The Princess Plan. Julia London
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Sebastian smiled. “Quite.” He understood her as well as she understood him, as well as she and Matous and he all understood one another. Sebastian knew, without having to ask, that arrangements for private accommodations would be made.
At the end of the dance, he whispered an invitation in Mrs. Forsythe’s ear and how she might go about it if she were so inclined. The lady did not so much as blink. She slid him a look from the corner of her eye, flicked open her fan and whispered her response.
He bowed, escorted her from the dance floor, thanked her, then walked back to his group of men. He looked around for the ever-present Matous and spotted him across the room in an animated discussion with one very round Englishman. But Sebastian was quickly distracted by a couple sailing toward him at what looked like thirty knots. One of his guards stepped in front of him before the couple could accost him.
“How do you do,” the gentleman said, and bowed, exposing the bald spot on his head. “We should like to welcome His Royal Highness.”
Sebastian’s guard said nothing.
“We’d like to invite him to join us for cake,” the woman trilled. But she didn’t look at Sebastian when she said it, and he realized that they didn’t know who he was. They were hoping he or his guard would point out the prince to them.
His guard clucked his tongue at the lady. “I beg your pardon, madam, but the prince does not care for cake.”
Well, that wasn’t true at all. Sebastian very much liked cake and he could do with some now. He was starving.
“Would you be astonished to learn that my father, Mr. Cumbersark-Haynes, was acquainted with your king when they were lads at Oxford?” the man said. “Jolly good times they had, and I’m certain His Highness would enjoy the tale if you’d be so kind to point him out.”
Another guard moved discreetly to stand beside the first, blocking the couple’s view of Sebastian.
“Ah, I see. Yes, my lord,” the guard said, “the prince is just there,” and pointed across the room.
Both English heads swiveled around in the opposite direction of where Sebastian stood.
“Splendid, thank you very much indeed,” the man said. And then he leaned in close to Sebastian’s guard. “Is it true what they say? Is there to be war between Wesloria and Alucia?”
“In Alucia, we do not listen to rumor,” the guard said.
“Oh, of course not,” the woman said quickly, nodding her head so adamantly that the feathers atop her mask looked as if they were bracing against a gale force wind. “And neither do we listen to rumor.”
Except, perhaps, the rumor that war was brewing with Wesloria.
“If you will excuse us,” the guard said, and the couple were both nodding like a pair of dumbledees, the Alucian word for idiot.
The woman put her head next to her companion and began to whisper in his ear as they hurried off in search of the crown prince.
The first guard turned around to Sebastian. “I would recommend, Your Highness, that we adjourn to another part of the ballroom.”
“I recommend we adjourn to the dining room. I’m famished.”
“A private dining room has been set,” the second guard said, and indicated with his chin the direction they were to walk.
As they made their way toward the door of the ballroom, Sebastian looked around again for Matous but did not see him. The Englishman he’d seen talking to his secretary was now in the company of other Englishmen, all of them laughing together at something.
He did not see Matous again until much later, after he’d been served in a dining room and had drunk more of the delicious rum punch. He was in better spirits, looking forward to his clandestine meeting with Mrs. Forsythe. He’d even danced again, this time in complete anonymity with a young woman who focused on her feet. And when the Alucian dances were played, he joined the line with Lady Sarafina Anastasan, his foreign minister’s comely wife.
At half past midnight, Matous appeared at his side. He looked harried, a bit disheveled, and his hair was mussed. All quite unlike Matous. He said low, “All is at the ready, sir.”
Sebastian nodded. As they made their way from the ballroom, Matous said, “If I may, sir, is there some place we might have a word?”
But Sebastian had availed himself of punch and was feeling randy and desperate to be out of the mask. Visions of Mrs. Forsythe’s fair green eyes and unbound auburn hair had begun to play in his head in anticipation of what was to come. “Will it not wait?”
Matous hesitated. He glanced at the guard and pressed his lips together. “As you wish, sir.”
Sebastian took pity on his secretary and said in Alucian, “Come to my suite in two hours. We can speak freely there.”
Again, Matous hesitated. It was not like him at all—he was generally eager to please. Sebastian studied his face a moment. “Will that suit?”
“Je,” Matous said in Alucian. Yes. He bowed his head.
Sebastian carried on, his thoughts already on his tryst.
Mrs. Forsythe was waiting just inside the vestibule of the entrance marked by a clock. She smiled when Sebastian jogged up the steps.
“You must be freezing,” he said.
“I will be warm soon enough. Come.” She boldly reached for his hand. “I’ve the perfect room.”
Oh, he was certain she had the perfect room, probably procured for her by spies in the English government or perhaps even by rebels. He was well versed in all the ways someone might try and catch him in a compromising situation because he’d spent his life learning to subvert such ploys. He pulled her into him, caught her chin with his hand and touched his lips to hers. She sighed longingly.
“I’ve a different room, madam. Would you care to see it?” He wrapped his arm around her waist to escort her down the steps.
She resisted. “But I had the servant light a fire.”
“There will be fire in this room, too,” he assured her.
She gave a quick, furtive look behind her.
“Are you expecting someone other than me, Mrs. Forsythe?”
“Pardon?” She blanched. “No, Your Highness, of course not.”
She lied. But Sebastian smiled. He was well guarded and didn’t care what little scheme she’d cooked up. “Shall we?”
Whatever agreement she’d made, whatever bargain she’d struck, she surrendered it—she preferred pleasure to subterfuge. How fortuitous for him.
He put his arm around her waist and led her down the steps to the drive. They walked briskly behind an Alucian guard who led them around the corner and into a private garden, through a side door, and up the stairs to where the Alucian servants and guards had been quartered. Another guard was waiting at the entrance to one of the rooms. He opened the door for them, then quickly and quietly closed it behind them.
The room was small, but the hearth was lit, and the linens looked freshly washed. Sebastian did not hesitate to remove Mrs. Forsythe’s mask. She was as pleasing to look at as he recalled from the state dinner at Windsor.
She reached up and removed his mask, too, and smiled prettily. “What a handsome man you are, sir. Quite pleasing.”
Sebastian kissed her. She kissed him back. And before he knew it, he had her against the wall, moving with abandon, and she was crying out in pleasure like a hyena.
He never did make it back to his suite of rooms that night.