The Sinister Spinster by Joan Overfield Page A

restive.
    "It has been interesting," came the reply, and Elizabeth wondered what he meant. The words were innocuous enough, and yet they seemed to portend something. She was tempted to demand an explanation, but Alexi was already joining them. Like the marquess, he was not in costume.
    "A prince dress up like a fool?" he demanded when Elizabeth chided him on the matter. "Never, little queen. It would be too lowering to my pride."
    "Your pride could stand a blow or two, your highness," Elizabeth returned in kind, noting the way the marquess was watching them. His expression remained as rigidly indifferent as always, and yet she could sense a sharp sense of awareness emanating from him.
    Naturally, with two such eligible men clustered about her, it wasn't long until the other ladies began making their way to their corner. The detestable Miss Clarvale was among them, and as she had done the day of the picnic, she took unholy delight in ordering Elizabeth to do her bidding.
    "Miss Mattingale, I am thirsty; kindly fetch me some punch," she ordered, smirking at what she clearly saw as her power over a weak and inferior woman.
    Elizabeth bit her tongue and turned to do her bidding, only to find her way blocked by Alexi. He was smiling at Miss Clarvale, and the wolfish gleam in his eyes had Elizabeth bracing herself for what came next.
    "Your costume is most attractive, Miss Clarvale," he told her suavely. "It makes you look"—his voice trailed off and he gave a beguiling grin—"forgive," he added, "I do not know how to say in English. Like a
sveenya
. You will agree, Miss Mattingale?" Blue eyes danced with innocence as he glanced at Elizabeth.
    Elizabeth glanced at the other woman's sheer pink concoction that was, she assumed, supposed to resemble a fairy's attire but instead made her look like the barnyard animal Alexi had called her. Choking back a laugh, she schooled her face to politeness before replying.
    "I would say, as do you, your highness, that that shade of pink is particularly becoming to Miss Clarvale," she said, offering a strained smile. "It makes her look precisely like a—rose."
    "A rose?" The petulant beauty looked smugly delighted at such a fine compliment.
    "An English
sveenya, da,"
Alexi assured her, bowing gracefully. "But you must allow me to fetch your punch for you, Miss Clarvale. It would be an honor." And he led her away, her giggling and desperately jealous friends following in their wake.
    Lord Falconer remained with Elizabeth, a thoughtful expression on his face. "His highness has a great deal of charm," he observed coolly, glancing back at Elizabeth as if to measure her response.
    Too vexed with Alexi to be cautious, she said the first thing to pop into her head. "And a great deal more cheek," she retorted, glaring after him. "That beast; I vow one day I shall have to throttle him."
    There was a moment of silence, and then the marquess's lips were curving in one of his rare smiles. "I am the first to admit my grasp of Russian is poor at best," he murmured, "but why is it I sincerely doubt
sveenya
means rose?"
    "Indeed, sir, it does not," Elizabeth retorted, still annoyed with Alexi. "And no," she added, anticipating his response, "I'm not telling you what it
does
mean."
    His clear golden gaze sharpened as it rested on her face. "You have piqued my interest, ma'am," he murmured, his cool voice tinged with an enticing hint of laughter. "Unfortunately, as a gentleman I cannot demand a lady reveal her secrets to me. Should you choose toshare them, however, I promise to be the soul of discretion."
    Even though she knew his lordship's words to be spoken in jest, a guilty flush stole across Elizabeth's cheeks. Fortunately her mask covered most of her face, else she doubted her discomfiture would have escaped his sharp-eyed notice. One of the first things she had remarked about the marquess, aside from his autocratic propensities, was his cutting intellect. She had no doubt but that he would be merciless in