by Gill, Tamara
"It is suspicious, I would agree," Rowan stated, his tone bored. "The princess is well-guarded. They will not get to her unless through us." Or by us, he inwardly snickered. The fools. All of them. Stupid to think the princess was so safe.
Little did they know, they had let the lion into the cage, and he would devour them all if he had to, to get what was promised him.
The waltz came to an end, and Lord Douglas escorted Princess Alessa back over to them. Her displeasure at their presence gave him an amused sense of gratification. That the men who wished to court her did not do so because of her guards at her back was as enjoyable as the money promised him for ridding the world of another useless, spoiled being would be.
He listened to their polite, ridiculous conversation regarding nothing of importance before his lordship took his leave.
Rowan studied her from behind. She was a tall woman, her hair sun-kissed and coiled up atop her head in larger curls, a pretty diamond tiara worth a king's fortune glistened in the candlelight.
So much wealth and privilege. How they lived with themselves when so many others suffered, he would never understand. Without warning, she turned and stormed up to them, chastising them both over their presence.
Rowan crossed his arms over his chest, not the least amused by her outburst. "We do apologize, Your Highness, but we are under orders. Unless you are safe and stowed in your rooms at Sotherton's London townhouse, you must be within our presence and view at all times. That is our queen's decree, one we cannot break," Marco said, always trying to please and appease the spoiled little brat.
He would like to bend her over his knee and spank her ass. The idea was not helpful, and he frowned.
Alessa crossed her arms, mimicking him. How he'd like to crush her and her self-importance like a gnat. "Would you prefer that you are killed, Princess?" His tone oozed with disdain.
"Watch your tone when speaking to Her Highness," Marco said, his voice hard.
Rowan fought to keep a smile from his lips. "I am working for your sister the queen under direction by the government here in England. I do not take nicely to playing babysitter to a royal who wishes to flout about England and accomplish little other than finding a husband. I shall keep you safe, but I will not flatter you or declare utter devotion at your feet simply because you are a princess. If you dislike the way I work, feel free to replace me at your earliest convenience."
Her mouth gaped and he grappled with the image of that mouth against his. She had the sweetest pink lips. What a shame they belonged to a woman such as herself.
Marco bowed to her. "If you would excuse us, Your Highness. We shall be within view. We merely need to discuss the particulars of moving you on to your next ball."
"Of course," she said, watching him keenly.
Rowan followed Marco, and they stood beside a bank of windows, still within view of the princess but far enough away to ensure privacy. "You cannot speak to Her Highness in that way or tone. She deserves respect. She is a good person, and you are employed to do a job, and that is all. Keep your mouth shut, or the Crown will be forced to replace you and reprimand you if you do not toe the line."
He nodded, playing the part of a chastised man, bowing his head. "I forget how to speak sometimes around these types. I will apologize to Her Highness," he lied, having no intention of doing such a thing.
Marco watched him a moment, and Rowan could see he was debating whether to believe him or not. "Very well," he said, his stance relaxing somewhat. "See that you do." He paused. "It's time I did a check around the grounds. Try to not argue any further with the princess, or anyone else for that matter."
Rowan saluted him and went to stand behind the princess once again. Lips closed, ready to play his part until an opportunity arose to do what he was being paid for.
She turned, pinning him to the spot. "I can feel you are looking at me, guard," she spat, having never used his name, even though they were introduced when he first started working for her family. "Is there something wrong with my gown, or is there something you wish to say to me that you keep on looking at my person?"
He chuckled, unable to stop himself from laughing at her meaningless words. "I was merely checking to ensure you had not caught anything from his lordship Douglas."
She gasped, turning on her heel to face him. Rowan ground his teeth. The princess ought to be taught a lesson. Who did she think she was standing up against him, trying to shove him back in his place? Intimidate the poor like the high-handed toff she was. He had no place in this world, no loyalties, nothing, which made him more dangerous to her than anyone.
Silly little rich royal.
"What do you mean by that, guard? I will not have you disrespect my friends in such a manner by talking about them when you do not have the right."
He raised one brow, staring down his nose at her. The princess had a bite, after all. Granted, it was similar to a bite of a small puppy, but at least she wasn't entirely pathetic. "I shall speak in any way I choose, Princess. I'm here to do a job, keep you safe, and that is all," he lied. "I was not hired to simper and flatter those who wish to simper and flatter you."
Her mouth gaped again, and he tore his gaze from her full lips. They had the smallest amount of rouge upon them, just enough to darken the natural shade, but it was enough to make her utterly beautiful to look upon. Not that he needed to think of her as anything but a job to be done. A woman to remain close to. To have the trust of her people before doing the job he was hired to do.
Kill her.
She stepped closer still, and he fought not to lean into her, let her feel the strength of himself. Let him feel her sweet breasts up against his chest. They rose and fell with each annoyed breath she took, and his lips twitched. It was enjoyable irritating the little termagant.
"Well, guard, should you wish to keep your position at my side, I suggest you shut your mouth and only speak when spoken to. Is that understood?"
He glared. Never did he allow toffs to speak to him in that way. Hell, he did not allow anyone to speak to him so offensively, but he needed to tonight. He would get his revenge on her eventually when he snuffed out her life, but he needed to stay where he was until then. "Whatever you say, Princess," he quipped, turning his attention to the guests and ignoring her.
She turned on her heel, taking a glass of wine from a passing footman and downing a good portion of the drink before her tense shoulders seemed to ease.
He rolled his own, having never taken well to others pushing his buttons, and the princess aggravated him by merely looking in his direction. The sooner he removed her from this world, the better.
His life awaited him, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand living in this fake, glittering world. Not long if the last of his nerves were saying anything about the fact.
* * *
Later that evening, Alessa sat in her bedroom in her shift and nightdress, staring out at the man who wandered about the gardens, cheroot in his mouth and gun hidden somewhere on his person as it always was.
How she wished she was better equipped to handle the English giant ass who was assigned to her side for the duration of the Season.
If ever there was a man whom she loathed, it was this one. "Beast," she spat aloud, knowing he was too far away to hear, but it made her feel better all the same to mumble the slur.
She shook her head. Whyever would he take the position in the first place if he loathed her so much? Which was in itself an odd thing because everyone loved her. Or at least they seemed to when they were talking to her. She had heard nothing but high praise since she arrived, so why this man, a guard of all people, thought bad of her she could not fathom.
"Beast," she mumbled again, catching sight of herself pouting in the window.
She huffed out a breath. She would have to do something to change his opinion of her. What to do was much harder to think upon when she did not know why he hated her in the first place. She was kind and with a happy disposition. What wasn't ther
e to like?
Her secretary, an older gentleman who had once worked as a junior aid to her late mama, walked into her room, bowing. "Your Highness, the trip to the women’s shelter proposal site has been scheduled for next week. Are you in agreement?"
She turned away from the infuriating man in the garden and faced Mr. Todd. "Of course, yes. That will be fine."
Mr. Todd marked off something in his notebook at her words. "Have we found who owns the orphanage we're looking to acquire yet?" she queried, knowing that owner was a lot harder to locate than a pin a haystack.
"Not yet, Your Highness, but we are still inquiring."
"Good," she said. "Was there anything else that requires my attention before I retire?"
He shook his head. "No, that was all I needed to discuss. Goodnight," he said, departing the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
Alessa walked back to the window, the prickly Mr. Oakley no longer in the gardens. She pursed her lips. What to do about him, on the other hand, was still yet to be determined.
Chapter 3
The Season was invigorating and more enjoyable than Alessa had thought it would be. Of course, she was used to parties and balls, but being new to London, wanting to meet as many people as she could after being cossetted for so long in Atharia was a thrill unlike any she had ever known.
She had decided to ignore her two guards who growled and watched everyone as if there were a multitude of assassins waiting to strike at her.
Thankfully her time in London had been uneventful to date, even with the warnings to her sister the queen before she left Atharia that her deceased uncle had allies in England who may wish to do her harm.
Such threats had not come to pass, and nor would she worry about them unless they did. London was her time to enjoy herself and possibly find a suitable husband. She would not let the past dictate her future.
Alessa had watched from afar as others danced numerous jigs, minuets, and cotillions, but she longed for a waltz to be included like every other eligible debutante.
The Duke Hamilton stood across the ballroom from her, his gaze one of interest, that even she could read well enough. He was not the most handsome man in the room, but he may well be one of the most influential.
He started toward her, and butterflies took flight in her belly. Would he ask her to dance? Perhaps the waltz was to be next. So many men did not ask because of who she was and her two guards standing behind her. How wonderful if this man had more initiative than others.
The duke bowed before her just as the orchestra started playing the first notes to a waltz. "Would you like to dance, Your Highness?"
Alessa slipped her hand into his, nodding her acquiesce. "I would like that very much, Your Grace." He led her out onto the floor, sweeping her into the dance before another word was spoken. She laughed, having not expected him to be as playful as he was influential.
Other couples soon joined them. Alessa met the duke's eye, studying him. "You dance very well, Your Grace. How lucky the young ladies in London are this Season to have such a dance partner who excels at sweeping them about the ballroom floor with such ease."
He chuckled, and she had to admit that His Grace was a lot more handsome when he smiled than when he did not. Perhaps she could look at him as a potential partner in life. Certainly, with his being a duke her family would not refuse, and he seemed pleasant enough.
She glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of her English guard watching her. His dark, hooded eyes were too hard to read. She could not make that fellow out at all, not that she needed to. He was her guard, but still, being near her so often, the man who was hired to keep her alive, she would like to know him a little. Believe that he was honest and responsible.
Something told Alessa he did not want to be known, not by her or anyone.
"I do try to please on the dancefloor, Princess Alessa," His Grace answered, pulling her from her thoughts. "But you must be pleased to be in London. I hope you will stay the entire Season. We should so hate to have you leave us before we were able to know you properly."
She beamed up at him. How lovely he was to say such a thing, and she loved nothing more than making new friends and acquaintances. "I will be here for the entire Season unless I'm called home, which I do not think will be the case. Everyone has been so welcoming and kind. I do like it here very much."
"Mayhap you will make England your home instead of Atharia." He grinned down at her. "As a matter of fact, I have been to your homeland. A beautiful country and one to rival my own, I'm certain, but not quite as good."
Even better. The man was more surprising than she thought. "Well, it is certainly warmer than England, but I cannot agree with you. Atharia is the best place to live. I'm very fortunate."
"No," he said, pulling her closer to his person as he guided them about a turn at the top of the ballroom floor. "It is I and the society we circulate in who is fortunate to have you all to ourselves this year."
Alessa smiled but did not reply, unsure she ought to encourage him too much. She did not know him at all, or anyone for that matter. She was yet to find a gentleman who sparked an ounce of interest in her, other than mild, friendly amusement, the duke no different.
She had hoped coming to England that she too would find a handsome, lovely gentleman like her sister Holly and marry him. So long as he was titled and from a similar background to her upbringing, she was certain her family would have no issues with her chosen one.
The dance came to an end, and the duke returned her to her guards, both Marco and the Englishman standing with legs spread and arms crossed.
Alessa rolled her eyes, standing between them and feeling like the most absurd person here for their trouble.
The duke took his leave, and she rounded on them. "Marco, please check the grounds and house. I'm certain I'll be more than safe here with one guard during a ball instead of two."
"Of course, Your Highness." He bowed and left.
She turned to the Englishman. His dangerous gaze made her shiver, and she wasn't entirely sure she could trust this man. There was something about him that made her question him.
Or perhaps you ought to question yourself because he intrigues you like no other.
Alessa shoved the unhelpful thought aside, narrowing her eyes on his that continued to watch her like a hawk.
"Like I said the other evening, you do not need to remain so close to me. I'm perfectly safe here at the ball. No one will attack me here, Mr. Oakley."
His lips thinned into a displeased line, and she noticed for the first time they were fuller than she expected, a lovely shape, in fact, perfect for kissing one would think, if one were inclined to kiss such a man.
She was not one of them. She'd never kissed anyone, and nor would she until the day of her wedding. Or at least until she found someone she wanted to kiss before taking such vows.
"As I declared, Your Highness, I will not be leaving you alone. My position in your household is to keep you safe. To ensure that remains so, I must be here with you at all times."
She turned, facing the throng of guests, noting yet again that other than the duke, no gentleman ventured her way. Her guards really were becoming the most restrictive chaperones. "Lady Rosemary is just over there, keeping a close eye on my person, Mr. Oakley. I'm certain you could wait over near the ballroom doors or some other such place."
He shifted behind her, she could not see, but she sensed that he'd moved to clasp his hands behind his back. A movement both the Englishman and Marco often did when wanting to stand their ground. That his shifting sent a thrill down her spine and shivers across her skin, she refused to acknowledge.
Alessa took a deep breath.
"I'm certain that will not be happening, Princess."
Alessa waited for her name to drop after the honorific, but it did not come. She turned to face him, stepping closer than she ought. "It is not just princess though, is it, Mr. Oakley?" she reminded him.
A flicker of amu
sement entered his dark-gray gaze. "Alessa," he finished, and she wasn't certain which was worse—that he had only used her title, or when her given name fell from his lips.
Her body warmed at the sound of her name from his person. Whatever was the matter with her? Why was she reacting to the man and not the eligible gentlemen such as the duke she just danced with?
It made no sense at all. "You play with fire, Mr. Oakley. I would suggest you stop your nonsense with my name and remember your place."
His brows rose, his face hardening at her words. "Of course, Princess Alessa. Whatever you say."
She turned on her heel, starting for the refreshment table. The man was infuriating, but worse, she did not like the fact he had made her mad, and then she'd sounded all high and mighty. Even if she were born to wealth and privilege, she had never grown up believing she was above anyone else in the world. She would have to apologize.
Why she had said such things in the first place, she could not fathom. Never had she played the royal card against anyone in her life. Alessa picked up a glass of Capillaire and took a sip of the orange-flavored drink, setting it back down almost immediately as the thick, syrupy drink was too sweet for her.
She felt Mr. Oakley's presence at her back and turned, facing the crowd. "I apologize, Mr. Oakley. I do not think myself above you in any way. I did not mean to offend."
He did not reply, but she could feel him judging her. Without saying a word, she knew he did not believe or accept her apology. "I'm here to keep you safe, Princess Alessa. I do not care for the opinion of you or anyone who is here. Do not think that I am wounded by your words, for I am not."
She felt her mouth gape. No one had ever been so honest with her in her life. Or rude. In a matter of a few days, this man seemed to think it was perfectly acceptable.