by Randol, Anna
Hell, he’d always known he wasn’t worthy, but this?
Ian was suddenly sick of the game. Of Sommet and his cruelty and deception. “I should kill you.”
“But you won’t because your princess would know it was you. Then she’d never be able to look at you again.”
And he was right. Not only because it would horrify her, but because it would prove him no better than the thug he feared himself to be.
For the first time in his life, Ian wasn’t happy with that title. He didn’t want to be a common criminal. He wanted to be the man who could walk at Juliana’s side. Claim her for all the world to see.
Not that she’d ever have him.
Sommet tipped his head. “And that will be Mullins returning.”
Damnation. He’d been played like a two-penny marionette. Ian scrambled to the window like a common thief, grateful he’d at least been smart enough to prepare for a quick exit. He grabbed the rope and slid down, breaking into a run as soon as his feet touched the ground.
“After him!” Sommet shouted to the startled footman below the window.
But while Ian’s thoughts were muddled, his instincts still served him well.
He dodged the younger man’s awkward grab, then easily outran him.
He could hear sounds of a search behind him as other footmen joined the first. But Ian circled and backtracked through gravel, brush, even a fountain or two until he was certain they could no longer track him.
He finally settled in the branches of an oak. The castle was only a collection of glowing dots in the distance. But even from here, he knew which window was Juliana’s.
He watched that window long past when his legs had begun to cramp and his shoulder burned like a red-hot poker had been jammed all the way to the bone.
If he was smart, he’d continue on. He’d just keep walking. Minimize his losses.
Be the one to leave first.
Never let Juliana hear of any of this.
Not be there to see Juliana’s face when she learned the truth.
But then he’d never been that smart.
And he’d bloody well never been in love before, either.
Sommet had posted guards under Juliana’s window. Devious man.
So Ian made his way around, searching for another open window.
Gregory’s was open, so after waiting for the footman to pass, he let himself in.
“I had suspicions you might return, sir.” Canterbury rose from a chair by the fireplace, where he sat mending stockings, and offered Ian a plate of bread and cheese.
“You left the window open for me, old man?”
“If you chose to use it, sir.”
“Barring the window would have been wiser.”
“I thought you might not need the challenge tonight, sir.”
“A locked window isn’t a challenge.”
“As you say, sir.”
Gregory was still asleep, but other than that, Canterbury was alone. The stockings and a half-finished hat were his only company.
“Where is the fair Eustace, Canterbury?”
“It is eleven, sir. I said I would watch Prince Gregory while she slept.”
“Considerate as always. But I was hoping to ask her to bind my shoulder.”
Canterbury frowned. “What is wrong with your shoulder?”
“A bullet passed through it.”
Canterbury sat back down. “Ah, how bad is it, sir?”
“Not mortal. The bullet just grazed the flesh on the outside of my shoulder. It is in the devil of a place to bind properly on my own.”
Canterbury stood. “I will help you, sir.”
“You would be at my feet unconscious before I removed my shirt.”
His brows drew down. “No, sir.” He retrieved a bag over by Gregory’s bed. “Princess Eustace has bandaging material, I believe.” He pulled out several neatly rolled bundles of linen. “Remove your jacket, sir.”
His butler was insane if he thought he could do this. “I appreciate your desire to help, but I can manage.”
“No, sir, I will help.”
Ian removed his jacket, and as he expected, Canterbury’s skin paled as white as the prince’s sheet. “You can’t even stand the blood on my shirt.”
“I am determined, sir.”
“What does being determined get you, old man?”
“I cleaned the room after your mother’s death, sir.”
Ian froze. He’d never considered who’d been left with that task. They hadn’t had any maids left by then.
Only Canterbury.
“You saw to her burial, too, didn’t you?” And all the other details that Ian had never considered as a child.
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you know why she—” Ian could barely form the words. They seemed to belong to a seven-year-old boy. “Why did she do it? Did she leave a note? Did you have suspicions?”
Canterbury walked to Ian’s side. He motioned for Ian to sit, then helped him remove his shirt.
Canterbury’s lips were in a tight line, but he remained conscious. “It wasn’t the first time she attempted it, sir.”
“What?” That wasn’t what Ian had anticipated. “I don’t remember that.”
“You were a child. Your parents kept the truth from you.”
It seemed like a sick topic of discussion but he suddenly had to know. “When? When did she try?”
“Several years before your father passed away.”
“She tried to commit suicide while my father was still alive? While she still had the house? The servants?”
Canterbury’s hands were clammy but steady. “Yes, sir.”
Ian stared at the toes of Canterbury’s impeccably polished shoes as the implications crashed over him. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been enough. His father. Wealth. Security. Those hadn’t been enough for her, either. The guilt he’d carried slowly crumbled. He hadn’t been lacking.
She’d been ill.
He winced as Canterbury secured the bandage.
“Why did you come after me all those years ago? Why did you leave the window open for me tonight?”
Canterbury picked up Ian’s bloody shirt and threw it into the fireplace. Only after he had disposed of it did he sink into his chair as if his legs could no longer support him. “Because you were a good lad, sir.”
“Too bad that didn’t last.”
“No, sir, now you are the finest of men.”
That might be stretching things, but from now on, he’d do his best to ensure Juliana and Canterbury thought so.
Chapter Thirty-four
When a man loomed over her bed, Juliana attacked. She wouldn’t be murdered in her bed by one of Sommet’s goons. And she screamed at the same time, too. Like a madwoman.
She’d been feeling the fool after she’d failed to scream when Ian had appeared that first night. She wouldn’t make that mistake again.
Her palm connected with a man’s nose. He stumbled back, clutching his face. “Bloody hell, Jules. Good thing I didn’t teach you to fire a pistol.”
“Ian.” She scrambled out from under the covers. “Did I break your nose?”
He gingerly pressed the sides. “I don’t think so, but I’m about to start dripping blood all over the duke’s fine carpet.” He swore and then dropped flat on the floor behind her bed as the door to her dressing room opened.
Apple ran in, a candle flickering in one hand and a heavy brass candlestick in the other. “What is wrong, Your Highness?”
Ian stood, cursing again.
Apple stared at him in shock. “Why’d you come back?”
Juliana wanted to know the same thing.
Ian shrugged. “The job isn’t done.”
Her maid scowled. “But the duke—”
There was a knock. “Juliana? Are you well? I thought I heard a scream.”
Apple hurried to the door. She opened it as Ian again dropped to the floor. “It was simply a bad dream, Your Highness.”
Eustace peered in, r
elaxing when she saw Juliana. “Would you like one of my tinctures?”
Apple tried to block her view. “As you can see, all is well.”
Juliana didn’t want her aunt to find Ian, either. “No, I’m fine,” she called out.
But now Eustace was suspicious and she brushed past Apple in true royal style. She circled the room.
An excuse was on Juliana’s tongue, but Eustace walked right past the bed without pause. Finally, she stopped by Juliana. “Will you tell me what is truly going on?”
Juliana shook her head. “I have taken care of it.” It felt amazing to say that. Now she just had to hope that the letter she’d sent with the courier reached the prince regent in time.
Eustace looked as if she was going to speak, but then sighed. “Good.” She bid Juliana good night and then left the room.
Apple turned to Juliana. “I’ll go check on the linens I asked to be laundered. And make sure no one else heard your scream.” She paused before leaving. “He’s under the bed, you know.”
“What?” Juliana asked.
“You looked confused about where he’d gone. It’s the only logical place.”
“Must you kill all the magic in my life?” Ian crawled out from under the bed. He was holding a handkerchief to his nose. “There is something to be said for mystery.”
Juliana rushed to his side as Apple shut the door. “Why did you come back?” She ran her fingers along his jaw, unable to resist touching him any longer.
He drew back slightly. “Hoped to be rid of me?”
“No.” She shoved him, and he stumbled back with a grimace.
She caught his arm before he could fall. “How hard did I hit you?”
“Like a rampaging bull. But I was also shot this morning.”
She dropped his arm. “What? Where?”
“Just grazed my shoulder, but I’m in less than ideal condition.”
“Has anyone tended it? Take off your jacket.” Her heart was hammering against her ribs. Both from fear for his injury and knowledge that it hadn’t stopped him from returning to her.
One side of his mouth lifted higher than the other. “If only I’d known all it took for you to undress me was a gunshot wound.”
She scoffed. “All it takes is for you to come into my room and give me five minutes.”
His hands stalled on the buttons of his jacket. “Why, you naughty princess.”
A warm tingle eased down her spine at his husky whisper. “No distractions. I need to see to your shoulder.”
He lifted his shirt over his head. “It’s been tended. Canterbury saw to it.”
“Canterbury?”
“Yes, I’m afraid it will take him longer to recover than me.”
Juliana studied the bandage. It appeared secure and there was no blood that she could see. “You cleaned it?”
“With fine French brandy.”
“And the bandage seems secure.”
“Indeed. He might not like wounds, but he is an expert at folding.”
“Oh.”
“Why, Princess, I do believe you are disappointed.”
She wasn’t. Not truly. But she’d liked the idea of being able to tend him, of being able to repay him for all he risked for her.
“Did you want to be my nurse?” His words were low and wicked.
The sight of the clean white bandage around his muscular shoulder did something to her insides. He was her warrior. He’d been wounded in her service.
And she had one night to repay him.
“Do you have something you’d like me to tend?” she asked.
His good arm snaked out and wrapped around her waist. He pulled her to him with a quick tug. “Would you like the list in alphabetical order?”
“Perhaps I should just examine you to see what I can find.” She drew her fingertip over his brow, then down along his cheek to the point of his chin. “All seems in order so far.” She stood on tiptoe and replaced her finger with her lips.
The anticipation singing in her veins was shadowed with a touch of bittersweetness. This would be their moment together.
Then it would be over.
But she refused to think on that yet. A few minutes earlier, she’d thought she’d never have this time with Ian at all.
Regrets would have to wait. She’d have time enough for that grief later.
She twined her hands around his neck and pulled him down to her. His lips were hungry. As if he were starving for her touch.
So she let him feast, her hands caressing every inch of skin she could find.
“Eager?” Ian asked. The word was half laugh, half groan. But the light in his eye was pure pleasure.
“I didn’t think you were coming back.” She kissed her way down the column of his throat. “But I should have trusted you more than that. I should have known you’d never fall prey to Sommet’s scheming.”
His exhale was harsh. “Bloody, bloody hell.”
That did not sound like a happy exclamation. “What?”
“Look what you’ve done. This is your fault.” He stepped back. “You had to go and make me grow morals. Damned inconvenient things. That’s why I always avoided them in the past.” He rubbed at his bandage, his face almost haggard.
Her heart skipped uncertainly. “If you’re worried about my virtue—”
For a moment, his expression lightened. “I’ve spent the past weeks thinking of a dozen ways around that issue. That isn’t my problem.” But then that glimmer of humor disappeared.
“If you’re in pain, we don’t have to—”
“That’s not it, I could be choking on my dying breath and still want you.”
Perhaps not the most romantic of phrasings, but it was pure, wonderful Ian.
“But I cannot proceed until I tell you something.” He cleared his throat, then began pacing. “Damn Sommet. May his corpse rot in the Thames. But I refuse to let the man have anything over me.”
Her earlier excitement was dissolved under a slow stream of dread. “If you mean the mishap this afternoon, it doesn’t matter. I don’t believe Sommet’s version of the story.” She realized in her excitement she hadn’t told him of her day’s actions yet. “I was able to—”
“Who was your father going to side with during the war?”
She frowned at the change in topic, the air in the room suddenly chilly. “The British.” Bands of iron wrapped around her lungs, squeezing.
Ian’s head bowed until his chin almost touched his chest. “I had hoped— But it was a foolish wish. Sommet played me. Like a deck of cheap pasteboard. He used me to murder your parents.”
Juliana sat on the edge of her bed before she fell. But while his words were harsh they were nothing new. “You were a member of the Trio. You followed orders.”
“That’s just it. There weren’t any orders. As least not real ones. I thought we were acting on behalf of the British government. But it was a lie. Sommet told everyone that Lenoria planned to side with the French. That’s what he told us. He even staged false documents for me to find. I am the one who confirmed the erroneous information Sommet gave us. I’m the one who stirred up the people with stories of the horrors that would be inflicted on them when your father joined with the French.”
Juliana had to take slow breaths to block out the images his words summoned. Her mother’s screams. The smoke. The angry shouts of the mob.
“I—” He cleared his throat again. “I cannot even begin to apologize for my role in this, but I am sorry.” He clenched his eyes shut. “So very, very sorry.”
Juliana counted her breaths, the task soothing her. By the time she reached twenty, she realized something.
She wasn’t angry at Ian.
She opened her eyes. “You didn’t know the orders weren’t from your government.”
“We were too green—”
It was her turn to cut him off. “That was a statement. Not a question.”
His head slowly lifted.
“Why did Sommet think this
was effective blackmail?”
“Because the only thing I fear in my whole worthless life is the loss of your regard.” His gaze seared hers. “Sorry, my heart seems to be on my sleeve this evening.” But then his eyes shifted to the window. “So have I lost it?” His back was stiff, the muscles on his forearms corded into tight ropes. “I’ll leave if you wish it.”
She went to his side. “I don’t wish it.”
Ian’s brows drew together. “Why not? I’m little better than a fraud. I told you I could deal with Sommet when he’d already duped me so thoroughly I hadn’t a clue.”
“Gregory was duped, too, and I haven’t ordered his execution yet.”
Ian grimaced at the comparison. “And the rest? Even if I haven’t lost your regard, I have lost my own.”
“You really think you should have known, don’t you? But you can’t. No one can know everything.”
“Then what worth do I have to you?” He spun away from her.
How could she answer him? What could she say? What pieces of her heart did she reveal? But he’d taken a risk in telling her the truth. She could do not less.
“Everything. You’re worth everything to me.” The words were so silly. Trite almost. They did nothing to capture the depth of emotion that threatened to spill out of her. But how could she express that? Her true feelings were so bright. So glorious.
So forbidden.
She caught his face between her hands and forced his eyes to meet hers. Let him see what her words could never say.
“Jules.” He turned his face slightly and kissed the palm of her hand. “How am I going to survive when you leave me tomorrow?”
Her eyes stung. And part of her wished he’d plead with her to stay with him.
But then, she hadn’t begged him to stay with her, either. She could hardly change their deal just because her heart had become involved.
“With memories of this.” She pressed her lips to his chest, right above his heart. Then again, a butterfly’s caress on the edge of his bandage.
Then finally to his lips.
Although she’d started the kiss, Ian claimed it, his mouth possessing hers. He pressed her backward until her thighs collided with the bed.
She’d been so wrong. So wrong to think that her heart could recover after this.
How could she go back to a life of being bowed and scraped to? Where people treated her as if she were a throne and not a woman?
