would not be alone on the dance floor. That would be far too obvious, even for this crowd.
Just a few more minutes, and then it would all be over.
Harry watched the golden couple as closely as he was able, but the prince’s decision to take a turn about the room made his job that much more difficult. It wasn’t imperative that he remain close; the prince wasn’t likely to do or say anything the War Office would find relevant. But Harry was loath to let Olivia out of his sight.
It was probably only because he knew that Winthrop was suspicious of him, but Harry had disliked the prince immediately. He didn’t like his proud stance, never mind that his own years in the military had left him with remarkably straight shoulders of his own. He didn’t like the prince’s eyes, nor the way they seemed to narrow upon everyone he met. And he did not like the way his mouth moved when he spoke, his upper lip curled into a perpetual snarl.
Harry had met people like the prince. Not royalty, that was true, but grand dukes and the like, preening about Europe as if they owned the place.
Which they did, he supposed, but they were still a bunch of asses, in his opinion.
“Ah, there you are.” It was Sebastian, holding an almost empty champagne flute. “Bored yet?”
Harry kept one eye on Olivia. “No.”
“Interesting,” Seb murmured. He finished his champagne, set the glass down on a nearby table, then leaned in so that Harry could hear him. “Who are we looking for?”
“No one.”
“No, never mind. My mistake. Who are we looking
“No one,” Harry said, taking a half step to the right, trying to see past the extremely portly earl who had just blocked his view.
“Ah. We are just ignoring me for…what reason?”
“I’m not.”
“And yet you are still not looking at me.”
Harry had to admit defeat. Sebastian was fiendishly tenacious, and twice that annoying. He looked his cousin squarely in the eye. “I have seen you before.”
“And yet I remain ever delightful to gaze upon. One misses a great deal, not looking at me.” Sebastian offered a sickly sort of smile. “Are you ready to leave?”
“Not yet.”
Seb’s brows went up. “Are you serious?”
“I’m enjoying myself,” Harry said.
“Enjoying yourself. At a ball.”
“You manage it.”
“Yes, but I’m me. You’re you. You don’t like these things.”
Harry caught a glimpse of Olivia out of the corner of his eye. She caught his attention, and then he caught her eye, and then, simultaneously, they both looked away. She had the prince to keep busy, and he had Sebastian, who was proving himself more of a nuisance than usual.
“Were you just exchanging glances with Lady Olivia?” Sebastian inquired.
“No.” Harry wasn’t the best liar, but he could do quite a good job when he kept it to monosyllables.
Sebastian rubbed his hands together. “The evening grows interesting.”
Harry ignored him. Or tried to.
“They’re already calling her Princess Olivia,” Sebastian said.
“Who are ‘they,’ anyway?” Harry demanded, swinging around to face Sebastian. “
Sebastian blinked. “When did you get engaged?”
“My point precisely,” Harry practically spat. “And she’s not going to marry that idiot.”
“You almost sound jealous.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
Sebastian smiled knowingly. “I thought I saw you with her earlier this evening.”
Harry didn’t bother to deny it. “Polite conversation. She’s my neighbor. Aren’t you always telling me to be more sociable?”
“So you got that whole spying-on-you-from-her-bedroom-window matter settled?”
“A misunderstanding,” Harry said.
“Hmmmm.”
Harry was instantly on alert. Anytime Sebastian appeared thoughtful-the devious I’m-thinking-of-an-evil-plan thoughtful, not the kind and considerate thoughtful-it was time to tread carefully.
“I’d like to meet that prince,” Sebastian said.
“Good God.” Harry was exhausted, just standing next to him. “What are you going to do?”
Sebastian stroked his chin. “I’m not quite certain. But I’m confident the correct course of action will make itself known to me at the proper time.”
“You’re going to make it up as you go along?”
“It usually works rather well.”
There would be no stopping him, this Harry knew. “Listen to me,” he hissed, grabbing his cousin’s arm with enough urgency to obtain his instant attention. Harry could not tell him about his assignment, but Seb would have to know that there was more to this than an infatuation with Lady Olivia. Otherwise, he could ruin the whole thing, with a single reference to Grandmere Olga.
Harry kept his voice low. “This evening, with the prince, I do
Harry looked at him intently. “Do you understand?”
Seb’s eyes fixed on his, and then he nodded-once, with a gravity he rarely allowed others to see. And then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone, and his loose-limbed posture returned, along with his lopsided smile.
Harry stepped back, quietly watching. Olivia and the prince had completed three-fourths of their stately promenade and were now walking directly toward them. The crowds of partygoers swept out of their path, like beads of oil on water, and Sebastian was standing still, his only movement the fingers of his left hand, idly rubbing together, thumb against the rest.
He was thinking. Seb always did that when he was thinking.
And then, with timing so perfect no one could ever believe it wasn’t an accident, Sebastian plucked a new champagne glass from a roving footman’s tray, tilted his head back for a sip, and then-
Harry didn’t know how he managed it, but it was all over the floor-a splintering crash, shards of glass, and champagne, bubbling furiously on the parquet.
Olivia jumped back; the hem of her gown had been splashed.
The prince looked furious.
Harry said nothing.
And then Sebastian smiled.
Chapter Ten
“Of course,” she said, discreetly shaking out one foot, then the next. “It is nothing. Just a spot of champagne.” She smiled up at him, a reassuring it’s-no-trouble-at-all sort of smile. “I’ve heard it is good for the skin.”
She’d heard nothing of the sort, but what else could she say? It wasn’t like Sebastian Grey to be so clumsy, and really, it was just a few drops on her slippers. Beside her, however, the prince was seething with anger. She could feel it in his stance. He’d received more of a splashing than she had, although in all fairness, it had all landed on his boots, and hadn’t she heard that some men cleaned their boots with champagne, anyway?
