Page 93 of A Prince Among Pirates
Good.
“You’re looking well, Christopher-Henry,” he says.
“You mean ‘Your Highness,’?” I remind him, and I revel in the way his eyes darken and his shoulders tense.
“Of course. YourHighness.”
I smile a little and hold out my hand, freshly ornamented with the ruby of my father’s reign. I wait in silence for him to react. When he does, I can see that it pains him to do so. He takes my hand in his and touches his lips to the ring in a kiss so brief that perhaps he can convince himself it did not actually happen.
But it did.
I take my hand back and make a show of brushing my thumb against my first and middle fingers, as if to shake off the lingeringfilth of his skin touching my own. I say nothing as I do it, but I can see the change in his demeanor: the darkening of his features and the furrowing of his brow.
“On your way to grovel before my father, are you?” I ask.
His eyes widen a little, and I can see that he’s searching his memory for some insult he might have paid to his dear friend King Henry.
I smile slowly. “I haven’t told him yet about how well you raised me,” I say—and there is a clear threat behind my words. He knows it, and I know it. “He’s having a box of her things sent to my rooms tonight. I don’t imagine there will be anything inside it you’d have an objection to my seeing.”
I watch his throat bob as he tries to work out where I am going with this. “It’s not I who have something to hide, Your Highness,” he says carefully.
I watch his face and frown. “No?” I ask. “And yet you did keep her hidden from me. The king gifted me her portrait. Did you know he had one of her?”
“Of course I knew,” he says. He sounds agitated now. “I had the portrait done before she began to show. It was commissioned atmyexpense for your father, the king.”
I’m surprised by this, and I can’t hide that. Falmouth doesn’t leap on my momentary lapse, though. I’m not sure it’s a point in his favor, but I’m relieved he doesn’t take the opportunity.
“I never wanted you. I never wanted your mother. When I married her, she didn’t speak a word of EnglishorFrench. For eight months she lived with me and never spoke a word to me.Her only purpose in my household was to raiseyouwhen you were born—and then you killed her and ruined that, too.”
My stomach drops and I draw in a shaking breath. “I think you’ve said quite enough to me for today,” I say, struggling to keep my voice even. I narrow my eyes at him, and he can do nothing as I wave my hand like one might swat away an annoying gnat. “You’re dismissed.”
I start to step past him, but pause and turn to look at him once more. “Ah… I almost forgot.” I dig into my pocket and hold up his signet ring. “I imagine you’ll be wanting this back… since I have no need of it anymore.” I make a point of showing him my new ring before dropping his onto the floor at my feet.
I don’t wait to watch him splutter. I march past him with my chin up and my back straight. It’s not the first time he has accused me of killing my mother—nor is it that accusation that shocks me to my core. I know he’s telling me the truth, because he doesn’t know what he’s just revealed to me.
When I return to my rooms, Thomas is waiting for me. He looks harassed, and now I know he’s understood why I sent him down to the docks. I swallow hard as I walk into my bedroom. “Is it done?” I ask.
“Your Highness—”
“Please,” I whisper. “Please, Thomas… say you did this for me?”
He stares at me for a long moment, and I think he’s going tosay that he’s refused to follow the instructions in the letter, but then he sets his mouth into a grim line and nods.
Relief washes over me, and I cup his face to stare into his eyes. “Thank you.”
“But, Your Highness—”
The door to my drawing room opens, and Thomas and I both whirl to see who would enter without my permission. My shoulders slacken when Kitty’s face appears in the doorway, wearing a bright smile.
“Kit, come and see!”
I glance at Thomas, and after a silent exchange I leave his side to join Kitty in the drawing room. Francis is already standing by the fire, and two footmen are leaving the room. On the table by the sofa is a small wooden chest with a familiar latticed design painted on the top.
My pulse quickens as I approach the chest and lay my hand on it, breath hitching in my throat. “It was hers?” I ask.
Kitty nods and sits down in front of it. “It isn’t very heavy,” she says by way of apology. “I suppose there isn’t much inside.”
I swallow hard and glance at Francis, who turns away from me after a moment. I must look as if I’m about to burst into tears, and he doesn’t want to embarrass me. I take in a slow breath and close my eyes. I am not going to cry. I’m not.
