Princess of Glass Read Online Free Page A

left.
    Since this was not the Danelaw and Fru Jensen was not here to scold him, Christian threw himself facedown on the bed with his boots on. He'd been looking forward to having Prince George around for the first few weeks of his visit; another young man of the same rank would be interesting to talk to. But having just spent three hours in George's company, Christian couldn't wait for him to depart. Christian buried his head in a pillow and tried to erase the portrait of George's great-grandmother, the dowager queen Louisa, and her mustache from his mind.
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    He managed a whole hour of sleep before Prince George's valet woke him. While Christian stumbled about in tired befuddlement, the man silently found his evening clothes and helped Christian dress, even combing his hair for him.
    Before he knew it, Christian was a guest of honor at the Duke of Laurence's Harvest Ball. As soon as they had greeted their hosts, he found a chair and sank into it, waving off George, who turned away without any evidence of regret and positively threw himself at a knot of giggling young ladies.
    Christian yawned and looked around. A dance was starting, and George was leading a tall blonde to the floor. Other couples followed, except for a black-haired girl across from him. Despite the lively music and the fact that there was plenty of space on the floor for another couple, the young woman did not get up to dance. Christian decided she must have too many suitors to choose from, and turned to look around the room.
    The Duke of Laurence's mansion was huge, and the ballroom ran the width of the house, looking out over the gardens at the back. He could see through an open door into the supper room, where the tables had been laid for what he hoped was a splendid feast. The scones he'd gulped while dressing were nothing but a fond memory now.
    "No card room, if that's what Your Highness is looking for," said the duke gruffly.
    Christian looked up to see his host standing over him with a young woman on his arm.
    "The wife and I disapprove of gambling," the duke explained, frowning at Christian.
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    "Oh, no, I was just... admiring your home," he said lamely.
    "Forget the house, admire the ladies!" The duke gestured to the girl on his arm. "Marianne, this is His Royal Highness Prince Christian of the Danelaw. Prince Christian, this is Lady Marianne Seadown. There, you're introduced; ask Marianne to dance."
    Christian felt his ears grow hot, and was mollified to see that Lady Marianne was also blushing. He hadn't planned on dancing, but he didn't want to embarrass anyone either. He stood and took her arm.
    "This dance is almost finished," she said timidly, looking down at the toes of her slippers. "Shall we take a turn about the room until it is over?"
    "That would be fine," he agreed.
    "Here, speed things up for you," the duke said. He stalked over to the corner where the orchestra sat and shouted, "We've done with that tune, start the next!"
    "The duke is very...," Christian began.
    "Blunt?" Marianne smiled as her blushes faded.
    "I was going to say loud, but blunt would work as well."
    "I swear I didn't put him up to it," she said as they took their places for the next dance, a valse.
    "I believe you," he told her.
    As they twirled around the floor, he caught a glimpse of the black-haired girl again. She was still sitting in her chair by the wall, though she had fewer suitors this time. She didn't even tap her foot to the music, but sat with a frozen look of
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    polite interest on her face. Christian noticed that she had no dance card dangling from her wrist, and wondered if she were crippled.
    "Looking at Poppy?" Marianne raised a dark brow. "Quite a stunner, I know! I'll never compete!"
    "You are quite beautiful," he said, the compliment coming easily to his lips. It helped that it was true. "I just wondered why she doesn't dance. She's the only young lady sitting out."
    "Poppy doesn't dance," Marianne confided. "Ever." She studied his face, making