Page 67 of The Wallflower Ruse

Davis halted, cocking his head to one side and posing with the beribboned staff. “You wished to speak with me, ma’am?”

“Yes, I’m so very grateful to you for helping my foolish friend,” Lucinda gushed. She clasped her hands to her bosom and leaned in to whisper, “It was Mrs. Spence who obliged Mr. Pearce to bring a young lady who might be less than proper.”

“Is that so? Well, well. I’ll let Restive know.” Davis darted in to kiss her cheek and pranced off just as Pearce hurried over to pull her away.

“You let that person kiss you!” he said. “I told you before, she’s not respectable. One can tell only by looking at her.”

“She is a good, kind woman, and she’s properly covered, which I’m not. I thought you were kind, too, but you’re behaving like a brute, tugging me all over the place without so much as a by-your-leave.”

“I beg your pardon,” he said irritably. “I thought you would be thrilled to meet the Prince of Wales.”

“You misunderstand me,” she said. “I appreciate this opportunity to meet him in an informal sort of setting.”

That seemed to placate him. “You shall like him excessively, and I’m certain he will be enchanted with you.”

Perhaps he would be enchanted by a young lady served up to him on a platter, so to speak. But he would be upset and embarrassed when he found out who that young lady was. An embarrassed Prince would be an angry and vengeful one, and she couldn’t afford that vengeful attitude to be directed to her.

She had to let him know her identity immediately—without endangering him further, but without upending the plot too soon. How? She thought of Papa and how he had dealt with the Prince, and what the Prince had appreciated about Papa, and about herself as well.

Ah. Codes.

“My cousin Pearce,” the equerry said, “and a fair companion who greatly desires to meet you, sir.” He hissed something at Mr. Pearce, who hesitated, and the equerry reached around and pulled her domino open.

“How dare you!” Lucinda said, and snatched it shut once again.

The Prince barked a rebuke at the equerry. “Where are your manners, fool? I shall speak to my brother Clarence about you.” He ignored Mr. Pearce and smiled at Lucinda, and she wished he hadn’t seen her cleavage, but it was too late for that. “And who might you be, lovely lady?”

Lucinda rose from a deep curtsey. “One who brings a message to you from the past, Your Majesty. From Sir Hector Belair.”

The Prince’s brows rose. “Alas, Sir Hector was taken from us too soon. I valued him greatly.”

“As he valued you, sir,” Lucinda said. “On his deathbed, Sir Hector expressed his gratitude for your kindness and condescension, and hoped your memories of your conversations were as fond as his.”

“Indeed,” the Prince said, “and who might—” His eyes widened. “Remove your mask, my dear.”

Lucinda obeyed and smiled at him.

The Prince grabbed her hands. “My dear little Lucy Belle!” He rounded on the equerry. “What manner of knave are you? This is the daughter of one of my dearest friends. She is a lady of impeccable morals!”

“I humbly beg your pardon, sir,” the equerry said. “My fool of a cousin—”

“Bah!” the Prince said. “Get out of my sight, both of you.” He frowned down at Lucinda. “That gown is most improper, my child. What are you doing dressed in such a way, at a masquerade of all things? It’s not suitable at all.”

“I know, sir. I’m not here by choice, but you need not fear for me. Lord Restive will see that I reach home safely.” She leaned closer. “Please, sir, I must—"

“Stallion Restive?” He snorted. “What sort of chaperone is he?”

“He is my brother’s close friend. He thinks of me as a sister.”

“Unlikely,” the Prince muttered, “and definitely not with a bosom like that.”

Ahead of them, the terrace doors were flung open, and someone announced, “There will be fireworks and a bonfire, and refreshments will be served outdoors by the river.”

“Fireworks! What fun. And I do love a good bonfire.” The Prince patted her hand. “Stay with me, Lucy Belle, and you’ll be perfectly safe.”

Lucinda risked a quick glance behind her. The equerry hadn’t gone far, and nor had Mr. Pearce, who looked miserable. She flashed him a quick smile and mouthed a thank you, in the hope it would comfort him and reassure the plotters.

There, too, were Mrs. Spence and the Harlequin, and an angular Athena who might be Lady Tollister. With Pearce and the equerry, they formed an arc around the Prince, subtly guiding him bit by bit. Not that he needed encouragement with a bonfire up ahead. He surged forward, and Lucinda was drawn willy-nilly onto the terrace, clinging to his arm.