A Royal Kiss and Tell

She was lovely, a beauty by any standard. It did seem odd to Leo now that he didn’t remember meeting her in Chichester. He was generally very quick to notice beautiful women. So much so that a paramour had once accused him of seeing only the surface of women. Leo had thought about it and had agreed with her, much to that woman’s chagrin. But it was a truth—he’d never been in a position to form a meaningful connection with a woman for obvious reasons. He had to marry in Alucia and for Alucia, and any relationship he engaged in, romantic or otherwise, could be exploited. So he’d kept his interests to the physical.

If he was to judge on that criteria alone, Caroline Hawke met all his preferences.

Another reason he might not have noticed Lady Caroline that long ago evening was because of the habit he’d developed over the last few years of drinking far too much. It was a side of him that he did not like to admit to or examine, really, but alas, it was also truth. He drank to fill long, tedious hours of having nothing important to do. He drank to numb his feelings about being the spare prince with no meaningful responsibilities. But since his return from Alucia, he had noticed he didn’t have the same desire to fill those hours as he once had. Moreover, this recent change in his long-standing habit had made his mornings brighter and his days more coherent. He rather liked it.

And besides, something else occupied his thoughts now. Something important. He was determined to find these poor young women.

After speaking to Isidora and learning how she’d come to be in a brothel of all places, Leo’s mind had been made up. He couldn’t fathom men so unfeeling as to participate in such a scheme. And then to learn that one such man had been a friend of his, well...that left him feeling strangely ill. One assumed one knew his friends.

He would find these women and return home with them. He would help them face the men who had done this to them. He didn’t know how he’d possibly manage that, either, as he’d never tackled anything of importance in his life, and had deliberately steered clear of responsibility.

There was, as wisdom taught them, a first time for everything.

Which brought him around to thinking about Caroline again, as she, too, was a first of sorts for him. There was much more to her than a beautiful face and flawless figure. She had aroused his curiosity in new ways.

He had begun to realize, as he tried to bumble and maneuver his way through this new life of his, that he’d allowed himself to become intrigued by her. She was brash and impossible. Beautiful and sophisticated. Interesting. Furthermore, she’d accomplished something few people, if any, ever accomplished with him, and that was to turn his initial impression of her on its ear.

Since returning to England, he’d actually enjoyed his encounters with her and had found her impertinence strangely tantalizing. Refreshing, even. He had come to adore the spark in her and the way she went about her life in the most outrageous manner she could possibly get away with. And it went without saying that the rather constant thought of kissing her was popping up far too frequently, creeping in beside his more urgent thoughts of how to free the Weslorian women. Those two things made for uncomfortable bedfellows, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t deny his attraction.

Tonight, however, she was not quite as vivacious as he was accustomed to finding her, and that intrigued him. She was somber. Fatigued, perhaps? He noticed that she scarcely said a thing over supper. But then again, neither had he, as Beck and Henry were ridiculously absorbed in all this talk about horses and summer races.

It wasn’t until they had decided to have a go at the card game Commerce that Caroline finally perked up. Particularly when she began to win. That was when her eyes began to sparkle again in the low light of the candles. She delighted in winning, and when she delighted in anything, she was especially beautiful. When she laughed, the blond ringlets danced around her face, as if they were delighted, too. And when she crowed with victory and dragged her winnings across the table, she was entirely alluring.

She won three hands in a row and cackled each time. She said they were all “typically male” in being surprised by her win, and that she had “cocked their hats,” and had “catawamptiously chewed them up.”

“What does that even mean?” Beck had complained. “It’s gibberish, Caro.”

“It means I beat you, and I beat you soundly,” she said gaily.

Beck snorted. “You’ve been calling on your American friends, again, haven’t you?”

“Yes!” Caroline cried triumphantly. “They are very interesting women. You should make their acquaintance, Beck.” She stood up from the table, sweeping the coins she’d won into her hands. “This ought to purchase a new bonnet. Thank you, gentlemen.” She curtsied.

“Wait, where are you going?” Beck complained. “That is my winning, too, Caro. I gave you the money to start.”