The Ring and the Crown (The Ring and the Crown 1)

The boy raised his glass to Ronan. “You could say that.” His bright blue eyes danced with mirth.

“We’ve met,” she said faintly.

“Why am I not surprised,” Isabelle said, her voice dripping acid. “Wolf has probably ‘met’ every girl from here to New York.” She unleashed her fan with a snap and walked off without saying good-bye. What a rude little wench, Ronan thought. What had she called him—the boy from the boat? Wolf? Was that his name? What kind of a name was that? Wolf? My family herds sheep, he had told her.…

She stared at him, alarmed. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugged his shoulders and took a sip of his champagne. “My brother’s getting married. I have to be here.”

“Your brother…?”

He cocked his head to the front of the room, where the herald was about to introduce the royal couple. He could

n’t mean…? Who was his brother?

When she turned back to him, to this Wolf, he was gone.

Ronan felt her heart beating painfully. She thought she might have to sit down. With relief she again found Perry and Archie, who had wandered off in search of more drinks. They were in a corner, guzzling champagne and cutting people down to size while cutting a dashing figure in their tails and top hats. Archie was nuzzling Perry’s shoulder. “There she is, the most beautiful girl in the room.” Perry smiled. “Enjoying yourself, darling?”

“Do you know everyone here?” she asked.

“Pretty much,” Perry said. “We do, don’t we, Arch?”

Ronan raised her fan so that no one could see her ask, “Who’s he, then?” Her eyes followed the dashing, dark-haired boy in the red coat and gold sash across the room.

“Oh, him?” Archie said. “Congratulations, you have great taste, darling.”

“He’s yummy,” Perry agreed. “I’d let him conquer me any time.”

“But who is he?” she hissed. She almost wanted to cry. He was just the guy on the boat. Some fighter. He was nobody. He was an impostor! He didn’t belong here. All those hours studying Debrett’s! And she had been unable to see past the obvious—that he had never been “kicked out” of the promenade deck; that he was only pretending to be second-class. His hobbies: good wine and champagne. Those shiny gold cuff links. She felt faint as she realized, her grand rooms—the mixed-up tickets—he must have put them in her handbag. Which meant he knew her plight, and it was he who had come to her rescue. Which meant those first-class rooms were his, and that he was rich, then. Very rich…but who was he? “Please tell me, I beg of you,” she said, to her new friends. “Tell me who he is.”

Archie stared at her. “You really don’t know?”

Ronan shook her head so vigorously that the moonstones in her ears were in danger of falling out.

“That’s the prince, you silly girl,” Perry said, putting her out of her misery—or more correctly, adding to it.

“Prince? You don’t mean…Leo? That’s Leopold?” she said. Her mind had turned to pudding. He was a prince! And he had asked her—oh dear God—someone should ship her back to New York. She wasn’t worthy of the season.

“No, of course that’s not Leo. Don’t you Americans pay any attention at all? That’s his younger brother, Wolf.” Archie rolled his shoulders as if she were the silliest person he had ever met.

Ronan had to support herself on the wall. He wasn’t Leo, but he was a prince all the same! A real prince! She’d had a chance with him…he had asked her to marry him, and she had turned him down. Perry handed her another glass of champagne. “Be careful with that one,” he said. “He’s a hard one to pin down. Don’t let him break your heart.”

“Yes, he’s got quite the reputation with the ladies,” added Archie.

“Mmm-hmm,” Perry said.

“Does he, now.” She pressed her lips together, thinking of those endless hours playing strip billiards. Of course he did. What handsome prince did not, except for Leopold? They were all rakes and playboys. Was he just playing with her, then, proposing to her like that? Or did he do that to all the girls? Suddenly, Ronan wanted nothing more than to slap him for taking advantage of her.

Wolf walked away quickly before he could change his mind. It was her, of course. He had seen her the moment Archie and Perry walked in with her. He had been struck by how beautiful she was, how she’d approached the queen with chin held high, even as her shoulders were trembling. It had made him feel protective and gentle toward her all over again, just when he had written her off.

His feelings were in turmoil. He hadn’t counted on seeing her so soon after they’d parted—it had only been a week or two. But, of course she was here. What had she said to him? I am selling myself to the highest bidder. The Bal du Drap d’Or was the largest and most expensive auction block in town. He was disgusted by the whole enterprise, and disappointed with himself for being attracted to her anyway. He felt angry, but didn’t know why; he felt like throwing a punch, and once again wished he were back in the ring, where things were simple. A fight—he needed a fight, needed to feel the rush of adrenaline as his fist made contact with flesh. Maybe he would look for a fight later, even if he had promised Oswald he wouldn’t. He had to—there were so many places to have it—all those secret dungeons in the basement. No one would have to know, and he was sure he could scare up a good betting crowd.

“You look like you want to kill somebody,” Oswald said, appearing beside him. “Go on and find a girl to chase, would you?”

There’s always another girl. Wasn’t that what Marie had said? And Marie was smart, the smartest girl he knew, so he would take her advice.

He would dance with all of them, and avoid the girl in the silver dress who looked like a ray of moonlight.