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

She lowered her lashes. “I don’t think we’ve even been properly introduced.”

He leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I’m Wolf.”

“Ronan Astor,” she said, her voice still chilly.

“Don’t be that way, Ronan. Come on. I heard you turning down my friend Marcus back there. Now, why would you do a thing like that? I thought you meant to marry well—the Warwick spread not big enough for you? Have your plans changed, my lady?” he asked, his blue eyes twinkling with merriment.

“If they had, why should I alert you?” she asked tartly.

“Point taken,” he said. “I do apologize.” They danced for a few more songs, taking a whirl across the floor. He leaned over to her ear again. Her skin was so soft, and her hair was fine as silk. He remembered those lazy days of champagne and billiards. “You have to believe, I wasn’t…I wasn’t taking advantage of you, back on the boat. And I wasn’t making fun of you…the proposal might have been an impulsive gesture, but it was a sincere one. I apologize if I offended you.”

She relaxed in his arms and looked him right in the eye. For a moment, she looked like she did the first time they had met: determined, resolute, brave. “If you want to know why I turned down his proposal, it’s because I thought it was too early.”

“Too early?”

“Too early to exit the game. After all, the season’s just begun, hasn’t it? It would be a shame to miss all the fun,” she said with a raised eyebrow. “And it’s all a game, isn’t it? Even to you, who proposed to a stranger on the boat. What did you call the London Season? The wedding races? Well, I aim to get my filly past the line.”

He’d been about to invite her to the after-party at the Grosvernors’, but it was clear she thought

their time together was over for the evening.

She curtsied. “Good night, my lord,” she said, reaching out her hand. Wolf flinched, thinking she meant to slap him. But she only tweaked his bow tie, which was crooked.

Wolf bowed, watching her leave. He touched his tie where she had fixed it, a small, secret smile on his face.

The next day, wedding gifts began to pour into St. James Palace in earnest. From the far-flung reaches of the empire and across the globe, friends and allies sent gifts to the newly affianced couple in honor of their upcoming wedding. A date had been set by the Merlin and announced all over the empire: Marie-Victoria and Leopold would be married on the summer solstice, a worthy night for merrymaking. It would be the end of a glorious season, capping the year and signaling the start of something the empire had not seen in decades: peace.

The gifts were remarkable in breadth and variety: dazzling jewels from the mines of Burma and Africa, pineapples and coconut creams from the island provinces, rare animals and exotic fruits from the Australian hinterlands. There were gifts of ornate furniture and important paintings, gold doubloons and bottles of the finest liquors throughout the land.

Isabelle stood in the center of the royal court, covering her yawn as Hugh presented their gift to the royal couple. Her cousin was a bit agitated, as Louis-Philippe was supposed to have joined them for this reception, but had failed to meet them at the ordained time. Good for him, Isabelle thought. She would have preferred to sleep in as well.

Was this truly necessary? Neither the queen nor the prince or princess were at court to receive the gifts. Instead, only a minister of the Merlin’s and the first lady-in-waiting stood a few feet away from the throne to officially accept the procession of bounty. Even they looked tired. But this was the royal protocol—no matter that the entire court had been up until five in the morning from the festivities.

“With great joy, we bequeath our gift to the royal couple. Five hundred barrels of our best Burgundy,” Hugh said, his hands shaking a little. He held out a bottle of the same vintage, presenting it to the minister and the lady with a bow.

Isabelle wrinkled her nose. Five hundred barrels! That was almost their entire harvest. Now this palace would smell just like home—like a stinky, vinegary, earthy cave. “Awful generous of you, Hugh,” she said as they left the stateroom, once they were safely out of earshot. “Wasn’t it enough that they chucked me as a bride? Must we provide for the wedding feast, as well?”

“It is but a small price to pay for our return to court. I can assure you, our generosity will be well rewarded,” he replied with a satisfied smile.

She supposed that that meant he’d lined up another match for her. Who cared? She had drunk too much champagne the night before, and her head was pounding. It was the worst kind of hangover, since it wasn’t from merry-making—she had refused to dance the entire night, and had instead sat in a corner, downing glass after glass until she could barely stand. She wasn’t too sure how she’d gotten home, either. She had woken up in her bed with all of her clothes on, lying on top of the covers, her hair still in a bun, her makeup smeared on her face.

The maid had awoken her to tell her that Hugh had arrived to take her to the gift reception. She had kicked and whined, but Hugh had insisted. So she had scrubbed her face and changed her clothes, while her maid had quickly put up her hair. Now she was walking in the palace courtyard, desperate for a cup of coffee.

She didn’t want to bump into anyone, didn’t want to gossip about the stupid ball. She had heard enough the night before of Princess Marie-Victoria in her beautiful, magical, astounding blue dress. More annoyingly, it appeared from their passionate kiss in the middle of the waltz that Leo was actually falling in love with the princess, and was happy. She didn’t know what else could possibly worsen the very worst day of her life, when she saw Louis-Philippe walking out of one of the apartments of the castle’s east side, still in his ball clothes. He was rumpled and sheepish, his bow tie askew, carrying his frock coat folded over his arm. There were lipstick traces on his collar.

She called his name and he jumped a little, startled. “Looks like you had a good night,” she said, a little stunned to see him so early in the morning, and obviously just coming home.

He smiled, abashed, but he didn’t deny it. In fact, he stood up a little straighter, carrying himself with a newfound confidence. Isabelle understood instinctively that whatever the night had brought, it had made him a man. “Hey, Izz,” he said, ruffling her hair with a grin. He had never called her that before, nor had he ever been so casual around her.

Isabelle remembered the shy boy who had looked at her with so much longing last night, and how she had fobbed him off—urging him to meet the rich American, or any other girl. But it looked as though the lucky girl lived in the palace. It was probably one of those daughters of the duke.…She felt a pang. How could he have grown up so quickly overnight? One night with one of those floozies had crushed his crush so completely? It wasn’t much of a torch he carried for her, then, if it had burned out in less than twenty-four hours. So much for his protestations of love. He was the same as all the rest—just some stupid boy who thought with his little brain.

“Did I miss the gift presentation? Is Hugh mad?” Louis asked.

“I don’t think he noticed. He was too busy preening—he was so proud of his overly generous gift,” snapped Isabelle. Coffee…was there no coffee to be had in this godforsaken palace?

Louis cocked his head and squinted at her. “And how are you feeling this morning?” He fell in step with her as they made their way to the back gates. There were few courtiers out that morning, only the odd page boy, a few yawning footmen, and ladies’ maids running with irons to attend to their mistresses.

“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Just fine.”