Page 23 of Twelve Nights In The Prince's Bed

‘You did well tonight,’ he said, and she had no idea if it was what he’d intended to say or not but, either way, the praise warmed her heart.

‘So did you.’

The kitchen was luxurious and well appointed, but not enormous—like something in a five-star hotel, she thought, moving behind the bar and filling the kettle. Adrastos went to a liquor cabinet and removed a bottle with a label Poppy didn’t recognise, pouring a generous measure into a crystal glass before turning to face her, bracing his hip on the edge of the counter.

She made a tea, watching as the water darkened, then lifted her gaze to him, uncertainty holding her silent, but curiosity finally pushed her to speak. ‘How come you’re the way you are?’

He pulled a face, perhaps intentionally misunderstanding her. ‘Tall? Dark? Handsome?’

Her lips tugged to one side in an unconscious sign of amusement. ‘All of the above,’ she agreed with a little wrinkle of her brow. ‘But that’s not what I meant.’

‘No? Then what are you asking?’

She sighed. ‘With women,’ she blurted out, catching her by surprise. ‘How come you don’t date?’

His eyes were locked to hers but there was nothing in them. No hint of feeling, no suggestion of an explanation. He was so good at hiding his innermost thoughts! ‘Does it matter?’

She pulled a face. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Then let me tell you: it doesn’t.’

‘I’m curious, though.’

‘Why?’

‘Because you’re old enough to be married,’ she pointed out. ‘And it’s certainly expected of you.’

‘Eleanor will marry.’

Poppy tilted her head to the side, considering that. ‘Are you saying you don’t see it as your role to marry and have heirs?’

‘Not necessarily. However, should I fail in that area, Eleanor’s children may inherit the throne. I do not consider it my birthright, nor do I consider my children the sole heirs to the responsibility.’

Poppy’s lips parted, her mind swimming. She hadn’t expected such frankness, but his answers were deeply unsatisfying, for everything he said only made her want to know more.

He was a riddle, complex and ever changing.

And then, he was moving towards her, pacing slowly, yet there didn’t seem to be enough time to brace for his nearness.

‘I am much more interested in your relationship history, or lack thereof,’ he said with a gentleness to his voice that might have been a reproach.

She shook her head, unable to think anything approaching straight because of his proximity. ‘I—there’s nothing to tell.’

‘I beg to differ. A twenty-four-year-old virgin is not exactly commonplace.’

She frowned. ‘Gee, thanks.’

He shrugged. ‘It’s the truth. Would you prefer me to lie?’

‘I would prefer not to talk about it.’

‘Are you embarrassed? Ashamed?’

‘No, and definitely not.’

‘I am glad to hear it.’

‘But it’s personal.’

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