Princess Charming

by Nicole Jordan

  To make matters worse, a mail coach rumbled by, forcing them to the far edge of the road. It was all Maura could do to avoid sliding off the verge into a rain-swollen ditch.

  Then disaster struck. Frip tripped in a rut and fell to his knees, almost spilling Maura from her saddle, which caused Emperor to rear behind her and yank the lead out of her hand.

  Spinning on his haunches, the stallion plunged down the muddy bank, then stumbled as he scrambled up the other side of the flooded ditch.

  Her heart in her throat, Maura guided Frip after him, slithering down the slick embankment and back up again. She could barely see through the sheets of rain, but at least Emperor had halted.

  Murmuring a prayer, she flung herself off Frip’s back and ran to the stallion. She could tell he was favoring his front left foreleg, and upon inspection, realized that he had thrown a shoe, pulling off part of the hoof wall in the process, perhaps cutting into the quick or bruising the sole of his foot.

  When she urged the stallion to take a step forward so she could judge the damage, he visibly limped.

  Dismay and guilt welled up inside Maura as Beaufort dismounted behind her.

  “That settles it,” he declared. “We are returning to the inn. This foolishness has gone on long enough.”

  “Yes,” Maura agreed meekly. “We will need to find a blacksmith to replace his shoe.”

  While Beaufort took the reins of their riding mounts, she carefully led Emperor back across the ditch. He was still limping, although not as badly, so that Maura doubted he would be permanently lamed by walking all the way back to the inn. Yet she still worried he might be recognized.

  “The rain is washing off his disguise,” she called to Beaufort.

  “In this downpour, no one will note his appearance. But you might be remembered in your peddler’s garb. When we arrive, keep your cloak and hood close around you and let me deal with the ostlers and innkeeper.”

  They trudged slowly back to the inn and led the horses into the stables, where Beaufort arranged for their mounts to be cared for, including a new shoe for the stallion and a poultice for his injured foot.

  When they entered the inn, accompanied by a burst of wind and rain, the innkeeper said regretfully that all the rooms were occupied but one.

  “My wife and I will take your remaining room,” Beaufort told him. “And we require a hot meal and a bath as well.”

  The innkeeper bowed deeply, evidently recognizing authority when he encountered it. But then Beaufort had the kind of bearing and self-assurance that proclaimed his nobility and commanded respect, Maura knew. He was dressed for the part as well, despite his stubbled jaw and sopping-wet clothing.

  She, on the other hand, was hardly attired as his genteel wife. When she hesitated to follow the innkeeper toward the stairs, Beaufort scooped her up in his arms.

  Startled, she kept her face buried in his chest but lodged a whispered protest. “I am not your wife.”

  “You are temporarily, if you want to protect your reputation.”

  “If I hope to protect my reputation, I ought not share a bedchamber with you.”

  “Don’t be an idiot, my love. It will be no more scandalous than sharing a barn loft or a bed of leaves in the woods. And you are shivering so hard, your teeth are clacking.”

  That much was true, Maura acknowledged as another tremor shook her.

  Upstairs, the innkeeper shepherded them into a small bedchamber that overlooked the stableyard. A fire was laid in the hearth but not lit—a situation the innkeeper quickly remedied before bowing himself out with the promise of a tub of hot water and a good dinner to follow.

  Alone, Beaufort set Maura on her feet. When he started to remove her cloak, though, she tensed. “I can undress myself, thank you.”

  “Never fear that I mean to ravish you, vixen,” he admonished, his hands still on the garment. “I am hardly in the mood for lovemaking, being cold and hungry myself, and you look like a drowned rat. None of which is conducive to passion.”

  The gleam of humor in his eyes reassured her enough that she relinquished her cloak and watched as he hung it on a wall peg to dry. Then he surprised her by striding to the door.

  “I will leave you to undress and bathe in privacy,” he informed her. “Once you strip off your wet clothes, wrap yourself in a blanket and go sit by the fire. I’ll check on the tub and hot water, and I’ll try to scrounge up some dry clothing for us both.”

  Observing his own drenched state, Maura was suddenly struck by another wave of guilt. “You should be the one to stay. You are soaked to the skin yourself.”

  “To quote your own words, I will survive. I spied a fire in the taproom where I can warm myself. And I can visit the privy outside and leave the chamberpot here to you. You cannot be seen in public, remember?”

  She hesitated to accept his generous offer. “It doesn’t seem fair that you should have to make any more sacrifices for my sake.”

  Beaufort flashed her a grin. “I am willing to act as your prince just this once, Cinderella. Now, buck up. The situation is not as bleak as it seems.”

  He must have seen her despair, Maura realized, judging by the sudden gentleness in his eyes. Feeling another swell of gratitude, she murmured as he turned again to go, “Lord Beaufort?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you,” she said simply.

  That irresistibly charming smile appeared again before he let himself from the room.

  Alone, Maura shed her wet garments and wrapped a blanket around her body, then went to sit before the now-crackling hearth fire. It was a measure of how much she had come to trust Beaufort that she was calmly waiting for her bath to be delivered.

  Amazing, Maura thought, shaking her head in awe and bewilderment. It was even more remarkable that she would permit him to act as her prince, since she rarely leaned on anyone.

  No doubt the growing intimacy between them had disastrously weakened her defenses. And now she faced a fresh dilemma. Being trapped in a bedchamber with Beaufort for an entire night would sorely test her willpower.

  For a moment her mind returned to the hayloft that morning … to the memory of his heart-stirring caresses, the tantalizing feel of his kisses on her bare skin.

  She had to fight his beguiling effect on her, Maura knew. Even though he’d said the choice to become lovers was solely hers, she wasn’t certain she could resist her desire for him much longer.

  Ash had his own reasons for leaving Maura alone just then. The first was to take himself away from temptation. If he wanted to have a prayer of controlling his lust, he couldn’t remain in the same room with her while she bathed.

  Just the thought of seeing her luscious body naked had the power to arouse him. He’d lied when he’d assured Maura of her unappealing appearance. She seemed to have no idea how exquisitely beautiful she was, and even wet and bedraggled, she could make his body yearn.

  At the same time, her forlorn air had only heightened his protective instincts. He wanted nothing more than to make all her troubles magically disappear and then spend the rest of the day and night warming her chilled flesh and showing her just how much he desired her.

  He couldn’t perform magic, Ash reasoned, but he could help Maura vanquish her troubles if she would only let him.

  He wasn’t about to tell her his additional reason for wanting privacy for himself, though. Her gratitude would be short-lived if she had even an inkling of the betrayal he was planning.

  Upon making his way downstairs, Ash sought out the innkeeper and requested changes of clothing for himself and his “wife,” as well as paper, pen, and ink. Then he offered to pay extremely well for a messenger to ride to London immediately with two letters.

  When his host readily agreed, Ash used the innkeeper’s own rooms to quickly don dry clothes and then sat down before a warm fire to compose a note to Katharine—saying that he was taking good care of her friend and not to worry about them, but including some specific instructions for his coachman and
two of his grooms.

  It took him three times as long to pen a more complex missive to Bow Street. The Bow Street Runners were a private police force, and Ash intended to hire the elite company of thief-takers for his own purposes. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise him if Deering had already engaged the Runners to search for Maura and her stallion.

  She would be furious at him, Ash knew, but he needed to force her hand and bring an end to her mad flight as quickly as possible. If she kept on this path, she could very well ruin her life.

  Moreover, he was taking destiny back into his own hands.

  And finally, Ash admitted, his actions would give him greater leverage over Maura, which he needed to gain her agreement for an even more ambitious plan he was concocting.

  His private feelings for her—which were becoming rather complicated—would have to wait to be sorted out. And so would helping her to regain legal ownership of her stallion.

  For now, Ash vowed, he simply intended to save Maura from herself.

  The storm was still raging when Beaufort returned, sinking Maura’s spirits yet again, despite the fact that she was now clean and mostly dry. She had finished bathing and was sitting before the crackling fire, combing out her freshly washed hair. For warmth, she’d draped the blanket around her, over the modest gown the innkeeper’s wife had loaned her.

  Beaufort wore modest attire also, Maura saw, noting his linen shirt, fustian breeches, and leather slippers.

  “Have you eaten?” he asked.

  “No. They brought dinner a moment ago, but I waited for you.” She gestured at the small table by the window, where a tray of covered dishes lay.

  “Come,” he suggested.

  There was only one chair at the table, since Maura had dragged its twin before the fire. When she rose to relinquish hers, Beaufort carried it back across the small room.

  While he inspected the various dishes, she went to the window and restlessly peered out.

  “It is frustrating that I must stay in hiding,” she muttered.

  “You brought it on yourself,” he said without much sympathy.

  “True.”

  “Come and sit down. You will feel better after you have eaten a decent meal.”

  He was holding out her chair for her and clearly wouldn’t sit until she did. With a sigh, Maura joined him and let him serve her rabbit stew and bread pudding. But even though the fare was tasty, she did not have much of an appetite.

  “You are right,” she observed, picking at her stew. “The storm may not let up soon. And even after Emp’s shoe is replaced, he could still be too lame to travel.”

  “Yes. We may have to remain here tomorrow or even longer.”

  Beaufort seemed too cheerful to her mind. “You are gloating because you managed to get your way after all. If I didn’t know better, I would say you arranged the storm somehow.”

  “I don’t have any such magical powers or I would have used them to better purpose. Certainly I would have persuaded you to take shelter here before we were drenched.”

  When she started to argue, Beaufort startled her by snatching her fork and shoveling a bite of pudding into her mouth.

  “Now, be a good girl and chew. You need to stop moping over what cannot be changed.”

  Maura shook herself, knowing that he was right again. She reclaimed her fork, suspecting that he would forcibly feed her if she wouldn’t do it herself.

  When they finally finished the meal, she did indeed feel better, not so much because her stomach was full, but because Beaufort had somehow managed to lighten her mood. He would not allow her to despair, she realized, torn between gratitude and unwilling humor.

  When two inn servants came to take away the dishes, Beaufort asked for more hot water to be brought for his bath.

  Once they were gone, he turned to Maura. “I trust you don’t mind if I shave and bathe,” he said, rubbing his stubbled jaw with a grimace of distaste.

  “Of course I don’t mind,” she murmured, although she wondered how she would deal with him in such close quarters. The small bedchamber was crowded, what with the table and two chairs, a bed and nightstand, a washstand, and now the round wooden tub at one side of the hearth. The thought of him naked in that tub was most unsettling.

  While the servants brought more buckets of hot water, Beaufort went to the washstand and began lathering his face with soap. Maura retreated to the window but found herself watching him in fascination as he used a straight razor to scrape off his growth of whiskers.

  “Does that hurt?” she asked curiously.

  “Not unless I cut myself.”

  When he finished, he rinsed the soap from his face and drew his shirt over his head. Maura was unprepared for the shock of heat that flooded her at the sight of his smoothly muscled torso.

  Beaufort started to remove his breeches, but when he caught her staring at him, his hands stilled on the waistband.

  “I should have warned you I am about to undress,” he said with a grin. “You are welcome to watch me bathe, if you like.”

  Cheeks aflame, Maura quickly turned away.

  Behind her, Beaufort finished stripping off his borrowed clothes. When she heard him step into the tub, she couldn’t help glancing over her shoulder.

  His back was to her, but the golden glow of firelight highlighted his naked beauty. He was starkly masculine, with broad shoulders, narrow hips, taut buttocks, and sinewed thighs and calves.

  Her stomach tightening with awareness, Maura averted her gaze and did her best to ignore the ripples of sexual attraction that were coursing through her.

  She heard him sink into the water, then splash as he soaped his body with a cloth. It was perhaps five minutes later when he stood and stepped out of the tub. Her gaze was unconsciously drawn to him again as he reached for a linen towel to dry himself.

  A small gasp escaped her when she caught sight of his body in profile. She had never seen a nude man before other than sculptures or paintings. Her fascinated gaze followed the line of wet dark hair trailing down his belly and settled on his loins. He was completely aroused, Maura realized, her throat going dry.

  He seemed not the least embarrassed by her scrutiny, yet his smile was wry when he spoke. “You do have a certain effect on me, I confess.”

  He had an unmistakable effect on her as well. His presence was powerfully seductive, even across the room.

  She couldn’t find her voice to respond, though.

  “Why do you seem so startled by my appearance?” he asked as he moved toward the fire and used the towel to rub his hair dry.

  “You are not … what I expected.”

  “What did you expect?”

  His form was that of a Greek god’s, Maura decided, but in one respect, he was built very much like a stallion. His shaft was thick and long—although the nest of dark curling hair that cradled his phallus was somewhat different from a male horse’s.

  “I thought your male … extremities would resemble a statue, not a stallion.”

  “I shall take that as a compliment,” he said, humor lacing his voice.

  “My observation was not intended as flattery,” she protested. “I was merely comparing facts. You have hair there … where a stallion does not.”

  He laughed softly. “I can see how your knowledge of male anatomy could be warped by all the time spent in your breeding stables.”

  Maura lowered her eyebrows at him. “You think my naïveté humorous?”

  “No, darling, I think your naïveté charming. As a gently reared young lady, you are expected to have limited sexual experience.”

  He was ribbing her, although gently, she realized. “I am not completely ignorant,” she professed. “I know how horses mate. And I must admit, it does not look pleasant.”

  “How so?”

  “A stallion mounts a mare from behind, and there is a great deal of grunting and squealing. While it might be gratifying for him, I doubt the mare finds the procedure very enjoyable.”

  “Pr
ocedure?” Amusement danced in his eyes as he turned fully to face her. He had wrapped the now-damp towel around his lean hips, but the sculpted muscles in his chest and shoulders and arms still proved a distraction. “Lovemaking between humans is hardly a ‘procedure,’ ” he said. “And we people usually prefer to face each other when we make love.”

  “I realize that,” she murmured. She might know little about carnal relations, but she’d had enough whispered discussions with her friends to understand the rudimentaries of lovemaking.

  “I assure you, a frontal coupling can be exceedingly enjoyable,” Beaufort added, “although varying positions can add spice.”

  Maura gazed back at him mutely, her feelings an odd mix of embarrassment and confusion, intrigue and yearning. Doubtless it was shameful even to be discussing the subject of sexual positions, but she had always been highly curious about lovemaking beyond her pragmatic knowledge of equine breeding.

  “My offer still stands,” he said, his tone a degree more serious.

  The offer to become her lover, he meant.

  Maura slowly shook her head, although with a large measure of regret. “I haven’t the luxury of expanding my limited sexual experience. Without benefit of marriage, I intend to remain a virgin.”

  “There are other ways to make love that don’t involve penetrating your body or breaching your maidenhead.”

  She hesitated. “Is that so?”

  “Yes. I can give you pleasure without taking your innocence.”

  When she was silent, his timbre dropped even lower. “Shall I show you, sweetheart?”

  A shiver of raw sensation slid down her spine as she stood debating.

  Beaufort must have noticed, for he held out his hand to her. “You are cold standing there by the window. Come here and let me warm you.”

  Did she dare go to him? Maura wondered. She was indeed a little chilled, despite her blanket. And there was a blazing fire a mere few steps away, along with a man who could create a blazing fire within her. She knew what could happen if she crossed to him.