Page 5 of Of Fate and Phantoms
He turned to me. "You don't need to fight her, or anyone. I'm yours."
A lump rose in my throat. I swallowed. "If I did have to fight, I would win. My right hook is rather good."
He chuckled quietly. "That it is, Charlie."
We'd restarted our training sessions after Christmas. Lincoln had been teaching me how to fight off an attack, with and without weapons. Even though the supernatural imp in my necklace could save my life, it needed to be out of its amber orb to do so, and I may not always be able to summon it. Knowing that I was capable of throwing a punch as skillfully as any pugilist made both Lincoln and I feel better. It also allowed us to touch one another without raising eyebrows.
A man wearing ordinary evening clothes of tailcoat, black waistcoat and white tie sauntered over to us. I recognized him from his lazy, arrogant walk, and the fact that his black mask—the only item of clothing befitting a masquerade ball—covered very little of his face. I tried to hide my distaste of Andrew Buchanan, but I doubted I succeeded.
"Well, well, if it isn't Bluebeard and his mistress," he drawled, looking me over with a critical eye. His gaze settled on my breasts, somewhat insignificant affairs compared to those of his step-mother, Lady Harcourt. He sniffed.
Neither Lincoln nor I took his bait.
"Your disguise isn't all that good, you know." Buchanan's little finger wiggled at Lincoln's chest. "I knew it was you immediately."
"You're looking for Julia," Lincoln said.
Buchanan bristled. "What makes you say that? I'm here for the refreshments." As if to prove his point, he inspected the table laden with cakes, biscuits, bonbons and sandwiches.
"She just left," Lincoln continued.
"I told you, I'm not—"
"Go away."
Buchanan backed off, hands in the air. The footman had to step nimbly aside to avoid a collision.
"He's already drunk," I said, watching Buchanan retreat to the ballroom.
"And he'll be even drunker soon."
"Do you think he'll embarrass himself? Or her?"
"It's likely."
A commotion by the door drew our attention. Surely Buchanan hadn't made a fool of himself already. Whispers of "He's here" rippled across the room to us.
"The prince," I announced.
"Shall we dance again?" Lincoln asked.
"Is that wise? Perhaps we should stay in here."
"I'm not going to attack him, Charlie, or confront him. I simply want to dance with you."
"Oh," I said and bit my lip.
"Besides, have you ever seen a member of the royal family?"
"No."
"Then now's your opportunity." He held out his hand.
I placed mine in it. "You're going out there, near him, just so I can catch a glimpse of a prince?"
"Is that such a bad thing?"
"Not at all." Yet I didn't quite believe that he was doing it for me. There must be a small part of him that wanted to observe his father, too, even from a distance.
