Taken by the Prince
Page 9
Finally, finally, he put Victoria on her feet and stepped away.
In a flurry, she ripped the bag off her head.
She was in a bedchamber, shabby and worn. Flames burned in the fireplace. There was a wooden chair. A short sofa. A water pitcher and basin. Food and wine on a tray resting on a small table.
She whirled toward the heavy wooden door. Saw it shut. Heard the click. As she flung herself at it, the key turned in the lock. She was locked in. Alone. Angry, scared, bewildered.
And more afraid when she saw, laid out on the bed, her dresses… .
She had been kidnapped.
Chapter Fifteen
The click of the latch brought Victoria out of a deep sleep into the bright Moricadian morning— and the sight of Raul Lawrence as he stepped through the door of her prison.
She sat straight up on the short sofa, blinking, staring.
“You!”
“Very eloquent, Miss Cardiff.” He bowed and shut the door behind him.
Outrage bubbled in her veins. “I admit that for the slightest moment, I did suspect you, but I thought no Englishman could be so despicable as to kidnap a woman.”
“You’re wrong on two counts.”
“Two?” Her mind must still be fuzzy, for she hadn’t a clue what he meant.
“Englishmen are as despicable as any other man, especially when confronted with a prize as beautiful and valuable as you.” He strolled forward, untying his cravat as he went. “And I am no Englishman.”
That brought her to her feet.
But the sofa was short and she’d been scrunched up on it for hours, ever since she’d realized there was no way out of this room— looking out the window at the star-speckled sky had proved this castle sat on a crag and the room was at the top of the castle— and it was useless to pound on the door and shout. Now she hobbled a few steps, trying to straighten up.
Of course, the contemptible man laughed.“You could have slept on the bed.”
“Certainly not! And what do you mean, you’re no Englishman?” Until she was fully awake, she refused to broach the “beautiful and valuable prize” comment.
“I’m Moricadian. I’m a Moricadian prince. As you so foolishly proclaimed in your employer’s hotel room, I’m the heir to the Moricadian throne.”
She might be fuzzy with sleep, but she wasn’t stupid.
“You know I said that?” She made the next leap of logic.
“You kidnapped me because I said you were a prince?”
“Yes.”
“That’s why the girl dropped the dishes?” Victoria had discovered that indignation enabled her to stand up very straight.
“Yes.”
“And took my clothes?” Including her undergarments, which she’d discovered neatly stacked in a drawer.
He tossed the cravat on the floor. “I thought you’d want all that feminine stuff.”
“You arranged this because you think someone cares if you go around claiming you’re the heir to the Moricadian throne?”
He moved so quickly she didn’t have time to avoid him. Grasping her arms, he loomed over her. “I have done everything in my power to hide the truth from the tyrants who would torture me, kill me, and drag my mutilated body through the streets of Tonagra behind my own horses— and I have been successful. I don’t intend to ruin my chances to rescue my people from oppression because the one Englishwoman who can spoil my plans doesn’t know how to keep her mouth shut.”
Incredulous, she stared at him.
His face was stern, his green eyes glowed, and the way he held her reminded her of those moments on Grimsborough’s balcony when she thought he was going to toss her over the edge.
Who was this man? She barely knew him— but right now, she knew he frightened her.
But in her time, other, more worthy men had frightened her.
She knew what to do.
Lifting her chin, she said steadily, “The authorities are going to suspect you of fomenting the trouble last night.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He relaxed, but he didn’t let her go. “I was at the party. Didn’t you see me?
I was dancing with the newest Belgian heiress when the trouble started. I was pushed outside and fled, as did so many other men and women. After two hours of stumbling about in the dark, I returned to the ballroom and offered my assistance in catching the rebels. I was quickly corrected—
they were not rebels, but merely
foreign youths playing a rude joke. I helped by questioning servants and jumping at every loud sound. Then I excused myself, told Jean-Pierre de Gui gnard that I intended to spend the week hunting, smiled feebly, and rode home.”
“But … that’s not all the truth!”
“Yet no one looks more innocent and cowardly than I.”
He had thought of everything. Everything! The man was clever as well as dangerous, and she would do well to remember that. “What do you mean, calling me a beautiful and valuable prize?” Of all the stupid questions, why had that popped out of her mouth?
She thought she heard his teeth grind. “You’re beautiful. That you know.”
“I’m passable,” she corrected, “and I’ve reached the age of being a spinster.”
He snorted. “You’ve reached the age where you’re no longer a twit. You’re a woman, and a damned fine-looking one. A man, if he were so inclined, could take you to the Mediterranean pirates and sell you for a tidy sum. I suppose you’re still a virgin?”
Her face flamed. “Mr… . Lawrence!”
“So you are. Yes, a tidy sum. Or I could keep you here as my plaything, tame you myself.”
“I am not a wildcat!” The place where he held her, his hands to her arms, grew hot, as if his touch were causing friction.
“How would you know? You just admitted you’re a virgin.”
“I most certainly did not!”
“So you’re not a virgin?” He grinned as he watched her struggle with the answer.
Finally she settled on, “Whether I am or not is not your business.”
“My dear Miss Cardiff, I would like to make it my business.” His smile faded. “But the fact is, I don’t have time for you right now. I’m planning a revolution.”
“So take me back to Tonagra.”
“And what would you do, Miss Cardiff? Go straight to the police? Do you know what they’d do to you?
They’d question you.”
“About you? I wouldn’t tell them anything.”
He laughed harshly.
“I wouldn’t,” she insisted. “I swear, and my word is my bond, because, unlike you, Mr. Lawrence, I am proud of my English background.”
“Your word is worth nothing.” Before she could speak, he shook her slightly. “Not because you’re a liar, but because the de Guignards would take you into the royal palace, drag you down to the deepest dungeon, interrogate you, torture you, rape you, extract every bit of information you ever knew or surmised about me, my background, my location, my fortune, my compatriots …
and when you were begging for death, they would kill you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Victoria stared at Raul in shock.
She had thought he was the only barbarian in this civilized country, yet his words held the ring of conviction.
“No one would ever find your body.” Grimly he watched her, judging the impact of his words. “This is not a game to be lightly played. Money and power are at stake, and the de Guignards will do anything to keep both.” He removed his hands from her arms. “So you are staying here.”
“Here.”
“With me.”
“This is your room.” Last night, when she had been stuck here alone, before the fire had burned down, she had inventoried the room. In addition to the bed (big and old with a new, overstuffed feather mattress), the regrettably short sofa, the food and wine— which she had left untouched for fear of drugs or poison (she was sorry, because now she was thirsty and starving)— the bedside tab
le, and the wooden chair, there was a privy room furnished with modern porcelain fixtures and a large closet full of a man’s clothes. Further examination of those clothes proved they were made by London’s most exclusive tailor. Moreover, the chest of drawers in the closet contained men’s cravats, collars, and cuffs.
He was apparently pretty good at interrogation himself, for he followed her thoughts with little perplexity. “Were you embarrassed when you handled my undergarments?”
“No, I certainly was not.” It was true. By the time she found them, dawn was breaking and she was numb to shame. But she added loftily, “I was searching for a weapon. I only wish I’d found one.”
“I can show you how to make a weapon out of a dozen things in this room.”
Was he jesting? He didn’t appear to be. She cast her gaze around. The chamber was furnished in quite an ordinary manner. What could she use for a weapon? “Last night I looked out the window”— to see if she could climb out— “and discovered this is a castle, is it not?”
“It is indeed, one of my family’s castles.” He strolled to the window and fondly gazed out into the distance.
“It’s in deplorable shape, but ideal for our campaign, full of secret passages, nooks, and crannies where we can hide firearms and ammunition, dungeons hidden beneath false floors.”
She didn’t care about the revolution. “A castle has many bedrooms. I’ll move elsewhere to sleep.”
“Allowing you to do such a thing would be stupid on my part.” Turning back, he stripped off his collar and cuffs and flung them on top of his cravat. “I intend that you shall be occupied and watched during the day, and locked in with me at night.”
“I can’t stay here with you. My reputation is at stake!”
“You can trust me. I promise not to tell.” He softly flicked her cheek with his finger.“After all, I have proved to be trustworthy. No one knows about the kisses we shared so long ago.”
She did not want to talk about those kisses. “I swear I won’t try to escape.”
His face grew stony. “You’re an Englishwoman, Miss Cardiff. You believe a vow to a heathen like me means nothing— ”
“That’s not true!”
“— and that your duty as an Englishwoman is to make your escape.”
That was true. But she knew how long the ride had been to arrive to his castle, and she’d gazed out at the dense, impenetrable gloom of the forest. It was true she would escape if the opportunity presented itself, but …how would she find her way back to Tonagra? If she got lost, would she ever be found? And what kind of predators— animal and human— existed out there in the wild?
Perhaps she could bribe one of his servants… . “How long do you intend to incarcerate me so immorally?”
“You’re rather jumping the gun, aren’t you? We haven’t done anything immoral yet.”
“Nor will we, sir! Now I demand to know— ”
“You’ll stay until I have control of the country.”
“How long will that be?”
“No more than two years.” He took one look at her and burst into laughter. “If you could see your expression!”
In her most forbidding teacher’s voice, she said, “Yes.
I’m sure it’s sidesplitting. Now— could I have a more precise timetable?”
“Two months. Certainly before the first snow flies.”
“Two months!” She stared at him, appalled. “Are you mad?”
“Your error of judgment left me no choice.”
“No choice?” She paced across the room to confront him. “You sound like a child. Of course you have a choice. Send me back to the Johnsons. We’ll leave for England at once and I’ll never darken your door again!”
“The Johnsons are gone,” he said.
Her agitation fled. The blood drained from her face.
Her hands fell limply at her sides.
They had abandoned her.
“Perhaps you should sit down.” With his hand cupping her elbow, he led her to the chair and eased her into it.
“Of course they’re gone. How could I not realize that? That demonstration of yours at the ball—
Mr. Johnson would never risk the lives of his family for any reason. Certainly not for their governess.” She understood. She truly did.
“It’s not such a great loss, then, if they have so little sense of responsibility or affection.”
“I’m not a gambler. I have money saved, but not enough. Not yet. I need a job.” She spoke through lips that felt numb. “What will I do in a strange country with no references and no ability to comprehend the language?” Stupid concerns, she supposed, for the moment, while she was trapped in a castle with a rebel. But when this was over and she was free— what would she do?
How would she return to England? How would she explain her disappearance to any prospective employer?
Raul poured from the pitcher and handed her the goblet. “Drink.”
She took a sip and recoiled. “This is wine!”
“And good for shock.” He watched her a little too acutely, as if he could see her pain.
She required a lot of herself, not the least of which was that no one ever see the emotions that roiled beneath her surface. Early in life, she had comprehended that feelings left her vulnerable; pretended indifference gave her protection from hurt, and she took care to present a serene facade.
Now the same man who three years ago had blasted his way through her well-practiced indifference held her in his power, and she couldn’t bear to have him see her pain that the people with whom she had lived and traveled had left her behind without a backward glance.
She took another sip of wine, then put down the goblet. “Thank you. I’m better. I’m hungry and thirsty. That explains my former light-headedness.”
“I’m sure you’re right.”
She intended to tax him about the cynical edge to his tone, but he yanked the tail of his shirt out of his trousers and pulled it over his head.
The sight of his bare skin scandalized Victoria to the point she couldn’t take her gaze from it. The sturdy structure of his shoulders served as the bracing over the muscled breastbone and ribs.The narrowness of his belly and waist confirmed her earlier observation of him— he had taken an already athletic frame and refined it fur ther, until he was nothing but solid strength on a manly form. And he had hair. Not a lot, but a dusting of dark hair formed a narrow “T” across his chest and down to his waistline. If only…if only she were not so acutely aware of that manliness, and that form.
He himself seemed totally unaware of her fascinated gaze, as he dropped his shirt on top of his other laundry.
She should have scolded him for his immodesty, pointed out that this was exactly the reason she needed her own bedchamber. “Who’s going to pick all this up?”
“Pick what up?”
“Your cravat. Your collar and cuffs.” She pointed.
“Your shirt!”
For the first time in the conversation, he looked confused. “The person who always picks it up?”
A satisfying flush of irritation brought her to her feet.
“Men like you always leave someone else to clean up the mess.”
“First, Miss Cardiff, I beg that you not liken me to other men you’ve met during your brief and lackluster existence. I may drop my clothes on the floor, but when it comes to messes … I clean up my own.” With that speed of movement that had caught her by surprise before, he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, proving he was not unaware of his actions or their effect on her.
He had been baiting a trap.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She was afraid she knew.
“Offering you a job.”
“A job?” A job?
“You said you needed one.”
“Yes, but— ”
“Everyone in my castle works.”
“I don’t want to be in your castle, and I certainly don’t intend to work for you.”
“Put me on the post coach and I’ll be out of the country and off your hands.”
“This is an easy job, one I think you’d find pleasurable.” He grinned again, that swashbuckling slash of a pirate’s grin. “I’m offering you the job of my mistress.”
Chapter Seventeen
Victoria slammed her forehead into Raul’s face. She felt his lip crack with the impact.
He yelped and leaped backward.
She felt an unholy and never-before-experienced satisfaction of knowing she had hurt another human being.
“You’re right. There are weapons here I hadn’t previously recognized.”
“Damn it, that hurt,” he said in a calm tone. Then,
“Yes, with the proper incentive, your best weapon is yourself.”
She felt a swell of pride— and she hated that. Hated to think that his praise meant anything to her. Hated it even more that he thought so little of her that he offered her a job as his mistress and believed she would accept it. “Do you not remember what drove me out onto the balcony during Belle’s debut ball?”
“Lord Meredith was window-shopping in your store.”
Victoria had spent three years becoming a gracefully aging, impressively composed spinster. And one quarter of an hour with Raul Lawrence whisked all of her polish away as if it had never been. She had been shocked, angry, embarrassed, aroused, and violent, and his turn of phrase— “window-shopping in your store”— made her gaze roam the room seeking another weapon.
That tall iron candleholder. If she removed the candle and used it, pointed end out, like a battering ram, she could pierce Raul’s chest and crush him against the wall.
The image somewhat settled her ire, and she asked,