by Tamara Gill
***
“Thank you,” Lucy said to the prince that night at the dining room table.
“For what?”
“Listening.” Gazing down at the bowl that had an hour earlier been filled with a hearty beef stew that would’ve put even the duke’s cook to shame, Lucy said, “I haven’t had many people in my life who’d pay attention to me. My father was always too busy. Even at my boarding school—the place I lived since Dad traveled all the time—I never had a lot of friends. I was too busy, dreaming of becoming a famous biologist like my dad. Senior year, there was this guy I really liked, Brad Fulman. He was tall and blond—the classic jock.”
“What is a j-ock?”
“A guy really good at tournaments.”
The prince nodded.
“Anyway, my roommate Wendy convinced me that he liked me—you know, in a romantic way, and said I should ask him to our Sadie Hawkins dance—”
“Help again. I know of dance, but...”
“The Sadie part means that instead of the usual boys asking the girls, girls ask the boys.”
“Continue.”
“Well, I wasn’t at all sure about this, but Wendy said Brad had told everyone he liked me, so I should just go for it and ask him to be my date.”
The prince leaned forward, that warrior-heading-to-battle expression steeling his dark eyes and strong jaw. “Your mere tone tells me this boy-man must be offed.”
Lucy laughed. “Am I that easy to read?”
“Only to me.” Clasping her fingers in his, he skimmed his thumbs along the tops of her hands. “When a matter angers you, your blue eyes harden to gray and you get lines here. And here,” he softly traced twin paths on her forehead between her eyes, “when you are pleased, your eyes transport me to the sky, granting the gift of flight. The same eyes oft crinkle at the corners, giving me the urge to kiss them, like this.” Leaning forward, he placed whispering kisses to the corners he’d just described. “But when you are sad, Lucy Gordon, it shows not just in your expression but your soul.” Curving his hands over her shoulders, he added, “Your posture becomes defeated and your lips turn down. Your gaze dulls like pewter and I feel somehow lacking for not knowing the right path to once again make you smile.”
Swallowing hard, Lucy did smile, only it was a smile mixed with goofy sentimental tears for the girl Brad Fulman had called a fat loser. And for the girl whose own roommate had set her up, only to laugh behind her back. And for this wondrous man who, with a simple yet eloquent speech, had brought her both laughter and tears.
When the phone rang, intruding upon this sense of wonder, it took her a moment to regain her composure.
“Want me to off the damnedable nuisance?
Shaking her head, wiping another tear, Lucy was already standing when she said, “Sorry, that’s probably my friend, Bonnie. I’ll be right back.”
He nodded.
Only when she picked up the phone, it wasn’t Bonnie on the other end, calling as planned to chat about their chaperoning duties for the upcoming school dance, but her father.
“Luce!” he said over the usual crackling static of his sketchy sat line. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes, Dad. Loud and—” Well, he might not have been clear but at least he was loud. “What’s up?”
“I got the e-mail photo of your frog—spectacular. I added you to the closing night’s agenda, but I really do need a clearer picture. That one’s slightly blurred, and we don’t want any screw-ups this time. My reputation’s on the line.”
Tracing the grout lines in the countertop tile, she eyed the prince who was clearing the table. His blown kiss lurched her heart.
“Luce? Are you hearing me?”
“Um, yes, Dad. I’ll get you that new picture right away.”
After that, they chatted about the weather and the poor quality of food at his mountain camp. He made a barb about her weight—how even she might’ve lost some if she’d been there—and she ,in turn, silently internalized his hurtful words, biding her time until when she presented her frog, no one would ever again put the size of her body before the size of her mind or heart.
Her father cleared his throat. “Never thought I’d say this but, Luce, no one will be more impressed with you on the day of the WBC than me.”
“Thank you, Dad,” she managed past the instant lump in her throat. Coming from him, that didn’t just mean a lot, but the world.
“You’re welcome, polliwog. Now, do me proud.”
Polliwog.
He hadn’t called her that since she’d been a little girl. His direct words of praise had touched her, but this implied show of love moved her beyond anything, giving her the support she needed to see her through. The connection fell dead. Cradling the phone, Lucy leaned hard against the wall, squeezing her eyes shut.
This just had to work. It had to.
She jumped upon feeling warmth pressed to her cheek. Warmth in the form of Wolfe’s cupping his fingers to her face, using the rough pads of his thumbs to wipe silly tears. “Wolfe. You’re here.”
“Aye. Where else would I be?”
She shrugged.
“You are crying.”
She shrugged again.
“What kind of father is this who makes you openly weep?”
“I’m not weeping.” She put the phone back on its charge pad, wishing it were possible to crawl inside herself. “And he’s an okay guy.”
Gently grasping her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze, he said, “Anyone who makes you cry is not o-kay. Shall I off him, too?”
That caused her to smile. “No,” she pushed his hand away, “you can’t solve all of my problems by offing those who wrong me—and, for the record, I’m not crying because my dad made me sad, but happy.”
Looking bewildered, the prince said, “You cry happy and sad tears?”
She nodded.
He shook his head before pulling her into a hug.
***
“Quit!” Lucy screeched later that night when the prince pelted her with yet another cotton ball. It was the tenth in a row and for at least the last ten minutes she’d been trying to remove her makeup. “What happened to that big stud who used to live here? Remember him? The guy who scoffed at all things woman?”
He caught her off guard with the potency of his rakish grin, “That was before I discovered my flair for womanly pursuits.” Taking her latest cotton ball from her hand, he tossed it across the room where it landed beside the trash basket.
“Hey!” Lucy complained. “I was using that.”
“Aye, but I have a much better method.”
“Right.” Lucy folded her arms while he turned on the sink’s hot water. “Don’t mind me, I’ll just be standing here, waiting to witness your glory.”
“Excellent.” He took a washcloth from the linen cupboard. “But first, we must do this.” Planting his hands on her hips, as if she weighed no more than a cotton ball, he lifted her onto the bathroom counter. “W-what are you doing?”
“I should think that would be obvious by now, wee one,” he slipped the cloth under the water. “I am washing your face.”
“I have special stuff for that.”
“As do I. For centuries, it has worked amazingly well. Close your eyes...”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“No,” Lucy said.
“Please?”
“Well...” Pulse racing, she licked her lips. “I suppose since you said please...” She did his bidding and when he touched the steaming cloth to her face, first came pleasurable chills, then sinful heat as he stroked it over her eyes and cheeks. When the cloth cooled, she opened her eyes, but he barked at her to keep them closed, so she did, bracing her hands behind her on the counter while awaiting his next order.
Only there was no ordering, but sharing of his bold strokes and luxurious heat. He moved on to her chin, and then her throat, and then he was again sweeping the cloth higher while his free hand moved lower, curving lightly round her throat, thumb planted at the base of her chi
n.
Are you going to kiss me?
No—and she didn’t want him to. She loved the duke.
“Mmm...” she groaned as Wolfe dowsed the cloth in liquid heat once more, easing it across her eyelids and down the sides of her nose.
Kiss me, her lips silently begged, aching for the same attention as he lavished upon the rest of her face.
Dressed in an oversized pale pink T-shirt, her bra long gone, her nipples swelled and hardened from just the memory of his touch. And then that memory swept lower. With her legs already spread for balance, she couldn’t help but spread them wider still in anticipation of whatever was next to come.
Nothing more would happen, one part of her insisted.
Everything more would happen, yet another part asssured.
He wet the cloth once more, stroking it behind her ears and back down her throat, smoothing lazy strokes across the exposed strip of her collarbone peeking out from beneath the shoulder of her shirt.
Are you going to kiss me now?
The waiting was the worst.
No. This mounting hunger was the worst, knowing that she could deny it all she wanted, but the fact remained that she very much wanted Wolfe’s kisses. And that was wrong. Not only because it betrayed her feelings for William, but because kissing Wolfe would make it that much harder to let him go.
Still, the future was in the future and now he was—turning off the water?
Okay, so she’d peeked.
“All done,” he announced. “You can open your eyes.”
But I don’t want to!
What happened to my kiss?
“Tell me,” he said, draping the cloth over the faucet. “Do you feel clean?”
No! I feel like a dirty, dirty girl wanting to get dirtier! I feel like I’ve been abandoned at the moment of my greatest need! Abandoned at the doors of—
“Because if not, I would be happy to draw you a bath, continuing the process on a much larger scale.”
Yes!
No.
“Was that larger scale thing a crack at my weight?”
Wearing that confused look he got whenever their languages didn’t quite translate, he asked, “What does cleanliness have to do with weight?”
“Nothing.” Lucy forced herself to hop down from the counter and, once and for, all forget about that girl who’d been dissed by Brad. “Nothing at all. And no, thank you, a full bath won’t be necessary.”
“You sure?” His wicked grin turned her a thousand shades of hot and bothered red.
He knew how frustrated she was. He knew and didn’t care! Which only frustrated her more, because she shouldn’t care! She wasn’t even supposed to like him!
“Very.” She elbowed him out of her way so she could brush her teeth. “Now, could I please have some privacy?”
Still grinning, he bowed before backing out of the room.
***
“You did not,” Lucy said the next afternoon, a homemade sugar cookie to her mouth as she sat cross-legged on the end of the couch, listening to Wolfe tell his latest outrageous tale.
“You dare doubt I could perform such a fearless feat?”
Shaking her head, chewing the last of the delicious cookie he’d baked, she said, “What I doubt is the fact that for one, any horse would be stupid enough to charge with you standing on his back. And two, that even you would be stupid enough to try such a thing.”
A smile tugging at his lips, he shrugged. “Believe what you will, Lucy Gordon. But—”
The phone rang.
“Want me to get it?” he asked. “Might be your Grumsworth. I could off him with my rapier-edged tongue.”
“Thanks for the offer,” she said, already across the room, “but I think I can handle it—whoever this may be. Hello?”
“Luce? How are you, darling? I’m home.”
“William,” she turned from the prince’s prying eyes. “How are you? How was the trip?”
“I’m quite well, and while the trip was oftentimes tedious, I did manage to accomplish all that I’d had in mind.”
“Good.”
The prince stretched himself across the sofa, his feet jauntily propped onto one end, then yawned.
“I want to see you,” William said.
“Yes. Me, too. I mean, I do want to see you.”
The prince made a few obnoxious kissy noises. Covering the phone, she mouthed, “Quit!”
“What was that?” the duke asked.
“Nothing.”
“All right, then. Would you mind, terribly, preparing dinner? Cook’s under the weather and I’m afraid it’s been quite some time since I’ve wielded a pot.”
“Tonight? Wow, I...” Lucy chomped so hard on her lower lip, she winced, turning her back on the smiling prince. “Um, that’s bad. Could we meet somewhere in town? The Hoof and Toe maybe?”
“Luce, I didn’t want to get into this over the phone, but—”
The prince rolled off of the sofa and crashed onto the oriental rug, filling the room with gagging noises. “Oh, my gosh! I’ve got to go.”
Hanging up on William, she ran to the sofa, only to have strong fingers clasp about her ankle. Even stronger arms tackled her the rest of the way to the floor, landing her square atop the prince’s dirty rotten trick-playing chest!
“Beast! That call was important, and you knew it.”
“Aye. Just as you know the importance of you declaring your eternal love to me and not that insipid duke. What? You feel I should have remained here silent on the so-faa? Doing your bidding like a good little boy?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“No, but you meant it,” he gave her a squeeze. “When will you learn, Lucy Gordon, that I am not a boy but a man, trying everything in my power to win your affections?”
A knock sounded at the mudroom door and Lucy’s heart lurched. “That’s him. He must’ve been on his cell phone already on his way over. Oh, my gosh—hide.”
Wolfe laughed, squeezing his wench tighter still.
“Please...” Tears sprang to her eyes. “You don’t know what this means. The duke is a powerful man. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”
“Like I do?” For once, he ignored the fear flooding her gaze. “Like I am not powerful?” But then, with shock akin to washing a grievous wound in an icy stream, dawning struck. She had unwittingly reminded him of another cutting truth. At the moment, he was anything but powerful. He was but a single man at the mercy of a single woman. She alone controlled his destiny. She alone held all the power. The knowledge hit Wolfe as sharply as a battle axe ramming his gut. His pained expression squeezed her chest and tightened her throat. Releasing her, he said, “Go to him, Lucy Gordon. Just know that I will also go.”
“Where?” she asked, still fisting his white lawn shirt.
“Why do you care?”
Another knock sounded at the mudroom door. He removed her himself. Hand on the back door, watching her run trembling hands through her hair, he said, “I wish you well.”
Frozen in front of the cold fireplace, only her gaze roving from the mudroom door to where her prince stood, Lucy’s head reeled. Which exit—which life—did she choose?
Through the back door just walked her every hope and dream. If Wolfe didn’t safely return, she’d once again be the laughing stock of the biological world. Only rarely did her father give second chances. If she failed this time, she feared it a real possibility he might never speak to her again.
Already, she’d had a few wondrous email inquiries from The London Times and Science Review, asking her to confirm rumors that she’d found a remarkable new species. While she’d politely declined to comment, she couldn’t even try denying the thrill.
At the mudroom door stood William. Her kind, gentle benefactor who made her feel safe like no one else ever had. Dare she take a chance at explaining Wolfe to him? No. The very idea was ludicrous. William was the one person on the globe who hadn’t even enjoyed Star Wars Episode Ten. No way was he going
to grasp the concept of a thousand-year-old frog having to live with her in the form of a strapping medieval prince!
She was all set to wrestle Wolfe back into the house, locking him in her bedroom closet, but then William cupped his hands to the mudroom window.
“Luce?” he called. “Whatever are you doing?”
“Um, just heading your direction,” she answered, already on her way to let him in. “I was in the bathroom.”
Shaking his head once she led him inside, he asked, “Shall I have you a loo installed on the ground floor?”
She pulled him into a hug. “Don’t be ridiculous. For just me, my upstairs bathroom is fine.”
“If you’re sure then...”
“Promise, my life here is perfect.”
Hands grasping her shoulders, he inched her back, staring into her eyes. “Do you mean that, Luce? Do you really, really mean to tell me you’re quite content with this quiet life?”
“S-sure. Why?”
“It’s nothing.” Leading her to the sofa with his arm about her waist, he said, “Just more tomfoolery on the part of Ruth Haweberry.”
Good grief. Now what?
“Oh?” She sat beside him, pretending to be comfortable in resting her head on his shoulder with her hand on the chest of his smooth, navy cotton sweater. Beneath her palm his heart pounded. Peering up at his face, she said, “You’re nervous.”
“It shows?”
“Your pulse is racing like you’ve just finished a marathon. What’s the matter? What did Ruth tell you?”
He took a deep breath. “She says you’ve had a man living with you.”
“A man?” Lucy coughed. “That’s crazy.”
“That’s what I essentially told her,” his shoulders sagged. “The woman’s plainly daft. Straight away she should be taken to the nearest asylum.”
“Do they still have those in this country?”
He laughed. “Why, I rather suppose I don’t know.”
She laughed, too and, for that moment at least, their easy friendship slipped back into place.
Lucy prepared him a simple meal of pork chops, scalloped potatoes and frozen peas, but the whole time he stood chatting beside her at the stove, fear clenched her stomach.
Would Wolfe ruin everything by making a sudden appearance? Demanding she love him? If so, how would the duke react? When he undoubtedly called the police, how would she live with the shame? How would she last the remaining weeks until the full moon to prove to not just William she was trustworthy, but to her father and the rest of her small world that she was a legitimate scientist as well.
