duchess."
Sharing my... !
"At any rate, I don't see why it wouldn't work. You're not ugly."
I blinked. Not ugly? I could feel my face grow hot. I had no special delusions of beauty, but still.
He continued. "The prince won't be choosy. At festival, he'll dance with anyone."
Oh, better yet.
Once more, he looked me up and down. "I'll go so far as to say that the prince will find you quite amusing." He wagged a finger in my face. "We're not talking about marrying you off. We're talking about getting near to the prince for one minute, maybe two. Surely you can produce enough charms to manage that."
"Spoken from the lips of an expert on charm," I said.
"Why, thank you." He swept off his hat with a flourish. Then he patted the pebble in his coat pocket. "Let's practice. I'll be the prince. Approach me and try to get my attention."
120
I'd never felt so self-conscious in all my life. Peter watched me expectantly.
Think of the house, I told myself. This was only a training exercise, one for which I'd paid a fortune. Might as well make the most of it.
"Hello, Your Highness," I attempted.
"No, no, no," he said. "Simper! Bat your eyelashes. Look at him this way," he looked at me out of the corner of his eyes, making a repulsive smile intended to look coy, then looked away. "Curtsy. Bow your head modestly." He contorted his neck grotesquely.
"You're about as modest as a tom turkey," I observed.
"I'm not female!" he said. "It'll come naturally to you."
There was no point favoring that remark with a reply. "Can't I just trip him and hope it flies out of his pocket?"
Peter rolled his eyes. "Amateurs," he muttered. "Now try again."
It's only Peter, I told myself. Just practice.
But when the real performance came, it wouldn't be Peter. It would be him.
My stomach flopped. Yes, I'd twice made a fool of myself around him, but not that kind of fool. Not a deceiver, and a thief.
He'll lose all respect for me.
He has no respect for me.
All these thoughts chased each other while Peter watched me, arms folded.
"Well?"
121
I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes and willed my mind not to think. I thought of the painted ladies passing by.
Now.
"Hello, Peter," I purred, half opening my eyes. "Don't you look fine tonight?"
Page 41
ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html
I fluttered my eyelids and turned my shoulders to show my profile to its best advantage--if, hypothetically speaking, my profile had any advantage, which I doubted.
Peter's mouth fell open.
I sidled closer to him.
"How long has it been since I saw you last?" I drawled, soprano voce. "I declare I almost fainted when I laid eyes on you just now. Such a sight for sore eyes." I rested one hand briefly on his shoulder. "Cold tonight, isn't it?"
Peter's eyes bulged. He swallowed hard and stepped back.
"Yes. Well. Very good." He straightened his collar and shook himself slightly.
"Yes. Now let's just practice the filch." He indicated his jacket. "Try to get the stone without drawing attention to yourself."
Peter was about my height, which helped. He pretended to look away. With my left hand low, I tugged his lapel out just slightly. With my right, I slipped a hand into the pocket, grabbed the stone, and pulled it out.
"Good enough," Peter said. "Let's go."
"Wait," I said. "Let's try it again. I'm sure that wasn't 122
subtle enough. You could tell I was doing it, couldn't you?"
"Of course I could," Peter snapped. "I'm a professional, not an idiot prince who's had his vanity stroked. But you did fine. The prince won't notice. Let's go."
He grabbed my hand and started pulling me. Dog protested loudly.
"Your friend here will be no help at all," Peter said. "You'll have to keep him with you," I said. Peter grimaced.
We handed Poke our trenchers as we passed by. His fowl spits were nearly bare.
"A good night, eh, Poke?" Peter said.
He hustled me through the crowd, which had grown more dense and boisterous.
Suddenly everyone
Sharing my... !
"At any rate, I don't see why it wouldn't work. You're not ugly."
I blinked. Not ugly? I could feel my face grow hot. I had no special delusions of beauty, but still.
He continued. "The prince won't be choosy. At festival, he'll dance with anyone."
Oh, better yet.
Once more, he looked me up and down. "I'll go so far as to say that the prince will find you quite amusing." He wagged a finger in my face. "We're not talking about marrying you off. We're talking about getting near to the prince for one minute, maybe two. Surely you can produce enough charms to manage that."
"Spoken from the lips of an expert on charm," I said.
"Why, thank you." He swept off his hat with a flourish. Then he patted the pebble in his coat pocket. "Let's practice. I'll be the prince. Approach me and try to get my attention."
120
I'd never felt so self-conscious in all my life. Peter watched me expectantly.
Think of the house, I told myself. This was only a training exercise, one for which I'd paid a fortune. Might as well make the most of it.
"Hello, Your Highness," I attempted.
"No, no, no," he said. "Simper! Bat your eyelashes. Look at him this way," he looked at me out of the corner of his eyes, making a repulsive smile intended to look coy, then looked away. "Curtsy. Bow your head modestly." He contorted his neck grotesquely.
"You're about as modest as a tom turkey," I observed.
"I'm not female!" he said. "It'll come naturally to you."
There was no point favoring that remark with a reply. "Can't I just trip him and hope it flies out of his pocket?"
Peter rolled his eyes. "Amateurs," he muttered. "Now try again."
It's only Peter, I told myself. Just practice.
But when the real performance came, it wouldn't be Peter. It would be him.
My stomach flopped. Yes, I'd twice made a fool of myself around him, but not that kind of fool. Not a deceiver, and a thief.
He'll lose all respect for me.
He has no respect for me.
All these thoughts chased each other while Peter watched me, arms folded.
"Well?"
121
I took a deep breath. I closed my eyes and willed my mind not to think. I thought of the painted ladies passing by.
Now.
"Hello, Peter," I purred, half opening my eyes. "Don't you look fine tonight?"
Page 41
ABC Amber Sony Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcsonylrf.html
I fluttered my eyelids and turned my shoulders to show my profile to its best advantage--if, hypothetically speaking, my profile had any advantage, which I doubted.
Peter's mouth fell open.
I sidled closer to him.
"How long has it been since I saw you last?" I drawled, soprano voce. "I declare I almost fainted when I laid eyes on you just now. Such a sight for sore eyes." I rested one hand briefly on his shoulder. "Cold tonight, isn't it?"
Peter's eyes bulged. He swallowed hard and stepped back.
"Yes. Well. Very good." He straightened his collar and shook himself slightly.
"Yes. Now let's just practice the filch." He indicated his jacket. "Try to get the stone without drawing attention to yourself."
Peter was about my height, which helped. He pretended to look away. With my left hand low, I tugged his lapel out just slightly. With my right, I slipped a hand into the pocket, grabbed the stone, and pulled it out.
"Good enough," Peter said. "Let's go."
"Wait," I said. "Let's try it again. I'm sure that wasn't 122
subtle enough. You could tell I was doing it, couldn't you?"
"Of course I could," Peter snapped. "I'm a professional, not an idiot prince who's had his vanity stroked. But you did fine. The prince won't notice. Let's go."
He grabbed my hand and started pulling me. Dog protested loudly.
"Your friend here will be no help at all," Peter said. "You'll have to keep him with you," I said. Peter grimaced.
We handed Poke our trenchers as we passed by. His fowl spits were nearly bare.
"A good night, eh, Poke?" Peter said.
He hustled me through the crowd, which had grown more dense and boisterous.
Suddenly everyone
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