Heart's Demand

by Cheryl Holt

  He stared for a lengthy interval, remembering that evil period when he’d been a captive, when he’d been flogged and starved and so dreadfully ill. If Valois and Chase hadn’t rescued him, he couldn’t imagine where he’d be. Most likely deceased from the fever and infection that had nearly killed him.

  But he wouldn’t admit any of it. Maybe he would in the future, but not now. Now it would only give her more to worry about, and he wanted her focusing on their escape and naught else.

  “I had a fight with a brigand,” he lied. “He managed a quick swipe with his sword before I repaid him.”

  She smiled, apparently believing the falsehood. “Tell me he ended up in worse shape than you.”

  “Oh, he was definitely in much worse shape.”

  She sighed. “My dashing hero. I’m so lucky that you became my champion.”

  “I’m a fool for love, Katarina.”

  “Do you still love me, Bryce?”

  “So much that I’m dying with it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Very sure.”

  “I seem to bring an awful lot of trouble with me wherever I go.”

  He chuckled. “You certainly do.”

  “Are you positive I’m worth it?”

  He peered down at her, and she was so beautiful, the most beautiful woman he’d ever met.

  When he’d initially departed England, he’d been adrift and dissatisfied, with no goals or ambition. After learning about the crimes committed against his parents, he’d felt as if he was wasting his life, as if he was engaged in frivolous pursuits that were beneath the son of Anne and Julian Blair.

  He’d been desperate to reinvent himself, to be a better person, a better man, and he’d discovered his purpose.

  He would love Katarina Webster Morovsky. He would sweep her away to safety, would marry her and live happily ever after. He would take her and her siblings to Radcliffe. They would build a family, would fill the halls with the giggles and running feet of boisterous children.

  They would revive the drafty, haunted place, would make it the home it should have been for Bryce and his siblings.

  “I’m positive you’re worth it, Katarina.”

  But suddenly it dawned on him that he was ready to implement those plans, but he hadn’t asked her opinion. Did she want what he wanted? Was she interested in remaining with him as his bride?

  If she wasn’t, he’d help and protect her from her cousin, but he would be crushed if she’d changed her mind.

  Tentatively he inquired, “Are you still willing to marry me?”

  “Me!” She appeared stunned by the question. “Are you willing? After how I hurt you?”

  “Yes, I want to, you silly girl.”

  She nodded ferociously. “Yes, absolutely yes. When can we?”

  “As soon as I get you away from here. Will you come to Scotland with me? Will you come to Radcliffe as my wife and countess?”

  “It’s what I desire more than anything in the world.”

  She pulled him to her and initiated her own kiss, as if sealing their promise. He felt as if he was walking on air, as if he’d just won every prize. He was so glad, so content.

  Their embrace grew more profound, more intense and reflective. They were both aware of their precarious situation, of all the details that could go wrong to prevent their fleeing. Would they ever have another chance to be together? What if they didn’t?

  Then and there, he swore their future would transpire. No matter the risk, no matter the difficulty, he would spirit her away. She was his, and her cousin could not have her. It would happen over Bryce’s dead body.

  When he’d first arrived, she’d been lying under the blankets as if she was asleep, but she was fully dressed, having been prepared to leave with him if that’s what he requested. Gradually he was lifting the hem of her skirt, working it up her legs, his hips dropping between her shapely thighs.

  Would he make love to her? Was he that brazen? Evidently the answer was yes. He didn’t care that there were servants outside her door, didn’t care that danger lurked in every hallway.

  He unbuttoned the front of her gown to bare her breasts. He caressed one, then the other, and she swiftly responded to his ministrations.

  He pushed at fabric to dip down and suck on a nipple. He laved it vigorously, as his fingers sneaked into her drawers, as he found her sweet center. He scarcely touched her, and she was pitched into a wild orgasm.

  He clapped a palm over her mouth to keep her from crying out, from making any sound that might give them away. As she reached the peak, as she spiraled down, he was opening his trousers, freeing his cock so he could enter her.

  There was an urgency to his moves, and a burgeoning excitement fueled by the hazards, by the possibility of discovery.

  He slid into her, and she was relaxed, welcoming him, spurring him on. He began to flex, slowly and cautiously, not wanting any noises to carry, not wanting the mattress to creak or the bed frame to groan.

  With her virginity no longer an issue, their coupling was so much easier, so much more potent. He didn’t have to worry about her anxiety, about whether he was going too fast or hurting her.

  He thrust, impaling himself to the hilt, then he’d pull all the way out only to impale himself again. She rocked with him, drawing him in, holding him near, both of them sensing that a special bond was being created. Though they hadn’t spoken any vows, they understood that God had brought them together, and no one would ever tear them asunder.

  He continued until he couldn’t bear it. Finally his passion swelled, his seed shooting into her womb. Perhaps this time, it would take root. Perhaps this time, as they rode through the gates at Radcliffe, she would be increasing with his son.

  Let it be so, Lord. Let it be so…

  He flexed to the end, hating to have it over. He collapsed on top of her, and they sighed in unison, Kat stroking her hands up and down his back.

  It was the most tender moment of his life, and eventually he rolled off her. They shifted so they were nose to nose, and they were smiling, struggling to remain silent, to not utter any of the words that were dying to be voiced.

  “I have to go,” he whispered.

  “In a minute.”

  “I’m not sure if I’ll visit you tomorrow night or not.”

  “Aren’t we departing tomorrow?” She looked panicked. “If we don’t, the day after will be my wedding day. I don’t believe my nerves could stand to cut it that close.”

  “I’m leaving some clothes for you and Isabelle in the children’s old nursery. In the toy box. Nicholas said you’d know where that is.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “It’ll be boy’s clothes—for both of you. You don’t mind? We thought it would help to hide you.”

  “Whatever you ask, Bryce, I am happy to do.”

  “It’ll be the morning of your wedding. The palace will be chaotic, and the townspeople will be celebrating. We’ll slip away in the confusion.”

  “If you think that’s best, then I’m certain it is.”

  She was trying to be brave, trying to pretend Bryce’s idea was viable, but he couldn’t predict if they’d succeed. He was running in circles, making quick decisions and trusting Fate would provide a boost so everything would work out.

  Would it?

  “We’ll be fine, Kat. We’ll get you away. My brothers and I will see to it.”

  “You haven’t failed me yet.”

  “And I don’t intend to this time either.”

  In the outer room, two women were talking. Suddenly one of them knocked on the door and spun the knob. Thankfully Kat had barred it and they couldn’t enter.

  “Princess,” one of them called, “are you all right?”

  Kat’s eyes were wide as saucers. Bryce’s too.

  “They spy on me for Kristof,” she mouthed then—sounding grumpy and vexed—she called back, “Are you speaking to me? I was sleeping. How dare you wake me.”

  More tentatively
the woman asked, “Are you all right? We heard someone.”

  “You’re mad. I’m quite alone.”

  Goodbye, he mouthed.

  Goodbye. I love you!

  I love you too!

  “Are you really Lord Radcliffe?” she whispered.

  He grinned. “I wasn’t yesterday, but I am today.”

  He slid away and tiptoed to the dressing room, straightening his clothes as he went. At the last second he touched his fingers to his lips and sent a kiss winging toward her. Then he crept into the secret stairwell.

  In his final sight of her, she’d climbed out of bed and huffed to the door, prepared to yank it open and scold her traitorous servants. What a sad life she was leading! After witnessing it for himself, he was more determined than ever to rescue her from it.

  “What is the meaning of this?” she barked at them.

  He vanished into the dark and rushed away.

  * * * *

  “Where is that wretched boy?”

  Kristof hissed the question and glowered at Dmitri, but the man shrugged as if Nicholas’s whereabouts were none of his concern. They were in the King’s receiving chamber, with the citizenry popping in to file complaints, ask for favors, or offer wedding gifts, so Kristof couldn’t display too much temper.

  He was a day away from the ceremony, and instead of bothering with his subjects, he probably should have been meeting with his tailor to discuss the alterations to his wedding suit. Or he might have been wooing Katarina, trying to generate a spark that would carry him through the wedding night.

  He didn’t like her, couldn’t abide her superior attitude, didn’t physically desire her, and couldn’t imagine fornicating with her. He was growing terrified that his disdain might render him incapable of performing the marital deed. Just from considering such a humiliation, his phallus seemed to shrivel.

  “We’ve searched high and low,” Dmitri claimed. “Nicholas is no longer in the palace.”

  “There are a thousand hiding places in this accursed building. You can’t have checked them all.”

  “We have,” Dmitri smugly replied.

  “He must have fled. Katarina must have smuggled him out.”

  “She was completely surrounded by your spies, so she couldn’t have helped him. He walked out of her rooms and disappeared.”

  “Might he be raising an army against me?” Kristof anxiously inquired.

  “What army would that be, Sire? We have no army. We’ve never had an army. We’ve never needed an army.”

  “Maybe support has been mustered for him. Maybe he’s found some allies.”

  “What fool would ally himself with a child? Stop worrying. It exhausts me.”

  Kristof’s greatest fear was that things would fall apart before he could bind himself to Katarina. He was a nervous wreck and constantly wondered if disaster was approaching.

  Dmitri’s brother, the hapless Captain Romilard, was lurking in the corner, avoiding Kristof. He had been in charge of watching Nicholas, so it was his fault Nicholas was missing.

  “Summon your brother,” Kristof said. “I would have a word with him.”

  Dmitri motioned to the Captain, and he marched over, looking as if he was about to face a firing squad, which Kristof was beginning to think would be a fine idea. Kristof gestured for him to keep coming until they could speak softly enough to not be overheard by anyone nearby.

  “Where is Prince Nicholas?” Kristof fumed.

  “I don’t know, Your Majesty. I have tried my best to locate him.”

  “Why was it necessary for you to search, Captain?”

  “Because I lost him, Your Grace.”

  “Yes, you lost him, so let us review, Captain Romilard. Who was charged with guarding him?”

  “I was, Sire.”

  “Precisely. You have an hour to bring him to me or I’ll have your head.”

  Both Romilards gasped, then the Captain backed away and left. Dmitri leaned in and nagged, “Honesty, Kristof, if you alienate everyone, who will stand as your friend?”

  “Shut up, Dmitri, or I’ll execute you with him.”

  He peered over the crowd, looking for Nicholas, but looking for the British noble, Lord Radcliffe too. Since the evening he’d introduced himself, he hadn’t returned, and Kristof made a mental note to have Dmitri learn where he was staying.

  Kristof wanted him to visit again so they could chat and perhaps share a glass of wine. Not a single foreign aristocrat had ever called on him, and he was dying to impress Lord Radcliffe.

  He was about to tell Dmitri he’d had enough of dealing with the public for one afternoon, was about to rise and leave, when a bedraggled woman pushed to the front of the line. She was thin and unwashed, her hair unkempt, her dress ragged and torn, and she wasn’t wearing a cloak even though it was chilly outside.

  She was intent on getting close to him, and she might have run right up to the throne if two guards hadn’t stopped her.

  “Kristof! Kristof! It’s me! It’s me! Don’t you recognize me?”

  He frowned. “No, Miss, I don’t recognize you.”

  “It’s me. Pippa.”

  “Pippa…Clementi?”

  “Yes.” She burst into tears.

  Katarina had deserted Pippa in Egypt, and after that debacle, Kristof hadn’t given her much thought. She’d proved herself a gullible dunce and had thus squandered any fond acquaintance they’d once possessed.

  “Why are you bawling?” he snapped.

  “I’m so glad to be home. My darling, Kristof, I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

  As she voiced the inappropriate endearment, Kristof scowled at Dmitri, indicating he should handle the situation. Dmitri gestured to the guards who were holding her. They tried to pull her away, but she yanked hard and rushed to Kristof, falling to her knees and clasping his ankles. He could smell her hair and clothes, and it wasn’t pleasant.

  “I’m here now,” she wailed. “We can continue on as we planned.”

  People were agog, watching with a sort of horrified fascination, and he said, “Miss Clementi, you seem distraught, and it’s clear you’ve suffered some difficulties during your travels. Let’s have Dmitri get you to your room. You could use a bath and a nap.”

  “I have had difficulties. So many of them! The only thing that kept me going was memory of all the rewards I had waiting for me.”

  “What rewards?” he scoffed.

  “Why, the ones you promised me if I would sneak off with Katarina, if I would spy on her for you.”

  “I haven’t the vaguest notion what you’re talking about.”

  His reply agitated her. “You swore if I betrayed Katarina you would give me—”

  He couldn’t allow her to finish the sentence, so he leapt up and shoved her away. He seethed at the guards, “How dare you let her approach me. My God, the woman is unwell and unbalanced. Take her away.”

  “Kristof, Kristof,” she whined, “don’t be like this. Don’t treat me this way. You said I’d sit by your side on the throne. I only had to spy on Katarina and—”

  Kristof jumped over and clamped a palm over her mouth. “Go away, Pippa. I won’t tell you again.”

  She skewered him with a glare. “Are you denying me? Are you pretending we had no bargain? Are you claiming there is no reward?”

  Kristof whispered directly in her ear. “You failed in your role, Pippa Clementi. You were ordered to bring Katarina home, and instead you were tricked and left behind. If Captain Romilard hadn’t been on his toes, the entire plan would have collapsed because of you.” He pushed her away. “Get out of my sight.”

  “You don’t mean it,” she moaned. “You can’t mean it! Not after what she did to me! Not after I’ve come so far.”

  “Dmitri, please!” Kristof said. “If your guards were ever trained to carry out a single task correctly, they must know how to escort a lunatic from my presence.”

  The guards, along with all of the onlookers, were mesmerized by Pippa and
the secrets she’d let slip. Everyone was frozen in place, eager for more juicy gossip.

  Kristof whipped away to storm out when several people cried out with alarm. He glanced over his shoulder, and to his stunned surprise, Pippa was clutching a small pistol.

  “You liar,” she fumed at him. “You dirty dog. You deceitful rat.”

  “Miss Clementi!” Dmitri shouted. “Are you mad?”

  Numerous men lunged for her, but she managed to pull the trigger before any of them reached her. Kristof lurched away, but he was hemmed in by the throne and the curtain behind it. To his dismay, he learned he could not outrun a bullet, even one fired from a little tiny gun.

  Fortunately her aim was poor so the bullet simply grazed his arm, but nevertheless a searing, hot pain doubled him over.

  “She shot me! She shot me!” he shrieked, pointing out the obvious. “Arrest her! Hang her!”

  Bystanders were so astonished that she was able to race to the rear doors. Hands grabbed at her, but she was very quick and evaded them all. As she was about to exit, Lord Radcliffe suddenly entered, and he was blocking her path.

  She stumbled to a halt, and she studied him. Seeming to recognize him, she scowled in confusion. “You’re supposed to be dead. Captain Romilard had you killed.” She peered back at Kristof. “He was there, and he shouldn’t be here. He must intend to cause trouble. They were in love, and they would have—”

  Before she could complete her crazed comment, Lord Radcliffe wrenched the pistol from her fingers, then cold-cocked her with it. She collapsed to the floor in an unconscious heap, and his brave action propelled the guards from their stupor.

  They rushed down the aisle, picked her up, and dragged her off to the dungeons. Dmitri and others ran to Kristof and eased him onto the throne. A kerchief was produced and pressed to his wound.

  “Get a doctor! Get a doctor! Where is the King’s doctor?”

  Various spectators were repeating the question, and Kristof observed it all with a dazed detachment. Lord Radcliffe sauntered toward him, and he was calm, dashing, and every bit the lord he was. Kristof was insanely jealous that Radcliffe could be so courageous and composed.

  Kristof couldn’t have displayed such daring aplomb if he’d had a thousand years to practice.