Taken by the Prince

by Christina Dodd

  “Shh,” he whispered … and he kissed her.

  For the first time in three years, he felt her breath, tasted her essence. For the first time ever, she responded to his tenderness.

  Exactly as he had planned.

  With unhurried precision, he explored the contours of her lips with his, increased the pressure of the kiss, slipped his tongue into her mouth and sighed with a very temporary contentment. She tasted pure, fresh, clever, like past excitement and new passion.

  She tasted as if she were his.

  Again he stroked her cheek, taking pleasure in the velvet of her skin, and tangled his fingers in the rebellious strands of silky blond hair.

  And she responded, her hand rising to grasp his wrist as if she needed him to stabilize her in a universe spinning out of control.

  Her gesture broke his carefully nursed self-discipline.

  He paused, his lips barely above hers.

  Didn’t she know better than to trust him?

  Apparently not, for she closed the space between them, kissed him the way he had kissed her, with sweet warmth and tentative restraint.

  And in response, passion rose in him, clawed at him, surprised him in its violence.

  He closed his eyes, fighting for control as she supped on his mouth, tasted him as he had tasted her, kissed him inexpertly … kissed him until he was insane with need.

  Who was Victoria that she could destroy his conceited intentions so easily? What about this female wrapped in white cotton that buttoned all the way to her chin made him want so much his world turned red with heat and desire?

  She ended the kiss.

  Too soon.

  Her hand fell away. She leaned back against the pillow, sighed with contentment.

  He waited for her to say something. To do something. To explain her actions, to demand he explain his.

  Nothing.

  He opened his eyes. And stared.

  Her fingers rested against her forehead. Her eyes were closed. Her face, her body were relaxed.

  She was asleep.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Terrified instinct brought Victoria to consciousness with a start.

  Someone loomed over her. Someone angry.

  She opened her eyes, sat up in a flurry.

  “Sorry.” Raul stood next to the sofa by her head, fully dressed, adjusting his cravat, tall, dark, and obviously not sorry at all.

  She glanced around. Morning sun was slipping through the window, the birds were twittering in the trees outside, he’d tossed clothes all over the floor… .

  His day looked perfect. What was he mad about?

  “I’m going into Tonagra to complete the sale of a colt,” he said, “but before I leave, I wanted to warn you— I haven’t discussed the matter of Danel and my doubts about my current strategy with anyone but you. I pray that you keep these matters to yourself.”

  “Wha …” She blinked at him, not completely awake, not completely over her fright…Then she remembered—their private time in the room, the way they’d discussed his strategy, his family, his misgivings. He’d confided in her, and now he was accusing her of possibly gossiping about it.

  Rage wiped the cobwebs from her mind. “If I know something is a secret, I don’t tell it. Why would you think…?” Then she realized. “You think that because in Tonagra I mentioned you were a prince, I am a scandalmonger? I assure you, sir, had I realized you were truly of royal blood, destined to reclaim your throne”—

  she still couldn’t quite comprehend it— “I would have never said a word. Ever!”

  His white smile flashed in his olive skin. “I do trust in your ability to keep a secret. It was my mistake not to speak to you when I saw you in the lobby and warn you to remain quiet. I apologize for that.”

  She nodded grudgingly.

  “So it makes sense that I would warn you now, does it not?” He pushed a diamond pin into the folds of his cravat and secured it.

  “Whatever we say in this room will remain private between us; I swear it.”

  He searched her face as if looking for something, and nodded. “I swear, also.” Walking to the door, he opened it, hesitated, then turned back to her. “Is it so hard to believe I’m a king?”

  “Yes. You seem very normal to me.”

  He laughed. “You’re good for me.” Stepping out, he shut the door behind him.

  She stared after him, trying to comprehend what that had been about. Not the words— she understood those.

  But his early hostility— what did he have to feel hostile about? He wasn’t forced to remain here against his will.

  And last night had been almost civil between them, with talk and …

  Her eyes narrowed.

  And what? Although she’d been sleepy, she remembered the discussion about Danel perfectly well. She remembered him putting his fist over his heart, remembered her panic, remembered changing in a flurry into her nightgown, going to the sofa, lying down, Raul coming over, kneeling beside her, and caressing her face…

  His touch had been like nothing she’d ever experienced— indeed, like nothing she’d ever imagined.

  He hadn’t been hurried or rough. He’d been slow, careful, treating her as if she were delicate, like a glass ornament, like something dear to him.

  Sliding back onto the pillow, she remembered… .

  She’d relaxed under his touch, blossomed like a flower in the sun.

  He’d stroked her lips— she stroked them now— and that had felt less relaxing, more sensuous. She’d almost wanted to suck at his fingers.

  She hadn’t. At least, she didn’t think she had. Because after he’d closed her eyes, she had drifted, awash on a sea of sensation. He had kissed her; she was sure of that. And … and she’d kissed him, too. She’d held his wrist; she could remember the strength of his bones, the texture of his skin, the feel of his muscles as they shifted in her grip.

  But beyond that …

  Had she gone to sleep? That seemed impossible.

  How could she go to sleep? She didn’t trust any man, much less Raul Lawrence, who three years ago had so violently kissed her, and who only two nights ago had kidnapped her.

  Her blood curdled when she imagined what he had done to her while she slept!

  Then her indignation died.

  She knew very well he had done nothing. He wasn’t the kind of man to take advantage of a sleeping woman.

  In fact, he wasn’t the kind of man who ever had to take advantage of a sleeping woman. It was more likely some more experienced woman than Victoria had taken advantage of him.

  The difference was, he would like it.

  Yes, he was a vile man, but he was too handsome for his own good, and also— she sighed and admitted the truth— he was an honorable man.

  One always knew where one stood with Raul Lawrence.

  A knock sounded on the door. Amya stuck her head in. “Miss Cardiff? Our king believes you are ready to rise, and sent me up to assist you.” The girl’s voice trembled as she spoke, and she looked as if she expected Victoria to throw a shoe at her.

  Victoria sighed. She was going to have to forgive the girl for betraying her to Raul. After all, it wasn’t Amya’s fault that with his looks, his body, and his royal blood, he commanded loyalty from every young woman who drew breath.

  “I’ve brought fresh water in which for you to wash,” Amya said.

  “Come in.” Victoria rose. “Although I don’t truly know how to utilize you. You realize I usually dress myself.”

  “Yes, miss, but I’m here so you don’t have to.” Amya took the water into the privy room, then came back and curtsied. “Which gown would you care to wear today?”

  “The black, please.”

  She went in the closet and came back with both the black and the brown Victoria had worn the day before.

  “I’ll clean and press the brown as soon as I’m done here,” she said.

  “Thank you.” Victoria went in and washed, and returned to discover
the sofa returned to normal, the blankets folded and put away, flowers in a vase, and fresh undergarments as well as the black gown laid across the bed. Victoria would be well cared for during her sojourn in Mr. Lawrence’s castle.

  As Amya helped her don her clothing, she said a little less timidly, “I can dress your hair.” She eyed Victoria’s simple braid with an assessing eye.

  “I wear it simply. I like it that way.” There was no use in becoming accustomed to luxury.

  “Yes, but I can fix it so each strand gleams with gold.”

  By that Victoria could assume Amya missed her work at the hotel— and it was Victoria’s fault she was no longer there. “I’d like that,” she said.

  “My king asked that you teach your first etiquette class today directly after the noon meal.” Amya led Victoria to a stool and went to work on her hair. “He says it will allow everyone to enjoy a relaxing time during the heat of the day.”

  Everyone except me.

  As Victoria went through the morning, dragging another small chest out of a storage room, showing the children how to repair the tapestry, teaching them a hundred English words while learning two dozen words in Moricadian, she kept her doubts to herself.

  But when she stood at the head of the great hall and faced two hundred hostile pairs of eyes, she knew she was right.

  She would not enjoy a relaxing time teaching this class. In fact, if the way Prospero was looking at her meant anything, she’d be lucky to come through unbloodied and unbowed.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  “Miss Cardiff?”

  At the sound of Thompson’s voice, Victoria looked up from the letter she was writing. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Lawrence sends word he won’t be back in time for the evening meal. In fact, he’ll be very late.” Thompson glanced at the great hall, now rapidly filling with warriors weary from the day’s training. “Will you take a tray in your room?”

  She considered the options. She could take the tray, run away, hide behind closed doors while Prospero and his miserable friends exulted in their rout of her.

  The idea ground at the edges of her pride.

  Or she could sit at the head table next to Raul’s empty chair, knowing she was the cynosure of all eyes, while they ignored her, while they made rude comments about her, and she would be unable to choke down a bite.

  That scenario reminded her far too much of her days in her stepfather’s house. “What would you suggest, Thompson?”

  “It’s no trouble to send Amya up with a tray.”

  Thompson’s eyes gleamed with pity and comprehension. “And I believe Mr. Lawrence will be back tomorrow for sure.”

  She nodded. “Thank you. In that case, I would appreciate it.” She corked the ink with a steady hand, gathered up the sheets of paper covered in her small, neat handwriting.

  “May I post your letter for you, Miss Cardiff?” Thompson asked.

  “Oh, Thompson.” She laughed openly at him. “You are ever Mr. Lawrence’s faithful servant. Do you really think I trust you to post it?”

  “I would post it.” Then he conceded, “After the revolution.”

  “Yes, so I assumed. I can do it then.” She looked at the sheets. “In fact, then I can probably give it to my mother myself.”

  “Will she worry when she doesn’t hear from you?”

  “No, she’s never traveled. She has no idea how long it takes for letters to make their way across the English Channel.”

  “Very good. I would hate to think an action of mine contributed to a mother’s distress.”

  “Be at ease, Thompson.” Victoria turned toward the stairway, then back to him. “And, Thompson?”

  “Yes, miss?”

  “I would appreciate it if you didn’t inform Mr. Lawrence of the debacle today. I’ll make his people respect me or I won’t, but I’ll handle this on my own.”

  He hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with her request.

  But she observed him steadily, not giving an inch, and finally he inclined his head. “As you wish. I’ll send Amya up with your tray.”

  She nodded and climbed the stairs, went into Raul’s bedchamber, and shut the door behind her. Going to the sofa, she stretched out and wearily rubbed the stiff muscles of her neck.

  As she suspected, the etiquette lesson had been an unmitigated disaster. Raul’s people resented her, resented the notion that they could be improved, and Prospero had made it clear that he wouldn’t take instruction from a foreigner.

  She covered her eyes with her hand, trying to block the memories.

  Raul would be pleased to know this room was now her sanctuary.

  The click of the lock woke Victoria from her unplanned slumber.

  Candlestick in hand, Raul stumbled in. He looked young, handsome, happy, rakish, with his jacket off, his white shirt unbuttoned, his collar and cravat flapping.

  When he saw her eyes were open, he put his finger to his lips in a shushing motion. With elaborate care, he shut the door behind him.

  She lifted herself on one elbow. “Where have you been?”

  “What a wifely question. If you’re going to ask wifely questions, you have to perform wifely duties.” He leered at her. “Want to?”

  Her eyes narrowed on his flushed face. “You’ve been drinking.”

  “Is it obvious?” He cupped his hand in front of his mouth and blew, then pretended to wither from the smell.

  She stifled her amusement.

  He waggled his finger at her. “Be careful, Miss Cardiff; you almost smiled.”

  “You’re amusing.” When Amya had come in with the dinner tray, she had gently woken Victoria, pulled the pins from her hair, helped her into her nightgown, coaxed her to eat a few bites of bread and butter, then pulled the blankets over her and covered the dinner tray with a clean white napkin. While Victoria sought escape in sleep, Amya built up the fire, then quietly shut the door behind her when she left— and Victoria had heard the key turn in the door.

  Even Amya locked her in.

  But now the fire had burned down to a pile of glowing embers, and no light slid through the window. Victoria squinted through the shadows toward the clock on the mantel. “It’s late.”

  “Very late.” He smiled blissfully. “I was at the casino.”

  “What were you doing there?”

  He put the candlestick down on the bedside table, then came to loom over her in that exasperating, irritating way he had. “I was gambling.” So suddenly she blinked in astonishment, he plopped himself down on the carpet and grinned into her face. “And I was stealing.”

  All trace of her sleepiness vanished. “Stealing what?”

  “Everything!” He gestured widely, wafting the smell of whiskey toward her. “Every last bit of wealth the Tonagra gambling hall has won for the last month.” He grinned triumphantly.

  “You did this?”

  “No. My people did it.” He pouted like a little boy who’d been cut out of the game, then brightened. “But I planned the whole thing.”

  Grasping the blanket to her chest, she sat all the way up. “You really stole their entire take for the month?”

  “Every last gold franc and lire and pound. Every banknote. Every voucher. The de Guignards were going to transfer the hoard to their accounts tomorrow, but now all they’re doing is running around looking foolish and trying to convince the frightened tourists that they’re safe and should remain in the country.” Happiness spilled from him in wild exuberance.

  “What were you doing while your people were pulling off this theft?”

  “I was gambling. And winning. At the tables. In plain sight, and without a care in the world. And after my people were done and the money was secure, I found out”— he grinned— “that I couldn’t collect my winnings, so I threw the biggest tantrum you’ve ever seen.” He wore his hair tied back in a black ribbon; now he pushed his fingers through the strands and tore the bow from its moorings, then winced in pain. But that didn’t stop him.

  He
waggled his finger at her. “Jean-Pierre de Gui gnard doesn’t like me. He’s the one who got me drunk.”

  “Why?” she asked in alarm.

  “He was trying to appease me, he said, assure me I could collect my winnings as soon as they discovered the lousy rotten thieves. I asked how long that would take.

  He assured me it would be soon. I said soon wasn’t soon enough.” Raul frowned as if he couldn’t quite make sense of his own sentence.

  “Was he possibly suspicious of you?” Did this man know no fear?

  “He’s suspicious of everyone. If he’d really suspected I was behind the theft, I’d already be missing my teeth and my eyes, and all my fingers would be shattered and my balls would be ripped off and I’d be screaming in agony and— ”

  “Please!” She held up a hand. “No more.”

  “Sorry.” Catching her hand, he kissed her knuckles.

  “Sorry. You’re so easy to talk to, I forget you’re a lady.”

  She sighed at his less-than-flattering explanation.

  “Yes, I see how you would.”

  “Here’s the thing. Here’s my strategy. I know there’s one thing authorities never expect, and that’s that the thief will call attention to himself, so I just kept complaining. Loudly. Over and over. You should have heard me! To shut me up, Jean-Pierre finally put me in his own carriage and sent me home.” Raul flopped flat on his back on the floor and laughed uncontrollably.

  She leaned over the edge of the sofa and laughed with him. She didn’t know why. In the normal run of things, she didn’t approve of theft.

  But he was so pleased with himself, so unguarded.

  He was almost innocent in his pleasure, and something about his spirit called to her.

  When he finished laughing, he looked up at her. “Do you know what I’m going to do with that money?”

  “Fund the revolution? Buy more firearms?”

  “No. No, no, no. This money is for after the revolution. This money will fund the government, feed the people, get us through the first winter until we can reassure the tourists that they’ll be safe here. When they’re back, we’ll use them to become a rich country. To be secure from the large countries that would absorb us and use our income for their people rather than ours.” He laughed again. “The theft— it went better than I could ever have imagined, and Jean-Pierre will be busy for the next fortnight trying to track me down.”