16. The Art of Being Caught #2
“So you scale your own walls in the dark, then? Hm, maybe I should just remove myself from the situation and let natural selection play out.”
“Just help me down, please.”
One hand slips free from his coat as he steps forward. “Fine, but only because your pink panties are flashing like a distress flare.”
Nothing about him is unhurried, and for some reason that infuriates me. Always so composed as I fight beneath the surface to keep up. I kick away from the wall before he’s prepared.
For an endless instant, I’m completely weightless as gravity drags me down.
The lake’s dead sing from behind my ribs, calling for flight, for open water.
My stomach swoops; too far, too fast, but I don’t care.
Then Eric’s body intercepts mine. One arm locks beneath my thighs, and the other wraps around my bare waist as he absorbs the impact without even a grunt.
I grip his lapels in tense hands and glare at him, but that further amuses him.
The castle’s dawn breeze wraps around us without ever touching.
When he does eventually lower me to the ground, it’s done so achingly slowly that my jumper rides higher.
His hand remains on my waist, his palm comfortably and frustratingly spanning the space between my hips and ribs.
“I should report you, you know,” I say, tilting my chin up towards him. “Wandering around without a guard.”
His mouth curves into a smile that reminds me of a dagger. “I’m a guest, not a prisoner. I believe the Crown offered me freedom of movement.”
My brows lift. “Are you? Well, you’ll find that titles can easily be demoted here in Sheffolk.”
That lures a chuckle from deep within his chest. “Demote me, then, my lady. But ask yourself, what would’ve happened had I not been here? Would you be splattered here on the stone? Or dangling from that ledge waiting for Philip to remember the time?”
I don’t ask how he knows I was expecting Philip. “There’s a chance I could’ve landed well enough on my own.”
“Yeah? But then I’d be explaining to your grandmother why her heir limps after two weeks of my presence in the castle.” He tuts. “And not for any of the better reasons.”
Heat snakes up my neck and to my cheeks. Beneath the light of the torches, he can see exactly how his words bloom beneath my skin.
“You’re rather confident in what constitutes ‘better reasons’, Prince Eric. I’m sure you have a very vivid imagination.”
“Reality has always been vivid enough for me,” he replies smoothly, and his fingers dig a little tighter.
I fight against the urge to shudder. “You have my thanks for the interest in what goes on in my head, though. But while I have you here, would you please tell Cousin Edmund that he’s too old for pranks?
My early morning jaunt isn’t the only thing that stinks of him. ”
Before I can ask what he’s on about, he pulls a note from his pocket and hands it to me. I release his lapels and unfold the paper to find a petty little threat.
You walk in here, Your Highness, thinking that Redford and her inhabitants are beneath you. Trust that you’ll be dragged out soon enough, wishing she were yours to keep. Try not to make too much of a mess when you prove the tabloids right.
God, I don’t have time for this shit. The handwriting doesn’t even look like Edmund’s but it is the sort of petty thing he’d entertain.
I can just imagine him telling Charlie what to write.
My cousin loves being in control, and Charlie would lick his boots clean if he asked.
I close it carefully and tuck it back into Eric’s pocket.
“I’ll speak to him.”
“See that you do; I didn’t come here for childish games.” His attention drops to the locket, and mischief laces his next sentence. “ That wasn’t on you last night.”
Above us, Redford continues to breathe like a half-asleep creature, and I sense the beginnings of fear if I were caught out here like this. “I don’t wear family heirlooms to supper.”
Eric doesn’t even amuse my lie. “It’s the same locket from the painting of your grandmother. Coincidentally, also the one on the cover of every local newspaper right now… something about reckless teenage boys and pranks.”
Irritation bubbles in my gut. “It was misplaced.”
“Yes, at the lake where you almost died. Interesting.”
It feels as if the locket burns through the jumper, scorching my skin. From inside me come whispers that the locket doesn’t like it, doesn’t like his sudden attention. The lies struggle to form, and my tongue fumbles for a response.
“Do you usually take such interest in jewellery?”
“Only when the jewellery moves from one spot to another after fifteen years.” His gaze sweeps from my eyes to the pendant, then back again, landing heavier this time.
“You’re frightened,” he adds quietly.
The precision startles something awake inside me.
I take a moment before I tell him exactly how wrong he is even though I know he isn’t.
But the words never come. The note still burns at the edge of memory, and the news headlines haunt every corner of my brain.
Luciana’s name braids every writhing nerve together until fire licks at every inch of me.
“I’m cold,” I answer, dodging his assessment. “I’m also late, and you’re in my way.” I scan the courtyard; still no sign of Philip and his car. “We’re wasting time. Can you drive?”
The request drips with urgency, and I’m too antsy to feel embarrassed. The man’s already seen my underwear, anyway.
A laugh leaves him, misting the air between us. “What exactly gave you the impression that I can’t?”
“I’m serious, Eric.”
“So am I, duchess.”
He steps back from me, and the heat leaves with him. I watch as he reaches into a pocket to pull out black gloves and slips them over his hands.
Then, more gently, he adds, “Of course I can drive. I’ll take you.”
After a shaky nod, I guide him across the courtyard and through an ivy-covered stone arch that leads into the locked bay of the private garage.
Eric’s hand finds the small of my back before I even notice my fingers are shaking as I type in the passcode.
My gratitude goes unvoiced, but he squeezes my hip as he passes anyway.
He slides behind the wheel of the first car I point to, and I slip into the passenger seat.
The keys turn.
The castle fades.
And the early morning swallows us whole.
Yet still, I feel the windows watching my back, like a hand refusing to let go.