A Kiss at Midnight

A not very romantic comparison, now she thought of it.

“You do know,” he said, fastening the last pearl, “ladies never sit next to gentlemen.”

“Even princes?”

“Only if they’re hoping to become princesses.”

“I’m not,” she said quickly. She was glad to hear the ring of truth in her voice.

“I know that,” the prince said. “Kate?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Gabriel. Don’t you want to know more about Dido?”

“Not particularly. She sounds like an extraordinarily foolish woman.”

“Dido was literary,” he said, ignoring her reply. “But she may well also have been historical. And at this very moment a former professor of mine, Biggitstiff, is excavating an ancient city that might have been her city of Carthage.”

If there had been a ring of truth in her voice when she talked of marriage, there was a ring of true longing in his when it came to Carthage. “Well, go then,” she said, startled.

“I can’t. I have this castle.”

“So?”

“You don’t understand. When my brother Augustus cleaned his stables, metaphorically, he threw out everyone and anyone whom he considered to be less than godly.”

“Including the lion and the elephant?” Kate asked. “I could see if he were talking about Coco, since she clearly has no gods before herself, but the elephant? And the monkey?”

“I think that was just because his wife was tired of the smell. But everyone else . . . out they went, bag and baggage, into my care.”

“Are you saying that you are marrying a Russian princess in order to support all of them?”

“Yes,” he said bluntly. “Not only is her dowry essential, but I can leave her here to run the castle.”

Kate stood up with one quick movement and sat back down opposite him. “I think we should head for shore,” she said. And then: “I just want to make sure that I understand you. You’re planning to marry so that you can support your motley family, and then you will promptly leave your wife in charge of the lot of them and go to Carthage, wherever that is? I assume it’s not in Lancashire, because Englishwomen never , even in literature, burn themselves for love.”

“You make it sound rather self-serving,” he said, cheerfully enough, “but that’s marriage, isn’t it?” He waved at the footman and gestured toward shore. “After all, she will gain my title. And with my inestimable gift for ascertaining value, I can tell you that the value of being a princess is high. For all that you show no interest.”

“I can’t believe that you ever considered seducing Victoria out from the very arms of her betrothed,” Kate said. “She’s terribly in love with Algie, you know. And he’s your nephew .”

“Yes, but it’s so hard to feel loyalty to him,” the prince said ruefully. “Though I suppose now that I’ve met you, I should.”

“I’m no relation to Algie.”

“But if my guess about your parentage is right, you’re his sister-in-law, or you will be,” he pointed out.

“So you’ll approve the marriage, then?” she asked, deciding not to comment on the question of her parentage. “Algie will be very happy. If it’s all right with you, we’ll leave this afternoon, because what with all the ladies who’ve noticed my less-than-delectable figure, this is a quite nerve-wracking visit.”

“No.”

She blinked at him. They were gliding into shore now, the punt knocking against the marble ledge circling the lake, and she thought perhaps she misheard him. “Did you say no?”

“You’ll stay for my ball.” He folded his arms and looked mulish.

“Don’t be absurd. Someone might realize that I’m not Victoria, and now that you know the truth, there’s no reason to stay.”

“You’ll stay because I wish you to.”

“ You can say whatever you please,” she snapped, “but—”

He leaped onto shore and held out his hand. She stepped from the boat, fuming, and he said in her ear, “Dimsdale will never cross me, Kate.”

Of course he was right, blast him. She turned and thanked the footman, who was handing out her dogs. “Well,” she said. “Do run along and be a prince now, Your Highness.”

“Come and dance,” he said, holding out his hand.

“You must be mad. Caesar, behave yourself!” One of the swans was swimming perilously close to the shore, at least from Caesar’s point of view. Thank goodness none of them had swum up to the boat to greet them.

“Do come,” he said.

“Your Highness—”

“Call me Gabriel!” He said it between clenched teeth.

Kate took one look at his fierce eyes and rolled hers. “Gabriel,” she said in a near-whisper. “I’m the dairymaid, remember? I had a governess for only three or four years, and I’m not sure I remember how to dance. I certainly don’t want to stumble around in front of Victoria’s acquaintances.”

“What are you planning to do at the ball?”

“I’ll wrap a scarf around my ankle and pretend Caesar tripped me.” That scapegoat was pulling at the leash like the little monster he was. “Caesar!” He turned and looked at her, so she made him sit, then rewarded him with a piece of cheese from her reticule.

“Your Highness,” Wick said, appearing before them. “Miss Daltry.” It wasn’t her imagination that he gave her name just the slightest, mischievous emphasis. “I do hate to interrupt Your Highness, but the Countess Dagobert has arrived and she wishes to greet you.”

“Wait here,” Gabriel said to Kate, moving away without looking back.

“Sod that,” Kate muttered. “Come on, dogs.” She took off in the opposite direction, Coco prancing ahead. The sapphires glued to the dog’s coat caught the setting sun and made it look as if she had a gleaming halo around her neck.

There’s the money that should have gone into refurbishing the cottagers’ roofs, Kate thought. And her dowry. She didn’t believe for a moment that Mariana hadn’t got her hands on it.

She had taken it—and glued it to a dog.

Sixteen

K ate heard someone squawking her name—her actual name, not Victoria’s—and turned around to find Lady Wrothe waving from the edge of the maze. Henry was wearing a madly fashionable violet and green striped day dress with a little ruff edging the bodice. As Kate came closer, she saw that it was a good thing that ruff existed, or Henry’s breasts would be entirely open to the air.

“Darling!” Henry called. “Come here this minute . . . what on earth are you doing cavorting out on the lake with that prince? Your little turnip of a betrothed is wandering around looking like a dog who’s lost his bone and that, as much as anything, has convinced them all that you’re really your tart of a sister. Of course, they think the prince is trying to steal your virtue.”

“Hush,” Kate said. “Someone will hear you!”

“You can’t hear a thing out here,” Henry said. “Haven’t you noticed? I think it’s all the water. I was desperately trying to eavesdrop on Lady Bantam warring with her husband, but I couldn’t hear more than a few insults about her beard and his floppy poppy, as if we didn’t know all that already.”