Free Princess in Love by Julianne MacLean Page A

far corner of the room stepped apart just then, and she
     spotted him. He wore a dark green dinner jacket and fawn breeches, and was listening
     intently to the man across from him who was speaking passionately about something
     while waving a hand through the air in a series of gestures.
    The very instant their eyes met, Rose’s body began to whirr with awareness. She hid
     it well, however, and gave Leopold nothing more than a courteous and regal nod of
     her head as she passed by—as if he were any other acquaintance in the room.
    Which he was not. Everything about him hit her like the zap of a lightning bolt.
    More than a little shaken by her response to the mere sight of him, Rose moved into
     the banquet room on Nicholas’s arm and sat at the head table with the rest of the
     royal party.
    When everyone was seated, a number of toasts were made in the king and queen’s honor,
     and there was a moment of silence for their late father.
    More often than she intended, Rose found herself glancing at Lord Cavanaugh. She was
     intensely aware of his presence at all moments and the force of her attraction to
     him was greatly disturbing to her in every way—for she did not invite those feelings
     nor could she banish them, no matter how dutifully she tried.
    After dinner, everyone moved into the ballroom where the orchestra had begun to play
     a cotillion.
    The room was crowded. There were nearly three hundred guests, but somehow Lord Cavanaugh
     found her within minutes, just when she was beginning to feel a heavy sorrow in her
     heart over the fact that her father was not here to enjoy the music and dancing.
    “Good evening, Your Highness,” he said as he approached.
    Rose was standing with a group of ladies from one of the more fashionable new neighborhoods,
     but turned when Leopold spoke.
    “Good evening, Lord Cavanaugh,” she replied. “What a pleasure to see you.”
    While they greeted each other, the other ladies seemed frightfully keen to listen
     in on any conversation.
    “I wish to convey my deepest condolences over the loss of your father,” he said. “If
     there is anything I can do…”
    She swallowed over a rush of emotion that threatened to undo her carefully cultivated
     decorum, and found herself confessing what she truly wanted in that moment—which was
     something that went against her better judgment, but there it was. The words spilled
     past her lips before she could stop them.
    “Actually, there is something,” she said. “You could ask me to dance. It would do
     me good to focus on my feet instead of my heart.”
    Needing no further bidding, he offered a gloved hand. “Will you do me the honor?”
     A new set began and he escorted her onto the floor. “I believe this one will be a
     waltz.”
    She suspected he was warning her that he would soon slide his hand around her waist,
     rest it upon her back, take hold of her other gloved hand and touch her in that manner
     for the entire piece.
    Despite the butterflies in her belly, she kept her eyes fixed confidently on his.
     Under no circumstances would she permit him to know that she was the least bit unsettled.
     She must do everything in her power to hide it—from him and everyone else.
    At last the music began and he swept her into the first few steps.
    He was an excellent dancer, but she knew that already, for they had danced many times
     before, but never the waltz, for it was very new in Petersbourg.
    “Again, Rose,” he said, this time more intimately, closer to her ear, “I am sorry
     about your father. I know there is nothing anyone can say to make it better, but I
     want you to know how often you have been in my thoughts.”
    The wall she had constructed between them cracked slightly at his kind words, and
     she found she could do nothing but speak from the heart.
    “Thank you, Leopold. It has been difficult, especially when I think of how far away
     we were when he fell ill. I will never forgive myself for not being