Chapter One
Late Spring, 1819
It was generally acknowledged, in the circles of polite
society, that staring was not permissible-never
permissible, regardless of the circumstances. Yet each and
every guest in the too crowded ballroom โ from jaded rakes
to overdressed matrons, from sweet young things in the
first flower of youth to elderly lords on their last legs,
from the envious to the curious to the vastly amused โ did
indeed stare...or at least observed carefully, which was
much the very same thing.
Oh, discretion was in order, of course. There were no open
mouths or overly wide eyes. No pointed fingers or upraised
brows. Besides, regardless of the rules of proper
behavior, no one who was anyone would ever admit he was
not already privy to the liaison unveiling itself before
the very eyes of the ton. And everyone in attendance at
the gala reception given by the Marquess of Throubridge
for the crown prince of Avalonia was indeed someone, or at
least believed himself to be someone, which was nearly as
important.
Still, even the illusion of good breeding and fine manners
could not prevent a fair amount of discreet tittering
behind fans, an inordinate number of speculative smiles,
and more than a little nudging of elbows.
And why not? It wasn't every day London had a foreign
prince in its midst. That he was handsome and wealthy and
unmarried made his every move of utmost interest to the
mothers of eligible daughters as well as to the daughters
themselves. That he was showing particular attention to
one young lady made him the subject of intense curiosity
for everyone else. And that the young woman inquestion was
the incomparable Lady Jocelyn Shelton made him the envy of
the majority of men, married or otherwise.
Whatever their circumstances, each and every guest in the
room watched Prince Alexei Frederick Berthold Ruprecht
Pruzinsky escort the lady from the dance floor. Jocelyn
herself was well aware of the scrutiny. Indeed, she could
feel it almost as if the gazes directed toward her had a
physical presence: long, probing fingers of curiosity. She
lifted her chin the tiniest notch and tried to maintain as
natural a smile as possible.
Not that she was uncomfortable at the attention. On the
contrary. She reveled in it. She simply didn't want to
appear too smug, too satisfied, and too, too triumphant.
At this particular moment, Lady Jocelyn Shelton, sister of
the Earl of Shelbrooke and relation by marriage to the
Duke of Roxborough and the wealthy Effington family,
believed, regardless of the differences in their stations,
that she would soon be the bride of the heir of the House
of Pruzinsky, the crown prince of the Kingdom of Greater
Avalonia.
The prince bent closer to speak low into her ear. "I had
quite forgotten the English tendency to stare."
"Had you, Your Highness?" Jocelyn said lightly. "I was
under the impression that you rarely forgot anything. Or
that you were especially bothered by being the subject of
observation."
"Quite right." He smiled that particular smile worn only
by men who have no question as to their standing in the
world. "When one knows one's own worth, one expects such
attention. But then I need not tell you that." He studied
her in a satisfied manner. "You are as aware of your worth
as I am of mine."
She ignored his comment as she could not deny it and
raised a brow. "Are all royal princes as arrogant as you,
Your Highness?"
His eyes widened with surprise and she feared she'd gone
too far. Then he laughed, the kind of unfettered, rather
personal laugh that ensured the continued attention of
onlookers and upped the stakes of any number of wagers
made in recent days in the betting books of London.
"Indeed we are, my dear. Arrogance is a privilege of rank
and the higher the station, the easier it is accepted.
Besides, I see no need for false humility." He
shrugged. "Surely my attitude does not surprise you?"
"Not at all. Since our first meeting, nearly everyone of
my acquaintance has made it a point to tell me all they
know of you. About your arrogance and your reputation
and" โ she paused for effect โ "your women."
"You are extremely impertinent, my lady." A wicked gleam
danced in his eye. "I have always enjoyed impertinence."
"I have heard that as well, Your Highness."
He laughed again, the intimate nature of the sound
increasing her confidence. They reached the edge of the
dance floor and he turned toward her. "You have not told
me if you liked the flowers I sent today."
"Haven't I? Do forgive me. They were lovely." She tilted
her head to gaze up at him, allowing the slight enigmatic
smile men had likened to those seen on Renaissance
portraits to graze her lips. A smile well practiced and
always well received. "As were those delivered yesterday
and the day before and the day before that. In truth
though, we are inundated in blossoms. Your generosity is
appreciated yet it seems a bit excessive."
"Only a bit? I shall have to do better then." He caught
her hand and raised it to his lips.
"Better, Your Highness?"
"Alexei. Perhaps it is too soon for such familiarity
but..." His gaze never left hers. "I am an impatient man,
my dear. And my position permits me to be. I feel no need
for subtlety when I see something I want."
Anticipation shivered in her blood. "And what is that?"
"I want precisely what I wanted when I first danced with
you last week. And again each and every time I have seen
you since then. And now." He brushed his lips across the
back of her gloved hand. "You, my dear Jocelyn, are what I
want."
A wave of triumph swept through her. It was all she could
do to keep from grinning like a lunatic. A genuine,
wealthy, handsome prince wanted to marry her. Prince
Alexei Frederick Berthold and so forth and so on wanted
her to be his bride. His princess. And one day ... his
queen...
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