Seducing the Princess by Mary Hart Perry

hand to tap her on the shoulder, his body electric with anticipation. But, at the very last moment, someone grabbed his arm and yanked him roughly to a stop.
    “I say—” Henry protested, furious at the rude interruption. But when he turned to confront his attacker, he found himself facing the Prince of Wales. “Your Royal Highness!” Henry swallowed back harsher words. This was Albert Edward, the queen’s eldest son and the man who would become the king of England the day Victoria drew her last breath. All he had to do was outlive her.
    “Spare me a moment, will you, Liko?”
    Henry smiled at the Prince’s use of his nickname, which set them on casually friendly terms. But then, a terrible thought rushed through his mind: What if the heir to the English throne had read his mind and was about to publicly chastise him for chasing after his baby sister?
    “Of course, Bertie. What is it?” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Beatrice moving farther away. Soon she would reach the staircase to the rooms above. He ached to break away, but the prince still held his sleeve in an urgent grip.
    “I need your advice. I’m afraid I’m in a terrible fix.” The prince’s eyes darkened and flashed nervously around the room, as if he feared someone overhearing them.
    Henry let go of the breath he’d been holding. Sadly, there would be no chance of speaking with Beatrice tonight. He glanced her way, one last time. She and the queen were already ascending the elegant curving staircase with funereal pomp.
    Resigned to the change in plans, Henry gestured toward a door. “Let’s step into the duke’s study for privacy. I’m sure he won’t mind.”
    Rather than reassure Bertie, this suggestion seemed to rattle him all the more. “No, no. Good lord, no, not in there.” The Prince looked around them, eyes tight with panic, then keeping his voice low said, “The terrace.”
    They slipped through a short passageway lined with statuary, armor, and ancestral coats-of-arms, then back into the dining salon, now deserted except for staff—rushing about, clearing the table of silver, pewter and crystal, rolling up miles of damask tablecloth. No one spared Henry a glance when he snatched a brandy decanter and two glasses off a tray. Out through glass doors and onto the dark terrace he rushed in the wake of the Prince of Wales.
    As soon as Henry had nudged shut the doors behind them, he turned to find Bertie lighting a cigar while pacing the stone pavers.
    “What is it, Your Highness? Not more trouble from the Fenians, I hope, or another workers’ revolt back home.” So far, England had avoided the violent political uprisings that had plagued France, Germany, and many other European countries in recent years. But Henry knew the queen feared a revolution of the poor in her own country. And the Fenians, Irish separatists with a penchant for dynamiting London to make their point, hadn’t given up their fight.
    “No, no, thank God. Not any of that at least.” The prince puffed on his cigar and strode up and down in front of Henry in agitation. “Listen, I would have gone to Louis for advice, but it’s his wedding day and he likely has no mind for anything other than his bride.”
    “Of course.” Henry despaired of having lost his chance to speak to Beatrice, but he felt flattered the prince had come to him for help. He set the two glasses on the stone wall, poured a brandy for himself and one for his royal companion. “Tell me what troubles you, my friend.”
    The Prince of Wales stood still long enough to accept a crystal snifter with a generous portion of the amber liquor. He took three fast swallows and rolled his eyes. “Vicky’s father, the Grand Duke, is about to instigate a monumental social disaster.”
    Henry shook his head, at a loss. “He’s not going to withdraw his blessing is he?”
    “No, of course nothing like that. But in many ways, it’s worse.”
    “I can’t imagine—”
    “He intends to announce