Linda Needham Read Online Free Page A

Sylvia took her by the elbow and led her back through the conservatory and into the well-lighted sewing room.
    Caro shocked herself as she looked into the cheval glass. “Oh, dear.”
    “We told you so.” Lucie picked a hairpin from Caro’s hair and then stopped to stare into her eyes. “He didn’t do this to you, did he? The handsome messenger?”
    Caro opened her mouth to say yes, of course he did. With his boldness and his broad-shouldered heat, his large hot hands traveling where they shouldn’t.
    But that wasn’t really the truth. Wexford hadn’t hurt anything more than her pride. And she had been the one to accost him . Albeit with a stick.
    And besides, Lucie and Syl would just be shocked to their socks. Though she’d known them forever, through joy and sickness and school and everything, she was beginning to feel an ever-widening distance from them. No longer a schoolgirl, too busy with her royal duties.
    She missed them dreadfully, but it seemed that was the lot of a princess.
    “Don’t worry, Lucie. It was a hedge that got the best of me.” Not the Earl of Wexford.
    Not ever.
    “We didn’t think so, Princess Caroline,” Syl said, picking the last of the hairpins out of her curls. “Something in those deep, dark eyes told us he was a man of honor.”
    “Is that so?” Caro hadn’t seen Wexford clearly enough to tell much about the color of his eyes, let alone the rest of his face.
    And a good thing, too. Once she was out on the dance floor again, if she accidentally locked eyes with him, she wouldn’t blush or react at all, because she would never know it was him.
    Though she might recognize the unusual breadth of his shoulders.
    And the square-edged strength of his chin.
    And the sound of his laughter.
    Those blatantly sensuous hands.
    The luscious scent of him…
    His profile.
    His power.
    Yes, it was a bloody good thing that she wouldn’t be able to recognize the man at all.
    She would spend another few hours dancing, suffering the ravaging of her feet by dozens of pairs of ungainly boots, the dreary courting, and then return home to the loads of work she had left to do.
    Restoring her father’s old kingdom to its former glory was a devilishly difficult labor.
    Even after Lucie and Syl put her hair back to rights and brushed her gown free of debris, Caro wasn’t quite ready to return to the pressures of the ball. So she gossiped and giggled with her friends like in the old days, laughing and joking until she thought she would burst.
    Then she steeled herself for the battle, thanked them for their friendship and their discretion, kissed them both on the cheek, and hurried off to the ballroom.
    “Ah, there you are, Princess Caroline!” Lord Peverel drawled as he and his two associates met her en masse beneath the ballroom gallery.
    “My lords, how delightful to see you all here!” Caro offered her hand to each of her acting ministers, more than grateful for all the advice they had given her about setting up her new government.
    “A ball in your honor, Your Highness!” Lord Innes grinned at her with his round cheeks. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
    “And, begging your pardon, Princess Caroline, but if you check your dance card, you’ll find me in line with all the others.”
    “I’m already looking forward to it, Sir Wellstetter.” She tried to sidle past them, but they were as eager as ever to see to her every need.
    “Just some final papers for you to read and sign, Your Highness,” Innes said, beaming at her, “and you’ll be ready for your triumphant return to Boratania.”
    Except that she’d never been there.
    “So, how is your delightful collection of Boratanian treasures coming along, Your Highness?” Lord Peverel asked, absently straightening the stickpin on his neck cloth.
    “It’s expanding very nicely, my lord.” Though she’d missed an opportunity just now in the maze, thanks to a certain prowling beast.
    “That’s good to hear, my dear