Princess Charming (17 page)

“I shouldn’t.” She was going to refuse him. Nick scrambled for some way to keep her from returning to the ballroom.

“Ah, I see now. You are too polite to speak the truth, of course. I am a mere peasant, and you are a lady of quality. Certainly you would have no wish to dance with me.”

“That is not true!” Lucy’s eyes blazed, and Nick’s body responded in kind. Once they were married, and he persuaded her to shed these ridiculous notions of reform, their marriage should be a lively one, within the bedchamber and without.

“But it is true, Lady Lucy.” He had certainly picked the right gauntlet to throw down. “You may be a reformer, but at heart you value the distinction of social class as much as any aristocrat. Otherwise, why remain at your stepmother’s beck and call? You have not rid yourself of all your ties to privilege.”

Compliments and words of seduction would have had little effect in bringing Lucy into his arms, but challenging her dearest beliefs worked like a charm. She straightened her spine, pulled back her shoulders, which drew Nick’s attention to the daring cut of her gown’s bodice, and reached for his hand.

“All men are equal,” she proclaimed and moved stiffly into his arms. “And I will dance with whomever I like, regardless of his position in life.”

Nick needed no further prompting. Lucy in his arms was cue enough. He pulled her close, too close, really, for a proper waltz, and swung her into the pattern of the steps. It was awkward, for her inexperience kept her from trusting his lead. The grass beneath their feet was not the polished oaken floor of the conservatory, and she stumbled. Instinctively, Nick molded her against him, and Lucy gasped.

Their feet stilled, but neither one dropped their hands. “It’s not a good place to waltz after all, is it?” Nick asked. Although they were standing still, he was as short of breath as if he’d run a foot race. How could he have forgotten, in a few short days, what it felt like to have Lucy pressed against him? He could gladly spend the rest of his life in the center of the Regent’s maze, performing the most awkward waltz in the world, if only for the pleasure of holding her in his arms.

“Do you like me even a little, Lucy Charming?” The top of her head came to his chin. She was not looking at him, feigning interest in some object over his shoulder. With one finger, he tilted her face until he could look into her eyes. “Do you like me in spite of my gardener’s smock?”

“Don’t,” she protested and pushed against him. He had thought she would cry. Most women would. But Lucy was frowning, and fury lurked beneath the downward curve of her lips. Nick knew he shouldn’t look at those lips for too long, but he seemed unable to stop himself. After all, this was part of what he’d come tonight to discover. Would Lucy Charming fall prey to Nick the gardener as easily as she would to Nicholas St. Germain, Crown Prince of Santadorra?

“Don’t what?” He had too many choices. Should he trace the curve of her jaw with a string of kisses? Or perhaps her eyelids and the delicate arch of her brows? Would his best tactic be simply to capture her lips beneath his own and remind her of the attraction that flowed between them?

He felt her muscles tense, and her arms tightened on his shoulders. She was preparing to push him away, but Nick was ready to prevent that from happening. To his surprise, Lucy’s hands rose not to deny him but to clasp behind his neck. With almost grim determination, she exerted enough force to bring his head down to hers. Nick could have laughed with delight, but he had a stronger sense of self-preservation than that.

“I shall kiss you,” Lucy whispered fiercely, “to show you that the differences between us do not matter to me. But I shall only do so if you agree to leave immediately. I don’t know if Carlton House has a dungeon, but I’d prefer not to visit you there.”

Nick would have agreed to anything at that moment. He nodded, and the next thing he knew, Lucy’s mouth was pressed tightly against his. She kissed him as if she was preparing for war, but he enjoyed the touch of her lips in spite of her zeal. He waited patiently until her patriotic fervor lessened, and before she could pull away, he seized the chance to turn the kiss from defiance to desire.

For once, Lucy seemed inclined to follow his lead. When he slid his tongue along the seam of her lips, the taste of her was as rich and mellow as he remembered. She sighed, and he deepened the kiss. All sense of time and place fled as he kissed her. It was a dangerous pastime, making love to Lucy Charming. Thought receded until only instinct remained, and Nick’s instincts were as strong as any man’s.

He wanted to feel her—with his mouth, with his hands, with his body. And evidently she wanted the same thing, for she pushed herself more tightly against him, and her tongue pressed against his. Clearly she’d never kissed a man so deeply before, and Nick had to admit that she was not a natural. Despite her lack of inborn talent, though, he bravely soldiered on, and when he lightly stroked her tongue with his own, she caught the rhythm and responded so beautifully he almost lost control.

He reached for something to steady himself, but his hand found her breast, which only complicated matters further. The low-cut ball gown proved wonderfully accommodating as he slid his fingers against her skin, reveling in the feel of her. Slowly, he maneuvered his hand around the fullness of her bosom and cupped it in his palm. She froze, and Nick was reminded of how abruptly she’d broken off their embrace in the coal cellar. He held his breath as he waited for her reaction to this new intimacy.

“Nick,” she whispered, her voice a mingling of desire and confusion. It would have been better if she had slapped him. Anything would have been more conducive to gentlemanly control than the way she breathed his name against his lips. He’d never dreamed one syllable could have him teetering on the brink.

With a groan, Nick dropped his hand, for her voice reminded him who she was and where they were. Besides, they must leave something for the wedding night. Mustn’t they?

Lucy was looking at him with those big blue eyes that stole more bits of his soul with each passing moment. As he watched her, he saw the exact instant she realized what she’d done, and with whom she’d done it. She struggled valiantly, but even his little reformer was conscious of her station in life, however much she might try to deny it.

“Don’t, Lucy.” He refused to release her while she looked so distressed. Clearly the moment to reveal his identity had come. “It will all work out in the end.” He paused, gathering his courage. “I only need to know
 . . .
that is
 . . .
it seems we have, well, this attraction between us, and
 . . .
”

The torment in Lucy’s eyes gave him hope. She was tortured, which meant she did care for him. At least, he thought she did, from the way her mouth had formed a little “O” at his words and the way her fingers were digging into his shoulders. “What I mean to say is
 . . .
No, what I mean to ask is, if the differences in our stations were not an issue, would you
 . . .
”

He could feel her, too, hovering on the brink. Her mouth moved to speak, and Nick waited with bated breath.

Marriage was not going to be so bad after all.

“Nick
 . . .
” Lucy paused, and then she smiled so sweetly he thought he might melt into a puddle in the grass. “It’s impossible. I shouldn’t. You are the most infuriating, high-handed, opinionated—”

“Yes,” he interrupted, not liking where her thoughts were leading her. “I admit to all that. But I want to know about you, Lucy. How you feel. Is it foolish to hope that your feelings toward me might be, well, tender?”

Nick winced. What idiotic words to choose. Who could ever tell, watching his feeble attempts with Lucy, that he had charmed most of the women in London?

“Tender? My feelings?” A teasing light gleamed in her eye, and Nick knew he’d just handed her another weapon. Not that she needed any more in her arsenal. He was hopelessly outgunned as it was. “No, I don’t believe you could call them tender,” she replied, but her eyes sparked with both passion and glee.

Nick had never expected to find this kind of happiness, and he had certainly never expected the source to be an infuriating little reformer who dragged him from one end of London to the other in pursuit of her cause. It was almost a shame that her activities would end with their marriage, but she would come to understand what was due their position. Just as he would need to instruct her in lovemaking, he would also tutor her in the reality of political reform. In the end, she would be the better for it, and they would both be happy.

“I know it will not be easy for you to give up what you love so dearly, Lucy.” Perhaps if he could simply channel her desire to do good deeds into a more socially respectable arena, the transition would not be too difficult for her. After all, he himself had a weak spot for lost causes. “It will be a new world for you, but it is not so very bad, once you grow accustomed to it. Some of the people are quite entertaining, provided one has had enough to drink.”

Lucy frowned. “A new world? But I have spent my life among common people, Nick. It will not be new for me.” She nodded in the direction of the conservatory. “I would far rather give up all
that,
”
she replied, “than the world of gardeners and scullery maids.”

With a jolt, Nick realized the enormity of what his charade was about to cost him.

Lucy patted his shoulder. “I have no ties, except for my stepmother and stepsisters. My father’s heir is a distant cousin. If I disappear from the
beau monde,
few will notice. If I am not there to be punished, my stepmother can do nothing.”

Nick again felt the noose tightening around his neck. Surely she would forgive him, perhaps in a day or two. Or a week. Or a lifetime. “Lucy,” he began, searching for a way out of the muddle he’d created, “I’m not sure you take my meaning.”

“Oh?” She stiffened in his arms.

“Well
 . . .
that is
 . . .
” The music had stopped, and in the night air he could hear the sound of people approaching. Laughter rang out. A large party had entered the maze, and it would be only a matter of moments before he and Lucy were spotted. Once the guests identified them, their fate would be sealed, and Lucy would be thoroughly and publicly compromised.

Frowning, Lucy pushed at his arms again. “I think I see. You are not talking about marriage at all, are you?” Heat rose in her cheeks, but this blush alarmed rather than enticed him, for this was the color of anger, not embarrassment.

“Marriage?” he echoed. The word was enough to weaken his knees, and not in a good way. “Well, actually
 . . .
to be perfectly honest
 . . .
that is to say
 . . .
”

The voices were coming closer, and above them all Nick heard the shrill tones of Lady Jersey, one of the patronesses of Almack’s and the most inveterate gossip in London.

Lucy was struggling against him in earnest now, but Nick tightened his hold. There was nothing else to do. She was his road to ruin, the road back to Santadorra, the worst woman in the world for him, but his own heroism had brought him to this point, not to mention Lucy’s myriad attractions as well. He looked down at her, his headstrong, willful, infuriating, beautiful, misguided Princess Charming, and sealed his fate by kissing her again.