Both society women spoke at once. “No.” And, “Certainly not.”
Which is when Melinda made her decision. Right there, between the mutton and the pheasant courses, she looked at the white gloves of the footmen who were trying to hide the gravy stains, the impassive expression of the butler who was nonetheless listening to every word spoken, and most of all, to the flirtatious glances of Lady Eleanor as she systematically made Mellie an object of fun. She saw the silly pageantry of it all, and she finally understood that Ronnie hadn’t been the only one obsessed with creating a Cheltenham tragedy out of everything. Everyone wanted a pageant—tragedy or farce made no difference. It was the game of society, and if she wanted to be part of it, she needed to play her roll exceedingly well.
“Very well then,” she said. “I shall be the Cricket Princess.”
“The what?” Trevor gaped.
“Well, it’s somewhat true, isn’t it? My father is an eccentric entomologist. We are rich beyond Croesus—” Not true, but this was a play, after all. She might as well exaggerate. “And he has taught me some very odd things.”
Trevor reared back. “He has taught you science.”
“No, no,” interrupted Eleanor. “She has the right of it. Science is only interesting if it’s bizarre.”
Trust the woman to call her right and bizarre in the same sentence. Meanwhile, she continued to speak to Trevor. “And as your love of bugs is well established—”
“Science,” he reiterated, a heavy note to his voice. “And you know damned well that I believe there is a link between insects and disease.”
“Well, what is that to the point?” she said, in exactly the tones that Eleanor had used earlier. “We shall make you the Buggy Duke and me the Cricket Princess. Everyone will believe a love match then because it’s a perfect pairing.”
“It is no such thing!” Trevor cried.
“Oh yes, it is,” she said, her voice dropping to a low a threat. She had no idea where such a venomous sound came from, but it held all the frustration and embarrassment of the last twenty-four hours. And it laid all of it at his door. “Because if you believe I shall be trussed up and paraded around as an object of fun alone, then you are sadly out, Mr. Anaedsley. This was your mad idea, and I shall not be pranced about like a dancing bear without you right by my side as a monkey jumping to the same tune.”
For the third time that evening, the room descended into silence. She could not tell if the reason was shock, horror, or appreciation. It didn’t matter. Her gaze was on Trevor, as his was the only opinion that mattered. His expression was tight, but it slowly eased as he looked at her. In his lengthy silence, he seemed to be testing her resolve, so she kept her expression firm.
In the end, he puffed out a breath. “How will this work? I am not the least bit buggy.”
She picked up her fork and gestured much as the duke had done. “Be sure to open your eyes very wide.”
“Mellie!” he cried, the sound conveying both outrage and laughter.
“And no more of that,” she said coldly. “I am a princess from now on.”
Eleanor chose that moment to insert herself. “Can we at least make you Printsessa? That’s Russian for—”
“No.” This time it was Trevor and Mellie who spoke at the same instant.
* * *
It was past midnight when he knocked on Mellie’s door, half hoping that she wouldn’t answer. Trevor had spent much of the evening in congenial drink with the duke. He found the man to be wise in the way of a practical man and pleasant in the way of the best drinking companion. So the two had stayed up late, and then—thankfully—the man had extended his hospitality enough to give Trevor a room for the night. Good thing, as there were likely creditors sleeping outside his usual rooms. Fortunately, he wouldn’t need to live with a straightened purse anymore. His grandfather would be settling a nice sum on him the minute the engagement was announced.
But even pleasant masculine evenings had to end, and so it was that the duke went to his lady wife and Trevor turned his mind to Mellie. In truth, he’d been thinking of her for much of the evening—or avoiding thoughts of her—but it was time to face her fury. Or her gratefulness. Or her logic. Truth be told, he had no idea what she was feeling, and he was not a man who liked to walk blind into a woman’s parlor. Two sisters and a petulant mother had taught him that. And yet he still felt the driving need to see her, so he scratched at her door and tried not to fidget in anxiety.
“Come in,” came her soft reply.
Awake then. Steeling himself for whatever came on the other side, he quickly slipped inside her room, shutting the door behind him.
She’d rearranged the furniture. The duchess certainly wouldn’t have placed the chair facing the window. But she’d put it and herself there, looking out the darkened panes while an empty brandy snifter rested by her elbow. He had a moment’s pang that there was no bottle resting nearby. He suspected she was as affable a companion as the duke had been.
“Mellie?” he asked.
“Don’t you meanprincess?”
She spoke lightly, humor in her tone, so he smiled and dared approach. “Princess, then. I came to see how you fared.”
She glanced at him, and he saw the moonlight caress her skin to a pearly glow. “So you haven’t come to your senses, then?”
He was lost for a time in her beauty. God, the moon loved her face. But then he shook himself out of his reverie enough to blink at her. “What senses?”