Page 68 of The Princess and the Rogue

“Having her tiara remade was a very generous gesture.”

“She’s a princess. Society expects it.”

“For someone who claims to have no feelings for her other than duty, I’d say it was above and beyond. You must have paid Rundell a small fortune to have it completed in such a short time.”

He shrugged.

“I suppose it would be vulgar to inquire how much it cost?”

“It would. I can afford it.”

Dorothea regarded him thoughtfully. “I’m sure you can. In monetary terms.”

He didn’t even want to ask what she meant bythatcryptic comment, so he pretended not to hear and disengaged himself as swiftly as possible. “Do excuse me. I think Alex is trying to catch my attention.”

Dorothea’s derisive snort indicated she saw through his cowardly retreat, but she let him slip away without further comment.

Ben and Alex were temporarily without their wives. Seb sidled up next to them and the three of them stood in companionable silence for a few moments. They’d stood this way countless times during the war, surveying the land or fortifications before them for possible danger. Seb felt a deep sense of gratitude that they’d survived to stand here now, as free men. The only terrain he needed to survey now was the ballroom, the only potential threat that of ambush from matchmaking mamas and enthusiastic widows.

He ran his hand through his hair and his fingertips touched the raised ridge of scar hidden behind his left ear. He’d been so lucky. There were far worse injuries he could have received. Alex’s new brother-in-law, Luc Danvers, had lost the lower part of his leg at Trafalgar. At least Seb hadn’t lost a limb or received dreadful scarring. Other men he’d served with had gone mad, unable to reassimilate into civilian life after everything they’d seen. They tried to lose themselves in drink or gambling, ruined their minds in opium dens, or even ended up incarcerated in asylums like Bethlehem. He had nothing to complain about. No reason to feel so frustrated and dissatisfied.

“You know,” Benedict mused suddenly, “Coleridge once said the happiest marriage he could imagine would be the union of a deaf man to a blind woman.”

Seb gave an amused snort. “Sounds about right.”

Ben levelled him a significant sideways look that made him lift his brows.

“Do you have a point?” Seb asked.

“You might be deaf, my friend—”

“Only on the one side.”

Ben continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “—but the princess isn’t blind to your faults. She sees them and likes you anyway. It’s inexplicable, but there you are. You’d be the greatest fool in London if you didn’t do something about it.”

Seb frowned at him. “I alreadydidsomething about it. I asked her to marry me. She said no.”

Alex and Ben shared a look that made him want to bang their heads together. Smug bastards. “Since when did you two become the experts on matchmaking?” he growled. “God, you’re as bad as Dorothea.”

“We’re not experts on matchmaking. We’re experts onyou. We’ve never seen you like this with any other woman.”

“Like what exactly?”

“Irritable.” Alex chuckled.

“Frustrated,” Benedict added with a grin.

“Discombobulated. It’s a joy to watch.”

Seb ground his teeth again. At this rate, he wouldn’t have any molars left with which to chew.

“Ask her again,” Alex insisted. “It’s a woman’s prerogative to change her mind, after all.”

“Not a chance. She’s given me her answer.”

Seb glared across the room to where Anya still swirled in Trubetskoi’s arms. She looked gorgeous, happy. Perfectlyat ease. Scores of men were hovering at the periphery, all eagerly waiting to claim her for a dance.

None of them knew her. All they saw was that beautiful face, those glittering diamonds. Seb was the only one who realized her polite smile never reached her eyes. Who’d seen her laughing at the pelicans in the park, or downing vodka like a hardened criminal in front of the fire. He closed his eyes. He still wanted her. It was like a sickness in his blood. A constant, gnawing ache.

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