Page 65 of The Duke Who Loved Me (The Duke's Estates 1)

“After the way you melted in my arms in the waltz? And urged me on to fight for you? I think not.”

“Urged?” She put all her incredulity into the word.

“Females enjoy a bit of violence,” answered the prince. “They like to be won. Look at how the does watch the stags battle. I understood. Of course.”

“You…you appear to understandnothing!” She couldn’t throttle him. She couldn’t shake him until his bones rattled. He was too large. She had to be content with escape.

“On the contrary.” His voice was right behind her, practically in her ear.

She moved faster.

“I know what you wouldtrulylike better than you do,” Prince Karl said with an odious air of certainty. “You need only let me show you.”

Cecelia so longed to slap him. But that would prolong, and intensify, this encounter, and more than all else she wanted it over. She hurried toward the more traveled path.

A hand closed on her from behind. Outraged, Cecelia shook it off. His clutching fingers pulled the sleeve of her gown off her shoulder. She yanked it back in place and erupted onto the more traveled path, drawing looks of surprise from several strollers. She rushed along, too incensed to care.

The prince caught up with her. “There is no need to be ashamed,Cecelia. You succumbed, like every woman does when a man wakens her ardor. You need only give in.”

“You…you arrogant lout.”

“Is this how you English describe a masterful man?” He laughed.

He laughed! Cecelia wondered if anyone had ever actually burst with anger. It certainly felt possible in this moment. She experienced a state of perfect clarity. Of course James had not been able to resist hitting this man.

She couldn’t keep him from accompanying her back to the box, not without creating a scene that would entertain the gossips for days to come. From the startled looks of people they passed, her expression was already causing speculation. She tried to smooth the scowl that tightened her features, with limited success, she concluded.

Everyone else was back when they arrived at the box, and their expectant looks suggested they awaited an important announcement. Cecelia made her way to a seat in the back and struggled to contain her emotions.

“We lost our way on the paths,” said the prince jovially. “Vauxhall is quite a maze, is it not?”

“Often used to some advantage,” said Lady Wilton. She gazed at him with raised brows.

“It offers a greatvarietyof pleasures,” he answered, glancing at Cecelia as if they shared a delicious secret. She ground her teeth. “Is that the ham for which Vauxhall is known?” he went on. “I shall take some. And champagne, of course.”

“You have something to celebrate?” asked Lady Wilton, refusing to be diverted.

“Pleasant company,” replied Prince Karl with a malicious twinkle in his eyes. He seemed to be enjoying the awkwardness. He took the glass Henry Deeping had poured and drank. “Ah, good.”

“What’s wrong, Cecelia?” murmured Harriet.

“Nothing!” She spoke too loudly. She couldn’t help it. And her tone made all the young ladies in the box stiffen. Lady Wilton frowned.

Cecelia turned to watch the passing crowds. How she wished this evening over!

It went on. Cecelia fell back on established habits to play her part in the festivities. As her temper cooled, she began to feel less offended and more—not amused certainly, never that—but…analytical.

She’d met other people like Prince Karl, who inhabited worlds created inside their heads. They didn’t listen. They could not be moved from their settled opinions. It was as if they wore a pair of blinders that shut out anything they didn’t wish to recognize.

Cecelia didn’t understand how anyone could remain oblivious in the face of other’s needs and pains. Yet Prince Karl was only the most recent, and flagrant, example she’d seen. Looking up, she caught him gazing at her. He smiled with—smug anticipation? He really had no idea how intensely he’d infuriated her. He would refuse to believe her if she told him. Well, Cecelia didn’t intend to bother. She would avoid him from now on. She wondered if he meant to stay for the entire London season.

As a first step, she made certain she rode in Lady Wilton’s carriage on the way home, rather than the one the prince had hired to accommodate their large group. “I take it the prince didnotmake you an offer?” the old lady asked her as soon as they set off.

On the facing seat, Harriet and Sarah perked up like hounds who’d scented a fox.

Cecelia affected an air of mild surprise. “He is a prince,” she said. “He will make a political marriage.”

“Ah. He told you so?” Lady Wilton’s eyes were piercing.

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