painting.
“Only a handful, unfortunately. Most were beyond repair.” For reasons he could only be half-sure of, he wanted to share with her things that mattered to him. “There’s one in the music room. The rest are in the museum. Here, have a look.” With his hand guiding her again, he took her down the hall into the next wing, their footsteps echoing off the mosaic tile.
Leading her through an open door, Bennett took her into a room that seemed to have been fashioned to accent the white grand piano in its center.
There was a harp in the corner that might have been played a hundred years before, or last week. In a glass case were antique wind instruments and a fragile lyre. The flowers were fresh here, as they were in every room in the palace. Trailing blossoms of jasmine spilled out of glossy, Chinese red urns. A small marble fireplace was swept and scrubbed clean with a pile of fresh kindling stacked as though inviting the match.
With Bennett, she walked across an Aubusson carpet to look back in time. This painting was of a ball, festive in bright colors and bold strokes. Women, gloriously feminine in mid-nineteenth-century gowns, were whirled around a gleaming floor by dashing men. There were mirrors that reflected the dancers and doubled them while a trio of chandeliers glistened overhead. As Hannah studied it, she could almost hear the waltz.
“How lovely. Is this room here, in the palace?”
“Yes. It has hardly changed. We’ll have the Christmas Ball there next month.”
Only a month, she thought. There was so much to be done. In a matter of hours Deboque would be out of prison, and she would soon learn if her groundwork had been clever enough.
“This is a beautiful room.” Hannah turned. Keep your conversation light, she warned herself. Keep your mind light, for now. “In our country house there’s a small music room. Nothing like this, of course, but I’ve always found it so relaxing.” She wandered to the piano, not so much to examine it as to give herself distance.“Do you play, Your Highness?”
“Hannah, we’re alone. It isn’t necessary to be so formal.”
“I’ve always considered the use of titles as proper rather than formal.” She didn’t want this, she thought quickly. She didn’t want him to close that gap of rank between them.
“I’ve always considered it annoying between friends.” He walked behind her to touch her lightly on the shoulder. “I thought we were.”
She could feel his hand right through the neat linen of her dress, through the skinny silk strap beneath and onto her flesh. Fighting her own private war, she kept her back to him. “Were what, sir?”
He laughed, then both hands were on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “Friends, Hannah. I find you good company. That’s one of the first requirements of friendship, isn’t it?”
She was looking up at him, solemn-eyed, with the faintest blush of color along her cheekbones. Her shoulders seemed so strong under his hands, yet he remembered how soft, how delicate the skin along her jawline had seemed.
Her dress was brown and dull, her face unpainted and unframed. Not a hair was out of place and yet he got a flash of her laughing, her hair unbound and her shoulders bare. And the laughter would be for only him.
“What the devil is it about you?” Bennett muttered.
“I beg your pardon—”
“Wait.” Impatient, as annoyed with himself as he was with her, Bennett stepped closer. As she stiffened, he held his hands up, palms out as if to reassure her he meant her no harm. “Just be still a moment, would you?” he asked as he lowered his head and touched his mouth to hers.
No response, show no response. Hannah repeated it over and over in her head like a litany. He didn’t press, he didn’t coax or demand. He simply tasted, more gently than she’d had known a man could be. And the flavor of him seeped into her until she was all but drunk with it.
His eyes remained open, watching hers. He
“Only a handful, unfortunately. Most were beyond repair.” For reasons he could only be half-sure of, he wanted to share with her things that mattered to him. “There’s one in the music room. The rest are in the museum. Here, have a look.” With his hand guiding her again, he took her down the hall into the next wing, their footsteps echoing off the mosaic tile.
Leading her through an open door, Bennett took her into a room that seemed to have been fashioned to accent the white grand piano in its center.
There was a harp in the corner that might have been played a hundred years before, or last week. In a glass case were antique wind instruments and a fragile lyre. The flowers were fresh here, as they were in every room in the palace. Trailing blossoms of jasmine spilled out of glossy, Chinese red urns. A small marble fireplace was swept and scrubbed clean with a pile of fresh kindling stacked as though inviting the match.
With Bennett, she walked across an Aubusson carpet to look back in time. This painting was of a ball, festive in bright colors and bold strokes. Women, gloriously feminine in mid-nineteenth-century gowns, were whirled around a gleaming floor by dashing men. There were mirrors that reflected the dancers and doubled them while a trio of chandeliers glistened overhead. As Hannah studied it, she could almost hear the waltz.
“How lovely. Is this room here, in the palace?”
“Yes. It has hardly changed. We’ll have the Christmas Ball there next month.”
Only a month, she thought. There was so much to be done. In a matter of hours Deboque would be out of prison, and she would soon learn if her groundwork had been clever enough.
“This is a beautiful room.” Hannah turned. Keep your conversation light, she warned herself. Keep your mind light, for now. “In our country house there’s a small music room. Nothing like this, of course, but I’ve always found it so relaxing.” She wandered to the piano, not so much to examine it as to give herself distance.“Do you play, Your Highness?”
“Hannah, we’re alone. It isn’t necessary to be so formal.”
“I’ve always considered the use of titles as proper rather than formal.” She didn’t want this, she thought quickly. She didn’t want him to close that gap of rank between them.
“I’ve always considered it annoying between friends.” He walked behind her to touch her lightly on the shoulder. “I thought we were.”
She could feel his hand right through the neat linen of her dress, through the skinny silk strap beneath and onto her flesh. Fighting her own private war, she kept her back to him. “Were what, sir?”
He laughed, then both hands were on her shoulders, turning her to face him. “Friends, Hannah. I find you good company. That’s one of the first requirements of friendship, isn’t it?”
She was looking up at him, solemn-eyed, with the faintest blush of color along her cheekbones. Her shoulders seemed so strong under his hands, yet he remembered how soft, how delicate the skin along her jawline had seemed.
Her dress was brown and dull, her face unpainted and unframed. Not a hair was out of place and yet he got a flash of her laughing, her hair unbound and her shoulders bare. And the laughter would be for only him.
“What the devil is it about you?” Bennett muttered.
“I beg your pardon—”
“Wait.” Impatient, as annoyed with himself as he was with her, Bennett stepped closer. As she stiffened, he held his hands up, palms out as if to reassure her he meant her no harm. “Just be still a moment, would you?” he asked as he lowered his head and touched his mouth to hers.
No response, show no response. Hannah repeated it over and over in her head like a litany. He didn’t press, he didn’t coax or demand. He simply tasted, more gently than she’d had known a man could be. And the flavor of him seeped into her until she was all but drunk with it.
His eyes remained open, watching hers. He
Similar Books
