Miranda Jarrett

by Princess of Fortune

  Instinctively she tried to close her legs over his hand, partly because she knew he’d discover exactly how ready she was for him, and she wasn’t sure how he’d react to such wanton enthusiasm.

  “Don’t turn shy, sweetheart,” he murmured, rubbing her taut muscles to make her relax. “You’ve never been shy with me before.”

  “I’m not—not shy,” she answered automatically, her thoughts too fragmented by what he was doing to frame a better retort, “and I—oh, Tom. Tom!”

  He’d found a place between her legs that she hadn’t realized existed, at least not like this, and the way he was touching it, stroking it, teasing it, was making her sigh and shake and long for more. Vaguely she could remember what the other women had whispered about pleasure and passion and blinding joy, and now, at last, she was beginning to understand what they’d meant.

  “I knew you weren’t shy,” said Tom, feathering hot kisses along her jaw that only served to build the fire within her as his fingers worked their magic. “You’re brave and bold and hot as sin itself.”

  Whatever might have been left of her modesty evaporated. She arched and twisted, helping him free her body of the damp linen, and relishing this new feeling of his hot skin across hers. Almost, almost: he was still wearing his breeches, and impatiently she slipped her hands inside the waistband and over the muscled curves of his buttocks. Blindly she tried to push the waistband lower over his hips, only succeeding in making him groan.

  “You’re a wicked creature, Bella,” he said hoarsely, breathing hard. He pushed himself up on his knees, tearing at the buttons on the fall of his breeches. “I thought you’d never done this before.”

  “By all the saints, I haven’t,” she said, desire turning her voice into a panting, husky purr. She reached up to touch his leg, unwilling to be separated from him even for these past few moments it took for him to undress. “It’s you, Tom. You—you inspire me.”

  “Ah, Bella,” he said hoarsely, coming back to lie beside her. “You can see what you do to me.”

  She could see it by the candlelight, and she could feel it, too, as he pulled her close. She couldn’t help trembling as he parted her, feeling him there at the very edge.

  “Don’t be frightened,” he whispered, his breath hot beneath her ear.

  “I’m not.” She lifted her legs higher, drawing him closer as she circled his waist, as much invitation as she knew. “Besides, you said you’d courage for us both, didn’t you?”

  Yet as ready as she was for him, she still cried out with surprise when he entered her. She hadn’t expected him to be so large, or so hot, and she hadn’t expected him to plunge so deeply into her. The pleasure vanished, scattered, disappointing her even as she clung to him.

  Somehow he kept himself still at first, letting her grow accustomed to him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said raggedly. “Blast, I did not want to hurt you.”

  “It—it’s not so very painful,” she whispered, keeping back the tears so she wouldn’t shame herself. “Truly.”

  “Brave lass,” he murmured, kissing her. “It will get better, I promise.” Slowly he began to move, another kind of stroking that echoed the touch of his fingers, and slowly, too, she began to move with him. She felt awkward and unskilled and not very brave at all.

  Yet with each rocking motion it became easier, better, just as he’d promised, and as it did, the pleasure returned with it. She realized she couldn’t keep still even if she’d wanted to, not with the sensations simmering and coiling inside her, pulling her tighter and tighter with delicious agony that she never wanted to end, until suddenly it all seemed to burst, exploding in a brilliant rush of release that made her gasp with delight. Almost at once Tom followed, collapsing with her in a tangle of arms and legs, ragged breathing and sweat-sheened skin.

  “Come here, lass.” Tom rolled onto his back, bringing her with him.

  “Oh, Captain, not another order,” she said, chuckling as she propped herself up on his chest.

  He smiled, his eyes half-closed as he smoothed her damp hair back from her face. “Aye, another order, and for your own good, too.”

  “And yours, too, I’d wager.” She bent to kiss him, a long, lazy, contented kiss that ended only because she had more to tell him. “Oh, Tom, what you’ve shown me, what you’ve given me, was perfection.”

  He grunted. “Not perfection, not by half, but I warrant we made a decent start.”

  “Decent, ha,” she scoffed, tapping his bare chest for emphasis. “There was nothing decent about it, and a good thing, too. But I did mean what I said, Tomaso. I love you. I love you, and that only made the rest of it all the better.”

  “And I love you, too,” he said with such gruff tenderness that she felt tears sting her eyes. “How could I not?”

  “I will not answer that,” she whispered, “because I don’t think I could love any other man, not like this.”

  “I doubt there could be another woman after you, either, lass,” he said, his expression endearingly solemn. He took her fingers and lifted them to his lips to kiss. “Though I’ve picked a devil of a way to show it, haven’t I, tumbling a royal princess as if she were—”

  “As if she were the woman you loved.” She sighed, rubbing her cheek against the back of his hand. “That’s enough, isn’t it?”

  He pushed himself up higher against the pillows. “What if there are consequences, Bella? Or didn’t those fine friends of your mother’s explain that as well?”

  “Of course they did,” she said softly, curling up against him. “Infant princes and princesses don’t sprout beneath cabbage leaves any more than common babes do. But you know better than anyone else how—how unsure my future is. Why else would I have asked you to make me forget?”

  “I will not forget,” he said, as honorable as any man could be. “You have my word of honor. I’ll be there for you, no matter what happens.”

  She smiled sadly, doubting he realized how little weight his promise would carry if there ever were any “consequences.” There would be no question of marriage, not with his rank so far below hers, and no question of acknowledging the child, either. If she were still in Monteverde, she would be whisked away to a distant, discreet nunnery in the mountains before her belly began to show. Once born, the child would simply be made to disappear. The Fortunaro name would remain untainted, and with a suitable increase in her dowry, her virtue would, too.

  Not that she’d spoil this moment by explaining any of it to Tom.

  “I know it is a gamble,” she said, “and I know the risks. But as much as I might wish it otherwise, I cannot consider my life beyond this day, this night with you, and not tomorrow until it comes.”

  “You’ll always be a princess,” he said, the regret and resignation in his voice unmistakable. “Even naked as you are, here in my bed, you’re still Her Royal Highness. It’s in your blood, and all the love in the world can’t change that.”

  Perhaps he did understand after all. “And won’t you always be Captain Lord Thomas Greaves no matter what I do or say, with seawater in your veins instead of blood?”

  He sighed, yet he smiled, too. “What a sorry pair to plot a course together, eh?”

  “A most splendid pair,” she whispered, turning her mouth up toward him, “because we’ll plot it together.”

  “Together,” he said, gathering her in his arms to kiss her. “Together.”

  Though the room was still dark with night, Tom woke at once. It took him only a second to realize where he was, and another second after that to remember that the woman curled sleeping in the bed beside him was Bella. But that was all the time he had to spare before he heard the scream again, echoing through the darkened house, and then he was out of the bed and pulling on his breeches.

  “What is it, love?” Bella rolled over, her voice thick with sleep. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m not sure.” He buttoned the fall on the breeches, then took one of the pistols he kept loaded, quickly checking the
powder. The woman’s scream had turned into a long, quavering wail, and now there were other voices and doors slamming and running feet on wooden floors. “I must go find out.”

  Now Bella heard it, too. She flung back the covers, and scrambled to retrieve her dressing gown from the floor. “I’ll come with you.”

  “No, sweetheart.” He bent to kiss her swiftly. “I want you to stay here, where I know you’ll be safe.”

  “You know nothing of the sort!”

  “I promise I’ll be back as soon as I can,” he said, already halfway out the door. “Lock this after me, and mind you don’t open it for anyone else. Understand?”

  “Oh, yes, I understand,” she said, thrusting her arms into the sleeves of her dressing gown. “You’re giving orders again, Captain.”

  “Exactly.” He paused, wishing for all the world he could stay here with her. “I love you, Bella. Always remember that.”

  She let the sleeves of the dressing gown flop down over her hands, and sighed. “I love you, too. But take care, Tomaso, please. For me.”

  He nodded, shut the door and ran down the hall toward the clamor of voices.

  “Captain Lord Greaves!” Roused from his bed, without his powdered dress wig or livery, the butler hurried forward with a candlestick in his hand to light the fear in his face. “Thank God you are here! There has been a terrible, terrible crime! Down here, quickly, in Her Royal Highness’s bedchamber. I’ve instructed everything to be left as Rachel found it.”

  “Oh, Captain Lord Greaves, I am so glad you’ve come!” cried Lady Willoughby forlornly, looking faded and confused. “You will know what to do, won’t you?”

  “I shall try, my lady.” A small crowd of frightened servants was gathered around the doorway to Isabella’s rooms. They parted for Tom, and with the pistol in his hand, he stepped warily into the candlelight and swore.

  The room was a shambles. Shattered glass from the forced window glittered across the window seat, with the casement still gaping open to mark the path of the intruders’ hasty escape. Gowns and shoes had been torn from the wardrobe, stockings and ribbons and shifts dumped from the drawers of the chest and dresser. Feathers drifted like clumps of snow from pillows that had been ruthlessly slashed open, and even the vases of flowers had been dumped and smashed onto the carpet.

  “Should I send a footman for the constable, Captain my lord?” asked the countess anxiously. “Should I summon the watch?”

  “Not yet,” said Tom curtly. “There’s time enough.”

  Whoever had done this had been both thorough and brutally efficient, and a chill ran through Tom as he thought of what could have happened if Isabella had been sleeping here instead of with him. They must have known this was her room, though she’d been so free with calling out the windows that anyone watching the house would have figured it out.

  But had they come here only for her, or was there something else they’d sought? The slashed pillows seemed too deliberate to be only frustrated vandalism. What could they have been hunting for? Her jewels? Though Tom wouldn’t consider himself an expert, the jewels that Isabella wore—including the hated tiaras—surely would be enough to tempt thieves.

  Yet he still couldn’t shake the feeling that the intruders had come with another purpose, something darker and more complicated than simple thievery, and uneasily he glanced around the disheveled room again, expecting to spot the triangle of twigs that was becoming all too familiar.

  “They—the men—they were still in the room when I came, Captain my lord,” stammered the terrified young servant, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I came to build up the princess’s fire, same as I always do at this hour, for she does like it precious warm when she rises, like she was still in Italy.”

  “Surely you must have heard them in here, Rachel,” coaxed Tom. “It would have been impossible to cause so much mischief in silence.”

  The girl nodded. “‘Course I heard the racket, but I thought nothing of it, on account of the princess breaking things so regular. But, oh, Captain my lord, I’d never thought it all would come to this!”

  She began to weep again, and the cook slipped a comforting arm around the girl’s shoulders.

  “Did you see them, Rachel?” asked Tom gently. “Did you open the door before they’d left?”

  The girl nodded and snuffled back her tears. “They must’ve heard me knocking, my lord. I opened the door, and they was fleeing out that window, there. I must’ve started them. I only saw the back o’ the last one, climbing out like a thieving weasel.”

  “A thieving weasel’s what he is, Rachel, stealing the poor princess away like that from her very bed!” The cook looked up at Tom, her eyes pleading for reassurance. “But you’ll fetch her back, won’t you, my lord? Even if it takes the whole royal navy, you’ll rescue her, won’t you?”

  “Of course the captain shall rescue her,” answered the butler sternly. “Kidnapping’s a hanging offense, Bess. Captain Lord Greaves will see that Her Royal Highness is recovered and justice is done.”

  Stunned, Tom found himself lost for words. No wonder they thought he’d been wasting time, not calling for the constable. They believed Isabella had been kidnapped, when the only rogue she’d met with this evening was already standing before them. How in blazes was he going to explain this?

  “I don’t mean to doubt,” said the cook contritely, “but when a royal princess is snatched away from our safekeeping, why—”

  “Did you have a particular royal princess in mind?” Isabella sauntered down the hall, a half-eaten apple in her hand. “If this lazy chit had not been idle, but had come to my room at the usual hour, then she would have answered my wish, and I would not have been forced to go hunt for this apple for myself.”

  The servants stared, openmouthed with shocked surprise, while Tom felt nothing but relief. Was this part of being in love, he wondered, caring so much about another person? He fought to keep the grin from his face, and fought, too, against the urge to sweep her into his arms. She’d disobeyed him by following him, true, yet he didn’t care. At least she’d shown the sense to invent an alibi to explain her absence from the room, however farfetched it might be. But much had changed since he’d left her in his room, and having her here was the only indisputable proof that she was safe.

  “You are unharmed, Your Royal Highness?” asked the countess tentatively. “There is no further reason for alarm, ma’am?”

  “Alarm? Because your staff is lazy, or because I am hungry?” She took another bite from the apple with crunching relish, and tossed back her braid back against her shoulder blades for good measure. “Neither would seem to me to be worthy of alarm, but then, I am not English, am I?”

  She glanced impishly at Tom as if sharing some wicked joke. In a way she was. Her hair was once again smoothed back from her temples and her dressing gown tied neatly over her night shift, but all Tom saw was the unmistakable glow of satisfaction that radiated from her. Damnation, how could the others not notice it, too? She was swaggering with happiness, she was in love, and she’d just joyfully lost her maidenhead. And now, of course, he was going to ruin it all.

  “I am sorry, ma’am,” he said as gently as he could, “but there unfortunately is reason. While you were, ah, away from your room, several thieves forced their way in through the window and ransacked your belongings.”

  She gasped, her eyes wide with horror. “Thieves? In my room? Oh, santo cielo, no, no!”

  She dropped the apple and pushed past Tom. With her hand pressed tight over her mouth, she raced to the center of the room and stopped abruptly before the bed. Overwhelmed, her eyes filled with tears as she looked up to the heavens for solace, babbling to herself in Italian.

  “Look, ma’am, there be your one of your jewel cases!” The countess’s lady’s maid darted forward, pulling the leather case free from the pelisse that had covered it. She unfastened the clasps and flipped open the lid, holding it up for Isabella to see. “Look, ma’am! They didn’t touch your
sapphires! Safe and sound, they are.”

  Yet to Tom’s surprise, Isabella didn’t seem relieved, or even particularly interested as the maid uncovered another shaped-leather jewel box, and then another.

  “And here, ma’am, here’s the case with your gold-and-coral tiara, and the one with the diamond roses and gold leaves, too.” The maid opened and turned each case to display the contents to Isabella, almost as if they were in a jeweler’s shop. “Rachel must have scared those nasty thieves away before they could rob you. But we’ll have this tidied up for you in no time, ma’am, indeed we shall.”

  “Yes,” murmured Isabella at last. “Yes, that is true.”

  She dropped onto the edge of the bed, clutching the bedpost with one hand to support herself. Yet as Tom hurried forward she drew whatever steeliness she needed from inside, and took a deep, shuddering breath to compose herself.

  “They didn’t steal the jewels, Tomaso,” she said in Italian. “I thought they’d been taken, but they’re not.”

  “A small blessing, yes. But I don’t believe that’s what they came for, and I don’t believe they were ordinary thieves.”

  “No.” She nearly faltered again. “Most likely they wanted me instead.”

  “I’m sorry, Bella,” he said, hating how useless and empty the words sounded. This morning he’d go to the admiralty and raise hell. He would give his life to save hers—especially after tonight—but he’d reached the point where he couldn’t do it alone.

  “There is no reason for you to be sorry.” She tried to smile. “I’m safe, and I’m here. Let those villains be content with empty pockets.”

  But Tom couldn’t afford to be so optimistic. It had to be the same group of discontented Monteverdians that had attacked her before, and clearly nothing else would satisfy them except seizing—or murdering—Isabella herself. Tomorrow he’d give orders that all the house’s windows be shuttered and barred at night, and he’d ask the admiral for a sentry to stand guard before the house. Her enemies were becoming more daring, and he’d no intention of letting them win. “They’ll try again, Bella. They’ll be back.”