To Wed a Wicked Prince Read Free Page A

sighing. “I shall just have to live with a yearning heart.”
    Livia kept her mind on her partners for the remainder of the evening, but she was also looking around for the mysterious Russian. He appeared to have vanished as discreetly as he’d appeared, and as the orchestra finished the last dance, she excused herself from her partner and went in search of her hostess, ostensibly to make her farewells.
    The duchess was holding court at the head of the sweeping staircase, greeting her guests as they prepared to descend to the hall below, where maids scurried to retrieve evening cloaks and footmen stood in the doorway, calling out the names of departing guests to coachmen and grooms waiting for their own summons in the carriages lining the street.
    At last Livia was close enough to the duchess to offer her own thanks and farewell. “I did enjoy dancing with Prince Prokov,” she said, shaking her grace’s silk-mittened hand. “Is he new to town? I don’t recall meeting him before.”
    “Oh, yes, quite an asset I think he’ll be,” the duchess trilled. “One grows so tired of the same faces every season. And such a distinguished addition to our little circle. Of course, Russian princes are ten a penny,” she added in a stage whisper, “but nevertheless there’s a certain cachet in the title, don’t you agree, my dear?”
    “Oh, yes, I’m sure,” Livia murmured. “I look forward to meeting him again. Thank you, Duchess, for a delightful party.” She moved away, yielding her place, and turned to descend the stairs. A hand came under her elbow and a voice murmured, “Ten a penny, are we? I’m crushed.”
    She glanced up at the prince, who had somehow materialized on the staircase and was now escorting her steadily downwards. “Not my words,” she said.
    “Ah, but you agreed with them,” he chided. “I heard you.”
    “I was merely being polite,” she returned smartly. “And if you will eavesdrop, you can only blame yourself if you hear things you don’t like.”
    “True enough,” he agreed, sounding cheerful about it. “I wish to escort you home. You don’t have a chaperone here, I trust?”
    “Someone else to be disposed of in the fountain?” she queried. “As it happens, my chaperone tonight was purely nominal, and Lady Harley has already returned home with her daughters. My carriage is waiting for me and I have no need of an escort, thank you.”
    “Oh, I disagree,” he stated, turning to beckon a waiting maid. “Lady Livia Lacey’s cloak.”
    The girl curtsied and hurried off to the cloakroom to retrieve the garment. The prince walked to the door and instructed the footman, “Lady Livia Lacey’s coach.”
    The footman bellowed to a linkboy on the street at the bottom of the steps. “Lady Livia Lacey’s coach.” The boy, with his torch held aloft, went off at a run, calling out the name as he ran along the line of carriages.
    A huge round berlin separated itself from the line and progressed in stately fashion to the front door of the Clarington mansion. The groom jumped down to let down the footstep and open the door.
    “My carriage,” Livia said, accepting her cloak from the maid with a smile and a discreetly palmed coin. “Thank you for the dance, Prince Prokov.”
    “That’s your carriage?” For once he sounded startled. “What an astonishing equipage.”
    “We call it the teacup,” she informed him, gathering up the folds of her cloak and ball gown and moving down the shallow flight of steps to the pavement.
    “Oh, yes, that’s exactly what it is,” he agreed with huge amusement. “Allow me, ma’am.” He was by her side, taking her elbow to ease her upwards into the carriage before she could muster any objections. And then he had climbed in beside her, pulling the door firmly behind him. He sank down on the faded crimson squabs and looked around the interior with an air of fascination. “When did these go out of fashion? It must have been at least twenty years