Page 16 of The Prince’s Wallflower Wife (The Wallflower Academy #4)

T he carriage was far too small.

Christoph attempted to push himself right to the edge of it, but it wasn’t far enough. He would never be far enough away from Daphne to stop himself thinking of her. Wanting her. Wanting to reach out…

‘I have never attended Almack’s before,’ Daphne said softly, her eyes downcast, her attention on her twisting fingers. ‘I… I admit I am attempting to recall all Miss Pike has ever taught me, terrified that I will forget some crucial element of courtesy. Have…have you ever attended?’

‘No,’ said Christoph quietly, attempting not to let his excitement overflow.

He wanted to say more. He wanted to tell her again how beautiful she looked; how the restyled gowns suited her so much better than the monstrosity she had worn on their second evening together.

How he missed her. How something had changed between them, the gentle companionship they had somehow found in the lead up to their wedding broken because of his own foolishness, his own stupidity.

What had he done, agreeing never to touch her again?

‘I hope it is diverting,’ came Daphne’s soft words.

Christoph swallowed as the carriage rattled along the London streets and forced himself not to allow her to draw him into conversation. Even if he wanted her to.

You cannot deviate from the plan, he told himself sternly. The last thing you need is your heart getting entangled. This woman is a means to an end, and you’re almost there .

It had been bad enough just how…how connected he had felt to his wife when they had made love.

Because it had been making love, and Christoph could not deny it.

The vulnerability, the openness they had shared, even in the awkwardness…

He had never felt so seen, so understood, by another person.

Had he lowered himself in her eyes—had he showed too much emotion?

It had been a moment of weakness. He could not, would not, permit that moment to define his character.

‘I suppose we shall have to dance together.’

Christoph smiled, despite his attempt at focus. ‘I suppose so.’

It was painful to see the hope in her—hope he could not allow to flourish.

This was not a love match, and emotions would only make him weak, give him a vulnerability he could little afford.

He still did not know whether Anton yet knew what his brother had done.

That he had reported Katalina’s death to the authorities, only to discover that their hands were tied—no one could not arrest the King of Niedernlein.

He’d realised he had no choice but to leave the country.

He’d stolen out of Niedernlein. Crept across Europe.

Lied to the Earl of Norbury. Married the bride intended for the older brother.

Still, excitement was thrumming through his veins. The famous Almack’s; tales of its gatherings had reached across Europe to Niedernlein and it was a sight he had always wanted to see. And here they were, moments from it.

Christoph cleared his throat. ‘You…you enjoy dancing?’

Daphne looked up at him and his pulse skipped a beat. Such beauty. Such uncertainty. Did she not know how beautiful she was, how his whole body responded to her?

‘I don’t know if I enjoy dancing,’ she said quietly. ‘I have never danced with a man before.’

‘Never danced with…? But then, how do you know how to…?’

‘We practised at the Wallflower Academy, and there weren’t any men to practise with,’ Daphne said lightly. ‘I…you will be my first.’

It was all Christoph could do not to launch himself the few feet across the carriage, pull the woman into his arms and claim their first kiss.

Yes, he was her first. In everything. The strange possessiveness which encircled his heart made him captive to her.

Christoph had been entirely caught by this woman the moment she’d quivered under his touch.

He swallowed. ‘Well. I hope my skills are sufficient.’

What had possessed him to say such a thing?

Daphne smiled, and the carriage warmed by several degrees. ‘I have not been disappointed so far.’

Despite himself, despite all his finer feelings and grand plans, Christoph returned her smile. Why, this was almost akin to flirting—and he was enjoying it. Flirting, with his wife.

Christoph’s breath caught in his throat and he forced himself to look away from the woman seated opposite him.

‘I suppose Laura is a good dancer.’

‘I… Yes. Yes, I suppose she is.’

His sister had always been a good dancer. God, he hoped she had managed to get out. He hoped she was somewhere in France by now, getting closer every day to the safety that England, that his new wife’s money, could provide.

But it wasn’t about the money. If he were to tell the truth, Christoph was not certain when the money had ceased to be his greatest concern, but it felt long ago.

No, it was the connections, the position in Society.

Son-in-law to the Earl of Norbury was a powerful position to hold indeed.

Yes, the ability to gain acceptance into English Society had become far more important.

Daphne, he was certain, would act as his key to unlock his new position here in England.

And now…now it was different again. The drive that spurred him on was not wealth, or position, but…family. Was it possible? Could he and Daphne build a life, build a home that would welcome others and form the very foundation of his life? A place of laughter and joy, of opportunity, of prosperity?

Christoph caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He blinked, and saw Daphne twist her hands together in her lap, her nerves palpable.

‘You do not have to be anxious.’

The words had slipped from him before Christoph could stop them, but he did not regret them, as he saw his wife smile apprehensively.

‘I… I do not think I have much choice,’ she admitted quietly.

Christoph nodded. He should have expected this.

True, it was their first Society event as man and wife, but as far as he could tell this was also Daphne’s first Society event without the security of the Wallflower Academy around her.

Miss Pike might be formidable, but she surely gave her charges comfort that she was for them, not against them.

Now Daphne would have to stand without the shield of Miss Pike.

He leaned forward and captured her hands with his own. Her sudden gasp did something strange to his stomach, twisting it in a most pleasant way.

‘I am here,’ he said quietly. ‘And we are going to have a wonderful time.’

Daphne’s nervous eyes widened. ‘Are we?’

‘We are,’ Christoph repeated, squeezing her hand and wishing to goodness it did not feel so right to sit here with her hands in his own. ‘And we—’

The carriage jolted and he smiled. ‘We are here.’

One of their footmen—he really would have to remember their names—opened the carriage door.

Christoph stepped out and turned instinctively to offer his hand to Daphne.

She emerged from the carriage flushing a deep red that he was starting to grow accustomed to.

It was… Daphne. And he liked it. He liked her.

Focus, man!

Wordlessly, Christoph offered his arm to his wife and she took it just as silently. They entered the atrium at Almack’s, were relieved of their outer garments and had just stepped into the large ballroom when a whirlwind most disobligingly attacked them.

Well, it felt like a whirlwind…

‘There you are! Didn’t I tell you they’d be here? Daphne! Daphne, it’s been a week since we’ve seen you!’

‘Don’t shout, Sylvia, you know how she feels about that!’

‘What are you doing here? I thought you’d be enjoying wedded bliss!’

Three women descended on them, chattering away over each other as though it did not truly matter whether anyone was listening, as long as they were talking. Somehow they had managed to detach Daphne from him, pulling her a few feet away and embracing her heartily while they continued to talk.

‘Oh, this gown is exquisite. I don’t remember it being in your trousseau.’

‘How sore are you? I couldn’t walk for a week after!’

‘Sylvia!’

‘Well, a friend can ask, can’t she?’

Try as he might, Christoph could not prevent his cheeks from burning much as his wife’s often did. It was hardly an appropriate conversation to be had in public! Evidently, though, Daphne did not mind.

It was most odd. In the presence of her friends, he clearly momentarily forgotten, his wife seemed to blossom.

Her cheeks were still pink, true, but she was attempting to reply to a great deal of the conversation around her, placing her hands on the black woman’s stomach, which was clearly with child, and laughing at their nonsense.

‘I can walk perfectly well, I assure you… The gown was altered; so many ruffles! We thought we’d dance; you know I’ve never danced with a gentleman before… Where are your husbands?’

‘Oh, we left them somewhere over there,’ the woman whose eyes were clouded said vaguely, gesturing a hand to their left. ‘They’ll find us again, they always do.’

‘They don’t dare not,’ said the third woman with a laugh. ‘And speaking of husbands… Ah, there he is! Prince Christian!’

‘Christoph,’ said Daphne with a laugh, rolling her eyes. She turned to him, and Christoph’s heart skipped a beat as she gestured for him to approach. ‘Christoph?’

He shouldn’t do it. Starting an acquaintance with Daphne’s friends was the last thing he should concern himself with, after all.

He needed to review his new servants’ backgrounds and ascertain that none were spies, gain access to a full account of his wife’s means and write another letter to where Laura should be in a week’s time.

He should keep his distance from his wife, keep his father-in-law happy. Not…not befriend people.