Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

N ando knew he wasn't playing a fair game.

But the expression on Eleanora's face was nothing short of delectable. Deus , he wanted to devour her. Slowly and with infinite attention to detail. He'd start with that lush mouth of hers and then proceed down the creamy skin of her throat. He'd take great pleasure in dragging her hideous fichu away with his teeth and then move on to the bounty of her breasts.

But first, a waltz.

It didn't matter that he had only one arm that was capable of working properly thanks to the stitches and bandaging on his wound. It didn't matter that he was still in a more weakened state than he preferred and that he'd spent far too much time on his arse over the past few days.

He was damned well dancing with Miss Eleanora Brett.

Nothing, and no one, would stop him—not even the august, frowning lady herself.

Her response was as swift as it was predictable. "I am not dancing with you, Your Royal Highness."

"Of course you are." He cast an encouraging smile in Princess Annalise's direction. "Run along and sit down, cousin. Miss Brett and I shall show you how it's properly done."

"No, we most assuredly will not!" Miss Brett denied, but the becoming color creeping up her throat to her cheeks was giving her away.

As was the way her body angled toward him, as if in unspoken invitation. She wanted to dance with him. And more.

He hadn't mistaken those heated kisses they'd shared, even if she had hidden from him ever since. And oh, he knew well why she'd retreated like a frightened little mouse running from a cat. It was because she didn't trust herself to be able to resist him.

"But you do wish to instruct the princesses properly, do you not?" he asked gently, keeping his voice low and intimate.

Again, he was preying upon her weaknesses. Miss Brett was a determined thing. He admired her tenacity. And he was all too aware of how she regarded her responsibility where the princesses were concerned—they were paramount.

He watched as indecision flitted over her lovely countenance, wishing he might pluck that dreadful cap from her head so that he could glory in the golden beauty of her hair. Knowing he didn't dare push her that far with an audience.

"You must know that I do," she said coolly, her nostrils flaring in that way she had, which told him she was agitated.

"Then 'tis settled." Nando offered her as gentlemanly of a bow as he could muster, given his injury.

It was still a better effort than she'd made, although he would be happy to admit that he'd enjoyed ogling her backside. If Eleanora had known the view she'd given him of her derriere as she bent over, he knew she never would have presented him with her back. But she wasn't always as diabolical as he was, and he'd sat there on the uncomfortable couch, drinking in the sight like the bounder he was.

Looking as if she'd just taken a great gulp of lemon juice, Eleanora dipped into a curtsy. He wanted to kiss her witless.

"Cousin Emmaline," he called to the princess at the pianoforte, who was ever eager to be complicit in his adventures, "please do begin."

"The princesses are not your cousins," Eleanora reminded him icily.

He scarcely contained his grin. Claiming a familial connection to them suited Nando for two reasons. One, it annoyed her. Two, it allowed for greater freedom. He enjoyed the company of the princesses. However, he had absolutely no designs on their virtue.

There was only one woman he wanted, and she was currently glowering at him with thunderstorms in her eyes.

Damn, but he adored her.

Nando grinned as Princess Emmaline obligingly began playing the music, effectively negating the need for a response from him. He stepped into Eleanora, too close for propriety or a proper waltz and not caring one whit, flattening his palm on the small of her back. Such a perfect place on a woman—one of his favorites, as it happened, for it seemed to have been uniquely carved by God himself for a man's possessive touch.

His hand on Eleanora's back was like the fit of a perfect glove, quite as if it belonged there. As if it always had. Her lips parted as he pulled her into him, her expression suggesting she felt the same sense of rightness that he did.

"I'm afraid I can't hold your hand and raise my arm up properly," he told her quietly. "You'll have to settle your hand on my shoulder instead."

Eleanora's brows snapped together, her scowl doing things to his cock that he had no doubt she would be horrified—and secretly intrigued—to learn.

"How is this example any better than my own?" she demanded curtly.

As he began guiding them around the room, Nando leaned close, almost setting his lips on her ear. "Because you wanted to dance with me, my dear."

"I did not."

Her denial was predictable.

And patently false.

Nando ignored it, sweeping them in circles in the best rhythm he could manage, for Princess Emmaline was proving a remarkably abysmal hand at the pianoforte. They kept time, their feet and bodies moving in steady unison. Eleanora quite obviously cast her gaze anywhere but at him as they went. He didn't mind, however, taking advantage of the opportunity to admire her as they danced.

"I knew you were lying about dancing," she said suddenly. "When you offered me that spurious position."

"My dear, nothing about my offer was spurious unless that means wonderful. I'm afraid your vast English language occasionally leaves me perplexed. However, I never specified which dance I would require assistance in. The minuet, if you were wondering."

Yes, more nonsense.

The expression on Eleanora's face said she knew it to be so, but before she could counter him, the princess hit too many keys at once, resulting in a discordant sound that nearly had him missing a step. Fortunately, Nando was more than proficient at dancing and saved them. The chance to hold Eleanora in his arms again—albeit not as closely as he would have preferred—was too heady to be ignored. He'd happily saw off his wounded arm entirely just to waltz with her like this.

"Perhaps pianoforte lessons are in order next," he told Eleanora wryly as he whirled them again.

To his amazed delight, a vibrant burst of laughter escaped her. Small and dainty and reluctant and easily the best sound he'd heard in years, far different from the choked half chuckle she had given him the day he had insulted the aim of his assassin. He almost stumbled at the impact that lone laugh had upon him. She clapped a hand over her mouth, as if the act could somehow rescind her levity. Too late.

He, Prince Ferdinando of the House of Tayrnes on the Island of Varros, had made Miss Eleanora Brett truly laugh , unfettered and without an effort to squelch her mirth.

"Good heavens, I do believe Miss Brett chuckled," Princess Annalise announced from her perch on the gilded settee. "Emmaline, did you hear? Cousin Nando made Miss Brett laugh ."

Poor Emmaline, apparently incapable of playing and speaking at the same time, stilled her hands over the keys, the music dying. Eleanora stopped dancing immediately, leaving Nando no choice but to follow suit. He refused, however, to relinquish his hold on her delightful form, and she seemed so mired in embarrassment that she failed to take note of their indecorous proximity now that the waltz had abruptly ended.

"Miss Brett laughed?" Princess Emmaline echoed, her tone shocked. "I didn't think it possible."

Nando was grinning like a fool and he knew it, but pride was rushing through his veins along with something that felt a whole lot like victory. He had made the indomitable Miss Eleanora Brett's icy fa?ade melt. He'd made her so lose control of her sangfroid that it had fled her utterly, even if only for a fleeting moment.

He had her.

The kisses they'd shared in his chamber, the chuckle he'd wrung from her, the way her body responded to his, the undeniable pull between them—it all added up to one inevitable conclusion. The woman in his arms was his. He'd won.

Oh, he might not have her in his bed this very night, but have her in his bed, he would. And she would adore every second of the pleasure he visited upon her. He'd make more than certain of that.

"Astounding," Princess Annalise was saying, as if she had just witnessed an angel descend from heaven before her.

The poor chit was going to be chewed up and swallowed whole by the ton . It was a miracle she hadn't been already, Nando thought grimly. But that wasn't his problem, nor was it his concern.

"It would seem I am capable of remarkable feats," he said to Eleanora, though he allowed his voice to carry to the princesses.

Eleanora's hand was still pressed to her lips, her eyes wide on his. Understanding flared in those mysterious blue depths. She knew as well as he did that he was speaking about feats that had nothing to do with dancing the waltz.

Nando smiled at her, feeling the heat simmering between them as palpably as if they stood before a roaring fire.

"I have no doubt that you are, Your Royal Highness," Eleanora said, her voice low and for him alone. "However, I've no wish to know about them. You would be wise to practice them elsewhere."

It was his turn to chuckle now. "Lie all you want, my dear. We both know the truth."

Her nostrils flared, and her spine went rigid, almost as if she were remembering herself. "I'm not lying."

Nando lowered his head and pressed his lips to her ear as he whispered, "You may tell yourself that if it makes you feel better. But your kisses said otherwise." He straightened and released her in one motion, stepping away and offering her another bow. "As you can see, cousins," he said, addressing the princesses who were watching their little drama unfold with rapt attention, "skilled waltzing has its infinite uses."

And one of them was most assuredly seducing their stern, relentless chaperone.

"Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I fear I must return to my chamber, for all this waltzing has reminded me that I yet remain an invalid."

The princesses offered him a chorus of well-wishes. Eleanora stayed notably silent. Nando was lying, of course. If anything, his waltz with her had given him new life and heightened his hunger for her.

He quit the room, flexing the hand that had so recently been pressed to the small of her back, for he swore that he could still feel the alluring heat of her searing him even as he walked away.

"Your Royal Highness, you should be abed, getting your rest," Bruno fretted.

Nando was too busy pacing the floor, trying to plot a means of catching Eleanora alone, to be in bed. Besides, if he was to be abed at this juncture, with his wound healing nicely, it most assuredly wouldn't be alone , nor would he welcome his bodyguard hovering over him like a worried hen on her roost.

"I don't need rest." Nando stopped at the mantel, examining an ormolu clock that depicted Diana, the Roman goddess of the hunt, complete with stags and hounds on a marble base.

It was a remarkable piece with intricate attention to detail. And although he enjoyed collecting beauty—whether it be women, clocks, paintings, or sculptures—he found himself oddly disinterested in the ormolu depiction. When he looked at the huntress's serene expression, all he saw was Eleanora smiling up at him with genuine amusement that he'd been the cause of.

He needed to press his suit. As soon as he was able. This obsession with her was beginning to grow tedious. The sooner he had her to himself, the sooner he could carry on with his unapologetic debauchery.

"Forgive me for my impertinence, but you should take greater care with your person," Bruno continued. "King Maximillian will be vastly displeased if any further harm should befall you. As it is, I'll likely lose my head for failing to protect you when you were shot."

The mention of his beloved, if overbearing, older brother had Nando turning back to his bodyguard. "Calm yourself, Bruno. My brother never needs to know about any of this. I have no intention of telling him. It will only make him worry, and he's worried quite enough in his life, don't you think?"

"Of course, Your Royal Highness, but?—"

"Then it's settled," Nando interrupted, not wanting to hear further arguments. What Maxim didn't know couldn't hurt him. And that was one of the reasons Nando was in London instead of at home in Varros.

"But Your Royal?—"

Knock, knock, knock.

Three sound raps at the door interrupted Bruno's further fretting, which suited Nando perfectly well. The man could be as nettlesome as a fly, buzzing about his head.

"Enter," he called, hoping it was Eleanora, coming to him freely and saving him the trouble of manufacturing another reason to be with her.

He was doomed to be disappointed, however, as his illustrious hostess bustled past Bruno into his room, bearing an arm full of fresh flowers.

"For me?" Nando asked, fluttering his lashes like a coquette as he offered a gallant bow. "My dear lady, you do know how to charm."

Princess Stasia harrumphed and approached an empty vase which he'd failed to take note of previously, situated on a nearby table. "I'm hardly trying to charm you. I'm merely trying to brighten this dreadfully dark room with some cheer. Why are the window dressings pulled closed?"

He might have asked the same. "Bruno thinks it imperative that I remain unseen in the windows." He glowered at his bodyguard. "I told him it's unnecessary and that each time he departs the room, I open them once more. But he insists upon closing them when he returns."

"My husband did say that it would be best if we kept your presence here as much of a secret as possible," the princess said, taking Bruno's side.

The utter traitor.

"Your husband is an Englishman," he said dismissively, as if that explained everything.

Which, in Nando's estimation, it did.

"He's also quite adept at knowing what to do in moments of dire danger," she said, stuffing the stems of her blossoms into the vase.

"Not roses, surely?" he asked just to be peevish. "They make me sneeze."

"Then hold your breath," she suggested, grinning.

Had he thought her a friend? Had he claimed her as an honorary cousin as he had her sisters? If so, he must have been thoroughly soused at the time. Her time in England with her husband had clearly addled her mind.

"I would, but then I cannot speak," he countered mildly, rubbing his uninjured hand over his chest.

"Precisely." Her grin deepened as she placed the last of her flowers into the vase.

"I rescind every good thing I ever said about you," he told her without heat.

The princess directed her attention to Bruno, who stood as impenetrable as a boulder by the door, guarding him, Nando supposed.

"Mr. Dimitrius, would you be so kind as to go to the kitchens and fetch His Royal Highness the honey cakes I've asked Cook to prepare for him? I know how partial he is to them, and I do so want to aid in his recovery."

She wanted to speak with Nando alone, then.

Bruno cast a searching glance in his direction, and Nando nodded. What other choice had he? His hostess was about to interrogate him, and he knew it. Hell, he deserved it, even, for he fully intended to seduce a member of her household. Thoroughly, repeatedly, and utterly without compunction.

Bruno bowed and exited the room, leaving Nando and Princess Stasia truly alone.

"My sisters tell me that you waltzed with Miss Brett today." Her voice was nonchalant as she continued to arrange the hothouse flowers in the vase, quite as if they were the most intriguing assortment of color and blooms she'd ever beheld.

But he knew better than to trust her distraction and the lightness in her tone. There was an underlying question in her voice. Nando might have known that his escape from his chamber would be remarked upon. And further, that it would necessitate a visit from Stasia. Now she wanted to know what his intentions were where Eleanora was concerned. Well, to the devil with her. Did she expect him to admit it, if doing so would hinder his cause? What a silly widgeon she was.

"I was merely doing my cousinly duty," Nando said, smiling back at the princess.

She looked up at him again, frowning. "Miss Brett is not your cousin."

"I'm more than aware that the lady in question and I have no familial ties." And thank God for that. He moved away from the mantel, taking care to keep his voice light. "I've claimed your sisters as honorary members of the House of Tayrnes."

Stasia stared at him as if he'd announced his intention to wage a one-man battle against England's navy using a thimble and a teacup. "How generous of you."

"Only for the sake of their reputations," he told her, the levity fleeing him. For he did truly like the princesses, and he wanted it to be known that he had no intention of causing either of them any trouble, lest it was a concern of his hostess. "The English are dreadfully uninformed about our bloodlines and history. Tell them that I'm a distant cousin, and they'll eat it up like it's their dinner."

"That's an appallingly cynical view of the ton ," Stasia observed, her frown heightening.

"But true," he pointed out, stopping by the vase and bending his head to sniff the blooms.

Stasia regarded him with a raised brow. "I thought roses make you sneeze."

"Achoo," he said, winking.

She made another sound of disapproval, whisking herself to the far window, where she busied herself with opening the curtains and allowing some meager London sun to pass into the room. "Are you never serious, Nando?"

Idly, he traced the unfurling blossom of a red rose as he watched the princess play the part of chambermaid. "Why should I be? I'm no longer the spare. I have neither duties nor obligation to weigh me down."

Although he said it flippantly, the truth was that Nando had rather come to resent his older brother's lack of confidence in him. When Maxim's opinion had finally altered, Nando had already been on his current course to depravity. And with Maxim's happy marriage to Tansy and their new son and heir to the throne, there was even less of a place for Nando in court than there had been previously.

"You were nearly killed," Princess Stasia reminded him, moving to the last window.

"It would seem you're not of the same opinion as my bodyguard," he observed wryly. "Unless you wish for me to be seen so that I'm no longer an unwelcome presence in your home?"

"I'm hardly hoping for your murder, Nando." Stasia sighed as she opened the final curtain. "My husband has guards posted—his best men. I have faith that no villains will be lurking in the street, hoping for a glimpse of your face. And you're looking remarkably pale. The sunlight will do you good, I think."

"Pale?" Frowning, Nando ventured to a nearby looking glass, examining his reflection.

Perhaps he was a bit wan; the golden coloring that so favored him was difficult to maintain on England's rain-and-fog-laden shores. Nonetheless, he was still in fine form.

"Now, then. Let us have a seat and you can tell me what it is you want from my sisters' chaperone."

Stasia's voice was uncomfortably knowing. He turned away from the mirror to meet her pointed stare.

Blast. The woman was certainly persistent; he would give her that.

"Who might that be?" he asked, feigning ignorance.

"Miss Brett," his hostess replied sternly. "Subterfuge ill becomes you, Nando."

"Subter what?" he asked, pretending that his English was lacking, which always proved an immensely useful ploy.

"Cease pretending you don't know what I mean. If you insist upon playing games, then it would seem I am the one who must speak plainly. I forbid you from seducing Miss Brett."

Her words rankled. His reaction was instant— how dare you, madam —but he tamped it down.

"Who said anything about seducing her?" he asked smoothly. "I mean to offer Miss Brett gainful employ in my own household—and at a much fairer rate of recompense as well."

"You?" Stasia's tone was steeped in disbelief. "Do you have a young lady in need of preparing for her debut that I'm unaware of?"

"No." But he did have need for Eleanora. Rather a great lot of need. "But I do require assistance myself in the finer art of being proper."

She had the temerity to laugh.

"Do you have any notion of how im proper it would be for you to employ Miss Brett for such a task?" Stasia asked, laughing some more.

He might have said it wouldn't matter how proper or improper such a circumstance would be, because he fully intended to pay Eleanora enough that she could spend the remainder of her life as she wished instead of working at the behest of others.

"Why should it be improper?" he asked instead. "It isn't as if I would ask her to be my mistress."

For the simple reason that he never kept a mistress. He had lovers. They intrigued him until they didn't, and then he moved on to others. No one had ever held him in her thrall long enough to merit such a complicated arrangement.

"I should hope not," the princess said in a chastising tone.

"Have you come for a reason other than to upbraid me?" he dared to ask wryly.

"To bring you flowers and open your curtains," she returned, without a hint of shame. "In addition to warning you that if you trifle with Miss Brett, I'll blacken your eye."

Damn it, the woman made it impossible not to like her. Even if she was intruding on his plans and questioning him over Eleanora. Threatening him, too.

Nando gave her a crooked grin, eyeing her dainty hands. "Something tells me your threats aren't as perilous as you would have me believe, Princess Stasia."

"She's a good woman, Nando," Stasia said, her countenance serious now, the levity having fled.

"I know." Eleanora Brett was nothing but good. And he wanted some of that goodness for himself. Even if only for a stolen few moments. He wanted whatever he could have.

"And you're a very bad man," his hostess added.

"I'm a bad man with good intentions," he said, pressing his hand over his heart. "This, I swear to you."

The princess narrowed her eyes. "Do you give me your word?"

He didn't hesitate. "Naturally."

Because his intentions were good. Just not honorable. A trifling difference. He intended to make Eleanora Brett a wealthy and satisfied woman. In Nando's opinion, that was better than good.

Stasia considered him with a searching gaze before finally nodding. "Thank you. I'm sure there are any number of ladies in the ton who would be more than happy for your attentions."

There were. But unfortunately, none of them was Eleanora.

It had to be her or no one.

Bruno returned with the plate of honey cakes, and Princess Stasia took her leave, mistakenly assured that he would be leaving her hired companion alone.

But the only way he would be leaving Eleanora alone was when they parted ways after he'd slaked his need for her. And with the alarming manner that need grew by the day, it was fast becoming apparent that his need wouldn't be satisfied for some time.