Princess Charming

by Pattillo, Beth

“What?” Nick looked at her in confusion. He began to unwrap the clothing he’d concealed beneath his garments. First a worn pair of breeches, followed by the distinctive black shirt and vest of a chimney sweep. Last of all came the familiar cap that covered her curls so well. “We’ve no time for missishness, princess. The royal yacht awaits us at Portsmouth.” He thrust the clothes into her arms.

  Lucy blushed, and Nick realized what she’d thought. He stilled. “Am I truly such a cad, then?”

  “No,” she whispered, her eyes luminous. “No, you are not.”

  The moment was suspended between them, as fragile as crystal. Nick looked into her amazing eyes, and for the first time since the debacle in Nottingham, he felt hope blossom in his chest.

  Chapter Twenty

  SEDUCTIVE HOPE curled through Lucy, wrapping itself around her heart. Her husband had left her to don her boy’s clothes, and her stomach lurched as she tucked her hair under her cap. Could she risk betrayal again? Could she open herself to more pain, even at the expense of the joy of being in Nick’s arms? She understood what had prompted Nick’s actions, even if she did not agree with his decisions. And he had confessed to his change of heart about reform. Perhaps he would still honor the terms of their wager and grant the men and women of Santadorra the vote. He was a man willing to bend, though he might need a bit of persuasion and hard experience to do so. He was a man on whom she could depend, a man not easily swayed. Did she have the courage to risk placing her heart in his keeping?

  Lucy sighed. Really, it was too late to even ask that question, for her heart had been his for some time now. He had come to rescue her, not to bend her to his own will or to his own views, but because he kept his vows. She could depend on him without becoming dependent upon him. He would be strong enough to allow her a sense of independence, but she would have to allow him to worry about her welfare and to protect her from time to time. The thought held a warm appeal.

  Lucy emerged into the sitting room to find Tom Selkirk seated on a chair, wearing her gown. He was a good sport, as well as a satisfactorily pretty girl, but she decided to refrain from sharing that observation. He pulled at Lucy’s gown where the ripped seams had been repinned to accommodate his broader shoulders. With a shawl draped around his neck, he might sit with his back to the door and prove a most effective decoy until the guards came to bring her dinner.

  “Are you sure, Tom?” Guilt tore at her. They had no way of knowing exactly what might happen to him when the ruse was discovered.

  “Lord Wellstone’s solicitor has already begun work on my family’s behalf. When we are freed, Prince Nicholas has promised us a new life in Santadorra. Besides, once you bind my hands and tie me to the chair, I have a fair enough story to hold them off with.” He grinned, enjoying his part in the drama. “Now fix my hair, my lady.”

  Lucy reluctantly did as he instructed. She placed the blond wig that had been tucked inside Crispin’s hat upon Tom’s head and then tied a kerchief around his mouth to gag him.

  “You will be welcome in Santadorra,” Nick added from the corner. “You and all the Nottingham reformers. The solicitor has instructions to provide you with funds for travel.”

  Tom, since he was gagged, made no reply, merely nodded in Nick’s direction and gave him a broad wink.

  Crispin stood watch at the door. “The guard is coming.”

  Outside, a nearby clock tower chimed the hour. Lucy felt as if she might be sick. Nick stepped toward her. “Are you sure you can do this?”

  “How can I not?” Lucy rubbed her hands against the leather of her breeches. “You and Lord Wellstone have exceeded the very heights of deviousness. I would not be the one to be the failing of such a foolproof plan.”

  Nick regarded her intently with his chocolate eyes. “I only hope it will work as we envisioned.” He adjusted Lucy’s cap, lowering it over her eyes, and she tingled at his nearness. She had been so busy trying to transform Nick into someone he was not that she had failed to see the man he was, but in the confines of Newgate, her eyes had been opened.

  The door to the room swung open, and Nick stepped away from her. “Come along, boy,” he commanded in such stern tones that Lucy jumped. The guard laughed and gave her a shove as she passed by him and into the corridor. Lucy saw Nick’s fists clench at his side, but he said nothing.

  “The boy ‘as to return to ‘is cell now,” the guard said to Nick’s back. He cuffed Lucy on the ear. Nick paused, glanced back, and Lucy wondered if he might lose control, but he only shrugged and continued walking.

  “Take him, then.” Nick waved a dismissive hand. “We’ve no more need of the lad.”

  Lucy’s heart clenched as Nick and Lord Wellstone continued down the corridor, but the guard grabbed Lucy’s elbow and pulled her down a side passage. It took every ounce of strength not to wrest her arm from the man’s grip and flee after Nick, but she mustered her courage and played the part of Tom Selkirk. In no time at all, she found herself returned to the common area of the prison. The guard shoved her into a room—heavens, but she was tired of being thrust about—and she fell to her knees. Rough hands jostled her, and she looked up to see the faces of an entire room full of men glaring at her.

  Lucy fought panic. Before she could open her mouth to speak, a slim figure emerged from the group. He was dressed in breeches, black shirt, and cap identical to her own. “Let me ‘elp you, boy.”

  Lucy gratefully accepted his assistance, and he pulled her to her feet. “Now, then,” Mr. Cartwright’s pupil said with a cheerful, crooked grin, “shall we begin?”

  THE PLAN HAD been predicated on the belief that even Lord Sidmouth did not employ enough spies to follow all of Mr. Cartwright’s climbing boys through the corridors of Newgate.

  Nick had made her memorize the complicated routes and patterns of their charade. It had not been easy to do, in the few moments before the guard had returned to her room, but she had managed. Now she mumbled them to herself as she slipped in and out of the various chambers, each time trading places with another of Mr. Cartwright’s boys who was “visiting” someone in the cell. The identical black shirts caused no notice as Lucy wove her way from one room to another. Nick had given her sufficient gold for her own bribes, which she slipped into the bulging paws of guards who locked and unlocked doors. Before long, she was just another of a swarm of climbing boys who had descended on Newgate that day to visit parents, uncles, aunts, and cousins. Each of the boys gave her a smile and a press of the hand for luck as they performed their intricate minuet the length and breadth of the prison, and Lucy would have defied Sidmouth himself to keep track of which boy was which. Finally, leaving the last cell behind, she hurried toward the main gate and, at the gruff signal of one of the guards, emerged onto the street. She dared not stop to look about, although her heart was beating like thunder. With a long sigh at the warmth of the sun on her face after four days within the prison, she turned her steps eastward.

  NICK PACED THE length of the carpet in the familiar fairy bower at Madame St. Cloud’s. He had wanted to wait a short distance from the prison with a carriage, but Crispin had insisted they leave Lucy to find her own way. They had gone to far too much trouble to escape notice to rouse suspicion with the sight of a climbing boy clambering into a hackney.

  He glanced at the casement clock and wondered if it had stopped. Twice, he strode to the window to survey the street below. Once, he saw a flash of black dart along the pavement, but he couldn’t be certain it was her. At long last, footsteps sounded on the stairs, and he heard women’s voices. He tried to convince himself that it was only two of Madame’s girls preparing for their role in the daring plan, but he could not squelch the hope that rose unbidden.

  The door swung open, and Madame entered the room, followed by Lucy. She pulled off her cap, shaking out her golden curls, and Nick’s breath stopped. God help him, but he loved her.

  “Henny will assist you with your bath,” Madame said to Lucy, the two of them ignoring Nick as if he were a s
ofa instead of a husband. “The servants will bring up the water immediatement.”

  “Thank you, Madame.” Lucy pressed the older woman’s hands between her own. Nick wished that the Frenchwoman would simply leave. He wanted Lucy in his arms as soon as possible. Not for nefarious purposes, although he did cast a longing look toward the incredible bed. That would have to wait. No, he merely wanted to reassure himself she was all right.

  Madame left, and the door clicked shut behind her.

  “Well done, princess.” He stayed where he was by the window, not wanting to rush his fences.

  “It was a brilliant plan.” She smiled shyly, and his heart lurched. “If it weren’t for your generosity, we could never have rounded up enough climbing boys to succeed.”

  “It’s not finished.” Nick knew the dangers that still lay ahead. “We still must reach Portsmouth.”

  “We will.” She seemed almost unnaturally quiet for Lucy Charming. That worried Nick. The servants knocked at the door and brought in the water to fill the hip bath behind the screen in the corner.

  “I’ll go,” Nick offered when the servants had left. The scent of rosewater permeated the room, and Nick’s imagination needed no prompting to envision Lucy naked in the bath, her skin covered with soft lather.

  “No. Stay.” Lucy spoke the words so softly Nick thought he might have imagined them, but when she looked him boldly in the eye and began to remove her clothing, he knew he had not.

  “Lucy, don’t torment me,” he breathed, and she smiled with pleasure, damn her eyes.

  “You lied,” she reminded him, and he nodded, wary.

  “I did.”

  “To protect me?”

  “Only in part.” He shifted his stance to disguise the effect of her body on his own. The woman did love to torture him.

  “And the other part?”

  “I think you know.” Why was she toying with him? He was afraid she had only accepted his help because she had no other choice.

  “I have hopes, but I need you to speak the words.”

  Nick’s breath caught in his throat, and for the first time, he dared to believe that the smile curving her lips hinted at the future—their future. “You are a hard woman, Lucy Charming.”

  “Quite the contrary.” She grinned cheekily. “I think I’m very soft.” To demonstrate, she removed the last of her clothing and stood before him in all her nakedness. Nick tried to swallow, but his throat would not cooperate.

  “There’s only one point on which we need clarification,” Lucy said, and Nick wished she would quit talking. He stepped toward her. Was there room enough for both of them in the hip bath? Perhaps he would content himself with merely watching her bathe. Perhaps he would assist her by rubbing the scented soap over her body until she arched with pleasure and cried out in release. Yes, that thought held definite appeal.

  Lucy swatted his hands when they came too close. “Let us be in perfect accord about one thing, Nick. I won the wager.”

  He groaned, grabbed her, and pulled her against him. “Yes. Yes. You won the blasted wager.”

  “And the men and women of Santadorra will receive the vote when you are king.”

  “Yes. The men will receive the vote. Now, can we quit talking?” He caught her head between his hands and proceeded to angle her mouth so that he could slake his thirst for her. She pressed a finger against his lips.

  “And the women?” she prompted.

  “The women may take a bit longer. Now be quiet, princess. We’ve very little time, and I have no desire to waste it on something as frivolous as conversation.”

  “No desire?” She pressed against him, and he groaned. “I wouldn’t say that, Your Highness.”

  To his delight, Nick discovered there was room for both of them in the hip bath, provided they were joined in the most intimate of ways. Later, when the water had cooled, he lifted her from the bath, led her to the bed, and scooped up something from beneath the pillows. Lucy eyed him curiously. “What’s that?”

  Nick extended the object forward, allowing it to dangle from his hand. “I believe you are familiar with these?”

  With a squeal of delight, Lucy snatched the wrist irons from his fingers and proceeded to clamp them around both his wrists.

  “Lucy! Wait!” Nick protested, but it was too late. She held him prisoner, and he would not have had it any other way.

  “I love you, Lucy Charming,” he whispered when she had pushed him back into the pillows and was pressing kisses to the side of his throat. His manacled wrists rested uncomfortably between them, but he didn’t mind. It was a bondage he had chosen, both literally and figuratively.

  “Of course you love me.” She slid her way down his body, kissing him as she went. Nick waited for her to repeat the affirmation, but instead she tortured him by trailing her tongue across his stomach.

  “Lucy!” He tried to sound regal and commanding, but she simply smiled and slid her body back up along his until her lips were a mere inch from his own.

  “You deserve to be tortured, you know.” She moved against him.

  “Yes, well, you’re doing a more than adequate job. Now tell me, by Jove. Do you love me or not?”

  “What do you think, Your Highness?” With only the briefest of kisses on his lips, she began to work her way down his body once more until he thought he might die from pleasure.

  Nick accepted that answer as a yes.

  UNFORTUNATELY, there was little time to linger in the luxurious chamber. Lucy stretched, her body tingling with pleasure, and climbed from the bed. She enjoyed Nick’s eyes upon her as she crossed the room and disappeared behind the screen. A yellow muslin walking dress and spencer hung on a peg. Lucy donned the garments and pinned up her hair. By the time she emerged from behind the screen, Nick had dressed as well and was pulling on his boots.

  “Are you ready, then?” He looked at her hungrily, and the strength of his gaze made Lucy shiver.

  “Yes.”

  Ten minutes later, they had gathered in the foyer with a bevy of young women, all dressed in matching primrose gowns. Mr. Cartwright’s aging seamstresses had managed to ply their needles one last time.

  “Quiet, then. Quiet.” Crispin was desperately trying to impose some sort of order on the chattering fray. Lucy watched as he and Nick exchanged a meaningful masculine look. With a laugh, she plunged into the midst of the group. In the middle of the chaos, she found Henny holding a fat blond pug.

  “Wellington!” The other woman handed the dog into Lucy’s arms, and he wheezed and licked her cheek. Lucy cuddled him close. “I never thought to see you again.”

  “Lord Wellstone brought ‘im,” Henny said, patting the pug’s head. “Thought he might as well go along. His mistress, Lady Belmont, won’t be back in London for ages.”

  Lucy smiled, tucked Wellington into the crook of one arm, and hugged Henny with the other. “My thanks to you as well.”

  “Thanks?” Henny looked genuinely surprised. “‘Twas a mean-spirited trick I played that day, scaring you and forcing you to listen to Mr. Whippet.”

  Lucy laughed. “If nothing else, you saved me from a husband who crawled on all fours.”

  Henny smiled and glanced at Nick. “You have brought this one to his knees, my lady, but no farther.”

  “No, no farther.” They shared a conspiratorial smile. “Good luck, Henny.”

  In another moment, they were filing out the door, one by one. Each girl had instructions to proceed to a different posting inn and from there to a seaport to book foreign passage. With a backward glance at Nick, Lucy followed the last girl out the door.

  It felt good to be free, and Lucy enjoyed the walk to the nearest stage stop. Even being forced into the crowded confines of the mail coach did not dampen her good spirits. At the second stop, she alighted from the coach. Across the yard sat an impressive carriage, complete with the royal crest of the King of Santadorra. The door to the carriage swung open, and Lucy moved forward nervously to greet her new father
-in-law.

  THE ROYAL Guards escorted them to Portsmouth, where the king blustered at the customs officials until they were too intimidated to ask to see official traveling papers for the sovereign’s new daughter-in-law. A short time later, the Crown Prince and his companion, accompanied by King Leopold and Lord Wellstone, boarded the royal yacht. The captain quickly weighed anchor.

  Lucy did not breathe a sigh of relief until the coast of England grew quite small in the distance. Nick stood beside her at the rail, his arm draped around her shoulders. Her stomach pitched in rhythm with the deck beneath her feet, and she clutched her husband for support. Excitement at what lay ahead combined with a strong sense of loss. Her life would never be the same.

  “Steady.” Nick pulled her closer. “Are you feeling ill?”

  “No.” She hesitated, unsure whether to share her thoughts. Despite their mutual declaration of love, their relationship still seemed somehow unsettled. “No, I am not ill.”

  “Then you are regretting your decision.” His face was impassive, but Lucy heard the worry in his voice.

  “Yes, I am regretting it.”

  He stiffened and began to pull away, but she wrapped her arms around his waist and refused to let him go. “Yes and no. It is difficult to leave England, especially under these circumstances. To say good-bye to the only life I have known.”

  They watched the disappearing coastline in silence for several long moments, until Lucy could put her feelings into words. “You were right when you said that one day I would have to choose whether to live in the world of my birth or the world of my cause. But I have lived so long in that in-between place that making the choice frightens me. It was much easier to be one reformer among many than it will to be the Crown Princess of Santadorra.”

  Nick grinned at her. “I have no fears on that score. You will leave your own distinctive mark on the monarchy.”

  Lucy bristled. “I will not relinquish my passion for reform.”