“Am I not the best?” Pierce’s face fell.
“You’re…” Hunter waved his hand in the air. “…a talented distraction.”
Rolling his eyes, Pierce headed out the door, but Hunter stayed behind and gripped Ash by the arm, whispering in his ear with harshness. “Have a care, brother.”
“Pardon?”
“Your face—” Hunter released his arm. “—is very telling. How was the kiss by the way? Long? Soft? Passionate?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“You do.” Hunter sighed, hanging his head. “And the problem is I want to encourage more of it, because, for the first time in years, the darkness has temporarily left your eyes. My advice—”
“Wasn’t asking.”
“When have I cared?”
Ash swore.
“She needs an English husband…”
“Are you just repeating things I already know? Is that your advice?”
Hunter grinned knowingly. “She needs an English titled husband, Lord Grimm.”
Ash sucked in a breath as if he’d just been punched. Nobody had called him that in years — since her death, since his attempted suicide. He’d damn-near forgotten he had a title, let alone lands to go with it.
“Lord Grimm is dead,” Ash whispered.
“Apparently not…” Hunter chuckled. “I’d wager he was very much alive during that kiss that you’re denying never took place, and I’m sure he was very much alive when he shared a bed with the princess. Perhaps it is time to stop torturing yourself for something I never blamed you for in the first place. Perhaps it is time for peace.”
“I thrive during war.”
“And that statement alone brings great sadness, for war without love isn’t worth fighting in the first place. Never will be.”
With that, Hunter quit the room, leaving Ash even more confused and strung tight than before.
CHAPTER TWENTY
An eternity of drunken nights still won’t cleanse my memory of the way she looked in that dress… A lifetime spent in hell wouldn’t pull the smile from my face. Incredible. She looked incredible. —The Grimm Reaper
SHOPPING ON BOND STREET was an experience Sofia wasn’t sure she’d ever forget. For one thing, Ash had accompanied them, which meant that every so often she’d catch him staring at her, only to have him jerk his head away when caught.
It was flattering.
Until she realized that he truly was going to keep good on his promise to stay away. Each time she’d tried to graze him with her fingertips or even engage in conversation, he had immediately shut her down.
At least he had until the dress had happened…
There was nothing that extravagant about it at first. Isabelle urged Sofia to try it on; she said the white was beautiful in contrast to her sharp features and dark hair.
So, with little darts of anticipation running through her, Sofia tried on the dress. It helped that it would need very little altering.
The bodice was tighter than Sofia was used to, dipping low in the front, only to pull tight around her shoulders, leaving the back completely bare — scandalous to be sure, but the part that had Sofia gaping was the skirt. It seemed to be completely see-through, giving perfect view of her legs, only to have more material cover, giving a peekaboo effect. At times, one could see skin; when she twirled, nothing but dress. Crystals lined the fabric all the way down to the floor — to say it was heavy was an understatement. The dress was meant for the Royal Court — or probably had been, but deemed too scandalous.
A red ribbon strewn through the empire waist completed the outfit.
That one red piece flowed all the way down her back and disappeared into the skirts.
“Perfect.” Isabelle breathed when Sofia twirled.
The dressmaker began to weep.
Ash swore violently.
And then silence.
“Are you sure?” Sofia turned again. “It isn’t too much?”
“For royalty?” The dressmaker sniffed. “Oh, my dear, it is… my greatest creation.” More eye dabbing. “You shall be famous.”
“She’s already a princess,” Ash grumbled.
“What was that, Ash?” Isabelle turned. “Is the dress not to your liking?”
His green eyes heated as he scanned Sofia from head to toe, his lips pressed together, a reflection of the frown furrowing his brow. “It’s passable… for a dress.”
Sofia’s stomach clenched.
Silly of her to think he’d say anything more in front of Isabelle and a stranger, but would it kill him to smile? A simple compliment would do.
“Perhaps a different dress, then?” Sofia forced herself to sound cheerful, even though she was ready to burst into tears. Why was it so important that she gain Ash’s approval? Two kisses.
They’d shared two kisses.
Hardly anything worth mentioning.
Except… it was all she could think about.
She was drawn to him, even though, most of the time, he had manners of a complete ass.
“Gloves!” The dressmaker clapped. “She’ll have red gloves.”
“Isn’t red the color of scandal?” Sofia asked.
Red gloves were pressed against her hands. Silk whispered against her palm — it would be the height of decadence to wear them.
“These will suit you beautifully!” the dressmaker gushed.
The gloves fit perfectly, resting just above her elbows.
The red matched the sash.
“Bloody hell,” Ash muttered.
“What was that?” Isabelle asked loudly.
“She’ll be the bell…” Ash sighed. “…of the ball.”
Sofia squinted at herself in the mirror. The dress was divine, the gloves shockingly scandalous. “Are you sure?”
“Russians—” Isabelle pulled Sofia in for a kiss. “—are not forced to restrict themselves to English society rules. You, my dear, are a princess. You need to stand out, and stand out you will, because every single unattached gentleman will know your name by the end of the evening.”
Sofia smiled in the mirror.
Ash’s expression was cold as he stared back at her through the glass, as if the idea of her wearing the dress was about as exciting as drinking a cup of bitter tea.
“Very well.” Sofia nodded. “If you say so.”
“I do.” Isabelle squeezed her again. “Now, let’s find a few more dresses for Madame to work on this week. We’ll need them finished as fast as possible.”
“Of course, Your Highness!” The dressmaker curtsied then hurried off in another direction while Sofia made her way back to change.
She should have kept walking.
She should have ignored Ash’s hand as it tugged on her arm.
Just like she should have ignored the fluttering in her belly.
But she didn’t.
Because she craved his attention — his touch. For no reason other than he’d shown her searing passion in a lifetime filled with cold indifference.
“Is it so horrible?” Sofia whispered, keeping her head down.
Ash’s hand remained on her arm as he led her deeper into the store where she’d changed earlier.
“Ash?”
He held his fingertips to her lips.
She jolted at the touch.
Once they were as far as they could go without clamoring through the wall and into the next store, Ash stopped and faced her. “The dress… you cannot mean to wear it in public.”
“Where else would I wear it?” She crossed her arms self-consciously.
He inhaled sharply. “Please, refrain from crossing your arms.”
“Why?”
“Why?” He sneered. “She asks why!” He looked away, complete disgust morphing his features into something angry and hard.
Sofia shrank back.
“Why?” He tilted her chin toward his mouth. “Because I can see your breasts, not just a tease of your breasts, but the entire damn front of y
our chest. One tiny slip, and I’d have but a handful.”
Sofia gasped but didn’t step away.
“One false move,” he whispered, his eyes heating, “and I’m able to see all the way up your calf to… your thigh.”
Her breath hitched.
“And it makes a man want… Sofia. I may have self-control, God knows I haven’t exactly been exercising it these past few days, something I’m going to remedy, you have my word… but do you truly want to captivate the attention of men who’d rather seduce you than marry?”
He likely had no idea how his words hurt. Because even though the dress was scandalous, she’d felt pretty. After getting her long ebony hair cut off, she hadn’t felt pretty for a while. After running for her life — after finding Peter in bed with her stepmother — pretty wasn’t something she believed in anymore. Pretty was a fairytale… and this dress made her believe that it was possible again.
Hot tears threatened to fall. She held them in, desperate not to show weakness. Ash appreciated strength, not weakness.
“No.” Her lower lip trembled. “I just want to be loved. But that’s silly, you’ve said as much.” She jerked away from his touch. “And if I can’t be loved, I may as well try, as hard as I am able, to marry myself off. After all, anything is better than being dead. Apologies that my looks repulse you so much.”
She tried to sidestep him, but Ash caught her arm again, this time pressing her back against the wall until his legs were pressing into hers, the entire length of his body pulsating with heat.
“Listen to me closely,” he whispered hoarsely, his lips tickling her ear. “You will always be the most beautiful woman in the room… whether or not you wear this dress.” His hand slid down her sides, tickling the flesh. “Or even if you attire yourself in servants’ clothing, you make the dress, not the other way around. Now push me away before I do something we’ll both regret.”
She didn’t push him away.
And he didn’t move.
Not at first.
His lips left her ear, grazing her cheekbone.
A shudder wracked her body.
“Sofia?” Isabelle called. “Are you finished?”
“No…” Sofia gripped Ash’s face with her hands. “…not even close.”
Their mouths collided in a frenzy. He tasted like spice — warm, comforting, blazing hot.
His hands cupped her bottom as he lifted her against his body.
And then—
He dropped her back to her feet.
She stumbled backward, nearly colliding with a yard of fabric.
“Hurry!” Isabelle called. “We must return for luncheon.”
“Yes…” Sofia called, narrowing her gaze on Ash. “…and I’m starved.”
He closed his eyes and groaned. “You live to torture don’t you, Princess?”
“Just proving a point.” She gave a watery smile.
Ash smiled, his green eyes still haunted. “Remind me to flee next time you dare prove another.”
“A sneak attack is always best…” She moved past him.
“No more kisses, Princess.”
“We’ll see,” she whispered under her breath, soliciting another string of curses from Ash.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Bloody hell, rescue me from marriage-minded women, either that, or at least make sure a fellow’s foxed enough before he embarks on a Season. —The Grimm Reaper
ASH TAPPED HIS FOOT against the marble floor, watching as bodies collided in what could only be described as the crush of the century. The ball was a raging success. Unfortunately, that meant playing nursemaid, the young princess was taking a lot more concentration and — bloody hell, did she have to put rosewater on her skin this evening?
Bad enough that he was forced to follow her around like a trained lap dog. The great Grimm Reaper… chaperoning at a ball.
Tamed.
Trained.
He sighed, patting his fitted jacket. At least he still carried a pistol; it reminded him of who he was — what he was.
He tugged at his cravat, smoothing the material down again, and sighed as Sofia’s laugh raised every alarm his body possessed. The damn hair on his arm even stood at attention — amongst other things. Bloody inconvenient to be wearing silk trousers. But Dominique had insisted that Sofia’s… escort… be in the height of fashion.
So the valet had dressed Ash up like a peacock. A very depressed, aroused, purple-and-black-looking peacock.
More laughter from Sofia. He made his way through the crowd, careful to look interested in the dance still continuing on the floor.
Several gentlemen had gathered around Sofia; one had placed his hand on the small of her back, claiming her in front of the rest of the idiots.
Sofia glanced at Ash and winked.
That was his cue.
With smooth movements, he cut through the crowd of gentlemen, thankful that his height and strength easily made men take more than a glance.
“Your Highness.” Ash bowed over her hand. “The dance you promised?”
“Silly me…” Sofia’s eyelashes fluttered as she brought her hand to her chest. “…it must have slipped my mind!”
“Not mine,” Ash said confidently. “How could I forget a once–in-a-lifetime opportunity to dance with royalty?”
A little thick, yes, but women hovering close by sighed in unison.
The Grimm Reaper, it seemed, possessed a heart. Marriage-minded mamas be damned, if they got any ideas.
“Ah, the music starts.” Ash tugged her closer. “Shall we?”
She inclined her head just as the man who had been touching her gave her side a little touch and said, “Will you return?”
Sofia blinked, a croak escaping between her lips.
“The princess,” Ash said lightly, “must make her introductions to the Duke of Tempest as well as the Duke of Banbury.”
The man’s face fell and then pinched.
Ash pulled her away before the men could grumble further. It was the second dance they’d shared that evening — and needed to be the last, lest people get the idea that he was courting her.
Which he wasn’t.
Regardless of what Hunter had alluded to, Ash wasn’t selfish enough to seduce a woman who, when she discovered the monster inside, would want nothing to do with him.
His heart did not work properly — broken, that’s what it was. The pain in his chest was evidence that he would eventually die from the bullet lodged between his ribs, slowly making its way toward the broken shattered pieces where she used to reside.
Loving a ghost — nobody ever said it was easy, nor intelligent, but there it was. Perhaps he just loved the memory of her.
Maybe it wasn’t love. Maybe it was just regret with a hint of bitterness.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Sofia whispered, once they had started the waltz.
“They are worth so much more, Princess. Can you afford them?”
“That is not the question.”
“No?” His eyebrows arched. “Tell me what is?”
“Are you able to afford the high cost of telling?” She looked deep into his eyes, forcing him to look away.
Weakness taunted him, made him want to challenge her further, but he was tired, exhausted, and that weakness made her dangerous, made him dangerous to her.
“Any gentleman catch your eye?” he asked, numbly going through the motions of the dance as he held his breath for her answer.
“One,” she said softly.
Ash’s heart dropped to his throat. “Oh? Pray tell who the lucky fellow is.”
Sofia’s smile was brilliant. “He’s a touch mad.”
“Reassuring.” Ash gritted his teeth.
“But so very good-looking.”
“Well, looks trump madness any day,” he said sarcastically.
Sofia nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”
“It was a joke.”
“But you didn’t smile. Your delivery was off.” She winked.
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“Apologies. Next time I’ll laugh when discussing your future with a mad husband. Sleep with a pistol under your pillow, and you should do just fine.”
“I’m sure he does.”
“Pardon?”
“Sleep with a pistol.”
“Who the hell is this man…” He seethed. “…that he would sleep with a pistol and dare court you when he’s mad!”
“Oh, he won’t court me.” Her face fell.
“Bloody brilliant of him.” Ash clenched his teeth, tugging her closer to his body. “Pick someone else.”
“But I cannot.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s kissed me.”
Ash gripped her waist so tightly he was afraid he was injuring her, but it could not be helped. If he released her, he’d slay every single man in his vicinity. “The bastard touched you?”
“Well, to be fair, I asked him.”
“Son of a—” The dance ended. With a jerk, Ash pulled Sofia down the hall to Dominique’s office. When he was certain they hadn’t been followed, he shoved her into the room, slammed the door, and locked it. “You cannot simply go around asking young men for kisses!”
“I see.” Sofia clenched her hands in front of her dress. She lifted her eyes to meet his gaze. “And what if he’d tried desperately to refuse me?”
“Then I’d say have a care for the poor soul. Saying no to you is harder than going to war.”
Her smile was brilliant, easy. “So if faced with a certain proposition… would you say no to me?”
Ash’s eyes narrowed. “What are you about?”
“It’s simple really…” Sofia played with the necklace around her delicate neck. “I want you to seduce me.”
Ash damn-near swallowed his tongue. “Come again?”
“Four weeks, well…” She frowned. “Technically, it’s more like three. I have three weeks, and that kiss — heavens, that kiss — I cannot push it away from my thoughts, and I just… well, if we did more than kiss, if we—”
Ash held up his hand. “No more! There will be no more discussion of this.”
“But it’s tempting…” Sofia arched her eyebrows then crossed her arms.
Saucy wench knew exactly what she was doing. Ash chose to stare at the curtains and think of Pierce naked.
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