by Gill, Tamara
He stared at her, and she could see he was trying to see if she was being honest or merely teasing him.
"I'm in earnest, Rowan," she added. "I so often have people who do what I say, no matter if the idea is worthy of proceeding with or not. No one naysays me. If you could give me opinions, not be afraid to hurt my pride, I think that would only be beneficial to those who will benefit from my charity."
A small smile turned up his lips, and her heart gave a little thump in her chest that he was honored by her request. Of course, she meant what she said, but she would also welcome the fact he would be around her a lot of the time to give opinions.
He did not want to continue their little affair, but that did not mean she could not make his distancing from her hard. In time, hopefully, when he was beyond his endurance of doing the right thing, he would come back to her, and she would be waiting for him when he did.
She pushed on through the long grass, the hem of her gown sodden. Perhaps she ought to find more projects to do if only to keep him all the closer.
* * *
On the journey back to Mayfair, Rowan sat at the back of the carriage with another guard, Malcolm he thought his name was. A beefy Scotsman who often sat behind the princess should anyone try to shoot her from behind. The Scotsman would take the hit before the princess inside the carriage.
He should have studied this job before taking it on. Had he known Princess Alessa had a heart of gold, he would never have accepted the assignment. Tonight he was off, and he would remove Piedro and Dino, who he'd seen on several occasions lurking about the park across from the London townhouse.
They were waiting, watching, and set to strike when the opportunity arose. But they would not succeed. After this evening, they would both be more corpses floating in the Thames.
He found them several hours later outside a tavern that was nestled against the Thames shoreline. The stench of rotting food thrown into the waterway making his eyes water as he strode up to the building.
Laughter and male voices floated across the air. Piedro and Dino would be here this evening. Their particular lady friend sold her services at this tavern every Thursday evening, and they were never not part of the clientele each week.
He entered the building, moving like a ghost through the crowd. He did not stand out, an outsider who did not belong, for he did belong with these people. In his life, he had been as poor as those who drank their worries away or rutted in the darkened corners like animals. He drank the stale beer like everyone else and ate the stew that often repeated on him the next day.
No one took any heed of his being there, and he settled himself at the end of the bar, ordering a beer from a bar wench with breasts that almost spilled from her tattered gown.
This was the reason he had taken the job to rid the royal princess from the world. He did not want this life. It rotted a person's soul, made them hard and cruel. He, too, had once been so—a man without honor or reflection.
Until he'd met Alessa and she had shown him that there was good in the world. That some people of wealth were trying to close the gap between the two societal levels and make it better for those less fortunate.
He knew she would not succeed. In the years ahead, long after he was dead, there would still be poverty, people who stole and killed like him to survive. That the rich would get richer and the poor poorer.
No princess from Atharia would change that fact.
Piedro and Dino stumbled into the bar. Both of them shouting out for their particular whore. Rowan watched as Piedro slunk away into an adjoining room to the bar to have his way with the woman who presented herself.
Dino sat a few chairs from Rowan, unaware of his presence and gulping down his beer as if he had not partaken in a dozen already that night. His unfocused, bloodshot eyes were proof enough that tonight's murder would take little effort.
Rowan sipped his beer, waiting for his moment to strike. He was a patient man, and he could wait all night.
Chapter 11
Alessa should not be where she was, but neither could she not have followed Rowan to find out where he was this evening. She sat in a hackney cab, having paid the driver a hefty sum and one of her guards, not Marco, to stand watch and shoot anyone who threatened them.
She wore one of her maid's gowns and no jewels, even though she had been at a ducal ball earlier this evening and had looked as regal as her sister the queen.
As much as she loved her life and all that was afforded to her due to her station, she would like nothing more than to settle in the country in Atharia. To raise babies and keep her little family all to herself as much as she could. Her sister was queen. She was more than capable of ruling the country without her help.
She kept her eyes peeled on the tavern that Rowan had entered. Her heart lurching into an uneven rhythm when her guard's flintlock clicked somewhere outside, his low, rumbling words moving a local along who stopped to gawk.
She supposed they did not get many carriages in this part of town, certainly not ones that stayed at least. Dread curdled in her stomach that Rowan may too become suspicious of the carriage and find her out. Would he be mad?
Oh yes, he would be furious that she had put her life at risk simply because she needed to know what he was about and what he was doing. If she was down here in this part of town, it was his fault. She could blame all of this on him if she thought about it.
Voices carried from the tavern door, The Wet Magpie. She sighed, not wanting to know how that name came about when two drunken men stumbled out onto the street, a large woman and man holding a batten, threatening them to not come back until they could pay.
Her heart went out to them. The poor men really did look down on their luck, what with their tattered clothing and unwashed appearance. She had brought her purse. Maybe she should give them some money to help.
Alessa debated this a moment before another man came out from the tavern. Something about the way he held himself, melding into the background and yet present, was familiar. He shifted into the shadows, and she lost sight of him, but she knew he was still there, somewhere.
Was it Rowan? Why would he be following the two unfortunates?
The two men stumbled out onto the laneway before their heads tipped toward her carriage, their interest piqued. She bit her lip, wondering why they would come toward the vehicle, with no hesitation in their steps.
Her guard warned them off, but they ignored him, continuing on.
"Aye, look what we have here," one of them said.
The click of the flintlock halted their steps, but they were close enough now that she could make out their faces. They were scarred, dirty, and so unfortunate-looking that Alessa did not know whether to feel sorry for them or afraid.
One of the men smacked the other in the chest. "Aye, that's the princess. What's she doing ere?" he said, grinning and showing a mouthful of rotten teeth.
"Making our life easier, that's what," the other stated, reaching down his side to where a large, glittering knife appeared.
"Stand down, or you'll breathe your last," her guard declared, his voice brooking no argument.
One of the men, the shortest of the two, rubbed his stubbled jaw. "I think we'll take our chances. You only have one flintlock. One shot at a time."
"And you only have one knife," a voice came from the shadows, dark and deadly in its warning. Alessa gasped, having not seen the man follow the others. He was like a ghost that haunted the London streets, a shadow that slinked and stalked people unaware.
She shivered at the thought before a blade flew through the air, lodging with a sickening thud in one of the men’s neck. A hand shot out, and another knife, one she had not seen the stranger holding at all, found its mark in the other man's chest.
Neither unfortunate men made a sound, nor did they have time to react. Alessa slapped a hand over her mouth, forcing herself not to scream.
"Go home, Your Highness. This is no place for you."
She gasped, looki
ng past the two dead men on the road to the other who stepped into the light.
Rowan!
Her mind reeled at the thought that Rowan had murdered two people without a flicker of doubt or remorse. She stared at the men, bleeding their lifeblood away on the cobbled road, and couldn't quite fathom what had happened.
"Go," she ordered, sitting back on the squabs and forcing her heart back into her chest. What had happened? Had Rowan killed two men? Of course, she knew that it was a possibility that all her guards at some point in their lives had killed another human being, but to see it acted out, so cold and calculating, was another thing entirely.
Somehow she had placed Rowan on a pedestal above such actions, and she wasn't certain she was comfortable knowing he should not be up there.
They arrived back in Mayfair a short time later. Alessa directed her guard to sneak her back into the house via the servants’ entrance. She made it to her room without Marco seeing her. A feat if ever there was one, for the man missed nothing when it came to her welfare.
She bathed and climbed into bed. Tonight she had followed Rowan to see what he was about, where he was going, and what he was doing while away from his duties here. What had transpired was not what she had thought to see.
She blamed it on a woman's vanity, needing to know if he was entertaining himself in the seedy taverns in London and with the women who plied their trade within their walls. She had not expected to see what she did.
Her mind, tired from thinking over the evening events, gave her rest, and she dozed on and off during the night. Her dreams, horrible and violent, were full of blood, faceless foes chasing her along the darkened alleys of London. Chilled air kissed her skin, and she gasped, sitting up when she spied a man at her bedside. A hand shot out and covered her mouth, muffling her scream.
"Shush, Alessa. It is me. Rowan," he said, slowly removing the pressure on her lips so she could speak again.
What would she say to him? What would she demand of him? She wanted to know everything. Why he had gone to the tavern in the first place and why he killed those men and not simply knocked them out cold. They did not deserve to die. Knowing who she was as they did, was no reason for them to receive a death sentence.
She stared at him, uncertain how to word the question she had to ask. In the end, she decided directly was best. "How could you have killed those two men this evening? Was such force necessary?"
The bed dipped as he sat beside her, and she moved back against the headboard, needing space.
"They would have raped and killed you, Alessa. Forgive me my actions, but I would never allow that to happen to you."
She stared at him, so matter-of-fact and unbothered by what had happened. She could not be so calm.
"What did you do with them? Did you leave them there? Did you bury them?" Her mind fought to understand what had occurred.
"Threw them in the Thames where they belong. Rubbish that can float out with the tide."
She felt her mouth gape before she snapped it closed. "They would not have hurt me. I was well-guarded. They merely needed money that I could have given them. Given them a chance at a better life."
He chuckled, but there was no mirth in the gesture. "They knew who you were, and they would have killed you. Why do you think I was there tonight? For the entertainment, or hearty food at The Wet Magpie?"
Alessa had been asking herself that question too the entire evening, why he was there and with whom. "Tell me then, so I do not think you a cold-blooded killer without a heart."
* * *
But that was the crux of his life. He was a cold-hearted killer without a heart. One hired to infiltrate her world to gain access to her, so she too could be killed by his hand.
He was a bastard to his very core.
"They were under instruction to kill you. There is an active threat against you in England, and they were paid to have you eliminated. You walked straight into their world and offered yourself up like a cherry on a cake. They would have killed you and thought nothing of it after the fact."
She shivered before him, and he reached down, pulling the blankets up about her waist. He ignored the sweet scent of apples that teased his senses or the fact that her breasts were all but visible from the moonlight spilling into the room. "And you knew this, and that is why you were there? To keep me safe?"
Well, he was keeping her safe now, but there had been a time when he had been one of those men, so desperate for money that he had no honor, no heart left to care.
A time before Alessa.
"I knew of their plot and had planned on killing them before your inappropriate arrival. No one saw anything, being as late as it was, and I doubt anyone would care if they did. The two men were not well-liked. Trouble and strife some called them."
Alessa reached out and placed her hand atop his. "You were there, putting your own life at risk to keep mine safe?" Her tone warmed, and some of the fear dissipated from her eyes. "I owe you an apology then. I'm sorry I followed you and that I inadvertently placed myself at more risk. I shall not do so again."
He shook his head, guilt curdling his blood. "You do not owe me an apology for anything. I'm glad that you are well, and nothing happened to you before I came outdoors." When he'd seen her in the carriage, her eyes wide and frightened at the accosting from the two men, he'd almost swallowed his tongue.
That she thought herself in the wrong made him wince. He was the one in the wrong. No matter that he was trying to right that error now, it did not change the fact that he had set out to murder an innocent woman.
How could he have agreed to such a job? Knowing Alessa as he did now, he knew he could have killed a woman who called to his own heart.
"You're a good man, Rowan. I'm lucky that you are part of my security here in England." She bit her lip, a small frown between her brows. "Would you consider coming back to Atharia with me and continuing your services there? I know I would not like to lose you."
Oh, how she tempted him, but he could not. He could not remain her guard and watch her marry and have children with another. Torture on the rack would be less painful than that.
"I'm to America when you return to Atharia, Your Highness," he said, reminding her of who she was and he was not. "I intend to make a new life there, far from England and the darkness that plagues this city."
Disappointment shadowed her eyes, but he could not relent, not even to please her. Their interlude here was as fleeting as time. She would marry someone suitable and powerful to keep her safe, and he would sail away and never look back.
Chapter 12
Alessa wasn't sure how to change Rowan's mind. If he were to travel to America, he would be so many miles away. She would never see him again. She reached out, cupping his cheek, the stubble on his jaw tickling her palm. He leaned into her touch, and her heart stuttered in her chest.
"What if I do not want to marry a prince?" she whispered. "What if I told you that my life has been full of enlightenment and fun, spontaneity and pleasure since I met you. How can I return to Atharia and marry a stodgy old prince after knowing you?"
"What of Lord Douglas? Was he not near to proposing to you last year in Atharia? He follows you about at balls and parties, hell," Rowan said, running a hand through his hair and leaving it on end. "All the men follow you about, and they should be the ones you allow to court you. Not some nobody from the slums of London. A man who hasn't a penny to his name. I have nothing to offer you. I may give you pleasure and snippets of excitement, but I cannot give you a future, Alessa. I can give you nothing."
How she hated to hear him speak in such a way as if there was no hope for them. No future. She was a princess. She had power. Her sister was a queen. If she wanted to marry a man who had no monetary value, then she would, for to her, he was priceless in so many other ways. He was the sweetest, most loyal, and honest man she knew. And he made her stomach flutter each time she looked upon him. How could she not care for him?
"I do not want anything
from you but you, Rowan. Is that not enough?"
He cringed and went to stand, but she grabbed his arm, stilling him. "Please do not leave. I want you to stay."
He shook his head, standing. "You do not know what you ask. You do not know what kind of man I am. If you did, you would never give me a chance." Rowan pulled away and started for the door, and something in his tone, the devastation, the warning, halted her need to go after him. She would give him this night, but that was all. Tomorrow she would fight for him. Make him see that there was a future for them if only he were brave enough to reach for it.
"You do not get to make my decision for me, Rowan. What I do and what I want in life is for me to decide. That applies to whom I care for and whom I do not. I do not care for the swains who waltz and bow before me at all the balls and parties. I only care about one man who stands at my back and guards me against harm. I will not cower or apologize for what I feel for you, no matter how much you may think yourself unworthy or do not feel the same for me."
He flinched at her words, the knuckles on his hand gripping the door handle turning white. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but I cannot give you what you want." He stormed from the room, careless as to who may be outside her door, keeping guard.
No sounds or raised voices came from the hall, and she could only suppose he had chosen an opportune time to steal into her room and exit again, possibly when Marco was checking the exterior or grabbing a bite to eat, which often helped him keep awake at this late hour.
She slid down into the bedding, pulling up the blankets, and stared at the wall. Whatever was she going to do with Rowan? He was so very determined to keep her at arm's length. And that would never do.
She did not want to stay away from him. She could talk her sisters around to adoring him as much as she did. She was sure of it. As for Rowan, well, he may take a little more persuasion, but she had all Season, and that had only just begun.
