by Randol, Anna
“Stand up,” she ordered. “I don’t need you to kneel to me. I don’t need your fealty. I need you at my side.”
“I am fairly certain a man is supposed to kneel when he is proposing to the woman he loves. But I can swear fealty first if you prefer.”
Her mouth gaped open in an unprincesslike manner but she couldn’t seem to find the power to close it. “Proposing?” She might have stuttered as well.
He loved her?
A hint of vulnerability punctured his roguish swagger. “If you say yes, I was proposing marriage. If you say no, I was proposing salmon for supper.”
“Yes.”
He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to it. “Then you’re stuck with my fealty as well.” Thank heavens his actions were a trifle exaggerated or she might have begun to tear up.
But then he leaped to his feet with a whoop and swept her into his arms, raining kisses all over her face. The light caresses sent pleasure bursting through her. And if her maid wasn’t going to return at any moment, she would have thrown off the sheet and let him continue to the bed.
“So what is the next step?” she asked.
“I think we find a priest. Or Scotland. I’ve always been fond of Scotland.”
“I meant with Sommet.”
“Ah.” He set her back down. “An all-out assault. Sommet knows everything about us now. And he knows we know about him. Secrecy avails us nothing. We go at him with all we have.”
“What do we have?”
He held up his hand and ticked off fingers. “An old lady and an even older butler. A drunk duke. An injured princeling. A devilishly handsome spy. And the world’s most courageous and brilliant princess.”
“And me. You have me, too.” Apple said from the doorway to the dressing room, the blue gown over her arm.
“She is worth all the others put together,” Ian said.
Her maid stood straight, her eyes wide, pride lighting her face.
But could she ask Apple to put herself at risk? “You don’t have to help if you’re at all uncertain. You’ll remain my lady’s maid no matter—”
“You plan to allow me to stay on?” Apple squeaked. “Even back in London?”
Juliana felt an immediate pang that she’d left the girl uncertain. “Whether you help me or not.” She needed that to be clear.
Apple suddenly grinned and spun in a circle, making her appear even younger. “A lady’s maid! Cor, no one will ever believe it.”
“It will be dangerous to face Sommet,” Juliana warned again.
Apple nodded, her back straight. “I want to help.”
“Trust me,” Ian said. “Sommet will be the one in danger.”
Juliana gripped Ian’s hand. “How can you remain so certain about all of this?”
He lifted her hand to his lips, but this time his caress was one of a lover rather than a vassal. “Because you agreed to marry me. I am as sure as hell going to live to see that.”
Ian’s princess was dressed in a navy blue dress with buttons and epaulettes. She was ready to go to war.
If they weren’t about to face an evil madman, he would have carried her off and made wild and passionate love to her.
On second thought, he still might. He wasn’t entirely sure what was involved in a betrothal, but he was fairly certain frequent passionate lovemaking should be a large part.
She loved him. She was going to marry him. His heart still hadn’t resumed its normal cadence. It might never. Gads, would he be forever floating about happy like a giddy butterfly?
There were worse fates.
Gregory was upright in his bed, a huge breakfast spread out in front of him. Far too much for any one man. Ian helped himself to one of the spare rolls, earning him a stern look from Canterbury and a confused one from the prince.
Abington was the only one in their merry band that wasn’t there. But Ian hadn’t wanted to raise Sommet’s suspicions by having him come. He was best as a hidden weapon.
Juliana came to stand at Ian’s side. Her eyes briefly met his as if seeking strength. He gave her everything he could.
She explained the entire situation to the others in a clear, concise manner that would have made an army general proud. He suspected he was the only one who saw the way her hands clenched and unclenched at her side.
Revealing her troubles to others was still torture for her. Yet she didn’t flinch.
When she was finished, the other occupants of the room stared with shock. But if she feared they’d see her as weak, she was mistaken. They all watched her with clear awe.
“Juliana.” Eustace’s voice was strangled. “I knew something was wrong, but I had no idea.”
“Perhaps I should let Sommet shoot me. I’m so sorry.” Her brother pushed away the tray.
“Sommet’s a master,” Juliana said. “That’s why I’ll need your help to face him.”
“You need my help?” Gregory asked. He sounded hopeful, eager.
Juliana nodded. “Yes. I should have asked for it long ago.”
Even though it must have pained him, Gregory sat up straighter.
“The duke will be expecting us to act.” Ian stepped forward. This was his area of expertise. “We’ve lost the element of surprise, but we will have to find a way to get back into the tower.”
“Why the tower?” Apple asked.
“It’s where the duke has the documents,” Ian explained.
Apple frowned. “Maybe.”
“What?” Ian asked.
“Well, I suppose they could be there.” But then she shook her head. “But there’s a parlor on the first floor that the maids aren’t allowed to clean. Sommet has that footman of his tend it.” Apple quieted when she realized she had everyone’s attention. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew. You know everything.”
Ian cursed his cocksure attitude. “Not as much as you do, apparently.”
Apple dipped head to hide her blush.
“Which parlor?” Juliana asked.
“It’s two doors down from the library. I don’t even think that it’s locked. But it is watched.”
Only a genius like Sommet would have put his most valuable documents in an unlocked room close to the library.
The man was fiendish.
“Well, then that changes my plan,” Ian said.
“If we try to sneak in we’ll be spotted,” Gregory pointed out. “Sommet will stop us.”
Ian felt a slow smile growing on his face. “Perfect.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
Juliana played another card. Abington groaned. Juliana couldn’t blame him, she hadn’t been able to keep her thoughts on the game the entire hand.
“Mind on other things?” Sommet asked next to her. “I hope you realize it will be best for everyone if you bow out gracefully. I would hate to have you embarrass yourself.”
“I am sure Her Highness isn’t going to throw a fit over a card game,” Abington protested, taking a sip of his claret.
Sommet wasn’t talking about the cards.
But Juliana had been raised a princess, barbs and innuendo were an integral part of every court she’d ever attended. “How is your injured footman this morning? Is it true that one of my grooms managed to disable seven of your men?”
The duke’s eyes glittered. “That reminds me, how is your brother? I heard he was feeling poorly yesterday.”
“How could he be with your fine hospitality?”
“He is a wise man to accept it. You would be wise to accept it as well.”
Abington played his card, then held up his empty glass. “I’ll take a little more hospitality.”
Eustace sailed into the room. She glanced about, her expression growing dour. “Gambling? Highly inappropriate, Your Grace. Come, Juliana. Princesses do not engage in such activities. Come with me.” Her black dress lent the perfect credence to her sanctimonious words.
Constantina glanced up from the dwindling pile of chips. “It is naught but a few games of whist, Sister.” Constanti
na couldn’t have played her role any better if she’d known she was playing it.
Abington was quick to throw down his hand on the small pile of coins left in front of him. “I grow weary of cards. Perhaps another parlor game? A game of hide-and-seek?” A rakish gleam entered his eyes as he surveyed the women in the room. When his gaze lingered on the desperately marriageable Miss Rutop, her mother was quick to take up the cause.
The entire female half of the room was quickly clamoring for the game. Constantina perhaps loudest of all. Perhaps Juliana should warn him to watch his backside.
“That isn’t better,” Eustace protested, but Constantina took her elbow and pulled her from the room.
“I have an idea,” Abington drawled. “Why don’t the gentlemen hide and the ladies seek us out? Then whomever they find will lead them out in the first dance at the ball tonight?”
Soon the young men had scurried out, while the young ladies giggled and watched the clock. After five minutes, they fluttered out in pursuit of the men, mamas and chaperones following behind.
A few of the older guests remained playing cards, but the room was now nearly empty.
The duke picked up the deck of cards and began to shuffle. “You choose to stay with me? I am flattered, Your Highness. And suspicious.”
“Wraith hasn’t returned.”
Sommet’s brows lowered. “Did I ask if he had?”
She didn’t have to stretch too far to appear flustered. “Well, you were wondering, weren’t you?”
“Now I am.” The duke dealt her one card facedown and another one in front of himself. He reached out and turned hers over. It was a two of hearts.
She picked up his card, a hand-painted depiction of an old, bearded king. “Subtle.”
“Just a simple reminder that the deck is stacked against you.”
“Or that you cheat?”
Sommet retrieved the card and tucked it back into the deck. “I win.”
A young footman entered, clearing his throat. His eyes were wide with panic.
Sommet surged to his feet. “I suppose I should go check on the game.” He strode into the corridor without awaiting Juliana’s reply.
The door to the parlor two doors down from the library stood open. Flustered female voices could be heard from within.
“I found him first. I saw him duck in here.”
“. . . saw him at the same time.”
“I looked behind the settee . . .”
Abington had been pressed into a corner by a group of young women like a fox cornered by hounds. A very inebriated fox. “Perhaps I shall defer to my fellow duke. What do you think, Sommet? Who won?”
“Why not make the decision over lunch? I believe my footmen are setting out food on the south lawn as we speak.”
“Capital. It’s getting rather difficult to breathe in here.” He offered his arm to Constantina who had somehow managed to crowd out the younger women. “Shall we?” The women followed after him like obedient ducklings.
“Once again you appear at my side.” The duke’s eyes swept the room, and he seemed to calm. “But once again you have lost.”
“I don’t know what you are speaking of,” Juliana answered.
“Perhaps you should go warn your spy that his diversion to gain access to this room is over.”
“Again, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Again, I don’t believe you.”
Juliana lifted up her skirts and hurried from the room.
After a minute, the duke began following her.
Chapter Thirty-nine
“How far?” Ian whispered. He wrapped an arm around her waist.
Juliana glanced behind her in the corridor. “He’s on the stairs now. He has the documents?”
“Indeed.” Ian had watched from the window when Sommet had retrieved the papers—from inside a vase. Yes, a vase—and tucked them in his jacket. “Now keep walking.”
He didn’t want her anywhere near an enraged Sommet.
“I will return for you.” She dragged her hand across his chest as she passed.
“I know, in about one minute.”
“Fine, take the drama out of it.” She then cried loudly, “You must hide. The duke knows you’re here, my plum cake.”
Plum cake? Ian mouthed at her. They’d need to work on pet names. “Don’t give up your crown for a life on the stage,” he murmured. When she stuck out her tongue at him, he knew he would love her until long past his dying day.
She lifted a brow and hurried out of sight as Sommet, three footmen, and the constable rounded the corner.
Ian launched himself at the duke, grabbing his jacket. “Where are the papers, you bastard? I won’t let you do this to her.” This was only supposed to be for show, but suddenly all his rage at the man poured into his arms. The duke’s head knocked into the wall twice before the others pried him off.
But it had been long enough.
Two of the footmen grabbed his arms, yanking him off the duke. The third slammed his fist into his gut.
Ian grunted, the pain doubling him over. The punch had been anticipated, but the man hit like a produce cart.
“Let him go!” Juliana’s face was ashen as she ran toward them.
He perhaps should have told her he expected to be rather savagely beaten during this part of the plan. Perhaps tortured.
He wrenched one arm free to hold her as she threw herself against his chest. Her eyes were so wide he could see the whites around the amber. He hated that his breath was still wheezing but it was proving impossible for him to control.
The humor and daring that had lit her face a moment before had vanished. “He’s my—servant.” That small pause was the first mistake he’d seen her make all day. “You cannot touch him.”
Apple appeared on cue and pulled Juliana away from him. “Come away, Your Highness. He is a criminal.”
The constable—a Mr. Brandt, Ian had learned—wiped his nose on his dirty brown sleeve. “I am sorry but we all witnessed this man attack the duke. That’s a hanging offense, miss.”
Juliana drew herself straight, a cold hauteur that he’d never seen icing her expression. “You may address me as Your Highness.”
Brandt hastily bowed, but his squinty eyes kept flitting to Sommet.
“Where are you taking him?” Juliana asked.
“There’s a jail in town, miss—Yer Highness. We’ll keep him there until the justice of the peace sends him on to stand trial.”
Ian let a broad grin spread over his face briefly before erasing it.
“No.” Sommet corrected. He smoothed his hair. “I’ll keep him here until then.”
“But Your Grace, he attacked you. Surely you want—”
“The man is a master criminal. I do not trust him out of my sight.”
Speaking of out of his sight, Canterbury passed by Apple in that invisible way skilled servants had and continued up the corridor.
“Where will you put him then?” Brandt asked.
Sommet slowly tilted his head from side to side, stretching his neck. “This is a castle. It has a dungeon.”
The constable gnawed on his lips. “I suppose that would do. But you’d be responsible for him.”
Sommet nodded to the two men holding Ian, who dug their fingers into his arms. “Take him to the dungeon.” His lips twisted upward. “Such an underused phrase.”
“I want him remanded to my care,” Juliana said.
The duke laughed. “Hardly. Do not fear. I am more than happy to let the hangman do the dirty work for me. So much more public and humiliating.” He ran his hand across his stomach, then smoothed his lapels. He froze. “Where are they?”
Ian snorted. “Your courage and honor?”
“Constable, this man has stolen papers from me. I want him searched.”
Ian stood still while the man ran his dirty hands over him. “He doesn’t have any papers on him.”
“Of course he does.” The duke repeated the search, his
hand growing rougher as he couldn’t find them. The duke spun toward Juliana.” He must have passed them to the princess.”
Brandt looked uncomfortable. “I didn’t see him give her any papers.”
“He’s a pickpocket. Of course you didn’t see him.”
“But where would she have them?” Brandt asked, eyeing Juliana’s light cotton dress.
In a special fold Ian had prepared in the skirt earlier. But no longer. Really the duke was too slow at this game.
“It wouldn’t be proper for me to search—”
“I’ll do it then.” The duke grabbed her shoulders and ran his hands down her sides.
Ian had considered the possibility that Sommet would have the gall to try that, but he hadn’t counted on the fury that tunneled his vision. For the first time he struggled in earnest against the men holding him, his shoulder burning with tearing, ripping pain.
But Sommet stepped back from her and whirled on Apple. “Then the maid must have it.”
“But the maid never touched him,” Brandt protested, his voice slightly squeaky. Bless Brandt and his poor, slow brain.
“But she had contact with the princess.”
“Are you saying the princess is a pickpocket?” Brandt scratched his temple.
She was. After a rather pleasant training session that involved her hands roaming his clothing. Or she was at least enough of one to pick the pocket of a man who allowed for his pocket to be picked.
“If you want to leave, Brandt, leave,” Sommet said.
Brandt scuttled away without a backward glance.
Apple had gone rigid next to Juliana. Ian cursed himself. He hadn’t figured in Apple’s reaction to the thought of being pawed by a man like Sommet. She should have switched Apple and Canterbury’s roles. He should have—
Juliana stepped in front of her before Ian could think of the best way to react. “Enough. You touch her and I’ll scream loudly enough for the entire castle to hear. I have no idea what papers you lost, but we do not have them. Apple, shake your skirts to show to the duke that you don’t have any papers.”
