by Gill, Tamara
Lady Rosemary frowned as she bit into a biscuit. "I presumed you were favorable to Lord Douglas. Has something happened that you no longer welcome his suit?"
The memory of her kiss with Rowan floated through her mind, and she felt heat warm her cheeks. "We have become friends, but other than that, I do not feel any deeper emotions for his lordship. I think he understands and feels the same." She paused, playing with the muslin on her dress. "There is someone who has caught my attention, but he would not be suitable for the family."
"The family, my dear, do not have to marry the man you choose. You do. You have to live with your choice. You must make the correct one, or you'll suffer the consequences your entire life, and that is no life at all."
Alessa thought over Aunt Rosemary's words. She would be the one who would have to live with and love the man she married. To commit to the wrong gentleman would be disastrous. She wanted to be as happy as her sister Holly was with Drew. She wanted to share secret glances and touches when they thought they were alone and no one was watching.
She wanted love.
Rowan strolled past the window yet again, and her heart beat fast. The man, as infuriating, obstinate, and argumentative as he was, had been so very different when wrapped in her arms. She had certainly felt something for him, but did he feel anything for her in return?
Or was she merely a number in a long line of women who no doubt threw themselves at him?
Was she being a fool wanting him as she did? She bit aggressively into a biscuit. Rowan may not feel anything at all for her. He may be utterly unaware that she was indoors, thinking of him, remembering his kisses, and wanting more. He may have already kissed another since kissing her. He had been absent from the home yesterday, and she had been rattled, wanting to know where he had gone, who he was with, and not being able to ask.
"Thank you for your insight, Aunt Rosemary. I shall consider your words further and try as hard as I can to make the right choice."
The terrace door opened, and in strolled the man himself. He bowed but did not meet her eye, and disappointment stabbed at her. She ground her teeth, hating that he could be so cold and aloof while her body sizzled at the mere sight of him.
Aunt Rosemary had asked her if she had found anyone who interested her, and she had. But he was not a man she could ever consider. No princess married a man of little means and connections, a guard, hired to keep her safe.
* * *
Rowan swapped locations with Marco and took to guarding the princess indoors. The past week had been hell. To be around the chit when all he wanted to do was lock her away in a room and have his way with her delicious self had maddened him beyond what he could endure.
He had requested a day off yesterday and was granted the leave, intending to slake his amorous desires with a willing doxy. He had instead returned to his lodgings on The Strand and had stared at the walls and ceiling for twenty-four hours.
He could hear the princess talking to Lady Bagshaw, an amusing woman if ever he knew one. A widow who was well-liked by society and her family, the princess no exception as they seemed to get along very well. Their laughter made his lips twitch.
He schooled his features. What was wrong with him that he smiled at the inane chatter of women? He was here to do a job, one that he knew he could not complete. But how to pretend to keep her at a distance, be immune to her charms? He needed to think out how to keep her safe from those who did wish her to die. To stop their plans against a woman who did not deserve such punishment.
He was a traitor, both to the princess and the man who had hired him. The only way forward was to remove the threat, thug by thug, and then leave England forever. He could not stay here after turning against such powerful peers.
Lady Bagshaw strolled past him, the scent of verbena wafting across his senses. He fought not to turn and glance into the room to see what the princess was doing.
Was she sitting alone, watching him? Was she bowed over parchment and quill, writing to her family as he so often caught her doing? Her golden locks hanging down against her back when she was home and in private. He couldn't help but wonder what she was like when she was in Atharia, a regal and powerful princess.
Did she allow her hair to fall free there too, or did she tie it up in pins and diamonds as he'd often seen at balls and parties? So much wealth, so much power, and opulence. One of her diamond clips could set him up for life, and yet, she stuck it in her hair without a by your leave, without care if she lost or misplaced it.
He could not fathom such a world, such a life.
Soft footsteps sounded on the Aubusson rug that lay within the morning room before she strolled past him. Without thought, he grabbed her hand, wrenching her back into the room and shutting the door before anyone caught them.
His lips were upon hers in an instant. She stilled in his arms before she melted against him, her mouth as insistent as his, opening for him like a flower. He kissed her hard and long, thrusting his tongue against hers. Wanting to make her his, not just now, but forever.
He wasn't sure where that thought came from, and he ignored it the moment she made a sweet little sound of need that went straight to his groin. He hoisted her against his hips, placing his aching cock against her mons. She squirmed, rubbing against him, and he ground back, eliciting another moan from her sweet lips.
"I want to fuck you," he admitted, his mind a whir of thoughts, his body uncontrollable with need.
She lay her head against the wall, her breath coming in quick succession. "We cannot."
Her words doused him like a cold bucket of ice water, and he set her down, stepping back and righting his rioting emotions. Of course, she did not feel the same way. She was royal. He was a nobody. That he had even asked her was an absurd notion he had no right even to imagine.
Rowan opened the door, and without another word, she bolted from the room. Her hurried footsteps away from him loud in his ears.
What the hell was he doing? He could not say such things to a princess. With her cossetted upbringing, he doubted she even knew what his words had meant.
He stepped out into the foyer, needing to follow her upstairs to guard her door. To think and plan.
Five thugs in total worked for the mastermind loyal to Alessa's deceased uncle. He would remove each of them before taking out the one who hired him. Then and only then would he leave London and the princess to the life she was born to live.
He would travel to the Americas. Start a new life there, possibly marry and have a family, away from the poverty, the dangers of England, and the temptations of a princess who could never be his.
Chapter 6
A week later, Rowan had the first opportunity to deal with the men who sought to injure the princess and take her life.
He cursed the day he had agreed to be one of them. He had always killed for survival or because those who met their end at the end of his blade deserved what they had coming to them. As a child who grew up on the streets, unprotected by family or blunt, he knew only too well the horrors that were dealt out to boys and girls without a voice. Without protection.
He had been one of them, and that fear deep inside him that had settled there years ago had jumped at the opportunity to gain the wealth needed to remove him from that cesspit forever.
The princess's only crime had been that she was born into a rich and powerful family—a royal family and daughter to a king. At first, he had been curt, cruel even, and talked down to her station and decree, but it had only been to protect himself, to keep her at arm's length. If he did not know her, he would not care what happened to her.
He could no longer think like that. She had wiggled under his skin, and he could not remove her, no matter how hard he tried.
Rowan caught sight of Mattia. The oldest thug hired to assassinate Alessa, should he fail to do so. The chap liked to slink around the docks and often stole onto ships in the dead of night and removed precious stock that was yet to be delivered. He also had a liking for
violence against women, while enjoying the company of his own sex.
Rowan leaned against a crate, shadowed by the buildings and cloudy night sky, and watched as Mattia was buggered by an unknown man who had crossed his path.
He would be easy to pick off in the throes of pleasure, but Rowan wasn't a monster, and nor did he want the other man to see what he was about to do. He would allow them to finish before he slit Mattia's throat.
Hearing the sound of them parting ways, he slipped the long, sharp blade from his pocket, careful to keep it hidden as he stepped out before Mattia, halting his steps.
"Evening, Mattia, having a pleasant time, I see," he said, pulling into step with his intended victim.
"Piss off, Oakley. Got nothing to do with ye what I do with me time," he said, not looking at Rowan.
"A little birdie told me that you'd been down at The Raven Tavern, beating up on the barmaids there. Care to explain why?" he stated, his tone light but with an edge of steel.
Mattia halted and turned to face him. "You mean Lucy? She been pissing in yer ear, has she? Did she mention that the meal she served me last week was nothing more than muck scraped off the top of the Thames? She deserved what she got."
"Really?" Rowan stated. "She said you held her down on a table and seared her face with the fire poker. A bit extreme for an unsatisfactory meal."
Mattia chuckled, a menacing sound if ever he heard one. "Wench deserved it. Not worth anything anyway. None of them are." Mattia rubbed a hand over his jaw. "What are you doing down here anyway? You're supposed to be killing that bitch princess. If you don't, I will, and I'll enjoy putting a hot fire poker on her face too before I run her through."
A wave of anger, uncontrollable in its ferocity, ran through Rowan, and he grabbed Mattia by his throat, throwing him up against a nearby warehouse wall. "You'll not touch one hair on the princess's head. Do you understand?" he declared, towering over him.
Mattia chuckled. "I'll touch more than her hair, boy."
Out the corner of Rowan's eye, he saw Mattia reach for his pocket, but he was quicker. With no hesitation, he swiped his blade across Mattia's neck, not even flinching when the blood splattered across his face. Mattia grabbed for his throat, trying to stem the flow of blood, but it was little use. The cut was deadly, and he would die. It was just a matter of time.
He gurgled as he choked in his last few moments on earth. Rowan watched, caring little for the sight but wanting to ensure he died before he left. "Doesn't look like you will touch anything on the princess now," Rowan stated, as Mattia's eyes dimmed as his life left his body.
Rowan strode away, throwing the blade into the Thames and ridding himself of the situation and one of the thugs hired to hurt Alessa. One down, five to go.
* * *
The opera at Covent Garden was an evening that Alessa could only have dreamed about when she was locked up in Atharia under her uncle's illegal rule. Lanterns hung from the trees surrounding the stage, the music as enchanting and beautiful as the gardens. The scent of roses, lavender, rosemary, jasmine, and wisteria were a delight to the senses.
They had arrived and set themselves up in a private pavilion. The duke and Aunt Rosemary seated at her side as they listened to the entertainment. People were everywhere, a lot of the ton had their own pavilions as they did, but the general populace, wanting an evening of culture, stood before the stage, danced, and enjoyed the entertainment.
Her two guards stood behind her, and she was highly aware of one in particular. There were others, of course, out within the crowd, keeping watch and willing to protect her at the cost of their lives, but there was only one who kept her mind reeling, her heart beating like a mad drum.
Aunt Rosemary complimented the soprano to Alessa, and she nodded in agreement, but the talented woman could not keep her attention on stage. The light touch of Rowan otherwise engaged her mind. The feel of his finger sliding against the top of her arm enough to make her lose her mind.
Alessa closed her eyes, wanting him with a need that scared her. After their kiss last week in the morning room, she had rallied herself to behave. To not long for his touch, his mouth against hers, taking her to a place that was forbidden and not real life. To give other gentlemen the chance to win her heart.
The week had been utterly tedious and without success. She was doomed, and the man at her back was the reason behind her failure.
She adjusted her seat, effectively ridding her of his touch, and she felt him move away, ceasing his teasing. She missed his touch immediately, and Alessa cursed herself a fool.
Whatever was she going to do?
A scream rent the air, and in an instant, she was in Rowan's arms, settled at the back of the pavilion and out of sight of those present this evening.
She took a calming breath, waiting to hear what the commotion was about, but then she recognized just where she was and with whom.
He cradled her against his chest, his face, his lips too close for comfort. This was so wrong. He wasn't for her, could never be hers, but oh, please Lord save her, she wanted him.
The sound of Marco's voice demanding an answer from those who patrolled the grounds floated to her, but she no longer cared what was happening out the front of the pavilion. All she cared about was that they were alone, unable to be viewed by anyone. Never had she ever wanted to kiss a man so much in her life.
Alessa cupped his jaw and brought her lips to his. He met her halfway, taking her mouth and kissing her with such ferocity that it left her breathless. Oh yes, this is what she had wanted all along, what she had longed for this past week. How had she stayed away from him, kept him at arm's length?
She could no longer do so.
His hand slid up her back to cup her neck. His fingers massaged her there, sending shivers up her spine as the kiss turned savage. Her breasts ached, her body wept between her thighs for his touch. It was too much and not enough. This would never do. She would expire before returning to Atharia if she did not have more of this man.
"Meet me near the dark walk. I must be alone with you."
Alessa shook her head, knowing that would be impossible. "You know I cannot. How will I leave here without Aunt Rosemary accompanying me?"
He frowned back toward where her chaperone sat behind a curtain. "Ask for me to escort you on a stroll."
Marco's voice declared that all was well, that it was merely a woman being overzealous with her lover. Alessa wished she could have such freedom as the nameless lady. Even so, she found herself nodding in agreement with Rowan instead of telling him no.
Rowan set her down, and she poked her head about the curtain, meeting Marco's gaze. "Is it safe for me to return to my chair?" she asked her guard.
The large, concerned gazes of the duke and Aunt Rosemary met her eyes, and her heart went out to them. She supposed they were not used to such dangers on their charges, but life for a princess was never an easy one, no matter what others thought on the subject. And hers was worse than most with her uncle's henchmen rumored to be still determined to do the family harm, even here in England.
"All is safe, Your Highness. Please return to your seat," Marco said.
She spied Rowan come about the pavilion and meet Marco out front. They spoke for a time before returning to stand behind her as they were before.
The opera came to an end, and an orchestra started to play, and dancing commenced. For a time, they watched all levels of society eat, drink, and dance, rendezvous and enjoy themselves as they too drank wine.
"I would like to go for a stroll if you agree, Lady Bagshaw. May one of my guards escort me? I should so like to look about the gardens a little."
"I should come with you," she declared, but Alessa waved her concerns aside. "No one will be watching, not here. There are so many others here, dancing and making merry. I shall remain in the light. Nothing will happen to me, I promise. A little normalcy, if you would be so gracious to allow it."
Aunt Rosemary seemed to object, but then nodded her
acquiesce. "Of course, Your Highness, but just this once."
"Thank you," she said, standing. "Mr. Oakley, please escort me for a walk. I wish to see what Covent Gardens has to offer. Marco, please remain here."
Rowan bowed, helping her down the two steps off the pavilion before escorting her away. Alessa ignored the odd look Marco gave her at her request. She would have to be careful not to look too forward or seem inclined between Rowan or Marco in the future. She did not need her guard becoming suspicious of her.
They walked about the dancers for a time, stood, and listened to the orchestra as it played a waltz. How she wished she could dance with Rowan. Be swept about the outdoor ballroom floor in his arms.
"Can you dance?" she asked him, curious.
He looked out at the throng of dancers and nodded. "I can, but not as well as the gentlemen out there. I was self-taught, not the best tutor, I'm sure you would agree."
She hated that he had struggled in his life. There was something about him that she knew was dark and dangerous, a part of him that had fought for survival, but how and why he had to work so hard, she did not know. Did he have any family? Was he an only child? Where were his parents? She knew so little about the man that fascinated her so.
"Will you dance with me?" she asked him, wanting to be in his arms, not beside him or in front of him, but with him, safe in his hold.
"I cannot dance with you here, Your Highness."
His use of her title reminded her that she was not some genteel lady without a role in this world, and she could not waltz so publicly with her guard. As much as that fact irritated her to no end, it did not mean they had to dance here.
"There is a copse of bushes behind us. We could dance there, and no one would ever know."