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His eyes were fierce and hard as he stared into her and spoke these last words. Something intangible passed between them, and again her heart leapt with a strange sense of pride. She’d always been proud to be a Compton, but this was somewhat else.
I am the daughter of a king.
The fact kept repeating in her thoughts as her mind turned it over and over, examining it from all angles. Though she had no way of knowing how it would affect her in years to come—if it would even make a difference at all, now that she’d chosen to return to her life in England—she knew her place in the world had just been forever altered.
Dipping one final curtsy, she quickly but calmly walked to the door, opened it, and swept through with her head held high.
After a moment’s stunned hesitation, her mother followed, but Mélisande’s longer legs and faster pace quickly outstripped her. Dignity would not permit Maman to run after anyone in public, not even her own daughter; thus, all she required was to get out of sight and then find an adequate hiding place.
Passing into the Hall of Mirrors, Mélisande plunged into the milling throng. In her haste, she’d forgotten the calèche, and people stared at the newcomer in curiosity as she passed.
Out. I must get out!
The wide doors leading to the palace gardens tempted her not at all. She wanted to be alone, and the gardens here would afford her no privacy whatsoever. Too many people frolicked along the paths and hid in the manicured groves—and it was the first place Maman would look for her.
No, she knew exactly where to go to avoid capture.
Rounding a corner, Mélisande slipped down a servants’ corridor she’d found in a previous exploration. Ducking in, she took a number of turns that eventually dead-ended at a door. Filled with trepidation, she paused, listening for the sound of voices. Hearing nothing, she opened it a crack and peeked out into a deserted hall.
There, through the windows, she saw solitude. Across a lush green lawn nestled a little wood that was, like everything else here, an artificial construct. No matter. It was unlikely to be inhabited, and that was all that was important.
The moment fresh air hit her face, Mélisande’s feet began moving faster and faster. By the time she reached the edge of the wood, her breath came in great gulps and the landscape swam before her. Blinded by rage and grief, she ran beneath the shade of the trees at full tilt.
INNOCENCE MEETS WITH A MISHAP
THE IMPACT KNOCKED him sprawling to the ground. Alessandro let out a grunt of pain with what little breath was left him as he broke his assailant’s fall. Bracing her hands on his chest, the girl clumsily propped herself up.
“You!” Her expression was one of acute dismay.
Considering he’d just likely saved her from smashing into a tree, it was a bit unflattering to be looked upon with such horror. He gazed up at her with interest. Most young ladies regarded him with at least a modicum of admiration, if not downright lust.
“Dio,” he uttered in a reverent whisper, taking in her face. The woman atop him had wide eyes so deep a green beneath the sweep of her dark lashes that they put him in mind of a shaded wood.
And the rest of her was just as delightful. From his vantage point he could see almost the entire expanse of her glorious décolletage. The faint, pink blush of areolae peeked just above the edge of her neckline as her breasts strained against the fabric of her gown. Slowly, his gaze traveled from those creamy swells to the curve of her long, white neck. His arms tightened involuntarily around her tiny waist as he gazed into her fabulous eyes once more.
Eyes shimmering with tears.
He could not bear to see a woman weep. It didn’t hurt that she was by far the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on. Or hands. The feel of her was pure heaven.
“I believe you have the advantage of me, mademoiselle,” he breathed, reverting to French.
The girl only continued to stare at him with saucer eyes. It was gratifying to see he was having an effect on her, but her silence did nothing to satisfy his curiosity.
Patience.
He waited, and as they lay there panting together, the trepidation in her eyes slowly ebbed away, replaced by something else. Something infinitely more dangerous. Slowly, he stretched up toward her.
Their lips very nearly touched, mouths hovering less than a breath away from each other, when, squeaking in dismay, she shoved against his chest with all her might, staggering back to catch herself on a tree.
Slowly, he rose and dusted off his rump, looking ruefully at his once-pristine cream silk jacket with its embroidered violets. Ah, well. Straightening his coat and cravat, he came to stand before her. “Alessandro Vicino Orsini at your service,” he announced, sketching his most elegant bow.
The apparition curtsied, a dark curl escaping its confines to fall across one eye. “Lady Mélisande...d’Orleans.”
Taking the hand she offered, Alessandro brushed it with his lips. The gentle touc
h of his mouth on her bare flesh caused her to flinch and her cheeks to pink. With a half smile, he released her. “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle d’Orleans. Please accept my humble apology for being so inconveniently placed in your path.”
“The fault was mine entirely. I was not looking ahead as I should,” she replied, seeming embarrassed.
