A Royal Kiss and Tell

Leo moved on to the poultry stalls, where live chickens and skinned chickens existed side by side, the latter hanging in rows above the stall. He lingered in this lane, pretending to look over all the birds, then walked back and looked again, waiting for a glimpse of Miss Marble. He was beginning to think that she had avoided him once again, but then he spotted her. She was walking with another woman, engrossed in conversation.

He had not counted on there being anyone with her. That was alarming all on its own, but then Leo happened to notice something else that caused his heart to skip a few worried beats. Just behind Miss Marble, a very ornate hat and a tumble of blond curls beneath its brim was moving steadily toward him, like the prow of a ship making its way to the quay. Good God, that was Lady Caroline strolling the market aisle on the arm of a gentleman.

What in blazes was she doing here, at this market? It had been only three days ago he’d seen her in bed looking as if she’d just crawled back from the jaws of death. How in heaven had she untangled the mess of hair he’d seen on her head, much less coiffed it into curls? And how could she look so pretty after appearing so emaciated?

Miss Marble and her companion stopped at one chicken stall and studied the birds. Leo ducked behind a stack of crates stuffed with live birds and held his breath against the stench, impatiently waiting for Lady Caroline and her escort to stroll past. They were not alone, he realized—two ladies dressed similarly to Lady Caroline strolled behind them, looking terribly ill at ease.

When he saw the group of them go round the corner into the lane of beef, he darted out from behind the crates, very nearly knocking them over, and drawing the immediate ire of the proprietor.

Miss Marble didn’t see him at first. She was laughing with the other woman, who, Leo realized as he drew closer, was also from the Hawke home. Bloody hell, who was next? The butler? Beck himself? He stepped out of their line of sight and bumped into a lad carrying a basket of cakes. He held one up. Leo dug in his pocket for a coin and handed it to him in exchange for a cake.

“A crown?”

Leo momentarily turned his attention from Miss Marble and looked at the coin in the lad’s hand. “Looks like it is,” he agreed.

“The cake, it’s a half penny, milord,” the lad said.

“Is it?” That seemed awfully inexpensive. “Buy yourself a treat, then,” Leo said, and with a friendly pat to the lad’s shoulder, he moved past him, following Miss Marble and the other maid as they moved down the aisle while munching on the cake.

He feared he was going to have to resort to extreme measures to separate Miss Marble from her friend, but suddenly, Miss Marble’s friend turned down another aisle, and Miss Marble walked up to a poultry seller. Leo quickly hopped forward and sidled up to her. “Miss Marble.”

She gasped. Her hand went to her throat. The man behind the stall looked at him curiously, then at Miss Marble.

“Please don’t draw attention,” Leo muttered.

Unfortunately, Miss Marble could not appear to be anything but alarmed. She seemed frozen with shock. He did not understand her shock. She’d told him to meet her here—did she think he would not?

“Say something,” he urged her, and forced a smile for the poultry man.

“Something amiss here?” the man rumbled.

Miss Marble managed to gather herself. She said to the man, “Two of your best chickens, if you please. Make certain they’re your best—they’re for Lord Hawke.”

The man nodded, took butcher paper and turned around for his stick to reach the carcasses hanging above him.

“Wrap them well,” she said, then gestured for Leo to step into a tight passage between two stalls. She stepped in behind him, glanced over her shoulder, then dipped into a curtsy.

“Oh no, no,” Leo said, reaching to lift her up, but drawing back his hand before he touched her, uncertain if he ought to, given the circumstances. “That’s...that’s hardly necessary, given this...ah, arrangement,” he stammered, seeking the right word.

“Please, Highness, what do you want of me?” she begged him. “I’ve done all I can do. I told the gent that I couldn’t help more.”

“The gent? What gent? Do you mean Lysander? But he gave me your—”

“Who?”

Leo paused. “Lysander, the Alucian.”

She shook her head.

Leo frowned with confusion. “But he gave me your name. What gentleman are you referring to?”

“Don’t know. I only know the Weslorian girl.”

“Who?”

“Isidora Avalie,” she said.

Leo’s heart lurched. That was one of the names.