How to Pursue a Princess (12 page)

“Miss Gordon and I hoped to sneak in a quick gallop this morning. We wish to stretch our riding legs a bit, something we don’t get to do as often as we like.” His gaze touched on Lily’s blue walking gown, and his brows knit. “Miss Balfour, you’re not riding?”

“I am claiming a seat in one of the carriages. I’m not the best rider, you know.”

The duchess made an impatient sound. “You just need a little tutoring. Perhaps you should change into your habit and allow Huntley to show you how it’s done.”

Huntley hesitated, but quickly said, “I should be honored if Miss Balfour will allow me.”

Lily laughed. “You would be irked, is what you’d be, for I’d slow you down and you just admitted you were longing for a gallop. Go and ride! I’ll see you at the picnic. We’ll both be happier for having arrived in our chosen forms of transportation.”

He laughed, his sherry-brown eyes warm as he captured her hand and pressed a firm kiss to her fingers. “I look forward to seeing you there. May I hope to sit beside you?”

“You’ll get there first, so pray save a seat for me.”

“I’ll do that.” He gave her hand a squeeze, then bowed to the duchess and went to join a group of men who stood examining the horses.

The duchess’s gaze followed him. “He’s quite taken with you.”

“He’s a very nice man.”

“And wealthy.
Very
wealthy. Don’t forget that!” The duchess regarded Huntley with pride, as if she’d made him herself. “And so polite, too.”

“Very much so.” He was so polite that not once over the last two days had she been able to imagine him kissing her the way Wulf had. But then, the earl was the sort of man who respected propriety.
That’s good . . . isn’t it?

The duchess beamed. “Things are going along splendidly.”

Lily was saved from answering when a short, round lady with a large, white feather in her bonnet called on her grace to serve as a moderator for a disagreement she was having with an equally portly gentleman, over the merits of a mustard plaster over Persian Tonic for a cough. Excusing herself, the duchess went to answer the call of her other guests, and Lily was left to wait for her cloak and observe Huntley.

He was everything she could possibly want in a husband—a true gentleman, kind, polite, handsome, and capable of helping her family. He was the perfect candidate, and she should have been thrilled to the tips of her toes that he seemed interested in her.
I should be thankful for this opportunity.
She straightened her shoulders.
I
am
thankful.

So why am I feeling so uncertain? I must throw myself into this with full enthusiasm, and yet I keep hesitating.

Lily bit her lip, her heart sinking. If she were honest, she knew why: since Wulf’s visit to the library, it hadn’t been the earl who’d filled her thoughts, but the prince. No matter how she tried not to, she couldn’t help but compare the earl to Wulf, and for some reason she couldn’t fathom, the earl seemed . . . less.
But once I know him better, I’m sure that will cease to be so.

“Ah,” the duchess said, sweeping past Lily toward the footman who’d just exited the house. “My gloves!” She drew them on as the footman delivered the cape to Lily, who murmured her thanks.

A group of maids came from the house carrying large hampers, which were strapped to the backs of the carriages. “There’s the food,” the duchess said with satisfaction. “If you’ll pardon me, I will go and make certain that everything I requested has been brought out.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll see you when we arrive, then. That is, I’ll see you with
Huntley
.” With a smile, the duchess hurried off.

Lily was left to wait as the carriages were lined up along the far side of the courtyard.

“It looks as if everyone is going, doesn’t it?” came a feminine voice at Lily’s side.

She turned to find Miss Gordon dressed in an elegant habit of lilac that became her brown hair and eyes. Lily smiled. “Who could say no to a picnic on a day like this?”

Miss Gordon took a deep breath of the fresh air, aglow with pleasure. “Who indeed?”

Over the last few days, Lily and Miss Gordon had had several pleasant conversations and had even partnered to win a battledore match. “A picnic doesn’t offer as much exercise as battledore, but it has its merits.”

Miss Gordon chuckled. “Not the way you play it, no.” Her gaze flickered over Lily’s clothing. “You are not riding?”

“To be honest, I don’t ride very well.” She threw up a hand. “Spare me your disappointment. I’ve already had to bear Huntley’s and it was more than enough.”

Miss Gordon laughed. “Was he blue as a megrim?”

“Bluer.” Lily eyed Miss Gordon with interest. “You know the earl very well.”

“I’ve known him for ages. His wife—” Miss Gordon’s smile dimmed. “Sarah was my dearest friend, and poor Geoffrey was devastated when she died.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. We miss her, of course, but we cannot dwell.” Though her eyes were shiny with unshed tears, Miss Gordon managed a shaky laugh. “La, I’ve grown maudlin! And on such a beautiful day, too.”

Lily slipped her arm through Miss Gordon’s and gave her a hug. “I shouldn’t have pried.”

“Nonsense. You were asking a simple question. I’m the one who turned into a watering pot.” She turned and looked at the guests. “It looks as if we’re all here.”

“There are so many.”

“Not for one of the duchess’s amusements. I’ve been here with three times as many guests.”

“What a crowd!”

“Yes, you never see the same people, and so it’s difficult to have a meaningful conversation, much less remember their names.” Miss Gordon chuckled. “Huntley says my mind is too weak to retain names, although it never forgets one bit of gossip.”

“My sister Dahlia says that gossip is good for the soul.”

“It definitely keeps life interesting.” Miss Gordon tugged on her gloves. “It will be a lovely outing.”

“Yes. This seems like a merry crowd.”

“Oh, the duchess never invites boring people. She says they give her the frets.”

Lily laughed, looking over to where the duchess stood speaking with MacDougal. She was gesturing toward the line of carriages across the courtyard. Each one was hooked up to teams of exceptional-looking horses. “What lovely horses.”

“Oh, yes. The duke is mad about horses. They say he has one for every day of the year and two for every Sunday.”

“I can’t imagine having the funds to feed so many.”

“Nor can I. Tell me, Miss— Do you mind if I call you Lily?”

“Of course not. It would make me feel at home.” Lily smiled. “I miss my sister far more than I thought I would.”

“Please call me Emma, then. You have two sisters, don’t you?” At Lily’s surprised look, Emma said, “Your sister Rose’s brilliant marriage was the talk of the
ton
for months.”

“Oh? And what did they say?”

“Nothing notorious. Only that the duchess orchestrated the courtship and that your sister and Lord Sinclair are wildly and passionately in love.” Emma made a humorous moue. “That’s quite against fashion, you know, which makes it very fashionable in itself.”

Lily laughed. “Fashion is so contrary.”

Emma’s gaze flickered over Lily’s gown underneath her red cape. Of pale blue muslin and set with a wide, white ribbon under her breasts decorated with a small line of red rosettes, it was deceptively simple. “If you don’t mind me asking, where did you purchase that gown? It’s lovely.”

Lily had made her gown, but it would have been gauche to admit it, so she merely said, “Someone from Caith Manor made it.”

“It’s not French?” Surprise lifted Emma’s voice.

“Not at all. I—she got the pattern from a women’s magazine and made it from there.”

“I wish I had someone to make me such gowns. I’m relegated to purchasing them on Bond Street, which is well enough, but does make one’s clothing seem far too much like everyone else’s.” Emma’s gaze locked on something over Lily’s shoulder. Whatever it was, it drew the attention of everyone near them. “Don’t look, but Prince Wulfinski just arrived. Such a handsome man.” She slanted Lily an arch look. “You know him rather well, I believe.”

Lily kept her face expressionless. “Slightly.”
If Emma has noticed how much attention Wulf has been
paying to me, then how many others have?
With a casual shrug, Lily said, “The prince doesn’t know many people yet.”

“But he does have a preference.” Emma’s gaze turned back to Wulf. “He’s escorting his grandmother. I’ve heard she’s quite a character.”

Lily turned and saw that Wulf was tying off a large black gelding to a shiny brougham that held a tiny, shriveled apple of a woman dressed all in black.

“His grandmother is the grand duchess something or other.” Emma sighed. “See? I don’t remember names well at all. One of my many failings.”

From across the courtyard, Wulf’s gaze caught Lily’s. Her breath tightened and her skin prickled as if a gust from a fire had suddenly swept over her. He smiled and moved toward her, ignoring a sharp call from his grandmother, who turned a gaze as black as her gown in Lily’s direction, a disapproving scowl on her face.

But Wulf paid the woman no heed as he crossed the courtyard, his narrow hips encircled by a thick leather belt, his loose, black breeches tucked into leather boots that lacked the shine of the Hessians worn by the other gentlemen. Whereas the other men wore a cravat, waistcoat, and fitted coat, he wore a white, flowing shirt and a loose coat, a tie knotted carelessly about his neck, a cape swinging from his broad shoulders.

But it was his mouth, both sensual and masculine, framed by his trim black beard, that quickened Lily’s
breath the most. Her hand, still tight about the ribbons of her bonnet, grew damp.

“He’s very handsome, isn’t he?” Emma murmured, her gaze moving appreciatively across Wulf. “Rather like a large bear.”

He is certainly as strong as a bear.
The first day they’d met, he’d carried her through the woods as if she’d weighed no more than a feather. And two days ago when he’s kissed her, he’d actually lifted her off her feet and had held her there forever. Her gaze flickered to his arms; she was well aware of his strength. She wondered if she could fit her hands about his muscular arms. Not that she would ever try, of course, but still—

She shook her head. She had to stop thinking about “ifs” and instead think about what really
was
—her father was counting on her and she could not fail him.

And yet . . . just looking at Wulf made her wish—

She closed her eyes.
No.

And with a hollow ache in her chest, she turned her back on the prince. “Come, Miss Gordon. Show me the horse you’re to ride.”

From the Diary of the Duchess of Roxburghe
I will not stand for Prince Wulfinski interfering in the budding romance I’ve set on course between Lily Balfour and the Earl of Huntley. I hope the prince is used to failure, for he will make no gains in this particular pursuit.

I shall make certain of that.

Emma leaned forward. “Lily, you seem upset. Is it—”

“No, no. I’m just looking to see if the duchess is ready for us to leave.”

“Where has her grace gone to— Ah! There she is, by the carriage.”

Lily couldn’t help but notice that while she faced the crowd, they were looking past her at the prince. And who could blame them? It was difficult enough to—

“Good morning.”

The deep voice poured over her like honey, and aware that many eyes were now turned her way, she reluctantly turned and curtsied.

Emma curtsied, too. “Your Highness, we’ve only met briefly, but I’m Miss Emma—”

“Gordon,” he finished, bowing in her direction. “I never forget a name or”—his teeth flashed—“a pretty face.”

Emma turned bright pink, and Lily suspected that the older woman might say something arch, but Wulf’s attention had already returned to Lily.

He inclined his head in her direction. “I was hoping you would be here.”

She colored under his gaze, her lashes dropping as she looked away. Her skin was as pale as fresh cream and decorated with a smattering of freckles across her nose—exactly eight—which he suspected would become prominent if she stayed in the sun for any length of time. His gaze flickered to her neck and lower. He frowned. “You are not riding?”

“I will be traveling by carriage.”

“Do you know which one? Perhaps—”

“Miss Balfour!” the duchess called from across the courtyard. “Lady Charlotte insists that I join her in her carriage, so I will not be riding after all. Would you care to join us?” Her grace was standing with Lady Charlotte, who was wearing a ridiculously large hat with two huge feathers poking from the top, one of which was already broken.

As Lady Charlotte went to accept a hand from a footman, Lord Huntley broke from the small group of gentlemen standing nearby. He waved off the
footman and assisted Lady Charlotte into the carriage.

“Miss Balfour?” the duchess asked again. “Are you coming?”

Wulf’s jaw tightened. There was no mistaking the frown that flickered across the duchess’s face when she looked at him.

“Sadly,” Emma said in a low voice, “I don’t think her grace is really
asking
.”

“So it seems.” Lily curtsied to Emma and Wulf. “Excuse me, but I am wanted.” She left, hurrying off as if the hounds of hell were hard on her heels.

He rubbed his chin as he watched her. She was such a small thing, his Moya, her hair gleaming red-gold in the late-morning sun. She reached the carriage and, taking Huntley’s hand, stepped up, her cape and gown revealing the tempting curve of her ass as she bent to take a seat. Instantly, Wulf’s body was ablaze.
Oh, Moya, what you do to me—

The sound of someone clearing her throat recalled him, and he turned back to Miss Gordon. “I’m sorry. I was lost”—he pointed to his head—“here.”

“I saw exactly where you got lost,” she returned in a surprisingly dry tone.

Up until now, Wulf hadn’t been impressed with any of the women he’d met at the duchess’s castle other than Lily. But as he looked into Miss Gordon’s smiling brown eyes, he realized he’d been hasty. She didn’t bat her eyes and giggle like a schoolgirl as the
other women had. She had a steady, direct gaze that he rather liked. “I beg your pardon for my inattention. If you do not mind, can you tell me what we do here today, about this—what do you call it? A peeknil?”