Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

P rince Ferdinando of Varros was the bane of Eleanora's existence.

The gossips simply called him The Adonis. And with good reason. His head of golden curls and sea-blue eyes set off the perfection of the rest of his countenance. A chiseled jaw, sinful mouth, straight nose, and high cheekbones combined to an effect that was nothing short of a merciless assault on any woman who dared to look upon him. Even the most virtuous of women.

And to her eternal shame, Eleanora was not exempt, try though she did to steel herself against the effect he had on her. Particularly when he set his mind to flirtation, which he had been doing from the moment she'd crossed the threshold of the drawing room. He'd neatly trapped her into joining him for tea, when she was more than aware that every second spent in his presence was a danger to her ability to resist the brutal force of his seductive charm.

"Tell me about yourself, Miss Brett," he invited smoothly now that she had poured tea for them both.

He'd watched her with an unnerving silence and an intensity that had caused her hands to tremble ever so slightly, which only served to further heighten her irritation with the man.

"I am a simple woman, Your Royal Highness," she said, careful to keep her tone and expression tranquil. "Perhaps you might prefer to tell me about your native land of Varros."

She knew from experience and previous reluctant conversations with the prince that he took every opportunity to exploit weakness. He possessed an innate ability to mesmerize even the most stoic of opponents, and while Eleanora prided herself on her own steadfastness, she couldn't deny that she found herself helplessly in this man's thrall. Not that she could do anything about it. Inviting ruin and destroying the fragile life she'd carved out for herself would never be worth the fleeting moments of pleasure a rake like the prince could give her. She'd learned that painful lesson from watching her mother. A lesson she had vowed she would never forget.

"Nothing about you strikes me as simple," the prince countered. "Indeed, if I were asked to describe you, I would say you are a complex woman indeed, with hidden layers of mystery beneath your composed fa?ade."

Eleanora's shoulders stiffened. He was alarmingly near to the truth. But there was no way Prince Ferdinando could suspect the secrets that threatened to undo her, should they ever become known.

She forced a smile. "I assure you, there is neither mystery, nor layers. There is only what you see before you."

"Hmm," he said, the sound noncommittal. "Although I do admire what I see before me, I remain persuaded there is far more you're simply unwilling to divulge. But never mind that. I'm a patient man, and I enjoy nothing so much as a challenge."

The smile he gave her made that unwanted sensation pulse to life low in her belly. But she swiftly banished it. Nothing could come of such a foolish desire. He was a prince and an unabashed seducer of every woman with whom he crossed paths.

"Your fortitude is to be commended, Your Royal Highness," she said mildly, refusing to give in. "I tell all my charges that patience is a virtue that is almost unparalleled. However, there is no challenge for you where I am concerned. Surely a mere chaperone is beneath your notice."

He regarded her warmly. "Ever since we were introduced, I haven't noticed anyone else."

Unwanted heat suffused her. But she would not succumb. Rakes always wielded their words like weapons, carefully honed to disarm their opponent and seal their victory. Still, part of her couldn't help but revel in those words, in the notion that a beautiful man like the prince should have taken note of her at all, let alone that she had been such sufficient cause for distraction that he hadn't noticed anyone else.

It's a carefully crafted lie , she told herself. He'll say anything to get what he wants.

And what he wanted was every woman he could have. Apparently—and shockingly—Eleanora included. When he had begun making a nuisance of himself by appearing at every social event the princesses attended and paying regular calls upon them despite her pleas to the contrary, Princess Anastasia had warned Eleanora that the prince was a dangerous libertine. She'd seen the evidence well enough herself.

"I fear your flattery is wasted upon me, Your Royal Highness," she said calmly. "You would be better served to save it for those who welcome it. Undoubtedly, there is a host of such fortunate ladies."

With that, she took a sip of her tea.

"My, you've a sharp tongue." He grinned, seemingly enjoying their repartee. "I dare say I've never received as many stinging setdowns in the course of one afternoon."

She almost told him he should take tea with her more often because she would be happy to pay him even more insults, but Eleanora tamped down the urge, knowing it unwise. The wily prince would likely take the slight as an invitation. And she had no intention of taking tea with His Royal Highness again.

Ever.

No, the sooner he was gone, the sooner she could breathe easily again. Her stays seemed suddenly unaccountably tight. She had to get rid of him.

"Forgive me, Your Royal Highness," she said politely. "I didn't mean to deliver any setdowns, merely to establish my insusceptibility to flummery."

"Flummery?" His brow furrowed, a look of befuddlement stealing over his handsome features. "I don't recognize the word, I'm afraid."

Save for the faint hint of an accent, the prince's command of the English language was so precise, his wit so rapier-sharp, that Eleanora had forgotten that his native tongue was Varossian.

"Nonsensical flattery," she elaborated.

"How kind of you to tutor me, Miss Brett." He paused to smile again, his silken tone falling over her like a caress. "I wonder how else you might offer me further edification."

The velvety hint of suggestion in his words sent a frisson down her spine. He made it sound as if she had granted him a sinful favor instead of explaining the definition to an ordinary word.

He made it sound wicked and… intimate .

And that was when it occurred to her that she wasn't simply taking the place of the princesses in their absence. Rather, she was who he had wanted to see all along. How had she missed it? Over the past few weeks, the evidence had been there, as obvious as the nose on her face. And yet Eleanora, who prided herself on her intellect, had failed to realize that Prince Ferdinando had settled upon her , rather in the fashion of a hunter choosing a stag from a herd before him.

The prince wanted to seduce her.

How astonishing to find herself the sole recipient of this gorgeous prince's rakish intent. He'd set a trap, and she had fallen neatly into it. Worse, now here she sat, alone with him. Utterly at his gorgeous mercy. Oh, there were servants about. But none of them would save her from the certain ruin she'd face if the prince attempted to seduce her in truth.

She straightened in her seat, resuming the icy tones she had greeted him with upon his initial arrival. "I am sure there are no areas in which you need any edification at all, Your Royal Highness."

He raised his tea but hesitated before partaking. "I'm not as certain, Miss Brett. You'll find me an eager pupil."

Heat rose to her cheeks. His insinuations were hovering on the edge of being scandalous.

Something had to be done. With all haste.

Eleanora reached for her dish of tea and instead of gracefully retrieving her beverage, she upended it. Hot liquid spilled over the table and pooled on the carpet.

She shot to her feet. "Oh, how clumsy of me. I'll have to ring for a maid to clean up the mess I've made."

And the maid would prove a suitable enough chaperone for the two of them, thereby thwarting the prince's plan.

But Prince Ferdinando stood as well. "No need to bother one of the domestics. I'll mop up the tea. I'd hate for our conversation to come to such an abrupt halt. I've been enjoying myself immensely."

She had no doubt he had, the rogue.

"That's hardly necessary, Your Royal Highness," she countered.

The notion of a prince performing the task that more properly belonged to a servant was ludicrous. But aside from that, she was hoping for a respite. She needed a shield between herself and Prince Ferdinando, who was deceptively excellent at getting what he desired.

In this case, her virtue.

And that wasn't happening.

She'd sooner toss him out the drawing room window. Eleanora had worked too hard for far too many years to surrender everything she had built for a few stolen moments of illicit passion with a rake. Even if he was a prince and more decadently handsome than any man she'd ever met.

"Nonsense," he said breezily. "I don't mind. Indeed, why trouble a maid when the matter is rectified easily enough?"

Before she could offer further protest, he took up a napkin and began cleaning the spilled tea with calm, efficient motions. When he bent to sop the mess from the Aubusson, Eleanora couldn't help but to notice the way his trousers molded to his well-muscled thighs. New warmth unfurled within her, and she forced herself to look away.

"Is something amiss?" he asked with a knowing tone to his voice.

Her gaze snapped back to find him studying her with unabashed masculine interest. He had seen her ogling him, and he wasn't going to allow her the pretense that she hadn't been.

"I was merely thinking that the trousers in Varros are uncommon," she said waspishly.

Why did he have to be here? Where were the princesses? Why, of all the men in London, had she managed to attract the attention of the one most perilous to her ability to resist him?

"Uncommon in what way, Miss Brett?"

Oh, she loathed the way he made her name sound like a caress. But part of her—the wickedest part she'd done her utmost to vanquish—liked it too.

"They appear to be poorly constructed," she lied. "Certainly, the quality seems inferior to what I'm accustomed to seeing here in London. Perhaps your tailors would be well served to pay a call to us here."

His lips twitched as if he found her amusing. "I'll be sure to invite every tailor in Varros I know to London. But then, that would rather create a conundrum, would it not, if all the tailors of Varros suddenly rushed to England's shores? The poor gentlemen in my homeland would suffer a shocking dearth of trousers. Only think of it. All the ladies in the streets would be swooning when they came upon men dressed in nothing more than their drawers."

He was mocking her. And yet doing so with such casual amusement, his eyes sparkling with infectious mischief, his lips curved into a smile that invited her to join in his levity.

She wouldn't do it.

"One would assume they would still retain their existing garments," she argued, keeping her tone mild and unaffected.

Which was difficult indeed when Prince Ferdinando was on bended knee, mopping up her spilled tea and grinning at her as if they were sharing a private jest. Because when the prince turned the full brunt of his charm upon her, he smoldered. And Eleanora felt like dry kindling that was about to catch flame.

The prince rose to his towering height, having completed his task, and placed the soiled napkin discreetly on the table. "You have an excellent point, Miss Brett. However, I can only further reckon that if the tailors were to descend upon London, they would be every bit as enthralled by its charms as I am. They'd never return. Eventually, the poor chaps in Varros would be wandering about in ragged trousers or no trousers at all."

The intimation in his words wasn't lost on her. Every bit as enthralled by its charms. His gaze never left hers as he spoke. And it remained now, burning into her with a searing intensity that challenged her to throw caution to the wind and allow him to have his wicked way with her.

"What a dreadful scandal," she said, trying her utmost to tamp down the visions his words evoked.

Not the myriad, anonymous gentlemen of Varros wandering about sans trousers but, rather, Prince Ferdinando. His legs were strong and long—the lean legs of a well-versed horseman. And the rest of his form was equally spare and honed. She wondered if he engaged in some manner of physical exertion or if he had simply been blessed with uncommon good looks and the chiseled body of a Greek god.

It didn't matter.

Eleanora banished the curiosity, knowing it would lead her nowhere good.

"Quite." Prince Ferdinando had the audacity to wink. "But one would imagine the ladies might enjoy such a show."

Warmth crept up her spine, making her nape tingle. "I doubt they would, Your Royal Highness."

"Indeed," he said smoothly, "perhaps not all ladies are as discerning in their knowledge of the construction of trousers as you are, Miss Brett. They might be pleased to see their menfolk clothed in the inferior quality of Varros trousers rather than none."

Why were they discussing trousers or a lack thereof?

Her ears went hot. It was scandalous. It was wrong. It was positively perilous.

Drat. The fault was hers. She had been foolish enough to insult his garments as a poor means of distracting him from the manner in which she'd eyed his thighs.

She had to escape. To swallow her pride and retreat from his presence.

"Of course, I'm certain you're right, Your Royal Highness," she managed to say. "But if you would excuse me, I am afraid that I must take my leave as there are a number of matters requiring my attention. You're welcome to remain and enjoy your tea as you await the return of the princesses."

She dipped into a curtsy and then rushed from the drawing room as if Cerberus were at her heels.