Chapter 6

CHAPTER 6

" H ave you been threatened, either recently or at any time in the past?"

Nando glared at Archer Tierney, thinking that if this interrogation was to continue, he'd require either the calming presence of Eleanora or another dose of laudanum. The hour was far too early, and he'd spent the torturous night unable to sleep, his arm paining him unmercifully.

"No," he answered grudgingly.

Tierney's eyes narrowed. "No missives, no angry letters, no furious husbands?"

Damn it. His reputation apparently preceded him, even in London.

"Undoubtedly there are any number of furious husbands," he drawled, feigning boredom.

There had been that ruddy-faced earl—Levering—who had caught Nando with his adventurous countess… Vague recollections of the lady in question on her knees before him when the chamber door had opened swirled, but Nando banished them swiftly. The irate earl had challenged him to a duel, but Maxim had bribed the cuckolded husband, and the entire incident had been forgotten, if not forgiven.

"Do you have any enemies?" Tierney asked next, using a no-nonsense tone Nando couldn't help but feel was better reserved for naughty children.

And whilst Nando was unassailably naughty and had been for the entirety of his misbegotten life, he was no child.

"I reckon that depends on one's definition of the word," he said, needling the man just because he could.

Yes, Nando was reliant upon Tierney's hospitality. However, he also didn't like being questioned so soundly when he was exhausted, weak, and in pain. Even his shimmering cloud had long since faded, leaving him mired on the bed with no one, save Bruno and Tierney to attend him.

Both were a far cry from the delectable Eleanora.

He wanted her back.

He would have her back. Perhaps he had to throw another object to get his way. He wasn't above further destruction.

"My definition is someone who hates you enough to shoot you," Tierney said, his voice as grim as his expression. "Do you have any enemies of that sort?"

"I appreciate your efforts on my behalf, Tierney. Truly, I do. But can you not simply set a Bow Street Runner on it? I'm reasonably certain the entire affair was a dreadful mistake."

"A mistake?"

"An error," Nando elaborated, as if Tierney didn't understand.

All the better to nettle him.

"I'm aware of the meaning of the word." Tierney's tone was pointed. "I was merely baffled that you would consider being shot in the street a mistake. Bullets don't ordinarily fly through Mayfair. Moreover, you could have been killed."

Nando preferred not to think about that.

"An unpleasant thought," he said, something else occurring to him suddenly. "I do hope you haven't sent word to my brother about this little bit of nonsense."

He wasn't certain that Tierney would have the means of reaching Maxim, but his wife, Princess Anastasia, certainly would. And Nando wasn't in the mood for tongue-lashings from his stern, formidable older brother. He'd had enough of those to last a lifetime already.

Also, he didn't want Maxim to worry. His brother deserved happiness. He'd lost his first wife in brutal fashion during the war, and he was blissfully content with his new queen. Nando would be damned before he would be the one to encroach on their much-deserved idyll. Indeed, that was partially why he'd left Varros for London.

"I won't have to send word to him," Tierney was saying now. "When a royal prince is nearly assassinated in the street, the newspapers tend to report on such matters."

" Assassinate is such a strong, misleading word," Nando said with a wave of his good hand. "I suffered a mere scratch. Nothing more. Only look at how hale and hearty I am."

"The bullet that grazed your arm was far more than a scratch." Tierney frowned. "You're fortunate it avoided muscle and bone. A few steps in the other direction, and your injury would have been far more grievous. Indeed, I daresay you wouldn't be lying here attempting to dismiss my inquiries."

Tierney was an intelligent man and cunning as well. Nando respected him for it, even if it was proving irritating in the moment.

"I'm doing nothing of the sort. But I confess, I'm rather weary. Do you think we might carry on this conversation later?"

Never would be preferable. But Nando kept that to himself. Archer Tierney was like a terrier with a bone.

"When would be a more appropriate time for Your Royal Highness to consider that you were nearly murdered?" Tierney asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Why are you so concerned about what happened to me?" Nando asked, curious.

It wasn't as if the two of them were friends. He'd rather had the impression that Tierney suffered his presence for the sake of Princess Anastasia. Nando hadn't minded. He wasn't certain he liked the Englishman, and he hadn't come to England to make friends. He'd come to distract himself and get lost in a sea of petticoats. And he'd managed to accomplish both objectives.

Except now, he didn't want a sea of petticoats. He only wanted one particular set. At least, until he had her. Nando had no doubt that after he assuaged the intense lust he possessed for the icy Eleanora, his voracious appetites would once more return.

"Because I need to make certain my wife isn't in danger," Tierney answered solemnly. "I would give my life for hers. When a man is shot in the street outside my town house, I'm left with no option, save finding out who committed the act and why, so that I can be assured it won't happen again. If someone is daring enough to shoot at a royal prince in daylight where anyone can see him, he's not just foolhardy and reckless, he is dangerous. I need to know who did this. It may be related to enemies of Boritania or enemies of Varros. Either way, no one will be truly safe until we find the culprit."

Blast.

Nando didn't want to think about any of that just now. He wanted to bask in Eleanora's attentions and forget the outside world existed. But Tierney wasn't wrong about what he'd just said. Someone had been daring and brazen enough to attempt to end him in the midst of the day on a busy Mayfair street. He ought to make that his primary concern and not the seduction of Miss Eleanora Brett. How boring.

He sighed, relenting. This business of his would-be assassin was most disagreeable.

"I understand your concern, Tierney." Nando looked to Bruno, who was silently standing sentinel at the door, his countenance severe and unsmiling. "Have you learned anything?"

"I have some men investigating, Your Royal Highness," Bruno offered. "Thus far, the only thing they have to report is a woman who made haste in fleeing. It's possible she was frightened by the firing of the pistol and commotion, but we have yet to discover who she was so that we might make inquiries."

"Have you recently bedded any murderesses, Your Royal Highness?" Tierney asked.

Deus. Nando thought about the women he'd flirted with and seduced since his arrival in London. Was it possible that he had somehow offended one of them? Each woman had been more than satisfied. He was a generous lover, a skilled lover. He knew how to please a woman. No woman left his bed—or hers, or the carriage, or the wall, or the table, or even the garden path—unsatisfied. He made certain of it.

"When I part with my lovers, it is always on excellent terms," he said.

But was it? There had been some lovers, certainly, who had wanted far more from him than he had been willing or able to give. Still, none of his lovers had been furious with him, and none of them was the sort of woman who would try to kill him.

Were they?

"Excellent terms for you, no doubt," Tierney drawled as if reading Nando's mind. "But what about for them? Have none of your paramours been upset that you've ended your liaisons with them?"

There had been a rather furious viscountess, now that he thought upon it. She'd been a red-haired beauty with generous breasts. He couldn't recall her name. Or had she been a duchess? She had thrown a vase at his head when he'd ducked out of her bedroom just after dawn.

"Who is she?" Tierney asked before Nando could offer a response.

He narrowed his eyes at the man. "You have an alarmingly uncanny ability to know what I'm thinking before I say it."

Tierney gave him a rare grin. "Blame it on my days as a spy for the Crown. Now tell me, what is her name?"

Nando winced. "I'm afraid I can't recall."

No matter how much he tried, he couldn't summon a name to go with the lovely face. In fact, he wasn't even certain he could remember her face. Her breasts, however, had been quite memorable. If she were to show him her ample assets once again, he would recognize her instantly.

"So many conquests that you can't recall their names, Your Royal Highness?" Tierney guessed, his voice sharp with disapproval.

"Perhaps," he allowed, shame creeping over him. "I may have been inebriated at the time."

Very likely, he had been. His appetite for debauchery had known no ends since he had aimlessly drifted back to England like an autumn leaf blown from a tree. He had nowhere to belong, no one to belong to. His own kingdom didn't need him, and his protective, commanding older brother had Tansy now. With the birth of his beloved nephew, Nando was no longer even next in line to the throne. He was, effectively, utterly useless.

"I can assemble a list for Your Royal Highness to peruse," Tierney suggested. "Doing so may spark your memory."

"I find it doubtful that a woman would want me to meet my untimely demise," Nando said.

"Women are capable of treachery every bit as much as men are," Tierney countered. "Trust me on that matter."

"Fair enough." Nando sighed again. "I will do my utmost to recall her name. She may have been a countess, however. Of course, there was also that delightful evening when I was accompanied by both a marchioness and a baroness."

"The names of every titled woman in London, then," Tierney said dourly.

"I've also made the acquaintance of several lovely goddesses at a particular establishment," Nando admitted wryly.

Truly, if it was a woman who had shot him, then discovering which of his lovers was the one responsible might well prove a Sisyphean feat.

"Bloody hell," Tierney muttered.

"Bruno," Nando called out to his bodyguard. "Would you be capable of compiling a list of my recent…friends?"

Bruno nodded. "Of course, Your Royal Highness."

That was excellent. Bruno was dutiful in all tasks, and he likely knew the names of Nando's recent conquests better than he did.

"We will compare our lists and reconvene," Tierney said, rising from his chair at last. "For now, you should rest so that you can heal, Your Royal Highness."

Nando didn't want to rest. He wanted Eleanora. But he also didn't want to cause any problems for her. She was currently guided by the thoroughly wrongheaded notion that she needed her position. He would rectify that presently. As soon as he was no longer an invalid, dash it all.

"Fear not," he told his reluctant host. "I'll be gone soon enough. I'm already feeling stronger."

Of course, he had no intention of healing too quickly. He was enjoying the proximity to Miss Brett far too much.

Tierney raised a brow. "I'm pleased to hear it, Your Royal Highness. You are welcome to take all the time you need."

The invitation sounded almost as if it had been torn from his reluctant host.

Nando grinned. "That sounded rather pained."

"It was. To be perfectly blunt, you're trouble, Your Royal Highness. However, I'll do anything my lovely wife asks of me, and she has asked that I keep you here until you're well enough to leave for the sake of her friend, the queen."

Nando hadn't been wrong about his suspicions, then. Archer Tierney didn't like him. Hardly a disappointing discovery. Nando didn't particularly like the other man either. Tierney was far too perceptive and clever.

"I'm indebted to Her Royal Highness," Nando said smoothly.

Which only made Tierney pin him with a glare. "If you attempt to seduce my wife, there will be another attempt on your life. However, I'm a far better marksman. I wouldn't miss."

Nando chuckled. "Have no fear, Tierney. Your wife is perfectly safe from me."

It was another member of the man's household that he wanted. And Nando fully intended to have her.

Soon.

Eleanora returned from a trip to the modiste with her charges utterly exhausted. Her feet ached. Her back ached. And her head ached. The twins were a whirlwind of garrulousness. Princess Emmaline had insisted upon wearing trousers for the excursion, which she had done despite Eleanora's firm opposition. The shocked stares and horrified whispers they had endured had made her wither inside. But outwardly, she had maintained her serene poise, quite as if she weren't accompanying a hoyden who refused to take propriety into account when she dressed.

She handed off her wrap, gloves, and hat to a diligent servant and waited as her charges did the same.

At least Annalise had worn a lovely sprigged-muslin gown, Eleanora thought as she watched the less rebellious of the twins removing her bonnet. To their credit, the attending servants didn't even bat an eyelash at Princess Emmaline's trousers. The latter was likely down to the princess wearing them with alarming regularity for the entire time Eleanora had been in residence.

She had a great deal of work ahead of her if she wanted to polish the tarnished reputations of the princesses. They were wayward, they were loud, and they were rebellious. All of which was to be understood, given the repressive nature of their upbringing.

Their father had gone mad, leaving their depraved tyrant of an uncle to usurp the throne. He'd had the former queen put to death, and the young princesses had come of age under their uncle's harsh rule. At last freed of the despot, they were now like caged birds who had suddenly been allowed to roam the world beyond the gilded bars that had been keeping them.

Eleanora couldn't blame them for the unabashed joy they found at their new liberty. However, she hadn't been hired to allow them to run roughshod over polite society and its many rules. Rather, she had been hired specifically so that she might persuade the princesses to conform to propriety. To do what the ton expected of them. To dress properly, to eschew scandal, to speak and dance and even walk with elegant grace.

It was the same role she'd taken on many times before, and quite the opposite of the one she had once played, what seemed a lifetime ago now. Eleanora had always found a sense of accomplishment in her duties. Strange that today, every minute of the passing hours had felt hollow and meaningless. She refused to believe it had anything to do with the handsome, wounded prince she had attended well into the darkest depths of the evening the night before.

"Pray tell me that is the end of our lessons for today, Miss Brett," Princess Emmaline said as Eleanora began shepherding her charges from the entryway.

If only.

"I'm afraid we must also attend to your dancing," she answered with a serene smile she didn't feel.

It was her obligation to pretend as if she delighted in every moment of her duties. Even if she didn't.

The princess wrinkled her nose, quite as if she'd scented something dreadful. "Dancing?"

"Surely not more dancing today," Princess Annalise added in a more polite manner. "Perhaps it might wait for tomorrow. My sister and I are both sufficiently taxed from our outing to the modiste."

Eleanora knew the feeling. However, there was an important ball growing ever nearer, and Princess Anastasia had been firm on the need to teach her sisters the steps so held dear by the fashionable set in London. Apparently, their uncle had not seen fit to allow their dancing master to teach them anything other than traditional Boritanian steps. The result had been disastrous. At least, according to Princess Anastasia. The princesses had learned the waltz and a handful of dances here in London, but their movements were far from refined, assured, and elegant.

"I'm sure you are quite tired," Eleanora allowed softly. "However, the ball honoring your family is but a few weeks away. You will wish to be as prepared as possible, will you not?"

"You mean to say that our sister would have us as prepared as possible," Emmaline countered as they moved to the music room, where there was sufficient space for Eleanora to play the pianoforte and the princesses to master their steps. "Staying in London is hardly what either of us wishes to do. Learning the steps seems a moot point when we'll be returning to our home in Boritania soon enough. Is that not right, Annalise?"

Princess Annalise looked torn as she considered her response. "Perhaps we might remain, at least until the Season's end."

Emmaline made a dismissive sound. "Pfft. You only wish to remain for the Season because of the Duke of Lockhart."

The Duke of Lockhart? Alarm settled over Eleanora, for the duke's reputation was as black as Prince Ferdinando's.

She cast a concerned, searching glance in Princess Annalise's direction. "I have yet to see the Duke of Lockhart at a proper social event this Season. Have the two of you been introduced?"

There was a flash of something in the princess's eyes, there and gone before Eleanora could decipher what it was. "Of course not. My sister is being silly."

Eleanora studied the princess, wondering if it was possible that the twin she'd believed least likely to cause trouble was secretly the most capable of causing it. Because the Duke of Lockhart was most certainly not a suitable match. The rumors swirling around him were nothing short of shocking.

"You would do best to keep your distance from the duke, Your Royal Highness," Eleanora cautioned sternly, worry for her charge taking root. "He is a dangerous man."

"He doesn't look dangerous," Princess Annalise said, doing nothing to ameliorate the fears growing within Eleanora.

An innocent like the princess would be no match for a depraved man like the Duke of Lockhart.

"The most dangerous ones never do. Pray trust my judgment on the matter, Your Royal Highness," she urged.

"Your judgment is always impeccable, Miss Brett," Princess Annalise said with an innocent smile.

No, her judgment was dreadful, which was why she had spent half the evening before in the presence of one of the most notorious libertines alive, Eleanora thought grimly. But in this instance, she was not wrong about Lockhart, and Princess Annalise would do well to stay far, far from the man. He would devour a na?ve girl like her without compunction, debauch her, and then leave her. The man had no soul, and his depravity knew no bounds.

"Thank you, Your Royal Highness," she managed, hoping that the princess was not merely saying what she believed Eleanora wanted to hear and that she was truly taking her warnings to heart.

Princess Annalise's future depended on it. But not just hers—Eleanora's did as well. She needed to leave each circumstance with an irreproachable record of success. Anything less would jeopardize what she had worked so diligently to build these last few years.

"Miss Brett?"

The voice of her employer, Princess Anastasia, intruded upon Eleanora's thoughts. She looked over her shoulder to find the princess hastening down the hall in their wake. Her expression was one of pinched consternation, and for a moment, Eleanora's stomach felt as if it were upended. Had she done something to displease the princess? Or worse, had someone discovered she had inadvertently fallen asleep in Prince Ferdinando's chamber last night?

"Your Royal Highness," she greeted demurely, dipping into a curtsy in deference, hoping she only exuded calm poise and none of the guilty fear plaguing her.

"Might I have a word with you?" Princess Anastasia asked.

"Of course." Eleanora presumed the request meant that they ought to leave the earshot of the younger twin princesses. "Where would you prefer to have it, Your Royal Highness?"

"The drawing room shall do nicely. Annalise and Emmaline, why do you not retire to your rooms?" Princess Anastasia requested, giving her sisters a pointed look.

"But we were going to practice our dancing," Princess Annalise objected, pouting.

"You may practice that later," Princess Anastasia said. "Now, run along, the two of you. There are some matters that I must attend with Miss Brett."

"In private?" Princess Emmaline asked with a knowing grin. "If you're going to be speaking about us, it is only fair that we remain."

The princess's stubborn nature once more emerged. Eleanora wasn't surprised.

"What I have to speak with Miss Brett about doesn't concern either of you," Princess Anastasia countered firmly, doing nothing to ameliorate the concern and dread tightening Eleanora's belly.

"Then whatever can it be about?" Princess Annalise wondered aloud.

Princess Emmaline smirked. "Likely about Nando."

Nando.

Eleanora didn't miss the familiarity implied in the princess's use of the prince's given name. And not just his full given name, but the shorter version he preferred. The very name he had so recently been requesting Eleanora call him by. The sharp pang of jealousy tearing through her in that moment was unwanted and foolish, but it was beyond her control.

"How is he faring today?" Princess Annalise wanted to know.

"Fortunately, the prince is recuperating well," Princess Anastasia said. "But I've had quite enough questioning for now, if you please. I wish to speak with Miss Brett. Alone ."

Princess Emmaline harrumphed. "You're not our mother, Stasia, no matter how much you like to act as if you are."

"I could never replace her," Princess Anastasia said sadly, softly. "But it's my duty as your older sister to watch over you. Our mother would have wanted that."

Princess Emmaline's countenance instantly crumpled. "I'm sorry for mentioning her. I shouldn't have done so."

"I wish we remembered her better than we do," Princess Annalise added, her tone wistful.

Their older sister's eyes shone with unshed tears, her smile bittersweet as she clearly struggled to suppress her emotions. Eleanora felt as if she were intruding upon a private family moment. She would have excused herself had not Princess Anastasia requested an audience with her. As it was, she held her tongue, stepping away to a discreet distance, allowing the sisters the opportunity to bond over their grief. Her heart broke for the three of them.

Eleanora knew how difficult and painful it was to lose one's mother. Mama's death had left a gaping hole in her life that would never be fully healed, although time and distance had done their best to blunt the anguish.

Princess Anastasia sniffed, still battling for control over her composure. "Please, sisters. Allow me a few moments of privacy with Miss Brett now."

At last, the younger princesses took their leave, subdued.

Eleanora followed her employer to the drawing room, waiting patiently as Princess Anastasia secured the door and ventured to the seating area.

"Please sit, Miss Brett," she invited.

Eleanora did so, her mind churning. Would this be the moment that all her hopes would be ground into a thousand tiny, jagged shards? Was she about to descend headlong into ruin, just as her mother before her had done?

Princess Anastasia occupied a Grecian couch, turning to Eleanora with a heavy sigh. "We've received an offer for Annalise's hand today."

That wasn't what Eleanora had been expecting.

Her spine straightened, and she was instantly both relieved and on her guard. "Oh, Your Royal Highness? I hadn't realized the princess possessed any suitors so keen upon coming up to scratch just yet."

"Nor had I." The princess paused, wincing. "The suitor in question is the Duke of Lockhart."

The revelation made Eleanora certain that something indeed was afoot between Princess Annalise and the duke. But she was keenly aware that such a circumstance could only reflect upon her poorly.

"Are you acquainted with His Grace?" she asked gingerly.

Princess Anastasia's expression turned pinched. "Naturally not. However, his reputation is notorious enough that even someone relatively new to the ton such as myself is more than aware of it. I cannot fathom allowing my precious sister to make such a match. I was hoping you might offer some insight."

Eleanora well understood the princess's dilemma.

She nodded. "Although Lockhart is a duke, his reputation is quite dire. In your circumstances, Your Royal Highness, I, too, would be hesitant to encourage Princess Annalise to make such a misalliance."

"As I thought. There are rumors swirling about Lockhart…" Princess Anastasia's words trailed away.

Eleanora was more than aware of the rumors. Lockhart's duchess had died under mysterious circumstances. Gossips suggested the duke was responsible and that she had been murdered. A shiver went down her spine at the notion.

"I have heard the rumors as well. If there is any grain of truth to them, then by marrying the Duke of Lockhart, Princess Annalise would be in grave danger," she said grimly.

The princess sighed heavily. "And after what my sisters have so recently escaped in Boritania under our uncle's spurious rule, I would never again place either of them in harm. Thank you for your wise counsel, Miss Brett. I can always count on your excellent knowledge of the ton . Your advice is indispensable. I don't know what I would do without you."

Eleanora smiled, pleased to know the princess considered her such a vital part of the household. Her circumstances were always tenuous at best, but Princess Anastasia and Mr. Tierney were the kindest employers she had yet known. They listened to her opinions, treated her with the utmost respect, and best of all, Mr. Tierney was madly in love with his wife. Eleanora didn't have to contend with wandering eyes or hands, and it was a welcome relief. Indeed, she felt, for the first time in as long as she could recall, comfortable.

Which was why she was also fearful that at any moment this idyll might end. Experience suggested it would.

"You need not thank me, Your Royal Highness," she said modestly. "I am merely performing the duty you have hired me for. It is my honor to attend Princess Emmaline and Princess Annalise and to act as a guide in whatever capacity I may offer."

"I do wish you might call me Stasia," the princess said wistfully.

It was not the first time the princess had made such a request. But Eleanora was keenly aware of the vast disparity in their social standings. And she had come to understand that it was of the utmost importance that she refrain from becoming too friendly with her employers. The invisible division between them must remain.

"You honor me, Your Royal Highness, but I dare not," she demurred, trying to keep her voice gentle.

"Of course not. You are a paragon of virtue, Miss Brett." Princess Anastasia chuckled, standing. "Quite unlike myself. I applaud you for it. And now, I suppose I must let you retire to your chamber for a spot of rest after your shopping expedition with my sisters."

Eleanora rose as well, relieved by the princess's understanding.

She offered a curtsy. "Thank you, Your Royal Highness."

But as Eleanora took her leave of the drawing room and ascended the stairs, it wasn't her own chamber she found herself visiting. Her feet, quite of their own accord, took her to another's.