Free A Fatal Waltz by TASHA ALEXANDER

spanakopita was more than a little tempting, particularly when I was trapped on a dank English estate.
    “Precisely,” I said.
    “Lots of ouzo toasts and a rather late night.”
    “One that extends all the way to morning.” Our eyes met.
    “I don’t see how we can go against the queen’s wishes,” he said.
    “I was afraid you’d say that. I admire your loyalty and sense of duty to your country, Colin, but you go too far. I can’t bear the thought of waiting so long.”
    “You were perfectly willing to put me off yourself for more months than I care to count.” His smile warmed every inch of me.
    “I was dreadful.”
    “You weren’t. I understand perfectly why you waited to accept me. If you did not value your independence so well, I wouldn’t have wanted to marry you in the first place.”
    “We’re disgustingly well suited to each other.” I raised my lips to his, but he did not kiss me.
    “Regardless, we shall have to wait. It wouldn’t do to displease Her Majesty.”
    “I don’t suppose there’s even a hint of sarcasm in that statement?”
    “Perhaps just a touch.”
    “I do adore you,” I said. He pressed my hand to his lips. “But there will be no changing her mind. She’s offering Windsor to thank my mother for her assistance in machinating the engagement between Prince Eddy and May of Teck. Everyone’s convinced the girl will make an excellent queen.”
    “If only Eddy would make an excellent king,” Colin said. The Prince of Wales’s eldest son had a reputation for being rather slowwitted and had been embroiled in any number of scandals, each worse than the last.
    “Speaking against the royal family, Colin? If you’re already this disaffected, there’s hope that I may be able to persuade you to go against the queen’s wishes. I shall do all in my power to tempt you.”
    He put his hand on my cheek. “My dear girl, resisting you will take all of my will.”
    “I wonder if you have quite so much will as you think?” I stood on my toes and kissed him, slowly, once on each cheek. “What a pity you have to go shoot today. I can think of much more pleasant ways to pass a morning.”
     
    A S IT WAS, there was very little about the morning that could be called pleasant. We had all expected an influx of guests the previous day—the prime minister and others would have brought their wives—giving us ladies someone new with whom to converse. Ivy was still upstairs overseeing her packing, the countess and Lady Fortescue were nowhere to be found, so Flora and I were left with the count, finding almost nothing in the way of amusement.
    “I don’t understand why we can’t shoot,” Flora said.
    “It’s never made sense to me,” I said, looking up from the letter—already six pages long—that I was writing to Margaret. “We’re allowed to foxhunt. I suppose directly killing a bird is unladylike, but pursuing a fox and leaving him to be torn to bits by dogs is not.”
    “Have you abandoned Aristophanes?” the count asked.
    “So far as performance goes, yes,” I replied. “I don’t think any of us is in the mood for theatrical entertainment.”
    “I am!” Jeremy Sheffield, Duke of Bainbridge, who’d been a dear friend since we were children and now as resplendent as a man could be in tweeds, strolled into the drawing room.
    “Jeremy!” I leapt up to greet him. “What a surprise! Where have you come from?”
    “Highwater, not five miles from here. I headed for Beaumont Towers the moment I heard you were here.”
    “Yes, Margaret warned me to look out for you.”
    “She’s a terrible girl. Tell me this party’s not as tedious as the one I’ve escaped.”
    “Tedious is perhaps not the right word,” I said.
    “Pleasantly soporific?” he suggested.
    I smiled. “Mildly diverting.”
    “We didn’t have it even that good. Langston, our host, wouldn’t let all of us shoot at once—insisted that we go out in small groups, which meant hours of sitting around doing