by Grace Burrowes, Shana Galen, Miranda Neville, Carolyn Jewel
“And your guard?” the duke asked, though she could see in his eyes he’d already guessed.
“Dead.” She looked down, blinked away the tears. “They’re all dead.”
She couldn’t cry. Not now. Not until she reached London.
His hand covered hers, and the warmth of his skin shocked her. She hadn’t realized she was so cold or so desperate for any little morsel of human kindness. His warm fingers wrapped around her hand, and her heart melted at his touch.
She couldn’t allow it, though. If she softened now, she might never have the strength to reach London. She needed all her strength.
She tugged her hand away. “My hands are dirty.”
He rose. Had she offended him? Quite suddenly, she did not want him to go, did not want him to leave her. Her mother had always said she was a contrary child.
“I brought you a scone,” he said, bending to retrieve a plate she hadn’t noticed before. “I would have brought you more, something not as rich and water or tea, but I didn’t want the servants asking questions—not until I’d spoken to Sedgemere, at any rate.”
Her mouth watered when he removed the linen cloth from the top of the plate and she spied the lightly browned scone, smelled the scent of cinnamon and vanilla.
“Slowly,” he said, raising the plate out of her reach. She hadn’t even realized she’d reached for it. “You’ll be ill if you eat it too fast.”
She gave a quick nod, wanting the food more than she could ever remember wanting anything else in her life. He lowered the plate, and she snatched the scone from it, turning away from him so he would not see her eat. Since she had no intention of losing the meager contents of her stomach, she broke off a small piece and shoved it in her mouth.
She closed her eyes and chewed as slowly as she could, her hands trembling from the effort not to cram the rest of the scone into her mouth.
It was the best thing she had ever tasted in her life.
She ate another small bite, then turned to the duke. “Thank you,” she said, mouth full. It was the height of bad manners, but she didn’t care. She could feel tears streaking down her face, tears of gratitude she couldn’t hold back any longer.
He gave her a look of such pity she would have hated herself if she’d had the energy. Instead, she broke off another small piece of scone and didn’t protest when he pulled her into his arms. She should have protested. She should have chastised him.
How dare you touch me without permission!
But he smelled so absolutely wonderful, almost as lovely as the scone. He smelled clean, like shaving soap and boot blacking. Comforting, normal smells. Scents she associated with her life before the revolution.
She should have stepped back. She was dirtying his clothing—very fine clothing from the feel of the wool against her cheek—with her mud-caked garments. Her body relaxed against his chest, and she sagged into him, allowing him to support her. Just for a moment. She would stand on her own again, but she could lean on this man, this duke who had known her before her life had fallen apart, for a few seconds. His arms came around her. She was petite, and his touch—light, not possessive—wrapped around her back and shoulders.
“You’re safe now,” he murmured. “You’re safe here.”
And she believed him. She felt safe. For the first time in weeks, she felt safe. She could lower her guard, relax her muscles, close her eyes.
*
He was holding her. He’d never thought he’d hold her. And when he’d imagined doing so, he’d never imagined she would smell so disgusting.
But he didn’t let her go. He might never have the chance to embrace her again, and he’d hold on as long as she’d tolerate it. He’d hold on forever, because it would take a strong army to persuade him to let her go now. It was obvious she needed help, and he intended to do everything he could for her. She didn’t remember him, and even if she had, she wouldn’t have looked at him twice. Not the way he looked at her.
But this wasn’t about winning her affections. He was a gentleman. He was honor-bound to aid a lady in distress. The feel of her in his arms was almost a reward in itself.
“My bow!” She jerked back, almost tripping over her own feet. He caught her arm, held her steady. “I left it. I have to fetch it!”
Pushing past him, she started for the door of the boathouse. It opened before she could reach it. The Duchess of Sedgemere entered, her gaze flicking first to the princess and then to Nathan. She was a pretty woman and not one prone to hysterics. Her expression remained placid, despite the surprise she must have felt at seeing a strange, filthy woman in her boathouse with one of her houseguests.
“Duchess,” Nathan said smoothly, moving to block the princess from escaping and simultaneously shield her with his body. “I apologize for taking you away from your guests and the activities.”
“Gladstone said you asked him to send the duke or myself to you right away.” Her gaze slid from him to the princess at his side. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes, but I should make introductions first. Her Royal Highness, Princess Vivienne of Glynaven, this is the Duchess of Sedgemere. It was her bridge I found you sleeping under. Duchess, this is Princess Vivienne. She’s in a bit of trouble at the moment.”
The duchess raised her brows with some skepticism, but she managed a very formal curtsey. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Highness.”
“Please, call me Vivienne. I’m endangering you, everyone here, with my presence. It’s better if you don’t use my title.”
“Very well, then you should call me Anne, and I must insist you come to the house with me. You need a bath, clean clothes, and a good meal.”
Vivienne shook her head. “Thank you, but no. As I said, my presence here is a danger to all of you. I want only to collect my bow and be away.” She eyed the scone in her hand and ate another small bite, clearly unwilling to leave it behind.
“You can’t leave,” Wyndover said, surprising himself. The duchess’s eyes widened, while the princess’s eyes narrowed. He cut her argument off. “You’re in no shape to travel to London, especially if you are being pursued by assassins.”
“Assassins?” The duchess paled, but to her credit, she stood her ground.
“I will gladly accept the loan of a horse or conveyance,” the princess answered, haughty as ever.
“And have the assassins take it away at the first opportunity? I think not.”
Her green eyes darkened with fury. “I don’t know who you think you are—”
“I’m a man who knows England a great deal better than you. You’re a lone woman traveling on foot. Even traveling on horseback, you have no protection. If these assassins don’t attack you, someone else will.”
“I agree,” the duchess said. “A woman alone is not safe from thieves or highwaymen, and the closer you get to London, the more danger you face. You cannot go alone.”
“And I cannot stay here.”
“I’ll take you,” Nathan said. The moment the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to shove them back in. What the hell was he suggesting? He couldn’t take her to London. He’d traveled from Town for this bloody house party. He couldn’t get involved in the revolutions taking place abroad. He had estates to manage, tenants to see to, ledgers to balance.
But he’d be damned if he allowed her to walk away from him. She’d be dead before the sun rose again. And if he had other reasons for wanting to stay with her, he didn’t intend to examine them too closely.
“Fine,” the princess said, surprising him. He’d fully expected her to argue, to say she didn’t want him. “You may accompany me.”
Nathan clenched his hands at her imperious tone.
“But you take your life in your hands, Duke. You have serfs depending on you.”
“We don’t call them serfs—”
“An important man like you must have fiefdoms. Can you really afford to risk your life to escort me to London? I think it’s better if I go alone.”
> “That’s out of the question.”
“Fine, then fetch your carriage. We leave now.”
The duchess pressed her lips together, clearly hiding a smile. She had noted the princess’s dictatorial tone as well.
“That’s also out of the question,” Nathan said. He could dictate too. “A journey like this takes a bit of planning and preparation. Not to mention, I have no intention of traveling for days with someone who smells like pig feces—be she a princess or not.”
“Why you—”
The duchess cleared her throat. “Your Highness—Vivienne—perhaps you might come inside and take the opportunity to wash and change. You’re shorter than I, but I could ask my maid to hem one of my gowns or take it in a bit.”
“Thank you, Duchess, but no,” Nathan said. “If the assassins are tracking her, and I think we must assume they are, I want her far away from here, from your party and the guests. There are children present, and we must think of their safety.”
“Then what do you propose?” Vivienne demanded, hands on her hips.
“You come with me to Wyndover Park. It’s only a couple hours’ ride from here. That’s far enough to put distance between you and your pursuers, but close enough that I can have you there quickly. At this point, your safety is paramount.”
Her expression was unreadable. It might have been the streaks of dirt on her face, but Nathan rather suspected she wasn’t quite certain what to make of him. Good. He’d keep her guessing.
“How can I help?” the duchess asked.
“I want to leave without being seen,” Nathan said. “I’ll need you to make my excuses.”
“Of course.”
Vivienne nibbled the scone while he and the Duchess of Sedgemere devised a plan. She would tell Sedgemere the truth, but everyone else would be told Wyndover had an aching head and had gone to his room. During the next activity, which was a picnic in the garden, Wyndover and the princess would slip away in his coach and go to Wyndover Park. That evening at dinner, when the duke and the princess were safely at Wyndover Park, Sedgemere would inform the guests that Wyndover was called to his estate in Gloucestershire on urgent business. Wyndover Park was in Nottinghamshire, but Nathan wanted anyone who inquired after him to think he’d left the area. Otherwise, Nathan had thought it best to stick closely to the truth, and he instructed the duchess to say that a fire had broken out at one of the tenant’s cottages. This was true, although the steward at the Gloucestershire estate had the matter well under control—except for the small matter of housing the tenant’s rabbits—and Nathan was not needed.
“I should return to the house before I am missed,” the duchess said. “I wish you a safe journey.”
“Tell Elias I’ll write to him with news, and accept my apologies, Duchess, for my early departure.”
She waved her hand as though his absence was nothing, although he knew it would upset her numbers and cause her some difficulty. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Vivienne. I do hope we can meet again under better circumstances.” She curtseyed again, and then she was gone.
Nathan leaned against the door. “I think it best if we stay here and out of sight until my coachman sends word that the coach is ready.”
“I agree, but I must have my bow and arrows first.”
“You always did love archery.”
“And a good thing, as my skill with a bow saved me any number of times. I even wounded one of the assassins in the leg. I had hoped his injury would afford me some time, but the others seemed to come even more quickly.”
“How many are there?”
“At least three, but there might be more.” She motioned toward the door.
“I’ll go,” Nathan said. “You stay inside and hidden. Where did you leave them?”
“I slipped them off before drinking and leaned them against the stone bridge. I must have fallen asleep, and when you woke me, I didn’t think to gather them.”
“I’ll return in a moment.”
He opened the boathouse door a crack, peered out. The duchess had returned to the house by now, and no one else was about at the moment. Quickly, Nathan stepped outside and closed the door behind him. The bright sunlight made him squint, but he shielded his eyes and made his way back to the pond and the bridge where he’d seen her this morning.
He stayed alert, scanning the tree line and the lawns for any sign of movement. The pond was far enough from the house that he heard nothing and saw nothing. Finally, he returned to the spot where she’d been sleeping and circled the area, looking under the bridge and in a nearby patch of fuzzy swamp willows. He imagined her crouching beside the water to drink, tracked his gaze to where she would have set the bow and arrows.
She would have wanted them close at hand when she sat to rest for a moment. Nathan stood again where he’d found her sleeping. He could still see the indentation of her body in the sand and in the middle of that hollow, a footprint.
There was no bow, no arrows.
Nathan put his own foot beside the print. His boot was larger.
Whoever had been here had tracked the princess, taken her bow and arrows.
And the assassins would keep tracking until they had her too.
Chapter Three
‡
“You don’t know it was the assassins who took the bow and arrows,” the duke said. He was seated across from Vivienne in his well-appointed coach, both of them resting on royal blue velvet squabs and using handholds of gold silk.
“Yes, I do. You are fortunate the bow and arrows are all they took.” He still had his life.
“I prefer a fight to running and hiding. I would have confronted and bested them too.”
He would have given the assassins a good fight, of that she was certain. Unlike Masson, the duke was prepared for an attack, and he looked like the kind of man who could hold his own. British men liked to think of boxing as a sport. In her country, it was much the same. But the assassins weren’t gentlemen or bound by a code of honor. They intended to kill her, and they would do so by any means necessary.
Still, she was quietly grateful to the duke. His presence had saved her life. If he hadn’t woken her, if he hadn’t looked strong and formidable, she would be dead by now.
“They must have taken the bow and arrows while we were in the boathouse,” she said. “If they’d come while I’d been sleeping, they would have killed me.”
“Why not attack us in the boathouse? Why not kill you when I went back to the house to fetch the scone and speak to the staff?”
“I don’t know.”
“I will write to Sedgemere when we arrive at Wyndover Park. No doubt the bow and arrows will turn up at the house party.”
She didn’t agree, and the thought made the food in her belly—the duke had procured bread, cheese, and wine—sit like a handful of stones. She’d had that archery set since she was sixteen. It had been a gift from her father on her birthday, and the two of them had spent many happy hours together shooting at targets, laughing, and competing.
And now he was dead.
She closed her eyes.
To her shock, Wyndover’s gloved hands clutched her bare ones. Once again, she was aware of how dirty and unkempt she was. His gloves were perfectly white, while her hands were dingy with grime.
“I can see the loss of the bow and arrows has upset you, but you don’t need them any longer. I’ll protect you. I won’t allow any harm to come to you.”
If he had been Glennish, one of her countrymen, she would have accepted his words without comment. It would have been his duty to protect her. But this man owed her nothing. Why should he risk his life for her? Why should he comfort her or dirty his hands for her?
“That is very kind of you,” she said carefully. “Do you mind if I ask why?”
He did mind, at least she surmised as much when he released her hand and sat back. “Because you are in danger. What sort of man would I be if I did not help someone in danger?”
“A typical man,” s
he said.
He folded his arms over his broad chest. The late morning sun sliced through the carriage windows, which he had insisted need not be covered, making his hair look even lighter and his blue eyes look almost clear.
“I don’t agree. Most men I know would do no different.”
“Then you have not spent much time at court. The men I know do nothing if it doesn’t benefit them. I have been to the court of your King George when he was still well. I saw little difference.”
He pressed his lips together, and she watched with an interest she could not quite control as they gradually released and became full again. She wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips, to caress those perfect cheekbones, to stare into those bluer-than-blue eyes. What kind of lover would this man be?
An unselfish one, she decided. The thought did nothing to distract her from the wayward path of her thoughts.
“I haven’t spent much time at court, but I have been in Parliament for several years. Political expediency is the way of most powerful men, but that doesn’t mean that they are not good men at the core.”
She let out a huff of breath and looked away. Let him hold on to his naïveté. She couldn’t forget the carnage political expediency had wrought on her country, her family.
“I’ll replace the bow and arrows for you.”
She jerked her head to stare at him in astonishment. “You needn’t do that.”
“I want to. I recall how much you enjoyed archery.”
“You seem to remember me very well. Why is it I have such a vague recollection of you?”
“It wasn’t for lack of trying on my part. I tried to catch your attention, but you were politely indifferent.”
She smiled. “That is an apt description, I suppose.”
“Very apt. I’m not particularly witty or fascinating. I suppose I didn’t interest you.”
Poor man. He thought he’d bored her.
“I’m afraid there is very little you could have said or done to capture my attention, Duke. Even if you had been as amusing as Leland Vibosette”—one of Glynaven’s most witty actors—“I would not have sought you out.”
