The Trouble With Princesses by Tracy Anne Warren Read Free Book Online Page A

suitors come to call. Certainly, in spite of her declaration that she did not plan to wed, she had never lacked for suitors or marriage proposals over the course of her many London Seasons.
    At last count, he believed she had turned down seven—or was it eight?—perfectly reasonable offers of marriage. Although to be honest, only one had been from a fellow royal—a man so boorish and lacking in intellect that Rupert would have advised her to refuse him even if he’d been her last hope to be a wife and mother.
    The round, mellow tones of her laughter drifted once more from the room, followed by a chorus of enthusiastic male replies.
    He supposed he ought to continue on to the library, where he had planned to relax with a glass of wine and a good book. But even as he headed off in that direction, he couldn’t resist the temptation to find out exactly who was in the room with her and what she was doing.
    Striding along the corridor, he took a detour into the drawing room.
    There she sat, holding court like a queen, with a retinue of courtiers scattered around her. Emma, he noted, was nowhere to be seen; likely she had gone up to the nursery to visit the boys. Instead, an older lady’s maid sat in one corner with her head bent over some needlework, there to maintain some semblance of propriety.
    Ariadne smiled at a remark made by one of the gentlemen, her green eyes alight, while the other men sought new ways to draw her attention.
    Abruptly the laughter and talk halted, heads turning as one in his direction. The men rose to their feet and bowed. “Your Royal Highness,” several of them said in greeting.
    He nodded, then gestured for them to resume their seats. “Carry on,” he said as he moved deeper into the room. “I merely stopped by for a sandwich and a libation. Please, pay me no mind.”
    Ariadne’s smile disappeared, her gaze meeting his for a brief but significant moment. “Why, Your Highness, good afternoon. You have no need to trouble yourself making a plate here. I am sure Symms would be more than happy to send down to the kitchen for whatever you wish.”
    Her voice, he noticed, was so sweet that bees could have sated themselves on its honeyed tones. “Why do I not ring for him now and he can bring you something. In the archduke’s study perhaps?”
    He nearly laughed at her thinly veiled attempt to shoo him out of the room. “My thanks, Princess, but I am more than content to sample the fare I see before me.”
    And truthfully, he was a bit peckish, having eaten only a late breakfast and no nuncheon that day.
    He crossed to the tea tray and began to prepare a selection for himself. As he did so, he took a moment to note the identities of the other men in the room. Among them were a duke’s heir apparent, a marquess who at thirty was already losing his hair, and a distant—very distant—cousin of King George who had teeth like a horse and who ranked no higher than an ordinary mister.
    As for the rest, five more in all, he was not familiar with their names, although he believed he’d seen them at various Ton functions. One in particular that he did remember was the dark-haired gentleman who had interrupted his conversation with Ariadne that night at the ball in order to claim a dance. He focused on the man for a long moment, knowing he’d seen him somewhere else as well.
    Then it came to him. It had been at a gaming hell, an establishment he had visited strictly as a favor to a friend. As he recalled, the dark-haired lord hadn’t looked terribly happy at the time, seeing as he had been in the process of losing a rather substantial sum of money.
    So what was he doing sniffing around Ariadne?
    He didn’t like any of the answers that came to mind.
    Letting none of this show on his face, he filled his plate with an array of small sandwiches and biscuits, then took a seat in one of the few open spaces remaining—on the sofa next to Ariadne.
    Out of deference to her rank, none of the gentlemen had