The Perfect Princess (31 page)

He wasn’t ready to give up yet. “It won’t be Prince Michael,” he said. “For a start, you’ll be as stifled in the role of princess as you were as a duke’s daughter. You need a man who will encourage you to take charge of
your own life, who will teach you to live a little more adventurously.”

“Thank you,” she said, “but I intend to take charge of my own life whether I marry Prince Michael or not.”

“You could never be happy with him! Oh, I’ll give the man his due. On the dance floor, he has no equal, but there’s more to marriage than that. He’ll come to your room every night. He’ll come to your bed. Are you ready for that?”

When she’d entered the folly she’d been chilled to the bone. Now, she was steaming hot. She draped her wrap over a chair and turned to face him.

“Oh, bed,” she said, making a face. “From my limited experience, I would say that what a man and woman do in bed is highly overrated. Now a man who can dance is a decided asset. Do you dance, Richard?”

“No, I do not!”

“Pity.”

His eyes darkened. “When you talk about your limited experience, I presume you mean your experience with me?”

She smirked. “You surely don’t think you’re the only handsome man I’ve kissed?”

“You told me, in the bothy, that I was.”

“That was a week ago,” she said airily. “I’ve been making up for lost time.” She relished the sudden sizzle in his eyes, and rashly added another coal to the fire. “Frankly, I don’t see what all the fuss is about. One man’s kisses are pretty much the same as another’s.”

Her barb found its mark. He’d never claimed to be the world’s greatest lover, but bloody hell, his kisses weren’t as unmemorable as all that. He’d had his share of women, he could tell. But what really stung was that the last time he’d kissed her, he’d been shaken to his very foundations. And his kisses didn’t rate higher than the next man’s? Who else had she been kissing when his back was turned?

There was only so much a man could take.

His whole body seemed to harden when he put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her close. This was one kiss she would never forget.

Rosamund braced for the shaking she could tell was coming, a shaking she knew she had provoked, but if he was angry, so was she. She loved him. Undeserving as he was, she loved him. He must know it. And he had cheapened that love by reducing it to its lowest level.
Bed
. Was that all men could think about?

“Now, just a minute—”

Whatever she was about to say was cut off when his lips took hers with a passion that bordered on fury. Her fury was no less than his. She gave him back angry kiss for angry kiss. When he ground his body against hers, she ground her body against his. His tongue plunged into her mouth and she fought to master it with her own tongue. And when he raised his head to look at her, the storm in her eyes battled with the storm in his.

They were both breathing hard, both fighting for every breath. And as their eyes held, all their tempestuous emotions subtly changed. She whimpered. He groaned.

He kissed her again, but it wasn’t temper that heated her blood this time or made her heart pound. Her whole body quivered with need. It came to her that until that moment, she had never truly understood how it could be between a man and woman. This wasn’t pleasant. This wasn’t sweetly erotic. This was heat and melting and aching and wanting all mixed together. It was almost like pain.

Richard felt her body clench in pleasure and his control slipped another notch. Only a kiss, he told himself, but he knew that he lied. Kisses, yes, but he was raining those kisses on every pleasure point he could find without disrobing her. He kissed her breasts through the fabric of her gown and sucked strongly on first one nipple
then the other, coaxing then exulting as they hardened like small pebbles in his mouth. And his hands were as busy as his lips, kneading, molding, claiming forbidden territory as his own. It wasn’t enough.

He was yanking her skirts up, brushing his fingers along the insides of her thighs when the sound of her name penetrated the mist in his brain. He raised his head and listened. Her name came again. He knew that voice.

“Prince Michael,” he said, almost snarling the words.

“What?” Rosamund hadn’t come to herself yet. She steadied herself by placing both hands on his chest.

“Prince Michael,” he repeated. “He’s looking for you.”

The thought of Prince Michael was the perfect cure for his desire. Richard straightened Rosamund’s clothes (because she was still in a daze) then his own, then he took a step back.

“Passion, Rosamund,” he said. “If you marry Prince Michael, that’s what you’ll have to give up. You’re a warm-blooded woman. Don’t settle for a cold-blooded fish.”

And with that, he turned and walked out.

Her legs felt like quivering jellies, but she managed to totter on them to the nearest chair. And there she sat, wide-eyed, fingers touching her burning lips, then palming her breasts to ease the ache his mouth had started there, and finally moving over her abdomen to that other ache between her thighs.

All this from a kiss?

She was on the point of leaving when Richard marched back in. “I forgot to wish you a happy birthday,” he said, “and give you your birthday present.”

Her hand came out automatically to receive the object he pressed into it.

“There was a fire,” he said, “and this is the only piece that survived. I’ve had it since I was a boy, to bring me luck.” And with that, he marched out.

Rosamund opened her hand and looked at the object he had placed in it. It was a chess piece, a medieval king carved out of ebony that was scorched around the edges. His expression was very grim.

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Richard was drawing level with the house when he heard men shouting. It seemed as though a fight had broken out. When he turned the corner of the house, his steps slowed. The deflated marquee had freed itself from its moorings and looked as though it was going to blow away. The head groundsman was directing men this way and that, in an effort to get it tied down again.

Some of the inside servants had been brought out to help, and that’s where the trouble lay. There was no love lost between inside and outside servants and a shouting match had started up. If the head groundsman didn’t get control of his men, at this rate there would be a fullblown riot. What this lot needed was Harper. But Harper had his hands full looking after visiting coachmen and their rigs.

He wasn’t in the mood to resume his duties in the house and he doubted if he’d be missed, so he turned up his collar and made for his cottage. The paths should have been well lit, but half the lanterns had either burned out or been blown out by the wind. There were lights in the stable block, however, so he took his bearings from there.

There were other lights, some of them marking carriages that were lined up on the driveway, waiting to take their owners home, and on the other side of the lake, lights winking on carriages that were already leaving.

If the party was over, Rosamund should have been at the house for her guests to take their leave of her. She should have been there for the announcement of her betrothal. That’s why Prince Michael had been looking for her.

Well, he hoped he had taught her a lesson.

His mouth twisted in a humorless smile. He was the one who had learned a lesson, and it made him writhe inside. He’d always regarded himself as a rational man, but for the last half hour, he’d behaved like a sulky schoolboy. He hadn’t been thinking of Rosamund’s happiness when he’d warned her off Prince Michael. He’d been thinking of himself. If he couldn’t have her, he didn’t want her to marry at all. But he didn’t want her to die an old maid, either.

There was no pleasing him.

Jaw clenched, he walked on, kicking wet leaves out of his way. He was almost at his own door when he heard it. There was no mistaking that sound. It was the report of a pistol shot, and it came from the vicinity of the house.

He did an about-turn and began to race back the way he had come. He tried to assure himself that the head groundsman had fired off a shot to quell his unruly men, but all his training warned him not to accept the first facile answer that came to mind. If there was a killer on the prowl, he was the most likely target.

He was breathing hard and fast when he reached the men who had been working on the marquee. No one noticed his approach. They were standing about, staring silently at the crush of guests who had exited the conservatory and were now milling around on the terrace.

“What happened?” he asked one of the groundsmen.

“Someone in the folly was shot at,” he said. “I think it’s Lady Rosamund.”

Richard stood there rigidly, his throat working. Then he saw them: Prince Michael in his white coat, with a dark-haired girl in his arms.
Rosamund
.

Heart thundering, his mind paralyzed with fear, he started forward.

R
ichard had taken only a few steps when a shadow came barreling down on him, a substantial shadow whose impact sent him reeling back on his heels. Before he could do more than find his balance, a voice, fiercely angry, told him not to be a bloody fool. It was Harper’s voice.

“I must go to her!” Richard said savagely.

He tried to throw off Harper’s hands, but Harper wouldn’t be thrown off. He dragged Richard farther into the shadows so that they were a little apart from the other men. “It could be a trap,” said Harper. “Have you thought of that? Even now, someone could be waiting for you to show yourself so they can finish the job. And they won’t let you near her. What did you think you was going to do? Walk into the house and demand to see the lass? They’re more like to lock you up and hand you over to the constables and magistrates. Now put that pistol away before you draws attention to yourself.”

Richard hadn’t even been aware that he had his pistol
in his hand. He automatically tucked it into the waistband of his breeches. At Special Branch, they thought he had nerves of steel. He never panicked, never lost his head. He was close to losing his head now.

“How badly hurt is she?” he demanded.

“It’s not mortal, if that’s what you’re thinking. They’ve sent for the doctor, so that’s a good sign.”

Richard nodded, though Harper’s words did little to relieve his fears.
Not mortal
covered a lot of ground. He was torn. If he wanted to get inside that house, nothing could stop him, but he’d have to do it at gunpoint. He couldn’t see himself walking into Rosamund’s room and holding everyone off with a gun.

Harper said, “I’m telling you the truth. She’s not seriously hurt.”

“How did it happen?”

“I don’t rightly know, except that someone took a shot at her in or near the folly. But this is wasting time if we wants to catch the bastard who did it.”

Richard’s focus shifted a little. After a moment, he said, “We’re never going to find him in this crush. It’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

By Richard’s reckoning, there were about forty groundsmen shuffling around on the lawn outside the conservatory. On the terrace, there was an equal number of guests and inside servants, who were now shuffling back into the conservatory. Carriages passed them in a steady stream to go to the front of the house to pick up their passengers. The task of finding Rosamund’s attacker was damn near hopeless unless they were lucky.

“What do you wants me to do?” asked Harper.

Richard let out a breath. “First off, question the groundsmen. See if they know anything. Find out if anyone is missing. Then, if that leads nowhere, organize a search of the grounds. If anyone objects to your giving orders, tell them you’re acting on the duke’s instructions.

If you find anything, let off a shot. I’ll do the same.”

“Now you’re talking,” said Harper, sounding happy that his chief was acting more like himself. “And where will you be?”

“I’m going to start with the folly. Give me a few minutes before you come after me.”

The folly was deserted, with no one guarding it to preserve any evidence that might have been left behind. Richard had brought a lantern with him and he held it up as he scanned the small interior. It was like an outdoor dining room with a fine view of the river. He could see why it was called a folly. It was like a miniature Greek temple, with Greek columns at the entrance.