Page 46 of A Problem Princess

Thank God, because the way it had sounded…Treason.“How, exactly, did you mean it, then?”

“Well, I wasn’t proposing, if that’s what you thought.” She paused as she reached for one of the decanters. “Tradition says I’m the one who has to propose if I want to marry anyone less than a prince royal. Did you know that?”

“No, I didn’t.” At that moment, though, he didn’t give a damn about tradition.

She pulled free the stopper and splashed the golden liquid into the waiting tumblers. “But I also can’t marry without the sovereign’s permission. If I do, my marriage will be considered nonexistent and any children I have declared illegitimate. Damned if I do…damned if I don’t.” She forced a teasing note into her voice, he knew, to distract herself from her anguish over her father and the situation she’d been forced into. He recognized a survival tactic when he saw one. After all, he’d done the same himself countless times with his own father. “Makes courtship complicated, wouldn’t you say?”

She held out the glass of cognac to him. A glass… He nearly laughed. What he wanted was to snatch up the decanter and guzzle the entire thing straight down.

“That’s what made being alone with you so very special, why I didn’t want to ruin that by telling you about my father,” she admitted soberly.

He didn’t dare let his fingers brush against hers as he accepted the drink. “How so?”

“For the only time in my life, I could be certain that a man wanted to kiss me simply because of me and not because of this.” She removed her tiara, and her face fell as she stared at it, as if feeling in it a weight a million times that of its gold and diamonds.

She tossed it unwanted onto the settee.

He stilled, the drink raised halfway to his lips. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have done that.”

A long sigh escaped her, and this time when her shoulders settled, he knew it wasn’t from removing the weight of the tiara or even the crowns of two monarchies. It was pure relief.

“Actually, that felt really good.” Then she added breathlessly, “Almost as good as kissing you.”

Oh no.This conversation was not going well. If it kept going like this, he’d be in Newgate by midnight.

She removed her ermine-lined cape next and threw it over the sofa arm, revealing the soft-blue silk gown beneath. Its color brought out the pink in her lips and cheeks, the dark chestnut of her silky hair.

He swallowed, hard, yet he hadn’t even brought the glass to his lips.

“I enjoyed it,” she confessed.

So had he. Far too much. Knowing not to utter a word about that, though, he finally took a mouthful of cognac.

“And I want it to happen again.”

He choked. Coughing to clear his throat, he sputtered out, “It can’t!”

“Because of what my father did?”

“No.” Guilt turned the cognac bitter on his tongue, and he set down his glass. “What happened last night should never have happened. It was wrong of me. I should have stopped—”

“Don’t,” she bit out. “Don’tyou dare say that kissing me was a mistake.”

He said quietly, “A grand one.”

“Damn you.” Her whispered curse pierced him. So did the wounded expression on her beautiful face.

“Yes, exactly,” he agreed soberly. “Damn me.” He nodded at her. “And you, Princess, are just the latest reason for that.”

Her lips parted with surprise.

“Surely you’ve heard who I am.”

She frowned, puzzled. “You’re an undersecretary with the Home Office.”

He took a step toward her. “I’m more than that.”

“You’re also a general and soon to be a viscount.”