She didn’t. In her grace of movement and her coordination, Victoria showed a natural athleticism. Her children would be beautiful, bright, and competent. Her children would be—
But before he could finish the thought, she said,
“Building this tree house must have been quite a labor for two young boys.”
“It was. We set up a pulley system with ropes to bring the wood up. Prospero and Zakerie found out what we were doing and wanted to help, but we wouldn’t let them. It was ours.”
“Selfish children,” she chided.
“Selfish, with a big dollop of superiority. We were rotten to the core, heirs to the throne of Moricadia, and we lorded it over the other lads.” He laughed bitterly.
“When I got to England, my father beat that sense of privilege out of me.”
“Not all of it,” she said.
“No. Not all of it.” For when he’d wanted her, he’d taken her. And as she climbed, he caught flashes of her ankles, her calves, and, if he was positioned just right, her thighs.
It made for odd contortions as he tried to position himself for the next step, the next hint of her body’s glories.
All unaware, she said, “But it would have been easier to exert your mastery over the others if you’d made them build it for you. So perhaps you weren’t as wicked as you would like to believe?”
“I was a brat,” he said with finality.
She stopped and stared down at him, one foot on one branch, one foot on the other.
He strove to keep his gaze on her face.
“You’re still a brat. But only when you choose.” She started up again. “Why did you build a tree house? Why here?”
“Because we liked to climb trees. Because we pretended the tree house was a ship we sailed around the world. Because we loved to watch the storms roll in and to scream like girls when the lightning struck close.”
She laughed.
“Because up here, we were free.” He sobered. “No de Guignards, no starvation, no fighting, no death. We never allowed anyone in this place.”
She paused. “No one?”
“I got Danel’s permission to bring you here.”
She started climbing again. “Did you never fall?”
“Never.” Wryly aware of the dangers of trying to see her legs and beyond, he added, “At least, not before today.”
They were almost there. She stretched to reach a branch. Her costume rose.
His breath caught.
She looked up. “I know why you built it. Up here, you can see heaven.”
“Yes. I can,” he said fervently.
She glanced down at him as if he puzzled her.
Hurriedly, he said, “This morning I repaired the platform. You’ll be safe up there.”
“I never doubted it.”
Reaching the tree house, she hoisted herself up onto her stomach. As she looked around, her legs dangled in his face. “There’s a rail, so we won’t fall off. And you made a bed!”
He had, of fresh pine boughs covered with sturdy canvas. “I brought food, too, and drink.”
“So we can really spend the night?” She shimmied all the way up.
He scrambled after her, joined her.
She was standing, frozen, gripping a branch and staring at the vista before them. “My God.” She breathed a prayer of awe.
Putting his arm around her waist, he looked, too.
The last rays of the sun spread across the valleys and mountains, the waterfalls that plunged from one high place to the next, the trees that rippled like grass in the breeze. One by one, each snowy peak flamed red with the sunset.
Victoria leaned her head against his shoulder.
He hugged her tightly.
Then, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the light was extinguished like the flame of a candle, and the first stars opened like flowers on a field of darkening velvet.
“I give you all this.” He had never meant anything so much in his life.
“It’s beautiful. Thank you.” She stroked his arm. “I’ll never forget these days with you, or this place. Nowhere else on earth could be as beautiful.”
She believed he offered her this time here with him.
When, in fact, he had offered her his country, Moricadia, hers for the taking … as long as she took him, too.
But he didn’t correct her assumption.
After all, he could give her only Moricadia forever.
Victoria was the kind of woman who would want his heart.
Chapter Forty-two
Victoria rested on her back on the bed in the tree house and stared at the stars, so bright they might have been burning holes in the tapestry of the sky.
Out here, there was no other light.
Raul slept soundly beside her, his arm flung over her waist, his leg nudging hers. She could hear his breathing, and the call of the owl, and the branches as they rustled in the breeze.
Out here, there was no other sound.
The air was so fresh, she could smell the fragrance of pine boughs beneath her back, and from the north, a hint of autumn with its swirl of crisp leaves.
Out here, there was no other scent.
Although … that wasn’t really true.
She could smell Raul, faintly sweaty and still warm from their lovemaking.As night fell, he had seduced her.
Then he fed her bread and cheese and wine, and seduced her once again. He had done everything to bring her satisfaction, to bring her pleasure, to make her happy. He had said he would give her his country. In his own way, he’d been trying to tell her he wanted her to stay with him, and she knew that if she’d responded with a modicum of accord, he would have asked her to marry him.
She couldn’t bring herself to do it.
Oh, she wasn’t afraid that marriage to Raul would be the misery she’d seen her mother endure. Nor did she doubt her own ability to support him in his quest for the throne, or to perform the duties required of his queen when he succeeded. And certainly with him, she would have financial security, respectability, and the constant reassurance that he wanted her body.
But she, Victoria Cardiff, the woman who believed in sensibility above all things … she could not do this. She couldn’t marry a man who did not love her. Who would never love her. Not when she lay here beside him and knew she’d given him everything in her heart.
If only she weren’t so angry.
At him, for not giving her the one thing she so desperately needed.
At herself, for abandoning good sense in the pursuit of something so ephemeral— she had never really believed in true love before, and now she was willing to walk away from money, a throne, and a man as glorious as the stars themselves— for love.
Most of all, she feared what hid beneath the anger— a clawing agony of loneliness and sorrow to last for the rest of her life.
So when his revolution was over and she knew he would thrive, she’d go to England to see her mother, and she would, she swore, be more understanding of the poor woman. If news of her disgrace had spread—
and she supposed it had— she would use her savings to move on. America was a new country with wealthy young women who traveled to England specifically to catch a nobleman. There would be employment for an English governess with experience teaching decorum and etiquette.
She leaned her head against Raul’s shoulder and smiled with pained humor.
She had, after all, trained the court of King Saber of Moricadia.
Raul watched the women surround Victoria and walk her over the castle drawbridge, across the courtyard, and through the towering door into the keep. They were symbolically welcoming her to her new home and her new society.
Victoria smiled and spoke to them in her stumbling Moricadian, but she didn’t have a clue what these customs meant.
It was better that way.
She was beautiful this morning. Amya had packed clothes for Victoria, and Victoria had gratefully shed the traditional Moricadian costume and donned
her dark blue gown, her white collar and cuffs, her leather shoes, and her paisley shawl.
But no matter how she covered herself in civilized English clothing, he knew what she looked like beneath the proper garments. He knew what she felt like, naked against him. He had made love to her into the night, and again in the morning. As he tried to impress himself on her, he felt the sense that time was running out. If he couldn’t make her understand what he wanted from her now, on the night before he plunged into the final preparations for war, would a better time ever be delivered to them?
As they climbed the stairs to the great hall, Danel jostled him. “Cousin, you’ve got a good woman there.”
“Yes.” But Raul wouldn’t discuss her with Danel.
He wouldn’t discuss her with anyone. She was his, and what they had between them was private, personal …important.
So he started speaking in an undertone of what was to come. “Hada says we can fit your people into the castle.”
“That’s a hell of a lot of people crammed into one household.” Danel, too, kept his voice low.
“Hada and Thompson can handle the influx of family.
They can handle anything. And it makes sense to use this as our base. From here, we can move out easily to drill and— ”
The women stepped into the great hall. They abruptly stopped.
The men piled up behind them.
Silence fell, a silence so abrupt and awkward Raul pushed his way forward.
Jean-Pierre de Guignard sat in Raul’s chair at the head of the table.
Behind him stood Bittor and eight well-armed members of the palace guard.
As Raul watched, Jean-Pierre lifted his whip and slapped it on the flat wood surface.
Questions tumbled through Raul’s mind. What was Jean-Pierre doing here? What had he discovered? Where were his people, the ones who had stayed behind to care for the castle?
But he had a part to play, and he didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, hands outstretched in what he hoped looked like genuine delight. “Jean-Pierre! Welcome to my home. If I had known of your visit, I would not have kept you waiting.”
“I prefer surprise visits.”
“So you have told me!”
Jean-Pierre observed Raul’s genial salutation, then slashed the table again, knocking a goblet of ale over.
It ran like gold-brown piss across the table and onto the floor.
“My servants will get you more,” Raul said.
To his surprise, Amya hurried to the sideboard and brought the pitcher back to the table, and with many little bobbing curtsies, she poured the goblet full again.
She was not as timid as he had thought.
“Did you come to hunt?” Raul asked.
Jean-Pierre rose slowly. “You’ve been hunting?”
“Indeed we have. If you wish to go, we can go out again!”
“You had success?”
“Great success.”
Jean-Pierre looked around. “Where’s the game?”
“We roasted venison last night on a campfire in the forest.” Raul slapped Danel on the shoulder. “You must come out with me. My huntsman never fails.”
Danel stood still and stiff with pride and hate.
Raul squeezed his shoulder hard.
Danel winced, then stepped forward and, like a grateful idiot, he grinned and bobbed his head. “I’m the best huntsman in Moricadia. The smart foreign visitors hire me to lead them to the game. I can find whatever you want, my lord— venison, boar, geese… .”
Jean-
Pierre’s gaze examined the crowd. “So, Lawrence, you feast with … Moricadians?” His scorn and disbelief were palpable.
“He was trying to impress me with his hunting prowess.” Victoria pushed her way out of the crowd of women and made her way to Raul’s side. She petted his arm and stared adoringly into his eyes. “As if he needed to do anything so manly to impress me.”
Raul’s heart contracted with fear.
She had called herself to the attention of a man so cruel and dangerous that mothers scared their children with his name. And she had done so purposefully, to distract Jean-Pierre with her pretty face and shapely figure.
“Who the hell are you?” Jean-Pierre snapped.
Victoria looked at Jean-Pierre in hurt surprise. Seeming to remember her manners, she curtsied and said,
“Pardon me, Your Highness; I forgot myself in my excitement at meeting you. I’m Miss Victoria Cardiff of England.”
Jean-Pierre’s pale blue eyes narrowed. “I know that name.”
“I arrived in Moricadia with my employers, the Johnsons— ”
“That’s why I know you!” Jean-Pierre glared with withered disdain. “Mr. Johnson roared like a bull when you disappeared. You’ve been here all this time?”
Raul held his breath. She had to answer very, very carefully. If Jean-Pierre caught her in a lie …
“Not all this time.” Her lip wobbled. “I was in the ballroom when those horrible men in black came in and attacked us. I ran through the hotel and outside. Then I was lost until Mr. Lawrence found me. He was frightened, too, so he took me under his wing and …” She lavished an adoring smile on Raul.
She was doing a marvelous imitation of an artless fille de joie.
Jean-Pierre teetered on the edge of disbelief. “Johnson claimed you were a woman of impeccable virtue.”
“I had never met a man like Mr. Lawrence before.”
She leaned forward and stage-whispered, “He has promised to marry me.”
Raul recognized a cue when he heard one. “Soon.”
He met Jean-Pierre’s gaze and winked.
If Jean-Pierre was convinced, he didn’t show it. “Lawrence, you were at the hotel all that night.”
“Not all night.” Raul smiled, man-to-man. “You’ll pardon me if, at the time, I didn’t explain the treasure I had found in the gardens and brought home.”
Jean-Pierre breathed hard, his pale skin flushing with frustration.
And Raul realized Jean-Pierre had not discovered anything incriminating here in his home. Not yet. Jean-Pierre might have his suspicions, but if he really believed Raul harbored rebels or, God forbid, was a rebel, Jean-Pierre’s men would have shot Raul and Danel when they came through the door.
They were still alive. Soon they would take Jean-Pierre down.
“Why come back to the hotel at all?” Jean-Pierre asked.
“To take my place in the hunt for those villains who so disrupted the ball and to watch their execution.” Cheerfully ignoring the fact that none of the rebels had been caught, Raul said, “I cannot wait to see them dangle like fruit from the trees of Moricadia.” Then he waited to see if he’d successfully presented himself as an amiable gambler and horse breeder often enough to fool Jean-Pierre with his guileless act.
Jean-Pierre walked up to Raul and thrust his whip into his face. “I’m watching you.”
Raul leaned back as if he were alarmed. “Does that mean you don’t want to hunt with me today?”
Danel leaned in, breaking Jean-Pierre’s concentration. “I’ve been watching a wild boar for a special occasion.”
Jean-Pierre cracked his whip.
Danel leaped back with an agility Jean-Pierre didn’t expect, for the blow whistled uselessly through the air.
“Please, my lord, don’t hit me!” Danel cowered.
Raul rapped Danel on the head with his knuckles.
“I’ll hit you instead. Fool!” He turned back to Jean-Pierre. “You know these Moricadians. If you show the slightest bit of leniency, they try to take advantage.”
Jean-Pierre glanced around.
Most of Raul’s family had slipped away, taking the children. Those who remained stood frozen, wide-eyed and frightened.
They weren’t acting, Raul knew. They were terrified, and rightly so.
Jean-Pierre seemed to draw comfort from the familiar cringing forms. “I believe I scared your cook away. And … sorry about your butler. He wo
uldn’t tell me what I wanted to know.” He waved a hand toward the alcove.
A heavy dread settled on Raul.
Signaling to his guard, Jean-Pierre led them out.
When they had cleared the door, Raul ran to the writing desk.
Thompson was nowhere in sight.
Then Raul saw it, leaking out of the tall supply cabinet … a trickle of blood that splashed, thick and red, on the wood floor. He yanked open the door.
Thompson fell into his arms— and screamed. Blood stuck his hair together, trickled from cuts along his cheek, his neck, his hands. His cravat had been used as a garrote, and purple bruises circled his neck. “Sorry … sir.” He gasped the words. “I didn’t mean to … scream. Not manly …”
Raul lifted him.
Thompson screamed again, whimpered, bit his lip.
“Sorry, sir. Broken … ribs. Didn’t realize how much … they hurt.”
Raul knew. Raul remembered the anguish every breath brought. As carefully as he could, he placed Thompson on the table.
Izba Xaviera got on one side of him, Hada on the other.
Victoria ran away.
Raul didn’t blame her. The sight of Thompson wrenched his heart. Thompson wasn’t a warrior. He was a butler. And Jean-Pierre had tortured him why?
He’d tormented Thompson just in case. Just for fun.
“Sir.” Thompson could barely breathe. “Sir, I didn’t tell him …”
Raul leaned over the table. “I know you didn’t.”
“I wanted to tell him. About the weapons in the dungeons. About the training and your plans. But I kept thinking about you, about how your father beat you when you were a lad. The way I beat you on his command. And I knew if you, a little boy, could bear it, I could.” Thompson tried to smile. His front teeth were jagged and broken.
Jean-Pierre had used the butt of his pistol on his face.
Victoria returned with a pitcher and bandages, and put them beside Izba Xaviera. “What can I do?” she asked.
Taken by the Prince Page 24
