Lois Greiman (24 page)

An eternity dragged by before she rose to her feet. Laughing down at a companion, she made her way from the box. Nicol waited, keeping his gaze on the performance and reminding himself not to fidget. It was over now. Completed. She was leaving Malkan Palace and that was good. All was well. The princess was returning. All he had to do was wait.

But the princess did not return.

It had been agreed that he would not accompany Megan to the water closet. That it would seem less conspicuous if she went alone. But Anna had not returned, so perhaps there was still time to see Megan one last time, to try to convince
her…But he had already done that, and she had made her wishes clear. She didn’t want to see him again. Surely he was man enough to accept that. But where would she go? And how would he survive without seeing her again?

He felt like jerking to his feet, like rushing after her, but instead he rose with careful casualness. He would make certain all was well. That was all. Pacing down the steps, he kept his expression bored, his strides even, but his mind rushed along and his body felt tight with anticipation. He forced himself to pass the closet with steady strides. But when he was nearly past, Megan stepped into his line of vision. His breath caught in his throat, and though he told himself he should be calm, he felt his body tighten at her nearness and just managed to keep from pulling her into his arms.

“You’re here,” he said. The words sounded marvelously steady, as if someone else had spoken.

“Yes,” she said, but her own tone was tense, her expression tight.

“What is it?” Dread shook his soul. “Are you well?”

She scowled at him, then shifted her attention to her waiting ladies and back. “The princess,” she whispered. “She didn’t come.”

And in that moment he realized the truth. The sight of Megan had driven any memory of Anna clean out of his mind. He had forgotten the entire mission. But the implications of the princess’s absence came storming in now.

“Where is she?” he rasped.

Behind her, the ladies-in-waiting spoke among themselves, and off to both sides the guards stood at attention, granting them a few minutes alone.

“I don’t know.” She had managed to smooth out her expression, but her tone proved her worry.

“Dammit!” he swore softly, then saw Mary making her way toward them and managed to soothe his tone and raise
his voice slightly. “Good eventide then, Your Majesty. I hope you enjoy the remainder of the entertainment.”

“And what of you, Nicol?” she asked. She had almost conquered the tremor in her voice by the time her ladies fluttered up. “Are you leaving so early?”

“I fear I am a bit indisposed,” he said.

“Well…” The corner of her mouth quirked slightly. Her eyes flirted, her seductive mouth pursed. The consummate actress once again. “Give the mystery lady my regards,” she said, but he was not fully appreciative of her performance, for his mind was spinning out of control.

He bowed again, trying to keep abreast with the banter, to match her groomed nonchalance. She acted as if all was well. As if they did no more than play a foolish game. Was she such a spectacular actress, or did last night mean nothing to her? And what of Anna’s absence? “I am flattered by your faith in me,’ he said. “But I assure you, I go to my bed alone.”

“And at midnight I convert into a butterfly,” she agreed, and, turning smoothly to her ladies, made her way back toward her box.

Nicol turned, too, trying to mimic her insouciance, but there was little hope of that. What had gone wrong? Where was Anna? Why hadn’t she arrived?

Once outside, he sped up, pacing down the walkway, searching the night. Off to his right two gentlemen smoked cheroots and talked politics. Catching a glimpse of the flaring hem of a skirt as it swung off the path, Nicol charged after it.

Startling the lady from her lover’s embrace, Nicol apologized as he released her arm and hurried away. But Anna was nowhere to be found. There was no sign of her. No clue to her whereabouts. Indeed, he could not even broach a question.

Have you seen the princess dressed as another?
Panic roiled in his stomach, but there was nothing he could do.
Nothing but search the grounds until the last carriage had left, then return to the palace alone.

He waited until the small hours of the morning before he dared enter the princess’s bedchamber, and when he did, she immediately glanced up and set her book rapidly aside.

“Did you find her?”

He paced silently across the room, restive and taut. What the devil had he done? “You were at the appointed place on time?” he asked.

“You know I was.”

Yes, he did. But that was all he knew. “And you saw no sign of her?”

“A sign?” Even in the darkness, he knew she looked at him as if he were crazed.

“A note. A…” He paced her room, grasping at proverbial straws. “An article of clothing?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?” He turned, anger and worry making his tone sharp. “She must have been there. She must—”

Megan came out of bed with a start. “’Tis not my fault you lost the princess.”

Firelight flickered off her smooth skin, casting up memories of the feel of her against his skin. He exhaled carefully, focusing on the problems at hand. “Where do you think she might be?”

She raised a brow at him. “Do you think I abducted her in an attempt to keep my position here?”

He said nothing.

“Well I did not.” Her tone was terse. “Indeed, ’tis you who are known to take women against—”

“You and she are much alike.” Except that Megan was irresistible. So damnably touchable, he ached even now to hold her against him. But he fisted his hands and kept his distance. “Despite your upbringing…Despite your manner
isms, you are both clever, both…” Words failed him. He should never have lain with her, for now he could concentrate on nothing else. The princess was missing, for God’s sake, and all he could think about was the feel of Megan’s skin against his. The warmth of her hands, the touch of her…God help him! “Where might she be?”

“Nicol.” She said his name softly but did not step closer, as if she had no desire to risk what they had shared the night before. As if she had no wish to do what he ached for. “If she is clever, as you say, then she is most likely safe.”

He drew a careful breath and turned his mind resolutely back to the princess. “Why would she not send a message?”

She shook her head. “We have no way of knowing. But the fact that we didn’t receive one doesn’t mean that one wasn’t sent. Perhaps the messenger was waylaid.”

“The princess’s messenger would never allow—” he began, but she interrupted him.

“Her messenger would not know it was a missive from the princess, and therefore he would place no great importance on the success of his mission. Perhaps he took her coin, discarded the missive, and departed.”

“Perhaps. But—”

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t look for trouble where there may be none.”

He rubbed his eyes. “I should not have let her go.”

“She is your princess,” she reminded him. “Did you have a choice?”

“I could have tried to dissuade her.”

“Would she have listened?”

“She trusts my judgment.”

“Then there is probably a reason for that trust.”

He moved slightly closer, needing contact, needing flesh against flesh. “And what of you, lass? Do you trust me?”

He could feel the soft sigh of her breath against his cheek
and could not help but remember how she had lain against him, how her nipples had brushed his as her breathing accelerated and her legs tightened about him. “No,” she said. “But I have my reasons, too.”

“Have I been such an ogre?”

Firelight flashed in her eyes, but she lowered them in a moment. “You must search for her.”

And leave Megan to her own defenses? Something ached deep in his chest. He couldn’t abandon her. He admitted that much to himself though perhaps he could not admit the reason. “I promised Anna I would stay by your side.”

“Afraid I will abscond with the crown jewels?”

He had not even considered that. One night in her bed and he had entirely forgotten who she was, where she came from.

“You’ll need to stay on,” he said, and his voice sounded marvelously rational. “Until she returns.”

Megan said nothing, but finally she nodded.

“It will be dangerous.”

“Things have gone well enough so far.”

Well enough. She said nothing of their night together. As if she had put it easily behind her. “But it has only been a few days. And already Paqual is suspicious.”

“I can handle Paqual.” She said the words with cool self-assurance. Where was the girl he had taught to use a spoon? Where was the woman who trembled at his touch?

“What of the ball planned for the duke?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I shall welcome him.”

He scowled, but surely he was not jealous. Let him have a shred of dignity. “You will be expected to know a host of names.”

“As you said, I am the princess. They are underlings.”

“There will be dancing and games. Drinking. Anna always—”

“Dancing?” she said, and he scowled.

“Surely you know how to dance.”

She shook her head, and she felt relief sluice through him. A reason to be near her. A reason to touch her.

“You’ll have to learn before the duke arrives. Come,” he said, and took her hand in his. Heat sizzled between them, but if she felt it, she showed no sign. He pulled her close. Her breasts pressed against his chest, sparking a thousand errant emotions. Her waist felt tight and small beneath his arm. Her eyes were lowered, and, as he looked into her face, he felt her nearness like a mischievous spark of flame in his gut.

“Lass—” he began, but she pulled back, putting several inches between them.

“I shall sit out the ball,” she declared.

He ached for her, for the intimacy they had shared only hours before. Just the feel of her hand in his made a thousand poignant memories leap in his head. “The princess loves to dance,” he said, and spread his fingers across her back. They nearly spanned the width of her. “There is little that would keep her from the waltz.”

“Then I shall claim a twisted ankle or a sour stomach.”

“We don’t know how long it will be until her return.” Her hair was loosed about her delicate shoulders. Her skin smelled of lavender and went to his head like a magical potion. “There may well be other balls,” he murmured, and pulled her close.

For a moment she relaxed. For a moment, her thigh touched his with sighing intimacy, but in an instant she tore herself from his grip.

“No. I…” She was breathing hard. He could see the rise and fall of her bosom through the sheer fabric of her kindly gown. “I am tired.”

Tired! How could she be tired? Didn’t she feel the sizzling tension? Didn’t she ache? He took a step toward her, but she
stepped rapidly away.

“Please. I…am feeling unwell.”

Something twisted in his stomach. Is this how rejection felt? “Lass, about last night—”

“I won’t couple with you again.” Her words were sharp, her expression tense in the firelight.

He took a careful breath and watched her. “Was it so hideous?”

She linked her fingers with prim precision, and in that moment she looked like nothing more than the princess he had taught her to be. An ache began down low in his gut, burning hotly.

“I’ll not do it again,” she repeated.

He waited, catching his wits, calming his body. “I’ll not get you with child, lass. If you wish I will find another method. Something to assure you that—”

“I planned never to see you again.”

Her eyes gleamed in the flickering light. Her hair was nearly as luminous. He ached to slip his fingers through the silk of it, to run his hand down the curve of her back.

“So that’s your way of saying good-bye?”

“I didn’t…I…” She straightened her back. “I think you have nothing to complain about…my lord. I’ve done what you’ve asked. I’ve adhered to our bargain. Indeed, I am still here, doing your bidding. But I will not…” She paused, and a delicate shiver seemed to shake her. “I will not lie with you again. Not ever.”

He almost pleaded. Almost begged like a cur, but he managed to retain a shred of dignity, though he would have thought it impossible.

“As you wish,” he said, and bowed. “Your Majesty.”

S
he didn’t sleep well that night, and the following day was long and tedious. Sometime near noon Paqual entered the salon where she sat conversing with Edmund. The scintillating debate about drapery fabric was growing old.

“Your Majesty,” Paqual said, and executed a stiff bow. “I do hate to disturb you, but there are a number of documents that require your signature.”

“Documents?” Worry cramped her belly. It was not her place to sign documents. She might look like the princess, she might dress like the princess. Indeed, by some miracle, she might even speak like a princess, but there was a vast chasm of differences between Tatiana Octavia Linnet Rocheneau and the girl her mum had called Megs. For instance, Tatiana could probably actually understand said documents. Oh yes, Megan could read, but she was hardly a scholar, especially in the political arena.

Where was Nicol when she needed him? She’d not seen him all morning. Why did Paqual approach her now? Was it
mere coincidence that he broached the issue of legal matters now when both Nicol and the baron of Landow were absent?

“I am really quite busy here,” she said, and returned her attention to some inane fabric pattern, but Paqual remained where he was, and when she turned back, she saw that he wore a tight smile.

“It will not take long,” he said. “Just a few minutes of your time, Your Majesty.”

“Oh?” She tried to look regal, but she hardly felt up to making decisions regarding Sedonian politics. “What do these documents involve?”

“Nothing of great import. Laws that have been in effect for years. They simply require a few alterations.”

“If they’ve been effective for years, my Lord Paqual…” She gave him a smile and hoped it didn’t tremble. “I suspect there is no hurry to change them now.

“Lord Danzig,” she said, turning casually away, then almost wincing at her own foolishness. The decorator was not a noble. Indeed, he was naught but the youngest son of an English milliner, but she pressed on as if her mistake was nothing more than a foolish slip of the tongue. “We will need the drapes completed forthwith.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Your Majesty.” Paqual was still there. “If you will accompany me to the state room, we can have this matter taken care of in but a few minutes. There will be no need—”

“What is it you wish to have taken care of?” Nicol asked as he stepped into the room.

Megan felt her heart cramp at the sight of him and forced herself to breathe around her own idiocy.

Paqual turned his smile on the viscount, but it faded when he saw the boy who entered between Newborn and the baron of Landow. “What is he doing here?”

Nicol canted his head. “Surely you have not forgotten. Young Jack is Lord Landow’s ward.”

“I’ll not have that jackanapes at the palace. Not—”

But Megan rose to her feet. “I asked Lord Newborn to bring him by.”

“Your Majesty.” Paqual bowed again. “With all due respect, I must remind you, the boy is a thief, a misbegotten—”

“I know exactly what the boy is,” she said. Her voice rang in the room, stopping all movement, curtailing all talk. She kept herself from fidgeting, kept her gaze hard on Paqual. “He is my subject,” she said, softening her tone. “And as you well know, my lord, as such he deserves my fullest consideration.”

The old man’s lips were pursed, but finally he bowed. “Yes, Your Majesty. Of course…”

“Now…” She lightened her tone and hoped she wouldn’t pass out. “What documents did you wish me to sign?”

“As you said, Your Majesty…” Paqual acquiesced. “The papers can surely wait until preparations for the duke’s arrival are complete.” Bowing, he turned on spindly legs and left the room.

“Your Majesty,” Nicol said, and repeated the old man’s bow. “As you can see, we have brought young Jack to visit you.”

She shifted her gaze from the viscount to the boy. The lad’s expression was dark. Behind him, William Enton took a swig from the silver flask he’d pulled from his vest pocket. He was as raggedly handsome as ever, but there was a yellowish bruise across his brow.

“Mister Danzig,” she said, “I would have a minute alone with these gentlemen.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he replied, and, clapping his hands, hustled his frenzied workers from the room.

“So,” she began, and turned her attention back to the lad. “How are you faring at Landow House?”

Nimble Jack remained silent. His years on the streets, it seemed, had not made him an effervescent sort of child.

“You are eating well?” she asked.

He stared at her an instant, then, “I ’eard of such places as this,” he said.

She raised a brow. “Such places?”

He shifted his eyes toward the guard and back. “Places where they train ’ores.”

Nicol straightened abruptly and Will jerked away from the wall, abandoning his usual casualness, but Megan held up a hand. “You think we are training you—”

“’E made me take me clothes off,” said the boy, and tossed his head toward Will.

A muscle jumped in the baron’s lean jaw as he stared at the lad.

“Lord Landow?” Meg said, calling for a response.

“He reeks,” Enton said. “I thought it best if he bathed before visiting the palace.”

“’E watched me the ’ole while. I know ’is sort.”

“The boy has a penchant for escaping.”

“You can’t ’old me,” rasped the boy.

Will’s face was devoid of its usual nonexpression as he stared at Jack. Instead, it was filled now with an indescribable mix of anger and frustration and pain too long dulled with drink, but he turned smoothly back to Megan. “I believe it would be best if you would find another to care for the child, Your Majesty.”

“Oh? And why is that, Lord Landow?”

“I am poorly suited to care for children.” Something flared in his eyes. “Ask anyone.”

“He looks to be hale thus far.”

“Thus far.” His hand seemed to tighten on his flask, but he loosened it in a moment and grinned that roguish smile for
which he was famous. Even Lady Mary spoke of him in dreamy tones. “He has nearly escaped twice, Your Majesty.”

“Is that how you obtained the bruise?”

“No, Your Majesty,” he said, and paused as if he did not intend to continue. But when the silence stretched out, he finally spoke. “That was my own mistake.”

“How did you come by it?”

“I have been told a hundred times to cease drinking,” he said, and lifted the flask as if to explain his weakness.

But there was something in his eyes that proved his lie. She straightened her back. “I am tired and I am busy,” she said. “Tell me the tale.”

He shrugged but she held up a hand. “I do not tolerate lies, Lord Landow.”

Will drew a breath and nodded once. “The boy’s tutor seemed a bit quick with his switch.” He scowled at his flask, seeming to wish there were more.

“What happened?”

“The lad misspelled his name.” A muscle jerked in his lean jaw. “It didn’t seem a grave offense.”

She glanced at Jack, trying to understand the event, but the boy’s expression was unchanged. “Did Mr. Friar strike you, Jack?”

He said nothing. The room fell into silence, but Landow spoke quietly into the void.

“Answer the princess, lad,” he ordered, and the boy spoke up.

“The old man’s as weak as a suckling babe. It didn’t hurt me a’tall.”

The baron glanced out the window as though he would rather be elsewhere, but finally he brought his attention back to Megan. “Friar left welts, Your Majesty. I know little of children, but—”

“I ain’t no child,” Jack insisted, and locked eyes with the baron.

“Being a thief doesn’t change your age,” Lord Landow insisted, his tone evidencing passion she’d never witnessed in him. “Nor does it mean you’ll survive should you return—”

“I ask again,” Megan interrupted. “How did you sustain the bruise, Lord Landow?”

William’s lips quirked as if he fought some inner battle. “Mr. Friar was not happy to lose his switch.”

“You took it from him?”

He cleared his throat and glanced away. “Before I threw him out of Landow House.”

Megan raised her chin and watched him. For a man who knew nothing of children, he seemed strangely protective and decidedly skittish of the fact.

“I believe he was the tutor my uncle chose for his own sons,” Megan said.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I believe he was.”

There was something in the baron’s tone, as if he were being dragged from his stupor against his will. As though he were being forced to care. “I trust you will find another,” she said softly. “Perhaps the very person you would have chosen for your own children.”

He looked pale and his fist tightened on his flask. “As I have said, Your Majesty, I fear I am not the best man to undertake—” he began, but she held up her hand for silence and turned to the child.

The boy met her gaze straight on.

“I am sorry,” she said simply.

Some emotion crossed the lad’s face. She couldn’t guess what it was, but his mouth opened, and his brows dropped low over his fire-quick eyes.

“What did Friar teach you?” she asked. “Other than the fact that old men are as weak as suckling babes?”

He shuffled his feet, still scowling, but finally he spoke as if he couldn’t quite keep quiet, though he wished to. “Readin’,” he said. “It’s a fresh ’un it is. Did you know there’s a mark for every sound we—”

“Letter,” Landow corrected quietly.

The boy nodded. “Yeah. There’s a letter for every sound we make.”

“It is indeed amazing,” she agreed, but his expression immediately returned to one of defiance.

“Not that I need that book learning. It ain’t gonna do me no good. I ain’t ’ardly in the ’igh life.”

“So you cannot learn?”

His mobile face scrunched. “I could learn if I wants to. Same as the next bloke.”

“But you do not wish to.”

“I got me things to do back on Hack Street.”

Yes, he did—things like live hard and die young. She’d seen it happen a hundred times.

“Are you a gambling man, Jack?” she asked.

He blinked as if trying to keep up to the change of topic. “I been known to wager a bit.”

“Very well, we shall roll the dice.”

“What for?”

“To see whether you will learn or whether you will return to Hack Street.”

She thought he might object, but finally he dipped his hand in his pocket and drew out a pair of dice.

“Awright then. I got some ’ere.”

She smiled. “I think I shall get another pair. For luck,” she added, and raised her voice. “Allard,” she said, addressing the guard who stood by the door, “fetch me a pair of playing dice.”

“Dice, Your Majesty?”

“If you please. I believe you will find some in the sword
room,” she said, then, seating herself by a table, motioned for Jack to do the same.

He did so slowly. His face was clean, she noticed, and his cheeks marginally plumper.

“Do you agree to abide by the results of this match?”

His scowl deepened a bit. “You’re gonna let me go if I win?”

“Yes,” she said, accepting Allard’s dice with her right hand and dropping them onto her lap.

Jack’s face was pale and in her mind she knew he wondered whether he hoped to lose or win. Fear of the unknown was only slightly less terrifying than the fear of returning to the street where he had struggled so long to survive.

“And if I lose?” he asked.

“Then you return to Landow House. You do what Lord Landow tells you to do, you learn as much as you can as quickly as you can, and you return here to the palace to report your progress to me.”

He blinked.

“Do you agree to the terms?”

His brows bobbled, and his fists clenched. “I ain’t no squelcher.”

She watched his eyes for a moment, then nodded and tossed the dice. Twelve dots appeared on the ivory pair.

Megan handed over the dice. He tossed. They counted. Sixes also. He rolled again, seeming to hold his breath as he did so. Seven spots shone against the yellowed ivory. Taking the dice, Megan blew into her hand and sent the cubes spinning across the table. They rolled on their edges and landed—two sixes.

She caught the boy’s gaze. He blinked, narrowed his eyes, and stared at her before rising slowly to his feet.

“You win,” he said.

“Yes,” she agreed. “I do.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re almighty lucky.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t luck.”

He shifted his eyes to Lord Landow as if debating whether he should speak again, but finally curiosity won out. “’Ow then?”

Rising from her chair, Megan retrieved a fat volume that lay on a nearby table. “Do you see this book?” she asked.

He nodded.

“When you can read me the first three pages, I shall share my secrets.”

He stared at her for a full twenty seconds, then he turned of his own accord and walked back to the baron. They left together.

She could feel Nicol’s gaze on her and when she could no longer avoid his attention, she turned with a scowl.

“What is it?” she asked.

His eyes were dark and intense. Something curled up hard in her stomach. “Where were you when I was in grammar school?” he asked.

She pursed her lips and ignored the knot of emotion in her gut. She was nothing but a tool to him. “I believe I was not yet born, my lord,” she said.

He canted his head. “Nicol,” he corrected.

“I am the princess,” she said. “If I wish to call you Mr. Toad, I shall do so.”

His lips quirked slightly and it was the sight of them that twisted the knot up even harder in her stomach, for she could not forget how they had felt against her skin, how he had spoken low and sweet in her ear.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he said, and, bowing, took the few steps that remained between them. “But what of dancing?”

His nearness made it impossible to think. Hot memories steamed in her mind. But she must not let that happen again. She had hoped bedding him would release the tension, would
prove she was missing little by resisting him. Or at least that was what she had told herself, but since touching him she could think of nothing else.

“What of dancing?” she asked, feeling weak, feeling lost and forsaken and frightfully alone.