Page 41 of A Royal Mistake

Pippa huffed out a breath and tucked her hands in the folds of her skirt. Probably to hide her clenched fists and avoid making a scene.

“The lovely lady is standing right here,” she said, her smile belying her tone. “And as luck would have it, she is capable of selecting her own dance partners.”

The count flinched, and he felt a twinge of guilt. The poor bastard didn’t stand a chance.

Henry turned and smiled broadly at Pippa. “The count is right. I’ve been monopolizing your time this evening. Forgive me, Your Highness. It was poor manners on my part.”

“I’ll say,” added the Frenchman with a sniff.

Self-important Arsch.

Were all of her suitors this insufferable? No wonder she didn’t want to spend any time with them.

He might be a prick, but if she wasn’t interested in dancing with the count, Henry would not force her hand, propriety be damned.

“But if you’d honor me with one more dance,” he said, shooting the count a cocky grin, “I’d be eternally grateful.”

The other man’s jaw hardened, but when Pippa’s brows shot up and her luminous smile reappeared, he knew he’d made the right move.

She offered her hand as the count stalked off.

“Eternally grateful?” Pippa asked wryly. “Laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?”

He chuckled. “Have you considered that perhaps you’re selling yourself short?”

She rolled her eyes, but stood just a little taller when they resumed dancing.

“He was right, you know.” He scanned the ballroom, noticing for the first time that several pairs of eyes were fixed on them. “I’m monopolizing the guest of honor. I should probably give you a break after this, otherwise people will talk.”

Something neither of them could afford. Not when the stakes were so high.

Her laugh was low and mirthless. “Trust me. They’re already talking.”

“I don’t know how you do it. I can’t imagine living in the spotlight.” The very idea made his scars itch. “Doesn’t it bother you?”

“Not as much as it used to.” Pippa spun under his arm before replacing her hand on his shoulder. “It doesn’t matter what I do. People will always be watching. Speculating. Gossiping.” She lifted her chin and her voice was more forceful when she continued. “I will not let it stop me from living my life.”

“Strong and smart. The perfect combination for success.”

She was fearless. He’d give her that much, but he needed to be more mindful of his actions. The press was always watching her. Though he’d agreed to help with Stanley International—and, against his better judgment, the suitors—he couldn’t afford to get caught up in the tabloids. The last thing he needed was anyone digging into his history.

When the dance ended, he took Pippa’s hand in his own, bowed deeply, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. It was old-fashioned, but what the hell. If you couldn’t kiss a beautiful woman’s hand at a ball, when could you?

“Until we meet again, Your Highness.”

“And when will that be?” she asked, lifting a brow.

“That depends on you.” He squeezed her hand gently, holding her gaze. “I’m going to take a walk in the gardens. If our paths cross, well, that would just be kismet, wouldn’t it?”

“Come to think of it,” she said, tilting her head thoughtfully. “I could use a bit of fresh air. It’s gotten rather stuffy in here.”

This was a bad fucking idea. He shouldn’t encourage her. Hell, he shouldn’t encourage himself. There were too many people. Too much press. Too many risks.

Just this once.

“Meet me in the rose garden?”

11