PERILOUS PRINCESS (Scandalous Sirens: Book 3)
An Erotic Historical Romance
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“It was entertaining and the non-cliff hanger ending left me smiling for hours.” — Cori B
EXCERPT FROM PERILOUS PRINCESS
COPYRIGHT © TRACY COOPER-POSEY 2015
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
“I only ask about your motives for reading Malthus,” he replied, as if she had not dismissed him at all, “because I imagine his thoughts about the collapse of societies through overpopulation to be a comfort to you, given your family’s recent tragedy.”
This time Anna’s lips actually parted. She stared at the man. “Why on earth would one consider that to be a comfort?” she asked, the question rising to her lips despite her determination to be rid of him.
Mr. Rhys Davies gave another nonchalant shrug. “The subject matter of your book indicates you are a forward-thinker. I am quite sure you have questioned, even if only in the privacy of your own mind, why your father lost his principality and if it was through any fault of leadership.”
In fact, Anna had asked herself precisely those questions, in the dark hours of the night while listening to the clap of foreign-sounding Hansom cabriolets on cobblestone streets and the mournful fog horns that drifted all the way to Grosvenor Square on damp nights so unlike Saxony’s clear, crisp air. She found it irritating that this man, this commoner, seemed to know what was in her mind so precisely.
She snapped her book shut. “You are far too presumptuous for a man of your station.”
“I sought only to distract you from reading that seemed disagreeable to you.”
“I did not ask for your service,” she said coldly. “‘Where we are there’s daggers in men’s smiles’.”
He laughed. “Frailty, thy name is Princess.” He bowed from the waist, as she had seen the actors playing Hamlet do for their prince.
“That’s not the quote,” she said crossly.
“My apologies, Your Highness. ‘They have been at a great feast of languages and stolen the scraps’.”
She drew in another surprised breath. That was from Love’s Labour’s Lost, her very favorite of Shakespeare’s plays. “It is men like you that will be the death of us all,” she breathed and lifted the book up from her lap.
“Most likely,” Rhys Davies agreed. “That is a future which neither you nor I will live to see and there’s many a slip ‘twixt the cup and the lip. I am yet to understand why you persist in reading Malthus if he is so disagreeable to you.”
“That really is none of your business, Mr. Davies. Must I call for my father to be rid of you?”
He inclined his head in the short bow the English seemed to prefer. “I apologize for the shortcomings of my company, Your Highness. I hope the rest of your day is more pleasant.”