Chapter 3
CHAPTER THREE
Betsy tried her best to prevent her jaw from dropping, but it was impossible.
“I would not know much about it as an Austrian prince.”
No. she must have heard that incorrectly; she could not, right at this moment, think what she could have misheard, to make those words sound as though he was an Austrian prince, but it could not be true.
“I would not know much about it as an Austrian prince.”
Betsy blinked. The green and blue coat, more like a uniform than a frockcoat, but like no uniform she had ever seen. The medals—the medals she had presumed purchased from a man who had actually earned them.
The brass buttons, sparkling and glittering in the candlelight.
The way he held himself, the confidence, the smiles he had given her whenever she had talked down to him about being a member of the nobility…
“I-I only brought you in here to tell you just how very forward you were being, and that it was scandalous for you to behave that way to a lady of nobility!”
If there had been an armchair just a little closer, Betsy would have sunk down into it and tried to hide her eyes in her hands.
How had she been so foolish? Why had she just assumed that the man had no idea what he was doing; he was a guest of Lady Jarrold, after all, and she had rather specific requirements for her guests.
A riffraff gentleman of no breeding, as she had assumed Rupert was, would certainly not have been permitted to enter.
All the words she had spoken to the gentleman she now knew was a prince were echoing in Betsy’s mind, and she could not help but cringe at the way she had spoken to him.
She was never going to hear the end of this. Never.
The Lady Elizabeth Roy, only daughter and heir of Lord Roy, whom everyone had believed would make such a good match this Season…
Insulting a prince after getting locked in a library with him.
Well, the scandal would never be surmounted. She would have to retreat to the country, where no one knew her, and hope to one day live it down.
Betsy swallowed, hoping to goodness that he would see the funny side. But how could she have known?
“I see you are regarding me in rather a different light now,” came the wry teasing laugh of the prince.
Betsy frowned and before she could stop herself, said, “Hardly.”
Rupert’s eyes widened—that was, the prince’s eyes widened.
She really would have to try and remember how one was to address a prince.
Betsy may have a title, but it was one of birth that would disappear once she married, and she did not move in the higher echelons that would bring her in close contact with Prinny.
“Hardly?” repeated the prince.
Betsy nodded, hardly knowing what she was doing. “You may be a prince, sir, I—I mean, Your Grace. Your Majesty?”
If only her heart was not racing so powerful, she told herself, she would have some clarity of mind and direction of purpose. Then she would be able to recall her sense and have a rational conversation.
With a prince. In a library. A locked library.
“Most people just call me Your Grace,” he said lazily. “But I would rather like it if you called me Rupert.”
Betsy blanched. The humiliation of it all! the very idea of her calling any gentleman by his first name, something she would only do with someone like…well, someone like George, whom she had known all her life and saw as rather a brother than a man. More like a pet.
But the thought of calling a prince by his first name…it was not to be born.
“Your Grace,” Betsy said firmly.
Why did a teasing mischievous look appear on the man’s face? Was he determined to be so…so disagreeable?
“Your Grace, if I had known you were a prince—”
“You would certainly not have berated me on the ways of a gentleman, I am sure,” came the irritatingly charming response.
Betsy swallowed. she probably would not have done, but as her temper ran rather hot and she disliked ill-mannered men most profusely, she could not entirely promise that she would not have cut the man down to size, even if she had known he was a prince.
“Probably,” she compromised with herself. well, it would hardly do to start telling the truth now, would it? “My point is—”
“Elizabeth, I—”
“Lady Elizabeth,” said Betsy, temper flaring as she took a step towards him. “You really have no distinction of rank, do you?”
Rupert looked up at her placidly. “Not with beautiful ladies, no.”
It was impossible to reason with such an unreasonable man. Betsy turned away from him, glaring at the books as though they would be able to make the man make sense, but evidently he was not going to spend their time trapped in this library doing anything so productive as actually reading a book.
No, that would be far too simple.
Instead, he appeared to wish to do nothing but tease her. Betsy drew herself up and told herself, very sternly, that the fact the man was a prince made no difference. No different at all.
The trouble was, when she turned back to look at him, she had to admit that it did.
Well. She was only human, and what were the chances of her ever meeting another prince again?
This time she looked at him properly, Betsy’s gaze raking over him as though it would help her to understand the situation better.
He was handsome. She could admit that in the privacy of her own mind, at least, she did not have to say anything aloud.
And he did appear to be charming; at least, he was smiling at her in a very charming way, and Betsy was sure that a crown prince of Austria would have had plenty of time to practice.
There was something about him, something she only noticed as Betsy examined him. Despite being just as trapped in the library as she was—and subject to the same fear of scandal, she had to assume—Rupert did not in any way look concerned.
Quite to the contrary, he was seated there happy as you please, legs crossed and a smile on his lips, as though this was all to the good.
As though he had planned it from the start.
Betsy narrowed her eyes. “Did you plan this, Your Grace?”
“Rupert.”
Blasted man. “I would rather call you by your proper—”
“Well, as you did not know I was a prince for so much of our acquaintance, I think I would much rather you called me Rupert,” said the prince easily. “In fact, I will refuse to speak to you unless you call me Rupert.”
Was this petulant man to be her own companion? Betsy tried to push a most disobliging thought from her mind; that if the two of them had met under different circumstances—very different circumstances—then she would have found him rather charming.
Not that he was. Charming, that was.
Betsy turned away from him for a moment to stare into the fire.
Lady Jarrold had taken her guests to the ballroom, and no one was coming.
If they were going to get their story straight, prevent any scandal from leaking out into the ton—surely something that a prince would be desperate for, after all—then they would need to talk to each other.
And that would mean…
She heaved a sigh. “Fine. Rupert. Did you plan this?”
Betsy had not intended to look back around at the irritating prince, but found herself inexorably drawn back to him. There was a smile on his face still, but it was no longer of the teasing kind.
In fact, on anyone else she would have described it as…serious.
“No, I did not, Elizabeth,” Rupert said quietly. “I am, to be frank, just as astonished as you are to find ourselves in this quandary. Have you any thoughts as to our escape?”
Betsy swallowed. how did he do that? Become so rational, so amiable, so winsome in his manner as to almost make her forget just how very irritating he had been the entire evening until this moment?
It was most alarming. But then, Betsy reminded herself, perhaps that was something taught to princes from a young age.
For all she knew, the entire thing was an act. Just a delicate way for princes to engage with those of a lesser class, though she blanched to think of herself in such a light.
“Escape,” she repeated thoughtfully, looking around the room.
Escape. Well, they had to get out here, did they not? They could hardly wait to be discovered, for all sorts of questions would be asked and Betsy had no intention of answering them.
At least she had been strong, and not permitted the handsome man to kiss her when he had so clearly wanted to.
“So you wish to reconsider my offer?”
“Reconsider your—I hope you do not think you are about to kiss me!”
Betsy swallowed. and she had most certainly not wished for him to, despite what her heart was trying to whisper at the back of her mind. No, she was glad that a Crown Prince of Austria, a handsome, charming Crown Prince of Austria had not kissed her.
Goodness. Was she really so easily won as all that? Was she truly so easily swayed by a man’s title?
“Escape,” she repeated aloud. “Right. There is only one door, and that is locked.”
Rupert inclined his head. “Well reasoned.”
“Don’t give me that tosh,” Betsy said distractedly as she moved to the windows. “Windows are locked too, and we’re two floors up. We cannot jump, or if we did, we would certainly greatly injure ourselves.”
“And that would be rather a difficulty for me.”
She raised an eyebrow as she turned to him. “For you? you do not believe a lady’s safety is worth worrying about? I think my safety far more important here than yours.”
There was a rather all too knowing smile on Rupert’s face. “Well, as the only heir to the throne of Austria…”
He delicately allowed his voice to trail away and heat blossomed across Betsy’s face.
Only heir to the throne of Austria. She was locked in a library with the only heir to the throne of Austria, and she had just told him that her safety was paramount over his own.
She would never live this down.
“Do you have any ideas?” Betsy said forcefully, as though that would remove all the panic from her lungs.
“None whatsoever,” Rupert said cheerfully, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back into the comfortable plush of his armchair. “We shall just have to await rescue.”
“Over my dead body,” Betsy muttered, lifting her hands to the windowpanes and pushing at them, in a vague attempt to see whether they would open.
Even if they had done, she had no idea what she would do. She had been entirely correct in her estimation; they were far too high, from what she could see, to attempt to jump out of the windows. They could call for help, and help would come; but at what cost?
Everyone would know that they had been locked in here together for near on half an hour, or even longer. It was difficult to know precisely how long this predicament had lasted. Forever, it felt like.
“Are you really a prince?”
Rupert raised an eyebrow at the question Betsy had not intended to ask.
Blast, she would have to learn to keep her tongue under control!
But the gentleman did not look offended at her question; to the contrary, he looked rather pleased. “You doubt me?”
“I…I had heard the Crown Prince of Austria was in London,” Betsy admitted. It all seemed so foolish now, looking out for a prince when the very man who had been irritating her…
“And you did not consider I could be him?”
Betsy smiled ruefully. “I had assumed you would be wearing a crown.”
Rupert laughed as he rose to his feet and stepped towards her. “You did, did you?”
“It is not as though I have a huge amount of experience with royalty,” she pointed out, highly conscious that he was close to her again. How did he do it, this strange warmth that flushed through her body whenever he was near her? “You are in fact the first royal I have ever met.”
“Am I?” Rupert spoke with a teasing air again, but there was no malice in.
In fact, in the mouth of someone else, Betsy could not help but think, it would be rather intoxicating.
She shook her head slightly, as though that would help her rid herself of the aching need to be closer to him.
Closer to him? Where had that thought come from?
Besides, she was altogether far too close as it was. If he just leaned slightly to the left, or she tilted to the right.
Betsy swallowed. she was getting head of herself—not even ahead of herself, for she had no intentions to ensnare this irritating man, prince or not!
“Well, you have done very well so far,” came his gentle voice.
She blinked. That had been very gentle; almost caring. Rupert was looking at her with such intensity that she fair quivered to accept the power of his gaze. why was he looking at her like that? And how on earth did it have such impact on her that she could not describe?
“Very well?” Betsy found herself repeating.
Rupert nodded, eyes sparkling. “You haven’t curtseyed, been polite in any way, attempted to flatter me, or lied to me to make me feel better. You, Elizabeth, have been entirely yourself and I am quite charmed.”
Heat rushed through her, but Betsy could not help but laugh at his words.
Well, he was entirely right there! She had not attempted to flatter him in any way; in fact, she had done quite the opposite. Every time she could have made a good impression on the handsome prince, she had managed to entirely disgrace herself!
It was a good thing she had absolutely no intention of letting him kiss her, then.
Betsy’s gaze flickered, just for a moment, to Rupert’s lips. To the prince’s lips. What would it feel like, to have them on her own? What passion would he share, what tempting desires would he awaken within her—
“Elizabeth?”
Betsy cleared her throat and stepped back, cheeks pink. Had he seen where her attention had wandered?
She needed to distract him, and as soon as possible. “I am rather offended, you know.”
That got his attention. Rupert stared, open mouthed. “You are offended? You?”
Betsy nodded, smiling despite herself at the way her teasing had such an immediate reaction. “Of course, you do not think your lie by omission offensive?”
“You could have just asked my name,” the prince pointed out.
It was a very good response, but Betsy was not going to acknowledge that. “The question is…why did you not tell me that you were a prince before?”