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I hate that she's so lovely. Dressed in pale blue that compliments her porcelain complexion, everything about her is dainty and royal.
Despite all my preparation, I feel dowdy and plain. Cursing my weakness, I pull my chin up and walk into the room like I own it.
I sense when he first catches sight of me. He takes a step forward involuntarily, his gaze locked on mine even though he is in the middle of a conversation with the Duke of Rochester. His lack of attention is so obvious that the Duke, feeling flustered, begins to look around to see what has caught The Prince's eye. I hurry away before The Duke can suspect me. Not that it would be overtly obvious. Not many would pick the daughter of a merchant over a French princess.
I can feel his eyes on me as I make my rounds around the room. When I glance over and see him laughing at something The Princess has said to him, I almost boil over in anger. The Princess tosses her hair over her shoulder every thirty seconds. When she touches a lock of hair that has fallen in his face, restless energy courses through me.
And then the petty part of the evening begins.
I've never been the sort of girl to unabashedly flirt like some of my friends. And I know that, must to my father's dismay, I've been described as almost cold by prospective suitors that he has toyed with the idea of sending me off to.
But with the eyes of The Prince on me, I have suddenly become the life of the party. Attempting to employ all the charms that my friends and I have discussed in fits of giggles, I've found that evidently...most of them work.
I flutter my eyes like a fool at a Baron of something or other, and I swear he literally starts salivating right in front of me. When I giggle at everything that the Duke of Exeter is saying, I'm sure that my father is wondering if he should call for a physician, or if he should purchase some more ships for his fleet since The Duke seems prepared to marry me.
Every time I see The Princess touch James's arm, or open her lovely mouth to say something he apparently thinks is the wittiest thing he has ever heard, I flirt harder. How dare he flash her that smile that I believed was only reserved for me?
James begins to dance with The Princess. As he winds her around the room in graceful swirls, he catches my eye.
His jaw sets in a stern line. I can see the rage behind his eyes as my behavior becomes increasingly more and more coquettish. When he looks about ready to sentence my starry-eyed, dance partner to the gallows, I make my excuses, and decide to leave the ball. I've had enough.
I'm halfway down the corridor, when I'm yanked into an entryway by my arm. I give a little squawk of alarm, which is silenced by a hand over my mouth. I look to see who has dared to manhandle me, and I'm met with the glittering eyes of The Prince.
"What are you doing here?" he says harshly into my ear, animosity pouring from him. A shiver rakes down my spine at his sharp tone.
"I was invited," I respond spitefully. "By the palace itself no less."
He curses savagely, and it only makes me angrier. Leaning down, his arms brace on either side of my face.
"Did you think that you could hide your little French fiancé from me?" I say blandly, trying to sound unaffected by the closeness of his presence.
"It's not like that," he says through gritted teeth.
He strokes the skin by the collar of my dress, his fingertip tracing right on the edge of my breasts.
"Are you trying to torture me?"
Surprisingly, I'm not afraid of the depth of his reaction; in fact, I'm attracted to it. The evidence of passion in his voice and his actions are something I've longed to have from him.
As soon as I open my mouth to respond to his question, his lips take mine in a desperate kiss. When his tongue sweeps into my mouth, I moan and grip his hair, pulling myself flush against him.
"No more than you've tortured me," I snap at him, pulling away and trying to not sound like I'm having trouble breathing from the caress of his hand and his masterful control of my body.
"You promised me you would trust me," he says, and the anger in his voice bleeds away into something that sounds like torment.
"We're fooling ourselves if this situation ends with anything but my devastation," I tell him, my voice also less harsh from his ministrations.
"It's not that simple," he says. "I'm doing everything that I can. Finding something that will satisfy Father when I ask him to give up on a deal that could bring peace to two kingdoms for years to come is not a simple matter. He could care less who I love!"
I know I'm being selfish, but I want to know that he is hurting just as much as I am. I've always hated not being in control, something I obviously have had to deal with all my life being the "lesser sex" in the eyes of society. Just once, I would like my emotions to matter as much as a man's whims.
"Darling," he says softly. His anger has bled away entirely, only leaving tenderness in its wake. It makes me feel warm inside, and I want to stay wrapped up in it.
"Just trust me," he sighs as he pulls me close, sticking his face into my perfectly done up hair.
I melt into his arms despite the voice that's screaming inside of me that I should put up more of a fight.
"I have to get back," he says regretfully. "Will you stay? I won't be able to get through the night without you."
