Dancing in Red (a Wear Black novella) Read Free

just any wren was allowed inside, just the
freshest, prettiest ones. As she walked down the lane, careful not to dislodge
any pebbles that might stir up dirt, she debated how long she should wait
before offering her favors to another man. She must be practical, despite her
daydreams. Her sister’s future depended on her choices now. Her instincts told
her to wait until she had her next courses. That way, if she found out she were
pregnant, she’d know it was by the prince and that would change her life.
    Not that this was her goal—anything but.
No, she wanted out of Ireland. The prince wouldn’t stay here long. That suited
her fine and she wanted him to take her with him. A mistress en titre would have a fine life. Surely the queen, in her forties and worn out from
childbearing, would be dead within five years. Then Nellie’s life would truly
begin, even though Bertie would, of course, marry another royal. But Nellie
would be the fun one, feted at balls and other entertainment. The prince would
confide in her. She might even be able to influence policies toward Ireland.
The queen hated the Irish, but her son did not.
    Nellie expected her courses in a few
days. Would half of her payment from the prince hold out that long? She
mentally counted her funds versus her expenses and decided it would. Fantastic,
she could hold her head high, and only flirt if she saw one of the subalterns
who knew the prince. Unfortunately, she saw no one that night.
    Three nights later, she visited the pub
yet again. She’d attracted a great many followers over that time, and was
keeping note of who might be willing to be her protector rather than just a
lover or a quick coin. She had not surrendered her plans.
    Several voices greeted her as she entered,
and a third son of a baronet was quick to purchase her a glass of what the pub
owner claimed was sherry. But she was too proud to allow a drink to buy her
attention, and she kept her gaze roaming until finally she spotted her quarry,
the older, more sober subaltern, Cornet Mills.
    He saw her too, and carelessly quirked a
finger in her direction, calling her over as he took another swallow of his
drink.
    What the—she stared at him for a moment.
What did he think she was? Furious, she tossed her head and turned her gaze
onto the baronet’s third son, running a finger over his buttons as she
fluttered her eyelashes. This had the desired response of forcing the subaltern
to actually stand up and come directly to her.
    He didn’t look happy when he got there.
She didn’t care.
    “I need to speak with you,” he rasped
into her ear.
    She pulled away and sniffed. “I don’t be
needing to speak to you, sir,” she said saucily. “My lad,” she said to the
baronet’s son, “you need this button fixed or you’re going to lose it.”
    The third son looked down at the button
she was playing with, then grinned foolishly at her. “If I get you some thread
and a needle, would you fix it?”
    “Ha! Would that thread and needle be in
your rooms?” she teased.
    He grinned bashfully, but her view of his
face was interrupted when the subaltern took her arm and spun her around.
    She jerked out of his grasp. “I did not
give you permission to touch me.”
    “The prince wants to see you.”
    She tossed her head, instantly
softening. That did make all the difference. “Oh he did, did he? Why
didn’t he come himself?”
    “You know that’s not how it works,
Nellie.”
    “I have a specialty,” she said
stubbornly.
    “Then consider your work still
unfinished. He’s the Prince of Wales. Surely you would prefer to service him
over that young popinjay, no matter how many buttons he needs sewed on.”
    “I beg your pardon, sir!” the baronet’s
son protested.
    She patted his cheek. “Have your drink,”
she told him, “while I lend my ear to this fellow.”
    That business taken care of, she took
the subaltern’s arm and drew him into a corner of the pub. “I’ll come with you,
but I have a