fallen under the spell of wood nymphs and faeries . I t had all seemed so real , he sighed . He could still see her as she’d been that night . Silken skirts billowing out with each turn he ’d guided her through the lighted ballroom . C andlelight enhancing auburn highlights in mahogany upswept hair .
“Ten minutes ago I met you,” he’d murmured.
“You looked up when I came through the door,” she smiled softly.
“I wanted to ring out the bells, fling out my arms, to sing out the news…”
Prince groaned . Mayhap he’d lost all of his faculties . It could happen .
Oui , he decided, it was too unreal . He’d been brainwashed . Age did not slow with time, the pressure of duty to marry and the guilt from M amán had sent him hurling into a fevered imagination . Besotted and held helpless by dreams that had truly taken over his sanity , p lunged him into dire madness . He’d reached for the skies and he’d liked it so well…
It explained everything, he reasoned . Even ported over his cousin’s shoulder it made perfect sense.
Well, except for her exceptional beauty , the breath of her laughter . The softness of her cheek next to his, her fit in his arms as they’d waltzed through the ballroom . And…what of the slipper he’d found abandoned on the stair?
Mon...Dieu , he was mad . ’T was not possible she was a fig ment of his imagination. The slipper was real . He had it in his possession, oui ? So why had not he been able to find her ?
“ Mayhap I should marry Egberta and be done with the entire business , oui , Arnald ? Please M amán ? D o my duty ? That had been the sole purpose of the ball, non ? ”
“What are you mumbling about?”
“T he wood nymphs have cast a spell on me . Truly, ’t is the only answer. ” Though no sound emanated from his cousin, the vibration of laughter was unmistakable .
Never had his chambers seemed so far away . Prince suffered through the humiliation hauled over Arnald’s shoulders . It occurred to him the servants would be quite entertained . Oh, not to his face, mind . What the devil did it matter, they had little enough excitement in their dreary lives .
When Arnald finally reached his quarters and dumped him on the bed it was with unceremonious hilarity . Not aloud, Prince observed, at least not yet . Such restraint had to be admired.
Mere seconds passed before Arnald finally let loose his suppressed laughter. As Prince’s closest relative in proximity and age , his comfort level in dealing Prince was not without its advantages . It could change.
Prince did not shift his position on the massive bed . No n . He lay frozen like a corpse , appalled by the turn of events . Even the groan in his throat stifled in shock . Mayhap he was dazed by the lump on his head . He placed fingertips to his temples . There was no lump . Oui , the wood nymphs . He would have them imprisoned.
Familiar surroundings with doses of deep even breaths settled over him . He’d heard tales of mid-wives mentioning similar techniques for child-bearing. He bit back the bark of hysteria , too absurd for words . There must be lump on his head—pressing in, creating considerable damage if he recalled talk of not only child-bearing, but mid-wives . At nineteen, he should have no inkling as to what a mid-wife was.
Sitting slowly, he tested the back of his head and shifted his gaze about the chamber . He started with the heavy armoire, then moved to the comfortable sitting area, the dressing table —t he table that held all his grooming tools, shaving apparatus.
A manly chamber .
A chamber he would never swoon in.
A chamber that exuded viral masculinity…save for the portrait of his parents of a much younger time, mind . Residing proudly over the bed . His bed.
Prince momentarily rested his gaze on that painting . On the magnificence of the artist’s skill in capturing M amán ’s soft knowing
“Ten minutes ago I met you,” he’d murmured.
“You looked up when I came through the door,” she smiled softly.
“I wanted to ring out the bells, fling out my arms, to sing out the news…”
Prince groaned . Mayhap he’d lost all of his faculties . It could happen .
Oui , he decided, it was too unreal . He’d been brainwashed . Age did not slow with time, the pressure of duty to marry and the guilt from M amán had sent him hurling into a fevered imagination . Besotted and held helpless by dreams that had truly taken over his sanity , p lunged him into dire madness . He’d reached for the skies and he’d liked it so well…
It explained everything, he reasoned . Even ported over his cousin’s shoulder it made perfect sense.
Well, except for her exceptional beauty , the breath of her laughter . The softness of her cheek next to his, her fit in his arms as they’d waltzed through the ballroom . And…what of the slipper he’d found abandoned on the stair?
Mon...Dieu , he was mad . ’T was not possible she was a fig ment of his imagination. The slipper was real . He had it in his possession, oui ? So why had not he been able to find her ?
“ Mayhap I should marry Egberta and be done with the entire business , oui , Arnald ? Please M amán ? D o my duty ? That had been the sole purpose of the ball, non ? ”
“What are you mumbling about?”
“T he wood nymphs have cast a spell on me . Truly, ’t is the only answer. ” Though no sound emanated from his cousin, the vibration of laughter was unmistakable .
Never had his chambers seemed so far away . Prince suffered through the humiliation hauled over Arnald’s shoulders . It occurred to him the servants would be quite entertained . Oh, not to his face, mind . What the devil did it matter, they had little enough excitement in their dreary lives .
When Arnald finally reached his quarters and dumped him on the bed it was with unceremonious hilarity . Not aloud, Prince observed, at least not yet . Such restraint had to be admired.
Mere seconds passed before Arnald finally let loose his suppressed laughter. As Prince’s closest relative in proximity and age , his comfort level in dealing Prince was not without its advantages . It could change.
Prince did not shift his position on the massive bed . No n . He lay frozen like a corpse , appalled by the turn of events . Even the groan in his throat stifled in shock . Mayhap he was dazed by the lump on his head . He placed fingertips to his temples . There was no lump . Oui , the wood nymphs . He would have them imprisoned.
Familiar surroundings with doses of deep even breaths settled over him . He’d heard tales of mid-wives mentioning similar techniques for child-bearing. He bit back the bark of hysteria , too absurd for words . There must be lump on his head—pressing in, creating considerable damage if he recalled talk of not only child-bearing, but mid-wives . At nineteen, he should have no inkling as to what a mid-wife was.
Sitting slowly, he tested the back of his head and shifted his gaze about the chamber . He started with the heavy armoire, then moved to the comfortable sitting area, the dressing table —t he table that held all his grooming tools, shaving apparatus.
A manly chamber .
A chamber he would never swoon in.
A chamber that exuded viral masculinity…save for the portrait of his parents of a much younger time, mind . Residing proudly over the bed . His bed.
Prince momentarily rested his gaze on that painting . On the magnificence of the artist’s skill in capturing M amán ’s soft knowing
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