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

by Jasmine Ashford

  It hit him square in the forehead, and he stumbled back. He didn't fall, which Annabelle had been hoping for, but he did drop the light.

  It lit the wick of the gunpowder, and began to travel fast.

  Annabelle moved forward quickly, putting her shod foot over it. Her other was instantly freezing, sinking into the wet mud. She felt something move beneath her bare stocking, and she resisted screaming.

  The solider lunged forward, and he put his hands on her. Annabelle shrieked, feeling herself falling backwards.

  “Let go!” she gritted her teeth. Annabelle was no delicate flower, but she couldn't over power a French soldier. “Let go of me!”

  “Madame!” the solider cried.

  Suddenly, there was a thunk and he fell backwards.

  Annabelle stood in shock, confused as to what happened.

  “At least that rock had some purpose,” Shauna said, behind her. “Because it was useless to cut the wire.”

  “Do you think he's dead?” Annabelle asked, peering down at the body.

  “Possibly,” Shauna didn't seem too bothered by it. “I'd rather that than he killed you. Either way, he's out for now. Do you think he's alone?”

  “Maybe,” Annabelle said. “Either way, we have to move fast. Clearly, they are planning to light the fuses now. If he was alone, he was on a side mission.” She pushed over the gunpowder barrel, spilling it into the wet mud. “Let's keep walking, then. We'll do what we can and hopefully, not encounter anyone else.”

  “There's not that many rocks around,” Shauna said, dryly. Annabelle found her shoe, and managed to put it back on her foot before moving forward. It was getting cold in the tunnels, but Annabelle didn't have to find her way, at least. All they had to do was follow the lines, and she could find the palace. “Should someone have alerted the King?”

  “No need to give him undue stress,” Annabelle replied. “That's part of the duty of nobles, to take the stress from the King.”

  “Aaron didn't mention that when we married,” Shauna said, dryly. They turned a corner, leaving the previous passageway behind. That's when an explosion came from behind them, knocking them both to the ground and throwing them several feet forward. Annabelle saw stars and her head pounded, and then there was only blackness.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  A lesser woman than Lola would have stayed in her dressing room; crying and shaking. At least one of her friends was dead, and who knew how many others were going to be dead in the next few minutes. The entire city could blow up at any moment, and she knew that Aaron and Harold were likely in a risky situation. Wesley could possibly be gone already, and who knew if Annabelle, Shauna, and the children were safe.

  She had every reason to stay in the dressing room, but she wasn't going to. She had been through far too much to stop now.

  She went to the door, hoping her shoulder wouldn't heed her too much for throwing it open.

  To her horror, she found that it was locked. He had locked her in, probably because he knew she would try to break out.

  “No!” Lola cried. She rattled the door knob. She didn't know that he had a key, but he had learned things since he turned pirate that she didn't want to know about. Lock picking, and therefore locking the door without a key, was probably not going to be the most shocking thing she learned about. “Wesley!” She looked frantically around the dressing room, trying to find a hair pin or a pen. He had jammed it in a way that the lock from the inside didn't seem to work.

  She could hear chaos outside, and she didn't want to draw too much attention to the fact that she was inside; in case the chaos belonged to the attackers.

  She had so many things in her dressing room that it would be considered over crowded. However, she couldn't see a single thing that would work to pick a lock.

  Not that she actually knew how to pick a lock, she realized. She was stuck.

  She was about to throw a chair against the door, blood leaking down her arm, when the door knob started to rattle on her own.

  She stepped backwards, drawing in a breath. She felt her heart thud. In addition to a lack of lock picking tools, she realized she didn't really have a weapon.

  If this was Gilles or Tannoy, or anyone who worked for them, she was finished.

  Lola refused to meet her end whimpering and frightened. She held her chin high, squaring her shoulders, and took another step forward. She would go down in a blaze of glory, brave and facing her enemy.

  When the door opened, she thought she was dead. It broke, falling to the ground, and splintering.

  It was Morgan, Matheson and Corrigan standing there, with wicked grins on their faces.

  “Did you need some help, Miss Lola?” Morgan asked, cool as a cucumber.

  “Morgan, thank God,” Lola said, breathing a sigh of relief.

  She met his eyes, and she knew that this moment could have defined them. She could have thrown herself into Morgan's arms, grateful he rescued her when Wesley had left her alone.

  This was the moment she could use to explain her whole escape; her gateway to a new life. She could actually run off with this pirate, this ex- noble, and tell everyone how he came in when she thought her life was over.

  She could escape this noble tornado, the duty, the wicked web of lies. She could take what she thought would be the easy route, and she knew it would be better for everyone.

  Wesley would be safer, the Bamber family would be safer, her career would be easier.

  Yet she couldn't do it. She couldn't leave Wesley, even though she knew it would be better for everyone.

  She had done so many romantic tales of loving someone enough to leave them; enough to let them take their own path. Those characters had strength; or perhaps it was an understanding that she didn't have.

  She needed to be with her husband, come scandal or high water. She couldn't live without him.

  “Have you seen Wesley?” she asked, as she stepped out.

  “Aye,” Matheson said. “He's alright, but we have to get out of here, Miss Lola.”

  “I'm not leaving him,” Lola said. “Take me to him.”

  “He's killed his cousin,” Corrigan said, which made her stop. “It's over.”

  “Then why do we have to leave?” she asked in confusion.

  “Corrigan and I found blueprints in Bamber Manor,” Matheson said. “There's tunnels that connect it to the palace, under the sewers. No doubt that's where the gunpowder is.”

  “So let's go get Wesley!” she said, and the men looked between each other.

  Lola felt her heart drop.

  “Oh, no,” she said, looking between them all. “Oh no, please don't say he's...”

  They had staged a large attack in a theater in the colonies, much like this chaos, and Wesley had nearly died then. He had been shot and it took him weeks to regain consciousness. Lola thought that she would never leave his side again; that they had survived the worst possible thing they would ever walk through fire again.

  “Is he...” she could barely get the words out.

  “He's alright,” Matheson assured her quickly. “He just...he needs to be alone right now, I think.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked. “If he's alright...”

  “Lola...” Matheson glanced to Morgan, who shook his head. However, Lola was smart and well trained in body language.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “It's nothing. We need to go,” Morgan said, pointing to the stage exit.

  “Tell me!” Lola demanded. “Or we are not going anywhere and we will burn with this city. My friend is dead; my theater is once again in ruins because of all of you. And I don't mind, because I love...I love him. But I need to know.”

  Matheson took a deep breath, knowing that they weren't going to get away with their silence.

  “Most of us behaved on Captain Aaron's ship the same way we did in the British Navy. He didn't enforce the rules, but we naturally fell into them. There were no issues with authority, there were no
formal watches. Captain Aaron wanted us to have another chance at life, as he did. Most of us were just the same as we were in every other aspect of our life. But Wesley...he changed. He was different.”

  “Aye, I know he was,” Lola said. “We fought, remember? I almost left him; we were separated for so long. I know there were some dark times...”

  “Without the distraction of you....Not that you are a distraction, Miss,” Matheson chose his words carefully. “He threw himself into other things. He became focused on...protecting us, protecting the ship. At any cost.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked, confused. “Of course he did, he was...”

  “He killed,” Morgan spoke up, seeing that Matheson was having trouble verbalizing what he needed to say. “Not just when he needed to. This is going to be hard for you to hear, Lola, but what I saw reminded me of a cold blooded killer...of someone who enjoyed taking lives.”

  Lola went pale.

  “What are you talking about?” she said. “He...”

  “Aaron worked with him a lot, to bring him back to a point where he could do something other than...look for the next victim for his sword. But whenever we came into battle, Wesley seemed...happy.”

  “No!” Lola cried. “That's not him. Wesley is not that person, he's not...”

  “He was hurting,” Morgan said. “I understand that. And he's fought a lot to come back from that dark time. Now...out there, what we saw...it was the old Wesley. The Wesley I met, when I first came aboard, and didn't realize who...or what he was.”

  “Then he needs me now, most of all,” Lola argued.

  “He needs to see that someone else can be strong,” Matheson said. “That he doesn't always have to be the only one saving the day. He knows about the tunnels. He's going to go to headquarters, to tell them the rumors are true and put in to motion anything that the other two couldn't.”

  “I don't know if I can leave without seeing him...” she wavered.

  “You need to,” Matheson said. “This is for him. Come, Countess.”

  Lola took a deep breath, casting her gaze towards the hallway.

  “Is anyone else dead?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Matheson was frank with her. “And if we don't cut the wiring, more will be.”

  “Alright,” Lola decided, squaring her jaw. “But I need...”

  “My Lady,” Morgan pulled his scarf from his neck, indicating she should bind her arm tighter. “Will this work?”

  “Resourceful,” she said, dryly. “Ironically, this is the one thing I had plenty of in my dressing room,” she said, as she bound her wound tightly. “But not one gun or lock pick hidden in all those costumes.”

  “We always want what we don't have,” Morgan said, and she raised an eyebrow. “Don't look so surprised,” he smirked. “I can be funny at the most inopportune times.”

  “I can vouch for that,” Matheson rolled his eyes. “Alright, then?”

  “Alright,” Lola hated the idea, but in a strange way, she understood.

  This was the moment she had to be the strongest she had ever been in her whole life. This was the moment she had thought that she would never be able to survive.

  She had to let him go, in order to be with him. She had to walk away and have him walk to her.

  “There's a grotto under the theater,” she said, at last. “It doesn't go far, but I think that it gets closer to the sewers, so we don't have to be seen outside.”

  “Lead the way,” Matheson said, and she turned on her heel, away from her husband; away from her hope, her love.

  Lola rarely walked into the grotto. It was cold and dark, devoid of life, and she shivered as they went through the half broken door.

  “How many are dead?” she asked, as they walked.

  “That doesn't matter,” Morgan pushed her forward. “So many more will be if you don't move forward.”

  “I---” she wanted to argue that of course it mattered. However, she kept walking, leading them through the dark and damp tunnels.

  “Lola,” Matheson put a hand on her shoulder and she felt cold metal press into her hand. She looked up, her eyes wide.

  “You can't possibly expect that I'll...”

  “You have to,” he said. “Just in case, you need to be protected.”

  “This is not what I want expected when I married an Earl,” she tried to make a joke. “It was advertised as a life of luxury and relaxation.”

  “It was not,” Matheson rolled his eyes. “You knew exactly what you were getting, with all due respect, Miss.”

  She exchanged a smile with him.

  “I suppose I did,” she said. “And next season, we are playing a hostage plot, with an epic escape. I shall be fit for it by the end of this.”

  “If we make it to the end of this,” Corrigan said, and Matheson elbowed him in the chest.

  “Of course we will,” he said. “We just have to trust ourselves. And our guns.”

  “Here,” Morgan was able to find the exit that led up to the street, and then into the tunnels beneath the city so fast that Lola gave him a suspicious look. “It was....not just a secret the Bamber family kept. All the families in favor knew about it. I had forgotten about it...”

  “Your wife,” Lola put a hand gently on his shoulder. “She is guiding us, even now.”

  “Aye,” Morgan replied, with a half smile. “She is.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Wesley wasn't quite sure how long had passed since he sat in one of the seats, staring into the chandelier that was still shining like everything was bright in the world.

  He had walked out into the theater thinking he was going to go about this calmly. He was going to defend Lola and save the day.

  Then he had seen Tannoy's face, still standing in the center of the audience as if he was waiting for him, and he had been blinded by rage. This man wanted his title, his city, and his wife all at the same time.

  Wesley had already lost most of those things when his family was killed. He was not going to let Tannoy take every scrap of happiness that he had worked hard to achieve. He was also not going to let him cause Lola pain, under any circumstances.

  The rage had taken over any available ounce of logical brain space. It had taken him from smart, from calculating, to the pirate he had almost lost himself to. To the space he turned to when all hope seemed lost; when he thought he had nothing else to live for.

  He hadn't ever told Lola about the dark period; because it wasn't who he was, not really. He hadn't told Lola how much pain their separation had caused.

  However, in the moment, moving towards Tannoy, he didn't care about any of it. He just wanted him dead.

  Now, sitting in the seat, his cousin, his last remaining family member, was more than dead. Wesley's hands were covered in blood, and he could feel himself shivering.

  On the stage, Lola's colleagues lay limp and lifeless. Half her cast was gone, at the very least, the ones that had supported her and loved her when he hadn't been able to. Rebuilding the company again would be near impossible, given how close they were.

  Lola's life would never be the same. He couldn't help but feel responsible for all of it. Now he understood why she had wanted to run from him; to leave the life behind. They had each changed each other's lives drastically.

  How would they come back from this?

  The gunpowder Aaron. Harold. He had forgotten about them, in his pity party.

  Shakily, he rose.

  He wasn't sure he could make any of this better. He wasn't sure he could ever pull himself out of this mindset; this darkness.

  However, he knew he had to see Lola again, one way or another. Lola would never forgive him if he didn't try and save the few friends she had left, because he was sitting here.

  It occurred to him as he walked out of the theater that this was more than just saving her friends. This was family now; the only family he had left.

  People must have been staring at him as he walked into military headquarters; p
eople must have been crossing the street or cowering in fear from his blood covered state; but he didn't really notice. His head was throbbing, his chest hurt.

  He didn't even notice that he walked through the doors. He didn't even notice that everyone was moving around him, swirling, running.

  At least, he didn't notice until Admiral Peckard grabbed him by the arm.

  “Wesley?” he said, half in disbelief. “Good God, man, what happened to you?”

  “I---uh---" Wesley looked up. “Sir?”

  “Are you hurt?” Peckard demanded.

  “No, sir,” Wesley said, blinking. “I've come---Lord Bamber. Both of them.”

  “Oh,” Peckard tried to take in his bloodied state and assess his mind set. “Yes, I was enlightened by that news. They also told me about...”

  “The gunpowder plot,” he said, blatantly.

  “Yes,” Peckard said. “They are both---” he pointed to his office, although he didn't need to. Wesley used to walk these halls with his head held high and his nose in the air. Everyone knew his superior mind; his intelligence like nothing that had ever been seen. He used to be able to walk into any room, open any file. The loss of Earl Rippon to the British Navy had been a loss they felt in every department.

  Peckard had heard rumors of what the shy, once timid boy had become, but seeing it in front of him was a shock he could barely contain.

  “Can I go see them?”

  “Of course,” Peckard said, looking at him doubtfully. “You're alright, though?”

  Wesley shook his head.

  “Do you need me?” he asked, and Peckard put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “No, you've done your part. Go and see them,” he said. “We'll take care of it.”

  Wesley nodded, walking forward as if he was in a dream. He turned the door knob and realized it was locked.

  “Sir?” he asked, knocking on the door. There was no answer. “Sir?” he asked again, in confusion. Hadn't Peckard just said they were in there? “Sir?”

  He heard a noise behind the door, and put his ear against it.