“We have a river. Shhh.”
“PERSONAL AIDE-DE-CAMP TO HER MAJESTY, GRAND MASTER AND FIRST AND PRINCIPAL KNIGHT GRAND CROSS OF THE MOST EXCELLENT ORDER OF LYONNESSE, KNIGHT OF THE ORDER OF NEW ARCADIA, ADDITIONAL MEMBER OF THE ORDER OF FINANCE, EXTRA COMPANION OF THE QUEEN’S SERVICE ORDER…”
“Almost there,” I murmur.
“AND…” The herald looks down at the podium, checking his notes.
“This is you,” I tell Frankie. “Wait for it.”
“AND GUEST.”
I sweep down the stairs, drawing Frankie along. All around the room, people turn to stare at us. Whispers spread in ripples around the room, louder than the live orchestra.
“And guest?” Frankie hisses as I pull her into my arms and swing us into step with the other dancers. “That’s it? You get all those titles, and I’m and guest?”
“If you marry me, you’ll have plenty of titles of your own.”
“No, thank you.” She follows my lead perfectly and we execute tight circles, spinning around the room. “I don't want to have to wait for someone to list all my titles before I can enter a room. What if I have to pee?”
“You wouldn’t always have to wait for a herald to announce all your titles. Just when you come to a ball.”
“Never go to a ball again. No loss there.”
“Oh, come off it, Miss Beaumonde. Don’t tell me you’re not having fun.”
“Okay. I won’t tell you.” She smirks to herself. So fucking adorable. I spin her out and guide her into a series of promenade steps. It’s either that or kiss her right here, right now.
We complete two turns of the room before I gather her back into my arms.
“I am, actually,” she admits. “Having fun. I never thought I’d have fun in a nice dress and heels. I’ve had some traumatic experiences in them.”
“Ah yes, the infamous Miss Carrot Competition.”
“Beauty Pageant.”
“The judges were fools if they didn’t crown you the winner.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You were the most beautiful girl in the county.”
She snorts. “You don’t know that.”
“I do. Don’t cross me, Miss Beaumonde,” I order, and her lip curls as it always does when I say something arrogant. “I know because you’re easily the most beautiful woman in this room. In fact, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”
She catches her breath. “Thank you,” she says.
“For the compliment, or the dance?” I ask.
She shakes her head. Before she can retort, my aunt pushes between us.
“There you are, Benny dear,” she bellows loudly enough, couples all around us turn to see what’s causing the commotion. “About time you stopped hogging Miss Beaumonde. I’d like to introduce her to my set. Come along.” Lady Ursaline bustles off, with us in tow.
“I still don’t understand why Lady Ursaline gets to say whatever she wants, and I can’t,” Frankie says.
“You're young and conforming to the set.” I place an extra hand over hers as I guide her through the parting sea of partygoers. Most stop and stare at Frankie, though she doesn’t seem to notice. “Lady Ursaline’s a dowager. Dowagers say whatever they please.”
“How do I get to be a dowager?”
“Marry a duke and outlive him.”
“Tempting,” Frankie pronounces, and I chuckle, just as my great aunt stops.
“Why, Benedict,” my aunt peers through her spectacles, “are you smiling?”
I immediately school my features into a more proper expression.
“Too late, I already saw it,” my aunt trumpets. “Well done, Miss Beaumonde.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Frankie says automatically. “May I ask what I’ve done?”
“You’re good for him,” Lady Ursaline pronounces.
Frankie blinks.
“Come, let me introduce you to my set. Not all of them are boring.” She sails off, leaving us to follow in her wake. Most people scatter out of her path, but an elderly gentleman in military dress doesn’t realize he’s been set upon before too late. “Ahhh, Colonel. Good to see you.”
“Lady Ursaline, charmed.” The colonel squints at us. Deaf and half blind, if I remember correctly.
“You know my great nephew, the duke.” My aunt gestures to me, and I bow. “And this is his fiancée. An American.”
“Ah, very good.” The colonel peers at Frankie. “And who are you, my dear?”
“And guest,” Frankie quips with a curtsey.
“Eh?” The colonel cocks an ear. “What’s that, young lady? Ann Guest?”
“It’s Ann Guest,” his wife shouts in his ear.
“Christ,” I mutter and dip to drop a warning in my naughty fiancée’s ear. “Behave.”
Frankie just smiles. It’s all I can do not to haul her off into the corner and claim her mouth.
“Excuse us.” I cut our exchange mercifully short, sweeping Frankie into my arms and into step with the other dancers. As always, it’s a joy to twist and turn with her following gracefully in my arms. “You’re being naughty, Miss Beaumonde.”
“I know.” She looks pleased with herself. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Find a way to shut that sinful mouth.” My body tightens when she licks her lips. I need to find a private corner, stat.
“Well, well, who is this?” A young man in military dress emerges from the crowd. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your lady?”
“Franz.” I face the last person I wanted to see.
My brother.
Frankie
A younger, less polished version of Benedict stands between us and the rest of the dancers. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, smartly dressed in the olive green of the New Arcadian military. But his dark hair is tousled, and he’s holding a beer bottle. I didn’t even know they served beer at a ball.
“Well, Benny?” He smirks.
“You’re blocking our way.” Benedict switches me to his other side, putting himself between me and the man. His brother, if my guess is correct.
“Come on, introduce me,” he goads, flashing a dimple. He’s handsome enough, I guess, in a bland, frat boy way.
I nudge Benedict.
He blows out a breath. “Miss Beaumonde, my brother. The Marquis Dupree.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard,” Franz mocks. Sibling rivalry aside, Franz is a jerkhole. I seriously consider punching him, right in the dimple. Probably wouldn’t make the best first impression.
Franz downs the rest of his beer and sets the empty bottle on the tray of a passing waiter. He looks me up and down, and I get the impression he doesn’t like what he sees. But he keeps the cocky expression pinned to his face as he comes forward, hand out. “Dance with me?”
“I don’t think…” I look to Benedict, but he’s shut down, doing his best imitation of a statue.
Franz reaches past him and leads me into the dance. “So you’re the fiancée.”