Page 81 of A Prince Among Pirates
“There are ladies present,” Francis scolds me with a gasp.
I’m not sure if he is having a laugh or if he’s really just an absolute boob. I don’t look at him to find out; I can’t tear my gaze fromhimas he makes his way towards me with Elizabeth in tow. At least they haven’t got the children with them; that would be far more than I could handle.
“Christopher-Henry,” he says stiffly, once he’s near enough to speak without yelling.
What do I say? What do Icallhim? Does he know that I know? Does Elizabeth know? I stare at her, and she gazes back at me with watery eyes, looking like she might burst into tears at any moment. Dear God, I hope she doesn’t.
“Sir,” I settle on with a nod.
He sneers, and I know in that moment that he knowsIknow.
Before he can get a word in, I speak again. “I hear congratulations are in order on the birth of your second daughter.”
He takes the comment like a slap to the face—as though he would throttle me if it wouldn’t dirty his hands to touch me.
What an absurd reaction. What a small man. Were I the sort who wanted children, I would be just as happy with a girl or a boy.
“Oh, Christopher-Henry,” Elizabeth whimpers, and I take a small step back.
“Elizabeth,” I say carefully. “You look well.”
“My Lady,”my former father hisses at me.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I won’t have you calling my wife by her Christian name,” he snaps.
Ah. I see how it is now. I finish my champagne and set the glass on a passing servant’s tray with a silent nod of thanks. “Don’t worry,Father,” I say. “I have no interest in stealing your child-bride from you. You needn’t worry about my being too familiar.”
“How dare you,” he growls.
“Easily,” I reply evenly. “I would stay and chat, but I think I’d rather be drawn and quartered.” I turn to Kitty and take her hand, pressing a chaste kiss to her knuckles. “Good night, Katherine. Francis.” I look at Elizabeth. “Elizabeth.”
She dabs at her eyes and nods, and I bow to them. Then, without another glance at Viscount Falmouth, I stride away from the small group. Before I make it to the doors, I see a familiar face, one I would much rather avoid. I turn away before Digby Hale and his father can lay eyes on me, and make for the French doors that lead out into the frosty, snow-covered gardens.
I step outside—and instantly my breath clouds around my head like the smoke from the Turkish man’s pipe. I trudge out of the way of the windows, shivering, and wrap my arms around myself to keep from freezing in the cold.
“Well, this was a great idea,” I say to no one.
“A bit cold for a walk in the garden,” no one says in reply.
Christ!
I spin around, a hand to my chest, and lock eyes with anexceptionally pretty young man: big brown eyes, beautiful lips, and a silly white wig on his head.
“Indeed,” I say, a bit breathless from my scare. “But far more adventurous.”
“Fan of adventure, are you?” he asks as he approaches me.
He has no idea. “Apparently so,” I murmur.
He chuckles, though he doesn’t understand what I’m really talking about. “My name is William,” he says. As simple as that, not a title in sight—though he clearly has one, from the quality of his wig.
Once upon a time, I would have drowned my sorrows with his mouth. And some part of me still wants to bethatKit, wants to be free of my aching heart and grief for all that was ripped from me. I don a grin and straighten my back. “Christopher-Henry,” I say, because somehow asking him to call me Kit feels like a betrayal to Captain Sharpe.
“A pleasure to meet you, Christopher-Henry,” he says as he takes yet another step closer.
“I’m sure it is,” I say coyly, and am rewarded with another chuckle. I both love and hate the small thrill I feel at the sound of flirtatious laughter. “Shall we take a walk, then?” I ask, motioning to the gardens. “There’s a fine pile of snow over there, by that other pile of snow.”
