Princess In Denim (25 page)

He paused, and she stopped reflecting on the night ahead long enough to realize they had reached the door to his apartment. The night ahead was here. He pushed open the door, gathered her up in his arms, carried her in and kicked the door shut behind them.

"Ah, we are alone."

She tried to think of witty banter, but didn't have time before his lips closed over hers in an all-too-brief but powerful kiss.

"I am so hungry for you, Moira." He set her on her feet and turned her away from him. "How do I get you out of this dress?"

"It has buttons and hooks."

"Good God, there must be a million of them." His fingers traced the buttons over her spine, from nape to waist. "And they are so tiny."

She stepped away from him and offered, "I'll call Angela."

He dragged her back against his chest. His wine-scented breath teased her hair. His voice rumbled in her ear. "You would not deny me the pleasure of undressing my wife, would you?"

Relieved that he hadn't been playing with her all evening just to dump her at her doorstep, she reached behind her and lifted her hair off her neck. "Start here."

Instead, his hands slid over the front of her gown, along her ribs, up, until his palms covered her breasts. "Here?"

The power he willingly gave over to her made her giddy. "Well, that's pretty good, but it won't do the job, I think."

His hands dipped down, past her waist, over her abdomen, cupping her intimately. "Here, then?" His voice had grown deeper, unsteady.

"If you do that, we'll never get this dress off."

"Do you want me, Moira?"

She turned in his arms, aching where his hand had been. "Do you love me, William?"

He rained kisses from one cheek to the other, lingering at the corners of her mouth, her eyes. "You did not understand that this morning?"

She barely heard him.

"When I explained to you that joining our kingdoms means nothing to me without you by my side?"

Coherent thought was fleeting. "I..."

"You thought perhaps that I was still trying to convince you to marry me?"

"Well..." She wished he'd kiss the corner of her eye again. It made her knees weak, and she was tired of standing up with him.

"We are married now, Moira. You are my wife."

"Oh, yes," she agreed on a sigh. She tipped her head to the side just a little, until his lips landed where she wanted them.

"I want to make love to you until the sun rises."

It wasn't the answer to her question, but she was rapidly losing interest in talking. It would have to be enough, for now, that she loved him. "If you don't start on those buttons soon, we won't get to bed until the sun rises."

He chuckled and said, "Pay attention, my love," then slipped her open gown off her shoulders.

"Oh." She was warm from dancing, hot from his hands, and the air felt cool on her skin. She let him push her dress down over her hips, let it crumple on the floor. The French ladies would die, and she couldn't care less.

He stripped off her slip, slid a finger beneath one garter and snapped it playfully, then sucked in his breath. "Your turn."

"You're wearing something I should snap?"

"I am wearing something you should remove."

"A sword, for one."

"You do not like my sword?"

His eyes were pools of blue fire, and she held no illusion that they were discussing a piece of steel. Her fingers grew clumsy with buttons and buckles and hooks, and the zipper of his fly. While she struggled with each one of them, William nuzzled her neck, nibbled her ear and nudged her through his apartment, room by room, inch by inch, until she felt the high mattress against the back of her thighs.

There was little left between them, and he elected to shed his last covering. When she reached behind her to unhook her strapless bra, he pulled her hands forward and kissed her knuckles.

"Not yet." He dimmed the lights, then lifted her to straddle his body. He was hard against her, yet he took his time stretching them out on the silky sheets.

His hands caressed every inch of her flaming skin, and she was beyond caring when he discarded her bra or anything else. It seemed the more impatient she became, the more she wanted him now, the more he practiced patience. She thought he was trying to drive her mad before he finally claimed what she offered. So, in one brief moment of rational thought, she forgot about herself and focused on giving him everything she could. Her hands grew bold on his body. She whispered hot nothings in his ear. She tightened every important muscle in her body.

Her reward was his. Whether the sun came up, that day or any other, was immaterial. If it were up to her, they'd never get out of bed again.

The sun did come up. Chloe had no idea when, because it was quite high in the sky before she opened her eyes. William was curled around her, shielding her with his body even in sleep. She planted a soft kiss on his cheek, slid out of bed, slipped into the new silk robe she found in the closet and ordered breakfast. Her hoarded supply of pop-ups was at Castle Ennsway, which was just as well, because she didn't think William would appreciate them.

She roamed the apartment while she waited for coffee and juice. She hadn't gotten much of a look at it the other day, trying as she was to stay out of his bed at the time.

On William's desk, she found a spreadsheet dealing with his plans for unification. If it had been scientific, she would have had a good chance at understanding it. If it had been artistic, she might have grasped it. But it was accounting, pure and simple, and she hadn't a clue.

Humphrey appeared at her shoulder. "May I have a word, Your Majesty?"

"Yes. What is it?"

"Your friend would like to see you."

Chloe was sure she gave him a blank look.

"Miss Chloe Marshall."

"She's here? Now?" She couldn't believe it. A few hours sooner, and Moira could have been at Chloe's wedding after all.

"Yes, Your Majesty. She has requested to see you immediately. She's waiting in the tower."

"What's she doing there?"

"She says secrecy is of the utmost importance."

Something must have gone wrong.
"Is she all right?"

"She seems...distracted."

"Let me get some clothes on."

"Remember, Your Majesty," Humphrey warned as she headed for the bedroom, "she doesn't want anyone to know she's here."

Moira's insistence on secrecy obviously stemmed from her not knowing that William knew the truth. Had something gone wrong with her new job at the dude ranch? Had she blown her identity? Were paparazzi following her, vying for an opportunity to expose them both?

William snored softly as Chloe pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and shoved her feet into a pair of sneakers. She wouldn't disturb him with this until she knew what was going on.

William yawned and stretched. Now would be a good time to tell Moira he loved her. No stress. No pressure. No adrenaline to blame. No thought that he was telling her only to get her into bed, because that was now moot.

He rolled over and opened his eyes to find Moira's side of the bed empty, then listened to hear what had wakened him. The footman made no effort to tiptoe around the apartment as he set up breakfast.

William listened for the shower and heard nothing. He slid out of bed, put on his robe and went to hunt up his new bride and tempt her back to bed.

"Good morning, Your Majesty," the footman said. "This is what Her Majesty ordered. I hope it's to her liking."

William peered around, but saw no one else. "Where is she?"

"Her Majesty? I don't know."

William searched the entire apartment and couldn't find her. He sent for Emma. "Where is she?" he asked immediately upon her arrival, some fifteen minutes later.

Emma took a step back at his abruptness.

"Has she gone riding alone? I forbid that."

Emma laughed. "Oh, Your Majesty, forgive me, but that would be a big mistake."

He sighed and raked his hand through his hair. "Have my horse saddled at once."

"She didn't go for a ride."

"Then why did you say—"

"I said you shouldn't forbid her, Your Majesty. Moira grew quite independent in the United States."

"Ah, yes. I know all about that."

"I know you do. So you understand."

"I understand my wife ordered breakfast and is not here."

"Yes, well, the footman mentioned that. As much as it confuses me, it seems she went to meet Miss Marshall."

"Why did she not come here?"

"I don't know."

"Did she leave the castle?"

"I'll find out."

Something was not right. As much as it seemed to confuse Emma, it frightened William. Angered him. Was Miss Marshall, as Emma called her, behind the three attempts on his bride's life? Had she returned to do her harm? It made no sense to him, except that he knew Moira's life had been in danger from the time her father sent for her. And he didn't know who was to blame.

He was dressed by the time Emma got off the phone. "Where are they meeting?"

"No one knows for sure, Your Majesty."

He never should have released his prisoner. There had been no more "accidents" while the man was locked up. And now this. He would find her. And if her friend was up to no good, he'd lock her up and throw away the key."Moira, my love, where are you?"

* * *

"Humphrey, are you sure she's in this tower?" Chloe asked. They'd trekked in a roundabout way through the entire length of the castle. Humphrey apparently knew Baesland Castle intimately, because most of the passages they'd taken hadn't seen light, in any form, in a hundred years.

"Quite sure, Your Majesty. She swore me to secrecy. Be careful now, the steps are narrow. I'll be right behind you."

"Wait here."

"I'm worried about the steps, ma'am. As soon as you reach the top, I'll come right back down and stand guard."

Chloe climbed steps that wound tightly around a central newel, confident she wouldn't fall backward into Humphrey's arms. Now, if it had been William behind her, she might have pretended to—just to touch him again, to feel his arms close around her body, to find out what it was like to make love in an ancient tower. If Moira hadn't been waiting up above.

Chloe topped the last step, paused to catch her breath, then noticed there was no one there.

"Humphrey, you must have the wrong tower."

Great! Dancing until two, lovemaking until we passed out from exhaustion
—I don't need this exercise, much less climbing another tower.

She heard an ominous creak behind her, the stuff haunted-house movies were made of. She turned to follow him back down the steps, just in time to get a thick wooden door slammed in her face.

"Humphrey!"

His voice was only slightly muffled through the wood. "Sorry, Your Majesty."

She pounded on it with her fists. She kicked it with her foot until she thought she'd broken her toes. "Open this door!"

Nothing. She ran to the windows, which were nothing more than arrow loops cut in stone several feet thick. The room was one small circle. There was no way out other than the door. No one on the ground would hear her if she screamed until she was hoarse.

"Humphrey, open this door at once!" She could hear noises outside. Scratches, maybe. Tapping? "Humphrey?"

Then his voice, quite close, clearer than it had been before. "I've set a rather large explosive, Your Majesty."

She moved backward, away from the door, fruitlessly searching for something to shield her from an explosion. "Why?"

"I have a family. I have to keep them safe. It will be over in a moment, I promise you. I used a short fuse. You won't suffer."

What the hell did he think she was doing now?

"Count to a hundred, if you like."

As much as she tried not to, after beating on the door for several more seconds, she found herself counting. She figured she'd used up about thirty counts.

Thirty-one. Thirty-two.

She ran to the closest arrow loop, leaned her shoulders in and judged whether her body would fit.

"And if it could, then where?" she asked thin air. A hundred feet down to what? Cobblestones?

Forty-nine. Fifty.

"Moira!" she heard in the distance, far below her in the tower. "Moira!"

"William!" she screamed his name.

She heard him call out to her again, but it sounded farther away. He was going away.

Fifty-five. Fifty-six.

"Moira!"

Sixty-two. Sixty-three.
"I'm in the tower!"
Sixty-five. Sixty-six.
"Oh my God, William, no! Go back!"

"Moira, are you up there?"

There was no need for both of them to die because of some madman. "William, you have to go away. There's a bomb."

"Moira, I hear you!" He continued to call out to her, and she knew he was climbing the steps in leaps and bounds.

Seventy-seven. Seventy-eight.

She grabbed the handle, rattled the door on its hinges, but it wouldn't give. "William, go back down! Get away!"

"It is locked," he said from just outside the door.

"I know. Go on, go!"
Eighty-three.
Who the heck knew if she was counting too fast...or too slow?

"What's this?"

"It's a bomb, you idiot. Get the hell out of here!"

"Moira, move away from the door."

"It won't help. There's nowhere to go. Run!"

"Get away from the door," he said in a tone that, even in her petrified state, reminded her of a lion's roar.

She backed off. A second later, the door cracked.

Ninety-one.

It splintered. His foot crashed through the wood, followed by his leg, his body, and then his arms were scooping her up over his shoulder and he was running.

One hundred.

The roar deafened her, right up until the second she passed out.

Chapter Fourteen