Page 25 of A Single Thread of Moonlight

“Is Prince Stefan really so competitive?”

“He is when it comes to me.”

“He mentioned that you were old friends,” I probed.

“I have known him for several years,” was the only response. “To return to the matter at hand; I will attempt to monopolize you, but you should make sure to spend time with him, to snatch the odd moment alone. It shouldn’t be difficult; these house parties are a hotbed of flirtation. There will be the usual activities that our hostess will insist upon – party games and tennis and picnics. At the last of these events that I attended, our hosts tried to engage us in putting on some sort of theatrical performance.” He shuddered.

“What part did you play?” I asked gleefully, finding it hard to imagine.

He fixed me with a quelling look. “I declined to participate. They suggested I take the role of the lovestruck hero.”

“Ah, and let me guess, the eligible daughter of the house was to play your swooning heroine?”

“Yes.”

“What a silly idea. Surely they could see that you’d be the perfect villain?”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “I believe you mean that as a compliment.”

“Well, the villains are just so much more interesting, aren’t they?”

Something flared in his eyes then. “Oh, yes,” he murmured in a low voice. “Much more interesting.”

I felt the words like a touch across my skin, and shifted a little in my seat.

“Very well,” I said, changing the subject. “I’ll do my best. But you can’t be hovering over me trying to manage things. I believe that I’ll be the best person to decide how to flirt with him.”

There was a moment of hesitation. “Fine,” he said tautly. “But I shall expect frequent updates.”

“I imagine you will.” I batted my eyelashes. “Fortunately you’ll be trying to find moments alone with me as well, because you find me irresistible.”

“For the purposes of this plan, yes.”

His voice was flat and I knew the words were meant as a warning – this was a business arrangement. He was right. Neither of us was looking for a friend.

As if reading my mind, Nicholas knocked on the roof again, and the carriage came to an instant halt.

“I’ll leave you to your book,” he said, unfolding himself from his seat and reaching for the handle on the door, which meant that he was suddenly extremely close to me. My brain dimly registered that he smelled delicious – of something spicy with a touch of citrus – and then he was climbing out of the carriage without another word.

I sat back in my seat. The nerves that had been kept at bay while bickering with Nicholas crashed over me like a wave that had the potential to drown me.

I was about to be introduced to his grandmother, a woman who by all accounts was already inclined to dislike me. But that fact paled into insignificance compared to what was to come afterwards.

I don’t think I had really believed that it was going to happen, but now … here we were, on our way.

I was finally going back to Holland Hall.

And I had no idea what would be waiting for me.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Lady Wynter was not exactly what I had expected.

I had imagined an elderly lady, with a sour-lemon face of disapproval. The dowager countess almost certainly disapproved of me, but the only sign was a slight tightening of the lips when we were first introduced. She was an elegant woman with silver-white hair and Nicholas Wynter’s snapping blue eyes. She carried herself extremely upright and she wore a sombre dress of a purple brocade so dark that it was almost black.

She greeted Nicholas coolly, and he bowed over her hand with an easy grace but little attempt at conversation. It was hardly what you would call a warm family reunion, and he swiftly shut her in the carriage with me, before mounting his horse again. The coward.

“So, Miss Fox.” The dowager turned her shrewd gaze on me. I felt like she saw it all, taking in every inch of me, every stitch of my gown. “I understand that you and my grandson have a long acquaintance.”