“Me?”

  “For me, Eliza! Does he mean to stay all night in the gaming room?”

  “I don’t know, Caro! How could I possible know?”

  “That’s why you must join a table! Go round to the gaming room and—why are you laughing?”

  “I can’t join a table! I’m a wretched gambler, and I haven’t a purse.”

  “You don’t need a purse,” Caroline said, and turned her around, giving her a push toward the door. “I’d be most obliged if you’d go and play a hand or two and tell me what he’s about.”

  Eliza tried to step away before Caroline shoved her out the door, but she caught sight of Asher moving in her direction. He hadn’t seen her, but a few more steps, and they’d be nose to nose. Eliza did not want that. She couldn’t possibly greet him as if he was some old acquaintance. She whirled around. “All right,” she said. “But I have no purse, and if lose a hand and am challenged for it, you will have to stand in for me at the duel.”

  “Don’t lose,” Caroline said. “Oh dear,” she muttered, looking past Eliza. “It’s Mr. Daughton-Cress.”

  “Yes, I’ve seen him. Find another way from this room before I do something I’ll regret and I’ll go and spy on your prince.”

  “It’s not spying, exactly,” Caroline muttered, and looped her arm through Eliza’s. “It’s gathering information.” She pulled her toward another exit.

  The gaming room was just across the corridor. Inside, the room was almost as big as the ballroom, with enormous mirrors on the wall that reflected the light of the four chandeliers. That made it so bright that one could believe it was a sunny spring day.

  There were several cloth-covered tables set up, and all of them were full with men and women engaged in games of chance. Eliza couldn’t spot an empty seat—she couldn’t join a game even if she desired.

  She did not so desire. She desired only to remove any chance of meeting Asher.

  However, she did spot Prince Leopold straightaway as she was quite familiar with him after he’d stood so slack-jawed in her parlor. He was seated at a table with two gentlemen and a pretty Alucian woman.

  A very pretty Alucian woman.

  Well, that wasn’t good—Eliza could tell by the way the woman smiled and glanced at the prince there was a flirtation between them. She didn’t think she’d have the nerve to tell Caroline.

  “I beg your pardon, madam.”

  The beautifully accented feminine voice was directly behind Eliza, and she turned to see an Alucian woman with big brown eyes smiling warmly at her. “Bon notte.”

  “Ah...good evening.”

  The woman cocked her head to one side. “Have we been introduced, madam? You are familiar to me.”

  “No. At least, not that I recall. I’m Eliza Tricklebank.”

  “Ah.” The woman smiled again. “No, I think we have not met. I’m Lady Anastasan.”

  She said her name as if Eliza should know who she was, but Eliza didn’t know. So she smiled and said again, “Good evening.”

  Lady Anastasan suddenly grinned. “I know where I’ve seen you! You danced with His Royal Highness, Prince Sebastian! The very first dance, wasn’t it?”

  Lady Anastasan was smiling, but there was something in her eyes that didn’t seem quite as friendly as the rest of her face. “Ah...yes. Yes, that was me,” Eliza said. “He was very kind to invite me.”

  “Indeed! Everyone wants to dance with the prince. How did you make his acquaintance?”

  She wondered if perhaps Lady Anastasan was in love with Sebastian. Before Eliza could think of how to explain her acquaintance, Lady Anastasan pressed the tips of her fingers to her forehead. “How tactless of me. I meant only that there are so many ladies wanting to make his acquaintance.”

  “I first made his acquaintance at the masquerade ball at Kensington Palace.”

  “Oh, wonderful! I thought it very clever to have a masquerade, didn’t you? But the masks were uncomfortably warm after a time.”

  “Weren’t they,” Eliza agreed.

  “I suppose Lady Marlborough invited you to make his acquaintance?” the woman asked with a thin smile. “Quite a line that was. So many of your fellow English ladies desire to meet the prince, don’t they?”

  She seemed pleasant enough, but Eliza didn’t care for Lady Anastasan. There was a faint, yet discernible hint of disparagement there. “Well, as you know, we haven’t any bachelor princes of our own.”

  Lady Anastasan laughed. “No, you don’t, do you? It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Tricklebank. Do enjoy your evening.”

  “Thank you.”

  Lady Anastasan walked away. Eliza watched her, curious. No, she didn’t care for her at all. But she did admire the train on her gown. It was intricately embroidered, and Eliza imagined it had taken a dozen seamstresses and a full month to create it. She was so entranced with the train that she watched Lady Anastasan walk all the way across the room, and past a table where an Alucian gentleman with a barrel chest and a deep bark for a laugh was playing cards with two Englishmen. Lady Anastasan touched the big man very quickly and lightly on his back as she circled around the table, and when she’d passed, she glanced over her shoulder, smiled and, Eliza was fairly certain, winked. She then carried on to the far end of the room and joined a table of ladies.

  Eliza assumed the gentleman was her husband. There was something about the look between the two of them that seemed very familiar.

  She shifted her attention to Prince Leopold. He was leaning across the gaming table, his eyes locked on the Alucian woman. Poor Caroline. She decided to leave the gaming room, but when she reached the door, there was quite a crush. She stood aside as people streamed in, then stood aside again as some gentlemen were eager to go out before her. When she finally managed to step into the wide hall, she was blocked by a group of Alucians. She stepped around them, but as she tried to pass, she saw Asher and his wife, her hand protectively resting on her belly. They were standing not three feet away.

  Eliza turned about and went in the opposite direction. There had been times she’d imagined an encounter like this, and had imagined she’d be perfectly at ease. He meant nothing to her anymore. But when she saw him, she didn’t trust herself to be particularly civil. He had scored her with his betrayal, and she did not care to speak to him at all.

  She passed another clump of Alucians, and as she skirted around them, she felt a hand on her arm.

  She jerked around, startled. “Miss Tricklebank, how do you find the ball?”

  Sebastian. She smiled with relief. “It’s wonderful! And how do you find it, Mr. Chartier?”

  “Tedious,” he said. He looked at the door to the gaming room. “Did you try your luck?”

  “No. I thought I might, but then I realized I had no pockets to carry all my winnings.”

  He smiled. “That is indeed a dilemma.”

  The gentleman behind Sebastian had noticed her and was studying her curiously. “I should like to suggest pockets as the next innovation in ladies’ fashions. By the bye, Your Highness, did you have an opportunity to—”

  “I did.”

  One of the gentlemen behind him stepped forward, his gaze on Eliza for a moment. “Your Highness, Lady Amelia Darnley is waiting.”

  Something flickered in Sebastian’s eyes. He said nothing but smiled almost sadly at Eliza. “Good night, Miss Tricklebank.”

  “Good night.”

  She carried on into the ballroom. Her heart was racing and lurching and racing again in ways she had never quite experienced. This wasn’t fair—she wanted a word with whoever was in the heavens above doling out fairness and miracles. She wanted to be the only one for Sebastian. And she wanted to be nowhere near Asher when Sebastian realized it.

  In the ballroom, she had another glass of the punch—she didn’t care if her cheeks looked like apples. She danced another set with a gentleman who had thick lips and a limp that surprisingly did not hinder his dancing in the slightest.

  But as the hours ticked by, and the women piled up in front of Sebastian, Eliza grew weary. She wanted to go home. She was tired of playing at princess. It had been quite diverting, but the reality of her true situation kept crawling into her thoughts with every sighting of Asher or Sebastian.

  Worse, it occurred to her that tonight was probably the last she’d ever see Sebastian. She’d pointed out Mr. Heath—what other reason would they possibly have to communicate? She would have to subsist on the memory of their dance and those few moments she’d felt like a queen.

  She sought out Caroline, hoping she’d be ready to go. Unfortunately, Caroline was in the middle of being doted on by two men.

  So Eliza slipped out onto the terrace. The cool night air was a welcome respite from the sweltering heat of the ballroom.

  “Miss Tricklebank?”

  Eliza started. An Alucian gentleman had stepped out onto the terrace. He had dark brown hair and darker eyes. “How do you know—”

  “Madam, I’ve a message for you.”

  His accent was much stronger than Sebastian’s, and for a moment, she thought she might have misunderstood him. “A message? What sort of message?” She tried to see behind the man, but he was rather broad in the chest and blocked her view of the door.

  He stepped closer. Eliza stepped backward. “His Royal Highness has asked me to tell you to expect to hear word from him soon.”

  “Word?” Eliza stared at him. Was this man to be believed? Was this some sort of trick? “But why is—”

  “He asked me to tell you only that,” the man said, and with a sharp bow, he turned and stepped back inside.

  Eliza slowly turned her gaze up to the moon. It all seemed very odd, but Eliza didn’t care—it dawned on her that tonight would not be the last she saw of him. The understanding filled her with light and hope.

  She suddenly smiled. Maybe she wasn’t finished pretending at princess after all.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  The mystery of who will win the contest for princely affections has only grown in the last week. The wall-eyed daughter of a prominent coal baron has risen in interest. Could she be the perfect trading partner? Could a gentleman with royal manners overlook a shifting eye?

  Ladies, you must try Damiana Wafers for lethargy. Two wafers a day will give you the stamina of a woodcutter. However, the manufacturer does not recommend any actual woodcutting.

  —Honeycutt’s Gazette of Fashion and Domesticity for Ladies

  SEBASTIAN WAS SURPRISINGLY, uncharacteristically tense.

  Patro had done the impossible: he’d found a small but richly appointed townhouse off an alley in the Mayfair district. All necessary precautions had been taken, and Sebastian had arrived in English clothing and in a plain carriage. A cook had been hired and told the meal was for a Member of Parliament. A fire was blazing in the hearth, and there were at least four guards present in the house but thankfully out of sight. Sebastian was alone in the small salon.

  He was alone and waiting. Anxious. Uneasy with the fear she might not come.

  He’d sent the message to Eliza at half past six. It was now nearly eight o’clock. He’d relentlessly paced in front of the hearth, convincing himself he’d done the wrong thing. Why would she come? The invitation (or perhaps she would see it as a summons) went beyond the pale of decency, really, and if anyone had suggested he would do the thing he was doing now even a month ago, he would have been indignant. But he couldn’t stay away from her, and it wasn’t possible to proceed in a normal fashion. He’d left the trade talks early, angered by the high tariffs suggested for ore, which would leave Alucian iron ore languishing in the market. And because he couldn’t seem to concentrate his thoughts properly.

  Eliza could well think his note too brazen, too outlandish, too crass. She could send back a response that was—

  He heard the sound of a carriage on the cobbled stones of the street below and went to the window to have a look. The nondescript carriage that had delivered him here rolled to a halt. He watched a driver leap off the driver’s seat and open the carriage door.

  She had come.

  Sebastian stepped back and released the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. What am I doing here, like this? Who have I become?

  It was the same question Leopold had asked him when he’d overheard Patro speaking to Sebastian about the hire of this house. What are you doing, Bas?

  Unfortunately, Sebastian couldn’t find words to explain it satisfactorily. His brother didn’t have the same view of life—Leopold could do as he pleased, bed women as he liked. But Sebastian’s position was different. He had to be careful. He couldn’t risk paternity. He couldn’t risk scandal. He was always on guard.

  But it wasn’t as if he was without feminine companionship—accommodations were made for princes and future kings. He’d had a mistress for many years, a young widow, wealthy in her own right. The affair had ended when she’d become too needy, wanting more from him than he could or wanted to give.

  It was a relationship held at arm’s length. He had to remain reasonably chaste, had to keep his eye on the future and the family lineage. He had to carry the mantle of responsibility and leadership, whereas Leopold was free to live his life as he pleased...within the bounds of reason.

  “What of Matous?” Leopold had asked that same afternoon. “What about your burning desire to see his killer brought to justice?”

  “Do you think I have any less desire? I told you, I am looking into Rostafan’s finances.” Two days ago, he’d sent a letter to Alucia with instructions for his father.

  Still, Leopold had stared at him, his gaze sharp and assessing. “For God’s sake, Bas, have a bloody care. What if she gets with child?”

  “I haven’t—I wouldn’t,” Sebastian had blustered, but even as the words had tumbled from his mouth, he knew them to be a lie. He would. In a heartbeat, he would.

  All right, so he was a cad, a disgrace to his title and to the king. To his parents. To himself. But he would take her in his arms if she were willing, and he’d not think twice.

  “You haven’t much time,” Leopold had pleaded with him. “The talks have stalled, we are no closer to Matous’s killer, and everyone wants to know who will receive an offer of marriage.”

  “I haven’t time for one private supper?” Sebastian had snapped. “I am well aware of what has not yet been accomplished. Have I worked any less diligently?”

  “You haven’t time for carrying on. You need to make a match, Bas. You need to redouble your efforts to finish what you came here determined to do.”

  Sebastian had said nothing. What could he possibly have said? Leopold was right.

  “Who is it, then?” Leopold had asked.

  “Who will I dine—”

  “No,” Leopold had said, shaking his head. “Who might be a queen of Alucia? Surely you have some idea.”

  Leopold’s dogged determination had annoyed Sebastian. He had suddenly become the responsible one after all his years of freedom. Sebastian had been so annoyed that he’d walked out of the room, unwilling to discuss a marriage he did not particularly want when he was planning a private evening he very much did want.

  Was he not allowed this one moment in his life? Was it necessary to be the crown prince every single moment of every day? Was he ever allowed to just be a man who was enthralled with a pretty woman?

  Sebastian couldn’t think of his argument with Leopold just now. He ran his hands over his head and smoothed back his hair. He couldn’t believe he was as anxious as this, like a lad scarcely out of short pants. But he desperately wanted Eliza to esteem him.

  He heard voices in the foyer, and a moment later, Patro opened the door to the salon, stepped inside and bowed. “Your Royal Highness, Miss Eliza Tricklebank.”

  Eliza walked in behind Patro with a smile of delight and looked all around her before settling her gaze on Sebastian. He broke into a surprising and cheek-stretching grin.

  “Your Royal Highness!” she said, as if she’d just encountered a friend on the street. She sank into her crooked curtsy and bounced up. “I think my curtsy is improving, don’t you?”

  He did not, but nevertheless, this was the thing he admired about Eliza—she said whatever came to mind without a care if it was proper to say in front of him or not.

  “Eliza,” he said, and took both her hands in his. “Thank you for coming.”

  “Well, I had to. Such a mysterious message you sent me!” She pulled her hands free of his to remove her cloak. Patro was instantly on hand to take it.

  “Some wine, Patro,” Sebastian said in Alucian. Patro quietly went out with her cloak.

  Eliza was looking at the velvet drapes, the tall windows, the painted ceiling. “Where are we?”

  Sebastian looked around, too. The salon was small, but the furnishings expensive with a lot of gold and porcelain and he didn’t know what all. His vision glossed over everything in the room except Eliza. “I couldn’t say, in truth. I’ve borrowed it for the occasion.”

  “You’ve borrowed it?”

  Did she disapprove? “I...ah... I thought perhaps we could not be sufficiently at our leisure at Kensington.”

  A broad smile shaped her lips. “Are we at our leisure?”

  He swallowed. His tongue felt so thick suddenly.

  Her smile faded a little and she peered closely at him. “What is the matter?”

  “Pardon?”

  “You look as if you’ve swallowed something and it won’t go down.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes, Mr. Chartier, you do.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “I think I would be more at ease if you called me Sebastian.”

  She smiled. “You’re quite right. It wouldn’t do to go back on our friendship at this late date. Very well, then, Sebastian. I am at my leisure.” She bowed.