The Princess and the Pea

by Victoria Alexander

  He groaned. “I hate formal introductions.”

  “Apparently.” Jared sank down beside her. The seat was small, with barely enough room for the two of them, and her hip crushed against his in a most intriguing manner. She smiled. “If it’s Jared, then you must call me Cece.”

  He regarded her for a long moment and nodded, as if she had somehow passed some kind of test. “It suits you.”

  “I know,” she said primly.

  “No introductions. No chaperons. First names.” Emily released an exasperated sigh. “This is all so completely improper.”

  “Well, it just seems to me that modern inventions require modern behavior, not old-fashioned rules.” Cece glanced at Jared. “Don’t you agree?”

  “Indeed,” he said solemnly.

  “You’d best put these on.” Quentin handed her a heavy pair of leather and glass goggles.

  She struggled into the cumbersome eyewear. “What are these for?”

  Jared too sported a pair of the ungainly glasses. “Bugs,” he said, his manner matter of fact.

  “I’m so glad I asked.” She cocked her head to one side and surveyed the odd picture he presented. “You look quite a bit like a frog in those. It suits you.”

  He laughed. “I know. Ready?”

  “Ready.” Her voice rang with confidence, but her heart fluttered in her throat. Excitement sparred with apprehension. After all, she had never ridden in a beast like this before.

  Quentin carried a large metal crank and stepped to the front of the automobile. Like the wind-up key to a child’s toy, he inserted the crank and turned it.

  The contraption shivered and coughed and sputtered like an old man with the ague. She tensed in anticipation. Perhaps this was indeed a folly. Perhaps she should get out now while there was still time. Perhaps…it was already too late.

  With a roar, the machine sprang to life. Jared skillfully manipulated three metal tillers that rose from the floor between his long legs. The vehicle lurched forward and out through the stable doors.

  The noise was unbelievable, the ride jolting and, except for the inadvertent contact of his body with hers, distinctly uncomfortable. Cece gritted her teeth. A lesser woman would no doubt be cowering in terror by this time. She was made of sterner stuff and determined to show no fear and enjoy the frightful ride.

  “How do you like it?” Jared’s yell was barely audible above the clamor of the machine.

  “It’s lovely,” she screamed.

  He nodded and smiled.

  After a few moments the automobile settled into an even gait. The ride smoothed and Cece relaxed enough to survey the scenery. They were on an overgrown country lane not substantially more than a footpath. On one side, a meadow fell away in a gentle downward slope. At the bottom, a charming pond glittered like a sapphire in a lush, green setting. It was a lovely, bucolic scene, pastoral and peaceful. And best of all, for the first time in her life, Cece saw it without having to peer around the backside of a horse.

  Exhilaration filled her. “This is wonderful!”

  Jared grinned. “Do you want to try it?” he yelled.

  “Buy it?” What on earth did he mean? Of course she didn’t want to buy this thing.

  “No, no.” He shook his head violently and bellowed. “I said try it. Drive it. Do you want to drive?”

  “Hive? What hive?” She glanced about quickly. Why was he talking about bees? She didn’t see any hives.

  He pulled his brows together and shook his head again. “Put your hands here.”

  She strained to catch his words. “Where?”

  “Here.” He patted the middle lever. “On this tiller.”

  She tried to place her hand where he indicated but couldn’t seem to reach.

  “Wait,” Jared hollered. He slid closer and slipped an arm around her. Her back pressed firmly against his hard chest. His arms wrapped around her. His mouth lingered a bare few inches from her ear. He took her hands in his and placed them on the levers between his legs. Dear Lord, her hands were between his legs! “This is how to control the machine….”

  She tried to concentrate on his words.

  “…use this lever to…”

  Did his heart beat against her or was that just the tremble of the vehicle?

  “…the turning mechanism…”

  Did his skin seem unusually hot, or was that just the warmth of the motor?

  “…to the right shift…”

  Did his lips brush her ear, or was that just the wind in her hair?

  “…now it’s all yours.”

  Without warning, his hands left hers and she searched her mind frantically. What did he say? Something about one lever doing this and another doing that? What on earth was she supposed to do? Why hadn’t she paid attention? What was it he had done? Pushed this lever that way?

  She pulled a deep breath, closed her eyes and pushed the center tiller.

  At once the motorized beast swerved sharply, plunged off the road and careened wildly down the hillside that no longer seemed a placid slope but a precipitous mountain.

  “What are you doing?” Jared yelled and struggled to regain control of the unchecked vehicle. “Let me get—”

  With a jolt that cracked her teeth together, the machine hit a hole or a rock or something unknown and they were airborne. Seconds stretched to eternity, and Cece muttered a silent prayer, vowing to curb her impulsive tendencies and learn to embroider like Emily if only given a second chance.

  The vehicle landed hard and bounced once, then again. Cece held on for dear life, one hand gripping the carriage seat. Instinctively she reached for Jared with the other and grabbed—nothing.

  He was gone.

  “Jared!” She screamed and twisted on the seat until she knelt facing back the way they’d come. Her panicked gaze searched the hillside and finally found Jared running after her. His lips moved, but she couldn’t hear a word.

  “What?” No doubt her call was effort wasted. Surely he could hear her no better than she could hear him. Her only hope lay in mastering the controls of this renegade beast. She swiveled forward and stared at the meager display of levers and not much else. How had Jared worked this thing? Should she try this? Or that? She had to do something. It was not as if she could make things much worse.

  Cece glanced up and stared in frightened fascination. Directly before her loomed a boulder. Small as boulders went, she was still fairly certain it could devastate the carriage and anything or anyone in it. Decisively, she reached forward, grabbed the right lever with one hand, the left with the other, gritted her teeth, closed her eyes once again and pushed.

  Perhaps it was her actions, perhaps she indeed hit the oncoming rock; what ever the case, the runaway vehicle groaned and shuddered and jerked. Her hands were ripped from the levers and she flew through the air for a long, endless moment.

  With an icy splash she landed, sank hard beneath the water, smacked the bottom with her posterior and bounced back to the surface. She pulled herself to her feet, drenched and gasping for breath, grateful the pond was barely waist deep.

  “Are you injured?” Jared splashed through the water to reach her, a hint of fear shading his eyes, an oddly strained tone in his voice. On the side of the slope, Quentin ran toward them, Emily laboring to keep up.

  “Only my pride,” she said, pulling the askew goggles off her dripping, sodden hair and peering sheepishly at him. There was a look of fierce panic on his face she found out of place, and she unexpectedly felt the need to reassure him as she smiled ruefully.

  He seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, his obvious concern replaced by amusement. He cocked his head and surveyed her thoughtfully. “Now, who looks like a frog?”

  Speechless, Cece stared for a long moment until she noted the twinkle in his eye and the smile tugging the corners of his lips. She shrugged. “I think it suits me.”

  He laughed and she joined him until tears ran down both their faces. He had a wonderful laugh, full of life and joy. The une
xpected thought flashed through her mind: What would it be like to hear his laughter often?

  He wiped his face and eyed his vehicle. Mired in mud at the edge of the pond, it tilted precariously at an odd angle. “It’s extremely fortunate you swerved in time to miss that rock.”

  She glanced at the boulder that had assumed the proportions of the Rock of Gibraltar when she approached it at breakneck speed but did not look nearly as large or lethal from a stationary point of view. “I’d say fortunate is something of an understatement.”

  “Still, this is a minor disaster. I just hope when we get it out of the mud there’s no serious damage.” He circled the carriage. “It’s my own fault, of course. I should never have let you drive. A woman behind the controls of an automobile,” he shook his head, “it’s just ridiculous.”

  Cece trudged toward the edge of the pond, wet skirts trailing in the water behind her. The smile faded from her face. “Why is that so ridiculous?”

  “Why?” He stared at her as if she had just said something remarkably stupid. “Surely even you would admit women clearly have no head for things mechanical.”

  She clenched her teeth and forced a note of calm to her voice. “I think I would have done quite an acceptable job if you’d only instructed me properly.”

  He pulled his brows together in a manner stern and annoyingly superior. “I attempted to give you complete instruction. Apparently you were not paying as much regard to my directions as you should have.”

  “Complete instruction? Hah!” Her voice rose in accompaniment to her growing irritation. “If you had paid as much attention to making sure I understood the workings of your infernal machine as you did to wrapping your arms around me—”

  “Wrapping my arms around you?” Jared stared in obvious astonishment.

  “Don’t you dare bother to deny it.” She waded past him with as much dignity as she could muster in the now knee-deep water. “I know a flirtation, possibly even a seduction, when I see it.”

  Jared’s mouth dropped open. “Seduction. How can you possibly believe I would try to seduce you while traveling in a horse less carriage?”

  “That’s what makes it so devious.” She splashed the final steps out of the pond. “It’s completely unexpected.”

  “Women.” He practically spit the word. “Women make no sense at all. And I’m beginning to suspect that’s especially true for impulsive, improper American women.”

  “What on earth is that supposed to mean?” She smacked her hands on her hips and glared furiously. “You’re trying to tell me I’m…I’m…I’m stupid because I’m American?”

  Confusion shone in his eyes. “I did not say stupid. Did you hear me say stupid?”

  “You didn’t have to say it.” She waved away his objections with an angry gesture. “It was implied.”

  “I didn’t imply stupid. I didn’t even mean stupid.” He paused for a moment. “Foolish perhaps, but not stupid.”

  “Foolish?” Irrational, unreasonable fury swelled within her. How dare he insult her intelligence? Her gender? Her country? “Very well, Mr. Grayson, but let me tell you one thing. I’d much rather be a foolish American than a stuffy Englishman.”

  “Stuffy?” Bewilderment settled on his features as if she spoke a language he did not understand, and satisfaction surged through her. “Who said anything about stuffy?”

  “I did.” She cast him a haughty glance. “Stuffy and snobbish and straitlaced.”

  His eyes flashed. “I scarcely think you can accuse me of being straitlaced when you’ve just finished charging me with attempted seduction. It seems not being able to make up your mind is the very definition of foolish.”

  Cece gasped with fury. “Be that as it may; but I’m not foolish enough to stay here one moment longer and be insulted by an arrogant Englishman.” She turned and marched up the hill.

  “Arrogant?” he called after her. “At least the English have something to be arrogant about.”

  Quentin reached him and followed Jared’s irritated gaze glaring at Cece’s stalk up the hill. “I thought you liked Americans.”

  “Quentin,” he said grimly, “as much as they may protest it, the behavior of women has nothing to do with nationality. This creature is a female first and an American second. American men are sane, rational, inventive and energetic.” He raised a brow at his now grinning friend. “But women, all women, are either the most insipid, boring beings on the face of the planet or,” he gazed in Cece’s direction, “they are lunatics.”

  Quentin laughed and turned his attention to the leaning vehicle, tossing a comment over his shoulder. “I thought the short one was quite lovely, charming and relatively sane.”

  Cece met Emily halfway up the hill. The infuriating woman walked with the grace of a princess. Here was a female with no lack of confidence. A woman who could, no doubt, hold her own in many, if not most, situations. A woman who could easily rule an empire. Jared narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. “Who is she?”

  “I believe her name is Emily.” Quentin’s voice came from behind the vehicle.

  “Not her,” Jared said impatiently. “The other one. Cece.”

  “She’s the daughter of an old friend of my aunt’s.” Quentin bent to check the carriage wheels, his words muffled, his manner vague. “Father’s some kind of butcher, I believe.”

  Jared’s mood darkened. Quentin’s words brought back his own financial status and his urgent need to marry an heiress. Working with the automobile always distracted his attention from his problems and responsibilities. His heart always lightened here.

  Dismally, he noted a vague disappointment at Quentin’s words. It would have been interesting had Cece been an heiress. No, not interesting—irresistible. Still, the very idea of marrying Cece for her money twisted something inside him. A bare hour in her presence and he knew she deserved to be more than the mere instrument of what came perilously close to a business transaction.

  He pulled his gaze from her retreating figure and turned to help Quentin right the vehicle.

  “Pity,” he said, and realized with a shock just how very much of a pity it was.

  Emily greeted Cece halfway up the hill. Cece threw her an angry glance.

  “Well,” Emily said slowly, “I gather we’ll be going on to London now.”

  “Don’t wager on it.” Cece squared her shoulders and glared straight ahead. “I’m going to Paris.”

  Chapter Three

  “Explain to me again exactly why we’ve come to Paris.” Emily trailed in the wake left behind by Cece’s determined push through the throng.

  “We’re in Paris, Emily,” Cece said patiently, “because Mother has always wanted to see Paris and Father always promised to take her.” She scanned the crowded park in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. “It’s as simple as that.”

  Emily shook her head. “Nothing is ever as simple as you make it sound. Even if I believed you—and I’m quite sure I don’t—that still doesn’t explain why you’ve dragged me into the midst of this ill-mannered mob.”

  Armed with her effortless American smile, imposing, beribboned hat and lethal parasol, Cece worked her way through the swarm. “Why, to see the start of the race, of course.”

  “What race?” Emily said cautiously.

  “Paris to Bordeaux and back.” Cece glanced behind her as if to confirm that Emily followed and proceeded with her relentless forward progress. “Seven hundred and thirty-two miles. The article in the Herald said it follows an ancient Roman route. It’s all terribly exciting. It’s history in the making and we shall be a part of it.”

  Suspicion narrowed Emily’s eyes. “Do Mother and Father know we’re here?”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Cece’s manner was nonchalant. “They’d never allow us to come alone.” Her gaze skimmed the multitude. “They think we’ve gone back to the Louvre.”

  Emily gasped. “You lied to them.”

  “Not quite,” Cece said absently, still searching the crowd. “If you recall,
we did drive past the Louvre on our way here. We simply didn’t stop.”

  “It’s the same thing,” Emily said, her words colored with indignation.

  “Emily”—Cece stopped forging her way through the assembly and turned toward her sister, her tone tolerant—“I am nearly twenty-one, and you are fast approaching eighteen. We are grown women. Adults. If I had told Mother and Father, they would have treated us like children and forbidden us to come. And since I would have come anyway, it seems best if they are unaware of our little venture here. They can’t possibly be upset about something they know nothing about.” She raised a brow. “You won’t tell them, will you?”

  Emily released an exasperated sigh. “Of course I won’t tell. But I am getting tired of keeping all these confidences of yours. You have more plots and plans simmering in your head than Mr. Jules Verne.”

  Cece smiled. “What a lovely thing to say. Thank you.”

  “It was not meant as a compliment,” Emily muttered.

  “I know. Now,” Cece said briskly, “let us continue to make our way through this mass of people.” Cece started off and Emily struggled to catch up with her.

  “What on earth are you looking for anyway?” Emily panted with the effort to match Cece’s much longer and far more determined stride.

  “I just wish to get a good look at the automobiles,” Cece said vaguely. They broke through the crowd into a cleared space. Automobiles were lined up in anticipation of the start of the race. Spectators and drivers and the curious milled around. “Oh, look, Emily, aren’t they magnificent?”

  Emily shoved through the assembly to join her sister and examined the vehicles with disdain. “They’re machines, Cece. I hardly think magnificent is the appropriate word.”

  “Well, I think they’re quite wonderful.” She stepped closer and eyed the line of metallic steeds. “They certainly appear polished, don’t you think? They make Mr. Grayson’s vehicle look positively primitive.”

  “It is primitive,” Emily said wryly.

  “Not primitive,” Cece corrected, “merely unique. Rare. What’s new is always somewhat uncomfortable. It’s progress, Emily. I think it’s splendid.” She stared at a particularly attractive vehicle, crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head thoughtfully. “I’d wager these are more advanced than his. Look at them.”