by Anne Gracie
“You’re not asking me, I’m telling you.” His arm tightened around her.
Her green eyes narrowed. “Mr. Renfrew, as I’ve pointed out before, you have no authority over me. It’s kind of you to be concerned, but it really isn’t your business what I do or where I go. I don’t wish to quarrel with you, so—”
“Good. Then you will wait.”
“No. I am my own woman and—”
He turned his head. “Ethan, are you still here? Good. Take that luggage and lock it in the cupboard down the hall. Lock everything in there—that hat, too—and give the key to me.”
“You will do no such thing, Mr. Delaney,” she said instantly. “It is my luggage and I intend to depart as soon as practicable.”
“Ethan, go.”
Ethan grinned. “Yes, sir, Capt’n Renfrew.” He picked up the valise, tucked the bandbox under his arm, and picked up the hat.
“Unhand those items at once!” With some difficulty she untangled herself from Gabe and ran to wrest her things from Ethan.
Gabe grabbed her cloak and when she pulled up short, he twirled her around, snatched her hand, and tucked it into the crook of his. “Let us discuss this,” he said and propelled her toward the sitting room.
She resisted. “There is nothing to dis—” she began, then noticed with amazement his sudden ability to walk unaided. “You fraud! You can stand perfectly well without me!”
Immediately Gabe had a relapse, one that necessitated his arm clamping hers to her side, while he held tightly onto her other hand.
“I am not the least bit deceived by that,” she told him. “How dare you confiscate my luggage!”
“Oh dear, I think I’m going to swoon,” Gabe murmured and clutched her as feebly as he could manage while restraining her from running after Ethan.
“Are you indeed?” said a caustic voice from behind. “That’ll be a first, then.” He turned and saw Mrs. Barrow, hands on hips, observing the whole scene. Behind her stood Miss Tibthorpe, and the two boys watching with wide eyes, his dog, Juno, peering between them.
Mrs. Barrow took one look at him and sniffed. “You’d better bring him in to the kitchen, ma’am. He needs cleaning up.” She darted him a look and added, “In more ways than one.”
Ethan returned and tossed him the key. Gabe caught it. He looked down at his stubborn, angry princess and said softly, “Just give me an hour. If you don’t, I will come like this.”
She opened her mouth to argue and he added in a firm voice, “I am not taking no for an answer. I go with you bloodied or I go with you clean, but you won’t leave this house alone and unprotected.”
She scowled at him a moment, then her face cleared and she nodded, as if capitulating. “Very well, I’ll wait. Give me that key and while you’re getting cleaned up I’ll get my luggage ready.” She held out her hand.
For answer, he slipped the key into his breeches pocket. “After we’ve talked this through rationally.”
Callie glared at him. “Don’t you trust me?”
He gave a faint smile. “I told you, those eyes of yours give your every thought away. If you had your luggage, you would leave the moment my back was turned. Shall we go?” He held out his hand as if to usher her to the kitchen.
She gave him an icy look, then, with her little nose held high, she glided past him, the very picture of a royal princess: gracious, dignified—and fuming.
It was all Gabe could do not to snatch her back and kiss the starch out of her. But in her current mood she’d probably box his ears. And quite rightly. He’d been atrociously high-handed. But he couldn’t let her leave. Not without him.
In the kitchen Mrs. Barrow said to the two boys, “Jim, you’ll know where the best pool for leeches is—the one in the hollow behind the copse. You and Nicky take this jar and fetch me some nice big ones. And take that dratted dog with you—you know she’s not supposed to be in the kitchen.”
“Leeches?” Callie exclaimed in repugnance.
“Best thing for black eyes and bruises.” Mrs. Barrow turned back to Jim. “You know how to catch them, don’t you?”
Jim nodded.
“Good lad. Off you go then, boys, and don’t fall in!”
“Nicky can’t go,” Callie said quickly. “He—he cannot swim.”
Nicky’s face fell. “I would be very careful, Mama,” he said in his polite, little-old-man way. “I have never before fished for leeches. It sounds very interesting.” His green eyes beseeched her.
She hesitated. Gabe understood why. He found it almost impossible to resist her when she looked at him with her version of those eyes.
But the events at the cottage had obviously given her a bad fright and she was clearly reluctant to let her son out of her sight.
She chewed on her lip indecisively. Gabe watched. She had no idea how erotic he found it. Even battered and aching, and in a room full of people, his body stirred at her action.
“I would dearly love to experience a leech hunt,” the boy added in a wistful voice. His hands unconsciously fondled Juno’s ears.
“Then you shall go,” Gabe told him. He needed to talk to her in private, about things she wouldn’t want to discuss in front of her son. “Take Miss Tibthorpe with you. She will find it, er, scientifically interesting.”
Miss Tibthorpe looked surprised and faintly indignant, but before she could say anything, Gabe noticed Ethan lounging in the doorway and added, “And Mr. Delaney will go, too, which will set Nicky’s mother’s mind at rest.”
“Indeed it will,” Ethan agreed. “Where am I goin’ again? A leech hunt, is it?” He gave a rueful glance down at his immaculate outfit and gleaming boots. “That’ll be…grand.” With gloomy resignation, Ethan offered his arm to Miss Tibthorpe. She hesitated, then took it, and in seconds the kitchen was deserted.
The princess stamped her foot. “How dare you take over like that! You have no right! It is for me to decide if my son stays or goes.”
“I know, but we have things to discuss. And he’ll be perfectly safe. The pool is just a few minutes away; they’ll be half an hour at most. Let Nicky have his fun. From the sounds of things he hasn’t had much fun in his life. You do keep him wrapped in cotton wool.”
Her eyes glittered. “That’s not fair. I do what I must for Nicky’s own good.”
“I know, to keep him safe. But you can’t keep running.”
She made a frustrated gesture. “What else can I do? I can’t fight Count Anton myself. And nobody else believes me.”
“I believe you. And you can’t fight him, but I can.”
“How?” she demanded. “You are but one man. Count Anton has practically an army.”
“A battle is not always won on brute strength alone.”
“You might be more convincing if you looked less like something the cat spat out, Mr. Gabe, so let’s get you cleaned up,” Mrs. Barrow interrupted. She’d brought hot water, clean cloths, and a daunting array of medicinal-looking pots.
Callie stood back to let Mrs. Barrow at him.
“How do you imagine you can defeat Count Anton?” she asked Gabe as Mrs. Barrow stripped off his coat, waistcoat, and shirt, leaving only his breeches. Gabe placed a hand on his waistband to make sure they stayed that way.
Callie stared. Angry marks were all over his body, where he’d been kicked and punched. There was even the imprint of a boot heel on the back of his left hand.
It was her fault he was hurt. He’d got like this defending Tibby from Count Anton’s men. Her anger faded and guilt replaced it.
“Don’t do that,” he told her.
“Do what?”
“Chew your lips like that. They’re a work of art, those lips, and should not to be chomped on or mangled. Nibbled on tenderly, perhaps. I’ll show you how, later.”
Callie stared at him, unable to think of a single thing to say. A work of art? And then she realized he’d just offered to nibble on her lips. She fought a blush.
“That’s enough of your mischief,
Mr. Gabe. The lass has been beside herself with worry for you,” Mrs. Barrow said. “And you, ma’am, don’t give this another thought.” She indicated the battered masculine torso. “I’ve been patching up him and Harry since they were knee-high to a grasshopper. As long as the devilment is still in this one, he’s all right.”
Callie took comfort in the woman’s words. She could see the devilment dancing in the one blue eye that could open. So while Mrs. Barrow dabbed at the cuts and abrasions with a mix of vinegar and hot saltwater, he explained what had happened.
He’d been caught half under the dresser trying to catch the cat. A high-booted thug with a thin golden mustache had demanded he produce a princess. “As if I had hidden one under the dresser!” he scoffed.
“That was Count Anton,” Callie confessed, “I am the princess he was after.”
“I knew that. Princess Caroline of Zindaria.”
Her eyes widened. “How did you know?”
He shrugged. “The Zindari horsemen and their fabled savage horses have been an interest of my brother Harry’s for years, so I’d already worked out where you came from based on Nicky’s talk. And you being a princess? Well, since Nicky’s father was one of the top men, it wasn’t much of a stretch.”
Mrs. Barrow’s jaw dropped open. After a stunned moment she slapped the wet cloth across his chest. “If you knew she was a princess, you should’ve warned me,” she scolded. “I’ve been calling her lovie! And you shouldn’t be sitting here half naked in front of her.”
“I don’t mind,” Callie said, meaning she hadn’t minded being called lovie.
His lips quirked. He winked and Callie blushed, realizing her words could also mean she didn’t mind his semi-clothed state. And though she hadn’t meant that at all, it was not untrue.
Even beaten up and covered in scrapes, his body fascinated her.
Mrs. Barrow poked him. “You don’t wink at princesses. I’m sorry, Your Highness, but he wasn’t brought up to be so rag-mannered. It’s all that time he spent in foreign parts. Lift up and I’ll check for broken ribs,” she ordered him. He lifted his arms for her, and she poked carefully along the line of each rib.
Callie watched anxiously.
Mrs. Barrow noticed. “Don’t you worry, Your Highness,” she assured Callie. “There’s nothing broken. It looks worse than it is.”
“But—”
“He’s been much worse and survived, Your Highness. Like a cat, he is. Besides, never happier than when he’s in trouble, Mr. Gabe. Fretting himself to flinders, he was, Your Highness, before you arrived. Bored to death and miserable with it. Blaming hisself for things that weren’t his fault. Turn.”
He turned. “I never believed your name was Prynne,” he told Callie. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“Then why didn’t you say anything?”
“You were so determined to pretend, I didn’t have the heart.”
She made an impatient gesture. “No, not to me—to Count Anton.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You mean why didn’t I tell him where you were?”
She nodded. “It would have saved you…that.” Her eyes ran over his bruised and battered body.
He stared at her a long moment. “Yes, why didn’t I think of that? What’s the safety of a woman and child, after all, when I could have saved myself a couple of bruises. I’ll remember that next time.”
“I hope there won’t be a next time,” she muttered, dropping her eyes to evade the look in his. There was a short silence.
“You know there’s going to have to be a confrontation,” he told her.
She shook her head. “I’ve already brought enough trouble on Tibby, and now you. I have to leave.”
“And do what?”
“Hide.”
“Again? And when he finds you again—for if he’s been able to trace you across Europe from Zindaria, he’s not going to give up here! So then what—flee and hide again? And again? And again? And is that the way you want young Nicky to live?”
There was a short silence. Mrs. Barrow glanced at Callie. She said nothing, but Callie knew she agreed with Gabriel. So did Callie, for that matter, but what else could she do?
“At least he would be alive. If I’d stayed in Zindaria, Nicky would be dead by now!”
He nodded. “Yes, the poison.”
She was shocked. “How did you know about that?”
“The way you both reacted to the hot milk last night.”
Callie glanced at the door. The boys were still down at the pond. “There have been several attempts to kill Nicky in the last couple of months,” she told him. It was a relief to talk about it to someone who seemed to take her seriously. “I am certain my husband’s death was no accident, too, though I have no proof.”
He nodded.
“The puppy was the last straw. I’d given Nicky a puppy—his first.” She glanced up at Gabe. “He loves dogs, but his father never let him have one, not until he could—well, that doesn’t matter.”
Rupert had promised Nicky a puppy when he learned to ride bareback. Only Nicky couldn’t, not with his bad leg. Rupert would put the little boy on one of his great, savage horses, hand Nicky the reins, and slap the horse on the rump.
The horse would move away and Nicky would try to ride it, but his leg didn’t have the strength, and after some bouncing around he would fall off. His father would pick him up and put him back on the horse, and again Nicky would fall, and his father would pick him up, and he would fall, over and over until his small body was covered with bruises and he could hardly walk.
Nothing she could say to Rupert had the slightest effect. Callie had begged and pleaded with him, then stormed and railed, but it had made no difference. She was just a silly, fearful woman and he was the prince: his word was law.
It had gone on for years, until Nicky was terrified of horses, knowing he would be hurt. But he never refused; he tried his little heart out every time, and though he was hurt, he never once cried.
His father hadn’t relented, hadn’t even praised Nicky’s courage. A prince of Zindaria must never fail.
Nicky had stopped asking for a puppy. There was no point; he would never ride bareback.
So, a year after his father’s death, she’d given him a puppy.
“Of course he took it to his bedroom.” She gave a rueful smile. “You saw how he was with your dog. Love at first sight.”
He nodded. “Even more so with a puppy, especially if it was his first.”
“I always brought him hot milk before bed. That night, instead of drinking the milk himself, he gave it to the puppy.” She tried to remain calm as she said, “It died. Horribly. In my little boy’s arms.” Her face crumpled, remembering Nicky’s desperate grief, and how he’d blamed himself for the puppy’s death.
She pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose. She wasn’t going to cry about it, she wasn’t. She was angry.
“Who prepared the milk?” he asked when she had mastered herself.
She gave him a bleak look. “Me. I heated it myself, and took it up to him. Not one other person touched it, or touched the cup after I washed it.”
He frowned. “So how did they do it?”
“He’d poisoned the entire jug of milk. One of the servants put some in her tea. She was very sick, but she’d used just a few drops of milk, not a whole cup.” She shuddered and wrapped her arms around her body. “He didn’t care how many people he killed, as long as Nicky died, too.”
“Count Anton?”
“Yes, he is next in line for the throne after Nicky.”
Mrs. Barrow clicked her tongue. “Such wanton wickedness!”
Callie nodded. “He is truly evil.”
“So that’s when you ran.”
“Yes, I’d thought of escaping for some time, but when that happened, I knew I had to act.”
“You didn’t try to have Count Anton arrested?” Gabe asked.
She threw up her hands. “Of course I did. I told Count Zabor—Uncle Otto
—he is uncle to both my husband and Count Anton, and currently the regent, ruling on Nicky’s behalf until Nicky turns eighteen.”
She threw up her hands in frustration. “Uncle Otto thinks I am just a silly woman. He thinks I mollycoddle Nicky too much, and ‘worry my little head over nothing.’” She mimicked his voice. “It makes me so angry the way they all think they know better.”
“Who do you mean by ‘they’?”
She bared her teeth at him. “Men, of course.”
“Of course. I suppose you showed them the poisoned milk.”
“No, because when the kitchen maid got sick, the other servants threw the bad milk out. I couldn’t prove anything. And though I knew it was Count Anton, he wasn’t even in the palace at the time. Besides, poison is such an unlikely weapon for him to use. He’s known and feared for his ungovernable temper…”
She shrugged and mimicked, “‘Milk goes off sometimes, and people get sick, Princess. And young pups taken too soon from their mother can die. That is sad, Princess, but it’s life.’”
She looked at him and added fiercely, “But the puppy was not too young to leave its mother. And the milk was poisoned. So, yes, I will run and run and run, if it will keep my son alive. What other choice do I have?”
“You can’t keep running. Count Anton must be stopped.”
She nodded. “Yes, I know I should shoot him, but I don’t think I can kill a man in cold blood. If he was attacking Nicky, I could, of course, but—”
His lips twitched. “That’s not what I meant.”
“You mean I could pay someone to kill him? I know, but that would make me just as wicked as Count Anton. And I don’t want my son to have a murderess for a mother.” She frowned and looked at him indignantly. “Besides, I don’t want to be a murderess.”
“I’m very glad to hear it,” he said, amused. “And don’t look at me like that, I didn’t suggest you should murder anyone.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He gave her a long look. “I have a plan,” he began.
“And we’ve got dozens of leeches!” the crown prince of Zindaria announced from the door. “And some of them are still on me!” A wide grin split his face. Mud and water dripped from him. He was utterly filthy, and as happy as she’d seen him for…ever.
