Page 84 of A Prince Among Pirates
“Maybe?” I ask. I don’t fling off the wig and tell him it’s all an act, tell him that I cry myself to sleep every night thinking about the men I grew to love as family. About the man I…
No, I dare not put it into words.
“I’ve met a few who may rival your confidence.” He’s sitting on the sofa, mending a button on one of Henry’s waistcoats from his youth.
“Have you? I suppose I’ll have to try harder.”
“You don’t have to try at all.”
I smile and make my way over to him to check his progress. For now I am wearing only my white stockings, lavender breeches, and a white shirt as I wait for him to finish his repairs.
“You do quality work, Thomas,” I say as I admire the purple lace. “If I don’t tell you enough, please know that I am well aware how lucky I am to have you.”
“Are you buttering me up?” he asks.
“Of course.”
“I won’t sneak any young women into your bedroom.”
“I’ll continue to hold out hope anyway.”
He scoffs and snaps the thread he’s just tied off, before moving to stand. “Come, let’s finish dressing you so you can ruin some poor young lady’s life.”
“I’ll undress myself for bed tonight,” I tell him as he ties my cravat with expert fingers. “It’s going to be a late night, and you deserve to sleep.”
“Now Iknowyou’re buttering me up,” Thomas says, but he smiles anyway. “Thank you, Your Highness.”
Once I am dressed and Thomas has given his nod of approval, I am ushered from my apartments down to the formal dining hall, where our guests are already arriving.
The dining hall is beautiful. Countless tapers and sconces twinkle across the huge expanse of the table. The silver gleams in the candlelight, and the smell of roasted meat, sweet squash, and hot butter gives the room an overall effect of obscene wealth. Some small part of me misses the young man who might have delighted in the opulence of it all, but I’ll never be that young man again.
Still, something about it is warm and inviting at the same time. It’s nothing like the dinners at my fath—at the viscount’s house in Falmouth. And there is no tablecloth to hide the carefully carved and patterned wood of the dining table, just a runner of silk and lace that follows the entire length and drapes elegantly off either end.
“His Royal Highness, Christopher-Henry, the Prince of Wales.”
Ohno.
I freeze when I hear myself announced, then turn to stare at the steward with wide eyes. Abject horror sends my heart shooting up into my throat, and I must force myself to swallow it back down before I remember to breathe.
What on God’s green earth is going on?
I let my gaze cross the room, passing over face after face, allof which reflect back to me the same expression of shock and dismay at my announcement. When I finally find the king at the other end of the dining hall, he’s looking smug and proud, and far too pleased with himself.
I don’t know what to do, so I just stand there, stunned and staring, until the dead silence around me slowly shifts to a cacophony of whispers, and then to a soft roar of voices all clamoring to be heard.
I could kill him.
I couldactuallykill him.
Christmas is still two weeks away, and I thought I had time to prepare myself for the inevitable scandal of the king’s secret bastard son being raised to the status of a prince of the blood.
But apparently not.
When the floor finally releases my feet, I cross the room in a daze to where my father stands, soaking up the chaos around him.
“Are youmad?” I whisper when I am close enough that I know no one else can hear but Eleanor, who stands beside him with an expression that says she’d like to ask the very same question.
“I told you my plan.”
