The Wronged Princess - Book I (44 page)

Essie paused at the next chamber, irritation escalating with each step
.
Mon…dieu
, nothing
.
Jaw clenched, she decided Prince Edric needed to be curbed with a demon
.
And she was the only one at hand
.
In a tone that would have served her well had she’d chosen to trod the boards she sang-song, “Humph, I suppose our little prince has made his way back, leaving me to find my way all alone.
”
She ended on a dramatic sigh, and a silent promise to blast the little imp.

Just as Essie ducked her way out, the first muffled giggle touched her ears
.
“Alas, ’tis a long trek,” she
added
.

Silence
.
She scuffed her soft-soled shoes on the floor, pretending to walk away.

“I’m here, Aunt
Sessie
,” Edric called.

She sighed
.
It was difficult to
stay
angry with that tiny, high
pitched
voice.“Where?”

“You must find me—’member
?
I hide and you seek.
”
He giggled again.

Essie located a taper near the door and slipped in
to
the hallway to light it from a sconce
.
Lifting the candle overhead showed an old drawing room with sparse furnishings draped in cloths
coated in
thickly layered dust
.
She moved deeper into the room and skirted several massive pieces before she spotted Edric’s highly polished black shoe, poking beneath a white sheet over a settee
.
’Twas practically a beacon.

She leaned down ready to grasp Edric’s foot when Alessandro’s words boun
d
ed down the hall so loudly they
w
ould have served
well
as warning to pirates as far as the Mediterranean Sea.

“What are you talking about Nobility, Royalty, Marriage?” Alessandro sounded…furious.

“
Si
. I vow Lady Kendra Frazier is perfect for you.
”
She could practically envision the Conte rubbing his hands together, warming to his topic
.

Essie’s stomach clenched
.
All signs of panic started at the tips of her toes, working their way up through her blood stream
.
Her fingers began to tingle
.
The Conte was trying to marry off Alessandro to that nitwit, Kendra Frazier
?
Why, she was naught but a prissy—

“I shall not marry Lady Kendra,
Padre,
” Alessandro said quietly
.

Essie let out a held breath
.
It echoed in the chamber
. 
Premonish angst rippled through her, along with the strongest wish to cover her ears
.
Yet, she was frozen in
a
bizarre world of morbid curiosity.

“No?” The Conte sounded amused now.

Obviously, Alessandro’s steely resolve failed to penetrate
. 

She gripped the edge of the sheeted settee, relieved at the resolve she heard in his tone.

“Lady Kendra shall suit my purposes adequately enough
.
Her
padre
is an earl—a distant cousin to England’s throne.
”
His excitement penetrated the air.

“Suit
your
purposes?
”
The sound of a chair scraped wood, followed
its
clattering topple
over
. 
Essie flinched at
his
fury
.
He’d kept his passionate nature well hidden.

The Conte’s tone hardened. “
Si.
You shall betroth yourself
.
You must do your duty with an heir or two
.
If Lady Kendra does not appeal, perhaps Lady Esmeralda is more to your tastes?”

The hair at her nape raised, along with the chilled pric
ks on her skin, air constricted
in her throat
.
Her eyes began their awkward fluttered fury
.
Dust stirred in the
chamber
and
the furniture coverings billowed in protest
.
She fought an imminent sneeze at the stirring dirt.

“
Lady Esmeralda
?
You have truly lost your faculties if your ambitions go so far to bind me for life to a woman whose eyes flutter so furiously ’tis enough to create an avalanche in these Pyrenees Mountains?
”
Alessandro sniffed in disgust.

Essie froze as the insult penetrated her seared sense
s. She
gripped her stomach at the sharp stabbing pain.

But, apparently, Alessandro de Lecce had not quite completed his annihilation of her
person
—compelled to pound that final nail.

“I have availed myself for your purposes long enough.
”
His strong voice resonated through the empty corridors
.
“Once this
c
oronation
c
eremony is over, ’twill be time for us to return to our beloved Italy
.
I
sha
ll
ne’er
marry a woman able to change the weather on a whim
. 
Not for you
. 
Not for
anyone
.”

That voice, distinct, accented, belonging to none other than a man she’d pined over for four long years, gone, in the thrust of a knife straight through her lower abdomen—so great, she bent at the waist. The candle she held tilted in trembling fingers, spilling wax on the dusty coverlet
. 

Humiliating tears spilled down her cheeks in a silent river
.
Could a person expire from utter mortification
?
An eon
wasted in a silent vigil of love, praying he’d notice her
—only to realize he’d most certainly noticed
.
Mon…Dieu! Mayhap the floor could floor just open, s’il vous plait?

Essie sucked in deep, measured breaths, and slowly stood
. 
She dashed the tears away with her free hand lest Edric spied them
. 
He would only further her embarrassment as a child was wont to do
.
All with innocent musings that would cut straight to her heart, sparing nothing, if he witnessed his favorite aunt sobbing like his three-year-old sister, not to mention his worry. He truly did love her
. 
She must grasp her composure.

Determined footsteps echoed across the wooden floors
.
So lost in shock, she failed to extinguish the flamed taper she held
.

Seconds later,
Nobile dei Conti
Alessandro de Lecce appeared in the chamber door, blocking her only exit
.
She stilled
,
not unlike
one of the marble statues in the
estate
ponds, Medusa, hopefully.
How ironic if
she could
but
turn that…that scoundrel into stone!

Non,
such was her luck
. 
Her mortification was truly complete.