The Princess Plan. Julia London
idea of starting the ball in this manner. It made her feel electric.
Fortunately, she supposed, she at least had the presence of mind to recognize she probably shouldn’t allow herself to be seduced by a perfect stranger.
The gentleman shifted imperceptibly closer, and his masculinity, which felt undeniably potent, wrapped around her and held her there. He lifted his hand and shamelessly, and slowly, traced a finger lightly across her collarbone, sending all manner of chills and shivers racing through her. “Is that not what you intended? To be easily seduced in a dark passageway?”
She snorted a laugh. The ridiculous confidence of men who believed that if a woman came near, they wanted to be seduced! “I intended to drink some punch and avoid the ballroom hostess.” She lifted her hand, wrapped her fingers firmly around his wrist and pushed his hand away. “You think highly of yourself, sir. But I should explain that merely because a woman is standing in a passageway, having drunk a bit of rum, does not mean she desires your advances.”
He smiled smugly. “You might be surprised. What other reason could a woman have for lurking in this passageway?”
“I can think of a hundred other reasons.” She could only think of one. “And I know myself very well, and I would never be seduced in a passageway. So if you would please step away.”
His eyes casually took her in, head to toe, and then he stepped to the side.
Eliza sipped more punch as if she wasn’t the least bit bothered, but in fact, her skin felt as if it was flaming. Her pulse was fluttering. And the thought that she was too practical was playing at the edges of her thoughts. The Alucian gentleman, tall and lovely eyed, was quite enticing. Who would have been the wiser? She wouldn’t mind in the least being kissed at a royal ball...but neither did she want to risk discovery and be tossed out before she’d met a prince.
As luck would have it, the door swung open and another Alucian stepped in. But he drew up short and stared down at her in surprise. He looked past her to the gentleman stranger and spoke in their language. The gentleman responded quietly and stepped around Eliza as if nothing had been said between the two of them and went into the ballroom without so much as a good evening.
The door swung closed behind him.
The door at the other end opened and the footman entered once more with yet another tray of drinks. “Madam, you can’t be in here,” he reminded her.
“All right, I’m going,” she said, and with her glass, she followed the Alucians into the ballroom.
She instantly spotted the hostess searching the room like an eagle surveying a valley from a high perch. So Eliza turned and walked quickly away from the group of undesirable dance partners. She skirted around the dance floor and, when she finally stopped to have a look around, she discovered she’d put herself in a group of women. It was some sort of gathering. In fact, two older women were corralling the young women together like a pair of sheepdogs.
And that was how Eliza had found herself in a line to meet a prince.
She hadn’t realized it at first—she was too taken by the youth and beauty of the ladies, all of them adorned in beautiful masks and gowns, and holding themselves with discernible confidence, quite unlike the wallflowers across the room. This was her group.
Eliza thought perhaps she ought to dispose of her fourth rum punch lest the fizzy feeling extend to her tongue—if it hadn’t already—and when she leaned forward to see around the ladies, she saw a group of Alucian men. Curious, Eliza tapped the very creamy shoulder of the slender and tall young woman before her.
The woman turned. She had dark hair and wore an elaborate mask that included peacock feathers arranged in a clever way around her eyes. The blue and green of the peacock feathers matched the blue of her gown. The woman blinked through her mask, her gaze taking Eliza in.
“I beg your pardon, but who are they?” Eliza asked, nodding in the direction of the gentlemen.
The woman blinked. “I think the better question is who are you?” she responded curtly.
“Eliza Tricklebank.” She bounced into a tiny curtsy. “I am happy to make your—”
“You’re not to be in this queue,” the woman said, cutting her off. “This queue is for selected guests only. You must have been invited to it by Lady Marlborough. Did Lady Marlborough invite you?”
Eliza had the punchy audacity to laugh. It was necessary to have an invitation to stand in line? But the peacock was frowning, and Eliza said, “Of course!” And then she snorted, as if it was ridiculous to even question her.
“Really,” the woman said coolly.
“Really,” Eliza said. “She said to stand here, just behind you.”
The peacock didn’t seem to believe her, but she didn’t press it. She turned her back on Eliza and whispered to her companion.
Was it really necessary to be invited to stand in line? And for what? Frankly, Eliza couldn’t imagine why anyone would stand in line to meet anyone else unless that someone was terribly important. Or rich. Important and rich and handing out bags of money. That was a queue she’d willingly join.
Or if it was queue to meet the queen or some other bit of royalty—
Eliza’s fate suddenly dawned on her like a beacon from above, illuminating the path before her. Of course! She leaned forward again. The Alucian gentlemen, all dressed in black superfine wool and white waistcoats and identical masks, were distinguishable only by the color of their hair. Which, on inspection, was quite similar, all of them shades of darkly golden brown, much like that of the gentleman in the passageway. They were similar in height, too. Only one of them was perhaps an inch taller than the others. Another a few inches shorter than the others. And curiously, they were all clean-shaven. Caroline had said the crown prince had a beard.
It must be the younger one! She was in line to meet one of the Alucian princes! Eliza was beside herself with glee. She felt giggly and restless and looked around once more, desperately seeking her sister, who would never forgive Eliza if she met a prince and Hollis did not.
But Hollis was nowhere to be seen, so Eliza sipped liberally, then touched the woman’s shoulder again. The woman turned impatiently. “What is it?”
“Is it the prince?”
Well. A pretty mask could not cover a good roll of the eyes.
“Good Lord, Miss Tricklebank. You’ve shown quite indelibly that you were not invited to join this line. You best walk on before Lady Marlborough finds you.” And she jerked around and put her back firmly to Eliza.
Eliza was not about to move away, not now, not with a prince only feet from her. And having found no place to dispose of her punch, she continued to sip it as the line slowly inched along, amusing herself with all the ways she could imagine being introduced. Miss Eliza Tricklebank. Miss Eliza Tricklebank. Miss Eliza Tricklebank, of the Bedford Square Tricklebanks. Not to be confused with the Cheapside Tricklebanks, as there had been a rift in the family after her grandfather’s death.
She bent to see around the ladies again, examining the gentlemen. The one in the middle looked oddly familiar.
No. Her stomach fluttered uncomfortably. It wasn’t possible! Was it possible? Good Lord, it was entirely possible. That was the same gentleman she’d met in the passageway. It was a prince who’d tried to seduce her? Hollis would faint with shock. Eliza might, too. He’d sipped her punch! The prince! The younger prince—
No. No, that couldn’t be, she suddenly realized. It was the crown prince who wanted to make a match. It had to be him—why else would these women be queued up like cattle to make his acquaintance?
All at once, she couldn’t seem to catch her breath. To think she’d come so close to the crown prince. She might have kissed him! She