He very nearly corrected it. It was almost automatic, and he’d even gone so far as to open his mouth to explain that he was not a mister at all. But he snapped his jaws closed before he uttered the words, afraid that if he explained it would change things between them dramatically. And Robin was very much enjoying spending a little time with a girl that only looked at him as a person, rather than a prince.
Kneeing his horse in the direction she had indicated, he kept the pace slow and even. So that she would not lose her seat, he told himself. That it prolonged the ride was secondary. A quarter of a mile was not very far, and soon he would have to give up the pleasure of her company.
And it was quite pleasant, he realized. He didn’t have to do the same kind of political dance he did with every other girl he met. There was no need to compare status through thinly veiled comments and questions, no subterfuge that came with guarding the secrets of one’s own kingdom when dealing with a representative from another, no double talk and careful handling. Just simple conversation with a young lady who seemed to have no ulterior motives whatsoever.
That would likely change the moment she found out he was a prince. Which is why he’d refrained from mentioning it to begin with, and why he’d not corrected her when she’d called him mister. But the longer they rode, the more it weighed on him. He could easily let her continue to think he was no more than a well-off man with a fine horse. However, should they run into anyone she knew, and her husband found out, that would make things far more difficult. She might not recognize him, but another could.
“It is the least I can do after nearly running you off the road,” he replied to her comment. Then before he could change his mind, he added, “Though I am afraid I have misled you. Just a bit. And I should correct that now. You see… I am not a ‘mister.’”