The Lion's Lady(8)

And no matter how valiantly he tried, he couldn't seem to take his gaze away from the Princess.

She really was lovely. She was dressed in silver from head to toe. The color belonged to an angel and highlighted the paler threads of her blond hair.

Without a doubt, she was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Her skin appeared to be flawless, and even from the distance separating them Lyon could see the color of her eyes. They were the most startling shade of blue.

Princess Christina neither smiled nor frowned. Her expression showed only mild curiosity. The woman obviously understood her own appeal, Lyon concluded, hoping his cynical nature would save him from heart failure. He wasn't at all pleased about the way his body continued to respond to her.

"Brummel was right," Rhone announced. "The lady is enchanting."

"Oh, I do hope I'll be able to meet her," Diana said. She whispered as though they were in church. "Just look at everyone, Rhone. They are all taken with her. Do you think the Princess will be agreeable to an introduction?"

"Hush, Diana," Rhone said. "Princess Christina wouldn't dare ignore you. You seem to forget just who your brother is."

Diana gave Rhone a timid nod. "Sweetling, straighten your shoulders and quit wringing your hands. You'll give yourself spots. We'll find someone to give us a proper introduction."

Rhone knew Lyon 's little sister hadn't heard the last of his remarks. She'd already picked up her skirts and headed for the entrance. "Now what do we do?" he asked when Lyon grabbed hold of his arm to stop him from chasing after Diana.

"We wait and see," Lyon advised. His voice sounded with irritation.

"Your sister is too impetuous," Rhone muttered, shaking his head. "She's ignoring all her lessons in-"

"It's high time Diana learned the lesson of discretion."

"Let us hope it isn't too painful for her."

Lyon didn't remark on that hope. He continued to give his attention to the beautiful Princess. An elderly couple approached the woman just as Diana came barreling to a halt a bare inch or so in front of them.

Diana almost knocked Christina to her knees. Rhone let out a long groan. The elderly couple didn't even try to hide their displeasure when they were so rudely cut off. Both turned away, staring at each other in obvious embarrassment.

"Oh, God, Diana just cut in front of the Duke and Duchess," Rhone said.

Lyon was infuriated with his sister. He was about to go after her to save her from further humiliation when the Princess took matters into her own hands. Rather nicely, too. She greeted Lyon 's sister with what appeared to be a sincere smile, then took hold of Diana's hands when she spoke to her. Lyon thought the Princess was deliberately giving the impression to all those watching that she and Diana were close friends.

He watched the way Christina motioned Diana over to her side so that both could greet the Duke and Duchess of Devenwood. The Princess included Diana in the brief conversation, too, effectively smoothing over the mistake his sister had made.

Rhone sighed with relief. "Well, what do you know? She's still holding Diana's hand, too. A clever ploy to keep Diana from accidentally belting her one, I would imagine."

Lyon rested his shoulder against the mantel again, smiling over Rhone 's observation. "Diana does like to use her hands when she speaks," he admitted.

"The Princess has a good heart. God's truth, I believe I'm in love."

"You're always in love," Lyon answered.

He wasn't able to keep the irritation out of his voice. Odd, but for some reason Rhone 's jest bothered him. He didn't particularly want Princess Christina added to Rhone 's list of future conquests. It was a ridiculous notion, Lyon realized. Why did he care if his friend chased after the woman or not?

He sighed when he realized he didn't have a ready answer. He did care, however. Fiercely so. And that honest admission soured Lyon 's mood all the more. Damn, he was too old and too tired for an infatuation.

Christina didn't have any idea of the stir she was causing. She patiently waited in the center of the doorway for her Aunt Patricia to finish her conversation with their host. An eager young lady stood beside her, chattering away at such an incredible pace Christina couldn't quite keep up with her. She pretended interest, smiled when it seemed appropriate, and nodded whenever the lady named Diana paused for breath.

Lady Diana announced she was going to fetch her friends for an introduction. Christina was left alone again. She turned to look at all the people openly gawking at her, a serene smile on her face.

She didn't think she was ever going to get used to them. The English were such a peculiar lot. Though she'd been living in London for almost three months now, she was still perplexed by the odd rituals these whites seemed so determined to endure.

The men were just as foolish as their women. They all looked alike, too, dressed as they were in identical black garb. Their white neck wraps were starched to the point of giving the impression they were being strangled to death, an impression strengthened by their red, ruddy cheeks. No, Christina silently amended, they weren't called neck wraps… cravats, she told herself. Yes, that was the proper name for a neck wrap. She mustn't forget again.

There was so much to remember. Christina had studied diligently since arriving on her Aunt Patricia's doorstep in Boston a year ago. She already spoke French and English. The missionary Black Wolf had captured years before had taught her very well.

Her lessons in Boston centered on the behavior expected of a gentle lady. Christina tried to please her aunt, and to ease some of her fears, too. The sour woman was Christina's only link with her mother's family. Later, however, when Christina had conquered the written word well enough to understand the meaning in her mother's diary, her motives had changed. Dramatically. It was now imperative Christina win a temporary place in this bizarre society. She couldn't make any mistakes until her promise was carried out.

"Are you ready, Christina?"

The question was issued by Aunt Patricia. The old woman came to Christina's side and grabbed hold of her arm in a clawlike grip.

"As ready as I shall ever be," Christina answered. She smiled at her guardian, then turned and walked into the throng of strangers.

Lyon watched her intently. He noticed how protective the princess appeared to be toward the wrinkle-faced woman clinging to her arm; noticed, too, how very correct the beautiful woman was in all her actions. Why, it was almost like a routine of some sort, Lyon thought. The Princess greeted each new introduction with a practiced smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Next followed a brief conversation, and last, a brisk, efficient dismissal.

Lyon couldn't help but be impressed. The lady was good, all right. No wonder Brummel was so taken with her. The Princess followed all the rules of proper behavior. But Rhone was wrong. She wasn't all that different. No, she appeared to be just as rigid, just as polished, and certainly just as superficial as all the other ladies of the ton. Brummel embraced superficiality with a passion. Lyon detested it.

He wasn't disappointed by his conclusions about the Princess. The opposite was true for he'd felt off balance from the moment he'd first looked at the woman. Now his equilibrium was returning full force. He actually smiled with relief. Then he saw Rhone elbow his way through the crush of guests to get to the Princess. Lyon would have wagered his numerous estates that the woman would pay Rhone far more attention than the other men. Everyone in London knew of Rhone 's family, and though he wasn't the most titled gentleman at the party, he was certainly one of the wealthiest.

Lyon would have lost his bet. Rhone didn't fare any better than all the others. A spark of perverse satisfaction forced a reluctant grin onto Lyon 's face.

"You're losing your touch," Lyon remarked when Rhone returned to his side.

"What do you mean?" Rhone asked, pretending bewilderment.

Lyon wasn't buying it for a minute. He could see the faint blush on Rhone 's face.

He really was starting to enjoy himself, Lyon realized. He decided then to rub salt in Rhone 's wounds like any good friend would. "Was it my imagination, or did Princess Christina give you the same treatment she's given every other man in the room? She really didn't seem too impressed with your charms, old boy."

"You won't do any better," Rhone pronounced. "She really is a mystery. I specifically remember asking her several pertinent questions, yet when I walked away-"

"You mean when she walked away, don't you?"

Rhone gave Lyon a good frown, then shrugged. "Well, yes, when she walked away I realized I hadn't gotten a single answer out of her. At least I don't think I did."

"You were too interested in her appearance," Lyon answered. "A pretty face always did ruin your concentration."

"Oh?" Rhone said, drawing out the sound. "Well, old boy, let's see how many answers you gain. I'll put a bottle of my finest brandy up against one of yours."

"You're on," Lyon announced. He glanced around the room and found Princess Christina immediately. He had the advantage of being taller than everyone else in the room, and the object of his quest was the only blond-haired woman there.

She was standing next to his father's old friend, Sir Reynolds. Lyon was happy to see that Christina's dour-looking guardian had taken a chair across the room.

When Lyon was finally able to catch Sir Reynolds's attention, he motioned with an arrogant tilt of his head for an immediate introduction.