Beauty's Cursed Prince Page 6

  Ella debated several times before going through with the phone call, wishing there was any other way to handle the situation. She bit down on her lower lip, chiding herself for wanting to hear him again.

  When his voice sounded on the other end, she nearly hung up the phone. “Hello?”

  She waited two entire seconds before her tongue unstuck itself from the roof of her mouth. “Henry?”

  “Who is this?”

  This time, she waited three seconds before answering. “If I told you, then you’d know my name. My friends who bring me strawberries call me ‘Henry.’”

  It was Henry’s turn to pause for far too long. His reply came with a twinge of hurt to it. “I gave you my number a week ago. I’ve never had to wait for a woman to call me. I have to admit, I don’t care for this life lesson in patience.”

  “I’m sorry. My situation is… complicated.”

  “Is this your cell? I’ll save you in my phone under the name ‘Woman who Kept Me Waiting.’”

  Ella coiled the cord around her finger. “I’m actually calling you from a payphone.”

  “Are you married?”

  Ella’s nose crinkled. “No. I’m not married.”

  Henry gusted out his relief. “Then what can I do for you today, Woman who Keeps Me Wondering?”

  Ella loved the way he teased her. No one interacted with her like that. “I overheard something bad, and I didn’t know who to tell. But it seems important, so I thought maybe you should know. Maybe you can do something to stop it.”

  “Stop what? The constant breaking of my heart when a woman rejects me?”

  “I didn’t reject you,” she argued, shivering in her cardigan.

  “Tell that to my lonely Friday night. I had to spend it with a married couple, I hope you know. I could’ve been wining and dining you, but I was stuck playing board games—emphasis on the ‘bored’ part.”

  Ella snorted. “I’m sure you’re not hurting for dates.”

  “I was mortally wounded! But now you’ve come back to me, begging me to take you out and show you off. Fine, Henrietta. Fine. If you insist, I’ll take you out this very night.”

  Ella chuckled at his dramatics. “My, my. You should’ve gone into theater.”

  “When the right person’s not in the audience there’s less of a reason to put on a show.”

  Ella leaned her elbow on the platform under the large, silver receiving box. “Who makes you put on a show, Henry? Who makes you be less you? I can’t imagine anything more tragic.”

  The mood shifted to something slightly more honest and raw. “Only everyone.”

  The operator’s voice chimed in, warning Ella she had half a minute to end the call, or else she’d need to put in another few coins. “Henry, the phone’s about to cut out. I have to tell you something important! Like, national security important.”

  “Where can I meet you?” he asked in a rush.

  Ella cringed, knowing his presence would only complicate her life. She wanted to spend time with him—so desperately wanted nothing but exactly that. But she’d given up on wanting and needing long ago. It only ever led to dashed dreams, and her life was already too bleak to handle more blows.

  She closed her eyes and willed herself to be brave. “I’m in the East Village for the next two hours. Can you meet me here?”

  “Yes!” he all but shouted into the phone. “There’s a little bistro at Twelfth and Walt Main. Order yourself a coffee, and I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”

  “Thank you, Henry.”

  He tsked, using up their last few seconds just to tease her. “Was it so very hard to admit you had feelings for me? You didn’t have to go and make up threats of national security to lure me in. Conniving minx.”

  Ella couldn’t help the lightness that spread over her, now that she would be seeing him again. “See you soon, sweet Prince.”

  7

  Tea and National Security

  Ella didn’t want to wait outside, for fear of the Baron seeing her and asking questions. Also, her cardigan was hand-knitted and lovely, but didn’t provide much in the way of warmth against the snow and occasional icy gusts that kicked up around her.

  The jingle overhead as she entered drew a few eyes her way, so she ducked her head and beelined for the bathroom in the back of the bistro. The café had a slate floor, stone fireplaces, and plenty of cozy nooks for polite conversations over tea and scones. It was typical of the East Village, where the more affluent people lived. Her father’s colonial was nice, spacious and completely paid off, but even that would be considered a tiny house in these parts that were closer to the palace. These were citizens with old money, admired by people like her stepmother, who were trying to convince everyone she deserved a better zip code with her constant struggle to keep up the appearance of wealth.

  Ella had never cared what she looked like, so long as she didn’t draw too much attention. This time, however, she glanced in the mirror with dashed expectations. She had bags under her eyes, her cheeks were beaten pink from the wind, her curly blonde hair was a mess, and her clothes were… Ella knew she’d be labeled a servant anywhere she went, dressed like this in the East Village.

  She squared her shoulders in the mirror, reminding herself that she was her father’s daughter, and the details of her current state didn’t matter as much as that one shining fact that lifted her chin. She straightened her hair as best she could, and made sure she didn’t have any smudges on her skin from her morning chores.

  Ella moved back out into the bistro, trying not to look as if she didn’t belong. The universe had led her to this place, so she wasn’t about let herself believe she wasn’t welcome in it. She sat down and ordered a plain black tea (the cheapest thing on the menu), letting the steaming cup warm her hands.

  “Sorry to keep you waiting, love,” came a voice from behind her. “I had to make sure you came alone.”

  Ella turned and found Henry in a booth, a hat on and his face obscured by a newspaper. “How long have you been there?” She brought her cup to sit across from him, charmed by his covert-ops body language.

  “I was only five minutes away when you called. You’d be surprised how many women try to seduce my nickers off of me, and then attempt to capture me on film in compromising positions. I had to make sure you weren’t working with one of the tabloids.” He stood and motioned toward the kitchen. “Actually, we’ll be dining in the breakroom here. Fewer prying eyes.”

  Ella’s mouth popped open. “I hope this is one of your bits that you think is hilarious, but goes over my head. No one’s ever done that to you, have they?”

  “Not this month.” He opened the swinging double doors for her, ushering her into the kitchen. Ella cast the cook an apologetic look, but the portly gentleman responded by motioning toward another set of doors to the right. Henry clapped the cook on the shoulder and touched Ella’s elbow, walking with her through the kitchen to the empty break room.

  The dining area of the bistro was upscale and cozy. While the breakroom lacked a few of the fashionable furnishings, the slate floor, tall wrought iron tables and chairs, and ficus in the corner were no less welcoming.

  Henry set down his newspaper and slid onto his chair, warming her with a companionable gaze as she took the seat across from him. “Much better. Thanks for not being afraid I’ll murder you in the back alley.”

  “I haven’t ruled it out, but I’m pretty sure I could take you if you tried anything ungentlemanly.”

  He took off his hat, casting her a sidelong wink. “Well, then I’ll have to be on my best behavior.”

  “You know the owner? Nice that they let you do this.”

  “I own the business, actually. But yes, I do still ask permission to borrow the breakroom if I need a quiet place away from prying eyes. I’ve learned to be a bit more careful over the years, but every now and then, I still get caught unawares.”

  She closed her eyes and lowered her chin. “That is the saddest thing I’ve heard
in days. How do you let your guard down and just enjoy your life?”

  “I manage.”

  “Well, no one will hear about you from me.”

  He ran his finger along the brim of his hat as he fiddled with it atop the table. “That’s one of the things that drew me toward you. You seemed even more covetous of your privacy than I am. Is there a reason for that?”

  “If there was, do you think I would tell you?” she countered, squeezing the lemon wedge into her tea.

  Henry sighed and straightened in his seat. “So, you’re concerned about a matter of national security. Is this something I should bring in my guard for?”

  Ella’s mouth drew to the side. “Not while I’m here. I don’t want anyone to see us together. But after I leave, yes. You should probably tell him.”

  Henry glanced down at his toned stomach beneath his crisp white dress shirt. “Have I gotten fat? Are you truly this embarrassed to be seen with me? I’ve got half a mind to take dozens of photos of us together and post them all over Royal Watch.”

  Ella paled, imagining how badly the beating would be if a photo of her got on the Holy Grail of gossip websites before Drizella or Anastasia ever made an appearance on there. They checked the online feed religiously, and had made it their life goal to make themselves important enough to be seen hanging with the elite. “Please don’t do that. Maybe I should go.”

  Henry reached across the table and placed his hand atop hers. “No! I was only joking. Please, Henrietta. Stay. Tell me what’s bothering you. Tell me what makes you smile. Tell me anything at all.”

  She settled back onto her stool, melting at the feel of his hand on hers. He left it there, and she let him, even going so far as to open her hand and invite his fingers to hold onto hers. “I overheard something, and didn’t know who to turn to. It seemed important, and probably time-sensitive.” She kept her voice quiet, gluing her eyes to their joined hands, savoring the image as she powered through the difficult report. “The Baron’s involved in a plan to take out a few key members of the council. He wants to replace them with people who will vote for his policies, like Mr. Herchon.”

  Henry straightened, casting aside his playful demeanor and donning his business face. “Take them out, how?”

  “By setting Lethals loose on them. Eustace and Caleb are their first targets, and after that they’ll move on to the others on the council who usually vote to support the Chancellor’s policies.”

  “You heard the Baron say this?”

  “Yes, and a roomful of other men I don’t really know enough to pick out just by the sound of their voices. Mr. Herchon was there, but I couldn’t tell you who else. Someone suggested attacking Remus Johnstone, but the Baron pushed against that, since Remus’ magic is so much more powerful than anyone else’s. He didn’t want anyone close to the Chancellor attacked, since they’re being followed so closely by the press these days. They’re playing the circuitous route, taking down the Chancellor’s authority by slowly replacing his supporters on the council. Cutting his legs off so his policies have no strength to stand.”

  Henry swore and pulled out his phone. “Victor, yes. Put in a call to Christopher. I’ve just been made aware of a plot on Eustace and Caleb’s lives. Also, call Benjamin and make sure Rory doesn’t go anywhere. Remus, either. They’re not targets, but best be safe.” He answered a few more perfunctory questions before hanging up.

  Ella’s shoulders relaxed, now that her message had been delivered. “Thank you for believing me.”

  “Of course. Worse thing that happens is that nothing happens, and we upped their security for no reason. That’s a regret I can live with. You were right to call me about this. Wrong to not call me for anything other than this.” He squinted one eye at her in mild scolding, but didn’t press the matter any further.

  Ella stirred her tea, mulling over the plot. “It’s strategic. I didn’t hear the rest of the plan, but if I was the Baron and I really wanted my policy to get pushed through, I wouldn’t just put my people on the council; I’d make sure the Lethals I’d sent in to kill the councilmembers were caught and prosecuted for their attacks. That way he’ll have even more division from the public on what to do with the Lethals. When there’s dissention that’s whipped up to a frenzy, more radical policies have a better chance at getting passed, even when they might not be beneficial for the public. This is perfect timing to sway people to his side for the vote on Proposition 7.” She’d had to endure several evenings of the Baron droning on about his opinions on Lethals in general, and that he wanted manufacturing of the pill to be sold to the highest bidder.

  Henry nodded, his brows pushed together as he pondered the impending peril. “You’re right. If the Baron’s smart, he’ll keep his name out of the whole process. Have one of the others hire the Lethals and stay far away from the action himself.” He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I loathe stuff like this. I’m guessing you won’t come forward and make a statement of all you heard?”

  Ella pursed her lips and slowly shook her head. “That would make things very…”

  “Complicated?” Henry guessed. “I understand. But unless we catch him with a dagger in his hand hovered over old Eustace himself, it’s not going to stop.”

  “One battle won gives us a clearer picture of the war.”

  “Have you been sneaking peeks into my journal? I feel like I had a similar entry last week. Only, I was referring to my plans to cajole Carlotta into making every Saturday pot roast day.”

  “That’s a noble priority. A good pot roast is worth a little espionage.”

  Henry called his guard again, relaying the additional suspicions and hanging up. “Is that all, then?”

  “I thought that was a big enough deal to warrant a phone call, but yeah, that’s all.”

  Henry sighed and seemed to relax, his shoulders loosening. “Brilliant. Then we can put away the harrowing spy nature of our relationship, and get to the bottom of which dragon needs to be slain so that we can see each other more often.”

  Ella laughed through her nose. “You’re persistent. I’ve got to be honest, though. I’m not sure you’ll get what you want.”

  “Which is?”

  “Someone you can be with. I’m not that girl.”

  Henry frowned at the red light. “Not that girl for me, or for anybody?”

  “For anybody. Trust me. I’m caught up in a world of frustration that you don’t want to be part of. I’m doing you a giant favor.”

  “If only you’d let me decide that for myself. I’m desperate to know anything about you.”

  Ella cast around the quaint breakroom, taking in the corkboard with different menu items and notices tacked up. “Um, Let’s see. Something about me. I made this cardigan.”

  “It’s very nice. I think I’d like one to match.”

  She took a sip of her tea and glanced at him over the top of the cup. “You would not.”

  “I would. And I want it in that exact same blue, to remind myself of the striking color of your eyes.” His nose wrinkled. “Too cheesy? I meant it, but when I heard myself say it, I cringed.”

  “Well, I only prefer cringe-worthy compliments.”

  “Should I start everything with, ‘Hey baby’? Oh, I recently heard of a brilliant one. Almost lost my lunch when a man called the girl he fancies ‘tasty cakes’ while leering at her.”

  The two blanched in unison. Ella shook her head. “Unacceptable. She should’ve slapped him for the sake of all women everywhere. Gross.”

  “If it helps lessen the offense to your feminine consciousness, she didn’t warm to his advances. I actually did a fair bit of puppet mastering to get her away from him. She works for one of my best friends now. No one’s crazy enough to mess with anyone on his property.”

  “Sounds like she’s lucky you intervened. Is your friend a good guy?”

  “Adam Fontaine?” Henry thought on this while he sipped his tea. “No. Not really. She’s safer with him, though. Adam won’t hit on h
er in disgusting ways.” Henry met Ella’s eyes. “Do you know much about Adam?”

  “Only what Lady Tremaine’s daughters talk about from they read on Royal Watch, and of course what everyone knows Malaura did to him almost a decade ago. I can’t imagine much of what’s been posted in Royal Watch is true, though.”

  “What if it is?” Henry kept his eyes on his coffee. “What if one of my closest friends hears things that aren’t there, and sees people who are long gone? What if he’s agoraphobic and surly?”

  Ella watched his weighted expression as she inhaled the fragrance of her tea, relishing the beverage she hadn’t had to make in a slow drip contraption after roasting it multiple times. “It sounds like Adam’s very lucky to have you in his corner, puppet mastering people into his life.” She took a drink, and then reached across the quaint table to trace the outside of his pointer finger all the way to the tip. Something inside of her called out to touch Henry. Though she couldn’t take him home, part of her wanted to tempt herself with the tantalizing offer to let at least her finger pretend as if she could indulge in the things she wanted. “It also looks like you need a friend who’s well enough to be good to you, and it’s a shame that Adam might not be able to be that guy right now.”

  Henry’s lashes swept shut as he fended off the loneliness of not having the proper friendship he needed in his isolated existence. He welcomed in Ella’s words, letting her gentleness wash over the jagged edges of his psyche. “It’s a relief just to say it out loud to someone. Thanks for listening.”

  “Thanks for talking.” She tilted her head to the side. The kindness her father instilled in her from birth pushed her to measure out the sadness in his eyes, and she gauged his burdens only halfway lifted. “What else is weighing you down? Worrying about Adam bothers you, but there’s more.”

  “Am I that obviously miserable?”

  “You’re that obviously caring. Caring people have a hard time accepting that the world around them might always be a little bit broken.” Her fingers took a chance, pushing her forward to brush a tickle across his palm, giving him her hand to hold onto when he felt lost.