“Warrick? I’venointerest—”
The prince squeezed her hand. “When we are not honest with ourselves, it is easy to stray from who we want to be.”
Oh God.
Why couldn’t it be Misha? She’d never seen a man so glorious, and beneath all that splendor of muscle beat a good, steady heart. And yet when he’d stepped out of his carriage and sunlight had poured over the planes of his face, she’d been entirely unmoved.
“Misha, neither of us is particularly good at being serious, but—I hope you know how sorry I am. I treated our friendship carelessly.”
“You mistake me, Charlotte. I am too good at being serious. This is why I like you—because you make it easy to forget. But I think”—those ice-bright eyes probed deep—“perhaps I mistake you, too? In any case, I am not one for holding the grudges.”
Charlotte dashed impatiently at her eyes. “God, Misha, don’t be too kind. I can’t stand it.”
The prince offered her a hand and led her out of the Grand Salon, pausing just before they reached the bright chatter spilling out from the dining room.
“Tomorrow I shall leave, but tonight…” His voice went low, each word dipped in mischief. “Tonight, we amuse ourselves at a duke’s expense?”
CHAPTER 30
Wolfgang had taken a bulletonce, on the fifth charge at Waterloo. It had smacked into his shoulder, and what had shocked him wasn’t the pain, or the heat as the bullet seared into muscle and out again. It was the blow, how one small plug of metal was strong enough to knock him sideways. But a bullet, he was quickly learning, packed nowhere near the punch of Charlotte sitting across the table with her damned prince, engaged in what seemed like… a flirting competition?
Wolfgang thrashed around on his pillow, light pushing in through the cracks of the curtains as the dawn rose, the loneliest time of day.
At least it’s over. She’s chosen Belozersky.
The thought was meant to be a comfort, but it left him as bleak as the wash of unrelenting gray outside. Damn it, he didn’twantto marry Charlotte. The thought of her with Belozersky ought to feel like a boulder falling from his shoulders.
There was a soft knock, and Grimsby pushed open the door. “Are you awake, Your Grace? The dowager has asked if you might join her in her sitting room.”
Another bullet, and Wolfgang couldn’t deny that this one smacked straight into his heart. The only reason the dowager would need him at this hour of the morning was to help with the formalities of a marriage settlement.
“Thank you, Grimsby.”
Wolfgang flung back the covers and stood to meet his fate. He dressed and went downstairs, each strike of his boot against a marble step bringing him closer to the end of a story that had never quite started.
“Good morning, Lady Alice. I’m honored to be of service.”
“There you are, Your Grace. I wondered, might you—”
“Meet with Belozersky on your behalf? Of course.” He hesitated for a long, somber beat. “It’s official, then? Lady Charlotte’s accepted?”
The dowager frowned. “Your Grace, I called you here because I’d like you to escort Lady Charlotte to Maidstone.”
“Maidstone?” A whole day in a carriage with Charlotte lit up over another man? He’d prefer a death march over the Pyrenees. “Surely the prince can escort her?”
“I’m afraid not.” The dowager offered him an inscrutable smile. “The prince left first thing this morning, you see.”
“Left? But I thought—”
“Yes, your thoughts are quite clear, but Charlotte declined the prince’s very kind offer. And so—Maidstone?”
Wolfgang’s legs shook with pure relief, but he bowed low. “I’d be delighted, my lady.”
An hour later, after a pot of coffee and a hearty breakfast, Wolfgang’s outlook on the day was decidedly sunnier. In fact, he rather felt like whistling as he stood waiting by a landau in Clare’s front courtyard and eavesdropped shamelessly.
“Gran! I don’t understand—you know I must go.”
“Yes, Charlotte. With an escort.”
