Three Weeks with a Princess

by Vanessa Kelly

  “Because Sir Nathan knows exactly who I am and who I’m connected to. He knew as soon as he snatched us that he couldn’t allow me to survive. He might have acted on impulse, but the die was cast as soon as he told his thugs to kidnap me as well as you.”

  Amy came up out of her slump, her fury quickly replacing despair. “That degenerate bastard,” she hissed. “He couldn’t just hurt me. He had to go after you, too. Which meant the end of both of us as soon as he touched you.”

  “I’m afraid so. Eventually, he knew he would have to kill us.”

  The girl let loose a stream of hair-raising curses, ending with a threat to string Prudhoe up herself.

  “I hope you get the opportunity,” Lia said with a rueful smile. “But what I can’t figure out is why the idiot would risk so much on this crazed venture. He obviously wants to punish us very badly.”

  Amy let out a hollow laugh. “Looks like he’ll get the chance.”

  Lia scrambled up from the floor. “I have no intention of making it easy for him. From what Mrs. Grace said, you’re to be, ah, offered to some gentlemen who would bid on you for your services?”

  “They hold an auction. Someone like me, who’s younger and fresher than most of the girls, could fetch a pretty penny.”

  “That’s revolting, but we might be able to turn it to our advantage.”

  Amy cocked her head. “How so?”

  “Some of the gentlemen might recognize you; you’re one of London’s premier dancers, after all. See if you can get close enough to one of them to ask for help. Or even tell the man who purchases you that you’re being held against your will.”

  Amy looked grim again. “Most of them won’t care. They think forcing a woman makes it more exciting. That’s why they come to something like this.”

  God. How ridiculously sheltered she’d been her entire life. “That’s awful.”

  Amy shrugged. “Men are awful.”

  “Not all of them, and perhaps we’ll get lucky.” She took Amy’s hands and pulled her out of the chair. “I know the odds aren’t good, but you have to try. Do your best to communicate with anyone who might seem at all sympathetic. Tell him to go to Bow Street or fetch a constable. Or ask him to help you escape, if nothing else.”

  Amy gave a dubious nod. “I’ll do my best, miss.”

  Lia gave her a quick hug. “You’re one of the bravest girls I know, Amy. You can do whatever you need to do to save yourself.”

  When they heard footsteps rapidly ascending the stairs, they glanced at the door.

  “Listen,” Lia said urgently, “if we are separated and you have a chance to escape, you must take it.”

  Amy started to tear up. “I can’t just leave—”

  “You must. Then go for help.”

  When the key scraped in the lock, they clutched at each other.

  “Promise you will,” Lia said.

  “Bloody hell. All right, miss. I promise.”

  The door opened and their two thuggish captors barreled into the room, followed by Sir Nathan.

  Lia tried to brazen it out. “Ah, Sir Nathan. Have you decided to let us go?”

  The baronet gave her a chilling smile. “Quite the opposite. Mrs. Grace insists that I take care of you. Immediately, in fact.” His smile turned into a leer. “Well, not quite immediately. I’m determined to enjoy myself before I hand you over to my men for disposal.”

  “I’m going to see you all hanged,” Lia said, glaring at the baronet and his thugs. “Sir Dominic Hunter will make sure of that. And if he doesn’t, then my cousin, Griffin Steele, will see the deed done. In fact, he’ll probably slit your throats himself.”

  The men, who were holding on to Amy, exchanged a startled glance. Lia was worried she might be overplaying her hand, but she’d clearly landed a hit.

  “You’re Steele’s cuz?” one of them asked.

  “I am. And he’s very fond of me, I might add.” She had every confidence he would be, once he finally met her.

  “Nobody said nothin’ about Griffin bloody Steele. He’ll gut us like fish.” The thug glared at Sir Nathan. “You ain’t payin’ us enough for this job.”

  “You have nothing to fear,” Sir Nathan said dismissively. “I doubt anyone knows these women were even taken, and they certainly won’t know who did it.”

  Lia kept a steadfast gaze on the other men. “Are you willing to risk your life on that chance? People inside the theater must have heard all the commotion. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone came out and saw you dragging us away.”

  “Then why haven’t they come to your rescue?” Sir Nathan said with a sneer.

  “Because they—”

  He delivered a slap that made Lia stagger and grab for a bedpost.

  “Leave her alone, you bastard,” Amy yelled, struggling. But the thugs simply shook her like a rattle until she hung, panting, between them.

  Rubbing her jaw, Lia directed a lethal glare at Prudhoe. “You’ll be sorry for that.”

  “I doubt it.” The baronet scowled at his men. “You’re perfectly safe. Now take Amy downstairs. Mrs. Grace wants to get her ready.” He flashed the poor girl a deranged grin. “You’re going to be sold to the highest bidder, love, and he gets to do whatever he wants to you. Mrs. Grace has assembled a most interesting group tonight—men with some highly unusual tastes. I’m sure you’ll find it . . . eye-opening.”

  “Don’t forget what I told you,” Lia called out as the men dragged the protesting Amy from the room.

  The door slammed shut, leaving her alone with the most evil-minded man she’d ever met. When he locked the door and stowed the key in his waistcoat pocket, she had to bite down hard on her lip to steady herself.

  “You ruined me, you silly bitch.” Prudhoe’s eyes blazed with hatred. “You and that bloody family of yours. Because of them, I must leave England.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m in debt, and some of it is to that devil, Steele. Your cousin,” he added with a snarl. “He’s called in all my markers. And Dominic Hunter has dripped poison into other ears. I’ve been booted from my clubs, hounded by creditors, and now I have no choice but to leave for the Continent.”

  While he talked, Lia continued to inch her way around to the other side of the bed, a vague idea formulating in her head. “That’s certainly not Amy’s fault. You have no business taking out your vengeance on her.”

  “If she’d done what I told her, none of this would have happened.” A spasm of fury pulled his face into an ugly grimace. “This is all her fault and I hope whoever buys her rips her apart.”

  “You’re an absolute monster,” she said hotly. “And I hope my fiancé rips you apart.”

  He snorted as he began to stroll around to her side of the bed. “Lendale will never know what happened to you. You’ll disappear like a wisp of smoke, soon forgotten. After all, you’re nothing but a whore, just like your mother.”

  Lia didn’t waste energy refuting his assertions. She was too busy bracing herself for what would come next.

  As soon as the baronet rounded the bedframe, he launched himself at her. Lia dodged to get around him, but he was surprisingly fast. He crashed into her and sent her flying into the bed. She sprawled half on and half off the mattress, scrambling for purchase. She blocked his attempt to pull her up onto the bed by letting her weight drag both of them down to the floorboards. Lia’s backside connected with a painful jolt that shot up her spine.

  “Fine with me,” Prudhoe said, puffing like a dragon. “The floor it is.”

  He hooked a fist into the front of her bodice and yanked. The fabric gave way with a loud rip. When he tried to come down on top of her, Lia wriggled partway under the high bedframe, forcing him to flop across her lower body.

  “Stay still, goddamn it,” he growled.

  When he wrapped his right hand around her neck and started to squeeze, Lia frantically thrashed. His erection pressed against her belly and his face loomed only inches away. His breath was hot a
nd foul, his grin a rictus of cruelty.

  Stretching her hand for it, her fingertips hit the chamber pot. She hooked the rim and dragged it until she had a firm grip on the handle. When Prudhoe pulled her out from under the bed and yanked up her skirts, her fear infused her with a desperate strength. She whipped the heavy pot at his head.

  It connected with a sickening thud and his body went slack with surprise. When she gave a mighty heave and shoved him off, the baronet rolled to the side, groaning and cursing.

  She needed to finish the job.

  “You bitch,” Prudhoe choked out as he tried to sit up. “I’ll slit your goddamn throat.”

  With a desperate burst of energy, she clawed her way onto the bed, rolled across it, and hit the floor running. She grabbed the rickety chair and dashed back to the baronet.

  He’d pushed himself up onto his hands and knees as Lia swung the chair high and hammered it down on his shoulders. When he crashed back to the floor, she grabbed the heavy chamber pot and smashed it against the back of his head. It shattered into jagged pieces, spraying Amy’s vomit all over him.

  With a whimper, he slumped and fell still.

  Lia staggered backward and grabbed the bedpost for support, trying to calm her rebellious stomach and steady her racing heart. She pinched her nose and sucked in several deep breaths through her mouth, willing her body to settle. The baronet seemed to be out cold and probably no longer posed a threat, but she still had to escape and find help.

  Gingerly, she nudged him with her foot, but he didn’t respond. She felt rather sick at the notion that she might have killed him, but she’d worry about that later.

  She was steeling herself to turn him over and begin searching his pockets for the key when she heard footsteps pounding down the hall. “Lia, where are you?”

  Jack’s voice jolted energy through her body, like a thousand blazing suns. “I’m here,” she cried, running to the door.

  The doorknob rattled. “Stand back,” he ordered. “I’m going to kick it in.”

  She barely had a chance to scuttle out of the way before the door half-flew off its hinges. Jack stood in the doorway, his waistcoat askew, his cravat half-ripped off, and his hair standing on end. He looked like a wild man, and Lia had never seen anything more wonderful in her life.

  “Jack!” She threw herself into his arms.

  He held her tight as a vise, all but pushing the air from her lungs. She didn’t care a jot. He could squeeze her like a stuffed toy for the rest of her life and she would never utter a word of complaint.

  “Jesus Christ,” he growled. “I thought I was too late.” He eased her back to study her, his mouth flat and tight, his gaze shadowed with anxiety. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?”

  She managed a wobbly smile. “I’m a little bruised, but he didn’t have time to do much damage.”

  He touched her cheek, then trailed a hand down to her throat. Prudhoe must have left a mark because Jack’s gaze turned black with fury.

  “Where is he?” he asked in a lethal voice.

  “On the other side of the bed.”

  He eased her out of his embrace and stalked over to the bed, stumbling to a halt as Lia came up beside him. “You did this?” he asked, staring at the heap on the floor.

  She nodded, carefully breathing through her mouth. The baronet was exceedingly ripe, and, to be fair, she didn’t smell like a bouquet of posies either. Some of the contents of the chamber pot had landed on the skirts of her gown—a small price to pay for her safety.

  “Well done, love,” Jack said with a ghost of a laugh.

  She grimaced. “I’m afraid I may have killed him.”

  He crouched down and felt for the baronet’s pulse. “No such luck. You just knocked him out.” He straightened and put his hands on her shoulders. “You’re sure he didn’t hurt you?”

  “Not in any way that matters,” she said, mistily smiling up at him.

  She braced her hands on his chest. Now that the worst was over, she was feeling wobbly and light-headed. And despite what she’d just told him, her head was starting to pound—no doubt from those ringing slaps.

  “You look like hell,” he said, frowning with worry.

  Lia was surprised she could still laugh. “Thank you very much, kind sir.”

  He pulled her close. “I thought I’d lost you forever,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

  “I’ll try not to.” She nestled her cheek against his wrinkled cravat. “Jack, Amy is in trouble. You brought help, did you not?”

  “I did. In fact, I think our reinforcements have arrived.”

  They heard quick steps out in the hall and then Gillian strode through the door. She was hatless but garbed in a stylish green walking dress that seemed utterly incongruous, given the setting and circumstances.

  She also held a knife in her hand.

  “Darling, are you all right?” her cousin asked as she came up to Lia.

  “Yes.” She waved a vague hand at Gillian’s knife. “Is that . . . blood?”

  “I’m afraid so,” her cousin said with a shrug. “One of the louts downstairs wasn’t very cooperative, so I was forced to teach him a lesson.” Gillian scowled at the baronet, who was finally stirring, then leaned down and casually wiped her blade clean on his coat before slipping it back into her half boot.

  “Good God,” Jack muttered, shaking his head. “Please tell me you didn’t kill someone. Charles will be furious if you did. Come to think of it, he’ll be furious anyway, because I allowed you to come along with me.”

  “As if you could have stopped me,” she said with a snort. She nudged Prudhoe in the ribs with her boot. He responded with a moan. “Well done, Jack.”

  “Sadly, I cannot take credit. Lia is responsible for Prudhoe’s sorry state.”

  “Bully for you, old girl,” Gillian said with a grin. Then she sniffed. “What is that dreadful smell? Did someone cast up his accounts?”

  “You don’t want to know,” Lia said, clutching Jack’s coat with both hands. She was feeling more light-headed by the moment and a very odd sensation was overtaking her, as if her brain was pressing up against the top of her skull and trying to escape.

  Gillian frowned. “You’re looking rather grim, Lia. Are you going to faint?”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said, blinking at the swarm of dots drifting across her vision. “I never faint.”

  Then she proceeded to do exactly that.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “There, you’re all set for bed,” Chloe said as she finished braiding Lia’s hair. “I do wish you’d agreed to see the doctor, though.”

  Lia turned at her dressing table to smile at her worried-looking aunt. “My headache is gone and I feel fine. Besides, I’ve been told on a number of occasions that my head is quite hard.”

  “And who would be so rude as to say that?”

  “Jack for one, along with my grandmother, my mother—”

  Chloe chuckled. “Very well, I see your point. But it wouldn’t hurt to see the doctor, just to be sure.”

  Having a family who would do anything to protect her was a blessing Lia never thought she’d have. How ironic that she’d almost had to die before she’d recognized that she was loved simply for herself, without judgment or expectation of anything but love in return.

  “I’m truly fine, thanks to all of you,” she said.

  Chloe glanced at the clock on the bedroom mantelpiece. “Goodness, it’s almost ten o’clock. Why don’t you climb into bed and I’ll bring you a cup of tea? Unless you’d rather go right to sleep.”

  “I’d rather wait for Jack, if you don’t mind. I won’t be able to rest until I know everything that happened tonight.”

  “It might be some time before he and Dominic return from Bow Street. There was much to explain to the magistrate, I’m sure.”

  “I know. I’ll wait.”

  After her embarrassing fainting episode, Lia had regained her s
enses as Jack carried her from the brothel to Gillian’s carriage. Because Mrs. Grace’s nefarious establishment was only a few blocks from Covent Garden, the Runners were already arriving from Bow Street by the time Jack loaded her into the coach. She’d barely had a chance to exchange a word with him before the lawmen pulled him away to deal with the aftermath of their rescue. Gillian had then climbed in and taken both Lia and Amy back to Upper Wimpole Street.

  Lia stood and hurried to the big four-poster. Shivering a bit, she quickly slid under the heavy, comforting bed linens and propped herself against the headboard. “How is Amy?”

  “She’s sleeping, thank goodness.” Chloe fetched a soft knitted shawl from the wardrobe and draped it around Lia’s shoulders. “She did agree to see the doctor, poor thing, but she looked to be in much worse shape than you.”

  Lia grimaced. “It was awful what they did to her.”

  “The doctor gave her a sleeping draught and told her that she needs to spend the next few days in bed, but he expects her to make a full recovery.”

  “Thank goodness.” Lia caressed the smooth bedsheet with the flat of her hand. Never again would she take for granted how wonderful it felt to be safely tucked up in her own lovely, clean bed. “But I don’t know if anyone can completely recover from an ordeal like that.”

  Her aunt wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and Lia relaxed into the warmth of her embrace, breathing in the delicate citrus scent of Chloe’s perfume. “I know, darling. But Amy is strong, and so are you. You both kept your wits about you and fought to stay alive until help could come. I can’t begin to tell you how proud I am, and how relieved.”

  When they’d arrived home, Chloe had immediately sent for the doctor for Amy, dosed them both with large brandies, and then seen them deposited in hot baths. Chloe had washed Lia’s hair, allowing her to haltingly relay the evening’s traumatic events without interruption, listening with calm attention. It had been infinitely soothing for Lia’s rattled nerves.

  “Thank you,” Lia said. “I’m rather proud of us, too, although I know that sounds horribly conceited.”

  Her aunt laughed. “You have every reason to crow. From what Gillian tells me, you were a true heroine.”