CHAPTER SEVEN #2
Eddy smiled. The part of Hélène that was a teenage girl registered how dazzling a smile it was—how breathtakingly attractive he looked in his navy jacket and crisp white shirt, which fit perfectly over his lean, muscled frame.
But it was also an indulgent, pleased smile, as if Eddy felt inordinately proud of himself for doing Hélène this favor.
The sad thing was, he was right. Most men wouldn’t have bothered checking with Hélène; they would have gone straight to her father. Exchanging her like a piece of property, man to man, the way these things were always done.
“May I ask your father for permission to court you?” he said again.
“What, to marry me?”
Eddy’s grin widened. His gaze traveled over her with deliberate slowness, from her face all the way down to the hem of her gown, making Hélène’s breath catch.
“Yes, to marry you,” he drawled. “I’m hardly courting you to be my mistress, Hélène.”
There was a hint of challenge in that statement. Hélène sensed that Eddy was trying to get the measure of her: to gauge just what sort of princess she was, exactly. He would never have said that word, mistress, to Alix of Hesse—would never have spoken to her in this low, taunting tone.
But then, Alix of Hesse wouldn’t dream of riding astride, or marching into the forbidden sanctum of the men’s lounge.
Hélène’s eyes flicked up to meet his.
“It won’t work. They will never let you court me.”
Eddy leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “Who, your family?”
“Or yours! I’m Catholic.”
She’d expected that to put a swift end to things, but Eddy waved away her remark. “I’m not bothered by that. I promise to let you practice your religion in peace.”
“Your Royal Highness—”
“Eddy,” he corrected, his voice low and meaningful.
“Eddy. You’re the future head of the Church of England,” she reminded him. “You can’t marry a Catholic.”
“I don’t see why not.” He spoke with the easy confidence of someone used to getting his way.
“Because! The last time your country had a Catholic queen, it brought down an entire dynasty!” Hélène hissed. Anne Hyde, the wife of James II, had been so devoutly Catholic that she had converted her husband—which ended in the Stuarts being sent into exile.
Eddy stepped forward. She was startled when he ran his hands down her arms, from her shoulders all the way to her palms, which he caught in his own. She had, typically, left her gloves in the box, and the feel of his skin on hers sent shivers down her spine.
After all the ways they had already spurned propriety, she supposed this one didn’t really matter.
“Please, Hélène. I just want to spend more time with you. Don’t you feel the same way?”
“Your family is probably planning your engagement to someone else,” she forced herself to say.
A sheepish expression darted across his face. “There’s no formal understanding between me and Alix, if that’s what you’re worried about. Grandmother expects us to start courting, but in truth…I’m not sure it will work out.”
It took a moment for his words to sink in. When they did, Hélène yanked her hands away, stung.
Eddy was the reason that Alix was in hysterics tonight.
“I can’t believe you.” Her voice was trembling with outrage. “You rejected Alix, then came straight to proposition me?”
“No! As I said, nothing has been agreed upon, or even—”
“Do you think that princesses are interchangeable, like coins or cigarettes? That if you lose one, you should just grab the next one within arm’s reach?”
They were standing very close now. Hélène felt her breaths coming fast and shallow, making her wish that her corset wasn’t so tightly hooked. She should put some distance between them.
Instead, she leaned in.
It wasn’t much, just an inch or two, but that was all the invitation Eddy needed. His mouth was swiftly on hers, and Hélène didn’t hesitate; within an instant she was kissing him back.
Eddy nudged closer, his hands closing around her waist. A pulsing, drugging heat seemed to swirl through Hélène’s bloodstream; her hands roamed up over his shoulders as if of their own volition.
This was nothing like kissing Laurent. It felt headier, more electric, probably because it was so wildly reckless—
The feel of Eddy’s desire, pressing very firmly through his trousers against her belly, brought Hélène abruptly to her senses.
She stumbled back and cast a swift glance in both directions, then let out a relieved breath. Somehow, no one had seen them.
“That was a mistake,” she began, but Eddy was smiling again.
“It didn’t feel like much of a mistake,” he said simply. “It felt like you enjoyed it.”
Maddeningly, foolishly, she had enjoyed it. Which wasn’t the point. A polite young woman would never have kissed Prince Eddy in the first place; she would have slapped him, or at least retreated a step.
Hélène wasn’t a polite young woman at all. She had leaned closer.
“Please, forget this ever happened,” she insisted.
Confusion darted over Eddy’s features. “You can’t expect me to walk away, not after this. Hélène, I want to see you again.”
“To what end?” Her voice was tight with emotion. “Do you really think your family would approve of your courting me? Be honest,” she commanded.
There was a long, drawn-out silence. “Perhaps not,” Eddy said at last. “But—”
“Then we have nothing else to say to each other! I know better than to get involved in another meaningless—” She broke off before saying fling, but it was too late; the damage had been done.
If Eddy hadn’t figured it out from their kiss, then he knew now. Hélène was no innocent.
“Please, just leave,” she said coolly.
She hated herself for doing this: using her formal princess voice to draw etiquette around her like a wall, shutting him out. But what other choice did she have? She couldn’t afford to be vulnerable with another man, not after what had happened with Laurent. Especially not with a prince.
Registering her tone, Eddy stepped back, his expression hardening. “Good night, Miss d’Orléans. I’m sorry to have troubled you.”