered. Perhaps Rupert’s happiness mattered.
Heavens.
She needed to speak with Rupert at once. She’d been an absolute fool.
Why should she care about what other people thought? Her uncle was king, not her father. They didn’t need her to represent her country and serve her people. All anybody had expected was for her to marry, and now she knew who it would be to.
“Please just prepare my hair in a simple manner,” Aria said. “I’m in a hurry.”
“Very well, princess,” Rose said.
Aria could hardly wait as Rose dressed her in a black gown. She needed to visit Rupert. At once. She’d been a fool to wait so long.
Rupert had written those letters to her. Rupert had understood her. Rupert had meant the world to her. Heavens, he’d tried to rescue her from the duke. In fact, he had succeeded in rescuing her—even if Demon insisted on taking the credit.
She sighed.
He’d been so cold and distant yesterday, but he must have thought that distancing himself from her was the honorable thing to do. He couldn’t very well hold her hand in Demon’s presence, no matter if he desired to.
She’d been too conscious of her own pride to ask him even the most basic questions. She’d found it easier to remove him forever from her life than to tell him that she might indeed care for him.
No matter that they’d already kissed. No matter that they’d spent the night together.
Her fingers trembled, and her heart seemed to rock precariously in her chest.
Finally, Rose finished dressing her.
Aria turned to her. “How do I find the Robertson’s Gentlemen’s Club?”
Rose widened her eyes. “That’s for men.”
“I know,” Aria said. “But there’s a gentleman I need to see before my ship leaves for Sweden.”
Rose’s eyebrows lurched up.
“I shouldn’t be telling you this,” Aria said.
“It sounds romantic,” Rose breathed, and her green eyes danced. “It sounds terribly romantic.”
“I suppose it is,” Aria said, and she giggled. Then her face sobered. “But I’m afraid everything has gone terribly wrong. I need to speak to him. Otherwise—”
“—you’ll go to Sweden and never see him again,” Rose offered, and Aria swallowed hard.
“Yes,” she said, though her voice was hoarser than before. “Precisely like that.”
“Oh, my dear,” Rose said. “Then we mustn’t let that happen.”
“Could you fetch Lucy?” Aria asked.
Rose nodded. “I’ll bring her straight away.”
“Have her wait inside,” Aria said. “There’s someone I need to speak with first. I expect the kitchen is just down the stairs?”
“Yes.” Rose stared at Aria with an odd expression on her face.
“Good. I need to speak with my bodyguard.”
Then, before Rose could say anything, Aria sailed from the room, down the set of grand marble stairs, and then down a set of decidedly less-glamorous stairs toward the kitchen.
It occurred to her that she wasn’t supposed to do this, but she’d developed a habit of rule-breaking, and she wasn’t going to stop now.
The air clouded, and a rich scent of meat confronted her. She stepped onto gray tile stones, rounded the corner, and stared at a group of astonished kitchen maids.
“Miss?” one of them finally asked.
One of the other maids elbowed the speaker. “Your highness! She’s a princess!”
The first maid’s cheeks pinkened, then she descended into something that resembled a curtsy. The other two maids quickly followed, though none achieved great elegance.
“I’m sorry,” Aria said, regret moving through her, though she quickly dismissed the thought of rushing back up the stairs. “I’m disturbing your workplace.”
The maids had stricken looks on their faces, as if not certain whether it
was more polite to agree with the princess or not.
“I wanted to speak with my bodyguard,” Aria said. “Demon. Perhaps you’ve noticed him?”
“How could we not?” the first maid exclaimed, and the second maid elbowed her again.
“I mean, he’s so visible,” the maid insisted.
“Muscular,” the third maid agreed. “Quite large.”
“And handsome,” the first maid giggled.
Aria smiled. Demon was always making an impression wherever he went. She had no desire now though to ponder his Viking charm. Plenty of women in this country were prone to commenting on it.
“I need to speak with him,” she said. “Can you please fetch him?”
“Of course, Your Highness.” The second maid disappeared and quickly returned with Demon, who was munching on a chicken leg.
On another day, Aria might have smiled. Only Demon would gnaw on chicken legs at breakfast.
“Princess?” Demon straightened when he saw her, and he reached for a knife strapped to his belt. “Are you in danger?”
“No, no,” she said. “I have a question for you.”
“Oh.” Demon released his hand from his knife.
She stared at Demon. “Did you scare Mr. Andrews?”
“Of course,” Demon said.
Aria was startled. “I thought you would deny it.”
“I did what was right. And even Mr. Andrews agreed. You’re a princess.”
“He’s a member of the ton.”
Demon gave her a patient smile. “Still, he’s not good enough for you.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You shouldn’t have done that. That was my choice.”
Demon narrowed his eyes. “I had to tell him to stay away.”
Aria’s lips widened inadvertently. Joy spilled from her. Happiness moved through her with the speed of birds.
“You’re smiling,” Demon growled. He turned to the maids. “I’m not imagining it, am I?”
“Oh, no,” the maids called out.
“I’m sorry, Demon,” Aria said finally. “I know you want me to be upset. But I’m simply so happy.”
“You shouldn’t be,” Demon said.
“You see,” Aria said. “He thought he was being honorable. He still loves me.”
Demon narrowed his eyes. “I hope you’re not going to do anything silly.”
Aria hesitated. “What do you mean by ‘silly?’?”
“Something that doesn’t involve getting onto the ship that leaves for Sweden,” Demon said.
“I-I...” Aria closed her mouth.
Perhaps she didn’t want to tell Demon that she planned to visit Rupert. That was the sort of thing Demon would disapprove of, and she absolutely couldn’t have that happen.
She inched back. Demon’s gaze narrowed.
“I’m just going to see Lucy now,” she said.
That much, at least, was true.
“I hope you won’t do anything regrettable,” Demon said.
“I would never,” she said.
That much, also, was not a lie.
It would be regrettable not to speak to Rupert before she boarded the ship to Sweden. Aria didn’t intend to do that, even if it meant that she had to visit him at his club herself.
“I’ll let you finish your breakfast,” Aria chirped. “I need to eat mine. Thank you for answering my question.”
Demon scrutinized her, but Aria quickly waved, then scampered up the steps.
Soon enough, Rose and Lucy were alongside Aria on their way to the gentlemen’s club. They hurried through Grosvenor Square until they stood before a set of forbidding glossy red doors.
“I don’t think we’re supposed to be here,” Lucy said, staring at the sign.
No Women Allowed was emblazoned in large block letters underneath the still larger words Gentlemen’s Club.
“No,” Aria agreed.
Her heart squeezed somewhat.
“Perhaps we could run in through the door really quickly and find him,” Rose suggested.
“Those two guards in the front might disagree with us.” Lucy pointed at two elderly men who were sitting at the front desk.
“They don’t appear very strong,” Rose said. “I’m certain I could tackle at least one of them.”
“Yes,” Aria said, “and then you can see what a British prison is like.”
Rose frowned.
“Not an essential part of the British experience,” Lucy said.
“I’m going to enter.” Aria marched to the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“I’m Princess Aria of Sweden,” Aria declared, “and I demand entry.”
The guards widened their eyes.
“You can’t do that. It isn’t done,” one guard said.
Aria placed her hands on her hips. “I order it.”
“Perhaps you should let her in,” the person beside him murmured. “We don’t want to start a war with Sweden.”
“I don’t think she could start a war,” the first guard said, but his voice was skeptical, as if he weren’t entirely certain.
“I might do just that.” Aria pounded her fist against the table with such force that both of the men jumped. “I’ll write the king immediately if I don’t gain entry.”
The men swallowed hard, and their Adam’s apples darted upward, as if not entirely certain whether they should still belong in their bodies. The need to flee from her was obvious, down to even the most minute body parts.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to enter,” the first guard said, but his voice was even weaker, and Aria fixed her most regal glare upon him.
She decided not to inform him that she was only the niece of the king, not his daughter. And she decided also not to tell him that she didn’t see the king particularly often, and he would not in the least mind that she’d not gained entry to an all-men’s club in London.
Some things were not essential to mention.
“No woman has ever entered this club,” the first guard said in a regal voice.
Aria forced herself to keep her chin high. These men couldn’t see timidity or uncertainty. “Then I shall be the first.”
The first guard shrugged, then the second guard unlocked the door.
Aria dashed inside before the men could change their minds, then she entered the club. Her nose wrinkled immediately at the smell of tobacco and brandy merging into some unholy combination. Startled men stared at her. Some raked their hands through thinning white hair, others dropped their lower lips, and still others sent their eyebrows soaring.
“Good morning,” she said, conscious that her voice was faltering.
“This is a gentleman’s club,” one man said.
“Er—yes.” She shifted her legs over an oriental carpet.
She stared at the room, looking for Rupert. She’d wondered whether a men’s club could be a den of impropriety. She’d pondered whether there were half-naked women dancing, given the vigilance with which entry to the club had been barred. Though the scent of cigar smoke was strong, she doubted it varied much from the smell in most men’s libraries. The men weren’t even speaking together. There was no raucous laughter, as various men strove to outdo one another in telling obscene jokes. There were not even any whist or poker games occurring. Everything was calm.
“I know my appearance is unconventional,” Aria said, “but I am searching for a man.”
“That’s why you are in a men’s club? Debutantes have become more and more desperate.” An older gentleman shook his head mournfully.
“Er—no,” Aria said, her cheeks warming. “I’m not a debutante.”
“She’s a princess,” the second guard said. “From Sweden.”
“She’s still a woman,” one older man muttered. “And she’s interrupted my newspaper reading.”
“I’m here to see Mr. Rupert Andrews,” Aria said loudly, before more men could grumble about the necessity of reading the news.
A man stood up, and f
or a moment, she hoped it was him. For a moment, her heart pattered merrily. For a moment, the room warmed, and not because of the cackling fireplace in the room, which seemed to achieve giving more the appearance of heat rather than actual heat.
Rupert, however, did not appear. Instead, the Duke of Sturbridge strode toward her.
Though the Duke of Sturbridge had always been kind, he was not Rupert.
“You shouldn’t be here,” the duke said calmly when he neared her. His voice was quiet and polite, but disgruntlement still moved through her. “Andrews isn’t here.”
“I don’t believe you.” She began opening every door, as if there were a chance he might be hiding behind one of them.
She frowned, then lowered her head to get a better view of the ground and any potential hiding spots under the red leather sofas and striped chaise-longues.
“I need to speak with you,” she called out.
“Unbelievable,” an older gentleman murmured. “This never happened before those peasants in France revolted.”
Aria scowled at him. Then she turned to the Duke of Sturbridge. “Tell me, where do the men here sleep?”
He widened his eyes.
“I want to see Rupert’s room.”
“Y-you can’t do that,” he said.
“I can do anything I want,” she said. “And this is an emergency.”
“Very well.” Sturbridge’s lips twitched somewhat. “I’ll show you.”
A few men jumped from their armchairs, showing an athleticism that rarely emerged among most of them.
“Look here, Sturbridge,” one man said. “You can’t do that. It’s unseemly.”
“It’s a new century, Sir Seymour,” the duke said lightly. He turned to the princess. “I’ll show you.” He hesitated. “I do feel compelled to tell you that your reputation might suffer—”
“I know,” she said. “Besides, I’m a widow.” Aria decided not to mention that technically she was still an innocent.
Sturbridge opened a door to a set of stairs. “This way, Your Highness.”
They marched up a glossy set of stairs. The stairs were narrower, as if they did not intend to have many outside guests here, but light shown through some stained-glass windows, rendering the experience mysterious.
The Truth About Princesses and Dukes (The Duke Hunters Club) Page 16