Forever My Princess: The Royal House of Atharia, Book 3

by Gill, Tamara

  * * *

  Theo walked the three miles from town, having opted to leave the carriage horses in their stalls on this hot summer's day. The tree-lined river that ran through his property beckoned him, and before he had thought too much about it, he had untied his cravat and stuffed it into his pocket.

  He pulled his shirt from his breeches. His coat was already hanging over his arm, him having discarded that a mile or so ago.

  He made his way through the copse of trees, the sound of splashing making his steps falter. Theo heard the noise again and proceeded with caution just in case some of the female servants were cooling off on this hot day.

  He came into a clearing that revealed the lake, and the sight that met his eyes sent ice through his veins. A woman was swimming, but something was wrong. Her legs were flailing above the water, but little else.

  Theo bolted through the trees, discarding his clothes somewhere in the bushes in his haste to get to her. He ran and dove to where she was, his breeches still on, along with his boots.

  He caught her about the waist, and beneath the water, he could hear her scream the last of her breath in fear. Her hand was caught in weeds, their immovable talons wrapping about her wrist and arm.

  He wrenched at the weed, ripping it from the murky, muddy ground, and clasped the woman about the waist, pushing up from the bottom of the lake.

  They burst from the water and surprise and fear shot through his blood at the realization of whom he held. Miss Smith coughed and sputtered in her attempt to gain her breath. He swam them back to the sandy verge before lifting her into his arms and carrying her to the river's bank.

  He laid her down, and she rolled to the side, gasping for air. Theo gave her a moment, deciding to rub her back in comfort instead of asking her what she was doing at the lake all alone without someone keeping watch.

  Had he not come past when he did, she would have drowned. The idea made him want to cast up his accounts at just how close she was to not being here anymore.

  "Miss Smith, can you talk? How are you feeling?" he asked her, pleased to see that she was coughing less and her breathing was calming. He pushed her hair off her face, mud from the bottom of the lake across her jaw.

  Theo rubbed it away with his thumb, hating the idea that she could have had a watery grave had he not found her in time.

  She rolled onto her back, staring up at the cloudless sky. "Thank you, my lord. I do not know what happened. I was swimming, and then I got caught and did not have the strength to push away from the reeds." A shiver stole over her, and he noted for the first time what she was wearing. Or at least, the lack of clothing that she wore. Nothing but her shift, which was as transparent as the glass on a window.

  He reached up and clasped her gown, laying it over her. "You should never swim alone. Promise me that you will not do so again."

  She nodded, leaning upon her elbows, watching him with something akin to awe. "You saved my life. I owe you everything," she stated, a little surprise in her tone.

  He slumped back on his ass, relief pouring through him that she seemed well and not harmed. "Yes, but I would prefer not to have to attempt such a rescue again if you do not mind. Promise me, Miss Smith, that you will never swim alone."

  Her attention shifted to the river, and she contemplated it a moment. "I can promise you that I shall never, not here or anywhere else, ever swim alone again, my lord."

  Her declaration pleased him. It was one less thing he had to worry about. "I assume with you being out here on your own that my mother is having her afternoon rest?"

  She nodded, sitting up and wrapping her arms about her knees. "She is. We had a picnic here today, and she suggested I swim here this afternoon. I should have thought about the danger of swimming alone and brought a maid with me."

  He sighed, moving to sit beside her, doubting that had a maid been here, she would have been any safer in the water. The maid would have most likely frozen in fear, panicked, and Miss Smith would have drowned in any case.

  "Never mind," he found himself saying, giving her a consoling look. She was shivering now, her lips blue, her teeth chattering. Theo spied his coat dropped on the ground not far from where he dove into the lake and stood to fetch it, coming back and laying it over her shoulders.

  She snuggled into his apparel, and the sight of her, disheveled, shaken, but relieved, sent an odd desire of protection through him. He wanted to keep Miss Smith safe, give her comfort, but why he could not fathom.

  Mayhap her almost drowning today had discombobulated his mind as well, and he was in need of a stiff toddy.

  "I should return you to the house. I think a warm bath and a brandy might be just the thing that you require, Miss Smith."

  "Elena, please, my lord. After the service you rendered me today, I think calling me so formally is no longer a requirement." She stood, wobbling, and he clasped her hand, helping to steady her.

  "Come, we shall leave now and return you to your rooms. I can fetch a doctor if you think you're in need of one."

  She shook her head, the last of her pins holding up her hair falling to the ground. She had long, dark locks that were tangled, and in places had little specks of moss from the river. He would suggest to the maid attending her that her hair required a thorough washing and brushing.

  "No, I am well. I'm merely a little shaken by the event, that is all. I thank you for your kindness."

  "Of course, but if you change your mind, do send word. The doctor lives in the village nearby and can be here within the half-hour."

  She threw him a tentative smile. "I will let you know should my condition change, my lord."

  He nodded, helping her navigate his overgrown lawn as they made their way closer to the estate. His mother stood on the terrace, a concerned frown between her brows when she noticed their wet apparel and unkempt appearance.

  She started toward them, and Theo held up a hand to stop her progress. They were almost at the terrace themselves, no need for his mama to attempt the steps without help and injure herself too. He did not need to save any more ladies today from self-harm. Miss Smith, Elena as he preferred to think of her from now on, had filled his quota well enough.

  Chapter 8

  Elena woke with a start, the bed wet with sweat, her face damp with tears. She swiped at her cheeks, the nightmare vivid and all too real still in her mind. She threw back the sheets she was sleeping under and sat at the edge of the bed. For a moment, she took deep, calming breaths, trying to settle her racing heart.

  She closed her eyes, the murky, green water of the river materialized in her mind. The sound of her heart in her ears as it grew ever panicked at her predicament. The thought of drowning and not being able to breathe ever again, of dying in a watery grave. Her screams that no one would hear.

  And then Lord Lyon, his strong arms clasping her and wrenching her free, his body hard up against her back as he swam her to the surface.

  Elena stood and strode to the door, pulling it open without thought to how much noise she made. She needed a stiff drink, stronger than brandy. A good whisky would do, but where to find one?

  The house was quiet at this time of the night. The servants long to bed. Using the moonlight, she headed for the staircase and the library downstairs, where she knew his lordship kept his liquor.

  The home's downstairs was as soundless as the first floor, and she made little effort to remain silent in this part of the house. No one would be about, and she was quite safe.

  She pushed open the library door and skidded to a stop at the sight of Lord Lyon, bent over his desk and sound asleep on a stack of ledgers, his candle flickering as the wick was succumbing to the wax.

  For a moment, she debated whether she should leave him be or see if he was well. He really ought to go to bed. Sleeping on one's desk would never achieve a good outcome for the following day.

  But it was not her place to tell him what to do or intrude on his privacy.

  He did appear utterly adorable tousled, an
d asleep. She stepped closer, unable to help herself, and peeked at him a little closer.

  His hand sat under his face, and his eyelashes were longer than she had thought them. They fanned out over his cheeks, reminding her of her own dark hair and eyes.

  Before she knew what she was doing, she reached out, shaking his shoulder just the smallest amount. "My lord? Wake up," she suggested to him. She kneeled at his side, bringing herself far closer than she ought to be. "My lord? You really ought to sleep in your bed. This would not be helping your neck in the slightest," she prattled on, hoping the sound of her voice, not so much her words, would wake him without a start.

  His eyes fluttered, settled on her, and her stomach clenched as his attention did not shift.

  "Elena?" he asked. The sound of her name on his lips, honeyed and guttural with sleep, was not what she needed to hear. Her name had never sounded so evocative in her life.

  "My lord, you have fallen asleep on your desk."

  Slowly, he became aware of where he was and what had happened. He sat up, taking in his surroundings, just as the candle guttered them into the moonlight and nothing else.

  The change in atmosphere was instant. Elena's stomach trembled, she should not be here with his lordship, but then she hadn't known he was going to be in the room at all when she came down to get a whisky.

  "What are you doing here?" he asked her, relighting the candle before twisting around to face her. Elena realized she was still kneeling before him and quickly stood. The stack of papers he had on his desk hit her hip, and before she could reach for them, they tumbled onto the floor.

  "I'm so sorry," she professed, kneeling once again to pick them up. Lord Lyon joined her, helping her to pick up the mess. Heat kissed her cheeks, and she was thankful for the dark, so he could not see her embarrassment.

  "Lord save me," she thought she heard him mumble. His hands halted stacking papers, and she glanced at him, frowning.

  "Is something wrong, my lord?" she asked, uncertain of what was going on.

  His swallow was almost audible. "Your gown, Miss Smith," he murmured, back to formalities once again. He turned his face away, the muscle in his jaw working before he said, "it is gaping."

  Elena felt her mouth fall open before she took in her nightdress and gasped, clutching underclothes to her body. In her haste for a nightcap, she had not put on her dressing gown or bothered to pick up a shawl. The shift she slept in, silky and one of the prettiest underclothes she had brought, was gaping at her bosom and giving his lordship a perfect view of her breasts.

  His gaze scorched her skin, and heat prickled down her spine. "I'm so sorry, my lord. I came down for a nightcap after a disturbing dream. I know I should not have, and I found you. I did not think you would be here, and then I woke you. I've made a mess of your desk. Please do not think that I am in any way trying to seduce you. I'm here to do a job, and that is all. I'm here to look after your dearest mama and nothing else."

  He reached out, clamping her mouth closed with his fingers, halting the words that spewed out of her mouth. She did not know whether to be thankful for his intervention or offended he had touched her person.

  Not that she minded him touching her person in truth. His hungry gaze of just before, well, she could get used to a man, her husband, looking at her so. It made her feel odd and desirable. Both emotions an elixir to her after so many months of feeling nothing at all but boredom.

  "You had a nightmare? Did you want to talk about it?" he asked. He reached out, taking her hand and helping her to stand. He took the few papers he held and placed them on his desk before leading her over to a settee before the unlit hearth.

  Elena watched as he poured them both a whisky before handing her a good-sized portion.

  "Drink this, and you will sleep better. I promise."

  Elena did as he asked, reveling in the warmth of the amber liquid as it slid down her throat. She sighed, supposing she ought to tell him since he asked. "I dreamed I was drowning again, and I woke up in a panic. I did not think that anyone else may be about, and I should have. I do apologize for intruding on you in such a way."

  He sipped his drink, settling beside her on the settee and watching the unlit hearth as if it were roaring with flames.

  "It is understandable that you would dream about the event. You are very lucky to be alive. Should I not have come along when I did, I do not even want to think about what would have happened."

  Not could, but would. Life was so precious. His lordship's words reminded Elena that she had promised herself to live after her uncle had been removed from power, to make each day count. She had not lived up to that promise of late. In fact, she had failed herself miserably.

  "I would have died," Elena stated, for it was the truth. Lord Lyon saved her, and she owed him her life. "Thank you, truly, for saving me. I cannot remember if I stated such back at the river, but now, seeing you here, I most certainly will make that statement." She downed the rest of her drink, so very thankful she was in the library of Lord Lyon's estate, breathing and speaking to him.

  "Try and not dwell on it, Elena. It will not do you any good. The outcome today was a fortunate one, and that is all. I'm glad I was there to help."

  She turned and watched him. He continued to stare at the hearth, but then, sensing her interest, he met her gaze, and the movement felt like a physical touch.

  She swallowed the need that rose within her, the want for the man beside her. She hardly knew his lordship. How could she want him as much as she did? Was it some debt she thought she owed him for saving her?

  No. No, she knew that was not what made her insides jump and sizzle. It was the man himself. There was something about him that called to her. From the moment she had met him, she knew he was kind, a gentleman to his core. Never had she reacted to a man in such a way. And now, she could not do anything about it. She was here as a companion, not to try to win his love and hand in marriage.

  "In any case, I will say it one last time. Thank you, my lord." Elena stood and ignored the disappointment that crossed his features when she did so. Her time away from London was precious, a time to take stock and restore herself. Should his lordship return from London unmarried still, then perhaps she could show him her hand and reveal who she really was. Mayhap they could then see what may happen between them, but not now. She would not allow herself to fall into his lordship's arms and then watch as he rode off and married someone else. Nor would she tell him the truth. That she was an heiress, capable of saving him, everything and everyone on the property from the debt that crippled it, merely to have him ask for her hand after the fact. How would she ever know he loved her, not her title and money?

  She would never know if his love was true if he knew she was a princess.

  "Goodnight, my lord," she said, determined not to look back at his lordship.

  "Goodnight, Miss Smith," he replied, just as she closed the door and left all thoughts of his lordship locked away in the library. She could only hope now that is where they would stay for the remainder of her time here and not wiggle back into her mind and drive her to distraction.

  Or worse, straight into his arms.

  Chapter 9

  Theo stood in the stable the following morning and could not believe what Thomas, the stable hand, was explaining to him. "I'm sorry, but the horse is what?" Theo asked again, needing to hear it a second time to be sure he had heard correctly.

  "One of the carriage horses has turned out lame this morning, my lord. You have the other, of course, but he is getting on in age, and I would not recommend traveling to London without the other mount."

  Theo ran a hand through his hair, walking up to the stall where the horse was stabled. The stall was small to limit movement, but full of hay to pad the horse's sore hoof.

  "I cannot travel to London without having them both in pristine condition." With neither carriage horse able to leave, he supposed he could take his mount, but he doubted she would survive the journey either, as o
ld as she was.

  This was a disaster. He needed to return to town to find a wife, or the estate would be lost, surrendered to The Crown for debts he could not pay. He could not allow anyone to take more from him than they already had.

  "How long do you think it will take for the horse to heal? Is the lameness severe, or do you believe just a slight sprain?"

  Thomas leaned over the stall door, studying the horse who stared at them both as if wondering what all the tension was about. "A week perhaps, mayhap less. I do think it's only a small sprain, nothing too much wrong with him. But rest is what he needs, and I would suggest putting off your trip to London for a week at most."

  A week! Hell, he may as well put it off indefinitely. It would mean he would miss the Levingstone ball, a night where he knew many of his acquaintances had met their wives since the ball attracted the richest and most eligible young women in London.

  "Well, I suppose there is little I can do," he said, turning to face the two footmen who had followed him to the stable, expecting to leave with him for London. "Return my trunks to my room. We will not be traveling to town until next week."

  The young men did as he bade, and Theo strode from the stable, needing air and a brisk stroll before returning indoors. How was he to face his mama and let her know his trip to town was postponed yet again? She was relying on him to save them all, to keep the roof over her head and everyone else's too. To ensure the people who lived and worked at Lyon Estate remained doing so for years to come, not losing their jobs because their sovereign had cheated his father at a game of cards.

  "Damn royal rogue," he cursed.

  He turned about the corner of the house and slammed headlong into Miss Smith. Her breasts hit his chest, her gasp and his melding as one.

  Instinctively he reached out, steadying her and stopping her from falling back. Her gloveless hands pressed up against his chest as she set herself to rights, her cheeks rosy, her eyes wide with surprise.