How To Love A Fake Prince (The Regency Renegades - Beauty and Titles) (A Regency Romance Story)

by Jasmine Ashford

  “Balcony seats five hundred,” Jacob said. “You won't get all of them.”

  “No,” Patrick said, his eyes gleaming. “But it will collapse.”

  Jacob nodded, understanding at once. “Yes,” he said. “I can do that. Send up Commander Harper and send up Wesley. They know who Earl Rippon is, they will go for him. His mind is famed; they want him dead for planning such a thing. Enola, the Native warriors will have to chase them up though.”

  “We can do that. Wesley laid the charge, so he'd have to be up there anyways, he's the only one who practiced it,” Enola's breath was coming raggedly. “What about Mary?”

  “Once we defeat them, we can rescue her,” Jacob said. “They left only two guards with her, insurance in case I didn't tell them the truth.”

  “Two?” Enola smiled. “I can take two by myself.”

  “Let's crush them first,” Patrick said. “Ready?”

  “Ready?” Enola's eyes were dark as she turned. For one moment, she had forgotten about the mass of bodies that were lying around. She assumed that the officers had lived.

  However, Wesley lay on the ground, Lola at his side. The actress was in sobs, and he was motionless.

  “No,” Enola rushed forward. “Lola!”

  Lola turned to her, tear stricken.

  Wesley was bleeding and motionless, but his chest still rose and fell. His eyes, however, were staring open.

  “He won't...he can't...”

  “Wesley,” his captain was at his side in an instant. Aaron was bleeding from the head, but it didn't seem to be bothering him as he skidded to his knees. “Wesley, come on, man.”

  Enola slid around back. His head was wounded, seriously, she thought, which meant there was a good chance he was beyond her help. Outside the curtain, she could hear the clink of swords, the firing of guns, and screaming. They needed to move and fast.

  “We need him on the balcony,” she said swiftly, even as she tried to cradle his skull and assess the damage. “The Americans know who he is; they want him dead. They will charge him.”

  “How do you figure?” Aaron asked, confused.

  “Jacob told me,” Enola looked up. “Don't ask questions, we don't have time, please.”

  “Obviously, you have to change your plan,” Lola said, her voice still broken. “He can't.”

  “I know,” Enola replied. “I know, it's just...”

  Lola choked out another sob, caressing her husband's pale face. Without looking up, she spoke. “Aaron, change clothes with him,” she said. “Take his jacket, take his hat. It might be enough.”

  “Aye,” Aaron was already pulling off his coat.

  “No,” Enola said, quickly. “You're light haired, they will know.”

  “I will do it,” Jacob appeared beside them, crouching down. The American band on his arm was prominent and their jaws dropped. “I got us into this mess, I can do my part. Help me get my coat off.”

  “You betrayed us?” Lola asked, stunned. Enola put her hands over the other woman's.

  “His sweetheart is in American hands,” she said. “Jacob is trying to make it better. Let him.”

  “Man,” Aaron said as Jacob struggled into Wesley's coat. “There's a good chance they will shoot you down.”

  “I know,” Jacob stood, Wesley's hat fitting perfectly on his head. If Enola squinted, she could see their similarities. From up high at the back of the balcony, the Americans could make the mistake of thinking it was Wesley.

  He placed a hand on Enola's shoulder, squeezing. “Take care of Mary, do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she said, unable to look at him. If this was the last time they saw each other, she didn't want it to be in tears. If Jacob's spirit was due to vanish into Nature today, she had to accept it. “I will.”

  “And Patrick,” Jacob looked up at her husband, standing across from then. He extended his hand. “Take care of Enola.”

  “I will, mate,” Patrick said. They shook hands, and then Jacob departed.

  Enola closed her eyes, letting out a silent prayer. Wesley was still breathing, but every moment that he didn't come back to consciousness was damaging.

  “Aaron, I'm going to lead them to the balcony,” Harold's voice suddenly came from behind them. Aaron managed a smirk, despite the situation.

  “That's strange, we were just thinking that,” he said and rose shakily as Harold approached. Harold saw Wesley and paled.

  “Is he?”

  “You'll find Jacob on the balcony with you,” Aaron said, ignoring the question. “In Wesley's rank and attire. We will bring them to you.”

  “Use the passage to the catwalk,” Holde said. “Exit as soon as it's safe and the balcony is crowded.”

  “I will lead the battle until the balcony,” Enola said. “The warriors will circle them in. Hopefully, the balcony falls straight down.”

  “I should be up there with you,” Aaron said to Harold, who was quick to disagree.

  “You have saved my life, Aaron,” he said. “Let me return to the favor. Just lead them. I will take care of the rest. When you give me the signal, I will lay the charges.”

  “Godspeed.” The two men shook his hands and parted.

  Enola leaned in for a quick kiss from Patrick. “Until we meet again,” she said, wanting to linger forever. “And I know we will.”

  “We will,” he assured her, although he didn't specify whether it would be in this life or paradise.

  “Annabelle, can you help me?” Lola called across the theatre. Annabelle had not been injured in the explosion, and she was moving like lightning, helping those too injured to fight to the safety of the theatre bowels.

  Everything began to happen at once. Enola found her father, speaking rapidly. He understood battle tactics and only needed half her sentence to understand and lead the group into a circle formation, boxing in the American forces below. There were fallen Natives on the stage, and on the seats. Enola tried not to process it as she picked up a tomahawk.

  This was her land as much as theirs…and she was going to fight.

  Aaron was fighting while walking backwards, his sword clinking as Patrick made headway in moving up the stairs to the balcony. Their steps backwards with their men meant they approached the balcony with every sword swish.

  A whistle blasted through the theatre. It was Matheson, on the balcony with Corrigan, surrounded by Jacob and Harold. His boson’s whistle, left over from his navy days, had apparently come in handy at last.

  “It's him!” came a cry. “On the balcony! Onwards, boys! That's the commander! That's Earl Rippon! Go!”

  “Where do you think you're going?” Enola shoved her body weight against a smaller American soldier, who fell backwards into the crowd. Clumsily, he knocked over a few of his colleagues, which made her smirk.

  The noise above her was getting louder. The balcony creaked with the added weight. She could hear the orders, the footsteps, and knew they were almost out of time.

  “Father!” she cried, who gave the order in Michif for his men to expand their circle. The Americans were brilliantly trapped in the seats, while the Natives circled in the aisles, not letting them escape. Native warriors were light on their feet, able to leap over the seats to the safety of the aisles faster than Americans. The Native warriors also had less gear weighing them down, while the Americans got caught on the seat backs and arm rests.

  “Fire!” she heard an American accent call out, and knew the charge had been lit.

  She heard her father order them to back up again. The Native warriors could use the doors behind them, escaping to the lobby so quickly that the Americans wondered if they had seen it at all. Enola had just finished leaning on the door when the blast went off.

  She tumbled backwards, into the safety of the lobby aisles, the red carpet of the stairway cushioning her blow.

  The balcony came down with a giant crash and a flash of light. Wood broke, there were screams, and there was the crunch of thousands of bones.

 
; Then all fell silent in the theatre, the dust settling.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  GAINS AND LOSSES

  GAINS AND LOSSES

  Patrick?” Enola burst back into the theatre. It was like a graveyard, and those slowly rising were walking dead, it seemed, looking stunned. They coughed from the dust, tears streaming down their faces from the heat of the place. There wasn't a man walking who didn't have blood. “Patrick? Jacob?”

  “Enola,” her father stated and put a hand on her shoulder. “We will help you look.”

  Her knees actually quaked at those words. She was so afraid that he was going to tell her that he could see their bodies.

  The Natives spread out, stopping to help those who were struggling to rise, or crushing their foot onto an American who dared to rise. There weren't many, on either side.

  “Enola!”

  For the second time that day, Patrick grabbed her in joy. She crushed her body against him. She didn't care who was watching, she kissed him long and passionately.

  He pulled her even closer, his tongue darting in and out of her mouth. She wanted to be one with him, her soul meshed with his forever.

  “Thank God,” he said, stroking her hair. “Thank God for you.”

  “You're alright?” she whispered.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I'm alright. I'm alive. Are you alright?”

  “Yes, I'm alright,” she said. “But I can't find Jacob.”

  “I was watching,” Patrick said. “I'm not sure they were close enough to the door to get out.”

  “What?” Enola paled. “No, no that can't be true.” However, she knew that they should have come down by now.

  “Officers go down with the ship,” Patrick told her softly. “They wait until their men are out safely, and only then...”

  “No,” Enola broke free of him, searching for the quickest way up to the catwalk. Patrick knew better than to stop her, and followed her up a side passageway from the stage.

  Enola had moved quickly in her life, when hunting deer, when running carefree through the forest. However, she had never moved as quickly as she did right now, up the staircase to the catwalk.

  Creator, don't be so cruel, she begged. Don't reward me with Patrick but punish me with the death of my brother.

  She practically threw herself against the catwalk door, which came out behind the balcony.

  “Harold,” Patrick knelt down to help the commander, who was struggling to sit. He appeared to be dazed but alright. “Sit quietly, man. Just sit quietly a moment.”

  “Did we do it?” Harold managed, his mouth thick with sawdust. Patrick smiled.

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, we did it.”

  “Good,” Harold leaned his head against the railing.

  “Jacob,” Enola demanded. “Did you see Jacob?”

  Harold looked around, confused. “He was just here...” he said. “But then he wasn't...” His eyes fixed on part of the catwalk that had fallen away in the explosion.

  “Oh Creator,” Enola felt tears come. She was afraid to look over the rail, afraid of Jacob's lifeless body below.

  “Enola!”

  She glanced toward the other end, and her jaw fell open. There was Jacob standing at the door, looking impatient, and most importantly, unharmed.

  “Are we going to rescue Mary or just stand here?” he asked, and she rolled her eyes.

  “Jacob, don't you ever frighten me like that again,” she said. “Or Nature will find your body sooner than she expects.”

  He bounced on his feet a moment, impatient to the core. “Sure. Fine. Let's go.”

  “Patrick,” Enola held out her hand and Patrick grasped it, following her after making sure Harold would be alright for the next few moments.

  They took the opposite staircase down, and outside the theatre.

  There were crowds gathered everywhere, gaping at what had happened. Part of the upper wall had blown away, and they could see straight in to where the balcony used to be.

  Enola ignored them, letting Jacob and Patrick push a path through the crowds to get to Town Hall. “Do either of you have a plan?” she asked as they ran.

  “Charge?” Jacob asked and then reached for his weapon. “I don't have my sword.”

  “Brilliant.” Enola realized that she was the only one with a weapon; the tomahawk still hanging by her belt. Jacob made a move for it, and she pulled back. “I don't think so. You're awful with one of these.”

  “Enola, I'm not letting you...”

  “Mate, take it from me,” Patrick interjected, interrupting them. “If you're going to marry your sweetheart, you've got to learn to listen to her, especially when she's right. Let her throw it.”

  “Don't miss,” Jacob put in, and she rolled her eyes.

  “Really? When have you ever known me to miss?”

  “You clipped me once,” he replied. Enola smirked at Patrick.

  “I may have meant it,” she said, and Jacob nudged her. She thought it was out of annoyance, but she saw that they were at the town hall. “Right.”

  “They were standing fairly close to her, in the front row,” Jacob said. “She's tied to the bench and although they aren't hurting her, I doubt they will let her out without a fight.”

  “They will when one of their skulls is cracked in,” Enola answered, squaring her stance as her father had taught her. She'd never thought that she would have to throw it in the middle of a town hall, or at people. This was for animals; hunting. Nevertheless, that was the way the war had been. They were just hunting each other, in the end, and hoping to survive.

  The men pried the door open, and Enola was prepared to throw it at the guards inside if they didn't relent right away. She had known Mary for years and knew that the other woman was soft, fragile, and innocent. Mary had never touched a weapon, wrapped in a protective world that her father kept her in like a cocoon. The war had frightened her so much that she had stayed inside her house for weeks on end; only venturing out when she had to.

  There were no American forces in the room, save for Mary, tied up at the front and in tears.

  “Mary!” Jacob burst in and Enola looked around, surprised. Patrick took to looking up and in the corners, but the place was empty. “Mary, are you alright?”

  “Where are the guards?” Enola asked, coming forward. Mary was distraught as Jacob cut her ropes.

  “They just...left when they heard the explosion. I thought that no one would ever come to get me.”

  “I will always come to get you,” Jacob promised her, taking her in his arms. Enola stepped back, taking Patrick's hand as the lovers reunited.

  “How long have they been together?” Patrick asked her.

  “Since we were basically children,” Enola replied. “I don't remember Jacob without Mary.”

  “That's...”

  “It's something I hope for,” she whispered and looked up at Patrick. “That one day we have such a story.”

  “Every romance is a story,” Patrick answered. “It's just some that end quicker than others.”

  “Enola,” Mary finally found herself able to let go of Jacob and reached to embrace the woman she had come to think of as a sister. “You are safe too.”

  “I am,” Enola answered. “And I would like you to meet my husband.”

  “Your husband?” Mary gaped in surprise. As long as she had known Enola, she had always known the other woman was a staunch marriage protester. Enola had wanted to remain alone as long as she could.

  “Major Patrick Holde, at your service,” Holde said, taking her hand. “It's a pleasure to meet you, miss.”

  “My goodness,” Mary looked between the two of them in shock. “War really does change people.”

  Enola smiled. “It's a long story,” she said. “But it has a happy ending.” She glanced up at Patrick, who put an arm around her shoulder.

  “It's not over yet,” he said.

  “I think we should get out of here,” Jacob said, interrupting. “It will be
safer for everyone if we return to the theatre.”

  “Or what's left of it,” Enola answered. “Do you think the Americans are surrendering by now?”

  “If they are smart,” Jacob said, reaching up his arm and taking off the American band. “I should burn this.”

  “You never know when you need to go undercover,” Patrick put in. “I spent some time undercover.”

  “I didn't know that,” Enola commented, looking up at him.

  “Aye, in India,” Holde said. “I'll tell you one day.”

  She lay her head against his shoulder as they walked, her head filled with dreams of a future together. The idea that they had time for those and all the other stories that had thrilled her. Enola was so used to taking life one day at a time, to simply serving. Now, she could think years into the future, seeing children, perhaps grandchildren if they were lucky.

  “Tell me about your wedding?” Mary asked, as they neared the theatre. “When did you decide?”

  “Decide?” Enola asked. “That's an interesting word.”

  “You didn't decide?” Mary asked.

  “I think Nature had it in store for us the whole time.” Enola squeezed Patrick's hand and he smiled at her.

  “Yes,” he agreed. “I think that perhaps Mother Nature did.”

  When they stepped into the theatre, Enola saw for the first time how much devastation had been caused. Jacob seemed to realize it at the same time and grabbed Mary, pulling her back.

  “Here, Mary, my love, come with me,” he said, trying to cover her eyes. “Enola, can you stay with her, please?”

  “What?” Enola asked. She wanted to see the Americans surrender as much as anyone. She had contributed to it, and she wished to see the defeat in their eyes. Patrick saw the look on her face, and turned to Jacob.

  “If I may,” he said. “You represent the army and outrank me. My men will rally to you today. I will stay with her, just here, so that you can accept their official surrender for the army.”