Alison eyed him warily. The suggestive look had left his eyes and his voice had that same enthusiasm she’d heard that night a week ago, coming home from the play. The rapid transformation confused her. “That will be fine, your Highness,” she said, and resisted the urge to add I wish we could ride outside the city too. Suggesting that she wanted more of his company would be disastrous, even if the idea of running wild across the fields surrounding Aurilien was compelling.
“And this is Ebon Night,” North said, indicating the second horse, a beautiful black mare with glossy sides and a mane that had been brushed until it shone. “She should be the right height for someone as petite as you—though I don’t mean to suggest there’s anything wrong with your height; you’re quite perfect as you are.”
And there it is again. “Thank you, your Highness,” she said, offering Ebon Night the back of her hand to sniff, then stroking the mare’s neck so she wouldn’t have to see that look in North’s eyes. She mounted without assistance and turned Ebon Night in a tight circle. “Shall we ride?”
North led the way out of the stable yard and around to the palace drive, the horses’ hooves clopping along the stones to the accompaniment of unseen birds singing in the trees. It was so peaceful that Alison almost regretted it when they came out onto Queen’s Way Road, where the rhythmic noise of their passing was drowned out by the sound of carriages rattling by and more horses ambling along. It was another beautiful autumn day, the air just chilly enough to be welcome against the rays of the sun, the linden trees now golden, with half their leaves piled around their roots like treasure waiting to be picked up.
“Tony! What about tonight at Averill’s? You promised you’d be there,” a young man shouted from his perch high atop a passing carriage, pulling up just enough that his horses protested.
“I’ll be there, Dev, don’t worry, and you’d better bring a fat purse!” North replied. “Have you met the Countess of Waxwold? Countess, my friend Terence Deveraux.”
“How do you do, sir,” Alison said. It was a good idea, drawing this man’s attention to how friendly they were, but the surprise of it made her freeze up inside.
Deveraux’s expression went from admiring to surprised. “And the two of you so friendly? Maybe I should find a beautiful woman to slap me, not that you probably didn’t deserve it, Tony!”
“It was a misunderstanding. We’re good friends, aren’t we, Countess?”
Alison made herself nod, though she was certain she was blotchy with humiliation. So no one had forgotten yet. How much longer would she have to endure this?
North was accosted half a dozen more times before they reached the Park, and Alison remembered what Doyle had said about the Prince having the most well-known face in Aurilien. He was certainly more natural in greeting his friends—but then, none of them were women, and she didn’t think he was the type to leer at men. Only about half of his friends realized who she was, and none of them were so crass as Deveraux had been to refer to the scandal, but she was still tense as they entered the Park.
Alison had never visited the Park before, so she had no idea whether the steady stream of pedestrians and riders that went in and out through the wide-open iron gates was usual, or if the clear weather had brought more people out to enjoy it. Neatly trimmed box hedges lined the walk for about fifty feet, where the path opened up in three directions, two of them passing on either side of a flowerbed shaped like a many-pointed star. Zinnias filling the bed echoed the star motif, their waxy petals of red or yellow or magenta giving off a faint scent that reminded Alison of her first governess, who’d loved the flowers; Alison thought them stuffy and pretentious. The noise of traffic was already muted, even this short distance from the street, and the people walking or riding past spoke with hushed voices, as if appreciating the quiet.
“This way, Countess,” North said, indicating the third path, that veered off in a direction paralleling the Park’s outer wall. “It’s unofficially the horse trail. Have you ever visited the Park before?”
Alison shook her head. “I never have time for sightseeing.”
“Well, it’s a sight worth seeing. Much like yourself, your ladyship.” He smiled at her, and Alison successfully kept from rolling her eyes. Really, did he not realize how ridiculous his compliments were?
She managed to trail behind him enough that conversation was impractical. He was right, the Park was beautiful. Their route took them through a series of low rises covered in fine, short-cropped grass that was still emerald-green despite the lateness of the season. The rises gave way to a forest of oak trees, their branches half-bare, though no leaves cluttered the ground surrounding their roots. “Where are all the leaves?” she said, then remembered too late she didn’t want to give the Prince more opportunities to “compliment” her.
“The grounds crew rakes them up every night,” North said, reining in a little to walk next to her. “Rakes the leaves, mows the grass, gets rid of the dead flowers, all the other little maintenance tasks to keep this the most well-groomed patch of earth in Tremontane. Even the palace gardens aren’t so thoroughly cared for.”
“You sound as if you disapprove, your Highness.” She kept her attention on a tree just over his shoulder, where a bird was darting in and out of a hole in the trunk. She felt certain if her eyes met his, he would think of something suggestive to say to her.
“I don’t like the artifice of the place. Landon North scooped it out of Aurilien proper over a century ago because he was too lazy to hunt outside the city walls, but the citizens and the Council threw a fit at how much land he wanted for a hunting preserve. So he compromised on this and made it a gift to the city. Everything you see here was brought in from somewhere else. Even the waterfall—”
“There’s a waterfall?”
North laughed. “A small one. It feeds into the lake. It’s all such a…so contrived, actually. Recreating the beauties of nature so no one has to visit the real ones. There’s a very nice place just outside the city walls, in fact—it’s a park, true, but it was built around a lake that’s older than Aurilien and it looks more natural. I greatly prefer it.”
“I agree with you,” Alison said. “Though I can see how this one serves its purpose. I imagine there are many people in Aurilien who never have the time to travel to see the real thing.”
“The next time we go riding, we’ll have to go there. And have a bit of a run,” North said. Alison, startled, looked to see if he was joking and was surprised to discover he wasn’t even looking at her; he was gazing off down the trail, craning to see beyond the next rise. “I think we might have a bit of a run now, if you’re game, Countess,” he said, turning his attention on her. His grin was completely unselfconscious and free of any hidden meanings, and, again caught by surprise, she smiled back at him. “I think the trail is clear. Shall we?”
Without waiting for her to agree, he shouted to Pacer and was off down the trail. Ebon Night took a few steps after her stablemate, and Alison could feel her quiver with the desire to run. “Let’s catch them, shall we?” Alison told her, and urged her through a walk into a canter that brought them back within sight of North, who was leaning well forward in his seat and taking the gentle curves of the path with an ease that said he’d done this before. The speed of the horse and the sunlight shining through the branches made Alison laugh with joy. It had been a long time since she’d done anything so spontaneous. She looked ahead at North, who made a fine figure despite his character flaws, his broad shoulders, the fine muscles of his back and his…Alison Quinn, you’re no better than he is. At least she had the decency to keep her ogling to herself. If only he weren’t so hell-bent on leering at her all the time, his company might be enjoyable. It occurred to her that most of her thoughts about the Prince began with If only. If only he weren’t so self-absorbed…if only he’d stop handing her meaningless compliments…if only he’d be the person she’d glimpsed a few minutes ago, the man who’d gone to the theater with her…. Alison thought the
Dowager might be right; there was a good man in there somewhere, if only….
“Whoa!” North shouted, reining in abruptly, and Alison took Ebon Night off the path to avoid running into Pacer’s broad flank. “I beg—Alex!”
“What a surprise, Tony,” said the man just guiding his dappled gray horse around the next curve toward them. “I didn’t know you rode in the afternoons.” He was quite a bit older than North, possibly in his mid-thirties, with a long, brooding face and curly dark hair. His crooked eyebrows, and the deep lines beside his nose, made him look as if he were permanently sneering at something, but his smile was pleasant enough and he seemed happy to see North.
“I didn’t know you rode at all,” North said. “But it’s good to see you, of course.”
The man looked past North’s shoulder at Alison. “And who is your charming companion?” he said.
“Oh, of course.” North glanced once at Alison, and for the briefest moment Alison thought she saw uncertainty in his expression. “This is the Countess of Waxwold. Your ladyship, my very dear friend Alexander Bishop.”
“Of course. Tony’s mentioned you,” Bishop said, bowing slightly. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, milady Countess.”
“I am pleased to meet you as well,” Alison said, though she hadn’t liked the way he’d said Tony’s mentioned you as if he knew very well how she and “Tony” had been introduced. It was just the way his eyebrows crooked; they made him look like a villain in a melodrama, and he was probably perfectly nice. Not that it mattered, since she was unlikely to see him again and it certainly didn’t matter to Bishop what she thought of him.
“So you’ve taken up running down innocent bystanders, have you?” Bishop said, raising one of those crooked eyebrows with a smile. It made him look even more like a villain, and Alison half expected to see him pull out a silver-headed ebony walking stick and begin holding forth on how he planned to destroy her and North both. “Really, Tony, what if I’d been a nursemaid with a pair of babies?”
“I’ve never run anyone over, and you’re giving the Countess a very bad impression of me,” North said, laughing, and this time Alison saw him glare at his friend, the briefest flash of an expression. He’s warning Bishop off, she realized, he thinks Bishop is trying to ruin his chances with me, and the urge to laugh was so strong she had to lean forward and bury her face in Ebon Night’s mane, breathing in the woody scent of the oil the groom had used on her. The Prince was truly self-absorbed if he thought his seduction was working.
“Don’t worry, milady Countess, Tony’s an excellent rider,” Bishop said. “I’d ask to join your party, but I have an engagement I’m going to miss if I don’t move along. I quite enjoyed meeting you, milady Countess, and I hope you’ll have a pleasant ride.”
“Thank you, Mister Bishop,” Alison said, and bit her lip to keep from laughing again, because North’s relief at his friend’s words was so obvious it was hard for her to pretend she hadn’t seen it.
“I’ll see you at Averill’s tonight, Alex?” North said. Bishop waved a hand in assent and disappeared around the nearest rise. North watched that direction for a few seconds, then turned back to Alison and said, “I’m afraid our mad dash has wreaked havoc on your coiffure, milady.”
Alison put her hand up to feel her curls slipping down in back. “One moment, your Highness,” she said, and plucked pins out until she could twist her hair back up tightly and secure it, probably not as well as Belle might have done, but at least it wasn’t hanging loose around her face. She could feel North’s eyes on her and gritted her teeth, waiting for an innuendo-filled comment on her masses of curls, but he said nothing, merely turned Pacer and set him at a sedate walk down the trail. “We should be moving on,” he said. “I promised my mother I’d have you back before her reading time.”
“Thank you for your consideration, your Highness.”
North made an exasperated sound and wheeled around to face her. “Would you stop calling me that all the time? I know what I am. I would prefer you call me Anthony.”
His abruptness startled her into stammering, “I…your Highness, I don’t believe we know each other well enough to make free of our given names like that.”
“Aurilien society is not so formal as Kingsport, then.”
She didn’t want to explain it was her own preference. “Apparently not. Will ‘milord’ do as a compromise?”
“If you must.” He clicked his tongue at his horse and they rode on in silence for a while. They came out of the miniature hills to a lake, perfectly round, with a waterfall no more than seven feet tall pouring into it. Alison watched a pair of swans glide past, serene and unworried about the approaching winter. “I don’t suppose you’ll tell me how long we must know each other, according to polite Kingsport society, before we may make free of one another’s given names?” North said.
He sounded annoyed, which amused Alison, and she said, with a perfectly straight face, “I believe after six months it is acceptable for friends to call one another ‘sir’ and ‘madam.’ After another six months they may call each other by their given names so long as they also use their surnames.”
North looked back at her, more annoyed than before. “Begging your pardon, but that’s a ridiculous—” His eyes narrowed. “That was a joke, wasn’t it?”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t help myself, milord.”
He burst out laughing. “Countess, you astonish me. I had begun to believe you as humorless as a block of wood. Though, come to think of it, you did laugh at the play.”
“True. So did you.”
He came back to ride beside her. “I can’t remember the last time I laughed so much.” He glanced over at her, then added, “It made you seem a very different person.”
This startled Alison. She had felt like a different person, more like herself, at the play, but she hadn’t realized he’d come out of his self-absorbed state to notice. “I might say the same of you, milord.”
“Well, theater-going is a new experience for me. Will there be a new play soon?”
“In two or three weeks, milord.”
“I’d like to go again, if you wouldn’t mind accompanying me.”
“I—” There he was again, assuming she would want to voluntarily spend time with him. Was he so certain his seduction was working, that he believed she would be eager for his company? But…he didn’t have that look in his eye that said he was thinking about what she might look like naked; he sounded as if he were making a genuine offer. “If my schedule permits, milord,” she said.
“I’m sure I can arrange it with my mother. It’s the sort of thing she approves of, evening artistic performances. Isn’t she taking you and the rest of her chattering ladies to a violoncello concert this evening?”
Alison nodded. “I don’t know if I’m looking forward to it. I don’t really enjoy musical performances.”
North’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Don’t ever let her know that. You might as well be a Kirkellan savage as admit to not liking music, as far as she’s concerned.”
“The Kirkellan aren’t savages, and their music is as complex as anyone’s. But I thank you for the warning.”
“How do you know the Kirkellan play music at all?”
“I read about it. Hana Bullen wrote three excellent memoirs of her time among the Kirkellan tribes, and then there’s the book by Fortunato.”
He raised his eyebrows at her. “You enjoy reading, then? Not just publishing?”
“I don’t think there’s a single person involved in publishing who doesn’t love reading. Imagine a barman who didn’t enjoy beer.”
“Interesting. I’m afraid I’m not very literate. Not much time for it, really.”
“Well, I forgive you, milord. You’re brave to admit such a failing.”
He laughed again. “Two jokes in one afternoon. Be careful, countess, you’ll use up your supply.”
“I think humor is a thing that replenishes itself,” she said with a smile. He
was so much nicer to talk to when he forgot to stare at her body. If he could go on forgetting….
They came around a final corner and were back in a more obviously groomed part of the Park, with rosebushes of varying colors planted at intervals so the last flowers of autumn made a rainbow sweep from white through yellow and peach to deepest red and then blue-black. It would be beautiful in the height of summer. North said, “Well, I’m sorry you have to sit through the concert tonight, countess. Though I’m certain no one will be watching the performers so long as you’re in the room.”
Alison looked at him just in time to see his heavy-lidded, sensual gaze slide over her back and hips again. She felt herself freeze right to her core. A tiny voice inside her head wailed, But I actually liked him! The frozen mask descended over her face, covering her cheeks and her mouth, and distantly she heard herself say, “I believe we should make haste, your Highness. It’s later than I thought.”
North made an exasperated sound. “You’ve gone all stiff again.”
“Have I, milord?”
“Yes, milady, you have. I thought you’d finally broken through that reserve. Or is that Kingsport manners again? You certainly seem to use them as an excuse to keep me at a distance.”
That’s exactly the point. Alison considered half a dozen possible responses and went with, “I believe I’ve told you I’m uncomfortable with such compliments, and yet you persist in giving them to me.”
“Because you’re beautiful, and I’ve told you it’s unreasonable for me to pretend not to notice that.”
“Then I can hardly fail to be aware of how I look, and I don’t need to be reminded of it constantly.” She could hear the bitter edge to her voice, and cursed herself for being drawn into the conversation with someone she had no interest in sharing confidences with, even so small as one as this.
Servant of the Crown (The Crown of Tremontane Book 1) Page 7