The Princess and the Pauper

by Alexandra Benedict

  “Impossible.”

  Grey staggered back, unable to imagine what he was hearing. He and Emily together, all those years ago? She at his side, touring the Continent. She in his arms, inspiring his music. She in his soul, living in harmony.

  “Oh, Rees.” She stepped toward him, hesitant yet expectant. “Papa had all the power in the world. He didn’t need more. Not at my expense.”

  An overwhelming emotion welled inside him, pushing tears to his eyes, and he stuffed the fanciful dream away. But when her hand touched his breast, his heart shuddered.

  “Believe it, Rees. I do. I know it’s true.”

  He pushed her hand aside. “What difference does it make?” Turning toward the window, he stared out at the nightscape, his soul in uproar. “The past is dead. It can’t be resurrected. So your father’s intention is too late. Moot.”

  Silence, then, “I see.”

  He heard a rustling and looked over his shoulder to find her searching his coat.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “The key,” she whispered.

  Grey stalked across the room and removed the key from the side pocket. He slipped it into the lock and opened the door. “Go.”

  “W—where will I go?”

  “To your own room, of course. I need a few days to gather my things and organize my papers, and then I’ll leave for the Continent. The house is yours.”

  Her eyes widened. “What?”

  “And you can take whatever funds you need from my bank.”

  “Rees, what are you doing?”

  “I can’t stay here in this house with you. I can’t stay here, knowing you hate me, knowing you will never forgive me for ‘disturbing the past.’ I’ll go to the police tomorrow with the evidence, and then it will all be over.”

  She came toward him, grabbed both his arms. The front of her dress slipped low, but she ignored it, pressed her body into his chest. “I don’t hate you. I—” She dropped her brow and nuzzled his breast. “Oh, Rees. I love you.”

  His chest tightened, his every muscle screamed to touch her in return, but he stood firm. He had seen the anger and mistrust in her eyes. And while he’d once hoped for a reconciliation, her willful, dogged pursuit of revenge tonight had revealed just how rooted her hate was, whether it was aimed toward him or Dresmond or both. And he couldn’t live with that hate. It was worse than death.

  “I give you the house, Emily. I leave you all the money in the bank. You don’t have to pretend affection toward me. I won’t leave you destitute, I promise.”

  He pried her fingers off his arms, as if peeling away his own skin, and set her out the door. Without looking into her eyes, he shut the barrier.

  Grey gasped for air. He ripped off his vest, then shirt. Still heavy and sinking, he removed his shoes and hurled each into the wall.

  If he ever opened his heart again, he’d bleed out until nothing was left of him. He had to leave London. Fast. He had to put as much distance between himself and Emily, if only to dull the fucking despair that choked the very breath from his lungs.

  The door crashed open. It wheeled on its hinges and smacked into the wall, bouncing twice.

  Emily stepped back inside the room, features aglow. She pulled the pins from her hair and tossed them to the ground, her tresses tumbling like the billowing tide. She then jerked the short sleeves off her shoulders and shoved the bodice over her hips. The gown collapsed in a quiet heap on the floor. Her shoes were next, kicked into the bed with resounding thwacks. Finally, she reached for the pearl choker and unfastened the clasp before she dropped the priceless beads onto the ground.

  Grey stared at her, confounded.

  She slammed the door closed.

  Her smoke-filled eyes narrowed on him and she set her hands akimbo. “I don’t want your blasted clothes or your jewels or your money. And I don’t want this house. I’ll take my possessions, the possessions I came with, and I will go.”

  His heart seized. “Into the streets?”

  “Yes.”

  “No!” he blasted, the thought too gruesome to bear. “This is your home.”

  “This is not my home,” she countered. “It’s your home. And it will only ever be my home if you live in it with me.”

  Blood surged through his veins unchecked. Soon his head throbbed, his whole body throbbed.

  “You tricked me, Rees.” Wearing only her chemise, she approached him in slow, sensual strides. “You played for me tonight.”

  Entranced by her seductive movements, he said, hoarse, “At your request.”

  “Wicked of you, I think. To play for me. Then. There. In front of all those people. And to play that lullaby.” She reached him, her eyes smoldering with fury. And more. “You stripped me of everything. And then you revealed yourself. To everyone.”

  “I don’t give a shit—”

  She grabbed the back of his neck. “I know. I know you don’t care what anyone thinks. I know I don’t care what anyone thinks. And I know I can’t bury my love for you under guilt or regret or anger. I love you more than all my mistakes. I love you more than all my fears. I love you more than all my pain. I can let go of every mistake, every fear, every pain, but I cannot let go of you.”

  When her lips crushed his, the world turned upright and everything fell back into place. Every broken heart and impossible dream and dashed hope disappeared from memory.

  He had his princess.

  Grey finally wrapped his arms around her. He let loose his suppressed desires, cried into her, and pulled her toward the bed.

  A fire burned inside him, so hot, he lost his bearing and collapsed with Emily onto the mattress. He had never known such a powerful want. It consumed him with savage force. And he was glad to be lost in it. He held back nothing as he slaked his hunger and moved his mouth over hers in rough strokes.

  “Rees!”

  Her body undulated, also calling out for him, and he groaned in total surrender. He pushed the shift up over her waist, unfastened his trousers and thrust into her.

  Emily tightened, then moaned, stirring his blood, making him sweat. She opened more and more with wild, unfettered passion. And he took everything she offered him, moving ever deeper inside her, thrusting ever harder. But when she looped her slender arms around his neck and brushed his lips with her tongue, he knew he would never have his fill of her. He was glad of that, too. His unending ache for her gratified him beyond words.

  Grey sensed her growing, primal need and rocked her with fierce, steady sweeps. He girded his already tense muscles as her own spasmed around him, and she sobbed with unrestrained pleasure. He matched her orgasm, gasping in exhilarating release.

  His heart still thundered as he rolled off her and gathered her in a cocooning embrace, his soul restful at last.

  “Will you stay?” she asked in a heavy, breathless voice.

  He buried his face in her hair, took in her intoxicating scent and closed his eyes. “I will never leave you, Emily, I promise.”

  Her body softened even more. “Good. I don’t think I could live without you. Not again.”

  His chest cramped. “I feel the same.”

  Moments later, she wiggled in his arms. Her lithe body twisted and turned until he lighted on her flushed cheeks and sensuous smile. She captured his breath, as always, with the simmering warmth in her eyes—a warmth she covered over him, a warmth with no bounds.

  “I think Papa led me to that club,” she whispered, “so you would find me on that stage, even though you didn’t know it was me, thought me another woman.”

  Her fingers traced his cheekbone in disarming tenderness. Grey savored the quiet moment before cradling her hand. Slowly he aligned his fingers over hers, depressed one, then another and another still.

  “What are you doing?” she said in confusion.

  As he flattened her fingers again and again, a familiar rhythm formed. A lullaby. The lullaby he had played for her as a child. The lullaby she’d played on her anxious fingers the nigh
t she’d found herself on that miserable stage.

  Her eyes widened, welled with tears, and she rasped, “You knew it was me.”

  “I would never let you fall.”

  She let her tears fall then, and he brushed them away. “Do you trust me, Emily?”

  “Yes,” she said without pause.

  He released a heartfelt sigh. He cherished her trust. Truly it meant more to him than any riches. “Then tell me, princes, why did you learn to play the violin?”

  She offered him a shy smile. “I missed you.”

  “What?”

  “I missed you, Rees. I was a world away in Switzerland, and I missed you. But when I played the violin, I felt close to you.”

  He shut his eyes, his throat closing with emotion. He had never imagined . . . never thought . . . “I didn’t know you loved me as I loved you.”

  Her mouth touched his, and she held him for a long, deep kiss. “I did,” she affirmed. “I always did.”

  EPILOGUE

  Summer

  London, 1888

  Emily crouched beside the gravestone. Her fingers traced the engraving, Augustus Wright, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

  “It’s over, Papa.”

  The murder trial had ended. A jury now deliberated the fate of the Earl of Dresmond. It had been a ghastly proceeding—the accusation, the exhumation, the speculation in the press.

  At first, slanderous reports had appeared in the broadsheets, charging Emily with wanton behavior. According to the press, she had broken the earl’s engagement to Miss Harte, ruined his reputation out of spite or jealousy or unrequited love.

  But then more and more facts had appeared, like the coroner’s report her father had been poisoned with lead. And the confirmation from Mr. Digby her father had attempted to end her betrothal to the earl. And so, gradually, the truth gained credence.

  It was still difficult for society to believe a well-bred gentleman was capable of murder, but sizeable evidence cast suspicious light on the earl that could not be ignored.

  As her fingers dropped from the marker, she sighed, unburdened at last. It was finished. Whatever the jury’s decision, the ordeal was finished.

  A gentle hand caressed her shoulder, chasing away the sadness, and she smiled. “I’m all right,” she assured her husband and turned to meet his gaze. “I’ll not fall, I promise.”

  His intense expression softened, and the beautiful warmth in his eyes filled her with everlasting love and gratitude.

  “Come.” He helped her to her feet. “I’ll walk you to the house.”

  Slipping her hand through his arm, she strolled alongside him in an easy gait. “Are you ready to play for Her Majesty?”

  “Just about. Harry is looking after the final details.”

  “And how does Harry like his new flat in Haymarket?”

  “It’s ‘tolerable,’ he informs me.”

  She grinned, reflecting on the many other changes in their lives, including her husband’s music. His last concert had been shockingly un-shocking, so much so, reporters had accused him of sentimental frippery. But as Rees now played for audiences the music he had once played solely for her, his fame broadened ever more. Even The Queen had summoned him to Windsor Castle for a private performance.

  There was a comfortable silence between them as they wended through the crowded streets, and it wasn’t long before they reached the charity house.

  The Christian Charity House for Destitute Women and Children had opened a month ago. It sheltered the friendless, offering warm beds and meals. There was a school inside to teach the illiterate letters alongside other skills, like sewing, cooking or carpentry for boys. And no one was turned away.

  Emily dedicated most of her days to the charity house. She and Rees had designed the three storey refuge together, both knowing what it meant to be abandoned and lost in the world.

  He kissed her cheek. “I’ll send the coach round in the afternoon to bring you home.”

  “Wait.” She held his arm. “Come inside. I’ve a surprise for you.”

  “Oh?”

  She tugged on his arm.

  He relented and followed her inside the sanctuary. She took him to her office, a small room with a desk and cabinet, round rug and chair. A large window offered a bright view of the street, and a vase filled with summer flowers provided a burst of color.

  “Will you stand beside the window, Rees?”

  He arched a brow. “And close my eyes?”

  “Yes, you’d better.”

  Chuckling, he crossed the room.

  Emily ducked behind her desk and retrieved the violin case. Her fingers trembled as she set the instrument on the desk. Her heart trembled, too.

  “All right,” she whispered. “Look.”

  He pivoted and focused on the gift. “Hmm . . . I wonder what’s inside?”

  “Open it,” she encouraged.

  He stepped forward and unlocked the clasp. “I’ve one too many instruments, as you well kn—”

  He stopped mid word and paled.

  Emily flexed her fingers, waiting for him to recover, but as the moments passed, her heart welled in her throat. “Oh, no!” She slammed the case closed. “I’ve made a horrid mistake, haven’t I?”

  “No. I just . . . ”

  He reclaimed the case from her shaky hands and opened it once more. Gently he removed the violin and turned it over and over again, running his fingers across the wood and strings in reverence.

  “I didn’t think I would ever see it again,” he said in a voice taut with emotion. “You kept it? All these years?”

  “I did, but—”

  “How did you fix it? It was crushed. But I don’t see a single crack.”

  “I did keep it all these years. At the bottom of my carpetbag.” She removed a second case from behind her desk and opened it, as well. Inside was his grandfather’s violin. “I pieced it together as best I could,” she explained. “But it can’t be restored, not fully.”

  He looked between the two instruments. One splintered and pasted, the other whole. “I don’t understand.”

  “I found your grandfather’s apprentice a few months ago. I—I gave him your grandfather’s violin and asked him to make you another one just like it, in the same fashion as your grandfather. I know it’s not the same, but—”

  “It’s perfect.”

  She shuddered. “Truly?”

  He set down the instrument and rounded the desk. Taking her cheeks between his hands, he pressed his mouth over hers and kissed her with passionate intent.

  “It’s perfect,” he said again. “Thank you.”

  She hugged him and sighed. “I thought you might play it at your next concert.”

  “And the next.” He bussed her lips. “And the next after that. I think I can discard the other violins.”

  “No, bring them here. We can teach the children to play. I know it will brighten their lives.”

  “Perfect,” he murmured.

  As heat smoldered in her belly, Emily separated from her husband. “I should let you go.”

  “Are you sure I should leave?”

  “Yes,” she insisted, though her voice fluttered. “I know you’ve a royal concert to prepare. And I have work to do here.”

  “Then I shall see you this evening for supper.”

  But the low timbre of his voice promised the night would hold more delicious pleasures than food.

  He offered her a cheeky grin before he collected the instruments and left the room.

  Emily shivered in anticipation, then turned her mind toward the day’s business. With supplies to order and bills to pay, she hadn’t time for daydreaming.

  A rap at the door.

  Her heart missed a beat. Had her husband returned for another sensual kiss? She rushed toward the door and opened it with a broad smile.

  Abashed, she gathered her flushed features.

  A beautiful woman stood opposite the threshold, sophisticated and regal. Her blonde hair
was braided and pinned in many swirls, her short bangs feathered. She had eyes a piercing blue-green; the pair stabbed at the soul with unflinching precision.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Rees.”

  “Good afternoon . . .”

  “The Honorable Lucy Carrington.” She extended her gloved hand. “I’ve read much about you in the broadsheets.”

  Emily retuned the handshake. “I see.”

  “Do not fret, Mrs. Rees. I care nothing for gossip.” Her eyes flashed. “I’ve come on business.”

  “Business?”

  “I would like to support your charity house. In truth, I would like to support your efforts.”

  “That is very kind of you, Miss Carrington.”

  “No,” she returned in a crisp voice. “I am not kind, Mrs. Rees. I simply admire your spirit, your willingness to brave censure to do what is right.” She opened her reticule and removed an envelope. “I’m sure these funds will be put to good use.”

  “Thank you.” Emily accepted the donation. “Your patronage is appreciated.”

  “There is always much work to be done in this unjust world, isn’t there? Perhaps you and I can band together and right a few of these injustices?” Her lips quirked. “Good day, Mrs. Rees. I shall see you again.”

  Emily watched the other woman walk away with unmatched grace, and a distinct chill gripped her spine.

  DEAR READER!

  You are cordially invited to join THE FALLEN LADIES SOCIETY—A secret, scandalous club where powerful women form friendships and vow to avenge the sins committed against them . . .

  Tick tock.

  Time’s up.

  Justice is served.

  And there’s hell to pay!

  Turn the page for a tantalizing preview of:

  A SLAVE TO SIN