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Angelique inched her way along the wall. She was quite proud of how much her talent at hiding away had progressed by what was merely the third ball of the season. If she’d estimated correctly, the large flowering bush of delicate, uselessly gaudy flowers—a rather adequate reflection of English society at large— hid her silhouette perfectly, sparing both her and her would-be suitors from the awkwardness of them asking for a dance, which, to be brutally honest, neither of them truly wanted. Because yes, she may have belonged to a relatively prominent noble family, but Angelique was still only a distant cousin, recently elevated to the status of a ward. It was far more likely that any gentlemen of the ton who came sniffing around were merely attempting to curry favor with her family; specifically, her cousin Lovelana, whom the Queen had declared to be the Diamond of the season. Gorgeous, sparkling Lovelana, who captured a room’s attention simply by swanning in. Or, to be more accurate, gliding in. Meanwhile, the manners instructor had long despaired as to Angelique’s…scuttling.
(Which is not to say that Angelique could not be graceful and poised as a Lux-Domus ought to be, she just didn’t see the point in doing so.)
Speaking of her cousin, Angelique watched as Lovelana twirled across the room on the arm of some besotted swain, her effervescent joy leading Angelique’s mouth to twitch upwards despite her jaded thoughts. Resplendent as always, her cousin wore a beautifully frothy gown of shimmering pale pink silk that echoed the Rose Ball’s theme of budding courtships and blossoming love. How very sickening-er, appropriate for all the blushing debutantes of the season. This particular Ball was notably peppered with hopeful young ladies and their ambitious mamas scheming to catch an audience with the Queen’s nephew, who was rumored to have arrived from France last night.
Angelique had donned a gown of deep blue-violet, nearly black, that glimmered with intricate silver filigree. Certainly a bit of a contrast from the sea of light pinks, teals and buttercup yellows floating in the ballroom, but darker, richer tones suited her coloring much better than pastels.
Besides, she was past caring what society thought of her at this point— she had finally resigned herself to never quite meeting their approval, no matter how much she tried.
Too many opinions on that one, they would disparage her, too much acerbity and bite to make a proper wife, a proper woman. Which was fine. It was Lovelana who had prepared all her life to enter proper society; she was the one who was meant to know how to smile in just the right way and always say the right thing. And while they didn’t always see eye-to-eye, Angelique was grateful to her cousin for always being so polished and perfect, as it meant their family held no expectations for Angelique. There was no need for her to secure a good match, no pressure to snare a wealthy husband or to start producing heirs at the drop of a hat.
And that was most suitable. Aside from the fact no sane gentleman would ever court her after taking one look at her more beautiful cousin, Angelique certainly had no use for a husband. Not when she so enjoyed her freedom. Perhaps she might have married for love, but Angelique held no delusions that anyone would fall in love with someone like her. No, she was perfectly content to remain just as she was.
Unfortunately, her self-designated spinsterhood still failed to spare her from being caught up in the matchmaking schemes of brown-nosers and bloodthirsty mamas. Or worse, the cattiness of the more competitive debutantes.
“I must say, I’m quite surprised to find someone trying to hide away here like some insipid wallflower. Surely she must know she sticks out like a sore thumb?”
Speak of the devil. Was it too much to ask that she be left undisturbed for one evening?
“Good evening, ladies,” she managed to grit out, pasting a fake smile as she stepped out from behind her hiding place. Lady Melody and her eternal stooge-companion Miss Nimal, lazily fluttering their fans, were pursuing their lips in a manner that they likely intended to appear haughty but only made them look rather constipated.
“Perhaps a deep bruise would be a more charitable comparison,” Miss Nimal added snidely, as if Angelique hadn’t spoken. “Imagine showing up to the Queen’s vaunted Rose Ball in a dress of that color? My mama wouldn’t have let me out the front door!”
“Now now, Nim. Taking her unfortunate background into account, you do have to admire her…originality and the lengths she’ll go to in order to catch a man’s attentions,” Lady Melody said consolingly. “Not that it seems to have worked, considering all eyes still remain on the Diamond and not her wallflower cousin.”
And then they tittered like sparrows, carefully peering out from behind their fans, as if hoping to provoke a reaction. How very mature.
Angelique drew a breath and the other two women tensed, their eyes glittering with snakelike anticipation. Except then she just. Walked away from their little games and power plays. And the indignant squawks of the young ladies behind her were mildly gratifying, even if she still itched to repay their kind words in a more satisfactory manner.
She needed fresh air. She strode towards the closest exit she could find, a nearby alcove that led out onto a balcony. Tempted as she was to simply deck the uppity cows and be done with it, ladies did not conduct themselves in such a brutish manner and she was not foolish enough to cause a scandal in front of the entirety of the ton. Lovelana didn’t deserve to have her night ruined because Angelique couldn’t rein in her temper.
She gripped the railing of the terrace, the coolness of the metal penetrating through the thin fabric of her lavender gloves. Her dance card, meticulously empty, swung on her wrist like a manacle. She didn’t care what they thought of her. She didn’t. Wouldn’t. It was not as if they said anything she was unaware of. She already knew she would never fit in.
They do not know me, she thought fiercely, nor I would not allow them to.
Angelique didn’t know how long she lingered, taking in deep breaths of the cool night air and ridding herself of the scent of the heavy perfumes permeating the ballroom. But at the sound of the balcony door being pushed open, the sweeping orchestral music briefly drifting in—a cotillion, she believed— she jumped. Someone stepped through.
It was a gentleman, one she was unfamiliar with. A rather handsome one, in fact, but those tended to be more annoying. This one betrayed a brief instance of surprise before a polite mask of indifference swept across his fine, aristocratic features.
“My apologies,” said the stranger, briefly inclining his head. “There is no need to leave on my behalf.”
Perhaps it was because she was still feeling nettled from the evening’s less than stellar progression, but the stranger’s presumption that she would be the one to leave galled her.
“How kind of you,” she said dryly, “to grant me permission to occupy an area that I had no intention of leaving in the first place.”
The man’s eyes flicked upwards in surprise. They appeared oddly dissonant until she realized that they were two different hues. “I beg your pardon?”
“You assumed I would automatically yield to you, good sir. Why should I be the one to vacate the premises?”
He arched an eyebrow, looking…amused? “You don’t know who I am.”
He wasn’t wrong, but she felt offended at being read so easily. “What makes you so certain?”
“Because you would never speak to someone like me so.” It was the matter-of-fact manner in which he said this, the condescending superiority so common to all of English nobility, which inflamed Angelique’s temper to such a degree that she snapped before she could think better of it.
“I have no need to know your identity in order to discern your character. Judging from the cut of that coat,” she cast a jaundiced eye at his swell clothing, the rich, well-tailored material evident even in the veiled light of the evening, “you’re wealthy, obscenely so. Titled as well, obviously. You couldn’t possibly rank less than a son of an earl or a marquess, possibly even a duke, with that sort of arrogance.”
“Surely arrogance is too strong a word-” he started, a half-smile on his lips.
“‘You don’t know who I am’,” she mimicked his deep, imperious manner as best as she could before resuming her normal speaking tones, “meaning that you’re used to being recognized, and most likely, pursued. Thus, you are a bachelor, one who is spoiled and used to getting his way. I’m sure you are used to winning over eligible young ladies with nothing more than a glib tongue and a pleasing smile.” He had the nerve to lean in, his grin growing.
“You think my smile pleasing?”
“I think your charm to be as deficient as your humility.”
He stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing. Real, richly musical laughter, not the polite imitation of genteel society or the patronizing amusement that she was more familiar with.
She blinked, disconcerted. “Did I say something funny, my lord?”
“No, not at all. It is merely that you remind me of a close companion of mine growing up.” Genuine delight sparked in his gaze, head tilted playfully. “Frankly, I’m not sure whether you two would be best friends or mortal enemies. Emerys is a bit of an acquired taste, I’m told.”
“I am not familiar with the gentleman you speak of,” she said loftily, fighting the urge to smile back, “But if that is the best recommendation you can make of his character, that may be the most backhanded compliment I have ever received.”
“First you insult my character, now my word,” he sighed dramatically, and Angelique lost the war to hide her smile. “Are you always so harsh with strangers?”
“I prefer the term ‘honest’. Something it appears you are unused to.”
He laughed softly once more. “Might I know your name?”
“So that you may attach it to scandal?” she countered.
“So that I may seek you out for the future.” He shrugged, the very picture of contrition. Clearly, he had missed his calling for theatre. “You are correct. It has been a long time since I’ve heard such refreshing…honesty. Particularly from a lady.”
She snorted in a rather unladylike fashion. “Forgive me, but I’m no lady.” Not technically, at least. That title will one day belong to Lovelana.
“Ah. Pardon me then, Miss…” he trailed off, obviously still fishing for a name. He was good, Angelique had to admit. But she was no fool.
“I do not believe it would be at all proper to hold introductions here. Unless you would like to explain to my family how you came to be alone with me, and unchaperoned for that matter?”
His answering smile held a touch of wickedness. “But would that not suggest our involvement in, shall we say, illicit activities?”
Distracted by their heated exchange, she had not truly been aware of how they’d been steadily closing the distance between them, leaning in towards one another. But his words drove that point home rather succinctly.
He really is very handsome, some part of her retained enough wits to process. They were close enough now that she could make out the precise shades of his eyes: one a deep blue, the other a merry, mischievous green. And they were fixed, wholly and entirely, on her.
There was something about the way he was looking at her. It felt different. Strange.
Dangerous.
“I should go.” The words came out more softer than she intended, smoke rather than steel. Unacceptable. She hardened her resolve. “I will go.”
“I did not mean to-“
“Do not fret, I am leaving on my own behalf, not yours.” In two steps, she was at the door leading back to society. She already had one foot through the opening before his voice rang out, a trace of frustration and something else seeping though.
“Will you really not tell me who you are?”
She hesitated. It was not every gentleman who could bear the brunt of her cynicism and bad temper with gracious humor. And she had to admit, there had been a moment or two where she had rather enjoyed their bantering, the simplicity of a conversation between two unknown parties with no social obligations to adhere to. But that had only been possible due to their anonymity. Once that ended, this fragile moment under the moonlight would be over.
“Enjoy your evening, my lord,” she said with finality, and slipped back inside.
~*~
She found her cousin relatively quickly once inside. Lovelana was lingering by the refreshment table and, more surprisingly, was alone.
“I see your feet have finally been granted a break, cousin.” Angelique commented, swiping a glass of lemonade for herself. “Have you finally exhausted all your suitors at last?”
Lovelana spun around, nearly knocking her glass over in a rather uncharacteristic display of gracelessness. “Where have you been? Mother nearly had an apoplexy looking for you!”
“I had to get some air,” Angelique waved her hand vaguely, oddly reluctant to share her story of the brief interlude on the balcony. “Since when does Aunt Felicienne concern herself with my whereabouts?”
“Since the Queen herself summoned us for an audience.” Lovelana laced their arms together and set off on a turn about the room, dragging her off as fast as propriety would allow. Angelique mourned for her abandoned lemonade. “One does not say no to royalty. Come, we must make haste to Mother!”
Between her wallflower-lurking, the balcony, and now this, Angelique was beginning to be worn out from the constant motion. She, at least, had not been expecting an evening of such liveliness. “What on earth could the Queen want with us?”
“Perhaps she means to introduce me to her visiting nephew.”
“You do not need me there for that.”
“But surely you must want to meet the prince!”
Angelique nearly winced at Lovelana’s naive sincerity. She meant well, but she never seemed to understand how little Angelique cared about such things.
“Oh yes, a prince. What joy.”
They wove their way around the dance floor, crowded with svelte suits and pretty, fluttering skirts. Nonetheless, Angelique couldn’t help smirking whenever she observed a man failing to hide a wince as a lady trod on his toe. Perhaps the gentlemen of the ton ought to invest in thicker boots.
By some unspoken agreement, the society Mamas had congregated by the far side of the dance floor, keeping an eagle eye on their charges and their noses to the air for any whiff of inevitable scandal. Lady Felicienne Lux-Domus, always the stiff picture of decorum and icy refinement, was rapidly flicking open her fan and snapping it shut in a manner that betrayed her impatience. “There you girls are. Angelique, make yourself more presentable and come quickly, we’ve kept Her Majesty waiting long enough.”
Another society Mama, wearing a dress heavily embroidered with primroses, tutted fussily. “I told you. If you’d only presented your eldest when the Queen had asked-“
“I’ve got two daughters under my care, don’t I?” Lady Felicienne said curtly. “It’s only fair to present them both at once.” And then she was off, towing the two of them in her wake like two wayward ducklings. Angelique tried not to shrink under the speculative stares and whispers of the ton that trailed after them.
The Queen was reclining with the rest of her entourage, observing the proceedings with her usual stately air and clad in a stunning white-blue gown of Nordic fashion. Her wig of voluptuous white curls was piled high in an elaborate, fashionable beehive and secured with a finely wrought diamond tiara. Lady Felicienne curtsied deeply, then signaled Angelique and Lovelana to do the same with a quick, near-imperceptible twitch of her fingers.
“Your Majesty,” began Lady Felicienne dutifully. “Thank you for your generous and most grateful favor. We are honored by your summons.”
There was silence for a heavy moment, then, soft but firm: “You may rise.”
Queen Rakel might as well have been carved from a pillar of ice, such was the serenity of her composure. Rumor had it that she had not truly smiled since the King had left for the war. Naturally, the common people only loved their Queen all the more for her fortitude and stoicism in the face of adversity. In her privacy of her thoughts, Angelique could only imagine how exhausting it must be to constantly maintain that outward facade of calm.
“Lady Lux-Domus,” said the Queen, entirely neutral. “Elegant as ever. Tell me, how fares your evening?”
“Your ball has been marvelous, Your Majesty. As lavish and opulent as the crown—"
“Cease the flattery, if you will. I grow tired of it.”
“What my mother merely wished to convey, your Majesty,” Lovelana stepped in, demurely steering the conversation, “is our gratefulness at being invited to the most prestigious event of the season. It has been a most splendid time.”
Angelique lightly scoffed. That was Lovelana, always knowing exactly what to say.
The Queen’s glacial features softened into something that nearly resembled a smile. “And how are you, my Diamond? I do believe you have danced with near every eligible gentleman in this room tonight.”
“Surely not every gentleman. My dance card can only hold so many, my Queen,” Lovelana said modestly.
Aunt Felicienne didn’t quite preen, but she was very close to doing so. “My eldest girl has already received two proposals thus far. Both rejected, of course, for the Diamond could not settle for a mere Mister or Sir.”
“Perish the thought,” Angelique muttered. Lovelana elbowed her. Play nice, cousin.
The Queen turned her regal gaze and the full weight of her attention onto Angelique, who fought the urge to step back. The venerable Queen Rakel had the sort of presence that made one always feel as though they ought to do their best to impress her.
Angelique always felt like she fell short of expectations.
“And you, Miss Angelique? I’ve yet to see you take to the dance floor this evening.”
“Your Majesty has a keen eye,” Angelique said diplomatically, even as she frantically contemplated why on earth the Queen was watching her closely enough to note her lack of dancing.
“Hardly. It is difficult to miss one such as you.”
Ah, look. In only ten words, my social reputation has plummeted to unfathomable depths, Angelique mentally sighed. Nothing could break someone in society as quickly as the Queen’s disapproval. “If we must speak of difficulties, I find dancing to be one of mine,” she managed to say, acutely aware she was switching the subject with far less ease than Lovelana. Then again, it wasn’t as if she could sink any lower in the Queen’s regard. “Particularly as most gentlemen struggle with a woman of my height.” And sarcasm.
“Perhaps you have not yet found the right partner.”
“Or perhaps I do not need one.”
“You must forgive my younger one,” Aunt Felicienne said hurriedly, jerking Angelique backwards with a vice grip. “She came to us with a strong streak of independence. It has granted her a unique sense of humor that we all find most amusing.”
Angelique nearly snorted. Only yesterday, Aunt Felicienne had been railing about her rather unholy sense of humor.
Fortunately, the Queen’s attention had been diverted to someone approaching them from behind. “Ah. It appears my own wayward relative has been tracked down. Lady Lux-Domus, Miss Lux-Domus, Miss Angelique, might I introduce you to my nephew?”
The foreign prince, dressed in fine clothes of dark royal blue to complement Her Majesty, was already mid-bow as they turned to murmur their greetings. Then he straightened to face them and she felt sheer, unfiltered horror root her to the spot.
She had been wrong. She had been so very, very wrong, he was not the son of an earl or a marquess, or even a duke.
The gentleman she had insulted on the balcony was the Prince.
His gaze roved past her to her aunt, then her cousin, and for a wild moment, Angelique allowed herself to hope that she had escaped recognition. Then his eyes snapped back to hers with unerring accuracy.
Found you, they laughed at her.
Angelique was doomed.
“Prince Evariste,” the Queen was saying, “this is the current Diamond of the season and her immediate family.”
Lovelana visibly brightened, sweeping into her most appealing curtsy. “An honor, Your Highness. I hope your travels were most pleasant?”
Brilliant, Angelique subtly attempted to edge away. Dazzle him, please. Maybe he’ll forget about me.
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Lux-Domus,” the Prince greeted Lovelana, his English deceivingly unaccented. Ridiculously, he looked even more handsome than he did under the moonlight, with the warm ballroom lights illuminating the well-proportioned features of his profile, his strong jawline, the light dancing in the depths of those blue and green irises. “My travels were excellent, thank you. The views were breathtaking, though even they cannot compare to the beauty of the company tonight.”
It was no wonder that Lovelana blushed and beamed, stars in her eyes.
It is surely unfair, Angelique thought grumpily, for a man to be handsome, rich, and charismatic. At least make him a halfwit, so that the rest of us stand a chance.
As if aware of her less-than-charitable thoughts, his head swiveled to her. And then he smirked.
“Miss… Angelique, was it,” the sly Prince drawled, drawing out the syllables of her name as if savoring them. She could sense the smugness in his tone. “I am delighted to receive your introduction, my lady. You are a lady after all, then?”
Clearly, he wouldn’t waste his breath on any pretty words for her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Lovelana’s eyes dart between the two of them, from her to him then back to her again, a wrinkle of confusion blossoming. The Queen quirked an intrigued eyebrow.
Civility be damned. Angelique was going to skewer him.
~*~
Evariste was, most unexpectedly and delightedly, having the time of his life. Oh, it was not entirely proper of him, he knew. But he could not resist himself, not when she, with those steel-sharp eyes and an even sharper tongue, had been the most interesting thing to happen all evening. And after he had already resigned himself to a night of banality, too.
“You are already familiar with the younger Miss Lux-Domus?” Aunt Rakel said slowly, a speculative look in those discerning eyes of hers.
“No. We merely shared a conversation in passing, Your Majesty,” he was quick to say. He had no desire for his Royal aunt to meddle in his affairs. Where the Queen involved herself, so did the entire Court, and that always made a fine mess of things.
“Hm. And what did you think of my nephew, Miss Angelique?”
“Our conversation was too brief to leave much of a lasting impression, your Majesty,” Angelique said with a straight face.
Well then.
“We cannot have that,” the Queen declared, looking entirely too entertained for his liking. “Evariste, might you finally stop flitting about and ask one of these lovely young ladies to dance? A prince must set a good example, after all.”
Evariste was sorely tempted to roll his eyes. With Uncle Farrin off fighting in the war, it seemed his aunt had grown immensely bored and meddlesome in her attempts to distract herself from his absence. She was usually a tad more subtle.
“Indeed.” He immediately pivoted and extended his hand to the beautiful dark-haired woman who had so thoroughly enchanted him out on the terrace. To Angelique. “May I have this next dance, Miss Lux-Domus?”
It wasn’t until her cousin nudged her—jabbed her, really—that the lady in question seemed to notice his outstretched hand.
“…pardon?”
“Would you do me the honor of dancing the next set with me, Miss Angelique? If it is alright, that is how I shall like to refer to you to avoid further confusion.”
She eyed his hand as if it were a snake about to bite. Which he found unfair, really. He was a gentleman; he wouldn’t bite unless she wanted him to.
He also knew how the game worked. If she said no, she’d be forced to sit out for the rest of the evening. After all, for a lady to decline a dance with a gentleman if she was not already reserved was entirely unacceptable, unless she had no intention of dancing at all. Which, from what little he knew of her spiritedness, she might have even preferred.
But if she said yes, then he would get a second chance to charm her at his best. Or at the very least, to spar with her in conversation once more. In any case, he had nothing to lose, his pride notwithstanding.
“Very well, your Highness,” she allowed, apparently deciding that sharing one dance with him was the lesser of two evils. Excellent.
Then, as she offered her pristine dance card to him with a smirk, it dawned on him that she had not attached a writing instrument to go with the card.
He could not help but raise his eyebrows, half-annoyed and half-admiring. No pencil, no power for a gentleman to claim a dance. A most clever method of dissuading even the most persistent of callers.
And without looking away from the mocking challenge in her steely eyes, he slowly withdrew a fountain pen from the depths of his coat pocket and carefully stenciled in his name in bold, black lettering.
The flash of grudging respect in that narrowed silver-eyed gaze, quickly overshadowed by sheer exasperation, felt like a personal victory.
“Shall we?” He smiled winningly and led them to the dance floor as the first stirrings of music began.
~*~
Silence had fallen between them. Instead of the usual banter, a thrumming sort of tension had emerged in the empty space of their muteness, accentuated by the occasional rustle of their clothes as they whirled around each other and the lively violin strings in the background. Eventually, Evariste could not stand it any longer.
“Have you danced much, Miss Angelique?” He inquired as they circled one another.
“No, Your Highness.”
“Is this your first time?”
“No, Your Highness.”
Frustration welled up inside him at her short, clipped answers. “Are you quite unable to say anything else?”
A flash of mischievous spite, quick as lightning, streaked through those beautiful eyes. “Why, yes, your Highness. I thought you would have preferred me to hold my tongue, particularly before one such as you.”
His rueful chagrin for his first words to her warred with his relief of finally provoking more than boring, monosyllabic responses. He twirled her once, twice, before she spun back around to face him, not missing a step. For someone who tried so hard to avoid dancing, she was rather good.
“I suppose you have questions.”
“I do.” With how intently her captivating gaze was studying him, Evariste was hard-pressed to remember that they were in the middle of the dance floor and not alone. “Starting with the most obvious one: why did you ask me to dance, Your Highness?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“Most men, princes included, would be dancing with my cousin.”
He tugged her a hair closer than propriety dictated, reveling in the way her eyes widened and her breathing momentarily hitched. “But I wanted you.”
Her foot stomped down on his. Hard. Ow.
“A bold claim, your Highness,” she gritted out, sounding as though she was only a few murderous moments away from doing so once more.
Once again, Evariste reminded himself it was not entirely appropriate for a gentleman, a prince, to be teasing a lady like so. But something about Miss Angelique made it so temptingly easy. “And was it not you who told me to work on my compliments, my lady?”
“I did not say that. And you are avoiding my question. Why dance with me? Were the dozens of young ladies staring adoringly after you not to your liking?”
“You seem determined to paint me a rake,” he said lightly, even as something in him thrilled that she was paying him such close attention. Was that a hint of jealousy he was detecting? “I can assure you that I have broken no hearts, nor do I intend to.”
She relaxed. “Is that why you chose me to dance with? Knowing I was not at all interested in you?”
Or…not. After months of constant flattery, her bluntness really was quite humbling.
“You intrigued me. There is only one woman tonight wearing a dress the color of the night sky. Our earlier conversation aside, you would have caught my attention regardless.”
She stiffened, much to his surprise. “I did not wear this dress to catch anyone’s attention, and certainly not yours.”
There was a story behind that statement, one he did not have the context for. In his diplomatic experience, the best method to avoid triggering any potential pitfalls in a conversation was to use unexpected humor. “And yet, look at how well we match.”
She glanced down, as if disbelieving him, but it was true. The shades of royal blue and indigo they each favored were infinitesimal in their differences of hue. It was rather comical how compatible their wardrobe ended up being, however unintentionally coordinated.
“Perhaps we should do so again,” he mused out loud. “It would be most amusing to show up to every Ball in the near future with our cute matching outfits.”
Her lips twitched upward at the absurd image, which he counted as a win, even as she sternly said, “Let us not.”
He grinned back in response. “You dance quite well. Based on your earlier reluctance, I assumed my toes would be far more abused.”
“It is not that I do not enjoy dancing. I simply do not like the scrutiny it brings to me.”
“I was under the impression you were not one to care what society thinks of you?”
“I am not.” She lifted her chin. “But that does not mean I like to be made into a spectacle.”
He slid a hand down to her waist, extending a foot outward to execute a half-turn. She followed his lead beautifully and spun with him, her skirts flaring out in a tight violet halo. It was difficult for him to tell if her cheeks were flushed with exertion or something else, but her eyes were bright.
They moved well together. He could not help noticing and feeling inordinately pleased by that.
“Then I am all the more honored that you conceded to dance with me.”
The brightness in her eyes dimmed slightly. “One does not say no to royalty.”
He ducked his head to catch her gaze. She averted hers, and a frown tightened the corners of his mouth. He wanted her to look at him again with that vibrant fire in her eyes. He wanted to draw out the woman who had responded with such ornery spirit and passion, to experience more of that push-and-pull between them on that balcony, that pulsating energy that was so very…addictive. “You realize I am not technically royalty, yes? The French had a—”
“Yes yes, the Revolution,” she said impatiently. “I am aware. I lost my parents as a result of it, but-“ He nearly missed a step. “You lost your parents?”
~*~
Angelique bit her lip. She had not intended on sharing that. It had already been more than a decade, and yet- His eyes were steady on hers, his grip on her hands gentle, not pushing or morbidly curious unlike the many other times she had been questioned before. So she let the words rise up, despite how painfully they scraped at her insides. “
We were relatively well off. Not aristocrats ourselves, but…far better than the Proletariats.” Amidst the whirlwind of movement, she snuck a glance back at her relatives, still standing by the Queen, who seemed...amused? Meanwhile, Lovelana wore a contemplative look on her beautiful face. “My mother had some distant relations to British nobility. They sent me away, promising I could come back when it was all over.”
She swallowed, dropping her gaze to their feet, robotically shuffling along. “I never heard from them again. Once Napoleon came to power, the Lux-Domuses finally decided to take me in as a ward.”
“I am sorry,” he said quietly.
She shrugged. “It is not your fault.”
“Nor is it yours.”
Angelique glanced up, startled. He stared back, keenly and far too perceptively for her comfort. This man, Evariste, he teased her, infuriated her, and yet…he had also been kind and unflinchingly sincere. It was most frustrating, the way she could not pin him down like she did everyone else. Highborn nobles like him were not supposed to behave so attentively to people like her.
“I never knew my parents at all.” He suddenly volunteered, his tone wistful. “I was raised by close relatives in France. When the Bastille was stormed, we fled to the Celtic nations. I spent most of my years there, among their royals.”
“You mentioned a close companion?”
“Emerys.”
“Right, the ‘acquired taste’.” Her lip curled, half in amusement, half in distaste. “I still cannot say I am flattered by the comparison to such a sour-sounding-“
“As in Themerysaldi, the King of Wales.”
“…oh.” She said, a trifle faintly. Who was she, to be consorting with princes and kings? To be insulting them, rather? “Well. Exactly how forgiving is he towards slander?”
He laughed. “He’s a good man. A bit too brash at times, but I count myself lucky to have his friendship.”
“You seem fond of him.” Angelique noted the nostalgic light in his eyes. “Why ever did you leave?”
“I could not stay forever,” he said simply. “I took up traveling. Went to Greece, Prussia, Spain, even back to France once things were more peaceful. And yet, through all the wanderlust, I still felt as though I wanted—“
“A home.” She could not say what prompted her to say that word, but it felt right. She pictured the way the peerage tolerated, but never quite accepted her, a foreign orphan with nary a pedigree. “You wanted somewhere you could belong.”
Something flickered in his eyes. “Precisely.”
“And now you are here.”
“Mostly at my Aunt’s insistence.” There was something hilariously gloomy about his expression. “She claimed she wished to see her favorite nephew. Next thing I know, she’s telling me she wants grand-nieces and grand-nephews and dragging me to Balls to become ‘settled at last’.”
Angelique could not help it. She threw back her head and laughed; far too openly by society’s standards, judging from the scandalized looks of the dancers nearby. Most fortunately, the music was at its crescendo and drowned out most of her mirth. “My sincere condolences. You have the look of someone being asked to attend his own funeral.”
“Well, I don’t quite view it as a death sentence,” said Evariste, seeming rather dazed. His fingers spasmed briefly around hers, as if he were resisting an urge to reach out and touch her. “I should like to find someone that I may come to love. And it would not hurt to humor the Queen. For only a season, mind you.”
“You are braver than I, to throw yourself straight into the lion’s den.” She was still cackling, her smile exposing far much teeth. Lord, she had needed that laugh. She tossed her head in an effort to rid herself of the curling tendrils that had bounced free of her coiffure. “Every simpering daughter and their bloodthirsty mama is going to be after your wealth, with every young, eligible bachelor thanking you on their knees for granting them a reprieve this season.”
“Surely you are exaggerating.”
His slowly rising panic was such fun. Perhaps she was having a little too much fun at his expense. But surely he deserved it, after all his scheming tricks into getting her to dance. “There is a reason I avoid the marriage mart myself, your Highness.”
His gaze sharpened. “You do not wish to marry? At all?”
“Perhaps not at all,” she mused slowly. How on earth did he turn the conversation back to her all of a sudden? “But certainly not before I am ready. I am lucky in my status as a mere ward that my family has never pressured me into such affairs.”
“I see.” He looked rather thoughtful. “I wish not to be hounded merely for my status, and you wish not to be married yet. Perhaps we can be of some use to one another. It may help if-"
“If you are about to suggest something utterly ridiculous like us pretending to form an attachment” Angelique said flatly, “I will do far worse than stepping on your toes.”
“No, no,” he laughed. “I was thinking we could be friends.”
“…friends.” She weighed it out, her brow furrowed. Something about that word seemed off, as though it did not fit them. But it was better than her jumbled label of strange-irritating-yet-endearing-acquaintances.
“Yes.” His eyes were twinkling. “You see, I have recently been informed that not all young ladies of society are easily taken in with merely a charming smile. Perhaps an inside source who knows what would truly win them over could do me some good.”
She laughed at what was clearly a jest. That laughter died when she realized he had not joined in.
“Are you quite serious?”
“Quite. I want to know whether it is me they are attracted to, or my wealth and status.”
“Would it not be more beneficial to befriend someone wielding greater social acuity and affluence?
“You are cousin to the beauteous, much-desired Diamond herself,” he countered, and something deep down in her deflated to know that he had noticed Lovelana after all. “I would argue you possess more social capital than half the debutantes here.”
“But unlike them, I am not known for my pleasantries, your Highness.”
“Oh, I am rather counting on that, my lady.” His smile held a trace of sardonic self-awareness. “I do not know English society, so I cannot be certain whom I can trust. At the least, I can already be assured that you will not fail to be honest with me.”
She chewed on her bottom lip, contemplating. She could not find any duplicitous intentions in him…aside from his unfathomable interest in her thus far. “So. You wish to be friends. But what if the ton should perceive matters differently?”
“Does it matter what they think? Or do you not think it possible for a lady and a gentleman to remain merely friends?” He arched an eyebrow, wearing that handsome, infuriating grin. “Worried you might fall for me after all?”
He was teasing her. She knew he was teasing her, and yet she still could not resist. “Hardly,” she growled. “In fact, I worry for the sanity of the woman that does fall for you. She will need nerves of steel to keep up with your incessant flirting.”
“I am sure she will,” he said lightly, seeming inexplicably pleased with himself as their dance drew to a close.
“It is no easy thing to discern a heart’s true feelings,” she warned, letting him spin her one last time as the music began to taper off. “It may take some time, perhaps even the entirety of the season.”
He lifted her gloved hand to his lips, skimming her fingers with the lightest of butterfly kisses, his eyes holding a promise she wasn’t quite sure how to answer. Something low in her gut curled pleasantly. “I am of the opinion that the best things in life are worth waiting for.”