Page 88 of A Prince Among Pirates
“You’d prefer to call your mother a whore than to even consider the possibility that your father is a—”
“Stop!” I snap. I can’t listen to this anymore. I can’t hear him say these things about my parents—about Henry. Not now that I have finally felt the tender touch of my father’s loving kiss on my brow, after nineteen years of longing for it. “Get out.”
“Kitten, you—”
“Get out, or I’ll call the guard.”
His face shutters when I say that, and whether or not he thinks I really will, I see that he won’t argue further. He walks over to my bed to pick up his hat from where it must have been sittingon my pillows. I turn away from him to stare down at the miniature of my mother in my hands, watching the beautiful melancholy of her eyes as the firelight flickers over them.
I should stop him. I shouldapologize. Something inside me knows he is right, but my pride is hurt, and I am so desperate for my father to be the sort of man who loves his son that I say nothing.
After a short eternity I hear his footsteps fade from the room, then the scrape of the door to the servants’ entrance by the fireplace as he leaves me to my turmoil and grief.
Thirty-One
Sleep eludes me, but I have no one to blame but myself.
When Thomas throws open the curtains of my bed to allow the sun its full-frontal assault on my retinas, I groan and pull the pillow over my head. “It’s too early for me to interact with you, Thomas,” I grumble, my voice muffled by the down filling.
As usual, Thomas ignores my pleas for mercy and plucks the pillow from my arms, before bringing it down on my face with just enough force that I sit up to retaliate, only for him to pull it away from me again.
“This is the second time I’ve come in here to rouse you,” he says, holding the pillow just out of reach. “It’s time for royal princes to be up and about.”
I squint at him as I recall an earlier attempt, which may have resulted in me swatting at poor Thomas’s face in my efforts to foilhim. I hate him a little for waking me. After last night, I bitterly regret ever having to wake up again. My head is throbbing and my eyes still feel swollen from crying.
Thomas raises a brow at me. “It’s half past eight in the morning, Your Highness,” he says—as if that should mean anything to me. When I don’t answer, he sighs. “Your father is waiting for you in his apartments.”
“Is he?” I ask, alarmed.
“For breakfast.”
“Have I agreed to break my fast with him?”
“Apparently, it was discussed at dinner,” Thomas says as he begins to smooth out the bedclothes. It seems if I don’t get out of bed, he plans to make it up with me still in it.
I grumble and reluctantly move to slide off the mattress.
As always, Thomas dresses me efficiently while still somehow making it feel like a sacred ceremony. Every button and lace is meticulously checked and perfected, and then he sends me to sit with my tea while he folds my sleeping shirt.
I’m pouring myself a second cup of tepid tea when he approaches with a length of blue silk ribbon between his fingers. “This isn’t yours,” he says curiously as he holds it up for me to see.
I set the teacup down with a bit of a clang, gaping at the ribbon.Curse you for a son of a bitch, Captain Sharpe.I reach out to snatch it from Thomas, but he pulls it away and shoots me a harassed look.
My reaction, more than the discovery of such a ribbon, has clearly shocked him.
I get to my feet. “Give it to me,” I demand, holding out my hand.
He watches me for a moment, then steps forward to set the ribbon in my palm. Before I can squirrel it away, however, he snatches my wrist and holds me there. “I am your valet, Your Highness,” he says in earnest. “Your secrets are my secrets. I would never betray your trust.”
I swallow hard as I stare into his deep blue eyes—then nod, because if I speak, I’m afraid my voice will crack. He releases my wrist, and I stare down at the blue ribbon with a frown. I wonder if Captain Sharpe left it behind intentionally or by mistake. If the former… was it an act of defiance? Or a token of affection? I hate that I don’t know, but either way, my chest aches at the thought.
I sink back down into my chair and bring the ribbon up to my lips, pressing the salt-roughened silk to them and inhaling the scent of his hair. What a fool I am. No matter how it hurt to listen to his claims, how could I have sent him away like that?
Viscount Falmouth was right about one thing: I am cursed to be loveless.
Thomas says nothing as he tidies my hair. I’m still holding the ribbon against my lips when he reaches out to pluck it from my hand. For an instant I think I won’t let him—but he’s watching my face in the mirror, and I release it, allowing the silk to slide between my fingers.
With the deference of one leaving an offering in prayer, he weaves it carefully into my plait and ties it into a perfect bow.I am moved by his silent act of kindness. We lock gazes in the mirror, and I swallow hard as I offer him a nod of appreciation. Thomas squeezes my shoulder, and bless his tender heart, he doesn’t say another thing about it as he crosses the room to fetch my shoes.
