by Maya Banks
Firm hands pushed her back down on the pillow. “You must rest and save your strength. You’ve been through quite an ordeal. I know you have no reason to trust me, but at the moment, I am all you have.”
She clenched her fists beneath the covers and gritted her teeth in frustration. But then her temporary weakness could serve her purposes well. When his guard was completely down, she could escape again. Only this time she would make the best of her flight.
Settling back onto the bed, she closed her eyes and sighed in what she hoped sounded like defeat. “You’re right, of course.”
“We need to talk, Princess. But in order to do that, I need you to be honest with me.”
She opened her eyes and glanced warily at him. “What exactly do you wish to discuss?” Clearly this was a man used to getting his way. There was no arrogance in his manner, just quiet confidence that radiated from his every movement.
“I need to ask you some questions. Painful questions. But if I am going to help you, I need your answers.”
“What makes you think I need your help?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
He looked surprised by her response. “Perhaps we can help each other then.”
“Ask your questions,” she said in a weary tone. “I offer no guarantees that I will answer them.”
Simon bit his tongue for the hundredth time in frustration. Infuriating and not at all forthcoming in her conversation, she had yet to divulge anything.
And with his mounting irritation, strong curiosity about this most unusual woman was beginning to take over his mind. She was unlike anyone he had ever met, man or woman. Even in her weakened state, she challenged him and gave him no quarter.
“Perhaps we should wait until you’ve rested more,” he offered. Clearly she had no plan to cooperate with him.
“I do not plan to be in your company for that long, my lord. I suggest you ask what it is you want to know now.”
“Where will you go? It seems to me you have little choice but to trust me.”
“Your confidence is admirable, but overstated. I’ve managed on my own these past months and have no need of your protection.”
Her chin lifted in defiance, and her eyes burned brightly with determination. She obviously believed every word she said. He didn’t much like the idea of taking her to the palace against her will, but he would do it if it became necessary.
“Do you know who is responsible for the assassinations of your parents and your brothers?”
“If I did, do you think I would be hiding in England like a common coward?”
Disgust dripped from her voice like heavy jam from a scone.
“I see. Do you have any idea why they were assassinated?”
Her lip curled. “Perhaps you should ask your own government.”
He gazed balefully at her. “Surely you aren’t suggesting that England had anything to do with such a heinous attack.”
She pressed her lips together and stared mutinously ahead, refusing to say anything further.
He stood and began pacing. The little chit was good. Very good. She had managed to bait him in one area she had to know he would bite. He almost smiled. Feisty creature she was.
He stopped and looked at her once more. It was time to level with her and forego the sidestepping. “I am offering my help, Your Highness. My protection and that of my country. I was appalled by the travesty that occurred both in Leaudor and on our own shores.”
He moved closer to the bed. “Of course, I am concerned with the ramifications of what happened and what it could mean for England, but I would never condone such a senseless act of violence no matter who it was meted out on. And you have my word as an Englishman that I mean you no harm and will do everything in my power to find out who is responsible for killing your family.”
“And not your word as a nobleman?” she asked pointedly.
“My word as an Englishman is worth far more than my word as the Earl of Merrick,” he said darkly.
A flicker of uncertainty flashed across her face, the first glimmer of anything that denoted vulnerability.
“Your sentiment is appreciated, my lord, but if you were in my place would you so easily trust the first man to pledge his protection?”
“I suppose not,” he said grudgingly.
“I’ve reason to distrust England,” she said in a low voice. “And I cannot afford to make the mistake of entrusting my country’s future to her again.”
“What do you speak of?” he asked sharply. The vague hints were beginning to annoy him. If there was reason for her to distrust his government, he damn well wanted to hear about it.
Genuine regret flashed across her face before she once again masked her response. “As much as the idea of being able to confide in someone appeals to me, there is simply too much at risk for me to do so. I appreciate your generosity, but I must take my leave of you. If you are truly ignorant of what I am speaking of, then I would be placing you in danger by remaining here.”
Simon gritted his teeth, ready to explode. It was all he could do not to shake her. What was she doing to him? After so many years of being the cool, unflappable agent, a mere slip of a woman had him ready to abandon professionalism and howl in frustration.
“Perhaps after you’ve rested, you will see things differently,” he said in a clipped tone. He turned and stalked to the door. Her boots, removed by Mrs. Turnbull, no doubt, rested beside the door. He bent and picked them up. Let her try escaping barefooted. Before he exited the room, he chanced a glance back at the princess. She wasn’t even looking at him.
With a muttered curse, he closed the door behind him, locking it and slipping the key into his pocket. This time he felt no remorse for barring the door.
Downstairs, he called for Timmons. “Post a footman outside my bedroom window and one outside my door as well. Under no circumstances is anyone to go in or out of that room.” He shoved Isabella’s boots at Timmons. “Dry these by the fire. They’re quite damp.”
Timmons nodded. “Will there be anything else, my lord?”
“Summon my carriage.”
* * *
“I cannot put off the prince any longer,” Kirk said. “He wishes to see the princess in the morning in his private meeting room.”
Simon slammed his fist on the desk. “There’s something not right about this whole situation, and I can’t get a word out of the princess. I’ve seen clams with looser mouths.”
“Perhaps she will relate what troubles her to the prince.”
“I doubt it,” Simon said grimly. “She fears going to the crown. She won’t tell me why though.”
“Let the regent deal with the matter,” Kirk advised. “You’ve done all that you can.”
“I know, but there is something she isn’t telling me. Something important I suspect.”
“As much as I know how you hate the idea of forcing her hand, it would seem you have no other choice. You must deliver up the princess in the morning.”
That gave Simon no time to try and gain her trust. And his taking her against her will to the palace would only cement the idea that he was acting against her best interests. Devil take it. His job rarely presented him the conundrum he was tormented with at present.
“Don’t plague yourself, Merrick. His Majesty asked me to convey his gratitude for the speed in which you located the princess. He was quite concerned over the consequences of a new ruler taking over Leaudor should there be no remaining members of the Chastaine ruling family.”
So why did he feel as though he were offering up betrayal of the worst kind? He should feel proud. He’d done his duty and, as usual, succeeded where others had failed. But this time all he felt was a hollow ache.
Haunting turquoise eyes filled his mind. A frail face masking underlying steel, and a softness that was deceptive. She’d been hurt enough already, and here he was prepared to hand her over to the prince like a piece of prime meat at the market.
Kirk slapped him on the back. “Go home and get some sleep. You look like hell, and you have an early appointment with the regent.”
Simon nodded at Kirk and took his leave from the building that had housed their offices the last five years. In a nondescript location, it was a far cry from the usual comforts of an earl. But then his own townhouse was located in an area that catered more to merchants, doctors and solicitors than members of the aristocracy.
As he climbed into his carriage, he spared a thought for what his life might be like had he embraced the path of his forebears. A house in Mayfair when Parliament was in session. His country estate in Hertfordshire just north of London during the off season. Countless society affairs. Vain, spoiled women all vying for his money and prestige, not to mention the title of Countess of Merrick.
All things his brother would gladly have embraced. Or so he thought. Sadness and anger swirled within him and made his chest tighten. Why Edward? Why did you do it?
His father, who had never had much to do with him before his brother’s death, had turned to him in the months following Edward’s passing. Implored him to come home and take up the life expected of a future earl.
The earl had made great strides to overcome the insurmountable breach between him and Simon—as if a few well-placed words could overcome a lifetime of ignoring his youngest son. It was too little too late.
By then Simon had been too ensconced in his position with the agency to give it up so readily. And too resentful that a father who had never deemed him worthy now expected him to drop everything and return to the fold.
Simon had grown up alone, despite having Edward and his father close by. Perhaps it was why he could sympathize with the princess’s plight. He knew all too well the discomfort of solitude even if he had grown to prefer it.
His father had never forgiven him the fact that his mother had died giving birth to him. From his earliest memories, he felt his father’s resentment, his determination to lavish all his attention and love on Edward. Always Edward. Would things have been different had his mother not died? Would they have enjoyed the closeness of family life had she survived?
In the end, a title his father never thought him worthy to hold became his when, less than a year after Edward’s death, his father died in his sleep. They had never reconciled. Simon had never gotten the chance to ask him why.
As the carriage rolled to a stop in front of his home, he sighed, a heavy melancholy settling over him like a black cloud on a spring day. No matter how much he resigned himself to his future, he had yet to come to terms with it. He shook his head, trying to make the heavy cape of gloom dissipate around him. Maybe Kirk was right. Maybe he needed some time away from the agency. Time to sort out the mess he had inherited.
Wearily, he mounted the steps to his house and let himself in the door. The idea of hauling the princess to the palace against her will left a bad taste in his mouth.
He briefly flirted with the idea of letting the matter rest until morning, but by then she’d likely have found a way to escape again. Resolving to confront the recalcitrant princess, he strode up to his bedchamber and retrieved the key from his coat pocket.
As he opened the door, he felt a flash of guilt for disturbing her when she so obviously needed rest. But when he looked around the room, he found her standing at the window, her back to the door. She was still attired in the breeches he had found her in, and her bottom was clearly outlined by the tight material. Extremely tight material.
The soft contours of her body were there in all their glory for him to behold. He almost made a sound of disgust. Self-disgust. Because try as he might, he could not drag his gaze from her pleasing shape. He felt an odd stirring, not all together unpleasing, deep within the inner workings of his body.
The idea that anyone could possibly mistake her for a lad was laughable. She was fortunate that he had been the one to find her and not someone without her best interests at heart.
Her bare feet peeked out from the legs of the trousers, and he felt a moment’s guilt for having removed her boots. He made a mental note to make sure Mrs. Turnbull at least provided her with stockings.
When the door closed with a soft click, she whirled around, her long ebony hair swinging around her. Even in her state of dishabille she was magnificent. She fixed her gaze on him. “My jailor returns.”
“I see your disposition hasn’t improved in my absence.”
The shuttered look he had grown to hate closed over her face. He could well imagine the anger boiling beneath the calm façade though.
He sat down on the bed and met her stare head on. “I’ve tried what I can to make you trust me, and I realize that it’s not something I can earn in the short amount of time we’ve been acquainted. So I have no choice but to do as the crown directs me. In the morning, I will convey you to the palace for a private audience with the prince regent.”
“No.”
Her one word response took him by surprise, but then he had yet to be impressed with her verbosity.
“No? Perhaps you misunderstood me. I am not offering you a choice in the matter.”
A dull red flush worked slowly across her face. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides. “So you’ll sacrifice me for the sake of your duty?”
His brow furrowed and he studied her in confusion. “What is it you aren’t telling me, Princess? Because if you want something from me, now is the time to speak up. I can’t help you if you aren’t going to be completely honest with me.”
She bit her lip then opened and closed her mouth, clearly undecided as to whether or not she should confide in him. Finally she leveled a hard stare at him and said, “I suppose it matters not if you are to deliver me to the palace anyway. The fact is, your prince has already betrayed me once, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to not give him another chance to murder me.”
Isabella watched as Lord Merrick’s mouth fell open even as his eyes hardened. “That is a very serious charge.”
She nearly growled in frustration. “Of course it is. I consider murder a serious charge, indeed.”
“I assume you have sound proof else you wouldn’t be accusing the regent of such conduct.”
She studied him for a long moment. Truly, she hadn’t wanted to confide in anyone in this Godforsaken country, but now it appeared she had little choice. Davide was gone, and with him, anyone in England she could trust.
Biting her lip, she struggled with just how much she should relate to this man. She had little hope he would believe her. He was rooted solidly in his loyalty to the crown. An admirable quality. Too bad more of her own subjects hadn’t the same loyalty.
She turned away from him and stared out the window once more. Footsteps sounded on the floor when he rose from the bed and moved closer to her. His hand grasped her arm and spun her around to face him. “What do you mean when you say the regent betrayed you?”
It wasn’t a request, it was a command, and she was unused to taking commands. Her mouth opened at his daring, but he didn’t back down. “If you want me to help you, Princess, I suggest you start talking.”
“Take your hand from me at once,” she said icily.
His lips compressed, and he released her arm, but he didn’t move an inch back. “Your time is running out. You can either tell me or tell the regent.”
She rubbed her arm absently, though he hadn’t harmed her in any way. But his touch lingered, and she didn’t like it. It would not matter if she confided in him. Regardless of his reaction, she would not allow him to take her to the palace. And maybe, just maybe, he would help her.
“When I arrived in England, I sent word to the palace seeking the regent’s aid and protection. I didn’t know who I could trust. Father had always thought highly of England, which is why I decided to take a chance and come here.”
A sob knotted in her throat and she swallowed it down, determined not to allow her grief to overcome her. “I received a missive bea
ring the regent’s seal. In it were instructions for where to meet his personal envoy. When I arrived at the meeting place, I was nearly killed. I managed to escape, but clearly, the regent, or someone very close to him, didn’t wish for me to live.”
Indecision mixed with utter disbelief clouded the earl’s face. “I have several problems with that account. I cannot believe the regent would plot to kill you. He is far too interested in finding out why your family was killed. England has much at stake.
“And,” he said drawing out the last word, “if the regent knew of your presence in England, I would have been one of the first to know. I have personally overseen the effort to locate you.”
“Your statements reek of naiveté,” she said with a scoff. “Do you honestly think your regent shares every piece of information with you?”
“I have no doubt there is much the prince doesn’t deem fit to share with me, however, he is most concerned with the situation in Leaudor, and I cannot countenance him being part of the plot to murder your family.”
Angrily she yanked her shirt from her breeches. She bunched the material in her fist and raised the shirt to bare her stomach. “Does this look like something I imagined?”
He didn’t look overly impressed by her dramatic display. “What happened?”
Her fingers automatically traced the still tender gash on her abdomen, then remembering she had bared her flesh in front of a strange man, she yanked the shirt back down. “The regent’s henchmen wielded knives.”
He looked at her skeptically. “And how did you manage to escape?”
“I told you I am quite capable of taking care of myself,” she said through gritted teeth.
He stepped back, widening the space between them. But his gaze still bore into her. “Tell me everything that happened.”
“I believe I’ve already told you what happened.” Her patience was wearing thin, and her desire to get away from this man was becoming stronger by the moment.