Eloping With The Princess (Brotherhood of the Sword)

by Robyn DeHart

  Lynford stepped closer. “She is important to Lilith, and therefore important to me.”

  “Gentlemen, let us take a few steps backward,” Somersby said. He placed a hand on Lynford’s chest and pushed him slightly. “Gabe, do you not have an important meeting coming up?”

  Lynford checked his pocket watch, then nodded. “I’ll be keeping an eye you,” he said to Jason as he rushed out.

  “What the hell was that about?” Jason asked.

  “He’s trying to reconcile with Lilith, and I suspect he’s worried that grim news of Isabel could derail that,” Somersby said.

  “Love has made the two of you weak,” Jason said.

  “Ah, the wisdom of one not yet fallen. Come back in a week or two and tell me again about the woes of love,” Somersby said.

  Jason rolled his eyes. Unlike Somersby, who had married for love, Jason had done so out of duty. Despite the potential, his and Isabel’s marriage would not be one of passion. He would not produce an heir with her and rip the title yet again from the deserving party. His nephew would right the wrong, put the title in the correct bloodline. Jason refused to mess that up.

  “It’s understandable that this union isn’t a love match,” Somersby said in hushed tones. “But you do know that there will still be a measure of danger to Isabel if there is any doubt to the legitimacy of the marriage.”

  Jason recoiled. “Shall I produce bloodstained sheets as proof that I’ve deflowered her?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, that is unnecessary,” Somersby said. “But you know that Johnson is right. The men planning to use her will likely make another attempt. I don’t think Isabel being your wife will prevent them if she is the key to their plan.”

  Two days later, Jason had returned from another meeting with the Brotherhood. He had been home for only half an hour when he was summoned by his mother to her favorite parlor. He never entered this room when his mother was not in residence, and he’d forgotten how feminine it was. It seemed as if nearly every surface was covered in lavender. Perhaps she had a report on how Isabel was doing with her lessons on how to survive in Society.

  “Contrary to your opinion, Mother, I do have work to do. Can you not plan this ball on your own?” Jason teased as he walked over to the seating area.

  Then he realized that Isabel also sat in the parlor with his mother.

  “Family meeting?” he asked. He lowered himself onto the settee.

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” his mother said. “I have something I wish to discuss with the both of you.”

  Isabel said nothing, but judging from the way she chewed at her bottom lip, his mother’s request had made her nervous.

  His mother leaned back into her chair and nodded as if some matter had just been settled. “Now then, I do not need to know the reasons for this spontaneous union, would that I am to be a grandmother again, but I’m assuming this marriage has nothing to do with that…” She glanced at Jason, then Isabel. When neither of them answered, she merely nodded. “As I suspected. Well, whatever your reasons for marrying, you do wish for those outside of this family to believe this is an authentic union, yes?”

  “As I mentioned when we spoke earlier, the marriage is for her protection,” Jason said.

  “Then the two of you have much work to do.”

  “Yes, that is why we’re having the ball, so that we can announce our marriage and people will see us together,” Jason said.

  “True, but as things stand between the two of you, no one is going to believe that you are actually married.”

  He leaned forward, braced his elbows on his knees. “Precisely what are you talking about?”

  “It is painfully obvious that the two of you barely know each other,” his mother said.

  “Then we shall have much in common with plenty of other marriages here in London.”

  “Jason, when you entered the room, you sat as far away from Isabel as physically possible,” his mother said. She gestured with her hands to show the space between him on the settee and Isabel in the wingback chair. “You have barely acknowledged her, and aside from holding her chair out at dinner, I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the two of you touch.” She smiled warmly. “You behave as if you do not even want to be in the same room.”

  “That’s ridiculous, Mother. Even if it were true, there are plenty of marriages in Society where the husband and wife barely tolerate each other. Look at Lord and Lady Ellington.”

  “Very true, I don’t know that there has ever been a couple to despise each other more,” his mother said.

  “See, then, we shall be fine,” Jason said, leaning back into the settee.

  “Not so fast, my son. There are wretched marriages in this town, but those are unions that Society understands. If an impoverished man marries a rich girl he can barely stand, everyone expects him to be cold with her. It was her money he wanted, after all.”

  Jason tried to interject, but his mother held up a hand to stop him.

  “However,” she continued, “that is clearly not the case here. We have plenty of money, and everyone knows it. You have plucked this girl from obscurity, this girl whom no one knows anything about, save that she’s a princess once presumed dead. Everyone will know that you have known her for only a few days. People are gossiping already and will continue to do so.”

  “Yes. People gossip. What is your point?”

  “My point is people will question why you have married the girl at all.”

  Isabel clenched her hands on her lap, staring at them fixedly as if that would hide the blush of embarrassment creeping into her cheeks.

  “Nonsense,” Jason snapped, barely able to hide his irritation at his mother’s lack of sensitivity. “Anyone who sees how stunning she is will assume I married her for her exotic beauty.”

  Isabel’s gaze darted to his, her surprise obvious.

  “Yes,” his mother said coolly, “but only if you convince everyone you fell madly in love with her.”

  Jason dared a glance at Isabel, who had apparently found something fascinating to stare at amid the colored flowers imprinted on the rug.

  “I don’t see how people believing I love her will make a difference,” Jason said.

  “You said you married for her protection?” his mother asked.

  “Yes, it is a long story, but suffice it to say, some very bad men wanted her to marry someone else. This”—he motioned to the space between him and Isabel—“prevented her from being such an attractive target to them.”

  “How altruistic of you, Jason,” his mother said wryly.

  “Mother, the situation is quite serious,” Jason said.

  Still Isabel said nothing, keeping her eyes from landing on anyone else in the room.

  “Even more reason that you must make a show of being more familiar with each other. You don’t appear to be in love,” she said. “You need to gaze at her more. Look at her, she’s lovely.”

  Jason nodded absently, but his mother gave him that look that told him in no uncertain terms that she was quite serious. He exhaled and glanced at Isabel.

  Her eyes were still cast downward, and he could plainly see that she was not accustomed to being the center of anyone’s attention, let alone their conversation. His mother could have brought all of this to his attention when they were alone.

  “Yes, Mother, Isabel is quite beautiful, but I don’t believe anyone will deny that. And I think this entire conversation is making her quite uncomfortable.”

  “Isabel, am I making you uncomfortable?” his mother asked.

  “Actually, yes. Quite uncomfortable. I never intended to be a burden on anyone,” Isabel said.

  “Nonsense,” his mother said. “You are not a burden. We merely have some issues to work around, ’tis all. I think I speak for all of us when I say that we want to keep you safe, my dear.”

  “Thank you,” she said. Isabel looked up and met Jason’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

  “This doesn’t have to be o
verly complicated,” his mother said. “Jason, my dear, do you recall how your father and I would interact, how he would look at me? Do you remember how he would place his hand on my back as I’d walk beside him? Or the way I would touch his arm as we’d talk? That is how couples behave toward each other.”

  “It is not appropriate for even married couples to be overly affectionate in public,” he said. But even as he said the words, he knew she was right. No one would believe their marriage legitimate, because he barely looked at her, let alone touched her in the familiar way a husband would. They had to appear more comfortable with each other. This entire conversation echoed Somersby’s crude concerns. There was no point in Jason having married Isabel if he wasn’t going to do this in a way that kept her completely safe.

  “What do you suggest?” Jason asked.

  “Practice,” his mother said. “Dance a few times, walk together, look at each other.” She came to her feet. “The ball is in two days, so I suggest you start working.”

  Jason stood also. “Let me escort you out, Mother.”

  He led her forward. “Do not think for a moment that I don’t know what you are up to,” he whispered.

  “Whatever do you mean?” she asked.

  “This thinly veiled attempt at matchmaking.”

  She put a hand to her chest. “Honestly, Jason, how could I possibly matchmake with an already married couple?”

  He shook his head.

  “Regardless of all my motives, you know I am right. If she is truly in danger, you must convince everyone you are a real couple,” she said. Then she strode quickly down the corridor, leaving them alone, surrounded by silence and too many shades of lavender.

  “I’m sorry,” Isabel said, her voice quiet.

  He turned to face her. “For what?”

  “Making you marry me, and all of this.” She spread her arms out as if to encompass the room. She stood and went to a window but didn’t bother to pull the curtain aside.

  “Isabel, let me explain what it is I do. I am a member of the Brotherhood of the Sword, an ancient organization specifically created to keep the monarch of England safe. Marrying you and thus preventing those who would have you play a role in taking the Crown from Queen Victoria is the very essence of my duty. There is no need to apologize. We might not have married under the most ordinary circumstances, but I do not begrudge you this, nor do I blame you.”

  She inclined her head. She was quiet a moment before asking, “Do you believe she’s right? What your mother said about how we should appear to others?”

  “Yes, I suspect she is.”

  “What do we do about that?” Isabel asked.

  “We should practice.” To hell with the practice, he wanted nothing more than to bring her upstairs and consummate this damned marriage. But he knew that once he touched her, there would be no turning back.

  Chapter Eight

  Practice? What did he mean by that?

  Isabel eyed him cautiously, waiting for him to explain himself. Could he possibly mean that he was going to consummate their marriage? She couldn’t very well ask him such a thing, though, so she merely nodded in response. But inside her, nerves sprang to life. A thousand butterflies took flight and flapped against her midriff.

  He stepped over to her, close enough that she could smell the scent of his soap and shaving lotion, sandalwood, and earthiness. Close enough to see the soft waves of his brown hair and know that, were she to reach up to tousle it, it would be impossibly soft. Close enough to see the gold flecks that hid in the blue of his eyes. He was so handsome.

  Isabel’s mouth went dry, and she waited for what he would do next. Kiss her?

  He looped her hand through the crook of his elbow and escorted her across the room then back again. Disappointment grew inside her. She wanted to run out the french doors that led into the gardens and keep running until her legs gave way. But this marriage was not about her, she reminded herself. This was about so much more than her or her happiness. The stability of their government rested, in part, on her being able to play the role of dutiful wife believably.

  Dutiful wife or not, she certainly knew how to cross a room. This was nonsense. She supposed she could simply stop this ridiculous prancing about, grab his face, and kiss him, but she hadn’t the faintest notion of how to kiss a man. The brief kiss they’d shared at their wedding ceremony had been the extent of her experience.

  She exhaled loudly, and it blew a puff of hair into her eyes. He abruptly stopped walking.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “Yes. No.” She shook her head, uncertain if she should speak up. “It seems to me that walking across the room is not going to convince anyone of anything.” She stepped away from him and moved over to the settee but did not sit. “We have done this before, and evidently it wasn’t believable. I don’t understand how you’re supposed to tell what the state of someone’s marriage is simply by how they enter a room together. That’s ridiculous.”

  “It is ridiculous.” He sat on the settee and she followed suit.

  “What business is it of anyone’s?”

  “Normally, it isn’t anyone’s concern.” He shifted on the settee to face her. “But your safety largely hinges on people believing that you couldn’t marry another man after a speedy annulment from this one.”

  “Not merely my safety. These people don’t want to kill me. They do, however, want to kill our queen. We cannot risk her safety.” She looked up at him, and before she lost all courage, she blurted out, “Kiss me.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “If you want people to believe you’ve bedded me, then…” Then bed me, she wanted to yell, but before she could finish her thought, he braced his hands on either side of her face and moved his lips to hers. His warm palms cradled her cheeks, and he kissed her. His lips were on hers, soft yet firm, and completely perfect.

  His tongue tantalized her—teasing, licking, and stroking until she thought she would go mad. She ran her hands up his back and pressed him down onto her, effectively lowering them back on the settee. The position gave him full access to her mouth. His tongue swept across hers, and shivers of pleasure cascaded over her like a delicious waterfall.

  He settled himself atop her and kissed her more deeply. Aside from recognizing that she didn’t want this moment to end, Isabel lost all coherent thought. Lust, hot and wet, pooled in her center. She felt his arousal pressed hard against her belly, and she instinctively pushed against him. She wanted this, wanted him.

  His hand slid up her abdomen and cupped her right breast. Even through her clothes, her nipples hardened. She arched her back instinctively. As much as she loathed the idea of losing her virtue here on a settee in his mother’s parlor, Isabel would overlook such a thing if only he’d continue.

  His mouth left hers and trailed a hot line of kisses down her throat. He nibbled and licked at her collarbone and she closed her eyes. Jason. But she didn’t dare speak. And then as abruptly as his affection started, it ended. He pushed himself away from her and ran his hands through his hair. He stood, tugged at his waistcoat, and left her in the parlor without saying a word.

  She smacked her hand into one of the decorative pillows. If she didn’t get some of this pent-up energy out, she’d soon lose her mind, but she knew better than to ask about taking a walk. She’d attempted that the other day and had been told she was not to leave the grounds of the townhome without her husband at her side.

  She knew it had nothing to do with wanting to exert power over her and instead was entirely about her own protection. Still, it was frustrating. There had to be some way she could move her body enough to keep herself from going mad.

  …

  After their heated kiss, he had needed a fight. Less than an hour later, Jason was fully embroiled in a hand-to-hand battle with his valet, Ricks, when he heard the sound from the doorway. He turned at the intrusion, and Ricks landed a blow right to his lower abdomen. Jason groaned, but the pain of that str
ike was preferable to the unsatisfied desire he’d come up here with. One kiss and he’d been as hard as a randy boy. The fighting had helped distract him.

  “I suppose I took advantage of you not paying attention,” Ricks said.

  Jason grunted in response. “What is it?” he asked the housekeeper who stood in the doorway.

  She nodded and then swiftly looked away from him.

  He rolled his eyes at her ridiculous sense of modesty. It was not as if he stood there without a shirt. He merely wore no cravat or waistcoat and had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

  “Yes, my lord, I know we’re not supposed to interrupt you when you’re up here, but it’s Lady Ellis.”

  Jason swiped the boxing gloves from his hands, dropping them on the padded floor. “What happened? Is she hurt?”

  The housekeeper shook her head. “No, she is not injured, but she is, well, you should probably come see for yourself.”

  He didn’t particularly want to see his wife now. He’d left her in an appalling way earlier, and he had no notion of what to say to her. He knew his behavior toward her must be confusing. One moment he wanted her, and the next he shoved her away. But he couldn’t very well explain his bastardy to her. He needed to keep his distance. Perhaps once the ball was over, he could be sent on assignment somewhere. He would make certain she was well protected, and he would be far from temptation.

  Jason nodded his head at his valet. “You wait here. I shouldn’t be long.”

  Ricks, who was more friend than servant, nodded.

  Jason followed his housekeeper down the winding staircase. He wanted to further chastise the woman for not handling the situation herself. If Isabel wasn’t injured, then why was he required to manage whatever problem the girl had? Or could his mother not take care of things?

  He was being ridiculous. He couldn’t hide from his wife. Most men would beg to be saddled with a woman they desired. He was the worst sort of fool.

  The housekeeper led him down the main corridor that led to the bedchambers, where he found Isabel on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor.