Chapter 10 #2
Rupert swallowed. there was silence in the ballroom, silence except for Prinny whittering away about something, but he could not make out the words. Were his ears faulty as well?
Was every single part of him falling apart?
“My word,” said his mother faintly. “What a powerful pink.”
Rupert could not help but smile. He was not seeing things, then.
It was not the same gown Betsy had been wearing two days before; that one had been pink, yes, but it was a delicate, soft pink. A pink that one could almost be described as peaches and cream.
But this?
Where on earth had she found it? Rupert could feel his eyes water slightly as he took in the intense dark, rich pink of the silk. It shimmered in the candlelight, almost seeming to glow.
And within it, a beautiful woman with scalding pink cheeks and a nervous smile.
Betsy stepped forward. “Rupert, I—”
And it was her voice that spurred Rupert into action. There was no possibility, after all, that he could risk all and sundry hearing about their ridiculous escapades—and the last thing he needed was for his parents to learn all the details.
Rupert stepped forward, instinct spurring him on. No, the very last thing he needed was for the scandalous story to get out at all.
They were surrounded. Prinny had been determined to invite almost everyone to the damned soiree that evening—his father had asked if it was a type of fish, the translation had become a little lost—and there were dukes and duchesses, viscounts and earls all over the place.
If Betsy said something, or he was foolish enough to, right here in the middle of the ballroom…
Well, the gossip would reach London far quicker than he could.
“Rupert!”
Betsy exclaimed loudly but Rupert forced himself to move, not stop and explain. Explaining could happen afterwards.
He had grabbed her hand, which was what had made her cry out, and even through her gloves and his own, he could feel the desperate heat of her. Oh, what he wouldn’t do to simply take her into his arms and—
“This way,” he murmured aloud, partly to tell her where he was taking her, partly to stop himself from getting lost in delectable memories of what had been.
The Brighton Pavilion was a complicated place, and Rupert had spent so little time here, it was almost impossible to know where to go. Bursting through the ballroom doors into a corridor, Rupert pulled the unresisting and mercifully silent Betsy along with him.
A door. That would do.
Rupert had thrust it open, stepped through it, pulled Betsy behind him, and slammed the door behind them in such haste that it was only then that he realised what room, of all rooms he could have chosen, that he had picked.
A library.
Heat seared his cheeks and he hoped that she would not notice—but there was a definite look of sardonic wit about Betsy’s brow, and he braced himself for her comment.
“Hadn’t you better check that the door still opens?” she said coolly.
Far too coolly, Rupert thought darkly as he fought the instinct to do just that. Why, Betsy did not appear to be in any way fazed by her sudden appearance or his sudden removal of the two of them from the ballroom.
Was it…dear Lord, was it possible that this was all a great coincidence, and she had not come here for him, but instead just happened to have an invitation?
His entire body cringing at the thought, unable to stop thinking about what the two of them had shared the last time they were alone in a library together, Rupert cleared his throat.
He had a few things to say, things he had promised himself he would say if he was able to see Betsy again, and he must say them.
Even if he would regret it.
“I need to say something,” he said briskly.
Betsy had released herself from his grip, when, he could not tell, and wandered along the shelves. “I wish you wouldn’t.”
“I—what?”
Rupert stared. It was so entirely opposite to what he had expected, he was hard pushed to understand whether he had heard correctly or not.
She glanced at him, her cheeks still pink. “I know what you are going to say, and I wish you wouldn’t.”
Rupert opened his mouth, closed it again, then tried, “You do?”
Betsy nodded, her gaze drifting from him to the books. “Yes.”
It was impossible to do anything else but stare. She knew. She knew what he was going to say? It was a minor miracle, he had no idea what he had intended to say. How could she know?
“No—no, I must speak,” he said, heart wrenching as he followed her along the bookshelves. “Betsy, you must allow me to apologise, I—”
“No.”
Rupert halted. He was only a few feet from her, and he had been in half a mind to just pull the distracting woman into his arms and kiss her his apologies. Far more enjoyable, for the both of them.
But there was a set look on her face that he had seen before, and it told him she had absolutely made up her mind.
His shoulders sagged. Well, he had tried, at least. Well, he had mostly tried.
“Rupert.”
He looked up. Betsy was examining him with a serious look, a look that told him he would be far better off keeping quiet.
“Rupert, you wish to apologise, I presume, because you hurt me at our last…our last meeting,” Betsy said, only a hint of hesitation in her voice. “I was upset with you.”
“You were indeed,” Rupert said dryly.
A flash in her eyes and he tried not to smile. There was something remarkably forceful about Betsy. Something he liked.
“But you see, I am the one who needs to apologise.”
Rupert’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”
There were footsteps in the corridor. It appeared that people were looking for them.
“Your Highness?”
“Your Highness? Prince Rupert?”
“You told me that I should call you Your Grace!” Betsy hissed, stepping forward with pink cheeks.
Rupert grinned. There was something rather delightful about the way she looked at him like that. “I told you, Betsy, I don’t like titles. Since when I have called you Elizabeth?”
“You should call me Lady Elizabeth,” came the retort, but there was no anger in it.
His heart was singing. She wanted to apologise to him; he wanted to apologise to her. Wasn’t it clear, then, that there was some vague affection that they shared? Was it not possible that they could—
“Your Highness?”
“Oh, this is ridiculous,” muttered Rupert under his breath.
Leaving Betsy, he strode back towards the door, ignoring her hushed murmurs that he should not go out there. It did not matter. He had absolutely no intention of going out there.
With a flourish, Rupert turned the key in the lock. There was a very satisfying thunk as the bolt slid across.
“There,” he said with a grin, turning back to the woman whose mere presence was enough to drive him absolutely wild. “We are locked in a library together again.”
Betsy raised an eyebrow. “Another scandal with a sovereign in the making.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Rupert, his heart thumping rather painfully now. “Is it a scandal, a man to be locked in a room who will soon be his wife?”
The words echoed around the room. At least, they seemed to. Rupert could hardly tell. His attention was fully fixed on the woman before him, a slow smile creeping over her face.
“I should have known it would be different,” she said, seemingly impetuously. “Because you are a sovereign, a prince, I mean. I should have known you could not immediately—”
“I wanted to,” said Rupert, stepping towards her and taking her hands in his.
Then he pulled off his damned gloves, and hers, and almost wept at the sensation of their skin connecting.
“I wanted to, but I couldn’t—I needed to speak with my parents, and even after that, I wasn’t…
well, entirely sure of your feelings towards—”
“I love you.”
Rupert swallowed, tears most inexplicably creeping into the corners of his eyes. “Y-You do?”
Betsy nodded. Her eyes were bright, as though she had been holding back tears herself. “Very much.”
“I thought you didn't believe in love at first sight,” he teased, slightly breathlessly.
Could this be real? Could this be happening? Was it possible that—
“I still don’t,” Betsy said lightly, a mischievous grin on her face. “But I believe in scandal.”
It were as though Rupert had been dunked headfirst into a cold pond. “Oh. Ah, I see. You wish to avoid the scandal?”
Of course. Why on earth had he supposed it would be that simple; it was not for himself that she wished to marry, but—
“No,” said Betsy softly, fingers tightening around his own as she stepped towards him, her breasts pressing against his chest. “But the scandal made me realise that I could not live without you. it’s a remarkably convenient excuse for a swift marriage, I thought.”
A slow smile crept across Rupert’s face as his heart leapt for joy. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
And when she lifted her lips for a kiss, and he met hers with his own, hungrily, there was no unlocking of that library door for a good half an hour.