Page 63 of American Royalty

He frowned. “What do you think you’re doing? You shouldn’t be here. What if someone recognized you?”

Dani pulled the hood off her head. “Do you think this is my first time at the rodeo?”

Her fake accent had disappeared as quickly as it had come on. She removed her glasses, and even with the different hair and eye color, and the makeup that hinted at a change in face shape, it was her. Still gorgeous, just slightly different.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means I know how to disguise myself. I do it all the time.”

“You do? Because there are hundreds of pictures of you out and about.”

“First my Insta and now you’re looking me up online?” she asked with a coy smile and a dip of her lashes.

“Of course. Did you think I’d invited you to perform without doing my research?”

“I give the paps those pictures so they think they’re actually doing their job. But most of the time when I go out, it’s in one disguise or another. I like them.”

Members of the royal family didn’t engage in disguises. It was part of the unspoken pact between them and the people.

“What are you doing here? Is there something you needed?”

“Not really. I was bored and since you pretty much banned me from baking, I knew I needed to get out of the house. You mentioned the campus last night and I wanted to check it out, so I had Amos drop me off.” She toyed with a stack of papers on the edge of his desk. “You’re very popular.”

It was nice to hear. He worked hard to make his lectures fun and informative. He really wanted his students to see philosophy the way—

He frowned. “How do you know that?”

She shrugged. “I may have asked around.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Long enough. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that they think of you as Sexy Wexy.”

He winced. He hated that nickname. And it wasn’t even his. The press had first used it to refer to his father, who was given the title Duke of Wessex when he married Calanthe. As pictures surfaced of Jameson when he’d come of age, some enterprising reporter had unearthed the dreaded moniker. He’d thought it was starting to die down, but if she’d heard it...

“I don’t bring my royal life here. I’ve tried really hard to not let it affect my work.”

“I understand. Trust and believe.”

She had this habit of saying a phrase as if it were an entire sentence or thought that he would understand.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“Why?”

“You know why. If you’re discovered—”

“I won’t be. Chill. People see what they want to see. I promise you no one expects to find Duchess at a British university in the middle of nowhere.”

“Are you really going to the Guild?”

“The what?”

“The Guild of Students. The student union building over by the main campus entrance. You told that guy you would meet him there when you were done here.”

“Oh. No.”

“But you told him you would.”