charming smile. “I make amends by giving you the first apology of my life.”
Fancy giggled, the vodka relaxing her mood. “I am honored to be the distinguished recipient of your first apology, Your Highness, and will cherish this noble gesture forever.”
Stepan spooned pate on a small piece of brown bread and lifted it to her lips. She took a bite of the unknown food.
“Do you like it?”
“Delicious.” She ate the remainder of the pate and bread. “What is it?”
“Caviar.”
Fancy gave him a blank look. “I don’t understand.”
“Sturgeon roe.”
She arched her brow at him.
“Fish eggs in ovaries.”
Her hand flew to her throat as she fought the nausea down. “Do not eat that,” she ordered, her gaze on his hand.
Stepan set the pate and bread on his plate. “Caviar is a delicacy.” He stared at her a long moment and then asked, “Will you try the jellied eels?”
Her appalled expression was his answer.
“Do you mind if I eat the jellied eels?”
She curled her lip at him.
“The salted herring comes from Scotland.”
“I misplaced my appetite at the”—Fancy hesitated—“sturgeon roe. I believe now would be the appropriate time for our discussion.”
Stepan took her hand in his and waited until she met his black gaze. “Why did you run away tonight?”
I felt trapped.
And bought.
And feared being victimized like my mother.
Her gaze skittered away from his. Those dark eyes seemed to see into her soul and knew her insecurities.
Fancy lifted her chin a notch, proud though she would not look at him. “I would prefer to walk naked down the street than wear a gown purchased by a man other than my husband.”
“I would prefer that you walk around naked, too.”
She snapped her gaze to his. The prince wore the most wolfish, irreverent grin.
“The problem is I pushed you too soon, not the gown.” Stepan cupped her chin. “Whenever you are ready to join me in society, so will I be ready to escort you.”
Her heart ached at his unexpected gentility and understanding. She could not, would not, dare not love him. If only—
“Why are you doing this?”
“I am courting my sweet songbird.” He kissed her hand. “I forbid you to walk home alone from the theater. Boris will guard you when I cannot be there. That is not negotiable.”
Fancy relented, grateful for his concern. “Very well, I will allow Boris to escort me home when necessary.”
“Good. Now I will take you home.” Stepan offered her his hand. “Do not forget our picnic tomorrow.”
“I don’t think my sisters will eat caviar or jellied eels.”
“I promise, no eels or caviar.”
Fifteen minutes later, Stepan climbed out of his coach in front of her home in Soho Square. He helped her down and escorted her to the door.
“Look.” Stepan scooped the bouquet someone had placed on her doorstep. “An admirer left you flowers. The pink and white with dark green leaves are oleander, and the reddish, bell-shaped flowers are belladonna.” He gave her a worried look. “In the language of flowers, oleander and belladonna mean beware death .”
No bigger than an alley, Crown Passage linked King Street and Pall Mall, two of London’s busiest thoroughfares. Several shops called the passageway home, as did the French Doves, an unassuming but popular pub for an after-theater supper.
Alexander Blake relaxed in his chair and lazily admired Genevieve Stover’s angelic face. The blond opera singer enchanted him, and he counted himself lucky to have been at the Royal Opera House the evening she required an escort home. If he’d attended opening night, he never would have met her.
“So, you really don’t mind that Fancy won the role you coveted?”
Genevieve shrugged. “I mind, of course, but Fancy has a powerful voice. I guarantee she will go far in her career.”
The waiter served their meals. Sausage and potato for him, baked fish steak with vegetable for her.
“Working with Constable Black must be
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