been disgraced enough. I will not add to it.” He raises a brow. “I know the rumors about my mother.”
My cheeks burn. Though the queen died many years ago, gossip of the second son—of the man standing before me—being a bastard has long circulated throughout the kingdom. The origin of his birth means nothing to me. All I care about is my duty. My family.
“For many reasons,” he continues, “this is a responsibility I have never taken lightly. Until now I have not succumbed to the temptation of the flesh, but then, I’ve been careful not to let myself truly be tempted.”
I rise to face him, but he still towers over me. “Stop speaking in code, Your Highness. I came here to do my job. Are you or are you not sending me home a failure?” I don’t think the Madam truly cares whether I am able to seduce him or not. I just need to stay long enough to look around—to find the painting she’s so convinced is on these grounds. I try to sound tough, not to let on what failure could mean, but the tremble in my voice betrays me.
He reaches a hand toward my face but squeezes it into a fist before his skin meets mine.
“Tempt me,” he says, and a muscle in his jaw ticks.
“I don’t understand,” I tell him. “I thought I already tried.”
He unfastens his collar and pulls it from beneath his shirt. “I am not worthy of the priesthood unless I truly can resist. Unless I am genuinely tempted. Whatever your fee is, I will triple it if you come here nightly to try to lead me from my virtue.”
My breath catches. Triple my fee. Nightly. Surely the Madam will free me from my original obligation if he is willing to pay such a wage. And coming to him every night? Wouldn’t that give me access and time to find what she seeks?
“Nightly? Would you send for me when wanted, or shall I show up and surprise you?” I laugh and bat my lashes at him. “Like tonight?”
He shakes his head. “If you need to do this to provide for yourself...” He nods at my attire, the small gesture filling me with more shame than masturbating in a confessional.
The Prince of Edenvale sees me as a whore. I have to remind myself that is exactly what I am now. Once upon a time, I was the beloved daughter of a famous and respected man. But I am not that girl anymore.
I raise my chin in a futile attempt at defiance. “What?” I ask. “Say whatever it is you were going to say next.”
He runs a hand through his thick, dark hair, and I realize that whatever he’s about to propose, he’s nervous.
This realization melts a little of the ice around my heart.
“There is a cottage past the gardens in the center of the maze. It’s been vacant for months, but there is staff assigned to clean and maintain it in case of visitors. It is ready for you right now.”
My pride begs me to refuse him, but the thought of another night in the brothel has me putting logic, comfort and safety first.
“I can’t afford rent,” I say coolly.
“There would be none, of course.”
“And during the day?” I ask.
He nods. “Your days are your own to do as you please, on or off the palace grounds. I will send for you nightly at eight o’clock. Our work begins tomorrow.”
On or off the palace grounds.
I can find that painting in a matter of days.
“What other rules are there?” I ask, waiting for the catch, for the other shoe to drop.
He clasps his hands at his waist, the collar between them. “As long as your skin never touches mine in a sexual nature, there are no other rules. Do what you will to tempt me from my path.”
He reaches a hand toward my face again, and just when I think he’s about to break his own rule, he pulls my wig free, letting my blond waves tumble over my shoulders. Again that muscle tightens in his jaw, but he is otherwise unreadable.
“And never,” he says, his voice gentle yet authoritative, “wear this again.”
He wants to pay me triple what I’d make with any other clients—without him ever laying a hand on me. I swallow tears and extend a hand. “I’m Ruby.” I give him my fake name from the brothel, and he hesitates, my wig in one hand, his collar in the other. “Shaking hands doesn’t violate any rules, does it?”
The corner of his mouth quirks into something almost like a grin. Almost.
For a moment I’m tempted to tell him the truth. I am Evangeline Vernazza. Surely he would recognize my father’s surname. But no. Prince Benedict and I are more similar than he thinks. I know family disgrace as much as he does. I am not a budding artist, daughter of a respected name anymore. I am Ruby, the newest escort from The Jewel Box, the most prized brothel in Europe.
He drops the wig to the floor and takes my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ruby.”
I smile enough for the both of us. “Your Highness, I’d say you’ve got yourself a deal.”
Benedict
I HAVE NEVER laid eyes on this woman in my life, so why does a strange recognition thrum through me? Ruby’s golden hair tumbles over her narrow shoulders, loose curls that skim the swell of her breasts as they rise and fall. Her unease is palpable, a problem when my own instincts are hardwired to provide comfort. I flick my gaze to the wall where a discreet intercom system blends into the sumptuous red-and-gold wallpaper. Never once have I summoned for the help of those who wait around the clock for my beck and call. But this woman is causing me to break all of my rules.
I cross the room, press and hold the small button. “X, I have need of you.”
“Very good, sir.” My bodyguard’s response is cool, clipped and unsurprised. He had guarded my brother Nikolai for years but asked to be reassigned to me after my brother’s engagement to his matchmaker, Kate. The request came as a surprise. X joked that he had grown tired of being surrounded by all the newlywed romanticism. If that’s true, he came to the right place in heading up my security detail.
At least, until tonight.
He appears a moment later, seemingly conjured from thin air. His suit is impeccably tailored, his implacable features revealing no shred of shock to find a seminarian alone with a scantily clad lady of the night. Nor does his mouth so much as quirk at my next order.
“This is Miss Ruby. Please escort her to the gardener’s cottage within the maze and see to it the quarters are well provisioned. It should go without saying that I expect a high degree of discretion.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” He is the consummate professional. No hint of incredulity. No second glance at the young woman’s thigh-high boots.
“Spare no expense on food, beverage, clothing. Her wish is your command.” I offer no further explanation. None is
