Page 20 of Midnight Deception


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She chuckles nervously. Her gaze drops to her feet. When she glances up again, her vivid eyes are full of shy curiosity.

Visceral need tightens my body into a bowstring. I cling to restraint the way I held onto my horse that morning in the streets of Belterre City—desperately fighting for control.

“I suppose that’s why I was looking at them so closely. I wasn’t going to touch them,” she says. Fear flickers through those gorgeous eyes. I’m momentarily possessed by the need to hunt down whoever put that wariness into her and tear him apart with my bare hands.

“I wasn’t worried about that.”

“You weren’t?” The mystery girl blinks at me.

“They’re not my paintings.” I shrug. Technically true. They belong to the castle, which belongs to my father, not me. “What interests you about portraits of long-dead nobility?”

“Nothing,” she says quickly. “I’ve never seen the royal family, that’s all.”

Wonder unfurls within me when I realize she has no idea who I am. Obviously, she doesn’t recognize my face, apart from our chance encounter in the street.

I don’t know why she was dressed like a servant then. Her bearing is that of a lady, from the way she enunciates her words to the graceful way she carries herself. She’s shorter than I thought, and delicately built, yet muscular in a way that ladies of the nobility seldom are. Her physique reminds me of the court’s dancers.

How does a lady at court not have at least a passing familiarity with the prince of the realm? I’ve endured debutante balls since my own balls dropped and I was old enough to dance with girls. Every young lady in the realm knows me by name and sight.

Except this one.

“Would you like a tour of the castle?” I can hardly take my mystery girl out onto the ballroom floor. That would ruin Othmar’s cover. Many of the women here tonight have danced with me once or twice before, but he resembles me closely enough to fool them as long as I remain out of sight. “Or are you waiting for your turn with the prince?”

She hesitates.

“I arrived too late to dance,” she says after a minute, as if carefully choosing her words. I’m mildly insulted that she doesn’t appear to feel upset about her missed opportunity.

“Nonsense. He was ordered to dance with all maidens who attended.” My toes ache from being repeatedly trod upon by young women in slippers. Most are adequately skilled, but many get awestruck around a prince, and not every lady possesses natural grace.

A conflicted smile flickers at the corners of her mouth. She clasps her gloved hands, transparently searching for the correct response.

“I don’t want the prince,” she finally says, her gaze locked on mine. “I didn’t come here to meet him.”

My pulse stutters. A grin steals across my face.

“Did you come here looking for me?”

Her cheeks turn crimson, visible despite the dimness.

“I…” Her tongue darts out. A lightning bolt of pure lust strikes my spine. “You rode a white horse. I thought you might be a lord.”

Though flawed, her assumption isn’t illogical, nor is it entirely wrong. I am the highest lord in the land, save one. She doesn’t need to know that, though. Not yet.

“Tell me your name.” I offer her my hand.

“El—” She breaks off and stammers, “Sin—I mean, my name is Elsie.”

Gingerly, she places her gloved palm in mine. I close my fingers around her small, warm hand like I’m capturing a bird.

“You can call me Alex.” It’s close enough to my real name that I won’t forget to respond to it. “Come, Elsie, I’ll show you the castle.”

8

ELINOR

Elsie?

That was the nickname I devised for myself on the spot?