by Julie Miller
“Ellie.” He tested the word on his tongue. The name suited her. Soft. Quietly elegant. Not an exotic, sophisticated concoction like Lucia Carradigne.
Because he wore scandal like a second skin, he let his gaze linger on the peach and porcelain wonder of her breast, and wished its mate had popped free, as well. But because his stint in the Royal Korosolan Army had taught him a few things about honor, he lifted his gaze to hers and tried not to look like the ogre she probably thought him to be.
He’d release her slowly, he decided, still remembering the need to protect himself from her surprise attacks. Very slowly.
He freed her arm and pulled his hand down along her body. Her eyes widened to panicked pools and she snatched at his wrist. Okay, so maybe he’d hovered a bit too long above that tempting mound. But he wouldn’t touch her that way without her permission. Cade had never forced a woman to do anything she didn’t want to.
Even the one he’d kidnapped.
He let her hold him off and looked into her eyes until he saw a glimmer of trust there. Only then did he move again. He reached for the end of the blanket that lay beneath them and pulled it up, covering her exposed breast. He nearly smiled at the gratitude that flooded her eyes. The transformation from fear to thanks washed her pale features in a warm, pretty color, and Cade was suddenly supremely glad that he wasn’t a complete jerk. A man like Jerome Smython would never get to witness such a beautiful, shy smile.
He propped himself up a little further on his elbows and let her use both arms to tuck the blanket in a demure shield around her neck. Her unadorned lips parted in a silent thank-you.
An unfamiliar emotion, somewhere between curiosity and lust, made him want to kiss her. He wondered if she’d freak if he just touched his lips to hers. She’d had the temerity to attack him even though he was stronger, bigger and free to move around. She’d had the guts to damn him to his face and hadn’t surrendered to anything more than her own modesty.
Maybe just one kiss. Something gentle. An apology of sorts for ruining the damn dress. “I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he whispered. “But you didn’t leave me much choice.” He moved closer by degrees, watching her lips tremble, her eyes blanch, her lips again as they came together in acceptance, if not invitation. “You’re really something, aren’t you.”
He was close enough to feel her breath mingling with his. She was so sweet. So tempting. So—
“Ellie?”
Cade froze. Recognition kicked in a moment too soon to sample her softness. Absolute, stunned surprise swept the fog of desire clear of his brain.
“Ellie Standish? King Easton’s private secretary?”
She nodded.
He scrambled off her, his body protesting the speed of his movements as he pushed to his feet and stalked to the farthest corner of the basement. He raked his fingers through his hair and swore at his stupid luck. He spun around and looked at her again, not believing with his eyes and body what his mind was trying to tell him.
She had rolled up to a sitting position and was trying, with awkward success, to stand up while holding the gaping front of her dress closed in one hand and the blanket tight around her neck with the other. Her billowing skirt and ankle chain didn’t help her coordination.
He didn’t move to assist her. “What the hell are you doing here?”
She slid him a glare of pure hatred. Dumb question. He deserved that one.
“I thought you looked familiar, but I couldn’t…” He couldn’t equate the image of the Eleanor Standish who’d accompanied King Easton on embassy visits and private and political functions with this soft, voluptuous beauty. Even dressed up for CeCe Carradigne’s wedding, she’d blended in with the furniture.
She’d been quiet and unassuming. Hidden those unique eyes behind thick glasses and a downturned face. Frumpy, colorless clothes had masked that curvy figure like baggy camouflage.
“You’re Ellie Standish.”
She tilted her chin. “You can stop repeating yourself now.” She tossed her head, trying to shake a lock of hair out of her eyes, but the golden-brown curl wouldn’t cooperate. She turned her back to him, released her grip on something and tucked the hair behind her ear before re-cinching her wool-and-silk armor and facing him again. “I don’t suppose knowing my name will get me out of this prison any faster?”
She already knew the answer so Cade didn’t respond.
Disgusted with himself for having a passing interest—no, for being way too interested—in kissing her, Cade sought out and found both his stocking cap and the handle to the lantern. He stuck the latter into a pocket and pulled the cap back onto his head. He didn’t roll it down over his face yet. He wanted her to see his expression, to understand the seriousness of what he was about to say.
“I’m sorry you got mixed up in all this. But I can’t—” He broke off. How could he explain everything he had to deal with right now? How could he warn her away or promise to keep her safe when he didn’t even know who had wanted to use Princess Lucia in the first place? “I don’t want you to get hurt. But you have to understand I have a job to do.”
“How much money do they get for princesses nowadays?” The vulnerable edge to her sarcasm made him feel about two feet tall.
But then, he was Bretford St. John’s boy. He was used to feeling shame.
“You have to keep your identity a secret from the others. These are dangerous men I’m working with. They’re interested in money and themselves. And not necessarily in that order. They won’t think twice about killing someone who’s deceived them, even if it’s their mistake.”
“I’ll bet Paulo Giovanni didn’t deceive anyone. What excuse did they use for killing him?”
None.
He let that guilty wound fester a bit before answering. “They don’t need an excuse. That’s the point.”
Instead of crying or cowering or begging for help, she walked toward him. The ominous dragging of the chain behind her gave him a morbid flashback to an old Christmas story and ghosts from his past coming back to haunt him.
Dammit. Didn’t she have the sense to get scared?
He stood a good six or seven inches taller than Ellie, but the way she tilted her chin and walked right up to him made him think she had the advantage over him, not vice versa.
Cade braced himself, refusing to be swayed by her righteous plea. “What are they paying you for selling out King Easton? He’s a good man. A fair ruler and a generous human being. He loves his granddaughters. I can’t imagine what he’d do to anyone who tried to hurt them.”
Cade could imagine. A man whose loved ones had been threatened, especially a man with Easton’s financial power and political influence, would make a dangerous opponent. It wasn’t a risk he’d want to face.
“What about you?” Instead of defending himself, Cade turned the question back on her. “Easton must know we don’t have his real granddaughter. Do you think he’ll pull out all the stops to get his secretary back?”
“I don’t know.” Her pious defense of Easton weakened and she bowed her head. “Are you worried about not getting your money?”
“I’m worried—” Cade clamped his mouth shut, feeling an unfamiliar stirring in his chest. It had nothing to do with business. Nothing to do with the beautiful breast that had given him such lusty thoughts. He wanted to comfort her. He wanted her to hold her head up and flash that timid smile that transformed the inconspicuous secretary into a regal beauty.
But he didn’t know how to make that happen. Short of setting her free. And he couldn’t do that. Not yet.
Instead of freedom, instead of comfort, he offered her some practical advice. “You’re not going to try to escape again, are you?”
“I won’t make any guarantees.”
Hardly the dutiful no he’d expected to hear. “Ellie, listen—”
“Hey, Sinjun! What’s taking so long?” The door at the top of the stairs swung open, and the stench of cigarette smoke preceded Jerome down the stairs. “I sai
d see to her needs, not take care of your own.”
Cade covered his face and moved away from Ellie before Jerome reached the basement and ground out his cigarette on the floor. “The princess was concerned about her safety,” he explained.
“Relax, Your Highness. We’ll keep you safe.” Jerome went over to Ellie. “I’ll personally guard your body, if you want me to.”
He stroked Ellie’s cheek with the back of his grubby fingers. She smacked his hand away, marched over to the stool and sat, saving Cade from acting on the impulse to pry Jerome’s touchy-feely hands from the end of his arm.
He’d promised himself to keep Ellie safe, but he couldn’t cross the line and betray his own goals on this job.
Fortunately Jerome laughed off the rejection and headed for the stairs. “It’s gonna be an awful long three days if you don’t start acting friendly with the peons, princess.”
“Three days?”
“Now, now, sugar. Nothing’s going to happen to you. As long as you keep our identities a secret and can’t put a name and a face together, you’ll be free to go. That’s a personal promise.” Ellie turned away at his use of “personal,” and huddled inside the blanket. Jerome’s mask stretched as he yawned. Apparently he was too tired to pursue his offer of protection right now. He switched his focus to Cade. “You’ll keep first watch, then? Wake Lenny at 0700 hours to relieve you.”
“Got it.”
After Jerome left, Cade stayed where he was. Maybe he should say something about that almost-kiss. Tell her why he’d wanted to. Tell her why he hadn’t. Ask her how a quiet plain Jane could get him so worked up so fast.
But he didn’t say anything. He stared at her back for a minute or more, then decided he should leave the whole topic well enough alone. He couldn’t worry about her feelings right now. Hell, if she was a woman who’d had some experience with men, they could both chalk it up to just base animal attraction. They could acknowledge it was there and move on.
But Cade had a feeling Ellie Standish knew very little about adult physical interaction. Her next words reaffirmed his hunch about her naiveté.
“Three days to pretend I’m a princess.” Her heavy sigh rippled all the way down the blanket to the floor. “And you know what’s most frustrating about all this? I got dressed up to play the part, but I never got a chance to dance at the ball.”
Cade didn’t believe in fairy tales the way she did. But his guilt—and admiration for her brave, hopeful spirit—made him reach into the pocket on the side of his right pant leg and cross the room to join her. “It’s no glass slipper. But here.”
She stood and put some distance between them before accepting his gift. Her glasses. “Lose the contacts and give your eyes a rest. You’ll need your sleep.”
She clung to them as if he’d handed her her freedom. “Thank you, Cade.”
He took little pride in her pleasure. “Don’t confuse me with Prince Charming, Ellie. By midnight Monday, you won’t be thanking me.”
Her bright blue gaze shot up to his. After Jerome’s threat, he knew exactly what she was thinking.
She’d seen his face and knew his name.
Cadence St. John, Duke of Raleigh.
Princess or not, come midnight Monday, he’d be expected to kill her.
Chapter Four
“Today, Princess?”
Ellie ignored Lenny’s prompt from the other side of the wooden door and tied the ankle drawstring of the tan army pants she’d changed into.
Never in a million years would she have expected she’d have the desire to linger in an outhouse. But despite the bottomless pit of stinky mystery stuff behind her, she was making the most of the opportunity to enjoy some privacy without worrying about one of her captors paying her a visit.
Pretending to be someone else turned out to be a surprisingly wearing occupation. Always thinking about how she should look and act. Working up the nerve to speak her mind and make demands when the real Ellie would have sat back and evaluated all her options before saying or doing anything. Trying to figure out what anyone would want in exchange for her. Fearing what Cade had told her—that she’d be a dead woman if Lenny and Jerome found out she wasn’t Lucia.
She sank onto the wooden bench beside the hole, feeling light-headed and helpless. She leaned forward and rested her head between her knees, fighting the sensations of a world spinning beyond her control.
How could she not be a dead woman? Cade St. John knew who she really was. While she didn’t think King Easton would sacrifice her intentionally, mightn’t he or the people who worked with him let it slip that Lucia Carradigne was safely tucked away in a private bungalow somewhere on her honeymoon, and that the woman they were negotiating for was an impostor?
Ellie braced her hands on her knees and pushed herself into an upright position.
She had to find a way out of this. On her own. Now.
Her escape attempt last night had been born out of fear and desperation. She’d been foolish to think she could overpower any of these men. This morning, she was smarter. She knew more about her situation and could make some reasonable decisions. She could better plan her chance at survival.
She reached for the canvas camo shirt that hung from a peg and continued dressing. The men were already showing more trust in her by freeing her to come outside to use the facilities this morning. Maybe it was nothing more than an act of pity, but they’d also given her a set of clean men’s clothes and told her to throw the ruined red dress on the fire where Jerome was heating water for a shave.
The morning sun had hurt her eyes at first, but in the shade of the giant white oaks surrounding the house, the air was cool. A clean cool, not like the moist, heavy air of the basement. It was the kind of clear spring day that reminded her of her home in Korosol.
Thoughts of home inspired her creativity. Strengthened her resolve to be free again.
And made her wonder why fellow Korosolan native Cade St. John, who had flown to America in the very same plane as she and King Easton had, would commit such a heinous crime.
His small acts of kindness—bringing her fresh water, returning her glasses, covering her exposed body—didn’t fit with her image of a traitor. Of course, she’d never known a man who’d sold out his king for personal profit before. She hadn’t known many men, period.
And perhaps that was the thing that disturbed her the most. Not fear for her life, though the threat to it was real and omnipresent. Not her quest for adventure that had turned into a nightmare, instead of a dream come true.
It was her fascination with Cade St. John. The tall, dark, sexy man was her jailor. A conspirator against her beloved king. Her enemy. Yet she was drawn to him like Eve to the forbidden fruit. Confused, yet captivated by the things he made her think and feel. That was what truly frightened her.
Her fingers slowed as she fastened the buttons over her strapless bra and remembered the way he had looked at her naked breast. She’d been afraid at first, embarrassed that she lay there so completely vulnerable to him. But she’d seen something in his eyes that moved her past her fears. Hunger. An intense, intimate awareness that matched her own curious need. His indigo irises had darkened to midnight and she’d felt an answering tingle in the tip of her breast. A sparkling of tiny stars reaching out toward the night sky of his eyes.
A sharp, unexpected pressure pooled between her legs even now just thinking about that prickly feeling—one that had opened every pore in her skin as an overwhelming heat had sought a way to escape her body. She’d never been so close to a man before, never known the synchronous wonder of male angles fitting against female curves. She’d never known how her skin could burn with want for a simple touch.
Ellie squeezed her eyes shut and fought to regain control of her body’s treacherous responses—the shallow breaths, the achy heaviness, the quickening pulse.
“Now who’s the traitor?” She chided herself in a whisper, wishing her stern mother or overprotective father or brother were here to sha
ke a finger at her for being so foolish. But there was no one to tell her what to do, no set of rules she could follow when it came to getting a dangerously wrong man out of her system.
With a sigh of shame and longing, Ellie braided her hair and finished dressing. Like the pants, the shirt was sized for a man, but she rolled the sleeves and pulled the collar up around her chin.
“Oh, no,” she muttered.
It smelled like him.
These were Cade’s clothes.
She dipped her nose to the canvas neckline and inhaled the tantalizing combination of soap and spice.
God help her. She needed to get out of here before she developed some sort of psychological disorder and became completely enamored with a man who was willing to barter with her life.
“I’ll give you two minutes to come out, Princess. Then I’m coming in.” Lenny’s warning spurred her into quicker, focused action.
As she tied the borrowed size-ten running shoes onto her feet, she formulated her best two-minute plan.
In her stroll from the house to the outdoor facility, she’d made several observations. Only one man guarded her at any time. They rotated shifts, one resting, one patrolling the house and grounds, one staying with her.
She had no map, but she’d studied the direction of the house and the position of the sun. The gravel road in front of the house ran north-south. That meant civilization or a crossroads would lie in one of those directions. Beyond the immediate area cleared to accommodate the house, she was in the middle of a forest of oak, pine and maple trees. Away from the road, the growth was too thick to drive a vehicle through. Anyone following her would have to pursue her on foot.
She could lose them in the woods, follow a path parallel to the road and end up…somewhere. Anywhere but here.
The trick was, of course, breaking away from one of the men and getting enough of a head start to make it into the woods in the first place.
Ellie stood. She took a deep, steadying breath and smoothed her sweaty palms down her hips.
