Sins of a Wicked Princess (Sinner's Trio)

by Randol, Anna

  Chapter Fifteen

  When Glavenstroke entered his office, Ian motioned for him to take a seat.

  Glavenstroke glared. “Get out from behind my desk.”

  Ian took a sip of the man’s brandy. Truly, the man had good taste in spirits. “Now, now. I’m just enjoying your hospitality.”

  “Do you know how much that last bottle of brandy you stole was worth?”

  “No, but it was delicious.”

  After a moment of indecision, Glavenstroke sat. “Why are you here?”

  “What interest does the Foreign Office have in a Lenorian royal family?”

  Glavenstroke frowned. “Why should I give you any information?”

  “Because the information I bestowed upon you about the Jacobites last month has proven invaluable and you want to keep receiving such juicy morsels?”

  “The Foreign Office has no interest in Lenorian royals. They are, in effect, nonexistent on the political map.”

  “Then why assign Berkley to watch them?”

  Glavenstroke tipped his head. “I haven’t worked with Berkley in years.”

  “Who does he normally report to?”

  “Now, that information is—”

  “It’s Sommet, isn’t it?”

  After a pause, Glavenstroke nodded. “What is your interest in the duke?”

  Ian set down his glass. “Why? What is your interest?”

  Glavenstroke rubbed the back of his neck, then stood, looked out into the corridor, and shut the door. “This doesn’t leave this office.”

  Ian placed his hand over his heart.

  Glavenstroke paced to the window and shut it as well before speaking. “We have . . . suspicions.”

  “Oh no. Not suspicions.” But despite Ian’s mockery, he was rather surprised. Sommet was far more powerful in the Foreign Office than Glavenstroke. This was akin to mutiny.

  “We have noticed some . . . abnormalities about certain missions he has assigned. Outcomes that may have been different from what he reported. Missions run without following the proper protocols.”

  “I think he might be responsible for betraying the Trio to our enemies.”

  Glavenstroke nodded slowly. “I wouldn’t put it past him. Why?”

  “I have no idea yet, but I’ll be visiting him soon to find out. Anything in particular you’d like me to bring home?”

  “You aren’t authorized to approach Sommet.”

  “You don’t get to authorize me to do anything anymore, remember?”

  Glavenstroke folded his arms. “I already have someone working on it. I don’t need you mucking things up.”

  “I never muck things up. My missions are as smooth as butter on toast.”

  Glavenstroke remained silent.

  Ian shrugged. “I’m going. I thought I’d do you the favor of letting you know. I’m not asking for permission.”

  “Won’t Sommet recognize you?”

  Ian lifted his glass of brandy. “We’ve never officially met. He’s only ever spoken to Clayton.”

  “How do you plan to get to him? He lives in a castle.”

  Ian trusted Glavenstroke, but only so far. “That’s my own business.”

  Glavenstroke pressed his fingertips together. “While the Foreign Office has no interest in Lenoria, the duke seems to. You know of the country, right?”

  Ian paused, mid-sip. “You could say that.” He had toppled it. What game was Glavenstroke playing? But Ian couldn’t spot any unusual undertones in his words.

  “I might be interested in any financial ties linking the duke to Lenoria.”

  “Done.” Ian stood.

  Glavenstroke hurriedly reclaimed his chair as if afraid Ian would depose him again. He moved the brandy bottle out of Ian’s reach. “If anything goes wrong, you will not be able to claim any connection to the Foreign Office. I cannot rescue you from the gallows a second time.”

  Ian was used to being on his own. “Just for the record, Glaves, I never needed your rescue the first time.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  “So this might be our last night together, Princess. Try not to shed too many bitter tears.”

  Excitement shivered down Juliana’s spine. Finally. He was here. She’d invented a reason to go down into the stables earlier, but had been unable to catch a glimpse of him. “That is ridiculous. You’ll be with me at the house party.”

  Ian walked toward her. The scar of his right cheek darkened by the shadows. She wanted to lift her hand to it. To trace it with her mouth. If this was her last night with him, couldn’t she at least have a small taste to keep with her when she was married to Prince Toadface?

  How did she go about arranging that? Could one ask for a kiss?

  “There we’ll go our own way. You’ll have your mission. I will have mine. I might not find time to slip into your room late at night.”

  “But you might?” She stood and placed her hand on his cheek, letting her index finger trace the indentation. He felt so warm. So right.

  His cheek lifted as he smiled under her hand. “Perhaps we should be very clear what you’re offering here, Jules.”

  “I—” Her daring failed. No wonder she hadn’t managed to land a husband. Here she was with the man she yearned for, and she couldn’t manage anything more scandalous than touching his cheek.

  “I thought as much.” Ian stepped out of reach.

  She glared at him. She might not be seductive, but annoyed was an expression she could do quite well. “What do you think?”

  “It’s one thing to fantasize about the hired help, but it’s quite another to take that next step.”

  For an instant, she could clearly see herself rising up on tiptoe and placing her lips on his. She’d taste the shock on his mouth. Feel it in the sudden tension in his shoulders.

  But she couldn’t. Not when she needed to marry another man. She was a princess, and one thing she’d excelled at from birth was self-denial. She held still when she wanted to fidget. She wore a crown when it made her head hurt. She didn’t go to the town festival. She didn’t play with the servants’ children.

  And she couldn’t kiss the man she desired. “It wouldn’t be fair.”

  She thought disappointment had flashed over Ian’s face, but it was probably her imagination since his grin hadn’t faltered. “Exactly. Many women never recover from my kisses.”

  “I was thinking it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

  “Had a lot of experience kissing then?”

  She worked on keeping her face smooth. “Perhaps.”

  Ian’s gaze snapped wider. “Oh very, very good delivery. But have you?”

  Ha! She’d done it! And was that a hint of jealousy in his voice?

  “Your gloating gives you away.” Suddenly his arm wrapped around her waist, drawing her against him. Every inch of her from her breasts to thighs, nestled against his hard body. “I’ll bet you’ve never been kissed.”

  “Seven times. And by dashing princes, too.” Seven. Was that a high number? It had sounded high in her head, but when the number emerged, she feared he’d think it was rather small.

  “How do princes kiss?”

  Why did he have to smell so good? Like fresh baked bread and ginger tea this time. “Very well. Why do you think women are always falling all over themselves around them?”

  His forehead wrinkled just slightly. “How many men have actually kissed you?”

  She was careful not to crow this time and only lifted a brow.

  “I can find out the truth.” His hand slid down until it cupped the curve of her bottom.

  “By gutting me?” she croaked.

  His fingers tightened on her in a shocking manner. “Not nearly as fun.”

  And his mouth was on hers. His lips gently nipped. Each caress intoxicating.

  The tension she’d been carrying evaporated so quickly that she swayed, or would have, if Ian hadn’t been holding her so tightly.

  All she knew was that she had to get closer. She shifte
d against him and the sensations spiraling through her heightened tenfold.

  Ian’s tongue traced the seam of her mouth and she gasped.

  He muttered something suspiciously close to Knew it, before his tongue slipped past her lips and into her mouth.

  Heavens, was this a normal kiss? There was something so earthy and primal and wonderful. When she’d imagined kisses, she’d never thought much past the brief pressing of lips.

  No wonder the women Ian kissed never recovered.

  Well, those harpies didn’t have him now. Juliana threaded her fingers through his hair. He was hers. At least for this instant.

  His hand dipped lower on her bottom, lifting her onto her toes and pulling her more tightly to him. She couldn’t help arching against him.

  She froze as her hips found the evidence of his arousal.

  For a moment, his eyes met hers and she could see everything in them. Passion. Desire. Affection. Vulnerability.

  But then they shuttered, only his normal amused smirk evident. “An honorable man would put you down now.” He shifted his hips against her, sending a sharp stab of pleasure searing through her insides. “You’ll notice I’m still holding you.” He ran his thumb over her swollen lips.

  Did he expect her to demand to be released? Perhaps he did. Perhaps his honor wasn’t as absent as he claimed. What would he do if she didn’t let him escape? “And you’ll notice I’m not complaining.” She flicked her tongue over the end of his thumb.

  He stared at his thumb as if he’d never seen it before. “Why the devil not?”

  “Because I’m not afraid of you.”

  He laughed and set her away. “And to think I’d given you high marks for intelligence.”

  He had pushed her away.

  His eyes narrowed. “Why are you smiling?”

  She shrugged. “I’m simply excited to begin the night’s lesson. What did you say it was?”

  “I didn’t.” He reached for a pot of tea that sat on her dressing table.

  “It’s cold,” she warned.

  “It’s edible. I learned long ago not to pass up food. Or tea for that matter. Never know if there’s going to be any later.” He poured himself a cup and added three heaping scoops of sugar.

  “Did you often go hungry?”

  “I grew up on the streets. If I’d eaten once that day, it was a good day.”

  “But surely once you were spy—”

  “There were days when we hunted rats to keep from starving.” He sipped the tea. “Once, near Kiev, we had to pick undigested oats out of horse manure to stay alive.”

  He was trying to shock her again. Push her away. But it didn’t work. “Once at a house party in Kent, they only served three courses at dinner.”

  He choked.

  “So what is my mission for tonight?”

  He gulped down the rest of his tea, then set down the cup. “You’ll walk down to the kitchen and get a plate of biscuits.”

  “That’s all?” True, she’d never actually set foot in the kitchen, but she knew where it was.

  He shrugged. “Yes. Did you want it more difficult?”

  “Are you certain this isn’t just a way for you to get biscuits?”

  His expression was far too innocent. “Merely an added reward.”

  “Fine.” She pulled her wrapper more tightly around her and strode to the door.

  Ian followed.

  “You’re coming as well?”

  He nodded.

  “How will I explain—ah.” Perhaps this would be a trifle more difficult than she’d anticipated. “What do I say if I see someone?”

  “That you cannot bring yourself to be out of my presence?”

  If only she dared.

  “You don’t speak at all,” Ian amended. “You’re a princess. You don’t need to explain yourself.”

  Right. She was a princess. This was her home. She could walk to the kitchen and pick up a plate of biscuits if she chose.

  She straightened her shoulders again and stepped into the corridor. It suddenly occurred to her that she couldn’t remember the last time that she’d walked out of her room dressed so informally. When she was a girl? Certainly not since she’d been in London.

  What would the servants think? Or, heaven forbid, one of her aunts?

  And why hadn’t she checked her appearance in the mirror before she left? Did it look like she’d been engaged in carnal activities?

  When she saw a shadow approaching, she scrambled into the nearby guest room. Ian thankfully followed.

  “What happened to striding by, not explaining yourself?”

  Her heart pounded against her ribs. This was ridiculous. She thought she could steal something from one of the most horrid men in Britain, and yet she couldn’t even walk through her own house without panic. “I was surprised, that is all. It won’t happen again.”

  Ian motioned for her to leave the room.

  But she did peek at herself in the mirror before she—

  “You were going to let me walk into the kitchen looking like this?”

  Ian’s smirk was wolfish. “I rather like that look, especially your swollen lips.”

  “You are a cad.” But it was hard to be truly angry at him when he was looking at her like he wanted to kiss her all over again.

  She struggled with her hair for several moments before Ian appeared behind her in the mirror. With a few deft twists, her hair was perfectly coiffed.

  “How did you learn to do that?”

  “Doing women’s hair is not much different than tying a good knot.”

  “What do I do about my lips?”

  “Don’t kiss unscrupulous men in your bedroom?” But again he relented, his fingertip grazing her cheek. “The swelling is already fading. It isn’t noticeable to anyone who doesn’t know to look for it.”

  “Shall we go?” she asked. Except she was the one who was delaying, and they both knew it. “Fine.” She threw open the door and stared right into the surprised face of her aunt Eustace.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Of all the aunts Juliana could have run into, it had to be Eustace.

  Her aunt’s eyes widened. “Whatever are you doing wandering the corridors in your nightclothes?”

  This wasn’t a situation where she’d be able to saunter past without speaking. “It is really quite simple. We were discussing moving the furniture about to make room for some things.”

  “This late at night?” Eustace’s eyebrows inched toward her hairline. “Who is we?”

  She’d kill Ian for this. “This—”

  Ian was gone.

  Bless him. The man was a saint. She’d get him a dozen plates of cookies.

  “The housekeeper and I this morning. I simply couldn’t sleep because I didn’t think the bureau would fit on the north wall.”

  Eustace frowned slightly but seemed to accept her answer.

  Juliana knew Eustace the least well of all her aunts. She was always away at the hospital or her other charitable endeavors. And truth be told, Juliana was slightly frightened of her. She’d always been stern and solemn. “I have found out some information on Wilhelm for you. If you seem knowledgeable in his areas of interest, it will go a long way to helping you win him.”

  When had she become such a lost cause that all her aunts felt the need to take her under their wing? Juliana shuddered to think what Constantina’s advice would be.

  “Shall we meet in the morning to discuss it?”

  Eustace nodded, then paused. “Is there another reason you couldn’t sleep?”

  Her lips must still be swollen. Juliana scrambled to invent a story that involved her lips being burned while sipping hot soup, but Eustace spoke first.

  “I’m sorry you won’t be given the chance to follow your heart when it comes to choosing a husband.” She gripped the locket at her neck that held the picture of her husband. “Truly I am.”

  Juliana expected a but to follow. And an explanation of why she had to do her duty regard
less, but Eustace gave her a quick hug, then glided away.

  Juliana had to blink several times before the burning in her eyes faded. She had to get those papers back. She had to get her country back.

  She turned and walked downstairs. Ian could choose to come or not. It didn’t matter. She would do this. She passed two footmen and didn’t even flinch. She asked a rather astonished scullery maid for two plates of biscuits without a single explanation.

  Three minutes later she had two plates of flaky, sweet biscuits.

  She’d done it.

  She turned away from the kitchen to find Ian inches behind her. He wasn’t smiling as she’d anticipated, instead he was watching. Slowly, she shifted the plates to one hand, then lifted one of the treats and took a large bite.

  He jerked his head to indicate that she should follow.

  No one had ever jerked his head at her before.

  He didn’t even check to see if she obeyed.

  He opened a door a few minutes later and ushered her inside.

  She cursed his choice of rooms. “Aren’t we going back to my bedroom?”

  “Not a chance in hell,” he muttered. He glanced around. “I thought this was a parlor.”

  The smell of paint and turpentine permeated the large room. “It is temporarily a painting studio.”

  “For what?” Ian approached the cloth-covered canvas.

  She tossed the plates on a table and grabbed his hand before he could remove the covering. “Just a silly picture.”

  His brows rose. Drat. Now she’d sparked his interest.

  “That you don’t want me to see?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Because she couldn’t stand the thought of him comparing her to it and finding her lacking. She also didn’t want him to be amused by the fact that Dupre thought he had to paint her more attractive so a man would be interested in her. “It’s of me.”

  “Are you naked? Then I definitely have to see.” With a quick maneuver, he detached her hand from his and yanked the cloth free.

  Juliana spun away and paced to the window. She knew what he’d be seeing. Some woman that vaguely resembled her sitting in a forest glade. Her dark hair loose from the wind. Perfect rosy skin. A bosom much more lush than reality.