Redeeming A Royal (The Royals of Aldonia Book 3) Read online

  Lucy’s emotions were positively riotous as she stood there watching Penelope and the prince.

  “Stop fidgeting,” Alice whispered.

  Lucy frowned at Alice’s admonishment before looking down. She’d been pulling at her gloves, she could see. And the white satin was starting to crease.

  The interminable Aldonian waltz came to an end, and Lucy watched with a sick feeling in her stomach as Prince Christopher escorted Penelope back to Aunt Ivy.

  She watched them closely, as did everyone else in the cavernous ballroom.

  While Prince Christopher looked as devilishly handsome as ever, he didn’t look particularly besotted with Penelope.

  In fact, he looked stoic and implacable. The ghost of a smile that had been playing around his lips as they’d danced nowhere in sight.

  Penelope looked flushed and radiant, Lucy noted.

  “Why is she so happy? It was only a dance,” she scoffed bitterly to herself and immediately felt thoroughly ashamed.

  What a terrible thing to say about her dear cousin. To think about her dear cousin!

  Penelope had done nothing to earn Lucy’s scorn, and Lucy had never before been so catty.

  It was jealousy, she realised with a start. She was jealous that her mystery man, the Crown Prince of Aldonia, had chosen Penelope. Had danced with her and smiled at her and made Lucy desperately wish that she and her cousin could switch places.

  It was a horrible feeling. Not one she relished. And not one she would allow herself to continue feeling.

  The orchestra struck up another tune, and Prince Christopher turned to address Princess Sylvie. A beautifully cool blonde.

  They made a striking couple, too, Lucy noted miserably. The princess was even taller than Penelope. Less neck cricking for her, too.

  Lucy knew she was being ridiculous. And as Aunt Ivy and Penelope bore down on her and Alice, she worked hard to school her features into a polite, even excited mask.

  Penelope would not suffer Lucy’s bad mood just because her mystery man had turned out to be the prince. There would be no more secret conversations. No more gazing into the dark, sinful eyes. No more of that strange, wicked, exciting feeling that had unfurled in her belly when they’d talked in the alcove.

  And the sooner she made her peace with that, the sooner she would forget all about him.

  Chapter Ten

  “Lady Penelope then?”

  Christopher frowned as Harriet’s voice sounded beside him.

  King Josef had retired some hours ago, but Christopher left the throne empty as always, instead taking his seat to the right of it.

  Though he ruled Aldonia, he wouldn’t take that seat until he had to.

  “What?” he asked subtly as he gazed out across the ballroom, trying and failing not to watch Lady Lucia.

  He couldn’t seem to help himself.

  While he’d danced with her cousin, he’d spent the entire waltz practically interrogating the lady.

  And to his chagrin, instead of being put off by tales of some fairly impish behaviour from Lady Lucia – like stealing a lamb from a local farmer, whom she’d assumed was mistreating the animal, and trying to keep it for a pet, for example—he’d been nothing more than vastly amused. Though of course, he didn’t show it.

  Lady Penelope’s tale of Lady Lucia stripping her Aunt Ivy’s rose garden bare one summer, however, had him unable to hide a smile. The chit really did seem remarkably light fingered for a lady of Quality.

  “Lady Penelope,” Harriet repeated now. “Though you danced with every lady from your list, she does seem to be the only one who managed to raise a smile. Or any facial expression, really.”

  Christopher nodded distractedly at a friend of his mother’s, who curtsied deeply before climbing the steps of the dais at the queen’s permission.

  “Ordinarily I wouldn’t think one tiny smile signified anything but – well, it’s you, isn’t it?”

  This time, Christopher turned to scowl at his sister and all round bane of his life.

  “How do you know about my list?” he demanded imperiously, even though he already knew the answer.

  “How do you think?” Harriet answered, rolling eyes, only a shade lighter than his own.

  “Your husband has an awfully big mouth for someone who’s supposed to be the discreet head of my security,” Christopher bit out as he turned his eyes back to the ballroom and its occupants.

  He wasn’t comfortable with having this discussion with his little sister. He’d never had the easy relationship with Harriet that she and Alex had enjoyed. Christopher had been too busy learning to be king to spend much time just being a brother.

  And while that might sting a little at times, it was just how things were. He knew better than to worry about what he couldn’t change.

  Just because he might want something like an easier relationship with his family, or to have not been made a fool of by a woman like Althea Furberg, or – his eyes darted to the unmistakeable red hair of Lady Lucia Allenwood, currently dancing with the Count of Tresdon – to be free of certain strictures that demanded he make certain choices, didn’t mean he could make it so. Far better to focus on what he could control than bemoan what he couldn’t.

  “He is the soul of discretion,” Harriet argued now. “But he is also my husband and knows what matters most,” she finished with an unrepentant grin.

  “And that’s not fealty to his future king?”

  “Not while he’s married to me, it’s not,” she answered breezily.

  Christopher knew it was useless arguing with his headstrong sister, so he ignored her, his eyes raking the ballroom instead.

  There were the usual faces, some desperately trying to gain his attention, some dancing, some enjoying the pleasant summer breeze on the balcony.

  The silence was blissful as it was brief.

  “So, then. Lady Penelope?”

  Christopher cursed his sister to perdition, on the inside at least. Outwardly, he showed no emotion.

  “I have no preference yet for any lady,” he bit out, though he couldn’t help but seek out a riot of auburn curls, a pair of sparkling aqua eyes.

  She’d stopped dancing now and had been escorted to the refreshment table by the Count.

  Christopher watched as though his life depended it on it as Tresdon leaned down to whisper in Lady Lucia’s ear, the man’s beefy hand snaking down her back and landing far lower than it had a right to be.

  The surge of jealousy that arose in Christopher took him by surprise. As did the surge of protectiveness when he saw Lady Lucia’s shoulders visibly stiffen with Tresdon’s actions.

  Christopher wasn’t naïve. He knew the proclivities of men. But he wouldn’t have a lady treated with anything less than absolute respect in his ballroom.

  That’s all that was going on here. That’s the only reason his heartbeat had picked up speed and his fists were currently clenching themselves into balls.

  He tore his glare from Tresdon’s hand to take note of the guards stationed everywhere around the vast room.

  Not one of them was looking in Lady Lucia’ direction. And they had no reason to, Christopher knew. It didn’t stop him cursing the lot of them, however.

  He dragged his gaze back to the lady and saw with some satisfaction that she’d taken a pointed step away from Tresdon. And though he could only see the profile of her lovely face, he could tell, even from this distance, that her eyes were snapping, her cheeks flushed scarlet.

  As he watched, she blew impatiently at a curl that had escaped its confines.

  Where the hell was her guardian, in any case? Wasn’t Lady Bonne supposed to be taking care of the girl?

  He looked around for the lady and saw, with no small amount of consternation, that she was with her daughter, Lady Penelope, and a veritable coven of Aldonian matriarchs. And every one of them were too busy staring gleefully at him to be paying any attention to Lady Lucia.

  Her sister then.

  Even as he rais
ed a subtle hand for a guard, his eyes scanned the ballroom for the sister.

  She was engaged in a reel with the Vicomte De Fait and was far too occupied with the man to pay her sister any mind.

  It was decidedly irritating.

  In his periphery, Christopher saw two guards hurry toward him.

  His relief was short lived, however.

  He needed to extricate the girl from the wandering hands of the Count without causing a scene. And sending two armed guards to drag the lout away from the lady would most definitely cause a scene.

  Why the hell do you care so much? he asked himself. But he couldn’t have said. It was unknown and unwelcome, this baffling sense of protective envy he was feeling.

  He felt – possessive of her. Which was utter madness and reason enough to ignore her.

  This. This right here was proof that he needed to keep away from the girl. The Crown Prince couldn’t afford to be sitting there, ignoring suitable ladies and visiting royals and dignitaries, in favour of watching over a thieving English girl of little consequence. He didn’t even know her, for God’s sake.

  They hadn’t danced. They hadn’t conversed more than twice. Yet, he was ready to rip Tresdon’s limbs from their sockets in full view of everyone in this ballroom.

  It wasn’t unusual for him to want to help a lady in distress, he told himself fiercely. But he knew it went beyond that. And that was a very big problem.

  The guards had reached the dais, drawing the attention of more than one guest at the ball, and Jacob, who appeared suddenly, his icy blue eyes raking the ballroom and, Christopher was sure, missing nothing.

  With another subtle gesture, Christopher dismissed the guards. He knew they’d probably be questioning his sanity at that moment, but they wouldn’t do anything other than follow orders.

  The Crown Prince never made impulsive or erratic decisions. Certainly, he never caused a scene or a whisper of scandal if he could help it.

  “What is it?” Jacob asked quietly, drawing Christopher’s gaze.

  See? Christopher insisted to himself. If Tresdon’s behaviour was a real danger or problem, Jacob would notice.

  Still, he couldn’t help but look across the ballroom once more, seeking her out.

  And when he saw her, saw Tresdon paw at her again, all his famed rationale went out the window.

  Without conscious thought, Christopher was on his feet and marching through the ballroom, ignoring the shocked faces and bowing subjects he passed on the way.

  By the time he reached Lady Lucia however, his common sense had returned and with it, a healthy dose of regret.

  What the hell was he doing running through his ballroom like a madman all because the Count had put his hand on a lady in whom he had no interest?

  And why had he assumed Tresdon’s advances were unwelcome?

  He ignored the sudden bite of jealousy as the thought formed. He had enough ridiculous emotions to contend with at the moment without adding another.

  The guests milling around where he now stood in front of Lady Lucia and Tresdon were standing in silence, not even pretending not to be staring at the tableau before them.

  Tresdon’s bloodshot eyes widened slightly at the sudden appearance of the prince, before he offered a hasty, if clumsy bow.

  Christopher didn’t acknowledge the man, however. His eyes were riveted to the young woman before him. The young woman, who decidedly did not look as though the Count’s advances were welcome.

  In fact, she looked positively, beautifully furious.

  Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes were snapping and what was worse, Christopher couldn’t tell which of the men before her was more a target for her ire.

  He did notice though that she took the opportunity of his arrival to move deliberately out of Tresdon’s reach.

  “Y-your Highness,” Tresdon slurred slightly. “I – you –”

  Christopher couldn’t exactly blame the older man for his obvious confusion.

  It was unusual, to say the least, to have the notoriously frosty Crown Prince suddenly make an appearance at one’s side during a ball.

  But he couldn’t drag his attention away from Lady Lucia to even put the man at ease. Though there’d been a distinct flash of relief in her eyes when she’d managed to extricate herself from Count Tresdon, the anger was back. And her cheeks were more scarlet than ever.

  He’d never seen a curtsy seem less subservient in his life than the one she belatedly dipped. For some reason that amused him.

  The urge to reach up and run his thumb along one of her cheeks to see if it was as heated as it looked was acute. Thankfully, since his sanity had returned, Christopher was able to resist.

  “You’re angry,” he blurted, albeit quietly. Just loud enough for her ears alone.

  He watched her eyes widen then narrow.

  “Oh no, I rather enjoy making a fool of myself in front of royals who pretend they’re not who they are,” she snapped.

  Why did he find her convoluted blabbering charming? Why was he amused by her sarcasm, instead of angered by it?

  “I didn’t pretend to be someone else,” he answered smoothly.

  Her eyes narrowed further still.

  “You did not tell me you were the Crown Prince of Aldonia,” she hissed.

  “And I didn’t tell you I wasn’t,” he responded softly.

  Her jaw dropped, no doubt at his audacity. However, he was the Crown Prince, which meant he could be as audacious as he chose.

  “But you – you – ugh!”

  He could tell without quite knowing how he could tell that she was hanging onto her temper by a thread. He also knew, or assumed anyway, that her temper would be quite a sight to behold when let loose.

  Christopher was aware, in a way that Lady Lucia didn’t seem to be, that they were garnering quite a bit of attention. And whilst it made him uncomfortable, he found himself loathe to walk away.

  “Are you well?” he asked now, ignoring her outrage at his subterfuge.

  Her expression changed to one of utter confusion.

  “Er –”

  “You are – comfortable – with your companion?” He spared a frown for the Count of Tresdon, who looked suitably abashed.

  “Oh.” Her glance followed his own before she looked back up at him. “I am now, Your Highness. Now that everyone’s hands are where they should be,” she finished pointedly.

  Christopher bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing at her outrageous comment.

  The ladies of his acquaintance never spoke so forthrightly about anything, least of all a man’s wandering hands.

  “And who is supposed to be chaperoning you, Lady Lucia?” he continued.

  “Oh, well my sister is dancing, and Aunt Ivy and Penelope are celebrating.”

  He wasn’t stupid. He knew what she meant by celebrating. Even Harriet had commented on his singular interest in the Lady Penelope.

  Little did any of them know that his interest had been in the befuddling creature before him, and not her cousin.

  Her eyes widened as soon as the words were out, and Christopher realised she’d spoken without thinking.

  That was another reason he couldn’t and shouldn’t consider pursuing her. A queen could never risk speaking without thinking.

  “I mean, well – not celebrating. Rather, er, rather –” Her eyes darted around. “Ah, Aunt Ivy.”

  The sudden appearance of the girl’s aunt brought a cessation to her chattering but the damage, as far as Christopher was concerned, was done.

  Now that his extraordinary actions had separated her from Tresdon and made her safe, he was free to really think about what he’d just done, chasing through the ballroom.

  Standing here now, knowing all eyes were on him, was a problem.

  As was the fact that he had no clue how to extricate himself from this.

  Asking her to dance was out of the question.

  Christopher expended a lot of energy ensuring that his name stayed out of
the mouths of gossips, and his actions were always above reproach.

  Dancing with a veritable stranger would set tongues wagging.

  And the truth was, he wanted so desperately to hold her in his arms that he absolutely couldn’t allow himself to.

  He glanced around the gathered crowd, feeling less sure of himself by the second.

  As the prince he answered to no one, yet he abhorred the idea of having them all talk about him.

  You will always carry yourself with an air of superiority, Christopher. And you will always be above reproach.

  His father’s words from his youth rattled around Christopher’s head.

  He needed to get the hell away from the temptation of a woman who was everything he didn’t need but he feared could be become everything he wanted.

  After only one day and two conversations.

  “Tresdon,” he called to the befuddled count, ignoring Lady Lucia and the temptation she represented. “Make an appointment to see me tomorrow before you leave. I wanted to discuss –” Christopher quickly cast around in his head for a legitimate topic “—your estate by the coast. Noon should suffice.”

  For a moment, he wondered if the poor man would die of fright on the spot but then the count merely nodded his assent. Not that Christopher was asking.

  Without another word or action, or even glance in Lady Lucia’s direction, Christopher turned to walk back through the ballroom, cursing himself as he went.

  Now, he’d have to endure the company of the bumbling Tresdon tomorrow. There had been murmurings of smuggling rings operating on the coast and though Jacob’s men had it well in hand and it was, in fact, miles from Tresdon, it was as good an excuse as any.

  He’d have a quick meeting and ask Tresdon to be vigilant, and that would be that.

  For now, he was going to leave the ball in search of his wits and common sense.

  He reached the top of the ballroom and the door that led to the family’s private wings of the palace.

  Before he could sweep through it however, his sister popped up.