Pleasuring the Prince (17 page)

Stepan waved her worry away. “I took care of the problem.”

“You washed the blanket?”

Her question surprised him. “Princes do not wash blankets.”

“You said you took care of it.”

“I instructed Boris to wash the blanket.”

“
Mon Dieu.”
Her complexion darkened into tomato red.

“You did not want the maids to see your virgin’s blood,” Stepan reminded her.

“I would have preferred the maids to Boris.”

“You should have said that.” Stepan shook his head at her foolishness. “I will tell Boris I cut myself.”

“No! You are purposely embarrassing me,” she accused him.

Stepan ran a hand down his face and counted to ten. “Your virgin’s blood should not embarrass you.”

“You are being obtuse.”

He grinned. “Thank you, but what is this
obtuse
?”

Fancy stamped her foot in frustrated anger. How could she rant and rave if he refused to participate? “I did not want anyone seeing my virgin’s blood.”

Stepan laughed, which did not endear him to her. “The deed is done, princess.”

Fancy turned her back on him and took several deep breaths. Facing him again, she managed a smile and reached into her pocket. “Are you ready for the apple?”

Stepan narrowed his dark gaze on her. “You lack the proper mood to attempt shooting an apple off my head.”

“My mood enhances using the slingshot.”

“Give me the apple.” Stepan held his hand out. “I promise to leave you the blood washing next time.”

Was this his idea of a joke? The prince was either very brave or very foolish.

“There will never be a next time,” she said.

He flashed her a wicked smile. “Ah, yes. A woman can lose her virginity only once.”

Fancy handed him a fallen leaf. “Hold this out straight away from your body for my practice shot.”

“You need more practice?” The prince sounded alarmed.

“I meant my warm-up shot.”

“Why do you need to use the slingshot?” Stepan asked. “I will protect you.”

“Raven told me to practice,” Fancy answered. “I trust my sister’s feelings.”

Stepan knew he would not change her mind. Accepting defeat, he held the leaf as she’d instructed.

Fancy marked off ten paces and took the slingshot from her pocket. Next came the pellet. She aimed, and the pellet flew toward the prince.

The force of the shot ripped the leaf out of his hand. “You did it.”

Did he need to sound so damn relieved? “I know I did it. Balance the apple on your head.”

The minx wanted him to prove his love with the damn apple. Stepan gingerly set the apple on top of his head.

Risking injury proved his love. Fancy hoped she didn’t hurt him.

“Close your eyes just in case.”

“What do you mean
just in case
?” The apple fell off his head.

Fancy gave him a smile meant to encourage. “I was joking.”

Stepan did not look convinced but scooped the apple off the grass. Love set it on his head again.

With her focus on the shot, Fancy studied the difference in height from the level of his outstretched arm to the top of his head. She pulled the pellet from her pocket and placed it in the slingshot’s flexible tubing.

Whoosh.
Fancy sent the pellet hurtling toward the prince. The apple tumbled off his head.

Stepan opened his eyes when he felt the apple fall. He scooped it up. The pellet was embedded in its core.

“I knew you could do it.”

“Don’t move.” Fancy hurried to a shrub and amputated a twig. Returning to the prince, she placed it in his hand. “Stand sideways and hold the twig between your lips. I will go—”

Stepan threw back his head and shouted with laughter. Tossing the twig down, he started walking toward the manor.

Fancy hurried after him. “Where are you going?”

“I want to wash before lunch.”

“Does this mean you won’t hold the twig?”

His laughter was her answer.

“Don’t you love me?”

“Not
that
much.”

Gawd, but she dreaded tonight.

Raven walked down the corridor to Sophia’s bedchamber and tugged her long white kidskin gloves into place. Having lived her entire life sharing a bedchamber with sisters, she could not accustom herself to sleeping alone.

After knocking, Raven entered the chamber and stopped short. Serena and Sophia were playing cards instead of dressing for the Winchester ball. Puddles lay on his back on top of the bed, his tail wagging at her entrance.

“You aren’t dressed.” Raven stated the obvious. “The duchess will pitch a fit.”

“Stepmama has given us permission to stay home,” Serena said. “Dearest Sophia is painting my portrait, and we are much too busy to socialize.”

“That isn’t fair,” Raven said.

“Don’t be upset,” Sophia said. “Stepmama has invited several gentlemen to dinner next week to make our acquaintances.”

“If the duchess has her way,” Raven said, “all seven of us will be wed by Christmas.”

“You look beautiful tonight,” Serena said.

“Thank you.” Raven crossed the chamber to inspect her appearance in the cheval mirror. She wore a petal-pink silk gown with a modestly scooped neckline and puffed shoulder sleeves. The duchess’s maid had woven her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, allowing wispy ebony tendrils to escape.

“You don’t think I look too young in pink?”

“Darling,” Serena drawled, imitating the duchess, “you
are
young.”

Raven looked at Sophia. “Have you thought about the reason Genevieve Stover had no aura?”

Sophia shrugged. “Perhaps some people don’t have colors.”

“Have you ever seen anyone who did not?”

“No.”

Raven left her sisters and walked downstairs to the foyer. A violet-gowned Bliss and a pale yellow-gowned Blaze stood with the duchess.

“Don’t you think I am too young for such activities?” Raven asked.

“The Countess of Winchester is my niece,” the duchess said, “so your attending is perfectly acceptable.”

The duchess inspected their appearance and smiled with satisfaction. “Remember, my darlings, not all men are annoying. Some are dead.”

“Don’t teach my daughters that, Roxie.” Dressed in formal evening attire, the Duke of Inverary was walking down the stairs.

The duchess feigned innocence. “Magnus, my love, you know I don’t mean you.”

“Do not make manhaters of my daughters,” the duke said, gesturing to the majordomo to open the door. “The world belongs to men, and I want my daughters to navigate safely and happily through their future marriages.”

“I intended to caution them only,” the duchess said. “You know how devilish the young swains are nowadays.”

The Duke of Inverary turned on his daughters, his expression worried. “Do
not
believe a word any gentleman says until you marry. Then you may trust your husband.”

The Duchess of Inverary rolled her eyes. “Trust within reason, of course.” She glanced at her own husband. “I merely caution them, dearest.”

Several hundred guests filled the Winchester ballroom. A small orchestra consisting of a cornet, a piano, a cello, and three violins stood at the far end of the rectangular chamber. A rainbow of colors swirled around the dance floor as brightly gowned ladies waltzed with gentlemen in formal evening attire.

“The Duke of Essex,” the Winchester majordomo announced. “The Marquess of Basildon.”

Raven watched the two men descending the stairs. In his formal evening attire, Alexander Blake had never looked more handsome. His presence with his grandfather surprised her, though. Had he accepted his grandfather’s offer of inheritance? Did that mean the old man accepted Genevieve Stover for his granddaughter-in-law? Or had Alexander dropped her the way her father had dropped her own mother?

Surrounded by eager aristocrats, the Duke of Essex introduced his grandson to society. Debutantes and their grasping mamas seemed especially interested in this new, handsome, wealthy aristocrat destined for dukedom.

And then the Duke of Essex reached their group and introduced Alexander to the Duke and Duchess of Inverary. Next came Princes Rudolf and Viktor and their wives.

The Duchess of Inverary drew Raven forward. “I believe my stepdaughter and you are already acquainted, my lord.”

“Good evening, Raven,” Alexander greeted her, for once using her given name instead of the word
brat
.

Raven wished her sisters weren’t dancing. “I never expected to see you here.”

Alexander grinned at her. “I never expected that either.” He hesitated for a fraction of a moment and then asked, “Would you care to dance?”

Raven recalled the evenings of her childhood when Alexander would visit and waltz with her. They had pretended the kitchen was a grand ballroom in one of the great mansions.

Her smile chilled him. “No, thank you. I don’t care to dance.”

“Of course, she wants to dance.” The Duchess of Inverary laughed. “Raven, darling, don’t be shy.”

Alexander offered her his hand. “Dance with me.
Please.”

Everyone was watching them. What else could she do?

Raven placed her hand in his and let him lead her onto the dance floor. Alexander drew her into his arms and waltzed her away from her relatives.

“This feels like the old days, doesn’t it?”

“Quite.” Raven fixed her gaze on an imaginary point behind him.

“I believe light conversation is customary,” Alexander said, a smile in his voice.

Raven shifted her gaze to him and then wished she hadn’t. Her peace of mind suffered from his too-handsome face, and she’d already made a fool of herself once.

“I was beginning to think I was invisible.”

She said nothing. Her lips twitched with the urge to smile.

“Why do you dislike me, brat?”

“I do not dislike you. I do not think about you at all.”

Having reached the far end of the ballroom, Alexander escorted her off the dance floor. Had she deflated his enormous conceit? She certainly hoped so.

“I want to speak with you privately,” he said.

Raven inclined her head. “I will not miss this candlelit hell.”

Smiling at her words, Alexander led her around the ballroom. He gestured to the duchess that they were going to the refreshment room.

“Let’s walk in the garden,” Alexander said, once they’d left the ballroom.

“This sounds mysterious.”

Stepping into the garden, Raven felt a surge of relief at the reassuring sight of other couples catching a breath of air. Torches lit the area, and the mingling perfumes of flowers scented the air.

Raven wished she hadn’t agreed to come outside. She had already played the fool once and worried about saying something she’d regret later.

“Constable Black advised me to make peace with the old man,” Alexander told her.

“You do not need to explain yourself.”

“I am telling, not explaining.” Alexander slipped her hand through the loop of his arm and led her off the path to stand beneath a silver birch tree. “We need to investigate Lord and Lady Parkhurst from inside society. Will you help?”

Raven leaned back against the birch’s white trunk, its solidness a comfort. “Why do you need my help?”

Which was precisely the problem, Alexander thought. He’d brought her outside on a pretext. He loved Genevieve, but fighting his attraction for this petite ebony-haired witch was proving impossible.

Alexander lifted a hand and traced a finger down her cheek, savoring its softness. “You look delicious in pink, like a tempting confection.”

His compliment startled Raven speechless. She froze in alarm, realizing his face was inching closer and closer. He was going to kiss her. What the blue blazes should she do with her hands?

Their lips touched in a sweet kiss. His were warm and moved against her with confidence. Hers were cold with insecure fright.

“Lord Basildon?”

Alexander turned toward the voice. A footman stood near them, his gaze discreetly averted.

“Mister Barney in the foyer requests a word with you,” the footman said.

“Thank you.” Alexander grasped her hand, and they followed the footman inside.

With hat in hand, Barney stood in the foyer. “The constable needs you,” he said. “We’ve got another body.”

“The constable may want my perceptions,” Raven said. “I’m going with you.”

Alexander nodded and turned to the footman. “Inform the Duke of Essex and the Duke of Inverary that Raven Flambeau suffers from a headache, and I am escorting her home.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Twenty minutes later, Barney halted the coach outside Battersea Fields across the river. Alexander leaped out and then helped Raven.

“Barney, go to the opera house,” he instructed, “and escort Genevieve Stover home.”

“Your home or hers?”

“Hers.”

A dozen men stood around lighting the night with torches. In their midst lay a blanket-covered lump.

“I’m glad to see you, Raven, though you may not be up to this.” The constable touched her arm. “She is not a fresh kill, which means she isn’t a pretty sight. Stand with me until Blake gets a look at her.”

Alexander approached the lump. He drew the blanket off her and walked around the body slowly. Crouching beside the body, he inspected her face and then nodded at the constable.

“Raven, I don’t think you should see this,” Alexander said. “I think you should wait for the next one.”

Wait for the next one?
If seeing this unfortunate woman saved another from becoming the next one, Raven would reserve her horror for later.

“I insist.” Raven walked toward Alexander and stared at the decomposing body. Her heart ached at the sight of the once-beautiful woman decaying without burial. Rose petals and ravenous flies covered the corpse.

A demon had done this, a monster masquerading as human.

“I need to kneel,” Raven said, unable to take her sickened sight off the corpse.

Alexander removed his jacket and set it on the ground beside the body. Raven knelt, but when she reached to touch the body, Alexander grabbed her hand and shook his head.