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Her Majesty the Queen greets Count Gregory, and my mouth sours. My sister won’t get everlasting love like the Queen has. Not if she has to marry the Count.
I stiffen as I watch the older man give a deep bow to the monarchs, unable to hide my aversion.
Then, a warm hand slides over my lower back. “Try not to make your distaste so obvious, Ada,” the Duke whispers in my ear. “If everyone knows exactly how you feel about them, you’ll make lots of enemies around here.”
He takes his hand away, but not before my whole core blazes. I can feel the imprint of his hand on my lower back, and the spot where his thumb just brushed against my exposed skin. Heat rises up my neck.
Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him. Don’t look at him.
I look at the Duke, but I should have listened to myself and resisted the urge. His eyes bore into mine, and heat whips through my body like a fire through a field of dry grasses. It carves a wide path down my spine, making every part of my body burn hotter. My nipples pebble against the silver fabric of my dress, and I suck my lip between my teeth, drawing the Duke’s gaze.
His eyes darken at the sight of my mouth, and the heat in my core cranks higher. A man has never looked at me like that before. Like he lives to look at me. Like he wants to eat me.
“Lady Belcourt,” the Queen says, and I snap my head back to meet her gaze. Standing before me, she’s at least six inches taller than me. She used to be a rower at Farcliff University, apparently. An athlete.
I mumble a greeting and sink down in a curtsy, dropping my head as I rise again.
“I saw you at the Farcliff Jubilee Concert Hall last month,” the Queen says. “You played beautifully.”
“You…you were there? And you saw me playing?” My father stiffens beside me, and I know I’m messing this up. I gulp. “I mean, thank you, Your Majesty.”
The Queen smiles just as her child blinks awake. He makes a soft noise, spittle bubbling at his lips. The Queen’s eyes soften as her son reaches for her. The baby turns his head to me and giggles, reaching a tiny, closed fist in my direction.
“I think baby Charlie likes you.” The Queen laughs, and the King leans over to chuck his son’s cheek.
The King meets my eyes. “We’re looking forward to coming to your Christmas concert in three weeks’ time.” He smiles at me, as if he isn’t the literal King of Farcliff.
They’re looking forward to my concert? What?
I dip into another curtsy, and the Queen moves over to speak to the Duke. Vaguely, I notice that the King seems very familiar with the Duke, and even shakes his hand and calls the Duke by his first name. Heath. Yum.
When the monarchs move on to the next guest, I steal a glance at the Duke of Blythe. He meets my gaze, his eyes impossible to read. It’s not until the greetings are over and the King and Queen announce the official start of the ball that I remember to take a full breath again.
By the time I come back to myself, the Duke has disappeared from my side.
5
Ada
My head is a mess. Count Gregory keeps asking me questions, and my parents keep staring at me like my brain is leaking out of my ears. I can’t seem to make sentences. My body is still on fire, and my eyes search everywhere for the Duke. I need to get away from all these people.
I ignore my mother’s disproving stare and drink another glass of champagne. It only makes me feel worse. My stomach churns as the alcohol hits it, and…oh, shit. I shouldn’t have drunk that so quickly. My mouth fills with saliva, and I have that horrible sensation rising in my throat…
No, no, no.
Stumbling to the bathroom, I throw open a stall door and puke into a toilet. As my eyes water and I spit bile into the bowl, I realize the toilet is inlaid with gold buttons to flush. Lovely. What a nice touch. Only the best for a duchess to hurl into.
When I exit the stall, the restroom attendant directs me to the vanity and lays a brand-new toothbrush and travel-sized toothpaste next to the sink. I pinch my lips into a smile and thank her, embarrassment ripping through my chest.
Once I’ve cleaned myself up and my mouth is minty-fresh, I find a sofa in the corner—yes, in the bathroom—and pull out my phone. I need a minute.
Ada: Saw the Duke. No selfie yet.
Kiera sees the message, three dots appearing on the screen within an instant.
Kiera: GET TO WORK.
Smiling, I let my shoulders relax. Pulling out a compact to touch up my makeup, I take a deep breath and steel myself for the crowd outside.
