Three Weeks with a Princess

by Vanessa Kelly

  “Everything all right, love?” Barbara asked in a sharp voice. She planted herself by Lia’s side, regarding Sinclair with thinly veiled hostility. He, in turn, studied the actress with obvious disapproval.

  “Yes,” Lia said weakly. “I know this gentleman. I think he’s just a little surprised to see me here.”

  “Utterly astounded would be a better description,” he growled. “Why are you here, Miss Kin—er, Smith? Who are you with?”

  She grimaced. “It’s rather complicated to explain.”

  “Not that she has to explain herself to the likes of you,” Barbara said.

  “And who the bloody hell are you anyway?” Sinclair shot back.

  “I’m her friend. And who the bloody hell are you?”

  “I’m her friend, too, and a better one than you if it was your idea to bring Miss Smith to such an affair as this.”

  Barbara propped her fists on her hips. “Now see here,” she said belligerently, “you’ve got no business lecturing me or her. Especially since I don’t have a bloody clue who you are.”

  Barbara’s cavalier gallantly but unfortunately decided to intervene. “Sir, I do hope you’re not disturbing these ladies. I shall be quite perturbed if you are.”

  Sinclair, who towered over the man by several inches, let out a derisive snort. “How terrifying. I suggest you mind your own damn business before I take you by the collar of that absurd costume and throw you out the nearest window.”

  As the cavalier began to bluster, Barbara crowded forward, practically stepping on Sinclair’s toes.

  “You listen to me, you sauce box,” she began, waving a finger in his face.

  Lia grabbed her arm. “Don’t,” she murmured. “We’re attracting too much notice.”

  Sinclair cast a quick glance around and let out a low curse. “You’re right. We can’t talk here. Are you truly without an escort to this damnable affair?”

  Barbara started to bristle, but Lia kept a restraining hand on her arm. “We came with another friend and her gentleman, but I believe they’re off dancing.”

  “By gentleman, I don’t suppose you mean Sir Dominic, Lord Lendale, or the Duke of Leverton,” he said dryly.

  She couldn’t help a laugh. “You must be joking.”

  “Right, then you shouldn’t be here. I’m taking you home this instant.”

  “No, you are not,” she said, starting to get annoyed. “If you want an explanation, I’m happy to give you one, but that is all.”

  He cast another stony glance around and nodded tersely. He took her by the elbow to steer her out of the line.

  Barbara shot a hand out to stop them. “You don’t have to go with him if you don’t want to, miss. We’ll find Sir Nathan if you want this gent to leave you alone.”

  “Sir Nathan Prudhoe? He’s your escort?” Sinclair looked even more incredulous.

  Lia thought it best to ignore his question. “Thank you, Barbara, but this gentleman is truly a friend. I’ll talk to him for a bit and then come look for you. Where shall I find you?”

  Barbara eyed Sinclair with a dubious expression, but finally gave a shrug. “I’ll meet you in the corridor outside the ballroom. We’ll snaffle some champagne and victuals and wait for you on the benches.”

  Lia nodded. “I’ll join you soon.”

  “And make sure you treat miss with respect,” Barbara said, glaring at Sinclair. “Or you’ll have me to answer to. I promise you won’t like it.”

  “If she wanted to be treated with respect, she wouldn’t have come to a blasted Cyprians’ ball,” Sinclair said.

  He wrapped his hand around Lia’s elbow and began hauling her through the crowd. Because they were wading in the opposite direction of the flow, it was slow going and would have been slower still but for the fact that Sinclair was all but shoving people out of their way. Unfortunately, he was leaving a chorus of protests in their wake.

  “Mr. Sinclair,” she finally said with asperity, “if you were trying to draw attention to us, you couldn’t do a better job.”

  He muttered another curse but moderated his pace. “Forgive me, Miss K—”

  “Smith.”

  “Smith,” he ground out. “I didn’t mean to be quite so rough. You may put it down to the fact that I was stunned out of my senses by running into you at a function of this disreputable nature.”

  “I was surprised to see you, too,” she said. And a little disappointed. Sinclair didn’t seem like the type to consort with the demi-monde. “Do you often frequent affairs like this?”

  “I certainly don’t make a habit of it,” he said as they skirted the edge of the dance floor. “I was out for the evening with some friends and found myself here.”

  “Just as I did,” she said, trying to brazen it out. “How funny.”

  He gave her another incredulous look. “Yes. Hilarious.”

  Sinclair quickly steered her to a large window alcove, where a column would give them a degree of privacy. He all but shoved her into the shadowed space, turning his back to the crowd to shield her.

  “Now, Miss Smith, please explain why I shouldn’t haul you back to Sir Dominic’s house this instant?”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Because you have no right to do so, for one thing,” Lia said, trying not to glower at Sinclair. She was exceedingly weary of well-intentioned males trying to run her life. “And I hardly think dragging me out of a ballroom under protest will achieve your desired end of shielding me from gossip. Just the opposite, don’t you think?”

  When he started to argue, she pointedly looked past him to the long French windows that appeared to lead out to a terrace. “Unless, of course, you wish to throw me over your shoulder and spirit me away through the back garden,” she added. “I’m sure that wouldn’t look the slightest bit suspicious. And think of the fuss my friends would kick up when they discover I’m missing.”

  Sinclair blew out a disgruntled breath. “I am tempted to haul you out through the back garden, believe me.”

  “Go right ahead. But you’d better be ready to explain your actions, because I won’t go willingly. In fact, it’s entirely possible my mask will fall off, and then you’ll be stuck. If people see us in such a compromising situation, you might even be forced to declare your hand. Otherwise, you would risk being murdered by one of the men in my very overprotective family, who will no doubt hold you responsible for demolishing what’s left of my reputation.”

  His mouth dropped open to give him a somewhat breathless look. Obviously, that thought hadn’t occurred to the poor man.

  “I don’t think you want to do that, do you?” she asked gently. “Marry me, I mean.”

  He cleared his throat. “Well, no. I mean, of course, any man would be honored to call you his wife, but that’s not . . . oh, bloody hell. You know what I mean,” he said with a wince.

  “I do. There is another alternative, of course. Would you like me to become your mistress?”

  His eyes popped wide with outrage. “Of course not! What kind of loose screw do you take me for? Of all the outrageous suggestions . . . to think I would take advantage of a gently bred lady such as yourself.”

  Lia nodded. “Then I think we understand each other, sir. Please believe that I know exactly what I’m doing. My friends will see me safely home, so that should set your conscience at ease.”

  “That doesn’t do a damn thing for my conscience,” he said tartly. “Not with Sir Nathan as your escort. He doesn’t know who you are, does he? As far as I can tell, he’s entirely lacking in morals and is an inveterate gossip to boot.”

  “I’m not a complete idiot, Mr. Sinclair. Of course he doesn’t know who I am. As for my two friends, I trust them completely—if for no other reason than my stepfather would probably fire them from his acting troupe if he knew they’d helped me tonight.”

  He shook his head. “You’re not just kicking up larks, are you? You’re courting disaster by doing this, you know. It’s completely insane.”

  L
ia reminded herself that he was trying to be helpful. “I’m touched by your concern, but please believe that I know what I’m about.”

  “If you’re on the lookout for a paramour, I must disagree with you.”

  When his gaze flicked over her body, lingering for a few moments on her bosom, she was grateful she wore a mask to hide her blush. It wasn’t pleasant to present oneself as an object of commerce to strangers, but to see herself judged in that context by someone she knew—and liked—was disturbing.

  The disapproval in his eyes gave her a taste of the future. The people she loved would feel more than disapproval—they would feel betrayed, probably even disgusted. Jack would want nothing to do with her. He would be infuriated that she had so recklessly disregarded his wishes and would no doubt vow never to see her again.

  Which is exactly what you want, is it not?

  “What’s wrong?” Sinclair asked, his expression transforming into one of concern. “You’re looking rather ill just now.”

  She forced a smile. “I’m laced too tightly into this costume, that’s all.”

  He waved a vaguely imperious finger at her. “What are you supposed to be, a milkmaid? Where’s your bucket and stool?”

  “I checked them with a footman, obviously.” She made a point of perusing his garb. He looked very elegant in discreet black and white, with a black silk evening cloak flung carelessly over his shoulders.

  She waved a vague finger back at him. “That’s not much of a costume. What are you supposed to be?”

  “A bored gentleman of business,” he said dryly.

  She laughed. “I suppose that fits, then. And I’m afraid I agree that this affair is rather boring, despite its salacious nature.”

  For a moment Lia considered sounding the retreat and allowing Sinclair to escort her home. But who knew when she would have another opportunity to scout out potential protectors? She couldn’t afford to let this opportunity go to waste.

  “Then let me take you home,” he said gently, as if reading her thoughts. “You don’t need to do this.”

  Lia shrugged. “Not true. And I suspect you’ve already heard why I do.”

  “I have, but that ugly incident wasn’t your fault.”

  “It doesn’t matter whose fault it was, the damage is done.”

  “Your family would not agree.”

  “My family is wrong.”

  She thought she saw pity in his gaze. That felt worse than his disapproval; pity was likely the only charitable feeling she could expect from her family and friends. And pity so often turned to scorn.

  “If you’ll excuse me, sir,” she said, desperate now to make her escape. “I must find my—”

  “I know what it’s like to be an outsider, you know,” he interrupted. “To realize that no one can understand you.”

  She couldn’t repress a snort. “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Sinclair, but you’re wealthy and the son of a well-regarded baronet. Short of being a royal, one couldn’t be much more of an insider, especially among the beau monde.” If he noted the irony in her statement—because royal blood ran through her veins—he didn’t acknowledge it.

  “I don’t pretend to understand your particular situation,” he said, “but I will say that appearances can be deceiving. My personal history, for instance, involved an exile from my home and everyone I cared for. I was in India for over ten years and it was not by choice.”

  His somber expression tugged at her sympathies as well as her curiosity. Lia wished she could ask for an explanation, but she’d already spent too much time with him. Barbara would come looking for her sooner rather than later and she didn’t want to risk another scene.

  She briefly pressed his forearm. “You’re very kind, Mr. Sinclair. Please don’t worry about me. I promise to be careful.”

  When he tried to hold on to her, she evaded his grasp.

  “Wait, don’t go,” he said in a sharp tone.

  Lia dodged away from him and onto the dance floor. She heard him curse but didn’t look back. Instead, she wove between the groups of dancers, ducking low as she made her way across the wide room to the other side. When she finally cleared the floor, she glanced back and breathed a sigh of relief. Sinclair was lost in the mass of bodies that crowded the room. With any luck, he would respect her wishes and leave her alone for the rest of the evening.

  She made her way into a long corridor that appeared to stretch to the back of the mansion. It was dimly lit and much cooler than the ballroom or saloons and she longed to take off her mask and breathe in the fresher air. But that would be a mistake. Despite her almost careless manner with Sinclair, she intended to be very careful. She had no desire to be pitched into the middle of another scandal before she had a plan and the resources to control the outcome.

  The occasional servant scurried by, but Lia had the corridor mostly to herself. She did pass a shadowed alcove that contained a couple behaving a bit too amorously for her taste, but Barbara and her new friend were nowhere to be seen.

  She found a comfortable bench and was settling in to wait when three gentlemen came out of the ballroom and turned in her direction. Clearly in their cups, they burst into raucous laughter and began to weave down the hall.

  As they came closer, Lia’s heart lurched. She recognized one of the men from the Levertons’ ball. In fact, she’d not only chatted with the man—a middle-aged, widowed viscount—she’d even stood up with him for a set of country dances.

  Fighting panic, she debated her best course of action. Dressed as she was, it was unlikely he would recognize her, especially in the dimmer lighting of the hall. She curled up on the corner of the bench, hoping they were too inebriated to pay her notice.

  As usual, she wasn’t that lucky. The viscount changed direction and weaved to a stop in front of her, a gently puzzled expression marking his pleasant features.

  “I say, don’t I know you?” he asked, hiccupping a bit.

  Lia shot to her feet, dropping a quick curtsy while she glanced past them and calculated a path of escape. “No, milord,” she said, affecting a nasal tone. “Never seen you before in my life.”

  He frowned. “Voice ain’t familiar, but your nose and mouth . . . I swear I’ve seen you before.”

  One of his companions dug him in the ribs. “Who cares where you saw her? She’s here now and a tasty little piece she is.” He gave Lia a sloppy leer that made her hand itch with the desire to slap him.

  “That she is,” said the third man. He was tall and thin and, bizarrely, wore a jester’s belled cap with his sober evening attire. When he held up a quizzing glass to inspect her, he was so jug-bitten he almost poked himself in the eye. “Would you like to share a beverage with us, miss?” he asked in a polite tone.

  “And then we can take turns sharing you afterward,” the leering one added.

  They erupted into more laughter, the rude one slapping his knee as if he’d just made the cleverest joke.

  While they were doubled over, Lia scampered around them and started backing away. “No thank you, sirs. I . . . I’ve got an assignation with another gent. You’ll have to excuse me.”

  The viscount snapped his fingers. “Ah, I definitely know you. Just give me a minute and I’ll figure it out.”

  Confound it. She’d allowed her accent to waver. Mama was right; she was an utter failure as an actress.

  The leering man started after her. “Now, don’t run off, my pretty one. I’m sure we can give you much better romps than your mysterious beau.”

  “And I want to see who’s under that mask,” said the viscount. He began stumbling after her with stubborn determination.

  Lia threw dignity to the winds and bolted down the hall. With her tormenters in hot, if clumsy pursuit, she rounded a corner into another hallway. Flinging open the door to the first room she came to, she looked inside. The small sitting room was thankfully empty.

  And it had a key in the lock.

  She quickly closed the door and twisted the key. Then she sl
umped against the wooden panels, struggling to catch her breath. Outside, the viscount and his friends loudly called for her and crashed about like a herd of wild boar. When one of them thumped on the door and rattled the knob, she slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a startled yelp.

  She crept back a few feet, holding her breath. It was highly unlikely they could break in, but they could hunt down a footman to open it for them. Or else they could simply try to wait her out. Lia couldn’t help castigating herself for allowing Sinclair to separate her from her friends.

  Trying to keep her panic in check, she stole over to the room’s only window and hissed out a small sigh of relief. There was a large balustrade that fronted a wall separating the house and a lane. If necessary, she could climb out the window and across the balustrade and then shimmy down the wall. It was a rather high drop to the lane, but she had climbed any number of trees in her youth and fallen off limbs that were higher than the top of that wall. While she’d probably ruin the costume and receive a scolding from her mother that was infinitely preferable to fending off three drunks who’d taken her for a light-skirt.

  Of course they did, you ninny.

  After all, she’d done everything she could to advertise that very fact. Still, it was infuriating that they hadn’t accepted her very polite refusal. No man had the right to force himself on any woman, even if she were a light-skirt.

  With a sigh, she dropped into a leather reading chair by the empty fireplace grate, rubbing the corded muscles in the back of her neck. So far, her incipient career as a courtesan had proven as ill-favored and hapless as her acting career.

  Her biggest problem at the moment remained the viscount, and the chance that he might identify her. Lia could only hope her drunken admirers would grow bored and wander off, allowing her to slip out and find Barbara. With any luck, she could be home and in bed long before Chloe and Dominic returned from the opera.

  Within a few minutes, the ruckus in the hall began to lessen. One man proclaimed his boredom with the search, and soon their voices receded. A blessed silence once more reigned in that part of the house.