Rebecca Hagan Lee (3 page)

He laughed again. "You are far too impulsive for your own good. If I was someone of rank and importance, Miss Fairfax, I might be offended by your sharp tongue. But I forgive you your youth and remind you that your words may come back to haunt you someday."

"If they do, it won't be any of your concern," Cristina retorted again. "I know you're not English. Your accent is German or Prussian, but that tells me nothing. There are always German relations at Court. Are you part of the family?"

Her artless question amused him and Cristina's blood began to boil at the sound of his laughter.

"I know it's rude of me to blurt out my thoughts, but it's even more rude to laugh each time I ask a simple question. I don't know you. We shouldn't be dancing together."

"Will your mother scold you?" he asked, successfully diverting her attention from the question of his identity.

"I very much doubt my mother is paying attention to me," she answered. "My mother has a flock of admirers. She can't be bothered by a mere daughter."

He frowned at the obvious bitterness in her tone. "I am acquainted with your lovely mother."

Cristina was surprised. "You've met my mother?"

"On several memorable occasions."

"Aren't you a bit young for her? Is that why you're toying with me? Are you thinking like mother, like daughter?"

His eyes glinted angrily as he stared back at her and his words were a cold rebuke. "You are rude and insulting, Miss Fairfax." He loosened his hold around her waist and came to an abrupt halt.

Knowing she was about to be abandoned on the dance floor, Cristina attempted a halfhearted apology. "I'm sorry ... I shouldn't have--"

"No," he agreed, "you should not have. However, I will tell you what you want to know. I am dancing with you because it is what I wish to do. I find you very lovely, but also younger than I would have liked. Perhaps too young...."

"I am not!"

"I'm not talking about your age, Miss Fairfax, I am talking about experience. Worldliness. You look like a woman, but you're a fledgling schoolgirl. Still, there is a part of me that would like to explore the possibilities of a more intimate friendship." He allowed his words to trail off into the realms of innuendo.

"That will never happen, sir," Cristina haughtily informed him. "Our brief acquaintance is at an end. You'll never have the opportunity to know me--intimately or otherwise."

He remained undaunted by her harsh words. "I'll be in London for several weeks and I hope to persuade you to change your mind. I can be very persuasive when I want something." He sounded almost charming and definitely wicked.

"You're not immune to me, Miss Fairfax, and given time, and the right incentives, I think you may come around to my way of thinking."

Cristina summoned all her courage, looked him straight in eyes, and challenged him, practically spitting the words in his face. "That remains to be seen, doesn't it?"

"Then we shall wait and see." He smiled at her, bowed low over her white-gloved hand, and kissed it. "Thank you most kindly for the dance, mein fraulein." He clicked his heels together in military fashion and strode quickly across the ballroom where he disappeared through a set of double doors.

Cristina was left stranded in the midst of a crowd of dancers with her former partner nowhere in sight. She was just about to fight her way through the dancers when a man took pity on her and moved forward to escort her off the dance floor.

"I'll say one thing for you, you're the most impulsive, bravest, or incredibly foolhardy young woman I've ever met, but even you can't think it was a good idea to challenge him. It's the one way to ensure his interest. Or is that your game?"

Cristina was taken back by the absolute fury she heard in the voice of the man escorting her. It reminded her of a pair of glaring black eyes. She tilted her head back to get a look at her accuser.

"You!" The words left her mouth in a rush as she faced those dark, glacial eyes.

He ignored her startled gasp and continued his accusations. "Whatever your intention, it worked. You intrigue him and he usually gets whatever he wants."

"So he said."

He ignored her sarcasm just as he had ignored her earlier gasp of recognition. "I would advise staying away from him if you've no intention of becoming his latest plaything or having your reputation ruined beyond repair.

I realize the lure of wealth and power is impossible to resist, especially to a young woman about to make her mark on society, but stay away from him or you'll be hurt. He isn't the man for you." There was the barest hint of bitterness in his voice.

"You don't think highly of him, do you?" It was more of a statement than a question.

"On the contrary, I like him very much, but I'm not looking to be his mistress." His lean, tanned fingers surrounded the upper part of Cristina's arm as he ushered her away from the crowd. He was unaccountably angry at her for the surge of jealousy he felt toward Rudolf. "Now, if you no longer require my services as escort, I think I'll go back to my own amusements." He bowed low, turned, and started to walk away.

"Wait!" The cry sprang from Cristina's lips as she reached out to grasp his sleeve.

The touch of her hand on his arm burned through him. A flicker of some undefinable emotion crossed his face. "What is it? What do you want?"

Cristina froze and he barked again, impatient with her. Something about her disturbed him. She had the knack of shaking his unshakable facade.

"Who is he?" she whispered, cowed by his attitude.

"You mean you don't know?" Blake was genuinely surprised. "You must be the only woman in the room who doesn't know who he is."

"Then why don't you enlighten me?" Cristina snapped, impatient with herself for her own timidity, and equally impatient with him for mocking her ignorance.

"All right, since you demand to know. The man you were dancing with, my dear young lady, was His Imperial Highness, the crown prince Rudolf Francis Charles Joseph of Hapsburg-Lorraine, the ruling family of the Austro-Hungarian Empire."

Cristina's knees nearly buckled from the shock of his revelation. Her stomach began to ache and she swayed on her feet and silently prayed the marble floor would open up and swallow her. She had flirted outrageously, danced with, and been deliberately rude to a prince without even knowing it.

Not just any prince, but the heir to a vast empire. She had issued an unmistakable challenge to his manhood which she had no intention of allowing him to answer. And she had insulted him. He would certainly demand satisfaction from her mother, and at the very least, an apology from her.

Fortunately, her sex prevented him from calling her out to duel at dawn. But then, if she had been a man, none of this would have happened.

Blake watched the play of emotions on her transparent face. So she really hadn't known the identity of her admirer. Amazing. He wouldn't have believed it possible for Patricia Fairfax's daughter to be so naive where royalty was concerned, but he would bet his last shilling she wasn't playacting. The shock on her face was quite evident and she clutched the fabric of his sleeve as if it were a lifeline. Her face, devoid of all color except the startling green of her enormous eyes, reminded him of a cornered vixen. He could almost see the wheels turning in her brain as she sought an escape route. He could feel her rising panic and Blake half expected her to bolt and run for the door.

"Are you all right?" A stupid question, he berated himself as soon as the words left his mouth. He could see his revelation had stunned her.

"I don't feel very well." Cristina's tiny voice caught him completely unawares. There was no resemblance to the confident, almost haughty young woman of moments before. Her voice wavered with uncertainty and she stared at him like a bewildered child suddenly afraid to move. "Could I please sit down?"

He led her away from the ballroom back to the antechamber. Cristina noticed his ease with his surroundings and vowed to guard her tongue around him. Just in case ...

"Feeling better?" he asked when some of the color returned to her face.

"Yes, much. Thank you. For a minute, I was sure I was going to be sick, or faint, or both," she admitted.

He smiled at her candor, and a lopsided dimple transformed his usually serious features. "For a moment there so was I, Miss Fairfax," he replied.

"How do you know my name?"

"I was at the presentation tonight. Didn't you realize the young bachelors have been awaiting your official debut for weeks? You've been the talk of the town. Why do you think Rudolf sought you out?" His smile abruptly vanished and his clipped aristocratic voice masked any traces of emotion.

Cristina didn't care why the crown prince chose to single her out for his unwanted attention. She simply wished he hadn't. The chance encounter with the man in front of her was the only good to come out of the evening. He'd rescued her twice in one evening. Who was he?

"You have me at a disadvantage, sir. You appear to know all about me, while I know nothing about you, not even your name."

"My name is Lawrence," he supplied the missing information. "Blake Ashford, ninth earl of Lawrence."

"I'm in your debt again, Lord Lawrence. You've aided me twice tonight.

Thank you."

"Your gratitude isn't necessary. I was only doing my job."

Cristina decided she was tired of all the mystery and forgetting her vow to guard her tongue, attempted to satisfy her burning curiosity about the evasive Blake Ashford with the dark, dangerous eyes. "I wasn't so busy dancing that I didn't notice you glowering at me from across the room, Lord Lawrence. What is your job? Spying on unsuspecting debutantes? Rescuing damsels in distress?"

"I'm in the diplomatic corps. My father recently retired from his post as ambassador in Vienna. And I've twice been posted there. As I'm well acquainted with the Austrian royal family, the Prince of Wales asked me to serve as guide to Crown Prince Rudolf while he's in London."

"What do you do?" Cristina persisted.

"Obviously, I guide."

His deliberate evasiveness irritated Cristina. "What do you guide?"

"I guide the prince's entourage about factories, banks, Parliament, London, et cetera."

"What about the crown prince? You said you were doing your job. What does touring England have to do with seeing me off a dance floor? I fail to see a connection."

"I am the connection," he told her. "Part of my 'unofficial' duty is to make sure the crown prince amuses himself with the right, or should I say wrong, type of woman. He is to stay away from innocent young debs with more curiosity than sense."

Cristina rose to face him. "You think that I..." she sputtered.

"Aren't you?" Blake countered. "You are a debutante fresh from the schoolroom, presumably still a virgin, out to snare a husband. Preferably a rich one."

"How dare you make such presumptions about me?" Cristina exclaimed.

"I dare many things," Blake told her, "including an honest reply."

"You're wrong."

"Really?"

"I don't have more curiosity than sense."

Blake laughed. "Then you are a rarity. Most women find the lure of a royal title and immeasurable wealth irresistible. It's considered a definite prerequisite for marriage." He recognized the anger glinting in the depths of her verdant eyes, but ignored the warning. "And I've learned that every woman puts a price on her affections. Some are higher than others, but all can be bought."

"By you?" Cristina scoffed.

"By anyone with money enough."

"I suppose that makes you feel very superior. Well, let me tell you one thing, Lord Lawrence, I am a free-thinking human being with the rights and privileges of any other British subject. I can't be bought by you, the crown prince, the tsar of Russia, or any other man at any price. I'll give myself to a man only when I choose to do so. And when that time comes, he certainly won't be a man like you!"

Blake calmly regarded the girl standing before him. Her firm, young breasts heaved against the silk of her gown after her angry tirade. Watching her, listening to her made him feel younger than he had in years. She was so natural--such an enchanting mixture of ideals and innocence, of fire and ice, of child and woman. He was almost ashamed of himself for goading her. Almost, but not quite.

"Bravo, Miss Fairfax," he applauded. "You're as naive as you are rare. I admire your little independence speech. You've managed to include everything except 'God Save the Queen.' But, to quote the Bard, it's all 'sound and fury, signifying nothing.' This is a world run by males, and you, Miss Fairfax," he said with a deliberate perusal that raked her from head to toe, "are most definitely a female."

"Oh!" Christina gasped in outrage and her hand flew up to avenge his insult.

Blake reacted swiftly, catching her hand before it could make contact. She struggled furiously against his hold. He grasped her flailing arms and imprisoned her wrists against his hard chest, effectively trapping her hands between their bodies where they could do no harm. His firm mouth curved into a mocking smile as he impulsively bent his head and kissed her. Thoroughly.

Branding her lips with his, tasting her, tantalizing her until Cristina leaned against him, seeking more.

Blake's senses reeled at the desire sparking between them. He tore his mouth away from hers while he was still able to think and stared down at her.

Her emerald-green eyes were half closed and dazed with longing. An almost overwhelming urge to kiss her again seized him. Blake forced himself to ignore the hot blood racing to his groin--forced himself to put an end to the madness.

"My dear Miss Fairfax, are you certain you won't choose a man like me?"

Cristina opened her eyes and stared at him for a full minute before his hateful words penetrated her brain. She plummeted back to earth with a thump, the harsh reality of his words and actions stinging her pride. Gathering the shreds of her dignity, Cristina pulled herself out of his arms and stood waiting for him to say something else--to apologize for his ungentlemanly behavior--or to kiss her again. But she waited in vain.