The parquet floor was barely visible for all the dancing couples, but it may as well have been just the two of us. All I could focus on were his hands, secretly wishing they’d move lower, hold tighter, press closer. His lips lifted into a cocky grin, as if he could read my thoughts.
He couldn’t though . . . could he?
I hate you,I thought, just in case.
Sir Henry Withel slinked over and tried to cut in. Rían flicked his wrist. The man turned on his heel and left.
“What did you do to him?”I asked.
“Let him wait his turn. I do not share.”
“You can’t do that to people.” I forced my feet to still. Couples around us swerved to avoid a collision. “You can’t use them like pawns in some game.”
He smirked. “I can do what I like.”
Sir Henry came back carrying two glasses of champagne and wearing a glazed expression. Rían took them from him and offered me one. When I refused, he drank one straight after the other, gave them back to Sir Henry, and said, “She’s all yours.”
Sir Henry blinked. His eyebrows came together, looking at the two glasses as though he had no idea where they’d come from.
“Allow me.” I took the empty flutes, bringing them to one of the high tables near an open window, hoping the cool breeze would snuff out the heat of desire building in my core.
Rían had acquired another glass of brandy. He kept his back to me as he spoke to someone near the balcony. When he shifted his weight, I glimpsed a familiar face.
Lady Eithne.
Giggling, she reached for his arm and squeezed. There was no mistaking the coy look she gave him from beneath her kohl-smudged lashes.
This was what happened when one was forced into a loveless union. One sought pleasure and happiness elsewhere.
Robert approached from the dancefloor, his hands fisted at his sides. I turned to escape only to find the way blocked by a line of chairs.
“I need to speak with you.” Robert’s gaze flicked to where Rían stood, chatting and laughing with Eithne. “In private,” he added through his teeth.
I wanted to tell him to shove off. But this wasn’t Rían. This was Robert. “I’m afraid I must decline. It wouldn’t be proper for me to be alone with a man who is not my husband.”
“You and your bloomin’ rules.” Puffing out his chest, he huffed a breath, settling a fist on his hip. “You want me to say this here? Fine. I want you to steer clear of the ambassador.”
My stomach tightened when my eyes connected with Rían’s, still talking to his lover.
“And why is that?” I asked.
A deep wrinkle formed between Robert’s light eyebrows when he frowned. “You are a lady, so I’ll put this delicately. He has made it quite clear that he has designs on you.”
Designs on me? Poppycock. It was perfectly clear from the way Rían bent to whisper in Eithne’s ear exactly who he had “designs” on.
Robert had some nerve, thinking he could come over here and tell me what to do and who to stay away from. All the warning did was make me want to stomp right over to the prince, shove Eithne aside, and kiss his irritating, beautiful mouth until the entire ballroom stopped to stare.
My fists clenched at my back until my hands ached. “I fail to see how that is any of your concern.”
His hand slipped from his hip, falling open between us. “I only have your best interests at heart.”
Best bloody interest, my foot. “And I appreciate it.” I didn’t. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check the desserts.”
“Why must you always be so stubborn?” Robert spun toward where his brothers waited in their circle by the mantle, laughing and drinking and toasting while their wives looked on from their chairs.
Eithne slipped onto the balcony and down the stairs toward the garden.
Mygarden.