The Princess And The Duke

“Thinking only of others, as usual,” Meredith murmured, then quickly hid a yawn behind her hand. “Heavens. Please excuse me.”

“I’m surprised you even heard about my place in Sterling.” Or that she remembered his penchant for running in the morning—a hangover from the days he’d run track in school. “It’s hardly the stuff for the gossips.”

“You’re eligible, attractive and the Duke of Aronleigh. Surely you don’t expect to be immune from the paparazzi?”

“I’m a colonel in the Penwyck army,” he said flatly.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Did I hit a nerve?”

He consciously relaxed his grip on her slender waist. “You should get back inside.”

“Why?”

“Because we’ve been out here for some time now.”

“Afraid it’ll mar your reputation as the immovable, untouchable colonel?”

“I’m afraid George Valdosta will fall to the ground, prostrate in grief that you’re out of sight, and he’ll be trampled to death by dancers.”

“It always surprises me that you’ve a sense of humor lurking beneath your stony exterior, Colonel Prescott.”

She didn’t have a clue what lurked beneath his exterior. It was just as well. “Gossip aside, the papers tomorrow morning will be filled with accounts of the wedding.”

“This morning,” she corrected. “It’s past midnight.”

“And the princess really should be in bed.”

“I’m not eight, Colonel. I’m twenty-eight.” She was amused. Amused and drowsy and nearly boneless against him. “What is this preoccupation you have with my sleep habits?”

“Only your welfare.”

She shook her head slightly, then tilted it to look at him. “My father has always said you are a man of honor.”

That was debatable, Pierce thought. Where was honor when the only reason he was out on this terrace with Meredith was that he didn’t seem to have the fortitude to tear himself away?

“The speeches were lovely, don’t you think?”

“Speeches?”

“During the dinner. I thought my mother would nearly faint when the King toasted the memory of my uncle. They didn’t like one another much, you know.”

She was scrambling his brains. “His Majesty and Edwin?”

“Yes.”

His fingers flexed against her waist. Felt the seductive flare of her hips beneath the silk that wrapped her torso snugly, only to flare out in luxurious folds around her knees. “Edwin seems on your mind today.”

She lifted her shoulder, drawing his bedeviled gaze to the ivory skin left bare to the moonlight. “He seemed on the minds of many,” she said easily. “Isn’t that what families do when they gather together for weddings and christenings and funerals and such? Talk about the rest of the family? Those present and those lost?”

“Your family is a far cry from the typical.”

“Typical or not, I thought the toast was nice.”

“For the Queen’s sake,” Pierce agreed.

Her head tilted again, this time brushing against the arm he’d slid behind her shoulders. Was it his imagination that she was looking at his mouth? “Did you know,” she said softly, “that you get this hard look around your mouth whenever you say my uncle’s name?”

“No.”

“At least you don’t deny it,” she said.

“As I have no mirror on hand to test your theory, I’ll have to take your word for it.”

“’Tis more than a theory, Colonel.” Her fingers flitted over his jaw. His cheek. “Right there,” she whispered. “You get this fierce-looking crease in your cheek. Why is that?”

He caught her fingers in his, pulling them from his face. He didn’t want Meredith pressing her lovely, aristocratic nose into his feelings, or lack of them, regarding Edwin.

Her fingers flexed against his, and he settled her hand safely on his shoulder once more. “So proper,” she murmured.

If she only knew. “I’ll take you inside.”

She sighed faintly. “Of course.” She turned away, and only through sheer will did he let go of her as if nothing untoward had been running through his mind. “Oh. My shoes.” She looked at the ground where it was black as pitch.

Pierce knelt and felt around for the shoes until he found them. “Give me your foot.”

“What every woman dreams of hearing,” she murmured. But he heard the rustle of silk and tormented himself with images of her lifting it.

Then her foot butted his thigh. “Sorry,” she said on a soft laugh.

“Admit it. You’ve wanted to kick me since you were ten.”

She giggled.

Definitely too much champagne, he thought as he reached for her foot. Slowly slid the shoe into place. Her ankle felt delicate. Narrow.

“Are you certain that isn’t a glass slipper there?”

He took his hand away from her ankle, aware that his hold was too lingering, and rapidly slid the other shoe on for her. “You’ve no need for fairy godmothers or glass slippers. You’re already a princess.”

“One without a prince,” she said. Then laughed lightly, as if her voice hadn’t sounded utterly melancholy. “Thank you for playing shoe man, Colonel. I’ll just have to give away this pair, I think. Beautiful as they are, they’ve been torturing my toes the entire day.”

“Your Royal Highness.”

She turned on her heel so abruptly she swayed, and he put a steadying hand on her back. Was she as startled by the appearance of Lady Gwendolyn behind her as he’d been?

“Yes?”

“Your father is asking for you.”